Prisoner of Desire (7 page)

The water was a deep azure and the sand a shimmering white.

It was paradise, but one that included a demon.

From the top of the wall, she could see the entire harbor, but new sounds came from the section of uncompleted walls beyond the fort itself.

The snap of a leather whip and the harsh grunts of men. Long lines of them toiled in the

scorching heat of the tropical sun. The pounding of chisels mixed with the groans of hard

physical labour. An entire army of them worked to bring new blocks to the growing wall. Groups of them were shackled together but they walked in unison, proving that the chains were a

normalcy for them. The ones working high up on the cliffs with chisels didn't wear chains but suffered in the full heat of the blazing sun. Bobbing in the harbor were old ships which had roofs built right over their decks. Godford had been correct, the law had no mercy. Many of the

convicts feeling the bite of the whip were guilty of little more than theft. But the House of Lords deemed any fall from grace a reason to be shipped away from Britain. More than one young lad learned that lesson when his shackles were locked around his ankles.

Horror clogged her throat. Her intended groom was little better than a slave master. Men in uniform wielded the whips. They stood above the lines of men, raising their weapons over their shoulders before striking the bent backs of their charges.

Her flesh crawled. Revulsion surged through her so thickly, she almost retched. The mere

suggestion that Adam Mordaunt might touch her was horrific. Right before her eyes was a

testimony to how he treated his fellow man. A man such as him would use her body to please his appetites and then discard her the moment he was satisfied. She would never be anything more than a pet. Although she feared his dog might fare better than she.

St. John shipping. How had her father's dream turned into something that dropped her into such a deplorable situation? Clearly Mordaunt craved her dowry more than the wife which came along with it.

Not that his opinion was an uncommon one.

Depression caught her in its grip and she refused to struggle against it any longer. Walking along the wall, she sank into her despair, for at least it drowned out the stares of pity being cast her way.

Many were soldiers and she might have pitied them if she had any thoughts to spare. Their faces were red from the sun and their collars stained with perspiration due to their thick English uniforms. But not a single button was open, even in the tropical heat. It was a horrible sign of what would be expected of her as well.

She didn't cry. There were no tears for the demon who thought he was her master. No, her eyes remained dry. Many of her history lessons suddenly took on greater meaning. She was not the first bride to prefer the elements to her intended groom.

She refused to care and she refused to bend.

Her feet ached before sunset. Penned up on ship, her calves were weak. Standing in the shade, Lorena looked up toward the house but her tormenter had yet to appear. Well, she would not

meekly await him. Not yet anyway. Her belly rumbled but it was her thirst that threatened to buckle her resolve. Her tongue felt like a dry piece of wool inside her mouth. The surface of her lips was chapped from the ocean wind. Even the skin on her face felt tight and hot. No one could endure without water very long. Even the men working on the walls had been given a measure of it. From her place

on top of the wall, she'd watched women haul buckets among the laborers. They dipped long—

handled ladles into their buckets and lifted a serving of water to the men's lips. They drank while they worked, never stopping. The women made their way among them while the British wielded

their whips over it all.

To get water, she would have to become one of them. Her pride refused but the urge to live

battled against it. Yet her options were few. Even taking herself off to work in a filthy factory was no longer open to her. Britain was five weeks across the ocean and she had no silver coin for passage. There was only thirst or grovelling left. No wonder the inhabitants of the inner fort looked at her with pity. They had already had their pride broken and they knew what her fate was going to be. Eventually, they would become her comrades.

"There's fresh water down by the supply gate."

So used to being ignored, she jumped when he spoke to her. Whoever the man was, he didn't

look at her. He had a small barrel in his hands and was carrying it down another of the stone paths which crisscrossed the inner yard. His steps were slow, much slower than he looked

capable of. But he was hunched over, his large frame dropping over his load. Just another pitiful example of how ill-treated the men were. A large man like him was most likely being starved on meager food rations. It wouldn't take long for his broad shoulders to be reduced to skin and bones.

"Watch me but don't follow too closely. The provisions are stacked up there, near the water gate..."

The last few words were difficult to hear because he was moving away. But the mere suggestion of water sharpened her senses. Casting a quick look back at the green, she found it still empty.

Setting off in the direction

he'd gone, Lorena went searching for water. She'd walked around the walls several times looking for where the water was brought into the fort but had failed to discover it.

At the lowest spot of the fort, there were two water gates. They weren't very large, only sufficient to allow smaller boats in. At low tide, the retaining walls were dry but now water lapped at them, filling the small dug-out area. A row of stone buildings sat facing it and another alongside it. She walked between them, losing sight of the commissioner's house and the green.

With the light rapidly fading, she could hear the guards herding the labourers toward the hulks.

The darkness didn't bother her. Let Mordaunt search for her. If she ended the day locked in a cell tonight, she would not be the only one. Laying her head on a soft pillow in the commissioner's house seemed ill suited to the surroundings. There was too much suffering

to ignore. It felt as though she was losing her grip on her own humanity to wallow in comforts while men were locked like animals inside those hulks. Joining them would not help, but her mind rebelled against bending to the man responsible for it all. There could be discipline without cruelty, she was certain of it.

It was cooler by the water gates, the ocean breeze blowing in to stroke her burning cheeks. She could smell the water, both salt and fresh. Large barrels were lined up on the far side of the tiny harbor. A hoist was attached to the stone wall that held the water back. Below rowboats bobbed gently in the current. A rope was strung through an iron wheel and it glistened even in the growing darkness. That was the well. The barrels were filled here and rowed out to the ships waiting in the main harbor. Moving toward the rope, Lorena tugged her gloves off. The line was still wet, telling her the workers had recently quit for the night.

