My Runaway Heart

by Miriam Minger

  Lindsay spun around, her eyes widening in horror to see Jared's hand clamped over Sylvia Potter's mouth, the pistol pressed to the woman's temple.

  Chapter 35

  Fearing he might slay Sylvia right there in her bed, Lindsay set down the lamp and ran to him. The older woman's wild eyes upon her gave her chills.

  "Jared, no . . ."

  "Damn her, Lindsay. Damn her."

  His voice so choked that Lindsay felt tears burn her eyes, she gently covered his hand gripping the pistol with her own and shook her head.

  "Jared, this isn't the answer—it can't be. Ask her about Ryland and then we'll leave. We'll leave England and never come back, both of us, together . . . Please, Jared."

  He didn't answer for so long she wondered if he had heard her, his face so full of hatred that it frightened her. Then, slowly, he lowered his hand from Sylvia's mouth, although he didn't remove the pistol.

  "Where's Ryland, woman? Damn you, where is he?"

  "Gone! Gone away!" A shriek of such maniacal laughter burst from Sylvia that Lindsay could only stare in shock as a stream of frothy spittle foamed at the corner of the woman's mouth.

  "Dead, dead and gone away—oh, God, my Ryland! My son, my beloved Ryland!"

  Now Jared lowered the pistol, looking as stunned as Lindsay felt, while Sylvia clutched her knees and began to rock herself, tears tumbling down her lined cheeks. At first she seemed only to mumble incoherently to herself; then she suddenly fixed a look of pure hatred upon Jared.

  "You killed my son! Chased us away to Lisbon—not our home, not Dovercourt Manor. We were going to come back, find you, but cholera came and took him away—he's gone! My Ryland is gone! He was to be the master of Dovercourt, not you, not Alistair!" Another burst of laughter bubbled up from the woman's throat as she grinned almost gleefully from ear to ear. "We killed your uncle, you know, Ryland and me, like your parents—oh, my, and stupid Elise. How she wept for you, stupid girl! Ryland wanted another wife, a new wife, so he beat her and beat her—"

  "Damn you, woman, enough!"

  Sylvia had started at Jared's tortured cry, then began to rock herself again and pluck mindlessly at her dark, tangled hair.

  Jared turned from the bed. "God help me, no more . . . no more."

  His voice had become a hoarse whisper, and Lindsay felt a shiver at how drained he appeared, older, his face ashen. Her heart aching for him, she went to his side, settling her hand gently in the crook of his arm.

  "Jared, we should go. It's nearing dawn—look."

  He followed her gaze to the window, pale light creeping beneath the shade; relief filled her that he seemed to bolster himself before her eyes. He glanced back at Sylvia, sighing raggedly as he shook his head.

  "Maybe there's some justice after all."

  Lindsay nodded, unable to speak as Jared met her eyes and then drew her into his arms, hugging her as if he would never let her go. But he did release her a breathless moment later, growing tense again when they moved to the door.

  She sensed at once what lay upon his mind, that someone might have overheard their exchange with Sylvia, but the inn was quiet, the guard still slumped in his chair. Lindsay swallowed hard, Jared squeezing her hand as they moved quickly down the hall.

  "Don't worry about him. He'll have a headache and a good-size lump to show for ignoring his duty, but he'll survive—"

  "Damn you, Jared Giles!"

  He turned, his heart lurching as Sylvia shakily aimed a pistol she must have taken from the guard, the report exploding before he had a chance to pull his weapon from his belt. He heard Lindsay's gasp and glanced behind him in horror to see her begin to crumple; he lunged to catch her in his arms before she struck the floor.

  "Lindsay!"

  Blood was streaking the left side of her head, and he was so stricken that for a moment he lost all thought of what to do. Doors being yanked open around him finally gave him the impetus to move. His eyes stinging, he bolted down the stairs clutching Lindsay to his heart, past the astonished serving girl, who shrieked in terror, and charged blindly into the street.

  "Oh, God, Lindsay . . ." His jagged breath tearing at his throat, he barely dodged in time a carriage traveling through the town square, the coachman shouting out crude obscenities that Jared didn't hear. His blood thundering in his ears, he didn't slow his desperate pace until he had reached the alley, Lindsay so horribly limp in his arms, a slash of scarlet staining her blond hair . . .

