by Grace Walton
Connor handed his brother his boots and tried to speak. What came out was not at all what he'd been feeling only an hour ago. But he would have said or done anything to wipe that cold look off Dylan's face. Anything.
“We can get her away. We can. She doesn't have to go to trial. One word and Griffin would have her in the Orient or Russia or somewhere just as far away. No one would ever find her.”
Dylan stamped his feet into the high black boots. He stood cautiously fighting back the nausea and dizziness rising through his tall lean body. “No,” he rasped.
“Blast it, yes! We can save her,” Connor argued hotly.
His brother's eyes could have frozen hell itself as he answered. “She doesn't want to be saved. I've offered her as much already, in the stable. It was thrown back in my face. Do you understand what I'm saying Connor?”
Connor had never seen his brother so much like a hungry predator. Later, he would vow no one had or ever would. Dylan's voice was a low, dangerous snarl. The stiletto was pointed like a sword at Connor's heart as Dylan stalked towards him with a graceful kind of savagery.
“She's getting what she wants. A lover as devious as she is herself and money earned with the blood of people helpless to fight back. There is no such thing as saving Aurora Windsor. She's lost already. Completely and irretrievably lost. The last task left to finish is mine.”
Only Connor's reflexes saved him as he watched his brother pull the knife behind him and send it racing through the air to settle hilt deep into the opposite wall. The handle vibrated with the force of the throw.
“So leave me to do what I do best.” He walked to where the knife still sang in the wood. He jerked it out. And he slid the blade into its case in his riding boot.
When Connor started to speak again, he intercepted a dark look of warning from Sander. The black man shook his head. Connor remained silent.
“Do you want some food?” Sander asked quietly.
“No,” Dylan plunged his hand into his pocket. He toyed with the rose pearl hidden there. “No, I don't want to eat. I don't want to drink. I don't want to read or play cards. I just want to be left alone. Can that be managed?” There was an icy disdain in his voice.
“Yes, of course.” Sander laid a consoling hand on Connor's shoulder. He propelled the younger man firmly toward the door. “We'll make Windsor's Island by nightfall.”
“I heard. Come back to the cabin when we're an hour out.”
“Fine,” Sander said as he pushed Connor out the door and started to close it. He stopped when there was only an opening of a few inches. “Dylan?” he called softly to the man standing staring down at something small in his palm.
“What is it, Sander?” He slowly raised his head to look at his uncle.
“I'm sorry.” Sander shut the door quickly.
He didn't see Dylan's head drop. Or the way his fingers tightened over the little black bead in his hand, the knuckles bone white.
“Connor I want you to watch Dylan closely tonight. Very closely. Especially when we take the guns away from Avansley,” said Sander.
Both men were climbing the steep steps up onto the deck. Connor looked at his uncle in confusion. A gust of salty air tugged at the tall man and almost swallowed his question.
“Why?”
“Because your brother will kill someone if we don't stop him.”
“Avansley?” Connor's harsh laugh made nearby sailors turn to see what was going on. “You'd better watch me too then, because I plan to kill him myself.”
“No, not Avansley.” Sander opened his clenched fists. He looked down at his helpless hands. “Rory.”
“He won't do that.” Connor shook his head, trying to reassure his uncle. “He'll take her in to the authorities. He’ll testify at her trial, like he said. “
Sander's look of sympathy toward the younger man was stoic. Wisdom came with age. Sander knew exactly what Dylan planned to do this cursed night.
“Avansley might stand trial. But Dylan will never let the girl be tried and hung. He'll kill her himself before he'd let her be subjected to that.”
“No,” Connor denied what Sander was saying. It was one thing to kill someone in self-defense or even to ensure that justice was served. But the idea of such a mercy killing made his blood run cold through his veins. “No, He won't kill her.”
Sander disagreed softly, “Yes, yes, he will if we don't stop him. Just like he'd put a dying animal out of its misery.”
“No, he won't,” Connor's argued vehemently. “He could never live with her death on his conscience.”
