My Runaway Heart (38 page)

"Undress, sir. I need your shirt."

Horatio's eyes widened in outrage, his aristocratic
nostrils flaring, but he stripped hastily to the waist, not daring to utter a
word. Within a moment Jared had a fine cambric shirt to cover his ravaged back
and shoulders, while the captain shivered in front of them, his pasty-white
physique covered in gooseflesh.

"Get into the cell."

As Horatio obeyed the terse command, Lindsay grabbed
Jared's arm. "But we might need him—"

"The warden will kindly see us from this place."

His voice was so cold she felt a chill, but it was
nothing compared with Warden Harford's raw panic. The man dropped to his pudgy
knees and actually began to sob.

"Oh, please, sir, I've a wife and six children!"

"Then better you do exactly as I say and you might
live to see them again."

The warden's reddened eyes widening in horror, he was
standing the next moment, hauled roughly to his feet by two of Jared's men
while Walker slammed shut the cell door and locked it.

"On behalf of His Majesty King George, I vow the
English government won't rest until the lot of you are captured and hanged!"
cried Captain Billingsley as they set off.

But they paid him no mind. Lindsay did her best to keep
pace with Jared's furious strides, his hand firmly upon her arm. His jaw was so
tight, she might have thought he would curse and denounce the man's threat,
given what he felt about England. But he said nothing until they reached the
main door, where he grabbed the winded warden by the throat.

"I have a wife, too, man, and I will see her
safely from this damned prison. Do you understand me?"

Warden Harford's eyes darted from Lindsay's flushed
face back to Jared; he bobbed his head. "Yes, yes, you'll need horses."

"Exactly. Move!"

With the pistol held to his head as they stepped from
the building, the warden called out hoarsely for his guards to throw down their
weapons—a very good thing. Lindsay gasped at the assembled force that had been
waiting for them to emerge, at least fifty muskets aimed at the door. Fifty
muskets that were quickly tossed to the ground, the guards ordered harshly by
Jared to lie
facedown
in the dirt and not move, not
attempt to follow them, or Warden Harford would die.

The next moments passed like a bewildering dream to
Lindsay; she didn't allow herself to believe that they were safe even when they
were riding at a full gallop from
Dartmoor
Prison,
Corisande
,
Oliver
and his men
joining them at the bottom of the hill.

Glad that she'd insisted that Warden Harford be
blindfolded to protect the identities of her friends, Lindsay still wouldn't
allow herself a shred of relief when an hour later they finally reached the
secluded inlet where the
Fair Betty
was anchored, a single lantern guiding them to the sailors waiting with
longboats to take them back to the ship. Their portly captive had been left
trussed and gagged a few miles back in an abandoned cottage, but she knew,
despite Jared's threat, it would be only a matter of time before word of the
escape was carried to Plymouth and the authorities alerted, perhaps a frantic
messenger riding there even now

"Oh, Lord, Lindsay, I think it's Donovan!"

Corisande's
voice was tinged
with apprehension. Lindsay was so surprised she didn't think to dismount beside
her friend, and neither did Jared nor any of the others, as a tall silhouette
emerged from the darkness leading a heaving horse lathered in sweat. Donovan's
face was both grim and weary in the lantern's dim light, his voice as somber,
his
gaze upon
Corisande
.

"I met Sir Randolph's carriage outside
Porthleven
, wife. He told me where you were bound, what you
planned—"

"Donovan, I'm sorry, I would have told you, but I
feared you wouldn't approve. I had to do something to help Lindsay—I had to!"

Lindsay shifted nervously upon her mare as a tense
silence fell, her gaze following Donovan's to Jared, both men staring at each
other for the longest moment while it seemed no one dared breathe. Finally it
was Donovan who looked away, his eyes once more upon his wife.

"I came here only to be by your side,
Corie
. If the
Fair
Betty
is to pass safely through Plymouth harbor, we must leave now, before
it grows light."

Grateful tears jumping to Lindsay's eyes, she knew then
that Donovan planned to make no attempt to stop them, but a shadow passed over
her heart when she glanced at Jared. Though everyone else had begun to
dismount, he made no motion to quit his bay stallion, his jaw taut as he met
her eyes.

