by Jill Barnett
He wasn’t above using bribery, and the one thing he could use to bribe Hallie was the Sea Haven. Now that he thought about it, he had to admit that if Hallie hadn’t made him so goddamn mad in the first place, he never would have forced the issue of the sale. He’d give Hallie title to the ship if she, along with her brothers and sisters, would move in with his aunt. That high-spirited group would occupy Maddie, and she, in turn, would take care of his wards.
This plan would also solve another problem—his reaction to Hallie. With his aunt guarding Hallie, Kit would be forced to control himself around her. And that was certainly something he needed. It had been a long time since holding a woman in his arms felt comfortable and like home, like family.
What he didn’t need was thoughts of family and marriage mucking up his life. “I’ll bribe her with the ship,” Kit said with resolve.
“So she wins,” Lee said.
“No, I have,” Kit said, reasoning that he’d given up little to set his life back in order.
Dagny stepped from the wooden planks of the wharf onto the gravel of the street. The soft dirt muffled her purposeful steps as she marched up the steep hill, heading for Oatt’s, which was ten blocks and another hill away.
“Hallie’s being ridiculous!” Dagny muttered. “It’s full daylight. Nothing’s going to happen to me.” She continued walking, and thinking about the argument she had with Hallie before she’d slipped away. The whole thing was silly. Hallie was just being overprotective again. It was perfectly safe for her to go alone to get the supplies they needed. Why should she wait for the rest of them? Hallie certainly never did. She used to take off alone all the time.
Dagny looked up the street. There were only a few people coming her way, and just to reassure herself of her safety, she glanced back. There was no one behind her. She crossed another street and was once again on a wood-paved walk. As her heels clipped along the raised wood, Dagny saw that this street, like the last, was almost deserted, but it was darker. She looked up at the high brick buildings, noticing how their added height shadowed the street. A little splinter of fear pierced her, but she dismissed it, rationalizing that Hallie’s dire warnings had stirred her own imagination.
Another set of heels, sounding heavier, deeper, echoed up from behind her. Dagny stopped. So did the sound. She quickened her pace and the heels drummed faster. She looked over her shoulder, but no one was there.
Dagny sighed, relieved and a bit amused by her silliness. She walked on, and within minutes the heavy heels sounded again. She looked again, but still no one was there. The whole thing was making her awfully uneasy. At the crest of the hill, Dagny crossed the street. She needed to ease her mounting fear, and she could see a small crowd a few blocks down the street. She was almost running toward the safety of the crowd. Her anxiety swelled, so she looked back once again. From seemingly nowhere, someone grabbed her arm in a grip so strong that she was suddenly lifted off her scurrying feet.
“You shouldn’t be out alone.”
Duncan! “Oh, thank God,” she breathed, trying to still her galloping heart. She glanced up. Concern cloaked his plain, oversized features, until all she saw was the blue softness in his eyes. “You frightened me.”
“You should be frightened. This is not a good place for a woman to be walking alone. See that group up ahead?” Duncan pointed to the group she had targeted as safe. “Those are Hounds. You know who they are, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she said quietly. The Hounds were a notorious gang of thieves who were not above killing to get whatever they wanted. They rivaled the Sydney Ducks for status as the worst bunch of criminals to ever plague a city.
Hoping that he had been the owner of those heavy heels, she asked, “Have you been following me?”
“No. I just came out of the livery and saw you coming this way. Is that why you were running? Was someone after you?” Duncan looked down the street.
Dagny didn’t want any trouble, and now that Duncan was here, she knew she had no reason to be frightened, so she decided not to tell him what she heard. It probably was her imagination anyway. “No, I’m going to Oatt’s, and I’m in a hurry.”
“I’ll go with you. You shouldn’t go alone.” He offered her his arm and led her through a side street. “I’m surprised your sister would let you go alone.”
Dagny grimaced with guilt. “She didn’t.”
“I see,” he said.
