Hillsythe sat on a stack of boxes. “So we have Winton in the fort and Muldoon in the navy office.”
“And someone in the governor’s office who we’ve yet to identify.” Caleb had been keeping an eye on Arsene and the guards. “We need to keep unpacking. Let’s table this for later.”
The others all glanced through the doorway, then with grunts returned to their labors.
Later, as Dixon, Caleb, Phillipe, and Hillsythe followed the other men back to the mine, and Fanshawe and Hopkins joined them, they returned to the subject of William Winton and the fact that their tools and all mining supplies appeared to be coming directly from the fort’s commissariat. Dixon explained that Winton had to have ordered extra supplies specifically to support the mine. “Which means he’s pulling the wool over his uncle’s eyes, and as the major got him the post—it’s one a civilian can hold—this is going to fall hard on the major.”
“What a way to repay someone for doing you a good deed,” Phillipe murmured.
Snorts of agreement came from all around.
They reached the mine and went inside, but halted in the area just inside the entrance. They all looked at each other, then Dixon said, “With the first deposit on its last legs and our stockpile of ore running down, too, we don’t dare delay completing the shoring up of the second tunnel so we can start mining the second pipe—and with all that timber, there’s no viable excuse to do so, anyway.”
His expression grave, Hillsythe nodded. “But once the second tunnel is open, now we have all those tools and all the mining supplies we could ever need, Dubois will expect production to increase.”
Dixon paused, clearly calculating, then said, “We can increase by a small amount, but until I properly assess how far the second pipe reaches, we’d be unwise to mine without restraint.”
Caleb met Hillsythe’s gaze. “It looks like we need to start being inventive sooner rather than later.”
* * *
After all the captives had gathered for the evening meal and had shared the latest news, Caleb and Katherine went for a stroll around the compound. The evening perambulation was an exercise Dixon and Harriet had pioneered, and one Annie and Jed also frequently indulged in, seizing the quiet moments in the cooler evening air to share insights, reactions, and feelings, and above all else, to bolster each other’s spirits.
Tonight, all three couples had grasped their chance, leaving the rest of the company about the fire pit. Each couple struck their own course, ambling arm in arm between the huts, avoiding the occasional perimeter guards, and pausing here and there as inclination took them.
Dixon’s discovery of the source of the supplies had been touched on only briefly about the fire pit. Caleb elaborated, explaining that they now believed that “Winter” had really been “Winton,” referring to the younger man of that name known to be second-in-charge in the fort’s commissariat.
After digesting that, Katherine asked, “Given the large amount of mining supplies Dubois has brought in, what are the implications for us stretching the mining out long enough for the rescue force to reach us?”
Caleb grimaced. “We still can’t tell.” Through the shadows, he met her gaze. “As you heard, we’ve little choice but to make a good show of working the mine at increased efficiency, with all the men working for the next three days.” That consensus had been discussed and adopted before they’d left the group. “Unfortunately, the first deposit is almost mined out, and increasing output even by only a small amount—which we have to do in response to having more men working and for longer hours—will run down the stockpile to almost nothing.”
He glanced ahead. “However, by the end of those three days, we’ll have the first level of the second tunnel fully open. We’ve done the exploratory work, and the entrance and first stretch are already shored up. As soon as it’s safe, we’ll have men mining the second pipe—and the first call on the results will be to replenish the stockpile. And by then, Dixon should be able to give us a firm answer as to what we face.”
They continued strolling. Leaning on his arm, Katherine looked ahead. “I haven’t been in to see the new tunnel yet—where does it start?”
“The opening is about ten yards down the first tunnel, on the right. The second tunnel runs at roughly ninety degrees to the first—more or less parallel to the ridge line.”
“So the entrance to the second tunnel lies before the section where they’re mining the first deposit?”
“Yes. At the moment, the second tunnel is not that long—not even fifteen yards. Once we have it fully open, it’ll be more than forty yards, and Dixon will assess how much of the second deposit we can mine from that run. He’s already sure we’ll need to extend the tunnel on a lower level to reach all of the deposit, but as the second deposit is richer in diamonds, both in quantity and in size, it’s possible we might not need that lower level—not before September.”
He glanced at her and smiled. “Best-case scenario is that even with all the men working longer hours, even with us increasing the output from the mine, the mining from the first level of the second tunnel will nevertheless last long enough—until the seventh of September, at least.”
“So we’ll know in three days.”
“Yes.” He lowered his voice. “And if we don’t get our best-case scenario, then we’ll decide when and how to slow things down. Dubois didn’t bring in more lamp oil, so running down the oil remains a possibility.”
Katherine nodded and walked on by his side. With her arm looped in his, she was very conscious of the muscled strength of him, of his easy, confident stride. Just being physically close to him, as well as hearing his indefatigably positive private thoughts—positive even when he wasn’t trying to carry his men with him—gave her heart.
Gave her heart enough to think of the future—of home. Of Stonehaven. Of Banchory-Devenick. Of Aberdeen.
She felt his gaze touch—and caress—her face.