“He's not planning to.” Sander's each word was laden with meaning. “I don't suppose he plans to outlive her by more than a very few seconds. About the amount of time it takes to cock and fire a pistol.”
“No!” Connor was horrified. “He can't be planning that.”
“Yes he can. He is. I know he is.” Sander seemed defeated. “The only way we can stop this from happening is to find Rory first. You'll have to take her and get her away.”
“What do you mean away? Away where?” Connor slapped his hands on the railing, angry at what he was being forced to hear. “It's a small island, or so I'm told. Just where am I supposed to take the woman? I can't walk on water, you know. We'll be stuck on that island. You know how he is in the woods. Sander, he taught me to track. How am I supposed to get her away from him?”
“I don't know!” Sander barked back at him. “You've been living with Indians off and on for ten years. Surely you can do something? It's either get her away or kill her ourselves. And I don't know about you, but I can't do it. I just cannot kill the woman. No matter what she's done, I can't murder her. Can you?”
Connor frowned and stammered, “I thought I could last night but no. I couldn't. I couldn't look in her eyes and end her life.”
“Then you'll have to get her away.” Sander looked out over the water toward the little ship ahead of them on the horizon. “When the fighting starts, take her and run. On the river side of the island, there's a dock. Take one of the boats tied there. Get across the river. Then take her somewhere inland. As far away as you can, as fast as you can.”
“He'll still find us.”
“Probably, but at least you'll have a head start. Maybe I can convince him to let her go. She'll be away from Avansley. Maybe this time she'll take the charity he offered her before. You tell her that. Tell her she won't have another chance. Tell her it's either start over in a new place or die.” He reached up a weary hand and loosened his collar. “If she's too stupid to realize her options are very limited, we'll…” He swallowed hard and turned to face his nephew. “I don't know what we'll do if that happens. I'm praying it won't come to that.”
Connor cursed under his breath. “I hate this. I hate this whole filthy mess.”
Sander nodded. “So do I son, so do I.” And he turned to leave the tormented man at the railing.
“Where are you going?” Connor asked without much interest.
“I'm going to find a quiet place, and I'm going to try to pray.”
“Can I come with you?” It was a humble question.
The hours passed slowly after that. Connor and Sander spent the time in a sheltered part of the deck. They didn't talk to each other much. They both kept their eyes trained on the tiny bobbing squares of white marking the sails of Avansley's ship.
Connor wondered how in God's green earth, he was going to save Rory once the fighting started. Sander was praying and cursing in equal measures. Praying because he wanted to believe what seemed impossible to believe right now. That God was real. That Rory was innocent. That somehow everything would turn out all right. He cursed his stupidity for wanting what didn't exist. A God who cared. A woman who seemed completely perfect for his battle-scarred nephew.
Windsor's Island slowly rose above the horizon in the weakening rays of the sun. It looked as peaceful and bucolic as an English churchyard. It didn't look at all what it really was about to become, a bloody killi
ng field.
“I told you to come get me when we were an hour out.”
Both men were shaken by the low, deep voice. Dylan stood before them hard and unyielding. His great coat swirled around his boots with the teasing wind. Connor stumbled to his feet and tried to explain.
“I thought you would be better for the rest.”
His brother’s dark, cold laughter covered Connor’s excuse. “I don't need to rest,” Dylan said bitterly. “I need to finish this.”
He didn't wait to hear an answer. He left them both standing there and went to the prow of the Rozelle. He began shouting out orders. Sailors jumped in every direction, trying to do his bidding as quickly as possible. St. John was never a man to be trifled with. Especially not at this moment. He looked like he barely needed an excuse to spill blood. And nobody wanted it to be their own. It was obvious he intended anchoring the ship offshore near Dolphin’s Point. Every schoolboy on the island knew those were the most treacherous waters to be found near their home. Even the fishermen left the Point alone. The fish were there in abundance, to be sure. But the current forced their boats right up onto the beach.
Kent was the only one who had the courage to address the big scowling man. “Sir? Be ye wantin to land near the point?”
