Till Dawn Tames the Night (18 page)

She spent the better part of an hour trying to devise an escape. She even went so far as to search the cabin for a weapon, something she could use to force him to turn the ship around. But her search had come to naught. The bookcase held nothing of any use, and the one intriguing cabinet she found was locked. Undaunted, she kept looking, for a key, for anything, but she couldn't even find a razor tucked in the trunk where he kept his smallclothes. With defeat temporarily staring her in the face, her liquor-fogged state finally got the better of her. Too tired to pace, too sleepy to think, she'd slumped on the edge of Vashon's mattress.

Her thoughts morosely turned to what he'd said about her parents. He was wrong, she'd told herself, snuggling deep into the feather mattress of his huge japanned bed. She fell asleep to the words ". . . thy sire was a knight, thy mother a lady, both lovely and bright," but her dreams soon turned to nightmares wherein the words were proved false.

Now groggy and with her head feeling as if the slightest noise might crack it wide open, she rose to her feet. The door to the cabin opened just as she was able to clutch her gown to her chest. She turned around only to find Benny sheepishly lighting the wall lanterns near the bookcase.

"Benny!" she called out to him, her voice still thick with sleep. "What—what hour is it?" "Four bells. Ten o'clock, miss."

She ran a shaky hand through the heavy tangle of her hair. "Do you know if I can return to my cabin?"

"Vashon told me to serve you in here, miss."

She shot the boy a reproving glance while
Koonga
chattered on his shoulder oblivious to her wrath. As if she'd whipped him, Benny limped to the threshold. Guiltily she looked away. "Is Vashon going to keep me captive in here forever, or do you know, perchance, if he's ever going to free me?"

"No, miss," he answered obliquely before bringing in a tray laden with food from the passage.

In a perfunctory manner, he set up her meal where the cold tea service had been, all the while trying to keep
Koonga
from the sugar bowl. It was then that she realized he'd been in the cabin before. While she had been asleep he had taken away the teapot. Gone, too, was Vashon's discarded torn shirt.

Warily, her gaze slid to the bed. The black satin-striped counterpane was mussed and tossed aside. When she had awakened she remembered pushing the luxurious covering off. What she couldn't recall was ever putting it over her. So who had done that? Benny? Or had the cabin been visited by another as she slept?

She closed her eyes and composed herself. She blushed every time she pictured Vashon standing over the bed as she slept. Scouring her memory to see if she could recall his returning to the cabin, she couldn't find anything. There was only a black, nightmarish void.

"Benny!" she called out hastily, halting the youth in the doorway.

"Yes, miss?"

"Benny, if I may not leave here, would you be
so
kind as to bring me my things from my room?"

"I'm not sure,
miss
. . ."

 
"Vashon did not disallow me my clothes, did he?" she asked incredulously.

The boy almost colored. "No, miss."

"Then would you bring me my things? I need to attend to my toilet."

Benny paused only a moment. "I'll bring you your things, miss," he said before limping to the door.

When Benny had gone, Aurora held out one last hope. There was nothing in the cabin she could use as a weapon, but perhaps among her belongings she might find something.

In less than a minute Benny returned. He put her willow basket on the bed and laid out her comb and hairpins on Vashon's massive mahogany bureau. When he had seen to all her belongings, he departed again, once more locking the door behind him.

Finally alone, Aurora rushed to her willow basket and dug through to the bottom. There was nothing there of even the slightest use except a precious pair of steel embroidery scissors Mrs. Bluefield had given her on her sixteenth birthday. She studied the small stork-shaped scissors, even testing their sharp points. But the picture of her holding Vashon hostage with a froufrou pair of embroidery scissors was just too absurd.

Defeated for the moment, she changed into one of her drab linen gowns and absentmindedly put the scissors in one of the skirt's serviceable pockets. She wasn't sure what to do now. It seemed all her options were gone.

Desperately trying to think and growing more agitated with her lack of ideas, she paced the carpet until she swore the dragons woven into it were looking threadbare. She glanced about the cabin for something to occupy her, and that was when she spied her comb and hairpins on Vashon's bureau, lying intimately next to his own comb and shaving strop. She was most certainly not going to be on this ship long enough to get used to sharing that villain's bureau! In a wave of panic she rushed up to the bureau and swept all her belongings off it. Combing out her hair, she quickly knotted it and used all her pins to pull it tightly to her nape. Then she hastily deposited her comb inside her willow basket.

More time passed, and she finally had to force herself to settle on the couch. But once there, she found herself growing sleepy again. She looked over at the dinner Benny had brought her, but she knew a full stomach would only further increase her drowsiness. Sitting on the couch, she stared at the cabin door until her eyes fairly glazed over.

At some point in the night she must have dozed. When she awoke, her head lolled against the thickly padded scroll arm of the couch, and her feet were tucked beneath her. Her eyes opened slowly, rebelliously. With a heavy-lidded gaze, she assessed her surroundings, made foreign by the distance of slumber. It wasn't until she turned her head that she saw him.

At first all she really saw were his trousers. They were black and finely cut, molding themselves perfectly to the slim hips and well-formed thighs of their wearer. He was standing so close that she had to look up even to see his torso. Finally when her head was tilted back as far as it could go, she met that ferocious green gaze and it nearly sapped her of all her strength. He really was a hard character, this pirate. She could see it in his eyes. Human frailty touched him not at all. She wondered what in this man's life could have ever turned him so completely cold and unyielding.

"Sleep well, Miss Dayne?" A shadow of a smile crossed his lips. Suddenly she knew he had been in the cabin when she'd slept before. But had he or Benny placed the counterpane over her?
Benny, most likely.
Somehow she just couldn't picture this fear-inspiring man performing such a tender task.

