Surrender the Stars

by Wright, Cynthia

  "Mmm," she purred. Her lush mouth moved against his, then opened instinctively.

  Ryan groaned, instantly and fully aroused. His senses drank in the taste of her, the scent of her hair, the smoothness of her neck as he kissed his way downward. Her breasts, warm with sleep, seemed more beautiful than ever to him. Ryan touched one wonderingly with parted lips, tracing the perfect swell until he reached the dusky, petal-soft nipple. Slowly, he circled it with his tongue, then took it into his mouth and suckled gently for long, relaxed minutes.

  The cabin was completely dark. Lindsay and Ryan seemed to be floating, beyond reality, as her legs opened and his lean, tapering fingers slipped between them. His mouth moved lower, tasting and exploring until Lindsay's fingers tangled in Ryan's hair, drawing him up to drown in her kiss.

  Their coupling was exquisitely slow, each of them savoring the keen, sweet jolts of pleasure. Eventually, they slept, arms and legs entwined.

  * * *

  "Captain Coleraine?" Drew pushed open the door to Ryan's cabin, took one startled look, then backed up and eased the door closed. For an instant, he wondered if he'd been seeing things. Before he could think what to do next, the door reopened and Coleraine's face appeared.

  "What the devil is it, Drew?"

  "Uh—uh—"

  "If that's all, I have more important matters to attend to."

  "No, wait!" Drew wondered if his face was as red as it felt. "I think we've sighted the Lady Hester. She's on the horizon."

  Coleraine's eyes sharpened. "What time is it?"

  "Six o'clock, sir."

  "Good God!"

  The door slammed shut in Drew's face.

  Ryan stared down at Lindsay, whose shapely limbs were twisted in the sheets while her bright curls splashed across his pillow. Willing himself to resist, he pulled on buff-colored breeches, stockings, boots, and a clean white shirt, then ran a hand through his hair. Finally, armored against her potent charms, he leaned over and patted the curve of her backside.

  "Wake up, sweetheart."

  Drowsily, she attempted to sit up. Ryan had gone over to the table to splash water on his face and to clean his teeth. Staring at him, Lindsay tried to get her bearings.

  "Oh, my," she murmured at length, blushing. "I thought that was just a naughty dream."

  "Don't you mean delicious?" He flashed a grin, then returned to drop a kiss on her brow. "We've been truant long enough. Drew thinks that Chadwick's ship is on the horizon. If that's true, she's less than ten miles away and the chase begins in earnest. You'd better get dressed quickly, my sweet, and take the news to your father."

  Suddenly Lindsay was wide awake, inhaling air charged with excitement and danger. When Ryan tossed her clothes to her on his way to the door, she caught them neatly. Rested and well loved, Lindsay was ready to face the enemy!

  * * *

  As the sun rose higher in the cloudless, azure sky, La Mouette tenaciously shortened the distance between herself and her prey. Coleraine paced the quarterdeck like a caged panther, plotting his strategy with Drew and Hornbeam, the boatswain. Lindsay ran back and forth with bulletins for her father and offerings of food for Ryan.

  Ryan's biggest concern was the relatively small crew on board. Too many men hadn't been at the White Dog when Higgins went to fetch them. When Lindsay heard Ryan worrying aloud about this handicap, she questioned her father about it.

  Raveneau appeared to be much better. He sat up in bed, drinking ale and eating the muffins Lindsay pressed on him, eager for each bit of news. When his daughter mentioned Ryan's apparent concern, Andre waved her off.

  "Don't be fooled by that. In here"—he pointed to his midsection—"Coleraine knows better."

  "But, Papa, we're close enough that I can see the Lady Hester clearly through the telescope, and she looks bigger than La Mouette!"

  "Slower," he amended firmly, brushing crumbs from his bandaged chest. "And I don't care if Chadwick has twice the crew, he's not a privateer captain. Ryan is expert at tactics that Chadwick's never dreamed of."

  When Lindsay repeated this to Ryan, he laughed shortly and squeezed her arm. "I appreciate your father's vote of confidence. And he's right. Chadwick and Harry couldn't begin to prepare for me." He didn't mention that his only real worry was a proper boarding party. If it came to a man-to-man confrontation and they were greatly outnumbered, the outcome was less predictable. Narrowing his eyes at the ship that was a scant mile away, Coleraine added distractedly, "I think it's time that you went below—to stay. And get a pistol. I'll see if I can spare a man to stay with you and Andre."

