A Brother's Honor

by Ferguson, Jo Ann

  “I could have thrown it!”

  Although he guessed she expected him to smile at her half jest, he continued in the same somber tone, “Whether the gun worked or not is hardly the issue. What is the issue is that you hid it from me.”

  “Yes.” She took a deep breath, then released it slowly. “You are right. I should have told you about it.”

  “Abigail Fitzgerald is admitting she was wrong?”

  Her smile appeared and vanished so quickly he could have believed he had not seen it. “I do admit I am wrong when I think I am wrong, not when others think I am.”

  “Touché.” He leaned toward her, capturing her gaze with his. How he wished he could lose himself in those crystal blue depths that were as changeable as the sea. “Chérie, you must be honest with me as long as we are in England.”

  “If you will be with me.”

  “For as long as we are here, which should not be much longer.”

  “We are leaving England?” Her eyes grew round.

  “Of course.”

  “When?”

  “That I cannot answer as quickly.”

  “Oh.” Her shoulders slumped, and he put his arm around them. He had thought she would pull away, but she rested her head against him. That warned him how high he had raised her hopes and how hard he had dashed them.

  Dominic was startled at the regret racing through him. Being less than honest with her would be stupid. Yet he wished he could ease that lost expression that stole every bit of glitter from her eyes.

  Tilting her chin up so he could look down at her, he whispered, “By now we have been missed in Calais, but Ogier will not—”

  “Ogier? Who is that?”

  “Ogier Broulier is my first mate. He is mastering La Chanson de la Mer until I return. He will search for us as long as he can.”

  “As long as he can? You are his captain. Why would he stop?”

  “They have other things to do, chérie.”

  Abigail shivered involuntarily. Dominic’s words were like a slap across the face. This man holding her was her enemy. He wanted to see Father hang, and he had had no sympathy for what she would have endured in France.

  Trying to keep her voice steady, she said, “I already have faced the fact that I may not get back to New Bedford for a very long time.”

  “And that does not frighten you?”

  She started to reply with bravado, but halted her sharp answer. Meeting his gaze steadily, she said in an even tone, “It scares me almost as much as being captured and being put to death as a spy. I do not want to die here in England all alone.”

  “You are not alone.” He stroked her hands gently.

  Withdrawing her fingers from his, she pulled away from him and shook her head. “In many ways, Dominic, I am more alone than I ever have been. Unlike you, I am accustomed to being with my family.”

  “The crew of La Chanson is my family.”

  She glanced at the wedding ring on his left hand and stood. “If we want to eat tonight, I should find us something.”

  “Chérie?”

  “I am sorry I did not tell you about the pistol, Dominic, but it does not matter, does it?”

  “No, it does not matter.” Sorrow filled his voice. “Nothing matters but getting out of England before we are discovered.”

  “It will not be easy.”

  “True, but we must try.”

  She dampened her abruptly arid lips, then whispered, “Do you think we will succeed?”

  “I am not sure.” His eyes met hers as his voice grew cold. “The only thing I am sure of is that, if we must, we will die trying.”

  Chapter Eight

  Hearing someone outside the hut, Dominic woke and reached for the knife. He clenched and unclenched his hands. Yes, he could beat back an intruder.

  He lowered the knife as Abigail peeked in and asked, “Awake?”

  “Yes.” He growled a French curse as he rubbed his aching shoulder.

  “Are you hurting worse?” she asked as she held out a cup of water to him.

  He was about to chide her for risking her life, then realized that the sun was just rising. In the past ten days, Abigail had kept the promise she had made not to go near the stream during the daylight. He hoped she would hold as dear other vows that he must ask of her.

  “Dominic?”

  Giving her a wry smile so she could not guess the course of his thoughts, he said, “Yes, I am hurting, but ’tis my fault. All night I was careful not to lie on the burned skin across my left shoulder. So I woke with my right shoulder all cramped from sleeping on it.” Stretching, he winced again. He scratched his cheek, which itched with unshaven whiskers. “Why are you smiling?”

  Abigail chuckled. “Because you are in such a charming mood this morning.”

  He glared at her, then relented. Her continual attempts to cheer him must be as difficult on her as on him.

  He tried to move his ankle, and the ruts in his forehead eased. The pain was almost gone. Cautiously he stretched his left arm, then his right, and grinned. Only his head continued to ache. The wounds there would take a few more days to heal. It was time to find his way back to La Chanson.

  As Abigail handed him a slice of stale bread for breakfast, he appraised her. She had tended to him tirelessly. Every day, she crept into the village to find something to eat. She had been an excellent ally, but would that change when he told her what he had planned?

  He smiled as he took a sip of the fresh water and looked over the cup to admire Abigail. In her loose shirt and breeches that accented her lovely legs, she urged him to forget about the dangers of crossing England and think only of making love with her.

  Abigail lowered her eyes from Dominic’s smile. If he thought she was unaware of his gaze, he was a fool. And she knew he was no fool. As soon as he was well enough to travel, they must be on their way, so she could say good-bye to England and this intriguing French pirate. The uneasy truce between them must not be broken until then, but she feared that was impossible.