Dylan's eyes bore into the mate's with a frightening intensity. “Yes.”
“She'll run aground for sure Sir. The pull of the tide there is too strong to fight.” Kent loved very few things on the earth. The Rozelle was one of them. He would do anything to keep her afloat. Even challenge St. John.
“But we'll be hidden. Won’t we?”
There was a smooth quality to his voice that frightened Kent. It scared him much more than St. John’s black and deadly eyes.
“Aye sir,” Kent said. The mate choked down the argument that wanted to break from his lips. “We won't be seen if we anchor there.”
“Excellent.” St. John turned away from him as if the first mate ceased to exist.
Kent cursed under his breath. He set out to do the hardest thing he’d ever done. He was going to intentionally scuttle a ship. A ship he loved as if it were his own. Moving to the massive wheel, he wrapped his hard calloused hands around its graceful wooden curve. He caressed it like a lover for one passing second before hauling away at it with all his strength.
The ship lurched across the choppy waves to obey. The crew watched the other ship glide gracefully around the point and into the sheltered harbor. While their own ship seemed intent on suicide as it cut closer and closer to the shore. Some of the crew began yelling warnings. They begged Kent to turn the wheel so the rudder could guide them to the safety of the open water. But he ignored them all.
His face was set like flint as he pushed the Rozelle up onto the sandy bottom. There was a screeching grating sound like two gigantic immovable forces moving upon each other. Then finally the ship was still in the clear shallow water.
“Now what?” Sander moved up behind Dylan.
“Now we go ashore and they,” he said and motioned toward the sailors. “Shoot their cannon in a distress signal.”
“I thought the whole idea was to surprise Avansley?” Sander protested.
“He'll be surprised,” Dylan said as he climbed over the side to get into the small boat the sailors lowered beside the Rozelle. “He’ll hear the distress signal. He'll be intrigued. But you don't think a lord like Avansley will stoop to come to someone's rescue do you?”
He held out a hand to steady his uncle as the older man clamored into the bobbing little craft. Dylan continued, “Of course he won’t. Lord Richard Avansley will send the hired help to do his dirty work. Who will be guarding His High and Mightiness? My guess is no one.”
Connor listening jumped down to join them. “But he knows we've been following him. And he knows why.”
“Yes, he knows we've trailed him all the way from Wingate's landing. But he won't want a fight.” Dylan broke off, grasped the oars, and began to pull steadily.
Connor was frustrated. “He won't want a fight?”
“No, he would much rather have a massacre. So when he hears the Rozelle's guns firing a distress signal, he'll send his men out to the ship with orders to kill us. From his point of view, it’s a godsend,” Dylan said. “The Rozelle run aground, sailors scared and ready to jump ship, confusion on the deck. He'll think it an easy victory.”
“And while his men try to find and kill us, we'll pay a little visit on his lordship.” Connor filled in all the missing pieces and smiled. “Brilliant, when did you come up with this?”
Heavy muscles in Dylan's shoulders rippled as he pulled the oars through the churning water. “About five minutes ago.”
The little dingy nudged the bottom and quit moving. The men got out and pulled the boat up onto the sand. Staying low to the ground, they ran for the protection of the scrub growth lining the beach. Still down on their haunches Sander and Connor listened carefully as Dylan explained what they needed to do.
“When we get to the ship, just follow my lead.” Dylan's words were short and curt.
“That means you don't have a plan,” Connor said sourly.
“Yes, I do.” Dylan got up and started to leave through the brush. “I plan to kill that son of a,”
“Do I get to help?” Connor asked interrupting him. His answer was a hard look from his brother.
There was nothing else for the other men to do but follow Dylan. By the time they were well inland they heard the Rozelle's small cannon fire. Dried briars and thorns tore at their evening clothes. Dylan peeled off his coat and vest, leaving them in the dirt. Connor and Sander did the same as they neared the moored Avansley ship. Fighting in close quarters was hard enough without wearing restricting tailored coats. They crouched in the darkness at the edge of the concealing cover and scanned the ship.
