She wondered if everyone in attendance was truly patriotic or merely interested in the free rum. Grudgingly, she admitted that Captain Breakwell might have a point. Inciting a crowd of this size with treasonous words and free liquor did not show a great deal of responsibility. Had the Colonial leaders reached the point they no longer wanted a peaceful solution but were purposely pushing for war?
She groaned inwardly. War would cause her father and brother to risk their lives in battle. And what of Quincy?
“Is that you, Miss Munro?”
She spun around. “Josiah, you startled me. Are you here alone?”
He nodded, his head covered with the blue cap she had knitted for him. “Me master said he would be here later.”
“Oh.” She gazed out over the dark waters. “I suppose I can wait awhile. What is that there?” She pointed to a black shape moving on the water.
“ ’Tis a small boat, full of people.” Josiah squinted. “They’re rowing toward the wharf.”
“There’s two more, I believe.” She gestured to another pair of boats headed for Hancock’s Wharf. “They’re coming from that ship out there.”
“Oh, I know that one. See the big flag? ’Tis the customs schooner, The Sentinel. Me master curses it every time we see it.”
“They’re all leaving the ship. Oh, no, you don’t think they mean to cause trouble at the rally, do you?” She watched the first boat reach the wharf. As the men disembarked, the ropes tying their wrists became visible. Two men, dressed as native Indians and armed with muskets, ordered them to sit.
“Miss Munro, the savages have taken them prisoner!”
She shook her head. “They’re not savages. They’re white men dressed in war paint.”
The second boat unloaded at the wharf.
She hunched her shoulders under her green cloak as a shiver crept up her spine. “I want you to go home now, Josiah.”
He shook his head. “I ain’t missin’ this.”
The last boat of hostages tied off at the wharf. The men disembarked and sat on the wharf’s wooden planking.
One of the false Indians ran to the stage and leapt on top to make his announcement. “Good friends, let us welcome our guests from The Sentinel!”
The crowd cheered when they noticed the hostages on the wharf. They shook their fists at the British, shouting curses that became more and more innovative.
“Now, good people,” the war-painted man yelled. “Be kind to our guests. They have come to witness the night’s entertainment. Cast your eyes to the harbor, and you shall see a most glorious sight!”
The eager crowd pressed forward to the water’s edge. Fearing they would push her and Josiah into the freezing water, Virginia headed north, towing the young boy along.
Boom! An explosion split the air, knocking her back a few feet. A flash of light blinded her.
She heard Josiah’s excited voice. “They blew it up!”
Holding up a hand to shield her eyes, she blinked as the scene before her came into focus. The crowd hooted and leapt like savages in a victory dance. The Sentinel was ablaze, fire racing up the masts and ropes.
She froze, stunned by the sheer size of the fire and the brilliance of the flames—flames that mesmerized her ’til her eyes watered, flames that threatened to leap across space with fiery tendrils to singe her hair and sear her flesh.
When she gasped for air, she choked on the taste of smoke. Her stomach lurched. She covered her mouth and nose. The fire crackled with a snapping sound that made her cringe.
“Damn!” Josiah laughed. “That looks wondrous fine!”
She stumbled along the waterfront, headed north.
Josiah tagged along behind. “Don’t go now, Miss Munro.”
The crack of gunshots rang out, followed by the pounding boots of a British regiment advancing up Fish Street, their muskets still smoking from the warning shots they had fired.
The crowd panicked, screaming and shoving, some dropping to the ground, some dashing away.
“Halt!” a British officer shouted. “You’re under arrest for the destruction of His Majesty’s property!”
A second explosion ravaged The Sentinel as flames discovered a stash of gunpowder. Debris rained down, inciting more panic. The inferno raged, lighting the tumultuous scene on the wharf.
Virginia recognized the British officer as Colonel Farley. She backed away, pulling her hood close about her face.
The redcoats fought their way through the frenzied mob to Hancock’s Wharf, determined to reach the men dressed as savages. The more dedicated rebels in the crowd pushed the soldiers back to allow the false Indians time to escape.
“Back into the sea with you, ye Lobsterbacks!” They shoved redcoats off the wharf and cheered when the men splashed into the icy water.
“Caroline! George!” Virginia tried to spot them in the crowd, but the scene was too chaotic, the noise too deafening for them to hear her screams.
She grabbed Josiah and charged further north. Perhaps, if she waited a safe distance from the struggle, she would be able to see her sister and George leaving.
Suddenly, in the harbor not far from them, a large round object popped to the water’s surface. A door on top opened, and a man’s head appeared.
Amazed, Virginia and Josiah stopped to look.
“What is that?” Josiah asked.
From his position on Hancock’s Wharf, Colonel Farley pointed to the odd vessel in the water. “Stop that man!”
Soldiers lined up beside the colonel and leveled their muskets at the man emerging from the hatch. He dove into the water and disappeared under the dark waves.
Virginia gasped. “They mean to kill him.”
“He’s headed for Scarlet’s Wharf!” Josiah sprinted onto the next wharf, north of Hancock’s.
She raced after him. “The redcoats will follow us!”