  Damn him for a fool how could he have brought her with him? He'd known the danger! Yet he knew, as he hoisted himself into the saddle with her, the bay stallion snorting skittishly, that he couldn't have denied her anything for the way she had looked so pleadingly into his eyes. With Lindsay's head lolling helplessly against his shoulder, he kicked the steed into a gallop, his only burning thought to find the Fair Betty.

  ***

  "Do you see them, Oliver? Do you see anything?"

  Growing more anxious as her old friend shook his head, Corisande glanced at the brightening sky and then at Donovan, who stood silently beside her at the starboard railing. He was so grim that she felt her heart sink into her shoes, but she wouldn't allow herself to believe that something terrible had happened to Lindsay and Jared. She wouldn't!

  "Corie girl, I hate to tell 'ee, but we can't tarry here much longer," Oliver Trelawny said without lowering the spyglass, still scanning the wharf, where a half-dozen warships were berthed. "It's too dangerous for all concerned, I know 'ee can understand. An' even if we miss them, Lindsay's a clever girl just like you, she'll think of a way—Lord help us, what the devil?"

  "What is it, Oliver, what?" cried Corisande, wishing she had a spyglass, too, so she might see . . .

  "It's Lord Giles—there, in that longboat, but I don't see Lindsay . . . unless . . ."

  Oliver's vehement curse made Corisande blanch.

  "Ais, she's in the boat, too, but something's wrong, Corie. Lord Giles has her lying in the stern, an' she's not moving at all—"

  "Oh, Donovan, no." Grateful for her husband's strong arms suddenly around her, Corisande buried her face against his shoulder, praying for strength. Not Lindsay, please . . . not her beautiful, indomitable friend, who deserved some happiness more than anyone she knew . . .

  "Lord, now what's all the commotion on the wharf?"

  Oliver's puzzled query making her leave the warm comfort of Donovan's embrace, Corisande gasped when a thunderous burst of cannon fire sounded from the direction of the H.M.S. Clementine, towering plumes of water erupting all around the approaching longboat.

  "Those bastards are firing on him!" Gripping the railing, Corisande had never felt so frantic. "Dear God, they must have heard about the escape and Captain Billingsley. Oliver, we've got to do something—anything! We can't just sit here and watch them be blown to bits!"

  "Corie, we're out of range here." Donovan answered for the burly captain, who looked at Corisande helplessly. "We'd be fools to venture any closer. Jared's rowing hard—"

  He broke off and strode so abruptly toward the prow that Corisande watched him in surprise, realizing his intent only when he called for one of the Fair Betty's own galleys to be lowered. Her heart overflowing that he would be willing to help Jared even now, she ran to him as eight of Jared's crew stepped forward to join him, including a man with hair as raven-black as her husband's.

  She had only an instant to hug Donovan and then he was gone, over the side with the others. Corisande rushed back to Oliver as the galley surged powerfully through the choppy waves toward the longboat that still seemed so far away. It was torture to watch, especially when another explosive round came so close again to hitting Jared and Lindsay that Corisande once more began to pray.

  She didn't stop praying even when the two boats finally met, her stomach knotting as she saw Lindsay handed over first before Jared joined them, her fear for her dearest friend mounting. But her fervent prayers didn't prevent her from cursing like a sailor when, mere moments later, the empty
longboat was blown to splinters; her stricken gaze was now fixed steadfastly upon Donovan.

  She prayed all the harder while Oliver bellowed to his crew to unfurl the last of the sails and to lend a hand getting the heavily loaded galley back aboard. Corisande was there waiting as Jared was the first to disembark his face haggard, his eyes as haunted as she'd seen in any man when he turned to face her with Lindsay limp and ashen in his arms.

  "Corie, please, my wife . . ."

  Her gaze only for an instant straying to the dried blood matting Lindsay's hair, she swallowed hard and nodded. "Oliver's cabin, Jared. Let's take her there."

  ***

  It wasn't so much the dull throbbing in her head that made Lindsay open her eyes, but that she heard someone coaxing her to, a low, husky voice that filled her with comforting warmth. Yet she panicked, crying out when at first it seemed she couldn't focus, everything appearing strangely blurred to her . . . until the same baritone quietly told her to give herself a few moments, she wasn't alone, she had no need to worry.

