He'd gotten up from the bed so suddenly that she was jarred by the jostling; he strode to his desk and returned a moment later with a bottle he'd taken from a bottom drawer.
"Brandy and laudanum. You'll sleep like a babe."
As he poured a generous dose of the spirits into her mug, she felt a tension mounting in him that she couldn't place. And when he lifted the bottle and took a draught himself, a long, long draught, his expression all the harder when he'd finished, she didn't hesitate to drink, downing the lukewarm stuff.
"A pity you didn't obey me a while ago as you did just now. Keep your head down? Stay by the railing? But at least you'll have a scar to help you remember your little misadventure."
His words cutting her, Lindsay doubted there was anything she could say at that moment that might soothe him, so she remained still. Still, except for her pounding heart. There was more than a trace of the same torment on his face that she'd seen earlier as he abruptly left her bedside. And he took the bottle with him, tossing down another draught as he headed out the door and down the dark passageway. Within an instant he was gone.
"I'll clean up the mess, miss."
Scarcely aware that Cooky still stood by the bed, she nodded, laying her head back against the pillow as tears sprang to her eyes. Oh, Lord, why couldn't she have listened to him? But she quickly wiped the tears away with her good hand, though her arm felt like a leaden weight when she dropped it to her side.
Already the laudanum was taking swift effect, Lindsay fast asleep by the time Cooky tucked a blanket under her chin and then quietly closed the cabin door, shaking his head.
***
"We're heading west?"
These were the first words Jared had uttered since he returned to the quarterdeck long moments ago. He didn't look around as Walker came up beside him, nor did he blink at the cold drizzle lashing his face.
"Yes. According to the map, there are plenty of islands along the coast. We'll head for one near shallow water. Even if they spot us, they won't get close."
Jared didn't reply, not liking what he was thinking. Not liking that if those ships were prowling Irish waters, there were bound to be more. That bloody reward. He had scoffed upon hearing of it, but he sensed now, deep in his gut, that ten thousand pounds was no doubt spurring more than a few Channel fleet admirals and captains into straying far afield to search for him in earnest. But why now, when he had Lindsay Somerset aboard?
His gut clenching, he wished he hadn't emptied that bottle of brandy so quickly, but there were always a dozen kegs left of Scotch whiskey.
That boastful merchant's ship the fourth vessel he had sunk during their cruise, he could have brought a hundred kegs aboard before they'd set her ablaze, but he had opted for only a few. Yet better his crew than Lord Wellington and his officers in Portugal to consume what little they'd looted, though he'd scarcely given his men opportunity to enjoy a drink.
They had been too busy hunting, he'd been attempting to keep his mind off Lindsay—and look what those twelve interminable days, endless thoughts and futile dreams had brought him. She could have been killed— The devil take it, enough!
"Cowan said it was only a flesh wound."
Taking a ragged breath, Jared nodded, not liking at all how he felt at that moment. Not liking that he hadn't thrown her to the deck in time, not liking that he hadn't kept her from harm's way and protected her.
Not liking that he was starting to want something that he could never have . . . and want it badly.
Jared turned with a fierce oath from the railing, fighting the overwhelming urge to return belowdecks and see how Lindsay was faring. And it came to him again—even more forcefully than when he'd tended to her wound—that there was really only one way he could protect her. Damn him for a selfish fool, he should have done it almost two weeks ago, before they'd left the Channel.
"We'll hide out one day, maybe two, no more."
Walker didn't answer, though Jared could feel his friend studying him in the dark.
"Then we'll head north. There should be plenty to hunt around Galway Bay."
As silence fell between them, Walker doing no more than nod, Jared lifted his face to the biting drizzle, denying to himself even then that the soul-deep chill that had gripped him for so long was beginning to thaw.
Chapter 22
It wasn't the sunlight streaming through the porthole that made Lindsay awake with a start.