"Go with them, Lindsay. There's something I must
do—"

"No!" Her hoarse cry echoing around them, she
slipped off her mount and ran to him, knowing what he was thinking, knowing
what he intended to do. "Sylvia's mad, Jared—dear God, isn't that
vengeance enough?"

Her outburst could have fallen upon deaf ears, he
looked so grimly resolute, and she knew before he even said the words what was
poisoning his heart.

"It's Ryland, Lindsay. I must know where I can
find him. I must know!"

"Then you will take me with you," she said
fervently even as
Corisande
ran to her side.

"Lindsay, please, we can wait for Jared just south
of the city. He'll have no trouble finding the
Fair Betty
there—"

"Jared, no, you can't leave me behind, not again,
not now," Lindsay cried out despite
Corisande's
plea, her voice anguished, desperate. "If you love me, you'll take me with
you!"

He stared into her eyes so intensely that she felt her
knees grow weak. For a moment she stood, dreading his decision. Then he cursed
and reached down, sweeping her into the saddle in front of him, his arms locked
with fierce possessiveness around her.

"South of the city, Captain
Trelawny
?"
he shouted to Oliver, sharply veering his mount in the direction of Plymouth.

"
Ais
, my lord, an' well
away from those damned warships!"
came
the hearty
response in a thick Cornish accent. "God grant '
ee
be there before dawn, or I fear, for the sake of all aboard, we'll have to
leave you!"

***

Lindsay could still hear Oliver's warning ringing in
her ears. But there was no time to think as Jared headed their exhausted horse
into a dark alley.

"We'll make it back in time," she repeated to
herself in a fervent whispered prayer, the joy she felt in Jared's arms more
profound than anything she had ever known. Yet she couldn't deny his embrace
had grown
more tense
with each passing moment as they
approached Plymouth at a hard gallop. Now, as he gave another low curse, a mail
coach rumbling down the street a sign that the city was already rousing itself,
she knew he regretted bringing her with him.

Undaunted, she slid from the saddle before he could
dismount, and spoke up before he could utter a word of what she sensed he
wanted to say. "No, Jared, I'm not staying here. We'll face Sylvia
together—"

"Woman . . ."

He had dropped down beside her, but Lindsay sidestepped
him, her heart pounding as she threw her hood over her hair and hurried toward
the street. If he saw her urgency, that there was no time

His hand suddenly catching her arm made her gasp. Jared
drew her against him just before she could step out of the alley.

"Damnation, Lindsay, then stay close to me!"
She nodded, a lump forming in her throat at how hard his expression had become
as shown in the lamplight. She knew he was thinking of Sylvia and Ryland
Potter.

They moved together out into the deserted street, the
palpable tension in his body growing. He grasped her fingers so tightly she
winced, but she said nothing, even when they drew closer to the town square and
her hand had gone numb. It seemed that they both spied the sign for the Three
Maidens Inn at the same time, Jared reaching for his pistol. Yet he appeared to
come to some other decision, and handed the weapon to her.

"Hide the pistol under your cloak, but be ready if
I've need of it."

She nodded, apprehension filling her that light shone
from the inn's street-level windows. Her anxiety only grew when they entered
the establishment, but to her relief, the main room was empty except for a
sleepy-eyed serving girl, wiping down tables,
who
looked up and shrugged at them apologetically.

"Sorry, we've no rooms. Inn's full."

"Not a room. We've come to see my aunt, Mrs.
Potter—Sylvia Potter." Lindsay had spoken up before Jared could say a
word. "We only just heard she was here and came to Plymouth straightaway."

"Aye, poor woman, she's upstairs. I'll show you
the way, but you'll have to speak with the guard—"

"No, no, we'll manage. You just go on with your
work."

Holding her breath as the girl gave another shrug and
went back to her cleaning, Lindsay glanced at Jared, but he was already moving
to the stairs. As she caught up with him, he gestured for the pistol, which
only made her heartbeat race. Oh, Lord . . .

