My Runaway Heart (35 page)

"Help Miss Somerset to her cabin and then find Lord
Donovan. They've my permission to visit the
gaol
."

Lowering her head, Lindsay truly needed their assistance
as she rose on trembling legs, scarcely able to believe she had won the right
to see Jared even when
Corisande
gave her hand a
quick, victorious squeeze.

Chapter 31

An hour later, Lindsay couldn't say how deep they had
descended into the man-of-war's belly, Donovan grimly silent at her side while
the same two officers led the way. The air was foul and stuffy, guttering oil
lamps the only lighting in the cramped passageways. She felt almost as if they
were entering the portals of hell, for the place gave her such an unearthly
chill.

"The Phoenix is in here, the rest of the bastards
further down," one of the officers informed them, stopping abruptly near a
low door. "We'll be right outside if you've need of us."

"Is the prisoner chained?" asked Donovan, his
voice so stern and cold that Lindsay
shivered,
no
doubt in her mind that
Corisande's
formidable husband
didn't approve at all this visit.

"Chained fast, my lord, hands and feet. He can't
move more than a few inches from the wall."

"Then Miss Somerset may enter alone and face her
attacker. I'll wait here with you."

Stunned at the unexpected boon he'd granted her,
Lindsay sensed, too, that
Corisande
must surely have
had a hand even in this concession. As the heavy bolt was drawn with an eerie
thunk
, she threw him a glance of thanks, but Donovan made no
expression of acknowledgment, his dark eyes unfathomable.

But what could she hope to expect from a man who had
fought loyally under Wellington for years and seen countless men die for
England, while inside the cell was someone he saw as no more than a traitor?
Pity? That Jared had saved his life had probably brought him this far, but she
would be an utter fool to imagine—

"Make it quick, miss. Captain Billingsley said a
few moments, no more."

So he had, that admonishment coming just as Lindsay and
Corisande
had left the commanding officer's cabin,
the slightest hint of suspicion in his voice. For that reason, she had to make
this exchange sound convincing, though it wasn't hard to summon anguish to her
breast as she ducked into the poorly lit cell, the smell of urine and sweat
nearly overpowering her.

She gasped, her eyes tearing, not so much from the
fetid air, but because Jared sat slumped in one corner, his arms shackled to
the wall. He was stripped to the waist, dried blood streaking his powerful
shoulders, and she knew then that he'd been beaten. Dear God, it was her fault,
too! His capture, that of his men, the Vengeance commandeered now by naval
officers—but what else could she have done?

Stricken, Lindsay wanted to run to him, but that would
have been a fatal mistake. Somehow she made herself stand her ground just
inside the door, summoning all the agony in her heart to shriek hoarsely, "You
detestable bastard! I hate you for what you did to me! Do you hear me? Hate
you! And I hope they hang you and then cut you down and tear out your filthy
heart—"

The door slamming behind her made Lindsay jump, her
harangue obviously upsetting her escort more than it appeared to have moved
Jared; he hadn't even lifted his head. She moved closer, horror filling her.

"Jared? It's me, Lindsay . . . Jared?"

No answer came, the cell so deathly quiet she realized
only then that he was unconscious. Dear Lord, did they plan to kill him before
they reached Plymouth? Were they giving him no food? No water?

She flew to him, unable to hold herself back any longer
and not caring if those officers burst in and had to drag her away kicking and
screaming. Tears nearly choking her, she sank to her knees in the fetid straw,
her hands trembling as she cradled his face.

"Jared, oh, please,
wake
up," she whispered desperately, his flesh so clammy, his head limp. "Wake
up,
please
."

She tried to rouse him by shaking his shoulders, her
horror only growing when her palms came away wet from his blood, the beating
obviously recent. Yet she took heart when he suddenly groaned and licked his
cracked lips. Wildly she looked around her, scrambling to her feet when she
spied a bucket with a ladle near the door.

The water stank, she smelled its foulness the moment
she filled the ladle and rushed back to Jared, but it was all she had to give
him.