Muzzy-headed, she stared at the knotted planks overhead, realizing through the fog in her brain that the ship wasn't pitching and rocking, but only swaying gently. Strange. She licked her dry lips and tried to gather her bearings. The last thing she remembered . . . Oh, Lord.
A stinging like dozens of pins pricking her flesh made her groan; she glanced at the thick white bandage encircling her right arm from elbow to shoulder. Tentatively, she flexed her fingers, her wrist, grateful at least that she wasn't so stiff that her arm was useless. Her mind gradually growing clearer, she raised herself up on her left elbow, grateful, too, that the pain wasn't so bad that she must lie in bed like an invalid.
"You have to get up," she murmured thickly to herself, not surprised her voice was hoarse.
Wondering how much laudanum Cooky had added to her tea, she then remembered the brandy Jared had poured into her mug—she hadn't slept like a babe, but like the dead. She had no idea what time it might be, but that didn't matter. She had to find Jared, show him that she was all right, none the worse for the bullet that had grazed her.
Groaning as she sat up, the cabin swimming a bit, she closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. She imagined the queer sensation would pass soon; then she would change into a clean shirt and—
"So you're finally awake."
She knew before she'd opened her eyes that it wasn't Jared, her disappointment obviously showing as Walker flashed her a wry grin.
"Sorry. He's gone ahead into the village to make some arrangements. I'm to take you there."
"Village?" Feeling as if she'd awoken to an odd dream, Lindsay wished the last of the cobwebs would clear from her mind. She stared at him in confusion. "I don't understand."
"I imagine not, if Cooky gave you his usual dose of laudanum. Better's always been more in his book—more onions, more pepper. Anyway, we've anchored off an island—Dursey, County Cork. Been here since morning."
"Morning," Lindsay echoed, her gaze flying to the porthole. "Then what—"
"Midafternoon. I told you, Cooky used a heavy hand. I'll wait outside until you're ready."
Walker was gone almost as quietly as he had come, while Lindsay stared at the door closing behind him in consternation.
What could he have meant, Jared making arrangements? Her curiosity alone spurring her out of bed, she winced at the stinging pain her movement cost her but told herself she'd best grow used to it. She didn't want Jared to think she was suffering any worse than she was, and she knew it wouldn't hurt as much forever. She hurried to the porthole, her eyes widening in surprise.
Land. Just as Walker had said. And she couldn't believe how good it looked to her, either. The Vengeance was anchored no more than a hundred feet off a steep, rocky shoreline as rugged and windswept as she always imagined Ireland to be.
Suddenly itching to feel solid ground beneath her, she ran to the sea chest, almost forgetting her injury until she threw back the heavy lid. She sucked in her breath at the pain shooting through her right arm, her eyes tearing, but she focused upon pulling out another of Jared's shirts and getting herself dressed.
Her wound continued to smart and burn as she exchanged the blood-splattered garment for a clean one; an incredulous laugh left her as she realized she still wore the cap she'd borrowed from a sailor. Tossing it aside, she plunged her fingers through her hair, glad for the few tangles. Ready at last, she ran to the door. True to his word, Walker was leaning against the wall just outside.
"What sort of arrangements?" she blurted out, recalling the conversation she'd overhe
ard between Jared and Walker about seeking refuge for a few days to make it appear they'd headed out to sea.
"A decent meal, no offense to Cooky. There's an inn in the village. I know Cowan's forever dreaming of a piping-hot Irish stew."
She couldn't help but smile, but she was puzzled that Walker didn't return it, the handsome American suddenly appearing oddly preoccupied as he gestured for her to lead the way.
Shrugging to herself, she did, the idea of a savory meat stew spurring her on. Cooky's fare had grown a bit less inspired as the fresh stores had been used up, and she hadn't eaten since luncheon yesterday. Her stomach growling in protest, she glanced with chagrin over her shoulder. To her surprise, Walker seemed to be frowning, although his expression eased somewhat when he met her eyes.
"Dag's doing much better, in case you were wondering."
