‘I’ve decided...’ Devore came to stand in front of her. She looked past him to the space over his shoulder ‘...that we shall be married. That will put you beyond Sherard’s reach as long as I live.’
‘He will kill you!’ Bryn spat, her words hastily and poorly chosen in the wake of Devore’s shocking revelation. The proposition invoked no small amount of fear.
‘Ha! So he does care? I thought so.’ He smiled evilly, grabbing her wrists and dropping a loop of rope over them. He tugged and she felt the rope bite into skin as he jerked her forward. ‘Philippe, the blindfold please, we’re ready to go.’
Brave or not, Bryn did struggle then, putting up a fight as the other man bound a cloth over her eyes. She wanted to know where they were going, wanted to seize any opportunity to get away. But she was no match for his muscled brawn any more than she had been in the marketplace. But it was Devore who ended it with a stiff slap across her face that left her stunned by the show of brutality.
‘There will be no resistance, my dear. If you try my patience, you will learn there are worse things than a slap in the face.’ His calm tones belied the violence he’d just meted out. ‘Philippe, I think a gag is in order, too. I’ll wager this one’s a screamer.’
The gag smelled and she involuntarily turned her face away in an attempt to avoid it. But Devore pressed it to her mouth and nose, forcing her to breathe deeply of the foul rag. Her head began to swim, her mind registering too late this was no mean gesture designed to be a show of power. She felt consciousness slipping away, the one thing she was desperate to hang on to, the only thing she had left that gave her any control. A small, panicked moan escaped her. ‘No...’ But that was all.
* * *
Kitt was desperate to hang on to his sanity. The bankers’ meeting had gone on for what seemed an interminable amount of time. How much more was there to say? Devore was guilty of fraud, he needed to be brought in. Yet these men were determined to turn the decision into a two-hour discussion. Didn’t they see they were losing valuable time? Even now, Devore might be sailing away with his profits. If he escaped them, the bank’s reputation would be ruined before it even started.
But the bank’s reputation wasn’t Kitt’s only concern. He was losing time, too—he wanted this settled so he could focus on Bryn. What could he risk offering her? It had been torture to see her that morning, to be in her house, to know she was near and not be able to reach out to her. He wanted this latest adventure to be over. He wanted to know she was safe.
He’d barely slept the previous night. His thoughts had been haunted with ‘what ifs’—what if he gave up his business? He didn’t need to run cargo. He was wealthy enough to live off investments and live more tamely. But that wasn’t him. It would be like giving up his soul. And yet Bryn moved him, touched him at his core with her love for adventure, with her loyalty. To turn his back on what she offered him was no small thing. He’d felt the absence of her in his bed quite acutely for reasons that went beyond sex. By the time the sun had risen he was no closer to an answer.
Sneed entered the dining room, quietly passing an envelope to Rutherford. Kitt followed the interaction with his eyes, his mind desirous of any distraction. The conversation had long since bored him. Rutherford looked perplexed, turning the note over in his hand.
‘I believe this is for you, Sherard.’ Rutherford looked down the table at him as Sneed brought the unopened envelope. Kitt took it, apprehension running through him. This was no ordinary note. Passemore brought the mail to the boat or to the house. How would any note know to find him here? Or why?
Kitt slit the envelope and read. It was a wedding invitation done up on formal, heavy cream paper. His gaze stalled on the first line at the sight of Hugh Devore’s name. His heart began to pound. The next line confirmed his fears. The bastard had taken Bryn. Devore had her even now and had done who knew what to her while they’d sat discussing their options. And it was his fault. He’d exposed her to Devore. Devore somehow knew Bryn mattered to him, although he’d certainly given Devore plenty of chances to learn of it. He’d been careless. This was a direct blow, not so much about the swindle, but about personal revenge. Devore blamed him for his wife’s desertion. Now he sought to take a woman in place of the one Kitt had taken from him.
Stay calm. Show these gentlemen nothing, he counselled. Panic would do no one any good, certainly not Bryn. He looked up at Rutherford and the others, eyeing them in turn. ‘While we have been discussing our situation ad nauseam, Devore has taken action.’ After hours of noise and babble, silence fell on the table, awkward and heavy. Kitt tossed the invitation into the centre. ‘He’s taken Rutherford’s daughter.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
Rutherford paled. ‘We must go after him.’ He’d already half-risen in his seat, prepared to rush to Bryn’s aid, all foolish, noble loyalty. It twisted the knife of guilt a little more in Kitt’s gut. He’d jeopardised Bryn.