"Those bastards," she said fiercely as he
drank like a man who hadn't tasted water in days; she imagined Jared had more
likely suffered the rank stuff thrown in his face than been allowed a sip.
Finally she drew the ladle away, fearing it was too much, too soon, and he did
begin to cough and choke.

He opened his eyes, too, staring at her in disbelief as
she stared back at him helplessly while he wheezed and sputtered until
gradually he grew still.

"Lindsay . . . ?"

"Oh, Jared, I've probably only another moment
before—" She didn't finish but turned to the door and raised her voice to
an agonized shout. "You bastard! Monster! I hope you burn in hell for
everything you did to me! Do you hear me? Burn in hell!"

"Probably what I deserve."

Jared had spoken so somberly that Lindsay had to subdue
a tender laugh, shaking her head at him.

"No, no, I didn't mean you—it's only what I've led
them to believe. That you cruelly abducted me in London and mistreated me and
stole my virtue—that's why Captain Billingsley allowed me to come down here. To
rant and rail at you—"

"I did steal your virtue."

She sucked in her breath, staring deeply into his eyes.
"You know that's not true. I gave myself to you, Jared, wholeheartedly,
completely. I only wish now that I hadn't sneaked back aboard the
Vengeance
" —her throat tightened as
her gaze fell to his bloodied shoulders— "dear God, that I hadn't brought
this horror upon you."

"I brought it upon myself, Lindsay, years ago,
just as it can no longer be your concern what happens—"

"It is my concern," she whispered fiercely,
wishing there were some way she could free Jared's arms so she could feel them
around her. Wishing that just once he wouldn't tell her she couldn't care about
him, couldn't love him. "Damn you, Jared Giles, you will always be my
concern! I love you! Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

When he didn't answer, she felt such a wave of despair
that she was almost tempted to leave him, the pain was so great to think he
truly might not love her. But his eyes held hers so intensely that she couldn't
move,
her heart beginning to thunder in her ears.

"I can only
cause
you
harm, Lindsay. Don't you see? Even now you're risking everything—"

"Because I don't want to live without you, can't
you understand? And I'll wait for you as long as it takes—
Corie
overheard you're to be taken to
Dartmoor
Prison once
we reach Plymouth. They believe you're an American, so surely it will be only a
matter of time before you're exchanged for another prisoner of war—"

"Or before they find out who I really am."

"But I've said nothing, done nothing to make them
doubt my story, Jared, so how will they know? Surely your men would never
betray you. And the only others who know the truth are
Corie
and her husband, Lord Donovan Trent. He's outside the door right now, waiting
for me—"

"Lindsay, enough, they might hear you. It's best
you leave—best you forget everything, forget me . . ."

He strained against his chains and grimaced, clearly in
severe pain, but Lindsay was certain his agony at that moment was nothing like
the torment she felt. Her voice sank to a ragged whisper.

"Forget you? And what shall I do with the love in
my heart, forget that, too? You ask an impossible thing, Jared. I only wish you
would stop trying to protect me from harm and admit you might love me—"

She didn't get to finish, the door starting to swing
open so suddenly that she had time only to scramble on her knees to the center
of the cell, where she dropped her head in her hands, moaning to herself.
Moaning and wishing so desperately she'd had a moment more to touch her lips to
his . . .

"
Enough,
miss. The
bastard will pay for his bloody crimes soon enough," came a sympathetic
voice, one of the officers bending down to help her to her feet while the other
cursed foully at Jared.

Meanwhile, Donovan stood outside the door, staring into
the cell and saying nothing, his expression as grim as before. But she saw
something flicker across his face when one of the officers gave a sharp kick to
Jared whose groan made Lindsay pale.

"Come, let's be gone from here," Donovan
murmured, his voice oddly strained. A second sickening thud of a boot hitting
flesh made Lindsay want to turn and run back to Jared's side. And she would
have if Donovan hadn't grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the cell and down
the passageway while the officers laughed crudely that the legendary Phoenix
didn't seem so bloody immortal now and slammed shut the door.