  Lindsay realized that he wouldn't appreciate an argument at that moment. She did go below, but remained on the ladder, peeking out of the hatch from time to time.

  It was shortly after ten o'clock when Ryan told Drew that he was ready to close in for the kill. They were drawing near, sailing to the weather side of the Lady Hester, and Ryan was careful to keep La Mouette's keel at an efficient angle to the wind. The gunner's mates were loading the cannon, while the gun watch armed themselves with cutlasses and pikes for boarding. Aloft, topmen were climbing the ratlines to oversee the action among the sails.

  His jaw clenched and dark blue eyes narrowed, Ryan lifted the telescope. He scanned the familiar, craggy Irish shore, recognizing the Cliffs of Moher. They were just south of Galway Bay. Turning the glass, Coleraine then focused on the Lady Hester and smiled grimly at the sight of Harry Brandreth running back and forth on the quarterdeck in a state of obvious panic. "If he recognizes La Mouette, he must think it's Raveneau's ghost coming for revenge," Ryan murmured to Drew.

  "That's not far off the truth, is it, sir?"

  He didn't hear the first mate. "They're tacking to windward. Good! How fortunate that our fine Lord Chadwick hasn't any practice in sea warfare."

  La Mouette, her speed being better to the weather side, was able to make a tight arc that brought her within shooting distance of the other ship's stern. Cannon volleys commenced from the Lady Hester, and Ryan gave the order to reply in kind.

  Then, like a cat with a mouse, Ryan came abreast of his prey, then veered away as if yielding to her fire. Overconfident now, Chadwick gave the order to pursue and his ship veered toward La Mouette.

  Laughing, Coleraine dodged a lit, cast-iron hand grenade thrown from the Lady Hester's maintop. "That's right, you fools! Teach us a lesson!" he shouted.

  Drew stared in joyous awe, awaiting the moment when his captain turned and said, "Tell Hornbeam to stand by to trim sails. The men in the maintop should be lighting the stinkpots." Ryan then signaled to the first gun watch, adding a wink for encouragement.

  From then on, a well-organized sort of chaos prevailed. At the moment the Lady Hester veered into the position Coleraine was waiting for, he put his helm hard alee and the sails were quickly trimmed. In the next instant, grappling irons were thrown to the captured ship's lower yardarms, and the first gun watch stormed over the sides.

  Drawing his sword, Ryan prepared to follow when he glimpsed Andre Raveneau leaning against the mainmast. The older man saluted, grinning, and called, "Well done, Captain! Now finish your work—but remember to save your vengeance for another day."

  Coleraine felt a stab of raw emotion, but there was no time to indulge it. As he vaulted onto the Lady Hester's main deck, dodging rifle fire, Lindsay peeked above the hatch. Terror for Ryan made her stomach churn. She longed to run after him and pull him to safety, but she could not. Her only alternative was prayer.

  "Papa, come below before your wound opens or you're shot!" To her relief, he obeyed her, seeming to sense that he could do more good at his daughter's side.

  Meanwhile, thanks to the flaming stinkpots thrown by Ryan's topmen, several fires had broken out on the Lady Hester's battered decks. Chadwick's crew, untrained for battle, scattered in an effort to put out the flames or to repel Coleraine's boarding party. After more than a dozen bodies had fallen on the decks, the panic-stricken Chadwick surrendered.

  He came d
own from the quarterdeck to face Ryan. Grimy with sweat and gunpowder, the Earl of Chadwick looked puny and frightened as he turned over his sword. Harry stood behind him, supremely incongruous in these surroundings. His golden curls were matted, his cravat untied, and his polished Hessians scarred. Fear, and dawning confusion, shone in Harry's eyes.

  Ryan glanced at him and exclaimed, "Why, Harry, how fortuitous! I've been looking everywhere for you. Father will be so pleased. He's been worried sick about you!"

  "You've beaten us, young Raveneau," Chadwick was muttering. "I don't know how you knew where to find us, how you knew your way along this treacherous coastline, or how you won this battle, but you did."

  Ryan feigned solemnity. "One of life's great mysteries, hmm?" Glancing over to two solidly built gunners, he said, "For some reason, I don't trust these two. Stay close to them while Drew gets some handcuffs."