"Is it time for another interrogation?" she asked smartly, all the while trying not to squirm beneath his green stare. "If not, I insist on being allowed to remove to my own quarters."

"In good time."

He dismissed her and went to his bookcase. From the waist of his trousers he procured a key. He opened the cabinet that she had found locked and revealed a veritable arsenal. Hung on the door
were
six brutal machetes that each looked as if it could cut off a man's leg as easily as it could slice through cane. Three pairs of silver-handled dueling pistols were ensconced on the top shelf, and at least seven finely tempered sabers were propped on the shelf below them. There were kegs of powder and boxes of lead balls. In short, there seemed to be enough ammunition and weapons for a man to wage his own private war. Aurora was completely aghast.

Vashon pulled down a brace of pistols. He checked to see they were loaded,
then
tucked them in the waist of his trousers.

"Why are you arming yourself?" she asked. She couldn't help adding sarcastically, "Have your men had enough of your tyranny and decided to mutiny?"

He flashed
her a
wicked grin. "No, we have visitors."

Her eyes widened. "But it's night. How could you know?" At once she turned to the aft ports. Dawn was breaking and the sea and sky had melted into one dove-colored canvas. The only blight was the large silhouette of a ship bearing down on them from the east. A shiver of inexplicable fear ran down her spine. Even at that distance she could see it bore no flag.

She quickly shrugged off her trepidation. The approaching ship was the closest thing to salvation she might have. And it could hardly be worse than the one she was on. Perhaps it wasn't flying colors in order to defend itself. It was quite possible the
Seabravery
was renowned in these waters as a pirate ship. Certainly, from what she had gathered, the
Seabravery's
owner was well known as a pirate.

She stole another glance at the ship on the horizon. There sailed a chance for freedom. If she could bolt from the cabin, perhaps she could signal it to rescue her and Flossie.

She nervously looked at Vashon. He had relocked the cabinet so there was no chance of her procuring a weapon. She would just have to be quick and catch him unawares. If she were lucky, she could be on the weather deck calling for help before he could stop her.

Her gaze riveted to his figure as he unlocked the cabin door. There would be only a second for her to slip through it, but she had to give it one desperate try. The bolt clicked open and he stepped back to pass through the door. That was her opportunity. She flew to the passage and had two steps outside the cabin before he caught her. She cried out as he pulled her by her wrist back into the cabin. She dragged on the ground, trying to free herself, but his grip on her arm was like iron. She pulled at his fingers but they stuck like glue. Finally, in a last futile attempt, she reached into her pocket and produced her scissors, digging them into his hand. He grunted and immediately let go. She scrambled once more for the open door, but he had it shut before she even reached it. He had her scissors before she could even raise her hand to use them again.

When she backed against the closed door, she noted that she had left him with a vicious scratch on the back of his hand. But his reaction to his wound was less than satisfying. Far from appearing hurt—or even irritated— he took one glance at the tiny embroidery scissors in his palm and rolled his eyes in amusement. He then went about his business as if the entire incident hadn't happened.

"I mean to escape," she called out defiantly. "As you can see I'm not unwilling to inflict injury. So why don't you let me go before I get my hands on a real weapon and truly do you harm."

He stared at her, a sarcastic smile gracing his lips. "You're right, Miss Dayne, what a fool I've been to think I could best you." Mocking her, he put one of his pistols in her hands and made a great display of showing her the trigger.

Shocked, she looked down at the pistol in her hand. Now she didn't know what to think.

"Go on, do your worst," he instructed as she, dumbstruck, held the gun to him.

"What are you trying to prove?" she
asked,
her voice shaking.

"Come along. If you want to be free, shoot me. Otherwise, I've got to meet the ship that's fast approaching."

"Are you out of your mind? Do you want to be killed?"

"The question is, Miss Dayne, are you a killer?"-He taunted, "Come along. Shoot me."

She couldn't believe this man. He was daring her to shoot him. But could she? Could she live with herself if she actually killed him? When she didn't move, he laughed, and she almost wondered if she couldn't. She despised him as she had never despised anyone. Yet could she shoot him?

"Pull the trigger. You'll be on the deck in a second if you do."

Slowly she lowered the pistol. As much as she wanted her freedom, she couldn't have his blood on her hands. And that was just what he was counting on. He took back the pistol as if he'd never given it to her. Striding to the door, he was almost out of the cabin before she grabbed his sleeve and forced him to listen.

"You won't lock me in this cabin again! I'm determined that Flossie and I shall be on the approaching ship and away from here this very hour!" She was so furious she could hardly hold on to him. He took her every plan and rendered it impotent.

He paused and pressed her to the door. "Miss Dayne, believe me, you don't desire to be on
that
ship."

"I do! Even a lowly packet would be preferable to this floating pirates' den. Let me out of here! This instant!" she hissed, her eyes locking on his.

"You want to leave?" He pressed her closer to the door.
"Fine.
You shall meet the illustrious captain and crew of the
Bleeding Heart.
If it's still your desire to depart with them, then I shall not stop you."

"Do you truly mean—?"

Before she could finish, he grabbed her. He turned pensive while he looked at her bound hair. An idea suddenly occurred to him and he chuckled. Before she could stop him, he released a pin from her hair and let one long lock fall to her bosom.

"Let's give the men of the
Bleeding Heart
some booty, shall we?" His lips turned up in a cold smile, and he took her tiny scissors and snipped off the gilt-red tress. With it held fast in his palm, he then opened the cabin door and pushed her ahead of him onto the weather deck.

The
Bleeding Heart
grew more ominous as it approached.
Backlighted
by the ruby dawn, the ship appeared almost black, like a great oily raven swooping down on the noble
Seabravery.