“I’ll slow ’em down.” Josiah toppled over barrels to roll them down the wharf.
She spotted the man’s head coming into view as he hauled himself up a rope ladder. He heaved himself onto the pier, then straightened to his full height. A large man, dressed entirely in black, he presented a mysterious, dripping, dark silhouette against the backdrop of the burning ship.
As she ran toward the man, she noted the violent shakes of his body. She whipped off her cloak and threw it over his shoulders. “You must hurry. The redcoats are coming.”
“G-Ginny?”
She froze in shock. “Quin?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Dammit, Ginny, get out of here n-n-now!” Quin gritted his teeth as another violent shudder coursed through him.
“No, I won’t leave you.”
He noted the soldiers advancing toward Scarlet’s Wharf. Damn. If they caught Ginny helping him, she might hang alongside him. But what choice did he have but to take her with him? “Josiah!” he called the boy over.
“Master? Is that you?” Josiah grinned. “That was a fine show.”
“Can you sneak off the wharf unnoticed? G-go to my uncle. Tell him I’ll be on my sh-ship, waiting for him. He’ll understand.”
“Aye, sir.” Josiah slipped away, blending into the darkness.
“Come with me.” Quin grabbed Virginia by the arm and charged to the end of the wharf.
She ran to keep up with him. Her voice sounded frightened and near panic. “Where are you going? ’Tis a dead end.”
“Tr-tr-trust me.” His icy, wet clothes glued themselves to his body as if a cold-blooded snake had coiled around his vitals, squeezing the air out of him. His feet squished painfully in sodden shoes. Lightheaded and dizzy, he forced his stiffening limbs to obey his command to run.
He halted in front of The Forbidden Lady, the last ship tied off at the wharf. The gangplank had been removed to keep unwanted visitors from boarding.
&nb
sp; He clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering. “Stay here.” He heard her gasp when he made a running leap off the pier.
As he cleared the dark abyss between ship and dock, his frozen feet slammed against the gunwale of the ship. Red-hot pain exploded in his feet and surged up his legs. He landed on deck with a clumsy splat like a net full of fish.
“Bloody hell!” He hobbled to the gangplank and set it into place. “Come on.”
She stepped carefully across.
“Hurry.” He snatched her off as soon as she was within reach.
“Aah! Your hands are like ice.”
“Head for the s-stairs.” He dropped the gangplank into the water. If the redcoats wanted to board, they would have to jump for it.
“This way.” He led her to the stairs leading below deck. As she descended, he glanced back to see if he had left a watery trail. Yes, his wet footprints were discernible. It would take too long to dry them all. He spotted a fire bucket nearby and splashed water over the deck. Not the best solution, but all he could manage in a hurry.
He joined Virginia below deck. To avoid leaving another trail straight to his cabin, he whisked off her cloak and dragged it behind them.
The bright fire from The Sentinel cast a golden glow through the wide windows of the captain’s cabin. Virginia paced about examining his living quarters. He shut the door, flung her cloak onto the pinewood table, and yanked open the trunk at the foot of his bed.
“Damn.” He dropped the lid. All his clothes were gone, replaced by those of his first mate, who had captained the schooner on her last voyage.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“The clothes won’t fit.” He yanked his soggy black shirt off and threw it on her cloak.
Her eyes widened at the sight of him undressing. “Oh.” She turned and looked out the window. “What if the redcoats come aboard?”
“Don’t worry. I have a p-plan.” He dragged the wide trunk away from the bed, revealing a pair of ropes attached to the bottom corners of the trunk which led into two holes in the floor. He curled his fingers around a metal ring and pulled. A narrow trapdoor, situated between the two ropes, opened to a compartment hidden under the bed.
Leaning against the bedpost, he removed his black, sodden shoes and stockings. The stinging pain still throbbed through his feet.
She was staring out the window at the burning ship. “Why did they blow it up? ’Twill cause so much trouble.”
He tossed his shoes and stockings into the hidden compartment along with his wet shirt. “Actually, they didn’t. Their job was to m-make sure everyone was off before it blew.”
“Well, someone blew it up. Who—” She pivoted around to look him in the eye. “Oh, no, you didn’t.”
“I—” He heard noises overhead, the thumping sounds of bodies landing on deck. “Quick! Pull the blankets off the bed and drop them in the hole.”
“What hole?” She ran to the bed and gathered up the blankets.
With her woolen cloak, he dried any visible wet spots.
She dropped the blankets down the hole. “What is this place?”
“A French bottom.” He tossed in the cloak and slid into the narrow opening.
“Are you a smuggler?”
“No, but I’m prepared for the p-possibility.” His chest now level with the floor, he turned to face her. “Right now, I’m just a spy.” He reached his arms up to her.
She stared at him. “I was right.”
He winced as he heard more soldiers landing on deck. “Ginny, come on. Trust me.”
She bent down and he lowered her into the smuggler’s hole. She clutched at his shoulders to steady herself. He held her close, enjoying the glorious warmth of her body as he reached around where part of her skirts had remained behind. He stuffed her skirt into the hole. “There. You’re all in, now. Can you sit down?”
