My Runaway Heart (24 page)

She broke away from him so suddenly, Jared could only
curse, but when she grabbed a wool cap from a passing sailor's head and shoved
it down over her hair, waving her thanks to the startled man, he knew there
would be no denying her. And he had no more time to argue with her as she
darted back to his side.

"See? No more beacon. And it was twelve days,
Captain."

"As if I don't bloody well remember," he
muttered, once more grabbing her arm and pulling her along with him. He raised
his voice above the wind. "All right, you've won this time! But you'll not
leave the quarterdeck and you'll content yourself with keeping your lovely head
below the railing. Am I understood?"

Her nod did little to reassure him as he made her
scramble ahead of him up the companionway, treating him to a fetching view of
her pert rump that did little to soothe his temper. Here they were, being
dogged by a man-of-war under full sail and three cruisers, and he was thinking
that women in breeches might not be such an unwelcome revolution after all?

Scowling, he ignored Walker's crooked grin and Cowan's
look of surprise and fisted his hand in the back of Lindsay's shirt. He heard
her gasp as he steered her to the aft railing, her eyes wide as saucers when he
turned her around and plunked her down onto the deck, her legs sprawled wide.

"Stay there! One move and I swear, woman—"

"
Cap'n
, they're firing
on us!"

Breathless from Jared's rushing her across the deck,
Lindsay winced as a series of explosions sounded in the distance, followed by
loud splashes somewhere off to starboard, but Jared's grim laugh only startled
her more.

"A waste of good shot, the fools. They're too far
back now to strike us. If the wind holds to our favor, we'll outrun them, and
even if it doesn't, the dark will soon swallow us."

Indeed, it was growing dark, Lindsay realized, thick,
heavy clouds scudding above them that portended rain. But she was already
drenched from the salt spray, so what would that matter?

Still secretly astonished that Jared had allowed her to
stay,
she drew her knees to her chest to keep warm and
contented herself with holding her tongue and simply watching him.
Another
distant cannon thundered, but Jared moved around the
quarterdeck with a complete absence of fear, Lindsay's admiring gaze unable to
leave him. A man of flesh and blood, not a hero, perhaps, yet . . .

Almost as if seeing him for the first time, she
marveled at his commanding presence and the rapport he possessed with his
men—Walker, Cowan and all the others from helmsman to gunner following orders
which he uttered with a cool certainty that bespoke years of experience upon
the sea. The wind ruffling his dark blond hair, he seemed younger to her, too.
No trace was left of the terrible anguish she'd witnessed
belowdecks
,
Jared clearly thriving upon the dangerous exhilaration of the moment.

She almost regretted the gathering darkness which would
soon hide his handsome features from her view as well as his strong, lean form,
her face growing hot as she remembered the stirring weight of his body upon
hers when they had fallen to the cabin floor. Might he be thinking of her, too,
lying beneath him, and how close their lips had come . . .?

"That's a first for us, Jared. Meeting a fleet of
cruisers in Irish waters? It's almost as if they expected—"

"Maybe they did, but we've a record to break,
remember?" came Jared's brusque reply. Lindsay hugged her knees closer as
she heard Walker's low curse.

"But if they're after us, we'll meet them again at
daybreak. Four ships against one are odds not even you could favor. I say we
take refuge somewhere, if only for a few days until they suspect we've headed
out to open sea and give up the chase. It's not worth the risk of battle,
especially not now."

She craned her neck to hear Jared's reply, but he and
Walker had moved away, their voices in low conference. A shiver of fear coursed
through her, not because those ships still lurked somewhere behind them in the
descending gloom of night, but because the reward posted for Jared's capture
had jumped to the forefront of her mind.

Might it be just as Walker had said? The
Vengeance
had been expected,
anticipated? That would mean ships of the British fleet were actively looking
for them, probably more determined than ever, given the sum of ten thousand
pounds offered, to bring the Phoenix's terrifying reign over these waters to an
end. Oh, Lord, what were they going to do?

