by Leenie Brown
Gabe’s heart dropped to his boots, and he rushed toward Radcliff. However, three crewmen stopped him.
“With which one will you leave?” Radcliff was close enough for Gabe to smell the rum on the man’s breath. “Mrs. Grant, Miss Crawford, or your beloved ship?”
Gabe struggled against the men holding him, and one gave way, causing Radcliff to scamper backward, spewing a litany of French curses as he did. If only Gabe could lose the other two, he was confident he could take Radcliff. The man was small and apparently not as brave as he acted.
“I am not leaving.” Gabe walked forward, slowly, straining against the two men who attempted to keep him back. “You may keep both me and my ship. The ladies will be leaving.”
“No!” Mary cried.
“Let me talk to her.” Gabe stopped straining against his captors as he waited for Radcliff to reply. “Just to say my farewell,” he added. He needed to be able to send her home to safety. Nothing else mattered to him at that moment other than seeing her safe.
Radcliff smiled. “You know you’ll not reach France alive.”
“Or you won’t,” Gabe replied.
“One of you against my crew of many?” Radcliff scoffed.
Apparently, Waller had yet to be noticed, or the man had not boarded behind him. Of course, even with Waller and his rowers, they would be outnumbered two to one.
“Do you ladies know how to row?” Radcliff laughed at the thought. “I think my offer stands as stated since I do not intend to allow you to live anyway.” He shrugged. “In fact, when you are dead, who’s to say I must let either of them go?”
“You do not need them. I have money. I can get you what you want.”
“I already have what I want,” Radcliff replied.
“It will not go well for you, if you are caught,” Gabe said as calmly as he could. “Murderers are not dealt with gently.”
“You are not in a position to bargain with me,” Radcliff shouted. “You think you are in control of all things. You and your money!”
Gabe’s brows furrowed. Whatever was he talking about?
“Safety! Insurance!” Radcliff shook his head and approached Gabe again. “I could have taken more than this one boat back to France if you had not been so determined to have a larger crew on board the next venture.”
Ah! The angry little Frenchman was beginning to make sense.
“You were the only one to hold out. You, who had stolen my boat.” Radcliff shook his head and laughed menacingly. “Take the ladies below!” he barked. “Unless they would like to witness Mr. Durward’s demise.”
“No!” Mary cried again.
“Please, let me talk to her,” Gabe begged, wanting desperately to tell her he loved her one time before it was too late. He did not plan on dying easily, but he also knew his survival was not guaranteed.
“Take her below!” Radcliff yelled.
Gabe attempted to shake his captors from him, but to no avail, as Mary and Margaret were taken below once again.
“You may leave him to me now,” he said to his men as the door to the lower deck closed with a heavy thud, and he drew back the hammer on his pistol.
Chapter 14
“I will not go back in there!” Mary rooted her feet to the deck and folded her arms.
“You’ll go where I say.” The man holding her upper arm placed the tip of his knife under her chin. “Or you’ll die.”
“We can’t kill them unless Radcliff says.” The other man dragged Margaret over near Mary, so he could give his companion a shove. “She’s but a slip of a thing. Just move her and be done.”
The tip of Mary’s captor’s knife pressed more firmly into the underside of her chin. “You be lucky I can’t do as I wish,” he snarled. Then, putting his knife away, he pushed her into the hold.
Mary stumbled and fell just as she heard a shot ring out overhead.
“No!” she wailed, scrambling to her feet. He couldn’t be dead. Mr. Durward could not be dead!
She banged at the door. She shouted at the ceiling. She fell against the door, breathing heavily, and attempting not to succumb to the great sobs that she could feel fighting to be given freedom.
“You are bleeding.” Margaret pressed her handkerchief to Mary’s chin. “Come. Sit with me.”
Mary allowed herself to be moved from the door. “What will I do without him?” she whispered as she pulled Margaret’s handkerchief from her chin and looked at the small crimson stain on it before returning it to her chin.
