My Runaway Heart

by Miriam Minger

  "He's below in the crew's quarters. Dag isn't well."

  "Not well?" Remembering what Jared had told her about the huge Norwegian, she felt a sudden knot in her stomach. "What's happened? May I see him? He was so kind to me . . . at least until I struck—" She didn't finish, Walker's tightening expression telling her she didn't have to.

  "He took ill less than an hour ago—it's happened before. Like a spell that comes over him, the pain in his head is sometimes so bad we have to tie him down. But that didn't keep him from asking Jared if you might be allowed to leave your cabin."

  "So—so it wasn't you?"

  "Me? I spoke on your behalf the first time, but after what you did . . ." Walker laughed grimly. "I decided it might be best, like Jared, to leave things as they were. No, you've Dag to thank for your freedom. He plagued Jared every day, three, sometimes four times, never letting him forget just how long it had been."

  Lindsay didn't know what to say, she was so stunned. Not Walker. Or anyone else. It was Dag who had thought of her welfare.

  Touched more deeply than she could say, she still felt a telling stab that it had taken something so severe to make Jared relent. How little he must think of her! It was all she could do to force back the dismay that cold realization brought her.

  "I asked if I might go to him. I doubt I can do anything to help, but—"

  "Go on. I thought you'd want to see him. Just remember, Lindsay, there's no escape from this ship. You already know that jumping overboard won't help you."

  Walker's reminder chilling her, she scarcely gave thought to his having called her by her given name as she nodded and hurried back to the hold, the brisk wind grown so strong she was almost glad to return belowdecks. Several sailors seemed surprised to see her clamber down the steps unescorted, but none moved to stop her or uttered a word, merely giving her wide berth to pass.

  Moments later, when she entered the crew's quarters lit by guttering oil lamps, she knew at once where Dag could be found for the silent, grim-faced gathering of sailors at his bunk. But as she drew near, they saw her and stepped aside, making room. Her heart flew to her throat when Jared looked up from the stool on which he was sitting, but he spared her only a brief glance before turning his attention back to Dag.

  Perhaps that indifference hurt most of all, though she told herself fiercely that it shouldn't. She meant nothing to him, he'd told her as much and he was a traitorous pirate destined one day to feel a hangman's noose around his neck, so why should any of it matter? Yet she felt compelled to move closer, to say something; the day she'd decided she wasn't going to trouble herself over Jared Giles suddenly seemed so long ago.

  "Walker . . . Mr. Burke said I could see Dag. How is he?"

  As if her soft words had been a command for everyone to leave, the sailors moved away and disappeared from the crew's quarters. Only she and Jared remained.

  Yet he didn't look up and she was tempted to leave, too, as far from feeling welcome as a snake at a ladies' garden tea party. But at that moment Dag groaned so pitifully, his bearded face contorted in pain, that Lindsay sank to her knees beside the bunk and took one of his huge hands in her small ones.

  "Shhh, Dag, it's all right. Jared's here and I'm here, too. It was so kind of you to think of me—"

  "He can't hear you."

  Confused, she met Jared's eyes, her heart beating faster at how vividly blue they were. At how handsome he was—the same inexplicable longing filling her as she recalled tracing her fingers over his lips. She flushed, glancing back at Dag for an instant before she could find her voice to speak. "Can't hear? I don't understand."

  "Laudanum. Enough to fell three men. It's the only thing to keep him from thrashing and hurting himself. Hopefully when he wakes, the pain will be gone."

  "But it must be terrible if he sounds so wretched even in sleep."

  "He has a blasted metal ball lodged in his brain, woman! What would you expect?"

  Stunned by his vehement attack, Lindsay felt tears burn her eyes as she rose abruptly to her feet. "I-I'm sorry. It was a mistake for me to come here. Foolish for me to think—" She spun on shaky legs away from Dag's bunk, yet she had taken no more than a step when Jared suddenly caught her hand.

  "Lindsay, stay."

  Her breath stilled at the strength of his fingers gripping hers, her face aflame, she didn't readily turn around for fear of him seeing what his touch had done to her.

  "Please, Lindsay. Dag would be glad you're here. Talk to him if you like. He might hear you."