She kept her eyes pinned to the ground, wondering what he would think of her admission. She waited for a lecture, but he said nothing, although she could feel his stare.
He muttered something and then took her arm.” Come along,” he said kindly, “I see you safely there.”
Soon, they were in a well-traveled and bustling section of San Francisco. While they walked, Dagny explained where they were staying. When he told her he’d looked for her family after the fire, she was warmed by the knowledge that this sweet, kind man cared.
A shout brought them to an abrupt halt. Across the narrow street a carriage had overturned, trapping its occupants. The fallen carriage horse whinnied and screamed, trying to get free of the broken shafts and tangled reins.
Duncan pulled her across the street. “Stand back here, out of the way. I’m going to help free that horse.”
Dagny stood back and watched. The crowd of spectators grew. Duncan freed the horse and then tried to help right the carriage. She smiled when she noticed how Duncan’s strength made the impossible task look more possible. The rescuers, now a large group of men, pushed and rocked the heavy brougham as the spectating crowd grew.
Dagny stepped away from the milling group so she could get a better view of Duncan, but she still couldn’t see. She lifted her skirl and stepped off the walkway, craning around the people.
A clammy hand clamped over her mouth and jerked her into a dark alleyway. She tried to scream, to fight, to bite, but her assailant was dragging her backward, and she couldn’t strike out from the awkward angle in which she was held.
The man said nothing, but his panting breath grew stronger and deeper as it swished past her head. He stopped in a dark doorway and his arm gripped her by the neck as he fumbled with what sounded like the jangle of keys. His arm tightened, and she had no air. She tried to breathe. Her chest hurt, and his hand now covered her nose, making it burn for air. Racing stars flickered on her closed eyelids until, suddenly, a curtain of black killed the light.
Chapter Fourteen
Abner dragged an unconscious Dagny into the tiny room. He laid her on an old tick in the corner and tied her hands together. Looping a rope around her right ankle, he secured the free end to the handle of a heavy trunk.
Now, she couldn’t run.
Shuffling across the dirt floor, he picked up a candle stub that sat on a broken crate. He lit the stub and then let the wax drip onto a small pewter saucer, watching it through his sunken, opium-teared eyes. Like some nocturnal animal, he blinked at the light, his drugged state making the small flame appear blinding. He stuck the candle into the well of cooling wax and he sat by Dagny, waving the saucer near her porcelain face to wake her. Her eyes opened and instantly filled with horror. He could read the scream coming, so he shoved his wadded handkerchief into her open mouth. Her scream was muffled.
“You must be quiet.” Abner patted his pockets, searching for the gold he’d won for her. “I’ve something to show you.” Smiling, he pulled out the gold bag and showed her. “See this?” He opened the strings and looked inside the bulging bag. “It’s full.” He tilted the bag toward her frightened face, and she jerked her head back.
He frowned at her reaction. “This is for you.” He poured the gold coins and nuggets into his palm and held them out to her.
Then she did the oddest thing. Her eyes narrowed and she butted his hand with her head, scattering the gold. He watched, detached, as the coins rolle
d in the hard dirt.
Looking up from the gold, he examined her face. It was strange. He had thought he didn’t want Dagny to be afraid of him, but now it was different. His blood rushed from the prey like fear he read in her eyes. She shook, and his hand reached out to brush a lock of shiny black hair away from her face. His fingertips grazed her skin and traced the path of perfection that edged her hairline. He gently rubbed the struggle marks marring her throat. Her hard swallow contracted under his hand, and he felt something strong overtake him.
When he touched the throbbing pulse in her neck, she twisted away from him and faced the wall. Her foot pulled at the ankle bond; it gave no slack.
Abner ached to see her struggle.
The buttons of her dress were so easy. One by one they slipped through their loops, and with each button she struggled more. Her frantic movements drove him to release the next, and the next, until they were all undone.
But then she stilled. His hands shook violently with the need to feel the helpless, futile fight in her. He grabbed both sides of her open dress, and rising to his knees, he ripped it in two. She flopped back on the tick.