“You were set against him just moments ago.”
Mary leaned heavily into her sister’s side when Margaret wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
“He is not in prison,” Mary answered. Moments ago, before those two men had come to haul her and Margaret to the deck above, she had thought Mr. Durward was in prison. Now, he was dead. Lying on the deck above them. Dead. None of what had troubled her before mattered. Not the tales about his thefts. Not his exotic mistress. Nothing. He was dead, and he would never be hers. And the pain of that was far more overwhelming than the pain she had felt when considering him untrustworthy.
“I believe I told you not to believe that,” Margaret said softly. “You were looking for reasons to doubt him.”
Her mind had told her that Mr. Radcliff had fabricated at least part of his story. That was what had made the pain bearable before – there was still hope that she was wrong and Mr. Durward was a worthy suitor to whom she could trust her heart. Now, she knew that worthy or not, he had claimed her heart. There was no way she was going to be parted from him in any fashion that would not result in the greatest sorrow. Mary took a shuddering breath as tears finally slid down her cheeks.
“You were fearful of being hurt. That is not unnatural.” Margaret’s voice was soft and soothing.
“What does it matter now?” Mary managed to rasp out between sobs. How could her sister be so calm at a moment like this? Up until now, her sister had been anxious at every sound.
“Are you listening?”
Mary nodded. Perhaps it was just that her sister knew how best to comfort her and had pushed her fears aside to do so. It would be very like Margaret to do that.
“I do not think you are.”
Mary looked at the handkerchief she held. The bleeding from the cut on her chin seemed to have stopped, so she used it to dry her cheeks. “Then say what you said again, but I am certain I heard it all.”
“No, I do not mean are you listening to me. Can you not hear the shouting above us?”
Mary shook her head. There was no shouting. Was there? Her eyes grew wide as the noise of a scuffle and shouts were heard above her.
“Have faith,” Margaret whispered. “We must have faith that just as what Mr. Radcliff claimed about Mr. Durward being in prison was untrue, what we heard above us was not what we think we heard.”
“You think he is alive?”
Margaret shrugged, and tears glistened in her eyes. “I do not know, but perhaps he is?”
That would have to be enough. Mary would have to cling to the hope that Mr. Durward might be alive. She dried her eyes and nose and rose. If there was a chance that someone might still hear her, she was not going to wait quietly.
“We are in the hold!” she shouted to the crack in the ceiling before turning to pound on the door again.
As she walked between the door and that hole through which she could see just a few stars to repeat her actions, the door opened. Expectantly, Mary spun towards it only to be disappointed to find it was not Mr. Durward. It was the same fellow who had cut the ropes off them earlier.
“Quickly,” he said with a nervous look over his shoulder. “Come.” He waved them toward himself.
“Why?” Margaret asked. “Where are you taking us?”
“I am setting you free,” he replied with a more frantic wave for them to come with him. “There weren’t supposed to be no killing.”
Mary gasped. He was dead. She knew it!
“Just kidna
pping?” Margaret asked in a sardonic tone.
“I be helping you. Shut up.” He stalked out of the room. “Stay in there if you wish. Ain’t none of my problem now. Thought you might want to leave with that fellow.” He waved his hand at the deck overhead.
“He’s alive?” Mary ran out of the room and grabbed their rescuer by his arm. “Mr. Durward is alive?”
“Might be. Last I saw, he was bleeding less than the captain.” He covered one of Mary’s hand with one of his. “You will tell them that I helped you?”
“Who?”
“That man and the others what came for you.”
“Of course. I will tell the truth.”
“’Twasn’t me that snatched you neither. I just cut your ropes and opened the door for you. Was them other two with the knives what knocked you on the head and stashed you in there.” He jutted his chin toward the hold.
“But you stole his ship,” Margaret said.
“I ain’t took nothing. I was hired to help sail her. That is all.”