Giving it a tug, she pulled until a tall, round bucket appeared. It was full of water. Sticking a finger into it she carried it to her lips to taste it.

Sweet relief filled her mouth with that single drop of fresh water. She was too thirsty to care about niceties. She cupped her hand and scooped up the water. Some of it ran down her chin but that didn't detract from the enjoyment of it filling her mouth. The skin on her neck enjoyed the slide of water over it. When it reached her collar, it soaked into the fabric, soothing the overheated skin imprisoned beneath. She dipped her hand several more times before forcing

herself to stop and draw in a deep breath. Her stomach rumbled in warning, so much water

threatening to make her sick. She focused her attention on keeping what she'd drunk in her belly.

Whatever it took...

Warren regretted his words, regretted the need driving him to such lengths. But he would do what had to be done. The slim figure standing at the well was too trusting. She never looked over her shoulder. It was exactly what he needed, almost too good to be believed, but he hated himself for taking the steps toward her.

It was amazing how a little water could restore a person's resolve. Lorena sighed and drew a last deep breath. Yes, she felt much better now. She smelled the fresh air again and felt the cooling night breeze on her cheeks. The burning heat was being carried away as she listened to the slap of the palm leaves.

A hand clamped down over her mouth, dragging her back against a solid body. She bucked

frantically, trying to twist free. Whoever held her, lifted her completely off the ground. One thick arm bound her around the waist while the hand remained over her mouth, stifling any sound she tried to make. Two large steps and she felt her feet dangling over the water. Her eyes rounded when she noticed the rowboat. The bonnet still pinned to her head only allowed her to see

directly in front of her. What had been empty except for oars was now full of dark shapes. They reached up for her feet, hard hands closing around her ankles. She kicked frantically, her mind searching for any means of escape.

She sank her teeth into the fingers pressing against her lips.

"Viper..."

The hand left her mouth instantly, but he released her waist too. She fell toward the boat, landing on top of the men in it. Pain shot through her back and shoulders. Her dress became a tangled mess, and she kicked at it, trying to get her feet on something solid.

The boat rocked dangerously and the men grabbed her to keep her still.

"Ease up there or we'll capsize."

Lorena snarled at the warning. "Unhand—"

The same hard hand slapped back over her mouth. "Make for the gate lads or we're done for."

Her captor spoke in a harsh whisper but the tone terrified her. It was solid as steel. He

imprisoned her against his body again, this time throwing a leg over hers to trap her completely.

She strained against his hold but it was like iron. Blood seeped over her lips from where she'd bitten him, but he kept his hand in place.

The other men dipped the oars into the water. The boat headed for the small arches that led to the sea. The iron gates were still raised and they slipped quietly out of the inner fort.

"Now, men, row! Row for your lives!"

Her captor gave the command. The men dug into their task, working their oars in unison. Light from the fires on the wall shone down on them. The hand over her mouth released her lips but returned with a knife. He pressed the cool blade against her neck.

"I suggest you stay still if you want to keep your skin uncut."

She swallowed and even that motion made the blade press uncomfortably against her throat. Her heart accelerated, making everything seem as though it was moving in slow motion. On top of the walls, men pointed their rifles directly at them. She could see the soldiers looking down the long barrels of the weapons to line up a perfect kill shot. Terror choked her for one horrible moment which felt like an hour. Her ears strained to hear the explosion of the rifles being fired.

"Hold your fire!" The command echoed up and down the wall. The men looking down their guns hesitated but raised their heads and the muzzles of the deadly guns.

Breath rushed back into her chest, but it lodged in her throat when she realized how fast the boat was pulling away from the fort.

And taking her with it.

She kicked again, frantic to escape from the unknown men holding her. The knife slid into her skin, spilling warm blood down her throat.

"Damn it. I said hold still."

Her neck burned and the scent of her own blood filled her nose. "I don't care. As if I'd do anything you tell me to."

The arms around her tightened, locking her so hard against him she struggled to breathe. The knife remained at her throat and a soft sound passed her lips. She couldn't prevent it; helplessness was filling her so full it bubbled over.

"I'm sorry but you will do what I say." He spoke softly next to her ear. A whimper of self-pity tried to answer him but she clamped it behind her teeth, refusing to show him any more

weakness. She tried to push the hand holding the knife away from her neck but he didn't move, not even a tiny amount.

Men were filling the walls on the fort and holding torches high to try to cast light far enough out to illuminate the boat. But the efforts of her captors were pulling the small craft out farther and farther into the darkness. The oars slid into the water with smooth sounds and the men working them panted. They were rowing to freedom and she could hear them straining toward their goal.

She couldn't blame them...

But she hated the one holding her. In the blackness she felt his heart beating against her back.

He'd raised his head, no longer hiding his behind her own.

"Keep north." His voice was deeper now. A shiver went down her body. The little reaction annoyed her and she renewed her efforts to be free.

"Release me, sir!"

The knife lifted away but the hand around her chest remained, along with his leg. Tipping her head up, she caught her first look at the man who had kidnapped her. A gasp left her lips when she recognized him as the one who had told her where the water was. She was a trusting fool indeed.

"Can you swim?" He held her steady, completely ignoring her demand.

"Of course I can."

The man tightened his embrace. Oh she was so naive. But she could not take back the

information she'd just handed him.

"You.. .mongrel." She wished she knew how to swear. Lorena suddenly understood why prostitutes developed gutter language. They had to deal with rough handling such as this. Her heart was racing, straining against her corset. She was keenly aware of his body. It was much harder than she'd thought another human might feel. His strength fully amazed her. He held her without any hint of weakness. But he did remove the knife from her throat. She bucked when one arm moved, giving her the illusion of freedom.