  “The villagers were speaking about attending a fair day,” she said as she took another sip.

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  He laughed. “The timing could not be better. They will be exhausted by dark.”

  “And we can be on our way?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where?”

  “London.”

  Abigail stared at him. “Are you mad?”

  “Mayhap, because, if I am not wrong, we are near the region the English call Dartmoor.”

  “Where is that?”

  He smiled. “Almost the full breadth of England away from London. We were swept by the storm north almost to Caernarvon in Wales. As soon as the rudder was repaired, I headed the Republic south to go around Cornwall. We had not gotten far when your father’s crew decided to destroy the ship rather than face their fate in France.”

  Abigail frowned, waving aside his words that did not matter now. “That is not what I meant. You must be mad to go to London.”

  “Mayhap, but London offers us our best chance to flee this island, because so many ships come there.”

  “Not French or American ships.”

  He chuckled. “You would be surprised, chérie. It is not difficult to hide a ship’s origins when there is money to be made.” He put his cup on the floor. “La Chanson has sailed into the Pool at least a half-dozen times in the past two years. It sometimes is easier to buy supplies in London than to return to France.”

  “But your accent must give you away.”

  “Men who are interested in profits seldom care about their government’s policies. If we can reach London, I know of several people I can get to help us.”

  “Help us or just you?”

  He smiled tightly. “I hope they will help both of us.”

  “You want me to base my life on a hope?” She toyed with the hem of her long shirt. “And even if they are willing to help, I am no better off than I am now. I will be am
ong my enemies in France instead of in England.”

  “I have thought of that.” All amusement disappeared from his face as he took her hands. “Chérie, help me get to London, and I shall see that you are sent back to your aunt in New Bedford.”

  Abigail knew she should agree before he changed his mind, but she could not. “What of my father?”

  “Once Ogier has turned him over to the authorities, I can do nothing.” He put his finger to her lips to halt her next question. “My debt is to you, Abigail. You saved my life, and I will do all I can to return you to yours.”

  She nodded, not knowing what to say. Dominic St. Clair would not unbend enough to break the laws of his country, but he possessed a certain sense of honor. She did not want to admit that, because then she might have to admit as well that she had come to enjoy his wit and his efforts to save her from the dismals … and she had enjoyed his kisses.

  She looked at the ring on his left hand. Mayhap he did not intend to be as honorable about his wedding vows as he was about helping her, but she must be.

  “All right,” she said in little more than a whisper. “I will help you if you help me.”

  “Is that a promise, Abigail?”

  “Yes.”

  “And ’tis a promise from me as well.” He lifted her right hand to his lips and kissed it swiftly. “A promise sealed with a kiss, chérie, is one that neither of us can break.”

  She laughed, unable to halt herself when he sounded so serious. When a smile warmed his stern face, she was certain of one thing. The trip ahead of them would not be boring.

  Night trailed out of the trees to throw itself across the shore. In the distance, the lights from the village looked like earthbound stars. A lantern from a small ship bounced with the waves.

  Abigail shoved her ruined clothes beneath a loose floorboard. Nothing must suggest that anyone had been living here. She glanced toward the shore. The bodies there had vanished. Had the sea reclaimed them, or had the villagers taken them away and buried them? Even if the villagers had shown that kindness to the corpses, she doubted that their clemency would extend to a living American and Frenchman.

  She brushed dirt back over the board, satisfied that it would not catch anyone’s attention. Coming to her feet, she wondered who else had taken shelter here and then disguised any signs of their stay. She took one last look around before going to the door. This moonless night was perfect for beginning their journey.

  A darker shadow passed in front of the door, lurching with every step. Abigail picked up the dark lantern she had taken from a shop in the village. She went out and watched as Dominic struggled to walk. He leaned on the hut with each step. When he turned at the end of the hut, he hobbled back toward her.

  “It will not be easy, chérie” he said. “This ankle will not support me completely.”

  “Then we will go slower.” She forced a laugh. “It is not as if we need to be anywhere by a specific time.” She hesitated, then asked, “Dominic, will you be all right?”

  He slid her hand across his cheek that was turning black with whiskers. When it was against his lips, he kissed her palm.

  She yanked her hand away, fearful of the luscious fire that surged along her arm. She must not surrender to his easy seduction. “I can see you are quite yourself! I do not know why I waste time worrying about you. Let’s go.”

  “Have you been worrying about me?” Astonishment filled his obsidian eyes.

  “As I would about any wounded beast. If you delay any longer, we shall not be on our way before the sun rises.”

  When he frowned at her, she refused to be intimidated by his black brows beneath the dingy bandage across his forehead. “I will match you step for step,” he said.

  “If you don’t, you may find yourself sitting by the side of the road at daybreak.”

  He nodded, surprising her, for she had thought he would argue further. Then she realized that he knew, as she did, that they must put a few miles between them and the village before dawn forced them again into hiding.