A lone sailor kept watch by the light of a lantern near the gangplank. No one else could be seen.
“It's too easy.” Dylan's words were low, so they wouldn't carry across the still air to the man standing guard. “Something's wrong, it's too easy.”
“You said Avansley would be alone,” Connor argued in the same low tones.
“Alone with a few men, yes, but not totally deserted.” Dylan ordered. “Connor you take the man on guard. Sander you find Aurora. I'll get Avansley.”
They nodded their agreement and slunk off toward the ship in different directions using the deep shadows to hide. Dylan was about twenty feet out in the darkness when he saw Connor move up on the guard's blind side. There was a muffled crack as Connor took the man's gun and knocked him on the head with it in one fluid motion. The sailor fell down into a lump. He lay still. Connor moved with the stealth of a cat up the gangplank, ready to take on any other hidden men guarding the ship.
Incredibly, there was no one else. He was beginning to feel the same way Dylan did. This was too easy. The hairs on the back of his neck began to rise. It was a feeling of impending doom. A feeling that any second now, a bullet might go tearing through his unprotected back.
Searching the deck, Connor saw no sign of life. Everything was still. Unable to shake the feeling that danger was surrounding him, but not having a rational reason for delay, he lifted his hand as a signal to the others to board the ship.
Out of the night, they converged on the gangplank. Up the plank they moved silently. Dylan pulled out his knife. He motioned for them to fan out behind him as he crept down the steep stairs into the cabin level of the ship. It was even darker below deck. Deprived of the meager moon the smell of the place became dominant. His nose stung with the odor of mildew. Its stale sourness hung in the air.
As they made their way down the short corridor, each man concentrated on using his every sense. Something was wrong. They could all feel it. There was not even a sliver of light under any of the cabin doors they passed. It was much too early for every person on board to be asleep.
Dylan held a cautioning finger up to his lips. He pointed to what must have been
the closed door to the captain's cabin. Connor moved so that he was positioned behind the door. Once it was opened, he would be hidden. Whoever was in the room would not be able to see the tall blonde man as he guarded his brother.
Dylan motioned for Sander to go a considerable ways down the hallway. He would be a stumbling block if whoever was hiding in the room tried to bolt away. Dylan took an offensive position in the doorway itself. He calmly lifted the latch. He pushed the rough-timbered door open. His eyes were accustomed to the darkness already. He could make out the faint outline of someone sitting in a chair against the opposite wall. He took one step into the room when a lucifer flared into the darkness.
Even in the dim light the tiny flame provided he could see her. She sat like a queen reviewing her court. Her back was straight. Her head was held high. The white ball gown she still wore reflected the light. His eyes were held captive by the sight.
“Good evening Your Grace.” The sneering words came from the man who had struck the match. He held it now to a waiting candle and continued to speak. “Did you come alone?”
Dylan ignored him. He continued to stare at the silent woman in the chair. Avansley irritated with the other man's lack of response moved closer to Rory, intentionally blocking Dylan's line of vision.
“I asked you a question, you blackguard,” he said furiously. “Did you come alone?”
“Does it matter?” Dylan's hands were clasped easily behind his back. His knife hidden from view. He seemed for all the world like a gentleman enjoying the pursuits of the drawing room. The odd situation he'd found himself in didn't seem to matter to him.
Rory's chin lifted at the arrogance in his words. No Dylan, she silently pleaded. Don't bait this man. She knew what Avansley had planned. The long day's journey provided him with ample opportunity to talk. And he had. He'd taken a perverse delight in telling her again and again of how he would kill Dylan as she watched. It was to be a slow and painful leave-taking. And when his enemy was finally dead, Avansley would make her suffer. Make her wish for a death that wouldn't come. The lord took great pleasure in telling her exactly what he'd do to her. What he’d watch every member of his crew do to her. In repetitive and disgusting detail. And every time she'd blushed or shown her discomfort at the obscenities Avansley crowed with victory.