Pirate's Bride (Liberty's Ladies) (61 page)

When moments passed, Ian grew edgy, instinct warning him that something wasn’t right. Champe should have arrived before then, and having seen no sign of Arnold he began to wonder if Arnold was even at home. Should he abort the mission? He wanted to leave but he’d given his word to Washington and decided to wait fifteen minutes longer.

The time passed slowly, and Ian grew more agitated, knowing that no kidnapping would occur tonight. The realization of this simultaneously annoyed and elated him. He’d wasted a great deal of time, but now he could concentrate on freeing Bethlyn,

Leaving the shadows of the bushes and trees, he quietly trod away from the house, but he hadn’t gone far when his sense of danger alerted him to the fact that he was being watched. He’d barely halted in his tracks before he felt hot breath fanning the back of his neck.

He spun around, going for his pistol, but before he could even raise a hand to defend himself, the shadowy figure knocked something rock-hard against his temple with such unbridled force that Ian staggered, willing himself not to fall.

But the stunning dizziness won, and he barely realized that he’d dropped to his knees. Blood streamed freely down the side of his head and into his eye, but he wouldn’t relinquish his hold on the pistol despite the incapacitating weakness which overpowered him.

Somehow he managed to lift his gaze to the dark-shrouded man before him who wore a black tricorn hat. “Who?” he rasped, losing strength as he tried vainly to rise to his feet.

“No one of importance,” the man uttered in a somewhat sad tone of voice before hitting him with the hard, blunt object again.

Falling forward onto the grass, Ian lay totally defeated and unprepared for the black fog of unconsciousness.

~ ~ ~

An hour before dawn Bethlyn was awakened by the rattle of a key in the lock of her cell. A tall man wearing black gestured to her to be quiet, and he waved her forward. Remembering what Ian had said about an escape, she stiffly stood up from the corner where she huddled and felt an immense delight that soon she’d be with Ian. Following behind the broad-shouldered man in the tricorn hat who stalked down the dimly lit and abandoned corridors, she wondered why Ian had sent this man.

As they made their way to a back door, Bethlyn noticed the place was empty of guards. During her time in the prison she’d heard a great deal of talking and activity when the soldiers changed shifts, and she knew it was very near that hour. Where was everyone? Not that she cared, but an uneasy feeling pricked at her.

“Who are you? Are you taking me to my husband?” she whispered to the man.

He said nothing as he opened the door and took her by the elbow to steer her into an alleyway which led onto the dark and deserted street. She almost balked, knowing that it was stupid to do so when the man was helping her to escape, but something wasn’t right about this. Where was Ian?

“Come,” he ordered, and dragged her along with him, not giving her the opportunity to say anything at all.

Reaching the street, a black carriage suddenly appeared, and by the gold markings on the side she recognized it as the one in which Briston Shipping conveyed important clients about the town. Ian had come for her!

As soon as the door was thrown open, Bethlyn lunged at the carriage only to be pulled unceremoniously onto the seat by the man inside when the carriage started off at a thunderous pace. Her delighted smile faded when it settled on Thomas Eversley, sitting smugly beside her.

“How kind of you to join me, my dear.”

“Thom — Thomas, what are you doing here? Where is Ian?”

The downward turn of his mouth belied the bold pleasure in his eyes. “Ah, I hate to be the one to have to tell you this, but your husband is quite dead. He was killed tonight in an escapade of derring-do. But I shall comfort you during your time of grief. Indeed, I will.” Patting her hand and holding it pinned beneath his own, Bethlyn could barely move.

The absolute shock was too great to be believed. Ian wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be dead! “You’re — lying,” she heard herself say.

“My dear, he is gone. The man who led you out of the. prison is a British spy. He caught your husband, a man who pretended to be a loyal servant of the king, by the way, committing a treasonous act. He had but one alternative and killed him. Please don’t screw up your face like that and start wailing. I can assure you that the end Briston met by that man’s hands was much more merciful than the one the authorities had in mind for the notorious Captain Hawk.”

The fact that Thomas knew about Ian’s other identity didn’t register in her mind. All she could see was her beloved Ian lying dead somewhere. The tears which welled in her eyes to stream down her cheeks blinded her to everything else, even the lecherous grin of Thomas Eversley,

An unbearable pain had centered in her heart, robbing her of the desire to fight Eversley and throw herself from the carriage to meet Ian in death. She was unaware when the carriage finally stopped on the docks and didn’t realize that Eversley led her like a whipped and docile puppy onto a waiting ship where she was soon placed in a luxuriously furnished cabin.

She was vaguely cognizant that he stood before her until he said, “I trust you shall be fine for the next hour or so. I have business to attend to, but I shall be back soon and we can leave for England — and Woodsley. Wouldn’t you like that?”

Saying nothing, because she was overcome by her own torment and grief, he bent down and kissed her firmly and possessively on the mouth. “I won’t have sulking, Bethlyn, or wailing over Briston’s demise,” he commanded none too gently. “Understand when I tell you that I will brook no disobedience from you or teary eyes during this trip, which means a great deal to me. Listen to me!”

His piercing cry brought her head up sharply, and his words finally began to sink into her brain.

“I am leaving now, but when I return you will meet me with a loving smile on your beautiful face. Pretend I’m Briston for all I care, but I expect you to be amenable and sweet — like a good wife is to her husband.”

“Wi-wife?”

Thomas flashed her a cruel grin. “Yes, my stammering darling, that’s what I said. The captain of the ship will marry us shortly after we set sail, and I expect that delectable body of yours to satisfy me in every way. Do you hear me?”

