And at the front of the line rode Froggett, with Colton’s pistol trained dead on his back.
~ ~ ~
They rode until the moon disappeared and the eastern sky had turned blood red. Colton directed them south toward the river. Aside from muttered threats, India had so far suffered no ill. Not one of the riders was brave enough to come close to Hannibal’s hooves.
No one showed any curiosity about where she and Froggett had come from. Being criminals themselves, the men obviously assumed that the pair had stolen the fine horse from the stables where they had formerly been employed.
At the top of a rise, Will Colton wheeled about and ordered a halt. Below them the Thames curled east, a restless ribbon threaded through a patchwork of small farms and villages.
“Are we there, yet?” India demanded.
“Soon.”
“Then why are we stopping?”
“Close yer mouth, boy. Not healthy to ask questions,” the man behind her snarled. “Fine horse or not, I can still put a ball through your cocky head.”
The rest of his words were swallowed up by the sounds of a rising argument. Half of the band wanted to stay where they were, while the other half insisted on going ahead to meet the pirate and smuggler who paid the best price for quality merchandise and information. But it appeared that the Frenchman’s wrath was awful if he was duped.
They were still arguing the point when the man at India’s side sat forward abruptly. “I thought as how that animal looked familiar!” He stared coldly at India. “Seen him once at Newmarket when I was picking pockets.” He inched his mount closer. “Damned fine piece o’ horseflesh. Look here, Will. That horse belongs to the Duke of Devonham,” he finished triumphantly.
“The duke what lives in Norfolk?” Will cantered closer. “Damned if these two ain’t had the barefaced gall to steal that horse out from under his nose.” He frowned. “But I heard stories about this horse. They say as how only the duke’s daughter can ride the brute. Her father bought her the animal in Egypt, where she picked him out herself, I hear tell.”
India sat stiffly as a row of angry eyes locked on her. Bloody hell, what was she going to do now? She couldn’t bolt, not with Froggett caught in the cold sights of a pistol.
Hiding her fear, she shrugged grandly. “I had the stabling of the horse. Couldn’t a done that if I didn’t ride the animal, could I?” she said scornfully. But fear was what they would expect, so she gave a nervous laugh. “You won’t turn us back, will ye? He’ll have a reward out for us by now. A fat reward, if I know the bloody duke. And he’s got a hard hand with that heathen whip what he brung back from India.”
But her ploy failed.
The leader laughed sullenly. “Reward? Aye, the reward of a noose around all our necks, most like. No, I reckon we’ll not try the duke’s hospitality, not when we’re almost at the Frenchman’s doorstep. I hear tell he’s looking for treasures of all sorts these days — jewels, gold, silk. Mebbe a nice bit of horseflesh like this will interest him just as well.”
“What if they come after the horse?” one of his men muttered. “The duke’s son is damned handy with a pistol.”
“They’ll have to find us first,” Will said coldly. “And how are they going to know where to look? Not like these two left a bleeding message when they was sneaking off in the dead of night with the duke’s horse.”
“Oh, they’ll find you,” India said fiercely. “And when they do, that soldier fellow who’s the duke’s son will split you from neck to knee. He’s damned protective about his property.”
A Babel of worried questions followed, but the leader quelled them with a harsh curse. “Shut up, the pack of you! The whelp’s just trying to frighten us. We been on the trail for four hours and seen no trace of anyone following us. We’re safe, I tell you. And the Frenchman’ll pay a tidy sum for that horse. Now who’s with me?”
Again the voices rose in angry discord.
India saw Froggett jerk his head, ordering her to break free and leave him, but she refused to consider it. They would shoot him in a second if she got away. Her only choice was to stay. She had been hoping to meet this mysterious pirate, after all.
But she fingered the knife in her boot grimly. Just let the man try to lay a single finger on her!
~ ~ ~
Their destination was a two-masted sloop called the Gypsy rocking at anchor in a wooded loop of the Thames. Clustered along the nearby pier were a dozen skiffs and dinghies and on the bank a crowd of merrymakers danced in the firelight.
India had a very bad feeling about this. But they wouldn’t take her or Froggett without a fight!
The man riding guard beside her laughed coldly. “Starting to sweat, boy?”
“It will take more than a wine-swilling, whey-faced foreigner to frighten me!”
“And I’m the bleedin’ king of England and we’ll see if you’re so clever when you’re facing the Frenchman. He’s got unnatural tastes, so they say.” At the head of the pier, men and women danced drunkenly around Colton as he jumped down and strode toward the sloop.
But his way was blocked by a tall man with one arm caught in a greasy sling. “Where do y’ think yer going?”
“To see the Frenchman.”
“By whose invitation?”
“His, o’ course.”
“What property ye got to show him?”
“This fine piece of horseflesh, for one.”
The man with the sling studied India and the horse. “That so. I reckon I’ll take the beast down to him.”
“No good,” Will said quickly. “The horse don’t let a soul on his back except the boy. And where the boy goes, I go.”
The man reluctantly stepped aside.
Colton shoved Froggett in front of him. “Hurry up, boy,” he called to India, who slid down and led the gelding carefully along the dock, reins tight in her fingers. At that same moment a man bounced down the gangway and landed in a heap at the bottom. A box of gold coins and jewelry came hurtling after him, landing on the wood with a crack.