“You knew it was stolen,” Margaret insisted.
The man scowled. “I could lock ye up again.”
“Stealing is wrong. So is locking people up.”
“Shut up,” the man spat at her. “Be careful exiting at the top of the ladder. They be a few still scrapping.” And with that, he left them and ducked into some room down the hall.
Mary poked her head out of the door to the main deck first. There were still a few men fighting. She looked one direction and then the other. She could not see Mr. Durward anywhere. Quietly, she stepped out, still uncertain of which way she should go. Mr. Durward had been standing in front of her and to the left. Therefore, his boat must be there.
Mary grasped Margaret’s hand, and together they hurried in the direction where Mary thought they might find Mr. Durward’s boat.
As they approached the stern of the ship, Mary covered her mouth to keep from crying out. In front of them, Mr. Durward lay on the deck, sprawled in a most lifeless position. Dropping her sister’s hand, she ran to him and fell to her knees beside him.
He opened his eyes and smiled at her before they fluttered shut again.
“So very touching.”
Mary froze at the sound of Radcliff’s voice. Slowly, she turned to look at him. He was leaning heavily on some piece of the boat which Mary could not identify. His jacket and breeches were stained with blood, and his face was ashen.
Mr. Durward’s hand grasped hers, causing her attention to be drawn back to him.
“My gun,” he whispered. “Where is it?”
Mary looked around.
“What? Are you going to ignore me?” Radcliff shouted.
“Beside your left hand,” Mary answered Mr. Durward while attempting to ignore Mr. Radcliff.
“Fall on my chest and do not move until I say.”
“Why?”
“Just trust me.” He drew a breath with effort. “And tell your sister to come toward my head.”
Mary looked at Margaret and motioned for her to move forward a bit. “Stay by his head.”
“I will not be ignored!” Radcliff yelled.
Mary heard the unmistakable sound of a sword being unsheathed.
“Fall on me.”
Mary threw herself on top of Mr. Durward and lay there, holding her breath with her eyes closed, startling only slightly as the sound of a gun being fired rattled her brain.
Then, something heavy fell on her, and Mr. Durward cursed.
“May I move?” Margaret asked.
“Get him off of her!” Mr. Durward said.
Him? Mary glanced over her shoulder to see that Mr. Radcliff was the heavy object which had fallen on her.
“Remove his sword from my leg.” The words were said with effort.
As soon as Mary was freed from the weight of Mr. Radcliff, she did as instructed and removed the sword from where it pinned Mr. Durward’s breeches to the deck. A red splotch spread across the area.
Mr. Durward grasped her hand. “You are safe now.”
She nodded as tears filled her eyes.
He smiled once more before his eyes fluttered closed and did not reopen. Mary fell on his chest once more. Her tears soaking his jacket as she listened for a heartbeat. It was there, but it was not strong.
“Please,” she pleaded. “Do not die.”
“Miss.”
“Crawford,” Margaret said. “And I am Mrs. Grant, her sister.”
“Mr. Waller, one of Mr. Durward’s partners,” Mary heard whoever it was that had joined them say.
“It will take some time to get this ship back to the quay. If you are not afraid to do so, you can return to the shore in the rowboat with Mr. Durward. It is a faster way to travel.”
“Miss Crawford?” Mr. Waller crouched near her. “Does he live?”
Mary nodded.
“Will you travel with him?”
Again, Mary nodded.
“Then allow us to prepare him for the journey.”
Mary slowly rose from where she was but did not move far from Mr. Durward as several men tied bandages around his wounds and prepared ropes to lower him down to the boat below.
“You will need to wait until we have secured him in the boat,” Mr. Waller said.
“Of course.” She watched as men climbed over the rails and down the ladder to the rowboat. It appeared as if there was not one of them who was not wearing some sort of injury. Even Mr. Waller, who stood with her, had blood on his sleeve and a bruised eye and lip.