  Struck by the tremor in his voice, Lindsay turned to see Jared's face etched by private anguish that moved her more deeply than any apology. He released her hand as she sank down next to the bunk, but she still felt the warm pressure of his fingers . . . just as she could feel his eyes upon her when she gently lay her palm upon Dag's tortured brow.

  She didn't know what else to do; there was really nothing more than the laudanum to help him. But Corisande, if she were there, would have told her reassuringly that she was doing all she could, which brought Lindsay comfort. Her friend possessed an intuitive gift for nursing that had always amazed her, making her wish she shared the same talent. Yet she had always delighted Corisande's sisters with her stories . . .

  Lindsay glanced over her shoulder; Jared watched her still, his face half cast in shadow. Suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious, which was not like her at all when it came to spinning tales, she gave a small shrug. "I don't really know what to say to him, but I could tell him something of Cornwall, a favorite story of mine—mine and Corie's, actually."

  Jared nodded, nothing more, but she hadn't expected him to reply. She could imagine how he must feel to see the man who had saved his life three years ago suffering so piteously. She made herself more comfortable next to the bunk, curling her legs beneath her and once more enfolding Dag's limp hand in her own.

  "Well, there was a certain baronet who had a fine house and park on the coast—"

  "Not your father, I trust."

  Jared's voice so low she'd scarcely heard him, Lindsay still took sudden heart that her tale might give him some relief, if only for a short while, from Dag's misery. She threw him a smile, shaking her head.

  "No, no, this baronet's name was Sir Thomas, and it was long suspected by the local excisemen that he had done more than wink at the doings of smugglers—fair traders, as they're called in Cornwall. But the wily 'sarchers'—that's what true Cornish folk call the excisemen—had no proof that Sir Thomas ever allowed any fair traders to use his grounds and outbuildings, though the park, as lovely and green as could be, dipped all the way down to the sea. One dark night, however, a party of men with kegs on their shoulders—"

  "Scotch whiskey?"

  Jared's wry query was a promising sign that his mood was lifting, just as she had hoped. Lindsay laughed and gently squeezed Dag's hand. "Brandy, I suppose. That's what Oliver Trelawny always brought back from France—"

  "Your friend Corie's Oliver Trelawny? Captain Trelawny who allowed you aboard his cutter, the Fair Betty?"

  Blushing to her roots at what she had just revealed, Lindsay glanced sheepishly at Jared, who was staring at her intently. Too intently. "It appears you had more interest in what I was saying during our promenade two weeks ago than you claimed."

  "Twelve days ago."

  "Well, yes, twelve days."

  "And it appears I've just learned something else about you, Lindsay Somerset. Not only have you admitted to recklessly sneaking out at night and frequenting taverns, you consort with smugglers as well."

  "Fair traders."

  "Fair traders, smugglers. Are you admitting that, too?"

  "Of course I wouldn't do such a thing. I only heard that Captain Trelawny made occasional trips to France. May I please finish my story?"

  Hoping she had evaded him when Jared didn't respond—though he was still staring at her—Lindsay turned back to the bunk to find that Dag appeared to be sleeping peacefully, his face no longer lined with pain.
Greatly relieved, she laid his hand upon his chest and lowered her voice.

  "Where was I? Oh, yes, a party of men with kegs on their shoulders was seen stealing through the park toward Sir Thomas's house, and a short while later, they left without the kegs. That brought the excisemen down upon Sir Thomas first thing in the morning, the officer in command apologizing for any inconvenience but saying that they must, of course, make a complete search of the house and grounds."

  "Of course, the bastards."

  Imagining from his remark that Jared himself must have come close to encountering customs officials along the Sussex coast, Lindsay remembered, too, how he'd ordered his men to blow out of the water whoever might be following them on the night she'd sneaked aboard his ship. Which could have been she. Wincing, Lindsay continued.

  "Sir Thomas was most gracious and promptly produced his keys for the excisemen, encouraging them to even look in the cellar, where the wine and spirits were kept—which they did with great enthusiasm. They ransacked the house from attic to cellar and all the outbuildings, but nothing was found."