“Nothing but worthless zinc and copper,” a voice cried from the deck. “And those ‘diamonds’ only rock crystal! Try that again and you’ll leave without the front of your head, mon ami.”
The man gathered up his merchandise and skittered away, cursing.
“See,” Will said glumly. “No good fobbing false goods off on the Frenchman. Still, he pays the best, when he’s satisfied.” He moved closer to Froggett, his pistol now hidden in one pocket. “I got the barker right here, old man, and it can still put a ball through your worthless head, so remember your manners. It’s the horse to sell and no tricks.”
Froggett scowled, but nodded.
Female laughter echoed over the gangplank. Aboard the Gypsy an argument was clearly in progress. It seemed to revolve around the question of whether female garters ought to be red or pink.
India swallowed. She definitely had a bad feeling about this. The instinct grew even sharper when a buxom female appeared at the top of the gangway, her form barely restrained by a clinging gown. She tittered loudly. “Here’s more come to see the Frenchman. Said it would be a busy night, didn’t I just!” She rubbed her hands greedily while Colton pushed Froggett before him up the wooden planks. India stayed behind, soothing the great gelding, which was growing nervous with the wild activity and the loud voices.
“No use for horses,” a voice called harshly. “Send the pack of ‘em away.”
“But, yer honor, yer ain’t even seen what I got for you.”
“No need to see it,” the heavily accented voice said. “I’ve seen my fill for the night. Now be off with you.”
India’s fingers tightened on Hannibal’s mane. She knew what the band would do next. If the horse had no value, they would dispose of it — along with the two travelers.
That left her only one alternative.
In one swift movement, she swung up into the saddle. As Hannibal reared and danced beneath her, she drove him up the ga
ngway and charged onto the deck.
“Good sweet God above! The boy’s rode the horse right onto the Gypsy!” Torches flicked over the polished wood of the deck where men lolled on coiled ropes and overturned barrels. “Here now,” one of the men growled. “You can’t bring no animal on board. Bleedin’ bad luck, it is!”
“How much for the horse?” a hard voice demanded.
Around India the men went still.
“The horse is not for sale,” she said flatly.
All noise faded away on the deck.
“No? If he isn’t for sale, why have you brought him here, mon gars?”
All eyes swung to the tall figure leaning against the forward mast. His broad shoulders were covered by a thick wool sweater and his face was in shadow.
“I didn’t. These brutes waylaid us and tried to steal the horse.”
“‘Tis a lie,” Colton protested. “I hired the whelp to ride the horse. Then the cunning little snake tried to steal him from me.”
“You begin to interest me, boy.” A long shadow fell across the deck, slashing across India and her prancing mount. Something about that bar of darkness made her shiver. She frowned, trying to make out the features of the man.
Black hair tied back in an unfashionable queue. A black eye patch. Swarthy skin half hidden by grime and a heavy beard. Her eyes locked with fascination on the gold ring that dangled from his ear.
She swallowed.
“And just whose horse is it that I have the great honor of viewing?” The voice was liquid, heavily accented, and darkly compelling.
“I am — Jeremiah.”
“Jeremiah who?”
“Er, Froggett. Your honor,” she added. “But like I said, the horse ain’t for sale. These villains was trying to steal him from me.”
Instantly Will Colton shouldered his way through the crowd. “‘Tis a lie, yer honor. The thievin’ little wretch rode the beast down here from London for me. Paid him proper to do the job, too, so I did.”
“He’s the one who’s lying!” India protested. In an instant a fierce argument ensued. It was halted by a pistol ball striking the Gypsy’s deck.
“Enough,” the captain growled. “It is easy to determine if the horse is stolen. Off the horse, boy.” India slid to the deck, though she kept her fingers locked on the gelding’s mane.
“Move apart now.”
Colton stepped back, scowling.
“You, sir, call the horse.”
After a moment’s hesitation Will raised one grimy hand. “Here, er, fellow. Come to me now, come like a good fellow.”
The great horse raised his head and nickered, unmoving.
“Now you, boy.”
“Come, love,” India called softly. “There’s a sweet fellow.” Instantly the gelding danced across the deck and moved behind her, butting her softly. “Ho,” she said, but the horse kept moving, shoving her toward the man at the mast. “Stop that, you irritating creature!”
But the gelding had ideas of his own. A moment later India was pitched against the tall, unsmiling figure by the mast.
Her breath caught. Hard ridges of muscle drove into her hips. The pirate’s low laugh made her cheeks flame. She tried to step back, only to find his hands clenched at her waist.
“Voyons, the night, she has turned interesting.”
Her head was wrenched back. The lantern rose above her.
The captain gave a low, muttered curse. “Perkins?”
“Aye, Cap’n?”
“Take the horse away and rub him down,” the Frenchman ordered harshly.
“I’ll not leave! Not without my money!” Colton bellowed. “You’ll not get the animal past my men neither.”
The pirate waved his hand as if knocking away a fly. “Take this fellow away, too, Perkins.”
