скачать книгу бесплатно
“I will unlock them!” she cried. “And then you will find my kitty!”
Unlock— Good God. “Anne, your mother—” Would likely cut off his balls.
“Please,” she begged pitifully. “Please, I know you aren’t well, but if I unlock them, will you please find him?” Heave. Crash. A wet face pressed into the back of his hand.
His balls for a cat. An excellent exchange. “I shall try,” he breathed, holding out hope that she didn’t know where the keys were kept. But her shadowy figure moved away. The ship heaved and she stumbled, crossing to the other side of the cabin. In the faint light from the windows he saw her feeling her way along the dressing table. Wood slid against wood—a drawer. And then the heavenly clang of keys.
Never had freedom rung with such impending doom.
She returned, still sniffling. Her hands felt for his arm, slid up to his wrist. Her fingers circled the shackle, feeling for the keyhole, then let him go. He heard her sorting through the keys. Sniffling. She was so small the bed only came up to her belly.
Heave. Crash. She grabbed for him, nearly losing her balance. Fumbled with the keys. Tested them with a small child’s clumsiness. And then—
Click. The shackle popped open. “I did it!” she cried. “Please hurry!”
He loosed the key and unlocked the other shackle. The moment both arms were free he struggled to sit up, and blood rushed from his head. He leaned forward with his head in his hands. He felt her touching him, patting his arm and shoulder.
“Oh, no—you’re not well at all, are you?” Desperation returned to her voice.
“Sat up...too quickly,” he managed. Carefully he swung his legs to the side. The tunic and trousers they had put on him were light and loose, and his feet were bare.
“I’m terribly sorry. I know I shouldn’t bother you—Mama says I’m not supposed to—but...but...” The tears started again.
James stood, nearly toppling with the movement of the ship. “Tell me where to look.”
“You’ll need a lantern.”
Of course. A lantern. He’d seen one hanging on the wall and in the darkness he managed to find and light it. His tiny liberator, he now saw, was a miniature sultana. Her dark hair hung in a braid down her back, and tiny jewels flashed against her olive skin at her ears. Fabric of a rich blue draped her from neck to toe. She had the darkest eyes, and they fixed strangely on his chest while her tear-streaked face trembled.
“I’m afraid he might have gone into the hold,” she said pitifully.
The hold. Bloody hell, this was a fool’s errand. The ship continued to pitch, yet he managed to lurch out the door and into the passageway. “Which way?”
“Left!” she cried.
He didn’t know this ship, but he’d known a great many, and he found the stairs quickly. He started down and she followed him, clinging to the railing.
“Mr. Bogles!” she cried. Her voice trembled. “Mama says I’m never to go in the hold.”
Excellent. He may as well remove his balls now and save Captain Kinloch the trouble. He reached the floor and glanced around. It was an upper hold, full of everything from casks of wine to bolts of textiles. How much legally gained was anyone’s guess.
“Mr. Bogles!” Anne called again, reaching the bottom of the stairs.
“Stay here,” he ordered. James hung on to a stack of crates held in place by a timber frame and stumbled farther into the hold, shining the light this way and that.
“Wait,” Anne cried. “I have some dried fish. He loves it more than anything!”
A bribe ought to increase his chances, which as things stood, were zero. Light-headed, he hung the lantern from a hook on an overhead beam and went back. The ship heaved and crashed and some cargo on the starboard side shifted noisily as he struggled to find his usually reliable sea legs.
Anne was already holding out the dried fish when he reached her, but something wasn’t right. She faced to the side without looking at him. “He’ll come for this,” she said, as though speaking to an invisible third person. “I know he will.”
“I’ll give it...a try,” he said, out of breath. Immediately she turned toward him with her arm still outstretched and her eyes fixed on his belly. He paused. “Anne?”
“Yes?”
He held out his hand. She didn’t seem to see it, and a hole opened up in his gut. “Anne,” he said sharply. “Can you see?” There wasn’t time for niceties.
“I hear him!” Her face lit up suddenly and she pointed past him. “Mr. Bogles! Oh, do hurry!”
Blind. Anne was blind.
Hell and damnation, he’d led a blind child into the hold. Damn Jaxbury for not saying something. He lurched forward and grabbed her arm. “We’re going above.” Mr. Bogles could fend for himself.
“No!” Anne screamed and struggled. “We can’t leave him!”
“You can’t be down here.”
“Please. Please!”
Her desperation cut him to the bone. She struggled, and he hadn’t the strength to fight her. He wrapped her hands around the stair rail. “Wait here. Do not move.”
“I won’t. I promise!”
“Give me the fish.” He took it from her fingers.
“I hear him again! Please hurry!”
