Even her bodice had been torn, revealing the white curve of a breast, and she shivered at the cool night air, her cloak hanging forlornly from one shoulder as if she were too weak to protect herself from the elements. One slipper gone, she sucked in her breath as she stepped painfully upon a bed of thistles, yet it only helped to remind her she must begin to weave aimlessly and moan.
Her plaintive voice sounded eerie in such a desolate place, but thankfully, Dartmoor Prison wasn't so far removed from humanity that it would seem strange she was out wandering, lost and helpless. Helpless, that is, except for the pistol strapped to her inner thigh. The cool metal rubbing against her flesh every time she took a step flooded her with chills.
"Stop! You, there, stop!"
She didn't stop, even though the guard's stern command seemed to echo around her, soon taken up by a second man, who began to shout. It was easy for her to tremble now as she continued to weave and even stumble, dragging herself to her feet as the massive gates to Dartmoor Prison swung wide, men armed with muskets rushing toward her.
She stumbled again, hair falling across her face, hiding the burning in her cheeks as the guards drew closer.
"Help me . . ." she rasped, her throat so tight with momentary fear that that was easy, too. "Please . . . someone help me—"
"Wot the devil? It's a girl out here—and lookin' none the better for it. Give me a hand, mate!" Lindsay dragged herself to her feet as two men took her arms while five others gathered around; she didn't want anyone to carry her, for they might discern her weapon. Instead she wrenched desperately at her cloak as if trying to cover herself, sobs washing over her.
"Help me, please. I'm so cold . . . so cold."
"Didn't you hear her, mate?" the man who supported her on the left side chided his grim-faced companion, shaking his head with sympathy as he draped her cloak around her quaking shoulders. "God in heaven, how could the wench have come to be out 'ere?"
"Wench?" scoffed the other while the rest of the guards fell in behind them, scanning the darkness and keeping their muskets lowered. "She's a lady, you fool—ain't you taken a look at her gown? The warden'll want to hear of this bit o' work, you can be sure."
Lindsay's pulse beating faster as the huge gates closed with a resounding thud behind them, she was thankful at least that all but her two rescuers went back to their posts. She made herself keep moaning, the men casting looks at each other above her head.
"Do you think the poor girl might be 'urt? Should we send someone out for a physician?"
"Warden Harford should see her first. It's a strange business, if you ask me, her being out there all alone—"
"I-I was riding . . . I fell, my horse . . . oooh, it hurts!"
"Cripes, mate, did you hear her? She's injured, I swear! This'll put an end to the warden's supper party quick enough, and with that Captain Billingsley and his officers come tonight to see after their precious prisoners, too. You'd think we had Napoleon himself here at Dartmoor and not some bloody pirate!"
Captain Billingsley? In a panic, Lindsay tried to slow the guards' progress by sinking to her knees, anything to buy herself some time, she thought desperately. But they simply hoisted her back up between them and half carried her through a doorway and into what appeared to be the warden's sumptuous private quarters, the boisterous buzz of conversation coming from an opposite room. Oh, Lord, oh, Lord, all it would take was for that pompous man to recognize her and . . .
"Please, please, no farther," she begged, emphasizing her plea with a ragged groan as she clutched at her side. "Let me sit, please . . . it hurts so terribly."
"Over there, mate—can't you see we're only making things worse? Set her down in the chair, gently, now, gently."
"C-Captain Billingsley . . . you did say Billingsley, didn't you?" she asked in a piteous whisper, grabbing one of the men's hands before he could walk away.
"Aye, miss, so I did. Do you know the gentleman?"
"Yes yes. Oh, please, send him to me. He's a friend . . . a friend of my family's. Please bring him quickly! I fear . . . oh, God, the pain . . . I fear I'm dying!"
The guards blanching white, they stumbled into each other as they both hastened to oblige her, disappearing into the next room and leaving Lindsay, at least for a moment, alone. Her heart wildly thundering, she flew to the door and sought refuge behind it her hands trembling so badly she feared she wouldn't retrieve the pistol from beneath her gown in time.
