My Runaway Heart

by Miriam Minger

  ***

  "Obviously London held a bit more excitement this time around. Or is that an understatement?"

  Jared didn't answer, but instead stared sullenly at the darkening horizon and the distant smudge of land lying due northwest. He'd kept himself busy for hours but it was clear Walker was determined to goad him—damnation, the last thing he wanted was to discuss Lindsay.

  "She's lovely, you know."

  Jared grunted, saying nothing.

  "Beautiful, actually, like a sea nymph with that silvery blond hair and those big—"

  Jared threw his friend a dark glance.

  "Blue eyes."

  Walker's wry grin did nothing to lighten Jared's mood. He left the starboard railing and strode toward the prow, very much aware that Walker followed him. But he also sensed that the American had sobered, too, his face serious as he stopped beside Jared.

  "What are you going to do with her?"

  Jared stared out across the rolling waves, steely gray now that clouds had obscured the setting sun. He sighed heavily.

  "Jared?"

  "Dammit, man, I don't know what's to be done with her!"

  "That's what I thought."

  Walker's words grating upon him, Jared turned angrily on his friend. "So what would you have me do? Make her walk the plank? Feed her to the fish? Leave her on some deserted island to rot?"

  "Easy, Jared. I have no solutions, either. It's a blasted fix, no matter what we do."

  "We? I told you, Lindsay Somerset is none of your concern."

  Walker stared at him, his pitch-black eyes narrowing; then a quizzical smile touched his face. "How long did you say you've known the wench?"

  "I didn't say." Sensing suddenly where Walker was leading, Jared cursed and went to the port railing, angry with himself and somewhat startled, too, at the vehemence he had displayed. Again his second-in-command followed him, which was no surprise. Eight years of each other's company had left them both able to discern how far things could be pushed. But Walker was pushing dangerously close . . .

  "So she's a hoyden, is she?"

  Pleased that the direction of their conversation had shifted, if only slightly, Jared gave a snort. "That, a romantic fool and about as bloody naïve as they come. But obviously you overheard everything, so I see no reason to continue—"

  "I'm curious, is all. That lesson you meant to teach her—"

  "Failed completely, as you can see. The first night I took her to a cellar tavern and got her drunk on ale, but that didn't daunt her. The next night she managed to find herself nearly auctioned off at a boxing match, if I hadn't offered a hundred pounds for the chit and discharged my pistol into the ceiling for good measure. I even took her to the Boar's Head and up to my room, but that didn't dissuade her. So I told her three days and I'd be back—"

  "A lie, of course."

  Jared threw him another hard look. "Yes, a bloody lie. I finished my business—there are enough fat cargoes scheduled for shipment in and out of London to keep us busy for weeks—and then I left the city to make our rendezvous. But as you overheard, she followed me, and now we've some Cornish baronet's daughter aboard while the whole of London is probably looking for her!"

  He slammed his fist onto the railing, but Walker merely shook his head as if perplexed.

  "But why go through such trouble—"

  "Because I was a rutting fool!" Jared's fingers tightened on the railing, his voice falling to almost a whisper. "She reminded me of Elise—I should have taken her home as soon as I realized I'd misread her . . . but perhaps I saw it as some small way to right the past." He laughed, the sound bitter and raw. "But we know better, don't we, friend? Revenge is the only way to right the past, and even that sometimes doesn't seem enough. It can never bring back what is lost."

  Walker didn't answer, and when Jared finally glanced at him, he saw that the American was staring blindly at the sea, his face as grim as Jared felt.

  He didn't need words to know what Walker was thinking. Each man aboard the Vengeance had endured a common loss and shared a common past as binding as blood. Each man bore a common hatred against England that sealed their loyalty. And whenever another British ship was consigned by fire to a watery grave, all of them shared the spoils and rejoiced in the destruction.

  "Start Point, Cap'n, dead ahead!"

  Jared pivoted on his heel, his gaze meeting his first mate's. Walker abruptly left him to see to his own duties.

  "Good enough, Cowan. Order the prisoners brought from the hold."

