He appraised her up and down, noting her petite stature and thin arms. “I’ve seen your skill with a blade, so I know what you’re capable of doing.”
This man! Keelan strode forward and poked him hard in the chest. “Before you make any more foolish assumptions, you should recall that the man I killed was about to plunge a knife into your arrogant back!”
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her hard against him. Shock, confusion and anger rippled across his face. “I don’t recall any of that. I don’t know what to believe.”
“Right now, you’re believing that I’d lie to you. I want to know why.” Anger made her voice tremble. She should be more patient with him, but his distrust ignited her temper faster than a match to tinder.
“Are you sure you want an answer to that question?” he ground out between clenched teeth. He didn’t wait for her respond, although he did lower his voice to a harsh whisper, “I have two theories. I’m simply not yet certain which one is correct. One, you’re a slave owner. Perhaps you were hired to break into the inner network that Fynn created.”
“I knew nothing about it until the night we married,” she hissed back. She pulled her wrist, but his grip didn’t loosen.
His nostrils flared. “Another convenient tidbit that you cannot prove. Two, you’re British. Perhaps you’re a spy.” His fingers tightened.
“You’re hurting me,” she snapped, twisting her wrist in his large hand.
He didn’t release her. “It explains why Commodore Hall sailed his ship directly into an enemy flotilla.”
He reached his other hand up to grip the hair close to her head. He tilted her head back and stared into her eyes. “Perhaps both theories are correct. Tell me, wife, did you spread your legs for him, too?”
Keelan’s hand flew up and slapped his face with a sharp, painful crack even before her brain registered the movement. “How dare you.” The blood drained from her face leaving her dizzy; her hand throbbed and her palm burned. The heat from Landon’s body pulsed into the center of hers, his scent filled her nostrils and the irises of his eyes virtually crackled with a livid azure fire.
He started to say something, but the next second his lips were on hers. The sensation from the contact sent a quake through her body; her heart rumbled and blood roared through her veins. His mouth moved against hers, hard and punishing. Her fists clenched his shirt.
The familiar softness of his lips and the light stubble on his chin had her melting. His tongue drove into her mouth, searching, demanding. She wanted him. Dear Lord, she wanted him.
She unclenched her fists and dove her fingers into his sleek black hair and kissed him back with all the fear, frustration and anger she’d held inside since the night she’d disappeared from his memories. Landon released her hair but only to tear her shirt open, then his hands were on her breasts and he pushed her back against the wall, pressing the length of his hardened shaft against her lower belly. His kiss created a fire cloud low in her core, making that moist place between her thighs weep with need.
He had never kissed her with such passion and fury. It was both frightening and exhilarating. She slipped her hands under his shirt, reveling in the velvet warmth of his skin and the unyielding hardness of his ribs and back. His words still stung and she poured her hurt and frustration into the kiss.
He pulled her hips closer then lifted her and turned toward the bed. She wanted him, but not like this. Once he lowered her down and cover her with his hot, hard body, she would be helpless to resist, even if she wanted to. If she allowed him to tumble her in bed, she’d reinforce his earlier insinuation, which still pierced her heart like a thin stiletto. It was that thought, which cleared her mind from the heady delirium of his kiss. She wanted him yes—but not this way, not saturated with anger, and radiating jealousy and lust.
She tore her mouth from his and shoved him, twisting away. “Stop, Landon.” He reached for her and she darted behind the small table, putting it between them.
He stood clenching his jaw, eyes closed. Ragged breaths betrayed the calmer demeanor he attempted to show. She clutched the edges of her shirt together, hating what she had to say next.
“Please leave.” The words festered like acid in her mouth. If she said anymore or tried to explain, her resolve would crumble. If she allowed him to argue with her, her resolve would crumble. Hell, if he even opened his eyes and looked at her…she would pull him into her bed and she would become the woman this Landon believed her to be, in his fragmented mind. In the morning, he would despise her even more.