"An injured girl asking for me? Did she tell you her name?"
Billingsley's arrogant voice carrying to her from the dining room, Lindsay held her breath and began to pray. Please, please, may they not think she was bluffing . . . She heard the chink of fine crystal and a chair scrape, then footsteps approaching, annoyance emanating from Horatio Billingsley as he stopped just beyond the door.
"What the devil is the meaning of this charade? There's no girl here, not a soul. The damned room's empty—"
"Except for me, sir," Lindsay said hoarsely as she reached up, grabbed the man's collar and thrust the pistol against the base of his skull, just as Oliver Trelawny had instructed her to do. "Tell your men—everyone—to stay back or I will shoot you. I swear it!"
Chapter 34
The air was still. The silence hung so heavily Lindsay could hear only the pounding of blood in her veins. Finally Captain Billingsley's subdued voice broke the charged spell.
"I believe she means what she says, gentlemen. Stand away, give her room—"
"I do mean it!" Lindsay moved closer to her captive, her back carefully against the wall. "Warden Harford. I want to speak with Warden Harford!"
A portly, pink-faced fellow peeked around the corner, eyeing her nervously. "You . . . you wish to see me?"
"The Phoenix, take me to him. Quickly!"
The fellow did, giving her as wide a berth as possible in the small room, the two guards and half a dozen ship's officers who had accompanied Captain Billingsley to Dartmoor attempting to follow the warden until Lindsay pressed the pistol deeper against her captive's head. "Stay where you are, all of you. Just me, the captain and Warden Harford."
"Do as she says! Do as she says!" cried Captain Billingsley.
Lindsay felt a rush of unease, but she could not allow herself to drop her facade. She only had to remember how brutally Jared had been treated aboard the H.M.S. Clementine, and she found more than enough determined resolve to allay any pity. As they left the warden's quarters and moved into the prison yard, Lindsay continued to keep her back to the wall and the pistol firmly upon the captain, lest anyone doubt her intentions. A tense hush had settled over the place, the warden gesturing frantically for guards to lower their muskets and stand away as his little group walked to a nearby stone building with tiny barred openings for windows.
"He's in here, miss," Warden Harford said nervously, once more leading the way as they went inside.
"And his men?"
"All together in the same cell—the lot of them, miss."
Lindsay felt a shiver as they passed cell after cell from which stark, astonished faces stared out at her, but she kept her eyes riveted upon the two men in front of her, her hand firmly grasping Captain Billingsley's collar, Oliver's stern warning ringing in her ears.
"Where is he? Where?" she demanded an interminable moment later, when it seemed they had passed a hundred cells, her face grown flushed, her nerves taut, her fingers cramped around the pistol. And then she saw him, Jared rising to his feet and staring at her in utter amazement while his men gathered openmouthed behind him, only Walker Burke with the wryest smile on his face.
"Unlock that cell—quickly!"
Warden Harford was so desperate to oblige that he grabbed the ring of rattling keys from an ashen-faced guard and released the prisoners himself. Lindsay's legs had become so shaky she doubted she could have gone another step. At once the cell door flew open, Jared and his men spilling out. But what amazed her was how silent and grim they were. Even Walker had become somber.
<
br /> "Give me the pistol, Lindsay."
Jared's hand covered hers, and she was only too glad to relinquish the deadly weapon, his touch alone filling her with such overwhelming relief that she truly thought her knees might give way. Almost in a daze, she watched as Walker, Cowan, Cooky and the others disarmed the guards standing near and shoved them into the cell. Then Jared lowered the pistol to Captain Billingsley's chest.
"Undress, sir. I need your shirt."
Horatio's eyes widened in outrage, his aristocratic nostrils flaring, but he stripped hastily to the waist, not daring to utter a word. Within a moment Jared had a fine cambric shirt to cover his ravaged back and shoulders, while the captain shivered in front of them, his pasty-white physique covered in gooseflesh.
"Get into the cell."
As Horatio obeyed the terse command, Lindsay grabbed Jared's arm. "But we might need him—"
"The warden will kindly see us from this place."