James didn’t hear a bloody thing, but he went in the direction she pointed. He grabbed the lantern from the hook and finally heard a faint meow from among the cargo. A rat scurried away. Whatever Mr. Bogles was up to down here, he was not doing his job.
“Mr. Bogles!” Anne cried.
Meow, came an answer from the direction of a pile of large rope coils that had slid sideways with the waves. James willed himself forward, holding up the lantern. Meow! came another complaint from beneath the pile. Through a gap he saw two glowing eyes and part of a white, whiskered face.
The ship heaved and rolled. Somehow he managed to hang the lantern and reach for a coil. His arms rebelled, buckling like wet straw, but he tried again. He shifted one coil this time, then another. The rough floor scraped his soles as he sought purchase with his bare feet. His legs burned, threatening to give out.
“Do you have him?” Anne called from much closer than the stairwell. A glance over his shoulder showed her making her way through the cargo.
“Anne, stop!” He barely had the strength to make himself heard. “Go back!” He stretched forward, half lying across the pile now, and shoved at another coil. More coils towered above him. With all of his strength he propped up the coil that trapped the cat, but Mr. Bogles cowered somewhere in the recesses. Blast it all, he’d dropped the dried fish.
“Come out, damn you,” he said through gritted teeth.
The ship heaved.
“Anne!” Captain Kinloch’s voice shot through the hold.
The ship crashed. James lost his grip on the rope and a white flash shot past his shoulder.
“Mr. Bogles!” came Anne’s joyous cry.
James fell forward, and the coils he’d moved tumbled on top of him. He grunted in pain, crumpling beneath their weight, and his hand closed around something leathery. The dried fish.
“Anne! What are you doing down here?”
James said goodbye to his balls and let his head fall.
* * *
DRENCHED FROM THE rain and waves above, Katherine flew down the stairs with her eyes fixed on Anne and swept her into a fierce hug, ignoring Mr. Bogles wiggling between them. “Anne Kinloch, I told you never to come into the hold!” She ran her hands over Anne’s face, hair, shoulders. No injury. Already she could imagine half a dozen ways she would kill Thomas Barclay when she found him.
Farther into the hold, the lantern from her cabin swung wildly from an overhead beam. Bloody cur—this was her reward for caving to pity and hauling him aboard. “Anne, quickly,” she said, rising. “Upstairs.”
“But the man, Mama— I think I heard him fall!”
“Shh...we shall find him and he won’t hurt you again. I promise you that.” By God, she would kill him slowly and feed him in pieces to the fish.
“Mama, you mustn’t be cross!” Anne shook her head frantically. “It was my fault. I couldn’t find Mr. Bogles, and I begged him! I know I shouldn’t have unlocked him, but—”
“Unlocked him?”
“I’m sorry, Mama. There was no one to help.” She tried to turn out of Katherine’s grasp. “Oh, why don’t I hear him? He was just here!”
At precisely that moment, Katherine spotted a pair of bare feet sticking out from among the cargo.
Anne’s lip trembled. “I know I shouldn’t have taken the keys from your drawer. I was so scared.”
Katherine hugged her tightly. “I’m sorry, sweetling. I’m so sorry.” She never left Anne alone in high seas. Never. But they’d needed all hands on deck, and she’d promised herself it would just be this once, and she would come down to check...but she should have come sooner. She should never have left Anne in the first place. Wicked, wicked man, taking advantage of a little girl’s fear.
“Do you see him, Mama?” A tear tumbled down Anne’s cheek.
Katherine stared at his feet. “Shh...I will find him. Quickly, now, upstairs to safety. Give Mr. Bogles to me.” Sweet Anne was too innocent to know a man in Mr. Barclay’s condition did not rouse himself for the sake of a cat. Her jaw tightened. With any luck fate had already punished his attempt at insurrection, and she would no longer have to bother with him.
With Anne and Mr. Bogles safely shut inside Philomena’s cabin, Katherine hurried back to the hold. The ship heaved and rolled as she made her way quickly through the cargo and there he was, half-buried beneath a fallen pile of rope coils. If he was alive, she would shackle him more securely this time. And hide the keys more quietly.
She planted a boot on the pile and wrested the coils off him. “Mr. Barclay,” she called sharply. Perhaps he’d hoped to find munitions here in the hold. Distract the crew with his disappearance and gain the upper hand by threatening Anne’s life.
It would not have worked.
He lay sprawled on the coils with William’s tunic stretched a bit tightly across his shoulders. His tousled black hair with its silver streaks fell across his cheek and over his eyes. “Mr. Barclay.” She bent to check his pulse.
