Wicked Captain, Wayward Wife

by Sarah Mallory

  ‘And my wife?’

  ‘Mrs Wylder shall be my guest aboard the Maestro and we shall watch the proceedings from there. And now, Captain Wylder, I would ask you to make your decision quickly. My arm is beginning to ache and this trigger is so very sensitive.’

  ‘What assurance do I have that you will keep your word?’

  ‘Why, none, my good Captain; but then, what assurance have I that you will keep yours?’ He laughed softly. ‘Mrs Wylder is my guar an tee of safe passage out of the country. But time is getting on. You must leave now if your instructions are to reach your gallant Revenue captain in time. And remember, Captain Wylder; your wife is safe only as long as matters go smoothly, so you had best make sure I see the Revenue cutter in Rye Bay this evening. I shall look out for her when we sail past in the Maestro. From this moment Mrs Wylder will be accompanied at all times by Shawcross, Catherine or myself; we are all like to hang if we are caught, so we are none of us afraid to pull the trigger, am I not right?’ He looked at his com pan ions, who nodded, and Chelston fixed his cold eyes on Nick again. ‘If I suspect you are trying to trick me, then she will be the first to die. Well?’

  ‘Your consignment will not be intercepted. You have my word upon it.’

  It took all Nick’s self-control not to react to the flash of triumph he saw in Chelston’s face. He had schooled his own to a look of in difference and forced himself to watch without emotion as Chelston pulled Eve closer to him and stroked her cheek with the pistol.

  ‘Well, my dear, do you trust him?’ That purring voice grated on Nick’s raw nerves. ‘After all, he fooled you before, did he not? He allowed you to think he was dead. What sort of trick is that to play on a loving wife?’

  Nick saw the anger in Eve’s eyes and the scornful curl of her lip. He gave her a rueful smile and said quietly, ‘Well, sweet heart?’

  Her chin went up. ‘Yes,’ she said clearly. ‘Yes, I trust him. Implicitly!’

  Despite their des per ate situation a blaze of hap pi ness lifted Nick’s spirits. He met and held Chelston’s challenging look. ‘You harm her and I will make sure you do not live to see the dawn.’

  Lord Chelston’s thin lips curled. ‘I am no uncivilised savage; keep to our bargain and she goes free. Shawcross, ring the bell, if you please. Our guests will leave by the main door, I think.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  ‘Captain?’

  Nick heard Richard call his name, but he did not answer as he strode out of the house. He made his way quickly to the walled garden where they found Silas and Nathanial waiting with the horses. A tight knot of anxiety twisted inside him, worse than any fear he had ever felt for himself. Walking away from Eve was the most difficult thing he had done in his life. Her brave smile had wrenched at his heart; although he had a plan forming, there was no guar an tee that it would work. She had put her trust in him and he was not at all sure he would succeed.

  ‘Captain?’ Richard spoke again. ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘There’s enough of us, Cap’n,’ said Sam, anxious eyes fixed on his face. ‘What if we were to storm the house—?’

  Nick shook his head. ‘You heard Chelston, Sam. If we try anything of that nature he will shoot Eve. I cannot risk it. Let’s get out of here.’ He mounted and cantered down the drive, Richard and the others behind him. He did not stop until they were well clear of Chelston, then he pulled up in a wooded glade at the side of the road and waited for them to come up to him.

  ‘Well, sir?’ Richard’s usually impassive countenance was grim.

  ‘I do not think Chelston will harm her, at least until the smouch has been transferred to the lugger,’ said Nick. ‘The first thing to do is to get word to Captain George.’

  ‘I’ll go, Cap’n!’ declared Sam eagerly.

  Nick shook his head. ‘I’ve other work for you, Sam. Silas, how many oarsmen does that galley of yours hold?’

  ‘Why, twenty, sir, but we can manage with half that number—’

  Nick interrupted him. ‘For what I have in mind you’ll need a full complement. You said your brother has a similar vessel, over at Dimchurch.’

  ‘Aye, sir, ’e has.’

  ‘You’d be better setting off from there. Could you find me enough oarsmen? Could you find them for tonight?’