His voice was so cold she felt a chill, but it was nothing compared with Warden Harford's raw panic. The man dropped to his pudgy knees and actually began to sob.
"Oh, please, sir, I've a wife and six children!"
"Then better you do exactly as I say and you might live to see them again."
The warden's reddened eyes widening in horror, he was standing the next moment, hauled roughly to his feet by two of Jared's men while Walker slammed shut the cell door and locked it.
"On behalf of His Majesty King George, I vow the English government won't rest until the lot of you are captured and hanged!" cried Captain Billingsley as they set off.
But they paid him no mind. Lindsay did her best to keep pace with Jared's furious strides, his hand firmly upon her arm. His jaw was so tight, she might have thought he would curse and denounce the man's threat, given what he felt about England. But he said nothing until they reached the main door, where he grabbed the winded warden by the throat.
"I have a wife, too, man, and I will see her safely from this damned prison. Do you understand me?"
Warden Harford's eyes darted from Lindsay's flushed face back to Jared; he bobbed his head. "Yes, yes, you'll need horses."
"Exactly. Move!"
With the pistol held to his head as they stepped from the building, the warden called out hoarsely for his guards to throw down their weapons—a very good thing. Lindsay gasped at the assembled force that had been waiting for them to emerge, at least fifty muskets aimed at the door. Fifty muskets that were quickly tossed to the ground, the guards ordered harshly by Jared to lie facedown in the dirt and not move, not attempt to follow them, or Warden Harford would die.
The next moments passed like a bewildering dream to Lindsay; she didn't allow herself to believe that they were safe even when they were riding at a full gallop from Dartmoor Prison, Corisande, Oliver and his men joining them at the bottom of the hill.
Glad that she'd insisted that Warden Harford be blindfolded to protect the identities of her friends, Lindsay still wouldn't allow herself a shred of relief when an hour later they finally reached the secluded inlet where the Fair Betty was anchored, a single lantern guiding them to the sailors waiting with longboats to take them back to the ship. Their portly captive had been left trussed and gagged a few miles back in an abandoned cottage, but she knew, despite Jared's threat, it would be only a matter of time before word of the escape was carried to Plymouth and the authorities alerted, perhaps a frantic messenger riding there even now
"Oh, Lord, Lindsay, I think it's Donovan!"
Corisande's voice was tinged with apprehension. Lindsay was so surprised she didn't think to dismount beside her friend, and neither did Jared nor any of the others, as a tall silhouette emerged from the darkness leading a heaving horse lathered in sweat. Donovan's face was both grim and weary in the lantern's dim light, his voice as somber, his gaze upon Corisande.
"I met Sir Randolph's carriage outside Porthleven, wife. He told me where you were bound, what you planned—"
"Donovan, I'm sorry, I would have told you, but I feared you wouldn't approve. I had to do something to help Lindsay—I had to!"
Lindsay shifted nervously upon her mare as a tense silence fell, her gaze following Donovan's to Jared, both men staring at each other for the longest moment while it seemed no one dared breathe. Finally it was Donovan who looked away, his eyes once more upon his wife.
"I came here only to be by your side, Corie. If the Fair Betty is to pass safely through Plymouth harbor, we must leave now, before it grows light."
Grateful tears jumping to Lindsay's eyes, she knew then that Donovan planned to make no attempt to stop them, but a shadow passed over her heart when she glanced at Jared. Though everyone else had begun to dismount, he made no motion to quit his bay stallion, his jaw taut as he met her eyes.
"Go with them, Lindsay. There's something I must do—"
"No!" Her hoarse cry echoing around them, she slipped off her mount and ran to him, knowing what he was thinking, knowing what he intended to do. "Sylvia's mad, Jared—dear God, isn't that vengeance enough?"
Her outburst could have fallen upon deaf ears, he looked so grimly resolute, and she knew before he even said the words what was poisoning his heart.
"It's Ryland, Lindsay. I must know where I can find him. I must know!"
"Then you will take me with you," she said fervently even as Corisande ran to her side.