CHAPTER NINE
Keelan tossed in the bed like a dingy on a stormy sea. Even in the quiet that followed after the tavern closed and the guests were all abed didn’t help. She’d shed her breeches and boots, choosing to sleep in the shirt Landon had given her the last time she’d stayed at the Whistling Pig. The air was still hot and humid. Even the open window didn’t invite a breeze. It wasn’t the heat, however, keeping sleep at bay.
There was one single moment in time that would not rest in her mind. Before he left the room, Landon had paused with his hand on the knob and studied her. She’d stood in the center of the small room, the linen shirt clenched in a fist over her heart. His gaze fastened on her face and his brows drew a tiny bit closer in consternation.
Remember me.
She’d wanted him last night, yes but in the back of her mind she hoped with all her heart that kissing him back would jar loose his memory of her, somehow.
It hadn’t. Without a word, Landon stepped into the hall and closed the door.
She flopped to her stomach and buried her head in her arms. Without Landon, she was frayed and shredded like a rope that had snapped from the tension of too heavy a burden.
A small click broke into her meanderings. She turned her attention to the door knob. A moment of quiet followed, then a small scrape invaded the silence. Hope flared for a second; perhaps it was Landon coming to her. If he was, should she take him? Another scrape. The sounds weren’t coming from the door. The open window was now blocked by a shape that was too narrow in the shoulders and too short to be her husband.
Icy fingers of fear gripped her spine and she reached for the knife hidden under her pillow. The figure lunged toward the bed and Keelan screamed, rolling backward off the other side to the floor. She scrambled to her feet and ran toward the door. Her attacker slashed his blade through the fabric of her shirt and across her ribcage, causing her to arch back involuntarily at the sting.
The door crashed open and Daniel stumbled in, a sword in his hand. The assassin drew his arm back and threw his knife. A strangled scream broke from her throat, then Daniel blocked her view. There was no mistaking the sound of the blade sinking into his chest.
“No!” she screamed as he sank to the floor. The assassin bolted to the window; his movement making Keelan instinctively throw her dirk. She sent it into the man’s back with all the rage and despair that exploded from her heart like an ignited powder keg. A guttural noise escaped from his throat before he fell from the window to the alley below.
Sobbing, Keelan dropped to her knees and reached for Daniel, praying that the blade missed his heart. A long, hard arm snaked around her waist and pulled her to her feet before she had time to scream again.
Landon’s voice was low and firm in her ear. “Stop struggling, Keelan, it’s me.” His arms came around her and he held her tightly against him. For a moment, she allowed herself the luxury of relaxing in his arms, inhaling the calm authority that emanated from him. She couldn’t help Daniel if she allowed herself to panic.
“Daniel—”
“Nothing can be done for him now,” Landon murmured into her hair. “I’m sorry, Keelan.” He pushed her toward the door where Simon stood waiting. “Get her out of here, Simon. You know which passage to take. Go.”
Simon grasped her wrist and she pulled against him. They had to take Daniel. They had to help him. “No! Stop, I have to help Daniel! Let me go!”
Landon took
her face in his hands. “He’s dead, Keelan.”
She shook her head frantically. He can’t be dead. Not Daniel. She looked at the man who’d practically raised her, and a wretched sob built in her throat at the sight of the knife handle protruding from the center of his chest. A tremendous weight descended to her shoulders and the floor gave way beneath her feet.
“Simon, get her out of here!”
“I’m sorry, Miss Keelan,” Simon said earnestly.
Before she could reply, Simon picked her up and left the room. His shoulder pressed hard against her stomach and she could barely take a breath, let alone vocalize her outrage.
Doors opened and panicked voices drifted up from the second floor. A dim light illuminated the stairwell.
Simon strode to the far end of the hall and opened a small closet. Placing Keelan on her feet, he gently pushed her inside and reached past her to release a latch on the back wall. A narrow door swung open. He gripped her elbow then closed the hall door, plunging them in total darkness.
“Sorry, Miss Keelan, but I’ll have to lead you. The steps are steep, but I know dem well and can guide you down.”