  ‘Aye, Cap’n, reckon we can, if it will help rescue Miss Eve.’ Silas stuck out his chin. ‘She helped us on our last run, now it’s our turn to repay the debt.’

  Nick grinned. ‘Very well then, Silas. You are always telling me that the Kentish oarsmen are the best in the world, now you are going to prove it to me!’

  Chapter Nineteen

  It took all Eve’s will power not to cry out to Nick as he walked out of the room. As soon as the door had closed behind him Lady Chelston pulled one of cords from the window and bound Eve’s wrists. After that she became the still centre of a whirl wind of activity. She was obliged to sit passively and watch while all around her bags were packed, orders shouted and servants despatched. Her forced inactivity was deeply frustrating. And at all times Lady Chelston, her husband or Bernard hovered near her, a constant reminder that if anything should go wrong she would be the first to suffer.

  Eve half-expected an attack on Chelston Hall by the dragoons or a party of riding officers and she was a little disappointed when an hour dragged by with nothing more exciting than Lady Chelston’s maid dropping a scent bottle on the marble floor of the hall and filling the air with the pungent, sickly smell of over blown roses. Eve told herself that Nick was protecting her, that he would do nothing to risk her life, but it irked her to be so helpless. She remembered Mr Granby’s words: Captain Wyldfire runs with the wind, ma’am. Well, he was running with a very ill wind now and she did not see how he could turn it to his advantage.

  The drive to Hastings was slightly more interesting, but less com fort able, for she was bundled into the carriage with Lady Chelston and her maid, who cried into her apron and declared that she did not want to leave her family.

  ‘Why can’t I stay behind, m’lady, like ’is lordship’s man?’

  ‘Griffin is not staying behind, you foolish wench,’ retorted Lady Chelston, ‘He is staying to pack the rest of the trunks and will follow us as best he can.’

  ‘But I don’t like the water, ma’am; you know I gets sick!’

  In reply Lady Chelston boxed her ears and told her to control herself, but the maid’s sobs only in creased.

  Eve looked away in disgust. Outside the windows she could see her cousin and Lord Chelston riding beside the carriage. She felt trapped and as the coach bounced and rocked over the uneven road she was obliged to reach up with her bound hands and cling on to the strap for the most un com fort able journey of her life.

  They boarded the Maestro at Hastings. With her hands tied Eve found it difficult to climb up on to the yacht, but she closed her lips stub bornly against any com plaint. As Bernard helped her on to the deck she heard Lord Chelston addressing the first mate.

  ‘Mr Briggs, where is your captain?’

  The man snapped to attention. ‘Sick, me lord,’ he replied smartly. ‘Flux. Running out of ’im somethin’ dreadful…’

  ‘Yes, yes, no need to give me all the details.’ Lord Chelston waved him away. ‘Well, get on with it, then man. You know what to do.’

  Lady Chelston and her maid immediately retired to a cabin, complaining of sickness and Bernard bundled Eve to a quiet spot near the stern of the yacht while the bare-footed sailors moved quickly about their tasks as they prepared to put to sea. Everywhere she looked there was a profusion of ropes, wooden spars and huge canvas sails that to Eve’s untutored eye made the Maestro look top-heavy. As the crew adjusted the sails to make the most of the light breeze, she heard the first-mate in forming his master that with so little wind it would be fair nigh impossible to make good time. If that was true, then perhaps the Merle, too, would be late to the rendezvous; no one could blame Nick for that.

  Eve waited until the first fev
ered activity of setting sail had died down, then she thrust her bound wrists towards Bernard.

  ‘I would be obliged if you would untie me now. After all, I can hardly escape from here.’ She looked out over the calm grey water that surrounded them. ‘You know I cannot swim, Cousin. What harm can I do you here?’ She directed a steady look across the deck at Lord Chelston, who nodded.

  ‘Take off the rope, Shawcross, but watch her.’ He turned to Eve. ‘Any tricks, madam, and you will be trussed up and locked below. Do you under stand?’

  Eve met his eyes without flinching. ‘Perfectly.’