  Harry stared at his erstwhile brother-in-law, noting the hard edge to his voice, the masculine way he stood and moved, the simplicity of his garb, and the keen intelligence in his eyes. "You don't act like the same Nathan I knew in London!" he accused.

  Francis was leaning forward, peering more closely at Ryan. "If I didn't know better, I'd swear—"

  Laughing in a way that sent chills down Harry's spine, Coleraine said, "You two would seem to be at odds on this score. Harry doesn't recognize me and Francis does!"

  "It can't be," Chadwick muttered. "Coleraine?"

  "Oh, yes, it can," he shot back caustically. "And it is. Just ask your wife, Francis. You thought you'd gotten rid of me for good ten years ago, didn't you? I'm afraid that you made your own luck today, my lord, and all of it bad."

  "You mean you're not Raveneau?" Harry demanded. "Coleraine?" He nudged Francis. "Isn't that the name of that marquess you told me about near here?"

  Chadwick paled as he considered his current situation. "Look, Coleraine, why don't you just kill me and have done with it?"

  "I'm not that charitable."

  Drew had arrived with the handcuffs, but when Ryan reached for them, Francis struck out at the gunner at his side and made a mad dash for the Lady Hester's larboard rail. Ryan was just inches from gripping the earl's sleeve when Chadwick hurtled over the side. He struck his head against La Mouette's hull on the way down and appeared to be already dead when he hit the ocean far below.

  Ryan stared down at the body that floated for a few moments before being swallowed by the swelling waves. He turned back just in time to see Harry Brandreth grab a sword from the deck.

  "Come on, Raveneau or Coleraine or whatever your name is! Why don't we just settle this score right now!" Without waiting for a reply, he charged with the sword.

  Incredulous, Ryan drew his own sword and fended Harry off. He was tired, angry, and out of patience. Blades struck and flashed in the sunlight as Ryan fought with aggressive expertise. In minutes, after an ill-timed lunge by Harry, Ryan had knocked the weapon from his hand and pinned him to the deck with the sharpened point of his sword.

  "I've been waiting to do this ever since I found Andre Raveneau alone, wounded, and bleeding in his cabin," he uttered in deadly tones. "You deserve to die—slowly—for what you did to him, and to Mouette, and to the country I love."

  Harry was gasping for breath, sweat pouring down his face, as Coleraine increased the sword's pressure. Then, abruptly, it was removed. Ryan stepped away, while the two gunners rushed forward to handcuff the prisoner.

  As they hauled him to his feet and led him off, Harry searched Coleraine's face, whimpering, "I don't know why you spared me, but—"

  "Don't flatter yourself," Ryan broke in with cold contempt. "I wouldn't dirty my sword with your blood. Now get out of my sight."

  When he stepped back onto La Mouette's gun deck, Lindsay rushed forward and threw her arms around his neck, sobbing. Ryan held her securely and closed his eyes. Exhausted, drained, and relieved, he silently gave thanks to God that they had all emerged unscathed.

  "Oh, Ryan"—Lindsay gulped through her tears—"I was so afraid that I would lose you!"

  Over her head, he gave Andre Raveneau a tired wink. "I don't think that's a possibility, angel. I'm yours for life."

  Chapter 36

  July 2, 1814

  The next day at noon, Ryan and Lindsay rode through the village of Clifden, not taking the time to stop. Gray stone cottages with thatched roofs lined the winding cobbled street that rose over the brow of a hill and seemed to disappear into the distant Atlantic Ocean. Lindsay was intrigued by the small Catholic church and its graveyard studded with ringed, ornamented high crosses. When she asked about them, Ryan told her that many were more than a thousand years old.

  Men clustered outside the public house, chatting as if they had nothing better to do. Children and dogs scrambled over the cobbled street for a ball while their mothers gossiped. Everyone seemed to be dressed in shades of gray, except for an occasional bright blouse or waistcoat. The villagers almost blended with the stone houses and the stone street, Lindsay thought, but for their animated faces and voices. She only wished she could understand what they were saying! It fascinated her to think that this village was a part of Ryan.

  Turning north, they followed the jagged cliffs that bordered the sea. The wind was invigorating and overhead seagulls cried and dipped against a vividly blue sky. Ryan was in his element. The sight of waves crashing against golden beaches and the choppy, sapphire Atlantic stretching to an impossibly distant horizon filled him with both nostalgia and longing. Somewhere inside of Ryan was the boy who had stood on these very cliffs and dreamed of other worlds. He'd had a great deal right here that had gone largely unappreciated, and now that he was a man and had seen so much, Ryan intended to concentrate on learning to enjoy all that he'd gained, not the least of which was the love of an extraordinary woman.