  "Aye, Cap'n."

  As the stumpy Irishman disappeared into the belly of the ship, Jared turned and pulled the gold mask from his belt. Yet his thoughts weren't so much on the merchantman's crew who would soon taste again the sweetness of freedom, but upon Lindsay confined unhappily in his quarters.

  What in blazes was he going to do with her?

  ***

  Lindsay peered anxiously out the porthole, her hands twisting in her rumpled pelisse.

  It was nearly dark, but she could still see the rugged green hills of Start Point beckoning to her like the promised land; she so wished she were aboard one of the galleys heading to shore with the merchantman's crew. Yet she knew that wouldn't have worked.

  Once she was free of this wretched ship, she had no desire to be implicated in any way with the Phoenix, so it was best she strike out alone. Jared hadn't accepted her promise not to reveal his identity, but she fully intended to live by it as if he had agreed. An oath was an oath. And she didn't want his capture and execution on her conscience, no matter he was a brutal pirate.

  She shivered at the thought, and focused instead upon the improvised money belt around her waist which she had fashioned from the torn hem of her gown.

  She had found gold guineas in the desk, a tidy sum she fully intended to repay, which would buy her a new gown and coach fare back to London. Cornwall might be closer, but she had no wish to face Olympia. Aunt Winifred and even Matilda, for that matter, would be much easier to sway with a fantastic story . . . as soon as she thought of a good one, of course. But there would be time for that later. Right now she simply wanted to be free of this cabin, and the rest would take care of itself.

  She felt a bit guilty about her plan, actually, which was utter nonsense. Dag might have been kind to her—bringing in her meals himself while a grizzled old sailor, clearly the cook, given he'd been swatched from chin to knobby knees in a soiled white apron, had watched curiously at the door—but that didn't mean she owed him any special consideration.

  No, not even if he had returned midafternoon with a cup of fragrant hot tea, as usual not saying a word, although his light blue eyes had seemed concerned that she had scarcely touched the meat stew he'd brought her for luncheon. Oddly, she had sensed then that something wasn't quite right with him; what, she couldn't put her finger on, but she wouldn't allow sympathy to sway her, either. Dag was a pirate, like every other crew member aboard this ship. That fact was all she must keep in mind.

  Satisfied that the money belt was tied securely around her waist, Lindsay took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. Then she doubled over and began to moan loudly, praying her plan would work.

  "Oh, God, help me! It hurts . . . oh, no, it hurts!"

  The door bursting open made her start, but she moaned all the louder and writhed dramatically as Dag stared at her wide-eyed.

  "I fear . . . oh, no, it must have been something in the food . . . ohhh . . ."

  She jerked, clutching at her stomach, then spun in a swoon to the floor. Lying perfectly still, she could sense Dag looming over her, the big man dropping to one knee. She fluttered open her eyes, her voice no more than a croak.

  "Get help, Dag, please. Oh, it hurts so much . . ."

  Lindsay dropped her head limply to one side, fearing for a moment, when a huge hand covered her shoulder, that Dag might be thinking to carry her to help. She moaned as if in mortal pain when he made a motion to lift her.

  "No, no, please!
It hurts so . . . bring help, Dag! Bring help!"

  She breathed a furtive sigh of relief when he nodded and rose, his footfalls amazingly light for a man so large as he lunged from the cabin.

  That meant she had mere seconds to effect her escape. Lindsay jumped to her feet and waited only an instant before careening after him out the door. The shadowy passageways like a maze, she nonetheless knew she was headed in the right direction when she dashed through the ship's kitchen; she remembered the small galley from when Dag had carried her to Jared's quarters.

  She heard a startled oath, the astonished cook dropping his spoon with a clatter to the floor while his two assistants gaped at her from their stools, where they sat peeling potatoes and chopping onions; then the galley was behind her and she was plunging into another passage. Please, please, she had to be close . . .

  With a relieved cry, she spied the companionway leading out of the hold, her heart thundering against her breast as she stumbled up the narrow steps. Thundering so loud that she barely heard her name being shouted above the whistling wind, her only thought to clamber over the railing.

