Falconer's Heart

by Janice Bennett

  The storm continued for four days, during which Riki clung to the rail, searching the savage sea for some small craft suitable to her purpose. None came into view, though, and for the first time in her life Riki watched the passing of a storm with heartfelt dismay. Once again calm water stretched as far as she could see, unbroken except by an occasional whitecap.

  She paced the deck that rocked gently and tried to think up a way to approach Belmont, to whom she had been barely civil of late. She found him in the stern, quite at his ease among the sailors, laughing at some joke that set deep color to the men’s faces as Riki approached.

  Belmont turned to discover the cause of the disturbance and his brow creased over suddenly narrowed eyes. The sailors took their hasty leave.

  “Am I interrupting something?” She offered a hesitant smile, unsure of her reception. His eyes roamed over her face—missing nothing, she supposed ruefully.

  His pleasure faded beneath cynicism. “What is it you wish me to do for you?”

  Ouch. She fought back a wince at his words. “Must I want something?” She moved closer, one hand barely touching his sleeve.

  She did want something, of course, but his nearness played havoc with her senses, creating unbidden visions of herself clasped tightly in his arms, of his firm mouth seeking hers or brushing feathery kisses along her throat, drawing moans of yearning from deep within her. She opened eyes she hadn’t realized she’d closed and found him gazing at her, his expression unreadable.

  With one finger he raised her chin so he could look down into her face. His dark eyes burned like coals, smoldering with a desire that set answering sparks flickering deep within her.

  “Gil—” Her whisper faded, carried away on the salty breeze. It was impossible to speak with his thumb caressing her throat. Hunger gnawed through her, a starvation only he could assuage. She clutched his arms, drawing herself nearer, pressing her slight body against him.

  His finger trailed across her freckled cheek, then down her neck, setting a riot of sensation through her. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she raised them to meet his. Warm breath fanned her cheek then her mouth, as his lips hovered so close she could taste the salt spray on them.

  “It won’t work,” he murmured, though his hand drew her ever closer.

  “Why not? You know it will.” Her lids, heavy with desire, veiled her eyes. The late afternoon stubble of his chin prickled against her cheek.

  A soft chuckle shook his sturdy frame. “You won’t seduce me into freeing your cousin and Mrs. Marley, you know.”

  She pulled free, her skin burning, then chilled as the blood drained away. “I wouldn’t! I—”

  He clasped her hands, bringing them unresisting to receive his kiss. “Don’t think you’re not tempting me but I’ll not be turned traitor.”

  She pulled free, furious. “I wouldn’t stoop to seduce—”

  That falconlike gleam lit his eyes and he swooped like a striking tiercel, his mouth covering hers, stopping her angry words. She struggled for a moment then abandoned a fight for which she had no heart. This was what she wanted, to be lost in his mesmerizing spell, to sink into the whirlpool of sensation he created.

  As abruptly as he’d claimed her, he set her aside. Her eyes fluttered open, startled, and for a moment she saw clearly the effort it took for him to control himself. A purely feminine elation surged through her, akin to smugness, that she could so stir him. “I didn’t come to seduce you,” she said.

  “It just seemed a good idea?” He managed a wry smile that was touching in its vulnerability.

  “Yes. A very good idea. It still does. I can’t think of a better one, in fact.”

  He drew a deep, steadying breath. “I’ll remember that. What did you want then?”

  She blinked then refocused on her plan. “To talk. To ask you something.” He waited, one eyebrow lifted in inquiry, so she pressed on. “Do you still believe David to be a traitor?”

  “I don’t know,” he answered in all honesty. “I’ll accept that he didn’t consciously betray me—my department.”

  “But?” she prodded as he fell silent.

  “He went to Spain in the company of a spy and we saw him in the company of French officers at Badajoz.”

  “You heard his explanation.”

  Belmont nodded. “I did. And it might be true.”

  She touched his arm then succumbed to the temptation to caress it. “It would be a pretty rash act, to enter a besieged city he knew would fall shortly to the attackers. Unless he intended to intervene to save himself.”

  “Mrs. Marley still hasn’t given me the name of the man to whom she passed the information. Does that sound like a woman who would deliberately betray her own people after she’d been spying for them?”

  Riki hesitated then nodded. “People do crazy things when they’re in love.”

  “Do they?” The look in his troubled eyes could only be described as skeptical.

  Riki’s heart sank. Yes, she wanted to scream at him. She would do something every bit as foolish—to be near him. Hadn’t she followed him into Badajoz through a breach in the wall while the fighting continued? It hadn’t been for her cousin’s sake, no matter what she told herself. She had gone to be near Belmont and, as he himself would say, the devil take the consequences.

