Pirate of My Heart: A Novel (25 page)

Looking up over her head, she could just make out the outline of the door. It was a good fifteen feet above her head. She noticed that the wooden steps had been removed and wondered how she had gotten down to the floor. Andrew had probably just dropped her into the hole. The walls were bumpy dirt, but not anything she could climb. If only she had some kind of tool, she could dig out steps in the wall, but there was nothing. She could only hope that if she waited, there would be a moment when she could escape. She had to believe that. She just needed a chance.

Chapter Twenty-Six

D
orian lifted his spyglass to one eye and peered toward the eastern horizon. Never had a journey seemed to drag by as this one had. Never had time seemed to stand so still. Two, maybe three more days, and they would reach the London harbor. Glancing up at the dark clouds hovering near, he clamped his teeth together, suppressing a snarl. The weather had been clear up to now; cold, but clear. If this storm held off it would mean the difference between three days or as much as five. He didn’t want to wait that long. He didn’t want to wait another five minutes to get his wife back. But, of course, he had no choice. With balled fists, he turned away from the endless waves and scanned the deck for John. It had been a good thing John was along. His friend had kept him from killing members of his crew with his demand for speed more than once on this voyage; he’d kept him sane.

Dorian found John on the foredeck and walked over.

“You think we’ll outpace the storm?” John asked the same question on his mind.

“It’ll be close. I want to check those gaffs and that mainsail that was giving us trouble one more time, then I’ll meet you in my cabin for some dinner.”

“You know we’ve checked everything three times already today.” John raised a brow at him, a look of concern in his brown eyes.

Dorian ran his hand through his hair, turned his head away, and sighed. “I know. It’s just that I need something to do. This waiting is killing me.”

John gave him a pat on the shoulder. “You are driving yourself crazy with this.”

Dorian took a deep breath and let it slowly out. “I’m going to need a miracle to win her back.”

“Good thing we know the Author of those.”

The squeaking of hinges brought Kendra out of her sleepy haze where she had been curled up on the table, well away from the dirt floor where she imagined spiders and rats might live. Bolting upright, she saw daylight above her and a cloth bundle being lowered by a rope.

“Andrew?” she shouted. “Please, Andrew, let me out of here. I won’t tell anyone what you have done. I’ll go back to America and disappear.”

A snorting laugh was her response. “You’ll not get anything from him, Lady Kendra.” It was the butler. “I’m surprised he is not letting you starve to death.”

Kendra scrambled off the table and ran to the swinging bundle. She hurried to untie it and grasped it to her while the rope was pulled back up and the door slammed shut.

Taking the food to the table, Kendra unwrapped it to find half a loaf of bread, a small piece of cheese, some salt pork, and a canteen of water. Opening the canteen first, she took a long swallow. She wanted to gobble down the food as fast as possible, but she made herself eat slowly. Still hungry when the last crumb was gone, Kendra went over to the dirty jars. Taking the hem of her dress, she attempted to clean them enough to see what was inside. It looked to be fruit preserves, maybe sweet potatoes in another. After several attempts to pry open one of the jars, Kendra fell back against the table in frustration. The lid wouldn’t budge. As she looked at the jar, an idea came to her. She could break it open and use the broken glass to dig grooves into the wall. If she dug them out in such a way that there were handholds, she might be able to climb up to the door. Taking up the largest jar, Kendra walked to the table. The corner was sharp. Raising the jar above her head, Kendra crashed it down on the corner of the table. The table wobbled and moved along the wall. She dropped the broken jar as it fell to the floor. Bending down, she picked up the largest piece of glass and put it on the table. It was sharp and would cut her hand if she used it like a knife. What she needed was some sort of handle. Lifting the hem of her dress, she reached for her petticoat and ripped off the flounced edge. There. That would do. Wrapping it around the end of the glass, she set to work.

Sitting on the floor, she began to make her first groove at knee level. The walls were hard-packed earth, making the process slower than she’d hoped. Within an hour, droplets of sweat dripped from her brow, but she kept going. Now and then she would take a short break and take a small drink of precious water, but only when she had to. Her hands ached and cramped, causing her to stop to massage or stretch them, and then she would start again. After four steps were made, Kendra crawled back up onto the table. The room flooded with darkness as she extinguished the lantern, but she was too tired to feel afraid. Closing her eyes, she was instantly asleep.

She woke with a start, terror gripping her. Her mind began to clear of the nightmare she had dreamed. Andrew . . . coming at her with his hands outstretched . . . as if to strangle her. He laughed in an evil roar while she cried out for her baby’s life.

It was just a dream.

Just a dream.

Rubbing her hands up and down her arms, she tried to shake it off. Tears threatened to overwhelm her but she shook her head against them. There was no time to cry. She had to escape. She looked down at her hands, dirt-encrusted fingernails, swollen and aching. They looked like they had been beaten. Massaging them to work out the stiffness, Kendra picked up the glass and climbed up to the second groove, hanging onto the third groove with her free hand, she reached as high as she could and began to dig. Only three more grooves and she would be able to reach the door. The thought that the door might be locked kept trying to creep out of her subconscious and into conscious thought, but Kendra wouldn’t let herself dwell on it. There was no reason for them to lock it, as they would think she could never reach it.

A creaking warned her that the door was being opened, so she jumped down to sit on the ground, the broken glass hidden under her skirts. The butler peered down into the hole. “I see you made it through the night,” he yelled down, scowling. “I would have thought the rats had done you in by now.”