“A penny for your thoughts.” When she looked at him, he grinned, rueful and inviting. “Yet even that penny will have to be on tick, for I haven’t even one farthing on me.”
They’d reached the back of the cleaning shed, out of sight of the mercenaries in the tower, and the patrolling guards had passed them minutes before. She halted in the deeper shadows, drew her arm from his, and faced him. “I was thinking of home.” And you.
“Ah.” He studied her face, but she doubted he could make out much of her expression in the dark. “And?”
Was it madness to hope? So soon? To leap so far ahead? Yet life was for living. She tipped up her chin fractionally. “When we get back”—not if, but when; he’d infected her with his confidence—“our homes are so near, we’ll no doubt see each other. In Aberdeen, if nowhere else.”
He gazed at her, then, his voice deeper, huskier, he said, “I was hoping for somewhere else.” When she waited, he went on, “For instance, your home—and perhaps Fortescue Hall, if your grandmother’s still alive. I believe I’d like to meet her. And at Frobisher Manor, too—for I’m sure my parents would love to meet you.”
She blinked at him. What he was saying—what she wanted to hear...she stared into his eyes. “We can’t talk about this—not yet.”
He compressed his lips, then nodded. “It feels too much like tempting Fate.”
Thank God, he understood. She stared at him for an instant more—then she reached for him.
In the same heartbeat, he reached for her.
Their lips met—not tentatively this time but in the confident expectation of welcome. His fingers firmed about her waist, and he drew her closer, until her hips met his thighs. She released the folds of his shirt that she’d gripped and slid her hands up the acres of his chest, clasped his nape, and held him to her as she parted her lips and clung tight as he accepted her wordless invitation.
And her senses gidd
ily spun.
Then they resettled and realigned, yet it seemed on a different plane of reality, one where only they existed—him and her in each other’s arms—communing in the warm dark.
She might have been a relative novice in this sphere, yet every long, drawn-out exchange had meaning. Each kiss, each slow and utterly absorbing caressing stroke of their tongues, each shift in pressure, took them both on a journey of exploration. His lips were firm and seemed cooler than hers, but then hers seemed so hot, so flushed and swollen. As if the realization had triggered a spreading of the sensation through all her nerves, over all her senses, her breasts caught the fever, then the heated sensation washed in a wave all the way through her. All the way to her toes.
She felt alive, radiant, heated and buoyed on a cresting tide of need. Of wanting.
Desire whispered softly through her mind, trailing seductive tendrils of hunger over her wits, before wreathing through her senses.
The strength of him, latent in his tall frame, in the lean, taut, steely muscles sheathing his heavy bones, should have made her wary. Any other man and she would have shied from being this close—from allowing him to tighten his hold about her waist and urge her closer still.
Any other man and she wouldn’t have gone, would never have let him draw her flush against him.
Would never have thrilled to the feel of her breasts compressing against the iron muscles of his chest. Would never have gloried in the heady delight of feeling his erection, rampant and solid, press against her stomach.
She might be a virgin, but she was no wilting flower. Yet with no other man had she ever felt this wanton—no other man had ever made her crave the sensation of his hands caressing every inch of her skin.
All with just a kiss.
A heady, hungry, greedy, wanton, shockingly heated kiss.
He couldn’t indulge her—shouldn’t, not here, not now—but the fire had been kindled and now smoldered beneath her skin.
Caleb knew it—knew that she was his, and that, somehow, he was and always would be hers. He’d indulged with more women than he could count—his easygoing nature and physical stature had always made attracting the fairer sex a simple matter—but this was different.
So very different he felt as if he was embarking on some voyage—one vital to his future life—with no effective compass.
But the needy sound she made, trapped in her throat, was one sign he recognized. That, and the way she pressed against him, so open in her burgeoning ardor that he couldn’t mistake her hunger. Her rising passion.
He wanted to claim it, and her—wanted to gorge and satisfy the hunger she evoked. For one instant, that need threatened to overwhelm him—to take control and drive him. But then he realized the danger and, on a mental oath, wrestled his libido into submission.
Not now. And certainly not here.
How long had they been kissing?
Too long, the tactical part of his brain drily informed him.
Too dangerous.
That thought gave him the strength to ease back—to ease them both back from the exchange. Yet her mouth was a haven of delicious delight, honey sweet and tempting; it required serious effort to haul his senses from their absorption, to convince them to relinquish the heady taste of her.
To draw back from an exchange that spoke so convincingly to the man he was, that lured the daredevil and tamed him.
Claimed him.
Irrevocably ensnared him.
Another minute ticked by.
Finally, he drew breath and raised his head, and their lips parted—reluctantly, overtly so on both their parts.
Through the darkness, lips still parted, their mingling breaths not at all steady, they looked into each other’s eyes—as if, despite the darkness, they could see into the other’s soul.
He filled his lungs, then, gently, set her on her feet.
He steadied her. Then he breathed deep again and quietly stated, “Just to be clear, my interest in you—this”—with one hand, he waved between them—“has nothing to do with being here—with us being trapped here together. There’s nothing incidental, much less casual, about how I feel about you. Had I met you anywhere else—in a ballroom, in some drawing room—the result would have been the same. I would have come after you. I would have sought you out.”