The future suddenly bleaker than she wished to imagine,
Lindsay nonetheless still told herself to be calm. If Jared had sailed as a
privateer for three years, he had seen tight spots before. He would know what
to do, surely. Yet what about the last thing Walker had said, something about
their not risking battle, especially now? Had he meant because she was aboard?

Her heart thudding faster, Lindsay recalled what Jared
had told her about not bringing prisoners aboard—because he'd been thinking of
her welfare. His words had warmed her more than she could say, yet right now
she didn't want him to think about her, but about what was best for himself and
his crew!

Lindsay jumped to her feet at the same moment she heard
a curious crackling in the distance, but she gave it no thought as she ran over
to where Jared still conversed with Walker.

"Oh, please, don't do anything because of me! If
you think you must do battle, I won't be afraid, I promise—"

"
Cap'n
, did you hear? I
believe they're firing muskets at us," Cowan, incredulous, interrupted
her. "In the dark, the crazy devils, as if they thought they might hit—"

"
Dammit
, Lindsay, get
down!"

She gasped, Jared lunging for her as another distant
volley popped like muted fireworks, a searing pain dropping her to her knees
before he had a chance to throw her to the deck. As he sank to his knees beside
her, she laughed in disbelief, her right sleeve soaked in blood. Her blood.

"Jared . . .
ar
-aren't
they too far away?"

"Oh, God, Lindsay.

She felt herself being scooped up in his arms, the pain
so intense a wave of blackness threatened to overwhelm her.

"Walker, get us the hell out of here! Anywhere!"

Hearing the raw hoarseness in Jared's voice, Lindsay
tried to lift her head to reassure him, but she couldn't, her body gone
strangely limp. With the side of her face pressed to his chest, she could hear
his heartbeat like a rampant thundering in her ear; she could hear his breath
coming fast and furious and sensed vaguely that they were no longer above deck.

She heard other voices, too—
Cooky's
?—and
something about hot water and bandages and laudanum. Then she was gently laid
upon her back, Jared hovering over her.

"I have to cut away the sleeve, Lindsay. I don't
want to hurt you, but it might . . ."

She saw the flash of a knife, her sharp intake of
breath making him grimace as the bloody fabric was peeled away from her flesh.
But at once his expression eased, his eyes moving to hers, a wetness in them
that for a moment made her almost forget her pain.

"You're a lucky wench . . . only grazed. We'll
probably find the bullet stuck in the mainmast."

She smiled weakly, feeling chagrined as she realized
that she'd most likely reacted more to the sight of her own blood than to the
fact that she was wounded, although her right arm felt afire.

"I-I'm sorry, Jared. I guess I'm not as
stouthearted as I imagined."

His answering smile fading as quickly as it had come,
he turned from the bed when a tentative knock came at the door. She seemed as
unable to lift her head as before, but when Cowan stepped into the cabin,
twisting his stubby hands nervously, she managed to throw him a small smile,
too.

"Miss Somerset's . . . she'll be all right, then,
Cap'n
? The men were wondering—"

"She'll mend, Cowan; give her a day or two. A
flesh wound, nothing more."

"Oh, aye, that's good to hear. And there's been no
more firing from the bastards,
Cap'n
. I think we've
lost them."

"If we're lucky."

Jared's voice had suddenly grown harsh. Lindsay saw
that his expression, too, had hardened as he wadded her severed sleeve and
pressed it to the wound to stanch the bleeding. The difference in him was like
day to night, and she wondered if perhaps she'd only imagined that she had seen
emotion fogging his eyes moments before.

"
Cap'n
, here's the hot
water and bandages, and I've tea brewing for the laudanum."

Cowan stepped aside so
Cooky
could enter, but before the Irishman hustled out of the cabin, he threw a last
glance at the bed.

"
Cowan,
tell Walker I'll
relieve him shortly."

"Aye,
Cap'n
."

Thinking that Jared would probably never allow her
above deck again, Lindsay closed her eyes while he dipped a cloth into the
basin
Cooky
set at his feet and then exchanged it for
the bloodied sleeve. She sucked in her breath, but the wet cloth did feel
soothing no matter its warmth, which was far less than her injured flesh seemed
to be burning.

