Come the Dawn (31 page)

“I’m not wild.” But the protest was weaker now as she fought back tears.

“You are both wild and reckless.” The pirate shoved away her trembling fingers and tugged at the old breeches. The shard was deeply imbedded in her skin.
“Merde.
” Carefully, he freed the jagged piece of glass, then dropped it on the chest. After rummaging through a drawer, he came back with a clean piece of flannel soaked in brandy. “This may hurt.”

“Bah,” India mumbled, her face on fire with embarrassment at her naked thighs.

But the hard fingers slid relentlessly over her bared skin, and something in that touch made her heart lurch drunkenly. “Enough,” she croaked. “I — will be fine.”

Keen eyes studied her face. “You will sleep now,
mon Inde.”

My India.

Something about his caressing tone set India’s blood to the boil. “You have no right to my name, you snake.”

“No? I believe I do have that right — and any other I choose to take.” Laughing darkly, he made her a mocking bow. “I will leave you to think over what I have taught you this night.” He strode to the door. “Sleep well,
ma mie.”

He slid open the bolt and strode outside. The length of iron shot home behind him, locking her in.

“Let me out!” India screamed, jerking at the door latch.

“Tomorrow perhaps. Or the day after. Until then, cease this howling or I will return and beat you some more, boy. And you shall pay for all that broken Irish crystal in the morning.”

One of the drawers hit the door. “Not if you were Barbarossa himself!”

~ ~ ~

She paced.

She cursed.

She hammered angrily at the door.

The pirate did not return. No one came, despite her shouting. Finally India sank back against one wall and dug deep into her pocket. Her palm opened, revealing a circle of dawn-pink flames. At least she still had her jewel.

India scowled. She had come to find the Frenchman, of course, but something made her wary of mentioning the priceless gem. In the end the stone might be the only way of escape from this cutthroat.

After pocketing the jewel and fuming for another quarter hour, she decided to conserve her energy for the infuriating pirate’s return. She sniffed at the blanket across the narrow bed, relieved to find it surprisingly clean.

With an angry hiss, she slid down against the soft blanket, the hours of strain finally taking their toll. She closed her eyes and almost instantly was swept into darkness and dreams.

~ ~ ~

The dream began as it always did, with drums and shouts and marching feet. Suddenly India was there again, in a Brussels thronged with carts and wagons while soldiers marched to join their regiments.

She ran through the crowds, looking for a pair of broad shoulders, looking for a tall lean body and a devil-may-care smile. But the faces were always wrong and she could never find him.

Artillery thundered in the distance and terrified villagers rushed past. The first wounded stragglers made their way through the streets, their weary eyes haunted by nightmares of blood and hate and fear among the mud.

She moaned, struggling to push the memories away.

All the time India told herself everything would be good and safe and fine if only she kept searching. If only she looked long enough, she must finally find him…

The Frenchman stood with the lantern in his hand, watching his beautiful English captive twist in her sleep. His eyes were locked on the slim fingers clutching at shadows and ghosts he could not see.

His jaw hardened as she tossed the blanket aside and cried out, her hand flung wide. One lush breast lay outlined against the soft cambric of the old shirt she wore.

He swore beneath his breath, blasted by desire, hungry to drown himself in her sweetness.

His hands clenched with need. He could smell her scent, fine and soft like bergamot and violets. His groin was heavy, blood squeezing hot and slow through his veins as he studied the dusky point of her nipple molded against the white cambric.

So near. So bloody near.

He could ease her to pleasure as she slept. When she woke she would be wet and welcoming, his name a husky prayer on her lips.

And yet it would not be
his
name she spoke.

Cursing sharply, the
Gypsy’s
captain set down the lantern. With unsteady fingers he filled a glass with brandy and drained it in one gulp.

Fire burned down his throat, hot and furious.

But not half so furious as the fire that burned at his groin.

He watched her hand catch in the tangled sheets. He did not move, as if paralyzed.

What dark dreams she had. What bleak memories. Her struggles cut him sorely. He would comfort her, were it possible. But the world was mad and what comfort could come from a pirate?

India was running, fire on her right and fire on her left. Voices called out, high and shrill and mocking, but she did not stop. He was there, somewhere in the darkness, somewhere in the night. And she had to find him.

She called his name, but no answer came. She was alone, as she always was, trapped in a place of darkness and dreams.

And then a voice. A single word.

It was her name, whispered low and hoarse, as it always was on his lips. The shadows closed around her. And then he was there, sprung from her dreams, his eyes urgent with desire, his body tight with need.

There was no time for fear or protest. She wanted him too much for that. She molded herself close and tasted the fire of his body, wanting more. She needed to feel his scent on her skin and his breath as ragged with desire as hers was.

“Please,” she whispered, not knowing what she wanted.

But he knew.

“So I shall, my love.”

With a soft hiss of silk, her gown loosened and slid inch by inch down her fevered skin.

Not fast enough. She shoved it away, gasping when she met him heat to heat.

His touch was like coming home, like grabbing a wild breath after swimming too long underwater. It was taking the creek at Swallow Hill in one bound.

He was tall and strong and laughing. Clear eyes burning, sweet as heaven itself. Somehow she had found him again.

Her breath caught with the need to taste him everywhere, to worship the body she had never had time to know completely. She laughed with the heady joy of discovery and pressed him back, her fingers toying with the mahogany hair that swirled across his chest.

And then there was no softness, only blood in a thin line that trailed over bronze skin. There was low laughter and a fine gold earring glinting in the light of a single lantern.

~ ~ ~

India sat up with a ragged cry, sleep still clutching at her.

A dream. But why did it feel like so much more?