‘It’s what he wants.’ Selby spoke coolly from his place at the table, his voice drawing everyone’s attention.
‘Of course it’s what he wants,’ Rutherford said impatiently. ‘He means to ransom Bryn for our silence on the matter of the island.’
‘No, it’s what he wants.’ Selby jabbed a finger in Kitt’s direction. Kitt bristled. What fresh conspiracy did Selby seek to convict him of now? ‘Sherard would like nothing better than to marshal your legitimate resources to fight his less-than-legitimate-war with Devore. Why risk himself when he could have the bank intervene instead?’
Kitt watched Harrison’s eyes narrow. ‘What is this about, Sherard? Is there any truth to it? There had better not be a secret agenda.’
‘Do you expect him to answer that truthfully?’ Selby cut in before Kitt could respond. ‘Devore wants revenge for Sherard and Dryden exiling him and the Gridley gang last summer.’
Kitt shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Selby had said too much. Couldn’t the man see he’d nearly betrayed Bryn? A smart man at the table would see the missing link of logic. Crenshaw decided to be that man. ‘I thought this was about the land swindle. What does abducting a banker’s daughter have to do with Sherard’s little vendetta? I thought Rutherford had the right of it: Devore wants to trade the daughter for our silence.’
Selby paled, recognising his mistake too late. To explain further meant publicly pairing Kitt with Bryn. Kitt tensed, waiting for Selby to back down. ‘Well, Sherard was the one that discovered the island was a hoax,’ he said weakly.
Kitt decided to enter the fray. These men would talk themselves to death, meanwhile Bryn was in some very real peril. ‘We have to go after her. We can sort out the particulars of my motives later.’
‘We don’t know where he’s at,’ Selby said sulkily.
‘Yes, we do. It’s on the invitation.’ Kitt pushed the card towards Selby. Tortoise Island, six o’clock. It was just past three now. Barely enough time to get his ship under way and go, but perhaps Devore was counting on that; there wouldn’t be enough time to ride for Ren and rally the plantation workers. There would only be enough time to assemble Kitt’s crew and whichever investors might choose to come.
Selby picked up the invitation and tossed it back down again. ‘If it’s so obvious where to find her, it must be a trap.’
‘Of course it’s a trap,’ Kitt said through gritted teeth. He was going to strangle Selby in a minute. ‘That doesn’t mean we don’t go.’ That sounded very similar to something Bryn had said to him not so long ago. Then, he’d been the Selby in the room.
Kitt pushed back from the table. ‘The Queen sails at four. If anyone feels inclined to come, be on board. The tide won’t wait. If we mean to make Tortoise Island by six, we need to catch it.’ They needed the wind to hold as well. He didn’t want to alarm Rutherford, but it would take all the speed the Queen could muster to make that deadline. He was starting to suspect that had be
en Devore’s plan all along—to have them arrive too late.
Not that the marriage would be binding. Devore would be a bigamist if he claimed marriage to Bryn. It wasn’t the theoretical that worried Kitt, it was the practical. Devore wouldn’t hesitate to consummate the marriage such as it was and Bryn wouldn’t hesitate to fight it even though she’d be no match for Devore’s brute strength.
Kitt strode down the front steps of Rutherford’s town house at a near run, stuck on the image of Bryn resisting. A litany took up residence in his mind: Don’t fight, don’t fight. But he knew she would. She wouldn’t give in even at risk to her personal safety. Bryn was stubborn and tenacious. Heaven help him, it was what he loved about her.
Something pulled on his arm and he turned to see Selby beside him, jogging to keep up. ‘Sherard, stop and face me like a man!’ Selby nearly shouted. That did it. Kitt had all he was going to take from the likes of James Selby, who had arguably brought all of this to a head with his foolish investment.
Kitt seized him by the front of his jacket and hauled him up against a fence post, roaring his displeasure. ‘Take your hands off me or I will squash you like an ant!’
