Hart's Reward (Pirates & Petticoats #3) (13 page)

“How do you know of the second cellar?”

Here it was. She’d turn around and look at him and he’d be glowering at her, distrust in his narrowed eyes and firmly set mouth. It was a wonderfully kissable mouth that had done very talented things to her in the near past, but now only irritated her.
 

“I know of the second cellar because you brought me here to seek shelter from the hurricane.”
 

His expression, rather than accusatory or wary seemed more pensive this time. It would be so nice if he was starting to believe her. As it was, she doubted he’d trust her to help rescue Simon and his wife and son.

“Ronnie, stay here with Keelan. I’ll send word when it’s safe for you both to return to the
Desire
.” He pulled a pile of dead branches away from the opening. “You should expect to be joined by Simon’s wife and son. They are to attempt an escape tonight during Pratt’s party. Gus and I will get Simon out.”

Ronnie’s expression darkened. “Why can’t I come with you? I don’t want to hide with the women and children.”

Landon gave Ronnie a stony stare. “Because it will be easier and less noticeable with just us two, and I need someone I can trust to be here.” He gathered Juliet’s reins and secured them.
 

Ronnie’s gaze flickered to Keelan and back to Landon. Her husband might as well have punched her in the stomach. She shut her mouth with a click of teeth, unaware it had dropped open. “You still think I’m a spy?” Her voice rose in pitch. “You honestly think I would give up Simon’s family? That I would turn Ruth and Joseph over to that…that
monster
, Pratt?”
 

Landon held up his hands. “Keelan—”

Enough of this! What more did she need to do to prove herself to that stubborn, insensitive, and downright
mean
man? The world closed in on her. Anger swirled in her chest, fighting for space with the grief that had already settled there. She wanted to hit something. If Landon’s jaw wasn’t as hard as his head, she’d start there. It was possible, she was being unreasonable and over reacting to the situation, given Landon’s current condition, but his distrust was worse for her than the lost memories.
 

She snatched Ronnie’s dagger from his waist and before either of them moved, she grabbed one of Landon’s raised hands and slapped the grip into his palm, then pulled the blade to her chest.

“If you don’t trust me, then kill me now.” Her voice shook, although she wasn’t sure if it was from anger or tearful emotion. Her heart had been nicked by Landon’s contempt continuously since the day he lost his memory of her, like a rapier flicking flesh off the bone one tiny piece at a time. “Every day you don’t remember me, every time you distrust me or look at me with displeasure or scorn cuts into my heart, slicing it away. I can no longer stand the pain, Landon.”

His eyes widened in shock. She moved the blade from her heart to her throat and pressed it into her flesh, locking her gaze to his. “Or simply slice my throat if it’s easier. No one will know but you and Ronnie. Daniel is…dead,” she barely choked out the word. “Conal is not here to tell you that you’re being an ass. Brendan is not here to confirm it. There is no one to miss me and ask questions, at least not right now.” She pressed the blade harder against her neck.
 

The sting of the steel breaking her skin came nowhere close to the cold metallic ache of despair shattering her heart.

With a stifled curse, Landon pulled the blade away from Keelan’s neck and tossed it to the ground. He reached up and gently brushed the blood away, then traced a finger along her jaw before he cupped it in both hands. He stared, for a long moment into her eyes, his own darkening from a cold crystal to a deep indigo. His pupils flickered and widened, then he lowered his head and gently pressed his mouth to hers.
 

She closed her eyes and focused on the warm softness of his lips, the brisk stubble on his chin. Her mouth clung to his for a moment before he pulled back and searched her face.

“I feel like I should know you,” he whispered hoarsely. “Your eyes are familiar to me. I see fleeting glimpses of images, sometimes in my dreams, sometimes when I watch you. It’s like trying to hold water in my bare hands. No matter how hard I try to keep it, it seeps away.”

“Stop trying,” she said, pulling his head down again to rest his forehead against hers as if she could press her memories into his mind. “Just open your heart enough to trust me, everything else will come to you in time.”

He tilted his head. What was he thinking? What emotions were churning inside? Confusion? Yes. Frustration? Of course. Bewilderment? That was interesting, and good. It meant he wasn’t fighting reality; he was thinking about it, analyzing it.