There was no struggle.
Abner dropped the fabric and rolled her onto her back. She had fainted again. Panting, he shook her. “Fight! Fight me!” He drew back his hand and slapped her. Nothing happened. Again and again his hand, open and stinging, cracked against her face, but she remained unconscious.
His breathing slowed and he felt suddenly drained. He stood, closing his eyes to control the rolling, the shaking within him. And then he stared at her. Her pale cheeks were now blood-red from his strikes, hand imprints. Blood leaked from a split in her cracked lips, and it trickled from her mouth’s corner.
He turned his open, scarred palms up and examined them. Had they done this?
Something rammed hard against the door, and he looked up. Again the door shuddered, and sharp, creaking sounds came from it as the wood began to splinter. He scooped up handfuls of gold and shoved them into his coat pockets. The door cracked again and he glanced back at Dagny. The sight of her beaten face and her torn clothes snapped some sanity into his teetering mind. He needed time to escape!
A ladder hung from the storage loft, and he climbed the rungs. Just as he reached the loft, Abner heard the door shatter. The crash sent him bounding over the crush of barrels and conta
iners until he reached a tall shipping crate that stood under the trap to the roof. He scaled the crate and jumped up to grab hold of the trap edge. He pushed open the trapdoor and pulled himself through. Squatting, he looked back to see if he was being pursued. Duncan’s familiar blond head appeared from the ladder below.
Abner stood and ran across the flat roof, climbing up onto the neighboring one. He scurried up the sloping shingles of the street’s last house, and as he grabbed hold of the roof peak, the shingles gave way. He slid down the steep roof, clawing at the wooden tiles with his scraped and splintered hands. His hands grasped the roof edge and held, even as the weight from his swaying body jarred through his arms. He looked over his straining shoulder to the roof next door. No one followed.
He looked down at the alley, some twenty feet below. Again he looked up, but the sound of a slamming door sent him plunging to the ground. His ankles buckled with pain when he landed, but his mind still spun with hunted fear, so he crawled into the shadow of the building and rocked with the pain. Footsteps echoed from above, and Abner pushed himself up the wall. His right ankle held but his left one pierced with sharp pain. Still, he limped down the alley, dazed but driven, and escaped into the dark and shadowed maze of the city’s back streets.
Hallie grabbed Liv’s shoulders. “Are you sure you haven’t seen her?”
“Uh-uh,” Liv answered, shaking her head.
Hallie ran out of the ship’s galley and again searched for Dagny, with Liv following right on her heels. They had just reached the upper deck when Hallie heard a cry for help. She looked up, and there were the twins, hanging from the ratlines just under the lookout nest.
“Oh, my God! Hang on!” Hallie ran to the mast and started to climb the rigging, Liv right behind her.
“No, Liv! You stay right here,” she ordered, gripping the wobbly ropes as tightly as she could.
Hallie climbed on, and on, taking in deep, calming breaths with each rung of rope. The higher she climbed, the more she swayed and that old familiar light-headed feeling resurged. But she had to go on. She heard a shout and looked down.
Kit stood far below, yelling, but she couldn’t understand him with her ears buzzing so loudly. She looked up. The boys were only about four feet higher. Knut was closest to the mast, and Gunnar hung from the end of the yardarm. She tried to grab at the next rope, but her hands were in a frozen grip. She willed them, and her feet, to move, but they wouldn’t. Her panic grew. She couldn’t do this! She looked down and Kit was right below her, scaling the ropes. He grabbed the lines on either side of her and climbed up until she felt the warmth of his body against her back.
“I’ve got you. Don’t worry.” His calm words helped. “Can you hang on? I’ll get the boys in the nest.”
Hallie nodded and watched him pluck Knut off the footage and drop him into the crow’s nest. Kit wrapped the rope around his wrists and leaned out at an angle so ungodly that Hallie’s stomach lurched. Instinctively, she clutched the rope tighter. He easily pulled Gunnar to safety.