At her touch, he groaned and tried to rise. “Bloody hell,” he said, collapsing once again into the ropes. At least she would not have to explain his death to Anne.
“Get up! You’ve been foiled, and I haven’t the time to play nursemaid.” They needed her on deck. Punishing his foolishness would have to wait.
“For God’s sake, cut ’em off quickly,” he mumbled into his sleeve. He was delirious again, and little wonder. His eyes opened slightly. “Anne?” he rasped.
“Is upstairs and none of your concern. Now get to your feet— I want this lantern out of the hold before it shatters and sets my ship ablaze.” She grabbed hold of his arm and pulled. The ship rolled and he lurched to his feet, nearly toppling over. He was taller than he’d seemed. Broader. She braced herself against the water casks with his weight crushing her against them as the ship’s pitch threatened to throw them both to the floor. His breath labored near her ear and one large hand curled around the edge of a cask above her.
“Foolish man. You haven’t the strength to carry out this kind of plan.”
“Can’t insult a man—” he exhaled sharply when he finally found his feet “—with the truth.” He backed away from her and steadied himself against the casks. “Little bugger got free, then.” His breath came hard, as though it took all his strength to stand. “Didn’t—” he inhaled, exhaled “—take his prize, though.” He held out his other hand.
He held a strip of Mr. Bogles’s dried fish.
It wasn’t possible. In his condition, merely leaving her cabin would have been a feat. He would not have done this for a cat.
She didn’t want to consider that he might have done it for Anne.
She tried to slip the dried fish into her pocket, but her clothes were soaked so she tossed it aside. His eyes met hers, then dropped. Darkened. Shot away as he dragged in another breath.
She glanced down. Her sea-drenched clothes clung like a second skin to her breasts, and her nipples jutted hard through the wet fabric. Good God—even a brush with death wasn’t enough to cool this man’s lust. She allowed her lips to curve. “There’s no time for your lechery now, Mr. Barclay. You’ll have to control yourself. Can you walk?” He tried a step, but the ship’s heave and roll threw him off balance immediately. She caught him beneath the arm and tried to help.
“I’ve got it,” he said sharply, trying to steady himself as the lantern swung noisily from its hook above them. “Only let me hold...the casks.”
She let go. “Did you think you could hide from us here and gain some advantage?”
He worked his way along, out of breath and fighting to stay on his feet. “My plan to lure you into the hold...and ravish you...has gone disappointingly awry.”
“Insolent bastard.” Her clammy skin flushed unaccountably hot. “It’s no wonder you had trouble with Captain Warre.”
He grunted. “Stodgy old cuss...” They made it to the last of the casks, and he lurched toward the stairs. “Never did approve—” he dragged in a breath “—of ravishing.” His hands curled around the railing and he rested there, ashen-faced.
“Can you climb the stairs alone?”
His eyes swept their length, and he gave a nod.
“Then above and to bed,” she ordered in a tone she might have used with Anne. The man had lost his mind as well as his strength.
He pulled himself up the first step and glanced at her. “A tempting offer...Captain.”
A tempting— “Above!”
This was no demoted midshipman. He was an officer, or she’d swallow her cutlass. As soon as they were safely through the strait, she would instruct William to lock Mr. Barclay in the cabin André had occupied. And then she would force the truth from him.
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_92eaf6bf-c93d-5b1f-ab08-c6725322ac68)
THE TRUTH HAD to wait for two days while the lecherous Mr. Barclay, now occupying his new quarters, slept. Millicent fed him broth four times a day and ruthlessly shooed everyone else away.
They were safely through the strait with the storm long behind them, but the story of Mr. Barclay’s heroics would not die. Anne insisted on retelling it to everyone. Multiple times.
“Mama, may we go see him now? Please? Millicent says he’s awake.” Anne tugged on her sleeve. “Please, Mama. He’s better now.”
Apparently that was supposed to be good news. “In a moment, dearest.” Katherine dipped her quill, started to scratch another coordinate in her massive logbook, but veered away at the last moment and added another name to the scrap of paper that held the short list of people in Britain who might be able to help her. Lord De Lille. Hadn’t he been one of Papa’s friends?
Her father’s voice echoed in her mind: Damn me, Katie, there’s not a soul in all of England or Scotland that can outwager De Lille.
She rubbed her forehead, trying to remember names and relationships from more than a decade ago. But Papa had had so many friends. The only one she truly remembered was his best friend, Lord Deal, and according to the solicitor’s letter, he was already working to fight the bill that threatened her inheritance.
Her fingers tightened around the quill. What if Mr. Allen’s letter hadn’t found her? The bill was unlikely to pass, he’d written. That it had been read once in the Lords meant little—that the second reading had been put off six months was far more telling.