With the wooden stairs squeaking, it was impossible to
be quiet, but that sound seemed nothing compared with the rumbling snores
emanating from the guard slumped asleep in a chair at the far end of the dimly
lit hall.

"Stay here, Lindsay."

She froze at Jared's terse whisper, the lump in her
throat nearly choking her when he moved stealthily toward the guard; she closed
her eyes tight as he lifted the butt of the pistol, the man's snores suddenly
silenced. Oh, Lord . . .

Jared was already opening the door to the room nearest
the unconscious guard by the time Lindsay grabbed the oil lamp from the hall
table and reached him, his broad shoulders taut with tension,
his
expression less hard now than tortured. Imagining his
thoughts, she wanted so badly to say something to him, to let him know that she
understood, but he moved so quickly to the bed that she could but turn to close
the door behind them. Then a startled gasp filled the room.

Lindsay spun around, her eyes widening in horror to see
Jared's hand clamped over Sylvia Potter's mouth, the pistol pressed to the
woman's temple.

Chapter 35

Fearing he might slay Sylvia right there in her bed,
Lindsay set down the lamp and ran to him. The older woman's wild eyes upon her
gave her chills.

"Jared, no . . ."

"Damn her, Lindsay. Damn her."

His voice so choked that Lindsay felt tears burn her
eyes,
she gently covered his hand gripping the pistol with
her own and shook her head.

"Jared, this isn't the answer—it can't be. Ask her
about Ryland and then we'll leave. We'll leave England and never come back,
both of us, together . . . Please, Jared."

He didn't answer for so long she wondered if he had
heard her, his face so full of hatred that it frightened her. Then, slowly, he
lowered his hand from Sylvia's mouth, although he didn't remove the pistol.

"Where's Ryland, woman? Damn you, where is he?"

"Gone! Gone away!" A shriek of such maniacal
laughter burst from Sylvia that Lindsay could only stare in shock as a stream
of frothy spittle foamed at the corner of the woman's mouth.

"Dead, dead and gone away—oh, God, my Ryland! My
son, my beloved Ryland!"

Now Jared lowered the pistol, looking as stunned as
Lindsay felt, while Sylvia clutched her knees and began to rock herself, tears
tumbling down her lined cheeks. At first she seemed only to mumble incoherently
to herself; then she suddenly fixed a look of pure hatred upon Jared.

"You killed my son! Chased us away to Lisbon—not
our home, not
Dovercourt
Manor. We were going to come
back, find you, but cholera came and took him away—he's gone! My Ryland is
gone! He was to be the master of
Dovercourt
, not you,
not Alistair!" Another burst of laughter bubbled up from the woman's
throat as she grinned almost gleefully from ear to ear. "We killed your
uncle, you know, Ryland and me, like your parents—oh, my, and stupid Elise. How
she wept for you, stupid girl! Ryland wanted another wife, a new wife, so he
beat her and beat her—"

"Damn you, woman, enough!"

Sylvia had started at Jared's tortured cry,
then
began to rock herself again and pluck mindlessly at her
dark, tangled hair.

Jared turned from the bed. "God help me, no more .
. . no more."

His voice had become a hoarse whisper, and Lindsay felt
a shiver at how drained he appeared, older, his face ashen. Her heart aching
for him, she went to his side, settling her hand gently in the crook of his
arm.

"Jared, we should go. It's nearing dawn—look."

He followed her gaze to the window, pale light creeping
beneath the shade; relief filled her that he seemed to bolster himself before
her eyes. He glanced back at Sylvia, sighing raggedly as he shook his head.

"Maybe there's some justice after all."

Lindsay nodded, unable to speak as Jared met her eyes
and then drew her into his arms, hugging her as if he would never let her go.
But he did release her a breathless moment later, growing tense again when they
moved to the door.

She sensed at once what lay upon his mind, that someone
might have overheard their exchange with Sylvia, but the inn was quiet, the
guard still slumped in his chair. Lindsay swallowed hard, Jared squeezing her
hand as they moved quickly down the hall.

"Don't worry about him. He'll have a headache and
a good-size lump to show for ignoring his duty, but he'll survive—"