She tugged the blanket to her chest as if it could hold back her pain and her memories.

~ ~ ~

 “So, Perkins, what business have we so far today?” The captain of the
Gypsy
stood on the foredeck, letting wind rake his hair as he studied the restless track of the river stretching to the sea. Today the same kind of restlessness flashed in the Frenchman’s eyes.

Perched on a coil of rope, the first mate scratched wind-hardened cheeks and frowned. “Someone to see you about a set of diamonds. Fabulous, he swears. Someone else who says he can show you a secret passage through the Tower to the Crown Jewels. For a price, of course. An offer to buy that white horse from you.” The man’s lips twitched. “And three offers to buy the boy what rode in on the great beast.”

“Buy? Perkins, you astound me.”

“I bloody doubt it, Captain. Beggin’ yer pardon.”

“And who were these, er, buyers?”

“The usual river scum, along with a man from a bordello up by Whitechapel.”

The captain laughed bitterly. “We are now a thorough nest of vice, to be sure. And how much did they offer for the boy?”

“The highest was two hundred pounds for the horse and twenty pounds for the boy. For work in the bordello, that is.” Perkins’s eyes narrowed. “As if you’d consider selling the lad.”

“No? I am a man of vile reputation, Perkins.”

The first mate snorted.

“You are in a black mood today.”

“Not as black as I outta be. Since when are we taking in captives aboard the
Gypsy
— especially boys what ain’t boys?”

The Frenchman’s brow rose and he scratched thoughtfully at his heavy black beard. “Is there a point to your question, I ask myself?”

“What are we doing with a female below deck? Is that clear enough for you?”

“Doucement,”
the captain said quickly, looking about to be sure they were alone.

“Well, I’m tired of
douce
this and
patience
that. I keep things quiet here while you go running off to London and God knows where else, and for what, I’m asking? You’ve found three sets of diamonds already, and another two of emeralds. But that isn’t what you want, is it? So what are we doing here, pitching at anchor when we could be hauling fine burgundy over the Channel or horses from Galway Bay?”

The Frenchman’s face went very hard. “No questions, my friend. It was our agreement when the voyage began, and it must remain a condition still.”

“Oh, I ain’t asking outright, Captain. You’ll tell me when the time’s right. But I can’t be patient forever. Meanwhile, I don’t hold with
no
females on board. Bad luck and trouble will come from it, mark my words.”

“Trouble. This one, she will be that, of a certainty.” The pirate raised the knife he’d taken from his captive and studied its honed blade. “But she stays awhile longer, my friend. Bad luck or no.”

Perkins scrubbed at the deck with his toe. “What do I tell them that’s waiting to see you?”

“No to the emeralds. No to the Crown Jewels in the Tower. And no to the first two offers to buy my cocky red-haired boy. Who will
remain
a boy,” he said warningly to Perkins.

“Aye, Cap’n. It’s your game. But what about that last rogue? Him that’s from the bordello?”

The Frenchman’s eyes hardened. “Tell our friend from Whitechapel that if he ever shows his face along this stretch of the river again, I will personally see to it that his filthy ears are shaved from his equally filthy head. I will see the fellow about these so-called fabulous diamonds in ten minutes.”

Perkins chuckled. “Any other orders?”

“Just one,
enfin.
The door to my cabin stays locked, no matter what. Do you understand me?”

“Aye. But there’s trouble to come,” the wiry sailor said darkly. “You’ll see. As sure as there’s a wind from the east and fog before nightfall.”

~ ~ ~

India was lying in wait for the captain an hour later, with the last drawer from the chest clutched in her fist.

When the door bolt hissed free, she aimed for where the captain’s head would be.

And barely had time to catch herself as Froggett appeared in the doorway.

“Whatever are you doing now, Mis—” The old man cleared his throat. “Er, Jeremiah.” He was shoved into the cabin and the door bolted behind him.

“I was trying to escape! Have they hurt you, Froggett?”

The groom studied the broken glass on the floor and the unmade bed. “No, I was treated well enough. So was that white horse of yours. But what in thunder’s been going on
here
? Did that Frenchman—”

“No,” India said quickly. “Not that he didn’t want to. And not that he won’t try again,” she said darkly. “The arrogant snake knows I’m a woman, Froggett. And somehow he knows I’m a Delamere. We
must
escape.”

“What about your great plan to get information from the Frenchman? Told you how it would be, didn’t I? Deviltry and mayhem, and us left prisoners in the middle of the bleeding river with no one to know we’re even gone.”

India sighed. “You were right, Froggett, I admit it.”

“That Frenchman’s a cunning sort, all right. Sees everything, though he acts like he doesn’t. And there’s a bad lot of people coming in and out here.” Froggett looked at India, who was rubbing her sore hip. “What’s amiss?”

“It’s nothing. I hurt my side when I fell on a piece of glass.”

“Don’t know who’s more dangerous — you or that pirate,” the groom muttered.

“Stop being so gloomy and help me think how we can get away from here.”

“Reckon you’ll have to use that stone you’ve got hidden in your boot.”

“I was thinking the same thing. A pity to waste it.”

“A bigger pity
not
to waste it,” the groom said darkly. “I don’t care to stay here and rot. Or worse.”

“I suppose you’re right. But he mustn’t know it is here, or he will never let us go. I’ll say that I hid it ashore. He will have to send me to find it, and I’ll insist that you come. Then we will make our escape.”

The old groom looked skyward. “Heaven help us both, if
that’s
your plan.”

“Do you have something better in mind?”

Froggett scowled.

“I thought not. So we may as well get it over with.” India strode to the door and banged loudly. “You, out there! Fetch the captain and look lively about it!”