She flushed, embarrassed she hadn't thought of him until now. "Oh, dear, I'm so glad to hear it! Do we have time to look in on him before—"
"He's above deck. Jared thought some fresh air would be good for him. It seems our short visit here has been blessed by one of Ireland's rare sunny days."
Eager all the more to leave the hold, Lindsay hoped the fair weather would help to finally clear her head as well. She felt a bit light-headed as she climbed the steep steps, but the fragrant spring breeze that greeted her made her spirits immediately soar. Once on deck, she smiled and saw a sky as blue as a robin's egg, a few white, puffy clouds, with the sun warm upon her face. The day was absolutely glorious!
"Dag's over there, but we don't have long."
Wondering what could be the rush, Lindsay made her way over to the port railing, where the bearded Norwegian appeared to be staring, not at the island, but out to sea. In fact, he didn't notice her standing there until she touched his arm and softly murmured his name.
She'd never seen him smile before, his expression reminding her of a shy child's as he lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the sun.
"Dag, Walker is waiting for me, but I wanted to tell you thank you for asking Jared to release me from my cabin. It was very kind of you."
As the big man nodded, Lindsay noticed for the first time the grooved indentation on the side of his head, a circular reddish scar where blond hair should be. Her throat tightening, she quickly shifted her gaze back to his face, to find his pale blue eyes upon her arm. His smile was gone, his expression the same troubled one with which she'd grown so familiar.
"You know about . . . ?"
"Cap-tain t-t-told me."
Startled to hear Dag speak to her for the first time, his voice a deep bass timbre that matched his size, she recovered to give him a reassuring smile.
"It hurts a little, but I'm fine. Truly, you musn't worry."
"Cap-tain a g-good man. S-s-saved m-my life." He turned clumsily, waving a hand as if to encompass the entire ship. "S-saved all. W-Walker, Cowan" —he glanced back to Lindsay— "y-you f-from the wa-ter. Good m-m-man."
She didn't know what to say, or even what to think of such a revelation. "Yes, yes, I know he saved me. But Walker and Cowan—in India, Dag? Is that what you—"
"Lindsay, we have to go."
She started, not even aware that Walker had come up behind her. Her thoughts awhirl, she nodded, then flashed an apologetic glance at Dag. "I'm sorry. We can talk more when I return—unless Dag is coming, too?"
"No, just us."
Surprised by Walker's subdued expression, which wasn't at all what she might have expected, given his comment about their being blessed by a sunny day, she walked with him to where a galley had already been lowered to the water. But she stopped abruptly by the railing when she saw only two sailors at the oars.
"I thought you said Cowan . . . ?"
"He's already there with Jared and a few others."
"But is it safe for us—I mean, with the reward?"
Silenced by Walker's short laugh, Lindsay stared at him in surprise, bristling. "I didn't mean that to be amusing."
"And it wouldn't be if we were somewhere along the Channel, but we're far away from England, Lindsay. Even if anyone here had heard of the reward, I doubt they'd want the money. Cowan said it would be something akin to being a traitor. There's no love lost here for the English."
"But Jared's—"
"American. At least he can pass for one. I don't know if his accent would pass in Boston, but out here? I'll go first and then help you down the ladder."
Walker climbed over the railing before she could ask another question, and she decided it would be best to wait to venture any more. He'd made it quite clear once before that he didn't speak for Jared. Though Dag's words still rang in her mind, she again focused on the beautiful day.
And on how eager she was to see Jared and show him she truly was feeling better. Her heart was already pounding.
***
"There they are, Cap'n, coming up the lane."
Jared had already risen from his chair to stare out the window, his eyes upon Lindsay as she and Walker walked side by side, her lovely hair blinding white in the sun, her step jaunty, her winsome smile making his stomach knot. He downed the last of his ale and then strode from the inn, but not before signaling to Cowan and his three other men and the pair of young Irishmen drinking with them to keep to their seats.