Selby was not daunted. ‘Are you happy now? You have everyone running to do your bidding, to rescue Miss Rutherford for you, to finish your vendetta for you. Do you care for her at all or is she just a means to more of your sordid ends?’
Ah, Kitt understood the man’s rage. He should have known. Perhaps he had known and had conveniently chosen to ignore the facts. Selby was in love with her. Of course he was. What man wouldn’t worship Bryn Rutherford from afar? Or up close if he could? Like he had. A man like Selby wouldn’t dare the latter. Still, Kitt was in no mood to tolerate Selby’s assumptions.
‘I should call you out for that!’ Kitt snarled, his face close to Selby’s. Let the man see his anger. It would make his forgiveness seem all the more generous. ‘Your feelings for her do you credit, but your emotions do not.’ He shook Selby once and stepped back. ‘Curb your temper before it makes you foolish.’ He could spare no more time for Selby. He had a boat to make ready and a woman to redeem.
Beyond that, he didn’t dare to think of what came after. Bryn would be despising him by now. No matter how moving their last conversation had been, no matter how many subtle promises had been made, no professions of love would override the fact that the danger he put her in was very real. It was no longer hypothetical as it had been on the ship. She was experiencing it first-hand and she would not thank him for it. She could not ignore that part of his life. If she was smart, she would understand why she couldn’t be part of it. If he was smart, he’d give up his fantasies. He couldn’t have her. He couldn’t let her live this way for him.
He was regretting having been so cool towards her that morning. She might even be wondering if he would come for her. He hated that the most, that Bryn would doubt him, but he’d given her no reason to believe otherwise. How many times had he warned her he would not play the gentleman? But surely she knew someone would come? Maybe that didn’t inspire much confidence if she thought those someones would be her father and Selby, hardly two knights in shining armour when it came to overcoming the likes of Devore. I am coming, Bryn. He cast his gaze to the sky as he hurried towards the harbour. The winds would hold. They had to. He would reach her in time. He had to. Nothing else mattered.
* * *
Kitt would reach her in time. He would come, if not out of his own volition, out of her father’s. Bryn stretched and twisted on the cot, trying to find relief for her sore arms without upsetting her stomach with any sudden movements. Whatever had been on the rag had made her nauseous. When she’d come to the journey had been over. The blindfold and gag had been removed, a sure sign they were no longer necessary. But she was just as helpless. She was stuck on the cot, her hands still tied and the rope connected to a ring fixed in the side of the hut.
Were they still on Barbados? Had they sailed somewhere else? If she managed to get free, where would she go? At the moment, such considerations seemed moot.
The hut opened, admitting the hulking form of Devore. He was carrying a box. ‘You’re awake, just in time. Do you know what is in here?’ He lifted the lid and set the box down across her lap. He parted the tissue and pulled out a gown. ‘Your wedding dress, isn’t it lovely? I got it in a trade a while back with a merchant ship.’ He shook out the expensive confection. ‘It should be close enough to your size.’
‘The same way you were trading for Kitt’s rum? By ambush?’ Bryn managed to get out past her dry lips. ‘I’d rather go naked.’
‘That can be arranged, my little virago.’ He set the box down and walked to the crude little table and the pitcher that sat on it. ‘Thirsty?’ He poured a cup of water and Bryn tried to appear uninterested while he drank it front of her, giving a wet, satisfied smack of his lips when he finished. ‘It’s cold. It’s very good water actually. Would you like some? Perhaps we could reach an agreement? You put on the dress, and I’ll give you a drink.’
Bryn was far more interested in what the deal implied. Her hands would be free! Free hands created possibilities. Her mind was whirring. Free hands could smash the water jug, free hands could pick up a pottery shard from the broken jug and wait for a moment to swipe the jagged edge across Devore’s leering face. She would take the deal, but she didn’t dare appear too excited by it or Devore would suspect something. With great reluctance she eyed the water jug, her posture feigning defeat as she managed one hoarse word. ‘Yes.’
Devore bent over her, slicing a thin, wicked blade through the ropes, the big paunch of his stomach in her face as he cut. He laughed at her discomfort, but he held out the cup of water and watched as she drank it. The water was good. She let it slide down her throat, but her enjoyment was short lived. He yanked the empty cup away. ‘You’ve had your drink. Now, put on the dress.’ His eyes gestured to the box on the cot and he settled into the hut’s one chair.
