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“Don’t be so hasty.” She reached for the bottle as he took another swallow and set it aside. “I am quite parched.” She managed a larger drink this time.
He grinned, his strong teeth glinting in the dark beard. “Pluck to the backbone.”
Phona did not know how to answer that. She was not feeling very plucky. She ate her pie silently, occasionally sipping from the jug. The ale was not as strong as wine, but Mama only allowed Phona a tiny taste of any form of spirits. Soon she could feel a pleasant warmth steal through her limbs.
She reached for the bottle again, but Hades moved it away. “I think not. We still have a long ride ahead of us, and I don’t want you incapacitated.” He glanced at the sky. “The moon is coming up, but so are the clouds. We must hurry.”
He repacked the remains of the meal and disappeared into the bushes while Phona strolled about the clearing to stretch her muscles. And clear her head. The ale had, in fact, made her a bit dizzy. As well as bone-weary.
But for a strong application of resolution, Phona would have wept. The thought of more riding was almost more than she could bear, but apparently she had no choice. Therefore, bear it she would. And without showing any weakness to the rogue.
He was gone longer than she had expected, but made no explanation when he returned. She suspected he had scouted their back trail for pursuit. Evidently, he had found none.
Another disappointment.
He approached her and touched her cheek lightly. Phona jerked back, but he simply declared, “You are getting cold.” Untying a roll from his saddle, he shook out a cloak and put it around her shoulders. He helped her to mount, and this time she did her part. If she became too much of a problem, he might leave her here, or even… Phona did not want to remain here alone.
Not alive, and certainly not dead.
Leo glanced back at the girl as they climbed the bank onto the old trail. She had uttered not a word, but he could see her swaying in the saddle. Her little mare looked no better. He felt very thoroughly the cad she had called him. A marauder, returning to port with his prize in tow.
And quite a prize she was. Beautifully made. Impressive mettle. He found the task of making himself forget the feel of her warm, soft body struggling against his to be more than he could manage. As was trying to forget that he had her completely under his control. To remember that he was a gentleman. Leo did not feel like a gentleman.
Leo did not want to be a gentleman.
He sighed as a large drop of rain splashed on his forehead. The rest of the ride could only get worse. The wind whipped his cloak around the lady’s small body, all but pulling her off her horse. Another drop followed the first, and suddenly the rain swept over them.
Hastily dismounting, Leo hurried back to his hostage. When he lifted his arms, she all but fell into them. “Come, we still must travel a bit farther. You will ride with me.”
She stumbled, and Leo slipped an arm around her. She was shivering, her teeth chattering. If he didn’t get her to shelter soon, she would be ill.
He made the mare fast to a lead rope, and with his help the girl managed to get herself onto the front of his saddle. Leo swung himself up behind her and flung the cloak over both of them. Cradling her against his chest, he tucked the cloak in well and pulled a fold of it over her head and face.
Leo tugged the brim of his hat low against the wind and rain and kneed his black into motion. The mare resisted for a moment and then, resignedly, followed. Thank God for his own stalwart mount, rawboned and homely, but strong as the capstan for which he was named.
Alone Leo might have made the ride back to his haven in half the time with naught more than moderate weariness, but the business with the girl had taken its toll—not the physical struggles with her so much as the sense of responsibility, the worry over her future.
And his, come to think of it. Even for him—nay, especially for him—absconding with a nobleman’s daughter might have severe consequences if he were found out.
He guided his small cavalcade onto a track almost too faint to be seen. They wound their way up along the side of a steep, heavily wooded gorge. The stream at the bottom roared along noisily, full and fresh and joyous with the rain.
Leo himself might wish for a little less of it. The water trickled down the back of his neck and blew into his eye. Small branches swiped at his face and dumped their burden of droplets into his beard. At least the downpour would erase all sign of their passing.
Coming to a spot where the stream joined another, Leo urged his mount across the rising water and onto the point of land between them. The black put up a token protest, but splashed through and plodded upward along the trail, head held low. In the shelter of his body’s heat, the girl had ceased shivering and seemed to be sleeping. Thank God for that.
Leo always felt a thrill as the stone walls rose out of the trees and rocks and dark. Tonight he also felt exceedingly thankful. They rode into the courtyard through the arch in the wall and across into the stable. At the sound of the horseshoes clopping across the cobbles, the girl roused and sat straighter.
She gazed about her, craning her neck to look up into the oak-beamed rafters high above them. A horse whickered a soft, sleepy greeting. “Where are we?”
“In my stable.” Leo pulled the cape free and swung down to the hay-strewn floor.
“I can see that,” she snapped at him and tried to slide off the tall black and stand. Her knees failed to hold her, and she wound up in a heap in the straw. She swallowed a startled cry and, clinging to the stirrup, struggled bravely back to her feet.
The attempt again proved unsuccessful. Leo caught her as her legs threatened another collapse and eased her onto a box of tack. He quickly realized that would not answer, either. She began to list slowly to starboard, her eyelids fluttering closed. He grasped her shoulders once again and was trying to decide how to proceed when a welcome voice spoke at the stable door.