"The bleeding's stopped. Good."

She sensed he had spoken more to himself than to her,
but she gave him a grateful smile.

He didn't return it. He didn't speak again until her
wound had been powdered with
basilicum
and her arm
thoroughly bandaged, though his hands had been gentle. That gave her some hope
that he might not be too angry with her. But when
Cooky
returned with a steaming mug of tea, Jared's tone was harsh as he bade her to
drink it down, once he'd helped her to sit up and propped a pillow behind her.

"But it's too hot . . . Jared?"

He'd gotten up from the bed so suddenly that she was
jarred by the jostling; he strode to his desk and returned a moment later with
a bottle he'd taken from a bottom drawer.

"Brandy and laudanum. You'll sleep like a babe."

As he poured a generous dose of the spirits into her
mug, she felt a tension mounting in him that she couldn't place. And when he
lifted the bottle and took a draught himself, a long, long draught, his
expression all the harder when he'd finished, she didn't hesitate to drink,
downing the lukewarm stuff.

"A pity you didn't obey me a while ago as you did
just now. Keep your head down? Stay by the railing? But at least you'll have a
scar to help you remember your little misadventure."

His words cutting her, Lindsay doubted there was
anything she could say at that moment that might soothe him, so she remained
still. Still, except for her pounding heart. There was more than a trace of the
same torment on his face that she'd seen earlier as he abruptly left her
bedside. And he took the bottle with him, tossing down another draught as he
headed out the door and down the dark passageway. Within an instant he was
gone.

"I'll clean up the mess, miss."

Scarcely aware that
Cooky
still stood by the bed, she nodded, laying her head back against the pillow as
tears sprang to her eyes. Oh, Lord, why couldn't she have listened to him? But
she quickly wiped the tears away with her good hand, though her arm felt like a
leaden weight when she dropped it to her side.

Already the laudanum was taking swift effect, Lindsay
fast asleep by the time
Cooky
tucked a blanket under
her chin and then quietly closed the cabin door, shaking his head.

***

"We're heading west?"

These were the first words Jared had uttered since he
returned to the quarterdeck long moments ago. He didn't look around as Walker
came up beside him, nor did he blink at the cold drizzle lashing his face.

"Yes. According to the map, there are plenty of
islands along the coast. We'll head for one near shallow water. Even if they
spot us, they won't get close."

Jared didn't reply, not liking what he was thinking.
Not liking that if those ships were prowling Irish waters, there were bound to
be more. That bloody reward. He had scoffed upon hearing of it, but he sensed
now, deep in his gut, that ten thousand pounds was no doubt spurring more than
a few Channel fleet admirals and captains into straying far afield to search
for him in earnest. But why now, when he had Lindsay Somerset aboard?

His gut clenching, he wished he hadn't emptied that
bottle of brandy so quickly, but there were always a dozen kegs left of Scotch
whiskey.

That boastful merchant's ship the fourth vessel he had
sunk during their cruise, he could have brought a hundred kegs aboard before
they'd set her ablaze, but he had opted for only a few. Yet better his crew
than Lord Wellington and his officers in Portugal to consume what little they'd
looted, though he'd scarcely given his men opportunity to enjoy a drink.

They had been too busy hunting, he'd been attempting to
keep his mind off Lindsay—and look what those twelve interminable days, endless
thoughts and futile dreams had brought him. She could have been killed—
The
devil take it, enough!

"Cowan said it was only a flesh wound."

Taking a ragged breath, Jared nodded, not liking at all
how he felt at that moment. Not liking that he hadn't thrown her to the deck in
time, not liking that he hadn't kept her from harm's way and protected her.

Not liking that he was starting to want something that
he could never have . . . and want it badly.

Jared turned with a fierce oath from the railing,
fighting the overwhelming urge to return
belowdecks
and see how Lindsay was faring. And it came to him again—even more forcefully
than when he'd tended to her wound—that there was really only one way he could
protect her. Damn him for a selfish fool, he should have done it almost two
weeks ago, before they'd left the Channel.