  "So where were the kegs hidden?"

  Wishing that Jared would simply allow her to finish without interrupting, Lindsay eyed him with exasperation. "I'd wager a guinea, if I owned one, that you were the sort of little boy who never sat still for his lessons."

  "I didn't. Drove my tutors to despair. What happened to the kegs?"

  She sighed, not even bothering to ask that he guess. "The excisemen failed to look in the family coach, which was full to the ceiling with kegs. So full, in fact, that to prevent the springs from breaking or showing the coach was so heavily laden, the fair traders had propped up the axletrees with blocks of wood."

  "Those bloody excisemen must have been blind."

  "No, no, it truly works."

  "Ridiculous. I don't believe it."

  "And I know that it does! Corie and I had to use one of my father's coaches once to hide some kegs when excisemen were prowling too close— Oh, Lord!"

  Chapter 20

  Jared had risen from the stool, and Lindsay scrambled up from the floor, clutching nervously at the wrinkled strip of lilac silk knotted at her waist.

  She wasn't sure what he was going to do—not that it really mattered he knew now she had lied to him about consorting with fair traders. He had lied enough to her!

  Yet she wasn't prepared for the smile that cut across his face, Jared shaking his head as if in disbelief. She smiled, too, uncertainly at first, but when he began to chuckle, she couldn't help herself, either. It had been hilarious, she and Corisande struggling to fit all those unwieldy kegs into the coach . . .

  "A smuggler, too. This is bloody rare."

  She shrugged, still grinning as Jared once more shook his head, but she sobered and began to feel a little nervous again when he suddenly stopped chuckling.

  "Out into the passageway. Now."

  His eyes burning into hers, Lindsay gulped. "I—I think I'd rather stay here—"

  "Woman . . ."

  His tone was so low and ominous, Lindsay hastily decided to comply—if only for Dag's sake, she told herself, a last glance at the bunk assuring her that he was still asleep.

  Her heart hammering against her breast as she hurried out of the crew's quarters, she knew Jared was right behind her. She had barely moved into the shadowy passageway when she felt his hands at her waist; she gasped as he spun her around to face him and pinned her shoulders against the wall, his voice as husky and fierce as before.

  "Dammit, Lindsay, are you mad? Don't you know they hang people for smuggling?"

  She was so startled she could only gape at him, his outburst not at all what she might have expected.

  "Or that, at best, if you were ever caught you'd find yourself imprisoned for years or transported to some godforsaken place?"

  "But we weren't caught, Jared, we never came close except for a few times, and besides, we didn't do it for ourselves. Corie used all the profits to help the people in her father's parish!"

  Now it was Jared's turn to stare, his exasperation so great at that moment that he didn't trust himself to continue. Yet he was equally incredulous, his hands tightening of their own accord around Lindsay's shoulders.

  "Your friend Corie's father is a vicar?"

  Her quick nod almost made him start to laugh again, but not out of humor. Would this beautiful slip of a woman never cease to amaze him? Or frustrate him?

  "And Corie's a smuggler—no, forgive me, a fair trader?"

  "Not anymore. Her husband made her promise—"

  "Wonderful. A vicar's daughter and a baronet's daughter up to their ears in contraband goods and fending off armed excisemen to boot. No wonder you're as reckless as you are with such a paragon of virtue to lead you."

  "Corie didn't lead me; it was my choice to help her and I was glad to do it! Didn't you hear me? I said she's no longer a fair trader. And I don't know why you're so upset about how I spent my time-in Porthleven and—and you're hurting me!"

  Her outcry making him realize how tightly he held her, Jared eased his grip on her shoulders but didn't release her.

  Which was his second mistake.

  His first was ordering her out into this narrow passageway and standing so close to her that he could feel the sensual heat of her body as if he held her in his arms, which was almost the case. And here he had sworn when he'd sent Walker after her that he would have nothing to do with her, intending to ignore the chit at all costs. Blast it to hell, that he had failed so completely should alone be enough to upset him.

  "I'm not upset," he muttered, lying through his teeth. "I can't believe you involved yourself in such a dangerous business, is all . . . though God knows you've surprised me enough times already."