  Once her wrists were free, Eve made her way towards the bow of the ship where she hoped she would not be in the way of the crew. She rubbed her arms, hoping that the balmy night would stay warm since she had only the silk shawl Lady Chelston had given her to keep out any chill winds. The sun had set, the daylight a mere thin line of pale grey on the horizon. There was no moon and the only light came from the stars that were be ginning to twinkle in the east, although above her head the mass of ropes, spars and huge sails blotted out the sky. She moved past the pin-rail, where a bewildering number of ropes were tied off, and dropped down by the railing so that she could peer out under the rigging at the empty sea before them. Despite the lack of wind the ship seemed to be travel ling quickly through the water, the prow slicing effortlessly through the waves with a gentle rocking motion that she found quite soothing. The sea air was cool on her cheeks and she could taste the salt on her lips. It was invigorating; it reminded her of Nick. Bernard came up and sat down beside her. She hunched her shoulder and turned her back on him.

  ‘Look, Cousin.’ He pointed towards the dwindling coast line with the ancient town of Rye on its hill, standing guard like some medieval fortress. ‘You see the sails over there? It is the Argos, cruising at the mouth of the Rother. Captain George will have a long wait.’

  Eve did not answer. The Revenue ship looked so far away, she could expect no help from that quarter. ‘The Maestro is a very fast cutter,’ Bernard continued. ‘She’s clinker built with a lute stern so she’s very light and fast. She’s rigged fore-and-aft—’

  ‘Bernard,’ Eve interrupted him wearily. ‘Do you have the slightest idea what any of that means?’

  ‘It means, dear cousin, that we have the advantage of any government vessel. Chelston tells me the Maestro was built at the self-same shipyard as the lugger that is waiting for our long boats to row out to it with the casks full of smouch. It means,’ he said with great deliberation, ‘that even if your husband tries to give chase tonight he will not catch us.’ Bernard gave a self-satisfied sigh. ‘It is common practice, I believe, for the ship wrights to build boats for both the free-traders and the Revenue, but ’tis the free-traders who get the faster vessels.’

  ‘With so little wind I do not see it makes any difference,’ remarked Eve.

  ‘Oh, it will pick up presently. For now we are in no hurry. The Merle is not expected at the rendezvous until midnight.’ He settled himself more com fort ably. ‘Seems damnably dark to me. Barely enough light to see your hand in front of your face, but I’m told the crews prefer it that way.’

  ‘How will the Merle know this is not an enemy ship?’ she asked. She added hope fully, ‘It might turn around and sail away.’

  ‘There are pre-arranged signals. Chelston informs me that we shall be able to watch the consignment being transferred to the Merle and when it is all done we shall follow her to Boulogne.’ He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. ‘I am looking forward to getting you ashore, my dear.’

  Angrily she shrugged him off. ‘Lord Chelston gave his word that if the consignment went ahead I should be freed.’

  She caught the quick gleam of his teeth in the near-darkness.

  ‘Yes, Cousin; but Lord Chelston did not say where. If we set you down in Boulogne with no money, no maid and no baggage, I think you might soon find yourself in difficulties. What do you think, Cousin?’ He leaned closer until she could feel his hot breath on her face. ‘A young lady, un at tended, in a busy seaport—you would not last five minutes. Much better to put yourself under my protection, my dear. Besides, I think your husband owes me some thing for obliging me to under take this precipitous flight, with not even my valet to attend me. At least I shall have you to warm my bed—’

  She brought her hand up and caught him a stinging slap on the face. With a snarl Bernard jumped up, his black shape looming over her.

  ‘Why, you—’

  ‘Quiet, damn you!’ Lord Chelston’s voice cut like a whiplash across the deck. ‘We have reached the rendezvous.’

  With a muttered curse Bernard lounged away. Eve watched him go with some relief. She looked towards the shadowy figure of Lord Chelston, pacing to and fro across the deck.

  ‘What happens now?’ she asked him as he came near.

  ‘Now we sit and wait to see if your husband is as good as his word.’