She spied him as soon as he stepped outside, her cheerful wave making him almost regret what was to come. It was for the best, he told himself for the hundredth time as if trying to convince himself, which, it seemed, he still was. But the decision had been made. He would not retract it.
"Oh, Jared, have you ever seen such a splendid day?"
He shook his head, remembering all too clearly how he'd thought last night she would never see another. He'd found the bullet embedded in the floor planks of the quarterdeck, the flattened piece of metal tucked now in his belt, all the grim reminder he needed that what he had arranged was right.
"You look well," he said to Lindsay when she stopped a few feet from him, while he nodded a greeting to Walker. "I see you found another of my shirts."
Grateful when she didn't pirouette for him as she'd done once before, he still was astonished that she continued to smile at him as if she were truly happy to see him.
"I couldn't come to supper dressed as I was, one sleeve missing, now, could I? Is this the inn?"
When he nodded, she glanced from him to the door and back again, her eyes beginning to dance.
"It's such a beautiful afternoon, it would be a pity to waste it. Wait here, Jared, will you?"
He didn't get a chance to answer as she hurried past him and disappeared inside. Incredulous, he stared at the door for what seemed interminable moments before he threw a dark glance at Walker, but the American merely shrugged.
"Don't look at me. I don't know what she's about. I only know I've never seen anyone take such delight in green grass and birds and flowers—"
"And fish," Jared muttered dryly, looking back at the door.
"Fish, too?"
"The big silvery kind that jump." He was scowling when he glanced back at Walker, but his friend was eyeing a comely young brunette who'd chosen that moment to step out of a whitewashed cottage and sweep the front step. And to throw a wink at Walker, which made Jared groan.
"Dammit, man, we've no time—"
"Here I am, Jared!"
He whirled around, Lindsay clearly breathless as she rushed back outside carrying a covered basket.
"Cowan told the innkeeper you'd pay for everything. It isn't much, just some fresh-baked bread and cheese and a bit of stew, but I didn't have any money. Jared . . . ?"
He must have been staring at her stupidly, but in the next instant he heard Walker's amused voice.
"Don't worry about the rest of us, Jared. I think a little afternoon picnic is a wonderful idea. We'll be here when you get back."
With that Walker sauntered over to the cottage, whistling, while Jared suddenly found a basket hooked over his arm, Lindsay's voice soft with apology.
"I'm sorry, I would carry it—the picnic was my idea—but my arm still hurts a little. Could you . . . ?"
Staring into her eyes, Jared found himself nodding; but in the next instant, as Lindsay settled her hand into the crook of his elbow and drew him with her down the lane, excitedly telling him of the loveliest spot she had seen on the way into the village, he knew he was mad.
Stark raving mad.
A lunatic.
Yet he didn't stop, at that moment wanting nothing more than to accompany Miss Lindsay Somerset on a picnic, though he told himself he was a fool.
"Isn't this grand? I can't believe we're in Ireland! I've never been anywhere before."
With the little girl shining in her beautiful eyes, Jared felt a fierce tug deep inside him that made his throat tighten.
Damnation, a bloody fool.
"There's the place, Jared! On that hill. What do you think?"
Chapter 23
Lindsay wasn't daunted when Jared didn't reply, imagining there were few men who would derive as much pleasure as she from a grassy slope covered with wildflowers. And she had sensed his hesitation from the start about going on a picnic, but he had agreed, thrilling her. It would have been a shame to spend the rest of the afternoon indoors, no matter how quaint the inn.
"I think it looks like a spot you would choose. Anyone who revels in simple things as you do."
She glanced at him, as startled as she was warmed by his words, the intent way he was looking at her making her heart race. Suddenly feeling quite giddy, silly, too, she let go of his arm and proceeded to pull off her slippers.
"You can't go to a picnic with shoes, Jared. It's not permitted, didn't you know? One must be barefoot to walk in the grass."
He frowned as he glanced down at his black boots, and for a moment she thought he might decline. But when he handed her the basket, she could have clapped her hands with delight.
"I hope none of my men see me."
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