None of them heard another groan, pained and raw, nor
heard Jared whisper hoarsely, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, "I
. . . love you, Lindsay. Love you."

***

The afternoon couldn't have been gloomier when Lindsay
stepped from the gangplank onto the Plymouth wharf. A chill wind that smelled
of rain whipped at her soiled yellow gown, the sky heavy with clouds as
miserably gray as her mood.

Even the chatter of Donovan and
Corisande's
little daughter,
Paloma
, couldn't cheer her. The
winsome two-year-old clapped her tiny hands and seemed to take delight in
everything she saw, especially the prancing white horses harnessed to the
carriage Donovan had hired to take them to Cornwall.

He and
Corisande
were going
home to begin their life as a family, while for
Lindsay,
Cornwall unhappily meant returning to her father's house, where she must face
Olympia. Yet her stepmother's expected wrath was truly of no consequence to her
at that moment. She turned at the sound of heavy clunking of chains, her heart
aching as Jared and his men—Walker, Cowan and all the rest—made their way, one
by one, down the gangplank now that all the passengers from the
Industry
had disembarked.

True to his word, Captain Billingsley already had a
half-dozen wagons waiting to take his prisoners to
Dartmoor
;
jeers and curses filled the air as other passengers turned to watch.

"Lindsay, we should get into the carriage,"
Corisande
whispered in her ear, handing
Paloma
to Donovan. "You've come this far unscathed, but you're still at risk—"

"Listen to them,
Corie
,"
Lindsay said in disbelief as the jeers grew louder, joined now by those of
passersby and sailors from other ships who hooted and spit. "Jared and his
men saved those people only last week . . . and listen to them."

She flinched as soldiers from the H.M.S.
Clementine
were forced to link arms and
form a human barrier to hold back the crowd, which seemed to be growing larger
and more raucous by the moment, word no doubt spreading throughout the port
city that the dreaded Phoenix had been captured at last. Her stricken gaze flew
back to Jared, at the haggardness of his face, at his ravaged shoulders, his
captors having neglected to give him back his shirt.

"Lindsay, please. . ."

She nodded, the quiet urgency in
Corisande's
voice finally making her move, though she could not tear her gaze away from
Jared even when she was assisted by a footman into the carriage. Tears stung
her eyes because he could yet hold his head so high, not looking to the right
or the left, not looking for her, which she knew was done to protect her. But
she sensed from the tension visible in his body that he must have glimpsed her—

"I know that man! Stop, stop—I know him!"

Gasping, Lindsay gripped the carriage door as a woman
burst through the crowd, disheveled and wild-eyed. Dear Lord, it was the same
woman, wretchedly ill from seasickness at the time,
whom
she and Donovan had rescued from the
Industry
.

"You're Jared Giles!" came an unearthly
shriek that made Lindsay's blood run cold and a startled hush fall over the
wharf. "In chains,
eeee
! Only what you deserve!
The mighty have been brought low, ha, ha! The Earl of
Dovercourt
in chains!"

Chapter 32

To Lindsay, it seemed no one moved for a horrifying
moment while the woman danced a demented jig in front of Jared. Then bedlam
erupted, none other than Captain Horatio Billingsley bellowing down from the
H.M.S.
Clementine
, "Seize her!
Seize that woman!"

"Oh, God, Donovan, what are we going to do?"
Corisande's
voice broke through Lindsay's paralyzed haze,
Corisande
appearing, for the first time in her life,
completely at a loss. While Lindsay could only stare as the woman frantically
fought off three ship's officers trying to subdue her, her outraged shrieks
rending the air.

"How dare you! Leave me be! Where's my Ryland?
Where's my son? Ryland, help me!"

Dear God,
Ryland
?
In shock, Lindsay sank back against the seat, staring at
Corisande
,
whose face had gone as deathly white as she imagined her own to be.