“Hallie?”
At the sound of his deep voice, she looked up.
“I’m going to put you into the nest, too, and then take you each down one at a time. Okay?”
She nodded.
“Give me your hand.”
She stiffened. He wanted her to let go. Her hand wouldn’t budge. “I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“I can’t,” she pleaded.
“All right, sweet. Just hang on.”
Hallie felt the ropes sway, and her hands gripped them so tight that she could feel her nails biting into her palms. His warm hand closed over her wrist, holding it firmly.
“I’ve got you now, Hallie. Grip my wrist and I’ll pull you up.”
“My hand won’t move.”
Kit pried her hand off the rope and lifted her up onto the lookout platform. Her arms wrapped around the security of his chest, and she wept sobs of relief. He tilted her face upward, and their eyes met. He searched her face. There was no censure in his expression, and no ridicule, just honest concern that calmed her.
Hallie took a deep breath, wiping at her eyes and said, “I’m all right. Go on. Take the boys down.” She leaned back against the wooden wall of the nest, her heart still pounding. “I’ll sit here and wait.”
He nodded, and then quietly explained to the twins exactly how he would get them down. He took Gunnar first, holding him to his chest, and Knut sat down in Hallie’s lap, waiting and watching as Kit showed Gunnar how to hold on. Placing Gunnar’s arms around his neck, he had the boy lock his small legs around his waist, and then the two disappeared over the side of the nest.
Hallie hugged Knut to her, brushing his hair off his forehead and rocking him in her lap. It soothed her just to hold him and feel his warm little body next to her own.
The fall would have killed them. This was not the first brush with danger they’d had. Since they’d moved onto the Sea Haven, the children had had one close call after another. In a single short week Hallie understood that a ship was no place for small children, or for young girls. The scum of San Francisco hovered around the wharf area, so she refused to let any of her family run free. She and Dagny had argued over that very thing earlier, and now Dagny was nowhere to be found. Although a small bit of her hoped it wasn’t so, she had a feeling that her sister had traipsed off on her own to get the supplies they needed.
Kit climbed int
o the nest and spoke to Knut. “All right, son. It’s your turn. Can you hold onto me like your brother did?”
“Sure!” Knut hopped up, the danger from minutes before forgotten in the excitement of his new adventure.
Kit settled Knut on his chest and turned to Hallie. “I’ll be right back. Will you be all right?”
“Yes,” she lied, feeling anything but all right, and he disappeared again. She took deep gulps of air and stubbornly willed herself to stop shaking and sweating and when nothing worked she just closed her eyes very tightly.
In what seemed like no time, Kit climbed back onto the platform.
She looked up at him.
“Let’s go.” He wiped his hands on his trousers and offered her his hand.
She let him pull her up, then she tried to glance down, but the drop made her so dizzy she had to grab the side of the lookout wall to steady herself. She knew her face screamed vertigo, but she didn’t care. She was too darn scared. “Oh God . . .”
His hands steadied her.
She opened her eyes and looked at him instead of down. “What do I do?”
He didn’t respond right away; he just watched her. Suddenly she felt like a specimen. Then his expression changed. He paused and he let his gaze roam slowly, from the top of her head down to her feet. All that sweet concern and kindness she’d seen before disappeared, replaced by his cocky, male grin of a man who is ogling a woman’s figure.
“You can grab my neck, Hallie-girl . . . and then wrap your legs around my waist, just like your brothers . . . Those prison pants of yours ought to make it simple.”
She wanted to smack him. She stood a little straighter. “They are not prison pants. I told you before. It’s called a reform dress or bloomers.” She stuck her nose in the air. “And you’ll have to think of some other way to get me down. I am not wrapping my legs around your waist.”
Kit crossed his arms and then appeared to be estimating her weight, like one judges a side of beef. Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, he suggested, “Well . . . you could grab onto the ratlines and then step out on the rope webbing. I’ll climb on behind you and we’ll descend together . . .” his grin widened, “like spiders.”