“Yes.” She sank to her knees in front of him, her hands trailing down his bare chest to keep her balance.
He swallowed hard. It was a good thing he still wore his breeches. He shut the trapdoor, immersing them in total darkness.
On his knees, he groped along the ceiling for the knotted ends of the ropes. He grasped them and pulled. The trunk, attached to the ropes, scraped along the floor as it moved back into position at the foot of the bed. He tied the ropes together so the soldiers would be unable to budge the trunk. They would assume the trunk was bolted to the floor like most things in the cabin. The door to their secret place would remain hidden beneath the immovable trunk. They would be trapped inside until Edward came.
By the sound of her breathing, he could tell Ginny was close by and frightened. “We’ll be safe. The m-men from The Sentinel never figured it out. The redcoats won’t either. Of course, we’ll have to r-remain completely silent.”
“I understand. Here, you’ll need this blanket.”
He wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and shoved his pile of wet clothes out of the way. With numb and clumsy fingers, he unbuttoned his drenched, icy breeches and peeled them off. Damn, but it was a dark, little hole they were in, as small as the submersible he hated. A person couldn’t even stand up in this place. He tugged his linen underdrawers off and flung them aside. At least it was too dark for Ginny to see his nudity. Not that he cared, but she probably would.
Shivering with his bare arse on the cold wooden planks, he adjusted his blanket so he would be sitting on it. God, he hated small places. He caught his breath. Why had he never made the connection? Most probably because he had always refused to dwell on bad memories. This secret hole and the damned submersible were too much like the small, dark room in the cellar where he had been stashed away as a child. He had dreaded being alone in the dark, not that he was afraid of the dark, but afraid of being unwanted. At least this time he wasn’t alone. Ginny was breathing softly beside him.
The door to the cabin squeaked as it opened overhead. The heavy footsteps of booted feet reverberated across the floor.
The soldiers wandered about, their voices too muffled to comprehend. He heard the loud slam of cupboard drawers and the sound of pewter tankards banging on the table. The damned redcoats were helping themselves to his rum.
He huddled in the blanket, racked with shudders as the chilly, damp air in the secret compartment tormented him. One thin blanket was not enough. He felt another blanket being placed around his shoulders and knew Ginny was giving him her own. He shook his head in vain. She couldn’t see his refusal in the dark, but he didn’t want her to be cold either. He opened his mouth to whisper. His teeth chattered.
A redcoat opened the trunk above them.
He clenched his teeth together to stop the chattering. In the dark hole, it seemed incredibly loud.
Ginny’s arms wrapped around him and she pressed her warmth against him. He released his blanket and clung to her, jamming his mouth against her brow to stop his chattering teeth.
When she tilted up her face, he found her mouth with his own. She gave her warmth to him so sweetly, so selflessly, he drank it in, reveling in the taste of her. He reclined on his discarded blanket and pulled her body on top of him like a sun-warmed quilt.
He rubbed his hands up and down her back ’til the numbness in his fingers subsided. He nestled his cold nose into the snug crook of her neck, inhaling her scent. She laid her heated palms against his ears and breathed against his brow. The light-headedness dissipated; the stiffness from his joints melted away into warm, soupy comfort.
“Yes,” he whispered, then remembered the redcoats overhead. He listened, but heard no sound.
“Are they gone?” Her voice was faint against his ear.
“They could still be on board. We’ll have to stay here until Edward comes.”
“All right.” She moved to shift her weight off of him.
“No, don’t go.” He pulled her back. “I .
. . I’m still cold.”
She settled on top of him, inching down his body ’til she could lay her head on his chest. “Is that better?”
He groaned as he felt her legs entwining with his.
“Am I too heavy?”
“God, no.”
“What was that strange vessel you were in?”
“A submersible, for traveling underwater. I used her to attach a keg of gunpowder to the ship.”
“Oh.” She sighed, her breath puffing against his bare chest. “I’m relieved you’re not a Tory, and I’m grateful that you’ve been honest with me about the spying, but blowing up a British ship—this is too much. What am I going to do with you?”
“I don’t know.” He located the laces at the back of her woolen gown and slowly pulled.
“Quin?”
He stopped. “Yes?”
“My aunt will be worried sick about me.”
“Josiah will get through to my uncle. Edward will tell your aunt what has happened.”
“How long do you think we’ll stay here?”
“Perhaps the entire night.” He tugged and felt the bow unravel.
“Oh, dear. Then perhaps we should discuss the situation. You are, no doubt, as tense about this predicament as I am.”
“Tense, yes.” He gently loosened the laces. What the hell was he doing? She could be left with child, a bastard one. She deserved better than that. And the child did, too. He had no choice but to marry her. But damn, she deserved a better man for her husband. If only he could persuade her, woo her with kisses, then make love to her. All night long.
She turned her head to rest her other cheek on his chest. “This is the sort of situation that could potentially expand into a much larger, unwieldy type of circumstance. Do you not agree?”
“Aye, it is expanding by the moment.”
“I want you to know, Quincy, that I will not hold you responsible for being trapped in here with me. No one need know other than your uncle and my aunt.”
The Forbidden Lady Page 18