  “Have you found your cat?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you bringing him with us?”

  She shook her head. “He has found himself a home at a dairy near the village. He will be happy there.”

  “He is wise. I wish you would be as wise. This would be much easier if you were more cooperative.”

  “Me? I am cooperating.”

  “As your father did. When he saw it was useless to fight any longer, he accepted surrender to La Chanson.” He laughed quietly. “In fact, he surrendered before I was certain we would win.”

  She closed the dark lantern. “I think it would be for the best if you refrained from flaunting your victory over the Republic all the time.”

  “I am not flaunting our victory as much as I am stating how curious I am that such a brave woman could have such a spineless father.”

  Abigail did not answer. How could she? She still did not understand why Father had capitulated to the French, or why the Republic had been sailing in English waters, or, the thing that bothered her most, why Father had left her aboard to become Dominic’s prisoner. No matter how many ways she tried to explain Father’s actions to herself, she could not. There must be a good reason why he had done what he did, but she could not guess what it was. She hoped she would have a chance to ask him.

  Taking Dominic’s arm, she drew it around her shoulder. In the thin light from the stars, she saw how his lips were clamped closed as he took a step, putting some weight on his right ankle. Pain raced through her as his fingers dug into her shoulder.

  “Forgive me,” he whispered. “Damn, that hurts!”

  “I can support you if you do not grind your fingers through my skin.”

  His answer was lost in a groan as they took another step together. When they took a third, he said, “Thank you, chérie, for not dressing me down.”

  “For what?” she asked as she led him toward the thicker trees.

  “For not bearing this in silence.”

  “I wouldn’t.”

  His chuckle brushed her ear, and she fought the quiver that raced through her. “But you are quite wrong,” he said.

  “I am?”

  “You endured all sorts of abuse from me and my crew in silence.”

  “I complained.”

  “When I touched you, yes, but you never spoke to me of Jourdan accosting you belowdecks.”

  “You knew of that?”

  Again he laughed, then moaned as they skirted a tree. “As captain, I needed to know everything that happened on my ship. I forgive a man one mistake. Two, no.” His side strained against her as they reached the path. “It can be quite galling when I can barely walk to recall how brave you are.”

  His amusement disappeared as another pang cut through him. When he cursed, she eased him to the ground. He winced, and she adjusted his ankle quickly.

  She knelt beside him. “It should be easier from this point forward.”

  “If we use the road.”

  “I fear we have no other choice. I cannot carry you through the woods all the way across England.”

  He kneaded his ankle gently. “It is healing well. Within a day or two, I should be able to walk on it.”

  “I hope so.” She touched the darkest bruise.

  “Ventre bleu!” he spat. “Take care!”

  “I am.” Her brow furrowed. “If you were wise, you would stay off it until the sprain heals.”

  “But I am neither wise nor patient.”

  She laughed. “Undoubtedly, you are the most impatient patient in the world.”

  He stood when she did. Slipping his arm around her again, he cautioned as she put her arm around his waist, “Take care. The burns back there still hurt.”

  “You should have let me check them before we left. If they fester, you could be in real trouble.”

  “Then check them.” He took the lantern from her and opened it slightly. As the glow washed along them on the dese
rted path, he loosened the few buttons on his shirt.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Don’t you want me to take this off?”

  “Not here. Not now. Wait until daybreak when we stop. Then I will check your back.”

  He redid the few buttons that would close on his shirt and smiled. “That gives me something to look forward to, a reward for the miles we put behind us tonight.”

  “First, we have to make those miles disappear.”

  Abigail had expected him to make a retort, for he enjoyed having the final word in any conversation, but Dominic remained silent as they went along the path. She noted how he scanned the road ahead of them as well as looking over his shoulder every few minutes. When her fingers brushed the haft of the knife at his waist, she knew he would not hesitate to use it. She began to believe they might just do the impossible and escape from England.

  Never had Abigail been happier to see the night fade into the thick gray of the moments before dawn. Fog had come ashore to keep them from seeing more than a few feet ahead on the road. It was chilly and clammy, but she was grateful, because she knew that no one would want to be out on such a night.

  Every muscle along her back and legs ached, threatening to give out if she took another step. She ignored the cramps. She had said they would continue until daybreak, and she would, even if the very next step was her last. Beside her, Dominic was silent. She did not need to look at his face to sense how he strained for each step. His fingers drove into her shoulder, and he panted on every breath. His lighthearted jesting had vanished.

  “’Tis sunrise,” he murmured.

  “It is still gray.”

  She was amazed when he chuckled. “You are letting the fog baffle you.” He drew his arm off her shoulder and pointed to the east. “See? The light is much stronger in that direction. The sun has come up out of the sea.”

  “Thank heavens,” she whispered.

  “My thoughts exactly.” Instead of putting his arm around her again, he grasped her hand. He limped to the side of the road where a dark wall became a line of trees. “’Tis time to stop and rest.”