  A heavy darkness fell, trapping them between the velvety sky with its myriad twinkling stars and the silky black ness of the sea. The only sound was the gentle lapping of the water against the hull or the occasional snap of a sail overhead. Eve hugged her shawl about her and wondered what she could do when they reached Boulogne. The idea of remaining under Bernard’s protection was un thinkable. Nick would come for her, she was sure of that, but how soon? Perhaps she could find a priest to take her in while she sent word to him. She closed her eyes, summoning up that last glance he had given her before he had walked out of the drawing room at Chelston Hall. No words, but a look in his blue, blue eyes that had promised he would find her. It was a small hope, but it was all she had and she clung on to it desperately.

  ‘There she is, m’lord.’

  The first mate’s quiet growl roused Eve. She strained her eyes until they watered. At first she could see nothing in the gloom, but at length she could just pick out a black shape in the distance. A light glimmered, the barest flash in the darkness. One of Lord Chelston’s crew swung a lantern in response and a murmur of anticipation ran around the deck. Eve remained beside the rail, watching and waiting. Minutes passed. At last a faint movement caught her eye; she could see a line of small shapes on the water, inching towards the Merle. She knew they must be the long boats, laden with casks of bogus tea to be hauled aboard the lugger. Her pulse quickened; perhaps Nick and his officers had replaced the long boat men and were even now aboard the Merle, overpowering the crew and capturing the ship for the crown. Perhaps…

  A series of lights flickered from the black outline of the ship and Eve heard Lord Chelston give a grunt of satisfaction.

  ‘Good. All is well; she’s loaded. Any sign of enemy ships, Briggs?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  Eve’s heart sank as she watched the tiny boats moving away from the Merle. At such a distance they looked like a string of jet beads on a bed of dark satin. Once the Merle set sail there was little chance that any Revenue cutter could prevent her from reaching Boulogne. Depression as black as the night settled over her. Once it was known that Nick had allowed the smugglers to escape, his good name would be lost. And she was to blame. Nick had sacrificed everything in a des per ate bid to save her. Eve squared her shoulders. She must not be despondent; if the tales she had heard were to be believed, Captain Wyldfire had successfully recovered from worse situations than this. For now there was little she could do except to stay alert.

  As Eve watched the black shapes of the long boats slip back towards the shore, a question occurred to her.

  ‘What will happen to those men?’

  Chelston shrugged. ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘But you could have warned them. If they return to Abbotsfield, they will be arrested.’

  ‘That is not my concern; I have no further use for them.’

  ‘How can you be so cold?’ She shook her head, disbelieving. ‘Have you no thought for the people you have abandoned?’

  ‘No, none.’ Lord Chelston put his telescope to his eye and slowly
turned around, raking the seas. ‘Well, well; the Merle is underway and not another vessel in sight. Wylder was as good as his word. He must really love you, my dear.’

  ‘Oh I do, Chelston. Never doubt it.’

  ‘Nick!’

  Eve hurtled across the deck towards the tall, familiar figure that had appeared by the main mast. Nick reached out and drew her to him with one hand, while the pistol in the other never wavered from its target, which was Lord Chelston’s heart. She noted that Richard Granby was beside him, his pistol aimed at Bernard, who had raised his hands. Even in the darkness she could see that he was shaking.

  Nick leaned down to plant a kiss upon her head. ‘Have they hurt you, sweet heart?’

  She clung to him, pressing her cheek against his rough wool jacket. ‘No, not at all. But I am so glad to see you.’

  ‘Curse you, Wylder, where did you come from?’ snarled Lord Chelston.

  ‘I was ’tween decks with Richard. We didn’t want to ruin the surprise by your spotting us too early.’

  ‘Much good it may do you, when you are out numbered by my crew. Take them!’

  Eve gasped as Chelston dived to the deck, but Nick did not move. No shots were fired, and no one at tempted to lay a hand upon Nick, who merely laughed.

  ‘Get up, Chelston, you look very foolish lying down there. I think you will find they are not your crew any longer. I’ve hired them.’

  ‘You have what?’ It was too dark to see Chelston’s face, but Eve could hear the astonishment in his voice.