Kendra hadn’t seen any rats but she wasn’t about to tell him that. The old man would probably find some to join her. Peering through the bright light, Kendra saw a similar bundle being lowered. Her stomach growled in anticipation. “Please, can you tell me what day it is? How long have I been here?”

“Time won’t mean much to you before long. Lord Townsend is busy working out the details of your demise. But if you say pretty please, I might tell you.”

Anger welled up inside Kendra, but the desire to know the day was greater. “Please,” she muttered between gritted teeth.

The old man cackled with glee. “You’ve been in that hole for three days, and it’s Tuesday, about noon. I’m to bring you food once a day around noon.” With that, he slammed the door closed and darkness engulfed the room once again. Three days! She’d been here three days, and if what he said was true, it didn’t sound like Andrew would keep her here much longer. Grabbing up the bundle, Kendra ate the bread and the tiny piece of meat as fast as she could and took a small drink of water from the canteen. The last canteen had not lasted very long, and Kendra had to fight the urge to drink her fill of the new one. Wiping her dirty hands on her skirt, Kendra once again climbed up to the step she was working on and began again. If she worked hard, she might be able to escape by tomorrow night.

As soon as the
Angelina
docked, Dorian set his plans into action. He and John would go to the Arundel estate while the rest of the crew stocked up on supplies and waited for their return on board the ship. He sent John to buy the best horses he could find and get directions. If they rode fast and had decent horses, they might make it by tomorrow night.

Kendra looked up from the dirt floor at the eight grooves in the wall. She was ready to make her escape. She guessed that the butler had brought her food twelve hours ago. That would make it right around midnight, if her calculations were correct. She waited a little longer in case she was wrong. It must be dark when she made her escape and the later the hour the better. Her only chance was if no one was guarding the door, and if the door was not locked from the outside. She had gently pressed on it after she had carved out the last step and it seemed to give, but she remembered the squeaky hinges and didn’t want to press her luck in broad daylight. Any number of people could be milling about the area and hear her.

What she would do once she gained freedom, she wasn’t sure. She was hoping that she would be able to find one of the old servants she knew to help her. If not, she would just have to take a horse and get away as fast as possible. London. Back to London. It was the only place where she might find help in exposing all Andrew had done. What she really needed was proof. Documents that told of the schemes, the fake company, cargo records, letters, something. The obvious place to look would be Andrew’s desk in the library. The likelihood that Kendra could get into the house and down to his room unnoticed was slim, but if she couldn’t find anyone to help her, she would have to take that chance.

Looking down at her filthy hands, Kendra cringed. She had worked all day to finish the steps, and there was barely any feeling left in them. Using some of the precious water, she dampened a piece of cloth from her ripped petticoat and attempted to clean them as best she could. They were getting so dirty that she had hardly been able to bend her fingers enough to hold the glass, but her hands weren’t the only casualties. Her whole body felt like it had been beaten, and she was covered with dirt from head to toe. She knew that even if she did see a servant, he or she would be hard pressed to even recognize her. With that thought, Kendra took a clean corner of the cloth and wet it. Using the cloth to wipe her face, she breathed a sigh of relief. She would never waste water again, should she get out of this mess. Taking the pins out of her hair, Kendra shook the mass out and ran her fingers through it to bring it to some sort of order. The effort was almost too much for her tired arms. Taking a fortifying breath, Kendra braided it into one fat braid down her back. She then paced in the small cell, trying to stay awake. It was tempting to sleep for a few hours, but she didn’t dare, as tired as she was she wouldn’t wake up until morning. The thought of spending one more night here was more that she could bear.

After what Kendra hoped was an hour, she prepared to make her move. Taking a clean piece of cloth, she wrapped it around the jagged glass. The glass had served her well as a shovel and now it would act as a weapon too. Next, she tucked her skirts up into the neckline of her dress to free her feet to climb and snuffed out the light. She wished she could have kept the light on, but she didn’t want to risk someone seeing it when she opened the door.

Taking a determined breath, Kendra began to climb the grooves in the wall. Reaching the sixth step with her feet, she clung to the eighth step with one hand while stretching her other arm upward until she felt the door. She pushed on it while saying a silent prayer. Joy burst through her. It wasn’t locked. They never dreamed she’d find a way out. Her relief was so great she almost lost her footing and fell to the floor. Catching herself, she pushed up on the door, letting in a cool shaft of moonlight. She climbed higher and flung the door open, it landing on the ground with a soft thud. Everything in her stilled as she waited for the hue and cry, but nothing but moonlight and the chill of the night air greeted her. Scrambling up the last groove, she pulled herself up and out of the opening, landing on the ground beside the hole. Her gaze darted around the moonlit grounds, seeing the kitchen garden and back of the kitchen building. She stood and lowered the door back into place. No one seemed to be around. Crouching low to the ground, Kendra tiptoed to the kitchen and then stood on tiptoe to peer through a window. Empty, dark, and quiet. Perfect. She crept to the door and opened it. Going inside, she washed her hands in a basin of clean water, packed a bundle of food—eating while she packed—and filled her canteen from a covered bucket of fresh water, drinking her fill first. She decided she better not carry her supplies with her to Andrew’s library, so she hid them among some bushes just outside the door before making her way to the main quarters of the castle. Silently, she crept down the dark hall, feeling her way with one hand skimming the wall, toward Andrew’s library. The door was shut. She took a deep breath, reached out, and pressed on the latch. It creaked a little as she pushed the door open. She stood still, not daring to breath. Fright washed over her like a bucket of cold water splashed into her face.
Do it. You have to do it.
Stepping into the room, she closed the door behind her.