Instinctively, she pulled his face closer and kissed him. Lips were soft, pliant, gentle. His mouth moved slowly, almost tenderly over hers before he took the tip of his tongue and stroked her lips open. Eyes closed in bliss, Keelan prayed for time to cease long enough for her to catalogue each touch, each sensation of his kiss into her memory. She wanted to remember his scent, the warmth of his lips, the moist heat of his mouth. If he never recalled their past, then she would create a new memory with him now, in the present, one they would both have in common. If they never kissed again, at least she’d burn this moment into her heart and mind.
 

Into this kiss, she poured her love, devotion and faith. Their tongues and lips stroked and moved in a slow, deep, sensual dance and time did stop. The clouds paused in their drifting; the earth paused in its spinning. It was as if the entire universe was waiting to exhale.

Landon broke the kiss, pulled her closer and enveloped her in a tight hug. He rested his cheek on the top of her head and inhaled. “Jasmine,” he murmured.

Ronnie’s cough interrupted them. “I got the door open and the lantern lit in the cellar.”

Landon made sure they were settled comfortably before he left with the horses. It was only then that Keelan twisted and evaluated the wound on her side. She waved Ronnie away when he offered to help. The slashed shirt wasn’t too bloody around the opening, a good sign. She dampened a cloth with vinegar from the stores left in the cellar. This was going to burn like the devil, best to get it done and over with. She washed the wound, sucking air through her teeth as she worked. Once she had it cleaned, she found a bag of rags and wrapped it. Nothing left to do but wait for Ruth and Joseph to arrive.

Since their sleep had been cut short the night before, Keelan and Ronnie alternated napping and keeping watch. He’d insisted that she sleep first and when she awoke and peeked outside, the sun was at its zenith. She took care of necessities and when she returned, she was glad that Ronnie had stuffed the bag of rags she’d used earlier under his head and now slept soundly.

To pass the time, Keelan wandered around the cellar and took inventory of the supplies stashed there. Baskets of root vegetables, tattered blankets, jugs of whiskey-laced water and of course the vinegar she’d used on her cut. She noticed a pile of clothes. Perhaps there was a shirt in better shape than the one she had on. She sifted through the clothing, and found a skirt and blouse, which she wished she could exchange for her britches and tattered shirt. There was also a large tin of hard tack on the shelf, which she returned with a defined shudder. She wasn’t hungry enough to munch on
that
yet. In fact, she’d have to be close to starving before she’d even lift the lid.

A familiar feed sack sat propped against the shelves. Curious, she opened it. Landon must have grabbed more of her things before he left the tavern. She reached in and rummaged around to take stock of what was there. Her fingers skimmed over the familiar silk of her wedding gown. Landon had given it to her. She’d worn it the day they were to be wed. It was a silvery gray, trimmed in lace and fine beading. If she put it on, would it stir any of Landon’s memories?

The sound of a loud snort drew her to the tunnel. She lowered the lantern wick and stepped toward the exit.
 

A child’s voice, wary and shaking called out softly, “Hulloo. Anyone here? Mister Hart?”

Recognizing the voice, Keelan went outside. Joseph, Simon’s son, sat on Old Poke, the mule her uncle had kept as a companion to his brood stock.

“Hi Joseph. Where’s you mum?”

Joseph stared at her long and hard for a moment before recognition flooded his features. “Miss Keelan! Is dat really you?”

She laughed. “It is, I’m afraid,” she said glancing down at her attire. “I know I’ve looked better.”

“Well, you still is a sight for sore eyes, my mama would say.” He slid off the mule’s back and reached up for his crutch. Joseph had been born lame. At Twin Pines, he’d tended things that didn’t require much speed or movement, like the smokehouse and chicken coop.

“Why isn’t your mum with you, Joseph?” She became more concerned by the woman’s absence.

Joseph bit his lip, but his eyes still welled with unshed tears. He swallowed a couple of times before he choked out his words. “Mastah Pratt locked her in the shed with daddy. He told dem to put me in too, but I hid. Thomas left Old Poke in the paddock and so I rode him here to get Mister Hart.”

“Oh dear,” she said. How would Landon manage to rescue both Simon and Ruth? “Well, at least you made it safely, Joseph. We should go down into the cellar.”

“Miss Keelan.” Joseph paused.

“Yes?”