"Lindsay, please, we can wait for Jared just south of the city. He'll have no trouble finding the Fair Betty there—"
"Jared, no, you can't leave me behind, not again, not now," Lindsay cried out despite Corisande's plea, her voice anguished, desperate. "If you love me, you'll take me with you!"
He stared into her eyes so intensely that she felt her knees grow weak. For a moment she stood, dreading his decision. Then he cursed and reached down, sweeping her into the saddle in front of him, his arms locked with fierce possessiveness around her.
"South of the city, Captain Trelawny?" he shouted to Oliver, sharply veering his mount in the direction of Plymouth.
"Ais, my lord, an' well away from those damned warships!" came the hearty response in a thick Cornish accent. "God grant 'ee be there before dawn, or I fear, for the sake of all aboard, we'll have to leave you!"
***
Lindsay could still hear Oliver's warning ringing in her ears. But there was no time to think as Jared headed their exhausted horse into a dark alley.
"We'll make it back in time," she repeated to herself in a fervent whispered prayer, the joy she felt in Jared's arms more profound than anything she had ever known. Yet she couldn't deny his embrace had grown more tense with each passing moment as they approached Plymouth at a hard gallop. Now, as he gave another low curse, a mail coach rumbling down the street a sign that the city was already rousing itself, she knew he regretted bringing her with him.
Undaunted, she slid from the saddle before he could dismount, and spoke up before he could utter a word of what she sensed he wanted to say. "No, Jared, I'm not staying here. We'll face Sylvia together—"
"Woman . . ."
He had dropped down beside her, but Lindsay sidestepped him, her heart pounding as she threw her hood over her hair and hurried toward the street. If he saw her urgency, that there was no time
His hand suddenly catching her arm made her gasp. Jared drew her against him just before she could step out of the alley.
"Damnation, Lindsay, then stay close to me!" She nodded, a lump forming in her throat at how hard his expression had become as shown in the lamplight. She knew he was thinking of Sylvia and Ryland Potter.
They moved together out into the deserted street, the palpable tension in his body growing. He grasped her fingers so tightly she winced, but she said nothing, even when they drew closer to the town square and her hand had gone numb. It seemed that they both spied the sign for the Three Maidens Inn at the same time, Jared reaching for his pistol. Yet he appeared to come to some other decision, and handed the weapon to her.
> "Hide the pistol under your cloak, but be ready if I've need of it."
She nodded, apprehension filling her that light shone from the inn's street-level windows. Her anxiety only grew when they entered the establishment, but to her relief, the main room was empty except for a sleepy-eyed serving girl, wiping down tables, who looked up and shrugged at them apologetically.
"Sorry, we've no rooms. Inn's full."
"Not a room. We've come to see my aunt, Mrs. Potter—Sylvia Potter." Lindsay had spoken up before Jared could say a word. "We only just heard she was here and came to Plymouth straightaway."
"Aye, poor woman, she's upstairs. I'll show you the way, but you'll have to speak with the guard—"
"No, no, we'll manage. You just go on with your work."
Holding her breath as the girl gave another shrug and went back to her cleaning, Lindsay glanced at Jared, but he was already moving to the stairs. As she caught up with him, he gestured for the pistol, which only made her heartbeat race. Oh, Lord . . .
With the wooden stairs squeaking, it was impossible to be quiet, but that sound seemed nothing compared with the rumbling snores emanating from the guard slumped asleep in a chair at the far end of the dimly lit hall.
"Stay here, Lindsay."
She froze at Jared's terse whisper, the lump in her throat nearly choking her when he moved stealthily toward the guard; she closed her eyes tight as he lifted the butt of the pistol, the man's snores suddenly silenced. Oh, Lord . . .
Jared was already opening the door to the room nearest the unconscious guard by the time Lindsay grabbed the oil lamp from the hall table and reached him, his broad shoulders taut with tension, his expression less hard now than tortured. Imagining his thoughts, she wanted so badly to say something to him, to let him know that she understood, but he moved so quickly to the bed that she could but turn to close the door behind them. Then a startled gasp filled the room.
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