“See to the lass. I’ll tend the horses.”
Leo gathered the girl into his arms, careful not to touch her with the hook, and carried her into his house.
No one had slept in the chamber in perhaps a hundred years, but when Leo had decided to use the place, they had cleaned it along with the rest of the ancient lodge and furnished it with new bedding.
The rotted bed curtains and other draperies they had burned, saving one fine, ancient tapestry which had defied the damp and dust. Other than that, only a low chest, a screen and a pair of heavy carved chairs remained to soften the stone walls.
Making the long climb up the stairs, Leo laid the girl on the tall bed. He next set about kindling a fire in the big fireplace, fumbling in the dark for the flint. Thank goodness they had already brought up wood against an emergency.
When the fire at last took hold, he walked back to the bed and gazed again at his guest, stroking his beard thoughtfully. Apparently asleep or unconscious, she was shaking again. No wonder in that; the room was little warmer than the rain-drenched night. Somehow he must get her out of her wet clothes.
That promised to be a harrowing experience.
Leo winced. Just cradling her in his arms had wakened feelings best left sleeping. Feelings that had been sleeping far too long. How could he…? Perhaps he could rouse her enough to accomplish the task herself.
Please, God.
The last thing he wanted was to be accused again of impropriety with a helpless young female. One allegation of savagery had been quite enough. Leo could easily imagine the fine uproar this one would make if she woke without her riding dress. Shuddering, he turned to go and find something dry for her to use in its stead.
As he closed the door, Leo took the precaution of twisting the key in the outside lock. He was fairly certain that she was too done up to try to escape, but he had not forgotten her earlier ploy of playing dead. No, he could not assume his clever miss was incapacitated. And she had given no pledge which applied to this location.
Leo went to his own bedchamber, down the curving flight of stone steps to the next level of the old house. Rummaging in his sea chest, he extracted a linen nightshirt and, after a moment’s thought, a silk dressing gown richly embroidered in Arabian motifs. Either would swallow her whole.
He quickly blanked out the images of the young woman upstairs clad in either garment—the linen transparent across her high young breasts, the silk clinging to her neat curves, the robe falling open to reveal shapely legs.
Damnation! The job ahead of him would be difficult enough without his fancies intruding. How long had it been since he had held a woman close? And this woman…
Leo smiled. He admired her spunk. She was too young, too small, too inexperienced to be required to deal with this situation, and yet she coped with courage and resolution.
And he, maimed as he was, had no business even thinking about her lovely, fresh body. To her he would surely seem a monster. More important, she was in his care. He owed her protection and safety—even from himself.
Phona did her best to wake to the voice in her ear and the hand shaking her shoulder. “Miss Hathersage. Miss Hathersage, can you hear me?” She shoved at the hand, tried to turn away. The voice and the hand persisted. “You must get out of your wet clothing. Come now. Sit up.”
An arm lifted her, but the darkness around her refused to dissipate. Still, something pulled her relentlessly upward. Now a pounding started in her head. She mumbled, “G’away,” but neither the voice nor the hand nor the pounding obeyed.
She thought she heard a heavy sigh. Someone began to fumble with the buttons of her habit. Lily? Her maid? It wasn’t Lily’s voice. It was a man’s…
A man! Her buttons! She clutched the hand and pushed.
Another sigh. “Miss Hathersage, please. Can you unfasten your own dress? You must take it off. The rain has soaked it.”
She nodded, and the hand moved away. Try as she might, her eyes would not open. Never mind. Blindly, she grappled with the buttons, but she could not prevail.
Her fingers refused her commands. Now her head throbbed with every heartbeat and fire shot through her bones. Someone groaned. Herself? It sounded like her.
“Let me help you.” The voice sounded again. “Do not be afraid. I will only help you.”
The hot skin of Phona’s breasts cooled as her habit parted and the air found her damp shift. Then a hand rolled her from one side to the other, peeling away the wet riding dress.
“Can you remove your shift? It must come off, too.”
Phona tried to nod, but her head hurt too much. She tugged at the ties of the shift. They came undone, but she could go no further. Her hands fell helplessly beside her, defeated by the ache.
She heard a soft whisper. “God help me.” And then her shift was yanked roughly over her head.
Something soft and warm and dry immediately settled over her, and she was allowed to lie back against a pillow. The thunder in her head and the lightning bolts slicing through her bones eased just a bit. A smooth sheet and a warm cover were pulled over her body and tucked under her chin. She grasped them as firmly as she was able.
“Poor child. I shan’t touch you.” The owner of the voice drew the pins out of her hair and spread it across the pillow, running his fingers through the damp, tangled curls. “Not even a hat to protect your head. Such ill treatment for a courageous lady. I’m sorry.”
Phona drifted away again into darkness, trying to remember who he was and why he was sorry.
The scream tore itself out of Phona’s throat, rattling the shutters and setting the drums to throbbing in her head again. A skeleton leaned over her. Pale sunken cheeks, hollow eyes, a hairless head.
Bony hands reached for her.