  Then she was falling through space, icy water closing over her head before she'd even thought to catch a breath.

  Chapter 15

  "Damnation, Dag, she tricked you, the little fool!"

  Jared dropped his pistol and wrenched off his cutlass as he ran to the railing; pulling off his boots, he scanned the dark, choppy waves in vain for a blond head. The currents were treacherous here, and unaccustomed fear gripped him. He didn't wait any longer. Grabbing a handful of rigging, he hauled himself onto the railing and dove into the sea.

  Only when he broke the surface, chilled instantly to the bone and sucking air into his lungs, did he remember one of the reasons he disliked swimming so much, especially around the British Isles. The water was simply too damned cold.

  And thus, deadly.

  "Over there, Jared! She's swimming for shore!"

  Walker waved him toward starboard. Jared clenched his teeth and lunged powerfully through the water, relief twisting his gut when he spied Lindsay valiantly struggling against the rough, foam-flecked waves. He could see that she was an accomplished swimmer but already tiring, her slim arms growing less rhythmic with each stroke. And with two hundred feet yet to go before she reached the beach, he knew she would never make it, the icy cold slowing her down.

  As it was slowing him down, too. Jared squinted through the gathering night to see that the galleys returning to the ship wouldn't get to them in time. Spitting out mouthfuls of salt water, he kicked with all his might to reach her, not surprised that she didn't try to fight him when he caught a small, frigid foot in his hand. Her movements jerky, her lips blue, her fair hair plastered like a cap to her head, she barely acknowledged him when he grabbed her around the chest and began to swim with her back to the ship.

  Her glazed silence chilling him as much as the sea, Jared knew there was nothing he could do for her out here. He swam as hard as he could, relief filling him again when Walker flung a noosed rope out to him. Jared looped it over his head, right arm and shoulder.

  Taking care to keep Lindsay's chin well above the waves, he allowed his men to haul them to the ship, saving his strength for the rope ladder. The blasted thing nearly hit him in the head when it was dropped over the side, but he couldn't have been more glad to see it. Yet he soon found that the icy water had nearly sapped him, for when he tried to climb, Lindsay's weight, although slight, was more an unwieldy burden at that moment than he could have imagined.

  He couldn't suppress a groan of gratitude when someone suddenly splashed into the water beside him, Walker flinging water from his hair when he surfaced.

  "Damn, it's cold!"

  Jared nodded, Lindsay more ice in his arms than flesh, which only chilled him further, his own arms beginning to grow numb. "Quick, man, take her."

  Walker did, climbing the rope ladder with little trouble while Jared waited for the two of them to be hauled aboard. Then he followed, his legs feeling like heavy, leaden weights as he forced one foot after the other; he smiled his thanks when Walker clamped a strong hand around his wrist to pull him over the railing.

  "I know you said the wench was none of my concern—twice—but I thought this time you might make an exception."

  With a warm blanket thrown over his shoulders by another sailor, Jared met Walker's wry smile with a weary, shivering one, though he could see that his friend's dark eyes were dead serious. The sea had long been a benevolent mistress, but they both knew she could become their tomb as well. Yet thankfully, once again they had cheated her. But where . . . ?

  "Lindsay?"

  "Dag already took her down into the hold. I don't know, Jared—"

  "What do you mean, you don't know?" Forgetting the cold, forgetting his fatigue, Jared left Walker staring after him and dropped into the hold, regretting his sharpness even as he followed the ominous trail of seawater to his quarters.

  The first thing he saw was Dag shoveling coal into the iron stove, but his eyes went to where Lindsay lay wrapped in a blanket upon the bed.

  And she was so quiet, too quiet . . .

  Jared went to her at once, wrenching the blanket off his shoulders to cover her, only to realize she still wore her sodden garments, which clung to her like a deadly second skin.

  "Dag, go—I'll see to her."

  The big Norwegian rose from the stove, his concerned gaze flickering from Lindsay back to Jared's face. "I—I s-s-sorry, Cap-tain."