Yes, she heard him. She watched as he left the cabin, heard the bolt which locked her in, but she didn’t care. She cared about nothing, not even that he planned to marry her and most probably intended to assert his husbandly rights. Her mind felt unable to function or to even project herself into a future which no longer held any joy or mattered at all. Nothing was left to her except a gnawing pain and a horrendous ache which tore at her soul. Such a pain was far more excruciating than anything Thomas Eversley could ever do to her.

Ian was dead, and once the ache left her, she knew she would be, too.

~ ~ ~

Thomas spoke to Ian, who rested upon a hard-planked floor and was chained by the hands and feet to the wall of the British prison ship. Glad to see he was conscious now but no doubt in great physical pain, Thomas pricked his chest with the point of his walking stick and was more than eager to see the arrogant Briston suffer torment which went beyond the physical. He didn’t fail to miss the burning hatred in the green eyes of his enemy. In fact, he relished that hatred and knew that one day Briston would be consumed by it in his own private hell.

“I know that Bethlyn shall make an admirable wife and that she’ll enjoy mounting me as much as she did you,” Thomas said. “However, I do intend to teach her things probably lacking in your tutorship of her. I shall enjoy her often and in many different ways.”

Ian kicked out at him, but the leg irons prevented him from reaching Eversley. “Touch her, and I’ll kill you!”

“Man, she’ll be my wife. You are as good as dead to her now. Once you’re in Mill Prison, there you’ll rot for the rest of your life. I have no fear of your pitiful threats. No one ever escapes from there, but I wish your mind to be active when your body craves sweet death. For the rest of your miserable existence you’ll suffer knowing that Bethlyn is mine, mine to do with as I please. Think about the two of us together, writhing in passion on the state bed at Woodsley. Think on it,” Thomas bantered. “Grow impotent with rage against me and your imprisonment. I gladly thrust you into a living hell.”

“I’ll find you, Eversley, and I’ll kill you. You won’t be safe from me. Never safe!”

Thomas turned away from the sight of Ian straining at the chains, pretending not to hear his threat of vengeance. Even after he’d gone on deck of the frigate to bid the captain farewell and had settled in his carriage for the short ride to his waiting ship and was warmed by the morning sun which streamed into the window, a cold feeling of dread had taken root within him.

“Briston can’t possibly harm me,” he remarked, and sniffed his nose in disdain. “The man is mad, mad indeed to think he’ll ever have the chance.” But his dread persisted until he chastised himself for being foolish and simply wouldn’t dwell on Briston any longer. He had the man’s wife to think about, and the cold feeling vanished to be replaced by the heat of lust.

30

Once the ship was well away from New York, Bethlyn stood beside Thomas and was married by Captain Sterling in her cabin. The only reason she didn’t slide to the floor during the ceremony was because Thomas’s arm was firmly wrapped around her waist, seemingly defying her to move. Before the captain and Dr. Hanover, the ship’s physician, had arrived, she’d told Thomas she felt ill. However, he’d ordered her to be quiet and do as she was bid, that she wasn’t about to feign illness and interfere with his marriage plans.

She’d rebelliously lifted her face to him, but the menacing way Thomas had raised a hand to her quelled her momentary surge of defiance. He reminded her of her father at that instant, and the little girl inside her surfaced enough that she allowed Thomas to docilely introduce her to Captain Sterling.

The pain of Ian’s death and all she had endured the last week, plus the fact that she felt close to retching, caused her to barely comprehend the words which united her to Thomas Eversley. When the ceremony ended and Thomas turned to place his lips upon hers, she did the unthinkable again. For the second time in her life on the day she was married, she vomited.

She heard Thomas’s screech, vaguely aware that he’d been her target when she slipped to the floor. Dr. Hanover, the only one who seemed to have expected such an occurrence, positioned a chamber pot beneath her face and waited with her even when Captain Sterling and Thomas had departed the cabin.

When she’d finally heaved her last and her stomach began to settle into place, she found that Hanover’s eyes were filled with pity and felt his comforting hand on her back. “Here now, Mrs. Eversley, let me help you to the bunk.” The middle-aged and kindly man lifted her from her knees as if she weighed nothing, and soon she was lying down while he placed a cool washcloth on her forehead. “Are you ill like this often?” he asked.

She almost told him that she’d been ungodly sick on the morning she married Ian, but resisted because the memory was too bittersweet to even speak about at that moment. Instead she said, “I haven’t eaten very much the last week. But I suppose my stomach has been queasy even before then.”

“I see,” Hanover said. “When was your last flux?”

 “My last — what does that have to do with this?” She moved the washcloth from her forehead.

He smiled and patted her hand. “Mrs. Eversley, hadn’t you considered you might be with child?”

“Child?” she repeated, and knew the man must believe her to be a simpleton. Somehow the retching had cleared her fog-shrouded brain, and she began to mentally calculate. Her last flux had been almost four months ago, but since she’d always missed some months she didn’t question the long absence. Bethlyn had come to doubt she’d ever conceive so she no longer worried over not getting her flux. But she’d never gone this long before now, and her heart began to beat out a steady tempo along with her brain. Baby. Baby. Baby.

“I’m having a baby,” she said in disbelief.

“Probably. Would you care to be examined? I promise to be most gentle with you,” Hanover assured her. “The voyage to England may be long and rough going for a lady of your delicate upbringing. But if I know for certain you’re with child, I can keep a close watch on you and the little one.”