She shrieked again and tried to roll, clawing her way across the bed. Running footsteps pounded into the room. The Pirate. Hades! He said his name was Lord Hades. Oh, God! Oh, God! Hades and a skeleton. The fire in her flesh. The flicker of a blaze leaping against the wall. The smell of smoke.
She was dead! She was dead and in Hell. Could she not feel the torturous flames punishing her body? Did she not see the fleshless shade?
Lord Hades had brought her to the underworld.
Why had she been sent to Hell? She had tried to be good. She treated everyone kindly. She always obeyed Papa, and she tried to obey Mama. But it was so hard.
Phona always disappointed Mama. She could not attract a husband. She always threw out a spot at just the wrong time. Her hair was too curly, too gingery, her dress too rumpled.
But were these mortal sins? God created her hair. It wasn’t her fault! It wasn’t fair. And it was too much. Far too much.
The wail escaped her in spite of her burning throat. “I want to go home!”
A papery voice responded. “Nay, now, lass. There’s naught to fear.”
The mattress sank as someone sat beside her and stroked her hair back from her face. A familiar voice. “What happened?”
“Like I told ye, me lord, this phiz o’ mine scares women and little children.”
“Not that much. Miss Hathersage…?”
Sobs choked their way out through her parched lips. “I don’t want to be dead. I want to be alive again. I want to go home.”
“Now, now, you are not dead.”
“I am. I know I am.” Phona gazed up into one bright blue eye. “You said you were Lord Hades. I should have known. You brought me to Hell. The Pirate killed me, and you brought me here. There is a skeleton!”
A cold, dry hand rested on her forehead, and the raspy voice said, “Fever dreams, me lord.”
“Yes, she is burning with fever.” A different hand, larger, warmer, cupped her cheek. “You are not dead, my dear, and I am not truly god of the Underworld. While this is my home, and I have brought you here, it is not Hell.”
“I tried to be good. I did try.” The sobs kept coming. Phona lay helpless as tears dripped into her hair. “Why must I suffer forever?”
Strong arms lifted her and cradled her against a hard, shirtless chest. Crisp hair tickled her nose, and she heard Hades’ voice. “Come now, it will not be forever. The fever will go away. You are good and brave.”
“I don’t…” A sob. “I don’t feel brave.”
“Nay, as I know well, it is very hard to be brave when you are so ill, when nothing is as it seems.” The big, warm hand pressed her head against the tickly hair. “Where do you hurt?”
“Everywhere. My head, my arms…” She coughed and croaked, “My throat.”
“I feared this might happen.” Lord Hades spoke to the Skeleton. “She has taken a chill.”
“Aye, a hard ride for a lass. We best be gettin’ some broth down her, and the tea, lest it get worse. She’ll rest easier.”
“Can you stop crying, little one? Can you take some soup?” Hades let her rest against the pillow again. Only now, several pillows held her in a sitting position.
Phona relaxed into their embrace and struggled to make sense of things. The Skeleton was holding a bowl and spoon out to Lord Hades. If she were not in hell, where had the Skeleton come from? If the Pirate was not Lord Hades, who was he?
She tried to take in a deep breath and stop crying, but coughing choked her. A large handkerchief wiped her eyes and nose. She tried again, and finally hiccuped into silence.
Hades extended a spoonful of broth. Phona drew back. “If I eat anything, I can never go home.”
“What is she on about now?” the Skeleton inquired.
“It is an old story.” Hades sighed. “I’ll tell you later.” He put the spoon back in the bowl. “Come, Miss Hathersage. You must have sustenance. You are not in the Underworld. You have my word.”
“On your honor?” In a fleeting moment of clarity Phona glimpsed the irony of charging either Lord Hades or a pirate with his honor.
“Word of a…” He hesitated for a heartbeat. “Upon my family’s honor.”
He refilled the spoon, and after a moment Phona accepted a sip. If she was doomed, then she was doomed. She could do nothing to change it. The soup slid warmly down her throat, stinging for a moment. The second mouthful went easier, and after a third a welcome sort of warmth spread through her body, easing some of the fiery ache.
Her eyes began to close, but the two voices exhorted her to wait, to finish her broth. But Phona could not keep the darkness at bay. The bowl disappeared and a cup of bitter tea took its place. She managed to get down several swallows before trying to push it away.
“No, Miss Hathersage. You must drink all of this. It will help you.” She heard the firm voice through a fog, but opened her mouth again, thankful when he took away the nasty draught.
The Skeleton’s voice asked, “The laudanum, do ye think?”
“Aye. It will help her pain.”
Another pungent smell assaulted her nostrils, but this time Phona obediently opened her lips. Now perhaps they would leave her alone. Even as the extra pillows were removed, she was drifting away. And she did not care if she never returned.
Tired as he was, Leo could not bring himself to leave her. He had done this to her. Certainly it had been a better choice than allowing the others to kill her. Unfathomably better than killing her himself.
Better even than allowing to be destroyed all he had spent months setting in motion. Yet, the decision was his, and he bore the responsibility for it. He could only pray that her illness would not finish her after all.