Simon must have understood that shock and grief had frozen her tongue; he didn’t wait for her to answer before he moved and pulled her down the steps. They were moving inside the walls of the tavern. Beyond the hidden staircase was a low narrow passageway. It smelled of dirt and onions and the air was stale and hot. It wasn’t long before rivulets of sweat ran down the side of her face and between her breasts. Simon groped his way along the wall and a few minutes later, he stopped.
A soft click echoed in the dark and a rush of fresh air enveloped Keelan and she took a deep breath.
“Stay here ’til I check da street. You can follow when you hear my whistle. Close the door soft and it’ll latch well enough.” Simon released her arm and slipped out.
Keelan glanced out the doorway. The passageway opened up to a narrow walk between two buildings. Simon’s bulk filled the space as he stepped sideways toward the street, although Keelan had no idea what street it was. He paused at the end. A few seconds later, she heard a soft whistle and slipped out to the path.
She’d only taken two steps before she heard a shout. Then another.
“Hold! I recognize you, you son of a bitch!”
“Mac! Look who we found!” another voice yelled.
There were sounds of a scuffle, muffled grunts and expletives. She scooted back to the door and tried to pull it open, but it wouldn’t budge. A new surge of fear rushed over her; she was still clad in only the long linen shirt. She had no weapon. No way to help Simon. Praying that the buildings blocked the moonlight enough to veil her in darkness, she sank to her belly.
“Ho, lads! What’s going on here?” Landon’s voice drifted to her and she sagged in relief.
“We’ve caught a runaway blackie, is all.”
“How do you know he’s a runaway?” Landon asked.
“Been looking’ fer ‘im near two days now. We work fer his master.”
“Ah, then. It looks like you’ve caught him. Nice work.”
The sound of clanking chains was followed by a pained grunt.
“Dammit, Mac. Why’d you do that? Now we gotta carry him and he ain’t gonna be no light load.”
“It’s a good thing there’s four of you,” Landon said.
A harsh laugh. “Coulda used two more. I think Brewster’s nose is broke. Mister Pratt has plans to make an example outta ‘im. Been helping other nigga’s to escape. This one can expect a long fall from a short rope by sunset tomorrow, that’s fer damn sure.”
“Since you have everything in hand, I’ll return to my room. There’s been a lot of excitement tonight. Some sorry bastard fell from the third story window earlier,” Landon said in a casual tone, sounding as if he was discussing the weather or last night’s supper.
“You don’t say,” the man said. “Well, you can go get back to bed now, we won’t be disturbing the quiet of yer slumbers anymore.”
She heard the grunts of the men as they moved their burden away as well as Landon’s steps in the other direction. Should she wait for him to find her? The rest of her clothes were back in her room at the tavern.
“Keelan?” Landon’s whisper was barely audible. He’d returned to the end of the narrow walkway near the street and slipped in.
“I’m here,” she whispered back.
“I have your things, we have to go. The tavern is already roused, and the Schoen’s will have to send for the sheriff soon.”
She scrambled to her feet as he approached. He handed her a bundle. It was her breeches and boots, thank goodness. She dressed in jerky movements, aware that tears had begun to stream down her cheeks. Daniel.
“Today, you’re going to learn how to ride astride a horse,” Daniel had told her when she was seven.
She stood in boys breeches and boots, thrilled at the prospect of learning how to ride, but feeling tiny next to the bay mare.
“You may never use this skill, but should the occasion ever arise, it’s crucial that you accomplish it well.”
When she turned ten, Daniel handed her a short blunt sword. “This is a rapier. It’s an elegant weapon we shall use to introduce you to the necessary footwork you’ll need to learn in order to better master the craft of fencing.”
“Why are you teaching me how to fence?” She’d much rather go for a ride. Minutes earlier, she’d gotten into a tussle with one of the stable boys, who’d pushed her to the ground and skinned both her elbows. He couldn’t hurt her if she was fleeing across the heath on her pony, but she couldn’t get her pony if he wouldn’t let her in the barn.