“His mother will be happy to have him returned,” Mr. Waller said conversationally.
Mary smiled politely. She knew he was only trying to distract her from what was happening.
“You should have seen her earlier,” he continued. “We were at Durward’s home to tell him about the missing ship, and she was up and out of the door more than once to see if he was home yet.” He leaned toward her a bit. “He was out looking for you.”
“He was?”
Mr. Waller nodded. “And when he finally arrived, his mother sat about tucking him into a chair near the fire. I admit I found it humorous to see Durward being so cossetted. And by such a little lady at that!”
Mary could not help but smile at the image. She would very much like to see Mr. Durward being cared for in such a fashion.
“Have you met his mother?”
Mary shook her head. “Not yet.”
“You will like her. She is quite the lady!” He motioned toward the rail. “It is time.”
Margaret climbed over first, though it took some encouragement from Mary to do so. Then, it was Mary’s turn.
As she looked down at the black water, she knew precisely why Margaret had been so hesitant. It was a long way down to that rowboat, and neither ship nor rowboat wished to remain standing still. Yet, as she saw Mr. Durward, swaddled in a blanket laying there below her, she knew she could push those fears of falling aside and make the descent. She stepped to the rail, attempted to climb over as gracefully as she could, and began to climb down. But then, remembering something, she returned to the top of the ladder.
“Mr. Waller,” she called.
“Yes,” he said, coming to where she was at the rail.
“There is a man below deck who helped us. He was the one assigned to cut our ropes and then when things were going poorly up here, he came down and opened the door, so we could go free. I told him I would tell you what he had done.” She shrugged. “In case, it will help his cause.”
“Do you know his name?”
Mary shook her head. “I am afraid I do not. However, if you begin speaking about my sister, he’ll likely be the first to curse.”
Mr. Waller chuckled. “Thank you, Miss Crawford, and I applaud you. Not many would delay their departure to help someone who had been part of their need for rescue. I will make a note of your report and make certain all the necessary officials know about it.”
Mary thanked him and once again pushed her fear of falling into
the cold dark water below out of her mind as she climbed down to the safety of the boat below her and to the man who held her heart and whose heart, she hoped, still beat within his chest.
Chapter 15
The smell of the river was the first thing that penetrated Gabe’s senses, causing him to stir. He groaned as he tried to move. Why did his body hurt as it did? And what was pressing on his chest? He attempted to open his eyes, but all that moved were his eyebrows.
“Shhh. Rest quietly.”
The heaviness on his chest lifted, but instead of feeling relieved, he missed the warm, protection of whatever it was. Or whoever it was, he adjusted as a hand cupped his cheek.
“We will be to the dock soon.”
He attempted to open his eyes again, but they still would not allow him to look at the lovely lady who was now stroking his forehead.
“Rest,” Mary cooed.
A drop of something wet splashed on his cheek and was quickly brushed away. Sniffling. She was crying. He forced his eyes to open enough so that he could see her through his lashes. If he could get his arms out from under these blankets, he could touch her, and she would know she had nothing to fear. But he could not do more than lift his hand and place it on his stomach under the blankets.
Thankfully, she must have either felt or seen him move, for she covered his hand with hers. How he loved the feeling of her being so near, of her administering caresses and whispers, and of her grasping his hand. It was as if she belonged to him. In his heart she did, but he had yet to persuade her into accepting him.
“Rest,” she cooed to him once again.
“My mother,” he whispered but found he had little strength to continue. He wanted to explain to her what she had seen the other day.
“She will be happy to see you,” Mary replied, “but please rest. We can speak when you are safe.”
The heaviness on his chest returned, and he could faintly smell her. Her hand still held his while her ear lay over his heart. He breathed in as deeply as he could and allowed his tired mind and body to sleep. He was unaware of anything but the wonderful dream of Mary resting on his chest until the warm protection of her presence abandoned him, and the blanket on which he lay began to be lifted.