  At length, Lindsay called over to him, "I must say I'm surprised that you agreed to let me come with you without an argument!"

  He laughed, his shining black hair blowing in the wind. "I may need you! If Blake comes at me with a weapon, I'm counting on you to rush to my defense. I'm far too fatigued after yesterday's exertions to fight again today!"

  As they approached the crest of a hill, Ryan reined in his horse, knowing that Clifden Castle would come into view on the other side. How many times during childhood had he walked home this way with Donal, his wolfhound, trotting by his side? Now he paused at the top of the hill, gazing down at the gray stone castle that had been ravaged by the elements for more than two hundred years but remained unbeaten. Hugh Coleraine had built Clifden Castle in 1572, after the style of the older castles he'd admired in England. It was dramatic and imposing, with its crenellated towers and walls, yet was modified enough in size to possess some of the charm of a real home.

  "Oh, my." Lindsay sighed admiringly. She looked at Ryan's thoughtful profile and left him to his reverie.

  They rode in silence down the grassy hillside and into the courtyard of the castle. When Ryan lifted Lindsay down from her horse, she gazed at him with with emotion.

  "It will be all right, darling. I'm sure of it."

  He managed a smile. "Well, we'll see."

  The iron door knocker fell with an echoing thud, and they waited until at last the door was opened by a butler Ryan didn't recognize.

  "We're here to see his lordship," he said.

  "Lord Clifden is not taking visitors. He's very ill," the old man intoned.

  "I'm afraid he'll have to see us. I am his brother, and I've come a long way."

  "Well, I'll inquire. What names shall I give?"

  Ryan told him, and they waited in the courtyard for several minutes while the butler disappeared on his errand. Ryan was too tense to talk. He paced back and forth, rubbing the back of his neck with one lean hand, while Lindsay watched him helplessly.

  "His lordship will see you," came the voice from within.

  They followed the butler through a labyrinth of vaulted stone corridors. The castle was eerily silent
, apparently empty except for this solitary servant and his master. Finally, upon reaching a tower door, the butler knocked once and opened it, announcing, "Captain Ryan Coleraine and Miss Lindsay Raveneau, my lord."

  They entered a tower room that appeared to be a library, its curved walls lined with rows of dusty books. Rays of sunlight pierced narrow windows, falling on a thin man who lay on a couch in the center of the room. He was covered by two quilts in spite of the warm weather, and the face he turned to Ryan and Lindsay was pinched with sadness.

  Ryan didn't move or speak, but his keen gaze searched for the truth in his brother's eyes.

  Blake extended a frail-looking hand. "My brother," he whispered.

  Tears filled Lindsay's eyes as she watched Ryan walk to the side of the couch, then bend to embrace Blake. The older man began to weep.

  "I have to tell you—" He choked.

  "I know," Ryan murmured. "Hester has told me all of it. And Chadwick is dead. He won't bother you again."

  "I can't ask for your forgiveness. I've been repenting my sins for years, but I'll never find peace in this lifetime. If I'd known how to find you, I'd have put it right long ago."

  "Blake, how ill are you?"

  "I'm dying." He paused to cough. "I don't know how to tell you how sorry I am for all I've done to you. When I first learned the truth of my parentage, I couldn't bear the thought of giving up my home, of doing that to my family—"

  "Never mind," Ryan said gently, patting his hand. "It doesn't matter. I forgive you, if that's what you want to hear. More than that, I'm glad that events transpired as they did. You were much better suited to being a lord of the land here in Ireland than I would have been, especially at that age. I was always restless, you know that, Blake, and I would have rebelled if you had suddenly forced the title on me. You did the right thing and I not only don't blame you, I'm grateful to you."

  Blake Coleraine, Marquess of Clifden, gazed through his tears at the strong dark hand that clasped his own thin fingers. The last time he'd seen Ryan, Blake had been only a few years older than his brother was now; vital, handsome, and determined. Yet deception and an unhappy marriage had taken their toll. As the years wore on and his wife and children spent more and more time abroad, he'd shut himself up in this study for days at a time, drinking from breakfast until bedtime. Now, seeing the spark of love in Ryan's eyes, he felt a pang for the life he'd thrown away out of guilt and despair.