She tipped her head, her gaze steady on his eyes, then she equally quietly replied, “I could say the same. I could point out that I’ve been here for months, yet I’ve felt no need to kiss any other man. Yet with you...from the first, you were different in my eyes.” She paused, then went on, “I don’t know where this will lead—this connection between us—but I know I want to find out. With you—together with you.”
He held her gaze for a moment more, then he held out a hand.
She placed her hand in his.
As one, they twined their fingers, then they turned and, side by side, walked on through the night.
CHAPTER 13
Three days later, and they knew they would have to do something to slow production down if they wanted to live until September.
“You have to admit,” Dixon said as the captives sat around the fire pit that evening, “that if we weren’t in such a bind...well, it’s an amazing sight.”
All who had ventured into the second tunnel—and most of the captives now had—had to agree. All now knew how to spot the rough diamonds peppering the rock, and the second deposit was nothing short of spectacular. Hundreds if not thousands of diamonds, a huge number readily visible and for all intents and purposes ripe for the taking.
And all too easily mined.
Dixon had placed the tunnel perfectly, skimming the edge of the gradually downward-angling pipe. The tunnel, therefore, gave access to a long stretch of the deposit. With all the men working extended hours—as they had feared, Dubois had never allowed them to retreat to their previous shorter working day—Dixon estimated that they’d have the bulk out within two weeks.
And then Dubois would start killing the men, and then the children.
Jed looked at Annie. “Won’t Dubois wait until everything’s finished before he starts...culling us?”
Caleb exchanged a look with Lascelle, then glanced at Hillsythe, who also looked grim. When no one else spoke up, Caleb quietly stated, “No intelligent commander—or captain of mercenaries—would want to have a large group of captive men idle, just waiting for execution. That’s a recipe for an uprising, and everything we know about Dubois says he’s far too smart to do that. He’ll keep the six women to the last”—Caleb paused to draw breath, his mind shying from what, if Dubois’s men had their way, would ultimately happen to the women—“but the men and children? He’ll start eliminating us the instant we’re no longer needed.”
The group fell silent as all digested that. No one argued.
“We”—Katherine gestured to the women—“won’t be able to process the rock that fast, but that won’t stop Dubois or the backers from...”
“Starting to tidy up loose ends,” Caleb supplied. “He won’t care what you—those left—think. The instant he—and his backers—judge that they no longer require our services, they’ll move to eliminate us.”
“Because regardless of all appearances, just by existing, we pose a threat to them,” Lascelle said. “We would be foolish to think otherwise.”
Dixon grimaced. “I haven’t had a chance to explore a lower level. It’s possible we might be able to extend along the pipe and thus extend the mining—”
“For long enough?” Hillsythe asked.
Dixon stared at the mine, then, slowly, shook his head. “I doubt it. Experience tells me the part of the second deposit we’ve already got open will be the better part of it. We might get another week, but that still won’t be long enough.”
Caleb looked around the c
ircle, took in the expressions—and lightly shrugged. “So as we’d planned, we’ll start slowing things down.” He was sitting beside Katherine. Across the circle, he caught Hillsythe’s gaze. “Starting from now. There’s no sense in waiting—we need to keep as many of the diamonds in the rock, unmined, as we can.”
Hillsythe nodded. “We’ve got quite a bit of stretching to do, so we need to start as soon as possible.” He paused, then said, “We’ve worked hard to keep Dubois reasonably happy—there’s no reason for him to imagine that any hiccup in production is deliberately caused by us. We need to preserve that fiction.”
Fervent murmurs of agreement came from all around.
“So,” Fanshawe said, “what’s it to be? The oil?”
Everyone, including all the children who were huddled in groups on the logs around the pit, was listening, waiting. The acknowledged leaders of the men—Dixon, Hillsythe, Caleb, Lascelle, Fanshawe, and Hopkins—all exchanged inquiring looks.
Then Caleb shifted on his log and looked at Katherine. “It might be preferable to open our campaign with a hiccup that isn’t in the mine itself.” He arched his brows at her, then shifted his gaze to Harriet, seated beyond her. “What about the problems with the women’s tools?” He glanced around the circle. “Bad cleaning tools will leave the rocks too encrusted for easy transport—more or less blocking getting them to the ship.” Caleb looked at Hillsythe. “And having Dubois focus on the cleaning shed and a blockage in production of the final raw diamonds means he won’t be focusing on the output of the mine itself, which means we can appear to keep working, but manage how much we do and hold back as much of the ore as we can to replenish the stockpile we’ve run down.”
“Another buffer against the future.” Hillsythe nodded. “That will, at least, give us a few days up our sleeve.”
When the diamonds eventually ran out.
Caleb looked around the circle, brows raised, inviting further discussion, but apparently everyone agreed. “Right, then,” he said. “As we’ve touched on many times, the problems have to look realistic and not staged—nothing to make Dubois suspicious.”
The Daredevil Snared (The Adventurers Quartet Book 3) Page 23