A fight broke out on deck. During the chaos that ensued, India slid onto Hannibal’s back, determined to protect Froggett while he escaped overboard.
But she never got the opportunity.
Strong hands closed over her waist. She was yanked from the horse and flung over a brawny shoulder.
“Let me go, you — you pirate scum!”
Her protests were met with a low chuckle.
“He’ll do you no good! Only I can ride Hannibal. He’ll toss you on your face the second you touch his back.”
“But no, I have a way with animals — and with people.”
Something in that cool, fluid voice made India’s pulse quicken. She fought furiously as the Frenchman’s hard hands slid along her back and covered her twisting hips.
Abruptly his long fingers tightened. India heard him curse.
Dear God, he couldn’t know! Not after one brief contact.
India was having a very bad feeling about this. But she wouldn’t let the grimy pirate see her fear. “Let me go! He’ll be no good to you, I tell you.”
By now every man on deck was silent, watching rapt as their captain struggled with this cocky new arrival.
“Stop fighting me,” the Frenchman hissed.
“Like hell I will!”
Her captor’s voice fell. “Do you wish for me to reveal you to all my men? Right now, my dear?” he added silkily.
He knew. Sweet heaven, he’d found her out! India caught a ragged breath. What was she to do now?
The deck pitched suddenly. She was swung onto her stomach and carried toward the companionway.
“Keep the horse safe, Perkins. No one is to touch him until I have the facts of this matter. No doubt a few blows with my strap will work the truth out of the boy.”
“Just you try it,” India hissed, kicking furiously.
“Oh, you may count on that. Beating you is exactly what I mean to do, my dear. Or should I say Lady India Delamere?” the harsh voice hissed back.
CHAPTER 23
“Blasted thief! Rotten scoundrel!”
India’s angry shouts echoed over the deck. But anger was just a defense. The pirate knew her sex and her identity. What in heaven’s name would he do with her now?
Confronted with a problem, India did as she had always done since she was able to walk. She followed the example of her two beloved and thoroughly unruly brothers.
She raised her fists and prepared to fight. “Stay away from me.”
The Frenchman closed the door of the cabin and slid the bolt home.
“Don’t come near. You’ll be sorry if you do, I warn you!”
He turned slowly and angled his back against the door, arms crossed across his broad chest. A single candle flickered on an ornate, brass-bound chest, casting his bearded features into shadow.
India felt a rising wave of panic. “The horse is no good to you.”
No answer.
“You’ll never be able to ride him.”
Still no answer.
“So you won’t listen to reason.” She tugged her pistol from her cuff. “Then this will have to convince you.” She leveled the silver barrels. “Stay away. I’ll shoot if you touch me,” she said fiercely.
“Will you, indeed?” the Frenchman said softly. He took a step closer.
India’s fingers tensed. She aimed carefully and sent a bullet cracking off the wall over his shoulder.
“I suggest you be careful where you’re pointing that thing.”
“Where I’m pointing is at you!”
Silently the pirate closed the gap, shadows dancing around him.
Grimly, India sent a second ball hurtling from the pistol. It took a nick out of the wall, the sliver cutting through the Frenchman’s arm.
He just kept coming.
“Don’t you have ears? The next ball will go through your heart!”
He smiled faintly. “But now you have no bullets left, petite.”
He was right, India realized too late. She tossed down the pistol and tugged a knife from her boots. “Then you’ll taste my steel instead.”
“Such fire for a woman — and an Englishwoman at that. C’est fort amusant.”
“Oh,
I’m funny, am I? Well, you won’t think so in a minute, cur.”
“No? Mille pardons. And me, I think I am being so chivalrous.”
Scowling, India leveled the knife, but the Frenchman caught it away with one smooth stroke. “I have no intention of touching you, little fool.”
“Hah! And I suppose those men out there are in training for a life in the church.”
“My men are well enough. Neither they — nor I — will hurt you.”
India looked at him suspiciously. “You won’t? Why not?”
“Because I like my women to look like women, for one thing. And also because taking partners to bed by force is not a good entertainment.”
India swallowed. “Then what do you intend to do with me?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea.” Shrugging philosophically, he opened a drawer in the desk and pulled out a decanter and two tumblers. “Brandy?”
India crossed her arms defiantly. “I see right through your tricks, snake. You couldn’t frighten me so now you’re going to poison me instead!”
“Poison, you fear.” The Frenchman filled two glasses and then drained one. “Like that?”
India bit her lip. “You must be trying to make me foxed. That won’t work either.”
He shrugged again, took the glass he’d poured for her, and drained it as well. “Now tell me what you are doing alone among those ruffians.”
“My groom was with me, so I wasn’t alone.”
“Voyons, that makes it all different, of course. So let me ask again. What are you doing dressed in boy’s breeches and riding a horse that would cost a lifetime of work for any of my men?”
“None of your business,” India said sharply. “I won’t tell you. Not even if you torture me.”
Across the cabin the shadowed face hardened. “There is torture, petite.” His voice fell, rough and seductive. “And then there is torture.”
India sensed the tension in his body. Even more she felt the power of his will, a power that kept his villainous men in tight check. She swallowed. “And just what is that supposed to mean?”
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