  "I know. It's not your fault. She'll be fine, I promise. Now go. Have Walker head us back into the Channel as soon as the galleys are hoisted aboard."

  Dag nodded solemnly, but seemed reluctant to leave until Jared sensed what might be wrong and added, "I won't punish her, Dag. I think she's been punished enough, don't you? I'm going to do everything I can to help her."

  A ragged moan from the bed made Dag's eyes widen, and he hastened to the door, looking stricken. But Jared couldn't worry about him now. He shut the door behind the Norwegian and went back to the bed, where he gently cupped Lindsay's ashen face with his hand. She was shivering from head to toe, her lips almost white.

  "Lindsay, can you hear me?"

  Her only answer was another low moan, which still encouraged him. But those wet clothes had to go, and fast.

  As Jared unfolded the blanket from her trembling body, his gaze fell upon the improvised money belt at her waist and the gold guineas shining dully beneath the near-transparent lilac silk.

  Blasted clever chit. Yet the heavy coins were probably as responsible as the numbing cold for dragging her down in the water. Had she truly thought she could triumph over so many elements working against her? Or had she been so desperate that she was willing to escape him at all costs?

  His throat tightening even though he told himself it didn't matter one whit what she might have felt, Jared drew his lips ruthlessly together and tore away her wet clothes from collar to hem. Guineas scattered noisily across the plank floor. Limp shreds of lilac fabric, sheer white muslin and a soaked pair of slippers made a tangled web at his feet. A delicate lace corset with pale pink rosettes gave way easily beneath his hands.

  Gave way to reveal the most beautiful breasts he had ever seen, ripely shaped with taunting apricot-tinged nipples, but Jared sucked in his breath and focused upon rubbing warmth into Lindsay's limbs, her fingers, her chilled toes. Yet he was a man, his eyes straying again and again to her breasts, the firm loveliness of her belly and the dusky curls between her thighs, not blond or dark, but hauntingly in between.

  Nor could he seem to control his body, despising himself as he felt a tightness against the seam of his wet breeches. Blast and damnation, the chit was barely snatched from the maw of death and here he was . . . !

  Focusing with extreme force of will upon the task at hand, Jared was relieved when he saw color creeping into Lindsay's cheeks, her limbs becoming warm and pliant. She hadn't moaned again, but she was breathing peacef
ully, which encouraged him all the more.

  After wrapping her in both blankets, taking care that her feet were snugly covered, he picked her up and carried her to the stove, which was radiating a blessed heat that warmed him, too. Giving no heed to his sodden clothes, he kicked the stuffed desk chair in front of the stove, sat down and drew Lindsay close against him. To his surprise, he felt her nestle even closer as if seeking added warmth, an instinctive move, he was certain, since she hadn't yet opened her eyes.

  And if she did, he thought grimly, slumping wearily against the chair back, he doubted she would be happy to find herself in his arms. He wasn't a hero any longer to her after all, not noble and gallant and gentlemanly, but a despicable pirate.

  Feeling an unsettling pang, Jared looked down at her face, at her silvery hair drying in soft tendrils, at her hands tucked like a child's under her chin.

  So beautiful. So reckless. So lost in ridiculous romantic fantasies. But maybe now she was learning just how brutally realistic life could be—and the lesson had only begun.

  With a low curse, Jared leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

  ***

  Lindsay awoke with a start, feeling as if she were being roasted alive in front of a blazing fire. Why was she so warm— Oh, Lord!

  Her discomfort forgotten, she stared with incredulity at Jared's face only inches from hers, his eyes shut peacefully, his lips slack, his breathing deep and slow. He was asleep, that was clear. But how had they come to be . . . ?

  Telling herself to think calmly, rationally, Lindsay peeked over the edge of the blanket and realized they were both sitting in a chair, or rather, she was sitting atop his lap, his arms even in sleep securely around her. She glanced at her surroundings as incredulously and recognized Jared's quarters—memories suddenly flooded back to her.