“Would you like to be able to defend yourself should you ever have a desperate need to do so?” he’d asked in a casual tone.
That got her attention. She soon became an avid student and it wasn’t long before the stable boy quit trying to bully her out of the barn.
Daniel. He was gone.
She paused long enough to wipe her eyes with her sleeve, and in the corner of her eye she noticed there was a second figure with Landon. Ronnie nodded a greeting and he fell in step behind her while she did her best to mimic Landon’s catlike stealth as he led the way.
Landon headed toward the Desire with slow deliberation and care, pausing frequently to search the night for other figures following or hiding in shadow. They halted across the thoroughfare from the pier. Inky swells slapped the pilings in time with the creaks and yawns of the sleepy vessels anchored nearby. Although there was no movement, Landon’s stillness kept her frozen. She tried to peer more closely into the darkness. He touched her shoulder and jerked his head to the crates stacked by the pier entrance. It took a moment for her to pick out the irregular shadows in the moonlight. Two men, were taking turns keeping watch, one slept, the other scanned the ship and the wharf.
Landon, Keelan and Ronnie backed into the shadows and retreated. Where else could they go? Uncle Jared’s house was not an option; Gampo’s mercenaries already knew to look for her there. Her question was answered when they turned down the street toward the livery.
A bleary-eyed groom answered Landon’s knocks and allowed them in after examining Landon’s receipt. He gratefully headed back to his bunk when his assistance was waved away. The three didn’t speak as they saddled Orion and Juliet. The foal whinnied when they led the horses from the livery, prompting Juliet to return a low whicker.
“Hush, Juliet,” Keelan murmured. She patted the sleek, gray neck to reassure the mare. “We’ll return for your baby, don’t worry.”
They stayed off the main streets and meandered their way out of town. After they passed out of the city of Charleston, Landon finally spoke. “We’re going to a safe house a little way from here. It’s on the border of two separate plantations, Twin Pines…” He shot a glance at Keelan. “And Oak Leaf.”
Oak Leaf— old man Pratt’s plantation.
There’d been a time both Papa and Uncle Jared had tried to persu
ade Keelan to accept a marriage proposal from Mr. Pratt. She shuddered. Too many stories floated around about how heavy-handed he was with his female slaves. Uncle Jared had waved them away, but Daniel had always said that in the fabric of every rumor, a thread of truth is woven.
Now, Simon was back there, awaiting his doom.
“We can’t leave Simon behind to be hanged,” she said.
“We won’t.” Landon replied.
Ronnie turned back to look at her from his seat behind Landon’s saddle. “We’d been discussing a plan when you screamed.”
His words brought forth the vision of Daniel, crumpled on the floor, dead. Fresh tears burned her eyes as the thick, dark arms of grief wrapped around her chest. The horrible guilt that assailed her made it even harder to breath. It was a moment before she realized they’d stopped and she was choking on sobs.
Without saying a word, Landon pulled her from Juliet’s back. She collapsed into the comfort of his arms and allowed him to hold her and stroke her hair. He murmured low resonant words and his chest rumbled while he spoke. They stood swaying on the side of the road until her tears were spent.
She turned away from him and wiped her face with her sleeve, already damp from tears. Landon touched her shoulder, but she didn’t want to look at him, especially now with her nose red and her eyes swollen. She was being proud about her appearance at a time it was useless to do so, yes, but he already despised her, why compound it?
An ironic smile twisted her mouth.
She was dressed in boy’s breeches, boots and a dirty, frayed, blood-stained shirt. Her hair was a startled, wild spray of curls scared out of bed by an assassin, then exposed to the hot humid air of a South Carolina summer night. She couldn’t look any worse of a fright.
How was she going to get Landon to fall in love with her again if all she did around him was cry or lose her ability to speak eloquently (or speak in general) or think? Somewhere deep in her heart, she had hope for the two of them. He may not love her or trust her or even like her at the moment, but she wasn’t going to give up.
Hart's Reward (Pirates & Petticoats #3) Page 9