“Before I left, I crawled up to the back of the shed to talk to mama and daddy. Dey told me to come right here and warn you and Mister Hart.”

“Warn us about what?” If Pratt had discovered Simon’s role with the Freedom Runners, he might have also connected Landon as well. The hair on the back of her neck tingled.

“Mastah Pratt know all about Mister Hart harborin’ runaways on his boat. He planning to send men to search it tonight. He invited Mister Hart to his party this evening and is going to take him. Mama told me Pratt said he’d ‘smite him with the hammer of justice’.” Joseph peered into the tunnel. “You need to tell him not to go to the Mastah Pratt’s party, tonight Miss Keelan. He gots to leave Charleston soon as he can.”

Keelan grabbed the rope attached to Old Poke’s halter. She had to ride and find Landon. The distance from the sun to the horizon told her that was late afternoon. If Landon intended to attend the party, chances were that he was still at the ship. She tied Poke’s rope to a bush. “Follow me, Joseph. We need to get you settled so Ronnie and I can go warn Mister Hart.”
 

The ride back to Charleston on Ole Poke was bumpy and painful to all involved. Keelan and Ronnie both shared space on the mule’s bony back. His gait matched the terrain and after the second mile, it was impossible to tell if it was the lumpy, rutted road or the mule’s gait that jolted them up, down and all directions in between.

Both Ronnie and Keelan expelled a large relieved breath when they finally trotted up to the livery stable.
 

A groom stepped from the barn to take Ole Poke’s bridle, and looked at the two of them with suspicion. “Good evening. Will you be boarding your…er…mount for the night?”

Keelan nudged Ronnie. “Uh…no. No, thank you,” Ronnie said. “Captain Hart sent us. We only need to leave Ole Poke here for a short time.”

The groom huffed out a visible sigh of relief. “I’m familiar with Captain Hart. I’ll take care of your mount.” He left with the mule and Keelan and Ronnie walked briskly to the
Desire
.
 

Hopefully they weren’t too late. They had to stop Landon from going to Pratt’s party.

Elle and Yanda sat on the floor in the galley, mending one of the smaller sails damaged during the storm. Marcel knew the slaves hid in the false wall in the forward hold, because he was the one who let them in and out of their hiding place. The cook folded his arms across his bony chest. “Non, he is not here. Gus and ze capitan left just before the last watch changed.”

Keelan and Ronnie exchanged glances. Now what? Without Gus, she had no one else to ask for help.

She’d known Marcel only a short time. Could she trust him?
 

Ronnie squared his shoulders and stepped forward, surprising Keelan. No longer willing to slink in his older brother’s shadow, Ronan now straightened his back in confidence. “Captain Hart is in danger, and we need to gather the men to help him.”

“Where is he?” Marcel narrowed his eyes. “And how do you know he is in danger?”

Ronnie looked at her and she nodded. They had no choice. They had to trust Marcel to help his captain.

“Simon has been captured and the captain went to Pratt’s to break him free.” Ronnie said.

Marcel’s shoulders tensed. “Oui. He insisted only Gus accompany him.”

“He’s walking into a trap,” she said. Keelan glanced at Elle, who’d stilled. “Pratt knows he’s been helping runaways.”

“Who are you to know these things?” Marcel demanded. Although his voice had roughened, his face had paled.

“Mister Marcel,” Ronnie shifted his weight. “Umm…Mahdi isn’t really…Mahdi.”

“What eez this nonsense?” Marcel demanded.

“What he means to say, is that I’m not Persian, nor am I a boy,” she said, keeping her voice calm. The last thing they wanted
 
was for Marcel to explode and cause a commotion.

He pointed at her. “Zat, I knew.” He lifted a shoulder. “Or at least I suspected.”

“There’s more, Marcel. She’s Captain Hart’s wife,” Ronnie said, stepping back, a look of uncertainty clouded his face.

Marcel sputtered for a moment, looking back and forth at the two as if expecting them to tell him they were having fun at his expense. When they didn’t, he threw his hands up and released several strings of French explicatives while retrieving weapons and strapping a gun belt around his waist.

“We need your help, Marcel,” she said. “You must gather as many men as you can, rent a wagon from the livery and go to Pratt’s plantation to help the captain.”

“I will get zee men. You two,” He wagged a finger between the two of them. “Will stay on zee ship.”