Dread settled over her. He didn’t mean to leave. He laughed again, this time at her hesitation. ‘Don’t give me this maidenly modesty act, Miss Rutherford. You have no modesty. I saw you with Sherard, with him buried between your legs.’ He played with his knife, drawing her eyes to the long blade. ‘Get on with it before I decide to not be nice, although I should warn you, I like it when you fight.’
Bryn slid down the short puffed sleeves of her gown, her fingers slowly working the laces at her back. For now, what choice did she have? To undress herself was better than having someone else do it for her, a scene she rather thought Devore would enjoy a little too much. The man was repulsive. When the time came, she would have no trouble slicing, gutting, cutting, whatever it took. She had no empathy for this cretin who took so much pleasure in degrading others. That time would come. There was a rescue party on its way to her. Devore had arranged it, a final showdown between him and Kitt. The only question was how would Kitt compete against Devore’s men. She was merely the bait to draw Kitt out.
‘Now the chemise,’ Devore growled, a hand riding his crotch. ‘No sense wearing anything beneath that wedding dress when I’ll be taking it off you soon enough.’
Bryn closed her eyes. Just get it over with. Watching can’t hurt you. It was with some relief that she slipped into the dress, her skin covered once more. There was a rap on the door of the hut and she clutched the loose dress to her. One of Devore’s henchmen entered.
‘Best get on with it, Boss. We’ve got Sherard’s ship in our sights, just rounded the headland.’
‘The headland!’ Devore roared. ‘How did he get so close? We were supposed to have seen him long before this.’
The man shrugged, backing away from Devore’s wrath. ‘You can go see for yourself, Boss.’
Devore lurched to his feet, grabbing her by the wrist in a vicious grip. He dragged her towards the door. ‘It looks like we’ll have to speed things up a bit.’
>
‘You’re in an awfully big hurry to die,’ Bryn snapped, tripping behind him, her feet tangling in the skirts. ‘You can’t possibly think you’re his equal in combat. He’s faster, stronger, younger, he’ll wear you down.’ Perhaps she could sow some doubt that would turn Devore from this course.
She shouldn’t have provoked him. Devore hauled her to him, drawing his knife, the blade the only thing between them. ‘This is the great equaliser. I don’t need to be stronger or faster. I only need to prick him with the smallest of cuts and the poison will do the rest, a nice trick I picked up from the natives.’
‘Killing Kitt won’t stop people from knowing about the swindle. You can’t kill all of us.’ It was all bravado at this point. The knife was a frightening weapon indeed. The relief she’d felt in hearing Kitt had arrived was replaced by a paralysing fear. Kitt could die without even knowing what had wounded him, without knowing that she loved him.
‘I’m not interested in stopping the news,’ Devore sneered. ‘I’m interested in revenge. When I’ve had it, I will sail away with my new bride.’ He brandished the knife dangerously near her face. ‘And when I’ve tired of her or she has displeased me one too many times, I will discard her, too. How long do you think you’ll last, my dear? A few days, a week? Years?’
Bryn wanted to make a grand gesture as she stumbled ignobly behind Devore out into the sun. Perhaps a braver soul would opt to prick herself on the deadly blade right now and end it by taking away Devore’s leverage, or say something grand like ‘I’d rather die than contemplate years with you’, but it wasn’t true. She wanted to live so very much. She wanted to swim with dolphins, shower beneath waterfalls, and make love on white sandy beaches with Kitt. All of it with Kitt. If that made her a coward, then so be it. She would find a way to warn him.
Devore brought her up short at the treeline where the jungle gave way to beach. ‘Don’t think about warning him. I have a blade for you, too.’ He motioned to a big, swarthy man with scars on his chest. ‘If you cry one word of warning to him, Baden here has orders to give you a nice scratch. I wouldn’t risk it, my dear. Can you imagine the guilt Sherard would carry with him knowing you died for him? That alone would kill a man. It’s not a pretty death either. I’ve seen men afflicted by the poison. It isn’t pretty nor is it fast enough. It grabs hold of your bones and it won’t let go until you scream, your body contorting, twisting this way and that looking for relief. Surely marriage to me would be a far better alternative than that.’ He yanked her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. ‘You never know, you might just find you have a taste for a man like me.’
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