  "And you're not involved in a dangerous business?" came her surprisingly soft query after their spirited exchange, her voice alone stirring him more than he cared to admit. "If I never see a merchantman burn again, it will be too soon."

  "Then I suggest you stay away from the porthole. We're not finished hunting for the day."

  "That's what Walker told me. And that we're very near the coast of Ireland. I could get little else out of him other than that I owe my freedom to Dag."

  Jared stiffened, wondering what else she might have asked Walker even as he decided it was time he left her altogether.

  He was mad not to have let her go after lashing out at her about Dag, mad even to have his hands upon her, her hair soft as silk beneath his palms. Damn him for a fool, mad as a hatter, to have finally given in to Dag's constant appeals that he release her from her well-earned confinement.

  "I told you before, he's softhearted to a fault." Abruptly, Jared let go of Lindsay's shoulders and strode back into the crew's quarters, very much aware that she chose to follow him. He stopped by Dag's bunk, a tightness welling in his chest just to see the Norwegian giant lying there, drugged into unconsciousness.

  "I know little of these things, Jared, but I believe it's a good sign that he no longer seems in pain. If you'd like, I'll stay with him, let you know when he awakes."

  Jared could see that Lindsay was truly concerned as she came up beside him, but he shook his head. "That won't be necessary. I'll have one of my men—"

  "No, no, I don't mind, really. It's the least I can do and I've no wish to return to my cabin—your cabin, I mean—well, not right away. I've nothing to do there anyway, I've read all the books you told me about—"

  She fell silent so suddenly that Jared glanced down at Dag, fearing that something might be wrong. But the Norwegian, to his relief, slept on soundly. He looked up to find Lindsay staring at him, her lovely blue eyes so wide and luminous he felt his gut twist at the memory of how they had once shone with such radiant admiration—for him.

  "Stay with him if you want," he said gruffly, brushing past her. "But don't come above deck unless I send someone for you."

  "Jared, wait, please."

  Her heart in her throat as he stopped and tur
ned around, Lindsay knew she might not have another chance to talk to him for hours, if then. And she had to know—another day was simply too long to be left wondering.

  "Please, Jared, tell me what happened to Elise."

  His eyes darkened to a turbulent hue, and she held her breath, not sure if he would stay or go. He had tensed, too, and when he still did not speak, she could not contain herself.

  "I know it must seem strange for me to ask such a thing, but she left notes in one of the books of poetry, and after Aunt Winnie told me Elise's husband had treated her so abominably and then I saw the name Ryland, I thought maybe he was the one—"

  "He murdered her."

  The bitter words striking Lindsay like blows, she was so stunned that she couldn't speak until sheer confusion overwhelmed her.

  "But—but Aunt Winnie said she died shortly after you returned from—"

  "The bastard murdered my sister as surely as if he'd stuck a knife through her heart—pretending he loved her so he could become the master of Dovercourt. She knew she had been betrayed when she found him in bed with her own lady's maid only a week after their marriage. And then there were the beatings that followed for years, and the rapes—"

  "Oh, God." Sickened, Lindsay covered her mouth with her hand, wanting Jared to stop but sensing, as he began to pace in front of her, his face twisted in torment, that he would not, could not, as if her question had unleashed all the demons in his soul.

  "Ryland wanted to beget a son, an heir, using and abusing my sister until there was nothing left of her, four stillborn babes his only legacy. And all the while he and his mother, Sylvia, my uncle's mistress, the bloody whore, entertained the ton at their lavish country parties and no one guessed, no one knew how Elise suffered. Ryland threatened he would kill her if she said a word to anyone, so she bore the horror of what her innocent romantic notions had brought her because I wasn't there to protect her—I wasn't there!"

  Lindsay sank onto the stool by Dag's bunk, her knees grown so weak that she did not trust herself to stand.

  Struck dumb by the hoarse anguish in Jared's voice, she had no heart to ask him how he could have abandoned his sister to return to India, and she no longer had any stomach left to hear it. She watched in agonized silence as he stopped his restless pacing near an oil lamp affixed to a bunk and stared blindly into the flame.