  She closed her eyes and relaxed, someone soothingly rubbing her fingers, the sensation filling her with peace. Yet the voice came back again, gently urging her to look around her once more, to see if there was anything she recognized, anyone she knew.

  Her vision was not so blurred this time; with each blink it grew more focused, sharper, until a face began to take shape and form in front of her . . . a handsome, beloved face.

  "Jared . . ."

  Her voice sounded so strange and hoarse, but her single word elicited a soft ripple of laughter from other dear faces she gradually recognized: Corisande and Donovan; Oliver Trelawny; Walker Burke and Cowan and Cooky, too. But once more her gaze moved as if drawn by some inexplicable force to the man who held her hand firmly locked in his own, a wetness in his eyes that she knew she had seen there before.

  "Oh, Jared, what happened?"

  "Shhh, Lindsay, you needn't try to talk too much," he said, his voice nearly as hoarse as hers. "I feared I had lost you, but Corie was quick to assure me you'd only been grazed . . . much like what happened to your arm. If any of us has proved to be immortal—"

  His voice seemed to catch and he fell poignantly silent, his grasp on her fingers growing all the tighter. Suddenly her throat felt tight, too, and she lifted her other hand to touch his face, just to know that he was truly real, the moment real. But what convinced her was the fierce intensity in his vivid blue eyes, making her breath stop, and the words he bent his head to whisper for her ears alone.

  "I love you, Lindsay. Love you . . ."

  She had never known her heart to feel so full, but when a shadow seemed to pass over Jared's face, she felt a moment's panic. "Jared . . . ?"

  "I've nothing to give you, Lindsay, no house, no beautiful clothes, nothing that you deserve—"

  "But you've given me everything, Jared. Everything I could ever want. What else could I need?"

  His expression appeared to lighten, a tender smile upon his face as he bent closer and kissed her, but not for as long as she might have wanted. Corisande clearing her throat made Jared lift his head, Lindsay's gaze flying to her friend, who gave a small shrug and glanced with mischief in her eyes at Oliver Trelawny.

  "Hmm, if there's nothing else they need, I don't know what we're to do with all gold Lindsay's father entrusted to us, do you, Oliver?"

  "Well, I suppose we could put it to good use, but didn't Sir Randolph say something about telling Lord Giles that his daughter had always wanted to see the world?"

  "Yes, I believe he did—something about America, too. Now, there's a big place—so big, I've heard, that you can become lost in it. And we're already planning to leave them in Roscoff, where they might find a ship to take them there, France and America friends enough that it shouldn't be too hard to do. I say America would be a fine place to start—seeing the world, of course."

  Lindsay was so astonished she just stared at her friend, her eyes clouding when she saw tears swimming in Corisande's eyes. And she knew, once they reached Brittany, they would be saying good-bye to each other, maybe forever. But as Donovan drew his wife gently against him, Lindsay felt Jared squeeze her hand and she smiled into his eyes, knowing, too, that she and Corisande had both found what they were looking for . . . the men of their dreams.

  "What do you think, Lindsay?" Jared's gaze full of love, his voice playfully teasing, he lowered his head and gave her a tender kiss that thrilled her to her toes. "America?"

  Lifting her hands to cradle his face, she whispered against his lips, "Anywhere, Jared. Anywhere as long as I'm with you."

  About the Author

  Miriam Minger is the award-winning, critically acclaimed author of ten historical romances. She also writes inspirational romantic thrillers as M.C. Walker, and is the co-author of the popular Little Mike and Maddie series of children’s picture books about a lovable pair of dogs and their motorcycle adventures.

  Historical Romances by Miriam Minger:

  Twin Passions

  Stolen Splendor

  A Hint of Rapture

  Captive Rose

  Defiant Impostor

  The Pagan’s Prize

  Wild Angel

  Secrets of Midnight

  My Runaway Heart (sequel to Secrets of Midnight)

  Wild Roses (sequel to Wild Angel)

  Inspirational Romantic Thrillers by M.C. Walker:

  Blood Son

  Children’s Picture Books by Miriam Aronson:

  Little Mike and Maddie’s First Motorcycle Ride

  Little Mike and Maddie’s Black Hills Adventure

  Little Mike and Maddie’s Christmas Book

  For information about the above titles, visit www.walkerpublishing.net or write to info@walkerpublishing.net.