  “What did you want?” He interrupted her thoughts, bringing her back to the point at hand.

  With an effort she dragged her gaze from his face. “To take him back to the future, where he belongs. Like we agreed at the beginning.”

  “And?”

  She swallowed hard then persevered. “I think our chances will be much better on a smaller ship. Before we reach the Channel, will you request that we and the…the prisoners be transferred to some smaller vessel we’ll undoubtedly encounter? You can say you want to take them by the most direct route to London.”

  His lips twitched. “No.”

  “Gil!” She shook the arm she still clutched.

  “Riki!” His tone mocked her desperation. “No, only consider. The chances of a lightning storm breaking in the next few days are nonexistent. We’ve just had a regular downpour.”

  “You mean I won’t be able to take him…home?”

  “Not at the moment.” His serious tone reinforced his words. “And whatever happens, I will not permit Marie Marley to escape.”

  She glared at him but knew it did no good. She stalked off, depressed and afraid for David and Marie. Pace the deck as she might, though, racking her mind, trying to hit on another plan, nothing came to her.

  When she again applied to Belmont for help, sympathy shone in his eyes but his only advice was an unhelpful, “Wait.”

  She bit back her angry retort, knowing a rousing fight would not help her cause. Before she could speak incautious words, she left him. Even as she did so, though, she knew she was unable to be furious with this infuriating man she loved.

  At last England lay ahead. Riki stood in the bow through the long afternoon, watching the land mass grow steadily larger and clearer as the wind drove the ship relentlessly toward home port. And David’s destruction, she reminded herself.

  Afternoon faded into the haze of evening when the vessel at last neared the wharf at Newhaven and the sailors ran to secure the lines. Disheartened, Riki retreated to her cabin until the activity slowed.

  A sharp rap on her door brought her out of her reverie. In answer to her call to enter, Belmont strode in.

  “I have made arrangements for you to spend the night at an inn near the docks,” he told her.

  She glared at him. “What of David and Mrs. Marley?”

  “They’ll remain here. Under guard.”

  “And you want me off the ship? Why? Are you afraid I’ll overcome their guard and make off with them?”

  He shook his head but he didn’t smile. “I’ll be riding for London with Menchen at once. I’d rather you were safely on land.”

  She barely heard his words. Her own had planted an obvious if e
xtremely foolhardy solution in her mind, and the longer it remained there the more certain she was this could be her only possible course of action. She nodded slowly. “It will feel good not to have the deck swaying beneath my feet every moment.” And Belmont would think her safely out of the way and never suspect her intentions. She managed a sad smile for his benefit. “Give me a few minutes to repack my things.”

  Half an hour later she watched from her low-pitched bedchamber at the front of the inn as Belmont and Menchen mounted their hired hacks. Belmont waved to her then urged the animal forward out of the lighted yard into the dark streets. She drew a deep breath to steady her shaky nerves and turned back into the room.

  For this expedition she needed Hillary’s clothes again. She didn’t hurry, though. There was plenty of time. Midnight or later would be the best hour to set forth. She rang for the meal Belmont had ordered her to eat in her room and settled down comfortably on her bed to plan her attack.

  She must have dozed off, for she awoke to the last chimes of the clock as it announced midnight. Belmont must almost be in London by now, she reflected, then shoved that thought aside. It was as well he wouldn’t be around to stop her.

  Quickly she changed, then slipped into the narrow passage lit only by a single, smoking lantern, her legs still unsteady from her long days aboard ship. She made her way through the maze of corridors, at last finding the back stairs. After reaching the ground floor without incident, she let herself out through the kitchens, where only one minion dozed fitfully in a huge rocking chair beside the great hearth.

  She found herself in a crooked, unlit alley-like street, where houses and shops crowded against each other. With determination filling her—primarily to keep her nerves at bay—she set forth to locate the ship. The night was overcast, with that eerie, still warmth that so often presaged a thunderstorm. An old, familiar fear welled within her, but her surging hope took firmer root, supplanting it. If only…

  In spite of her growing excitement, she slowed her pace to keep from tripping over every uneven cobblestone. Tonight might be their only chance in weeks—if they were ever able to try at all. If she failed to rescue David she couldn’t bear to think of the consequences. And how was she to distinguish the right ship from amongst all the others in this darkness?

  To her relief it wasn’t hard. The sleek vessel bobbed peacefully in its berth, oil lamps illuminating the gangplank that lay in place. A deep sigh of satisfaction mingled with unease escaped her. She hadn’t even begun to consider the multitude of problems that most assuredly would face her. At least she’d be able to get aboard.

  At the foot of the plank, though, her nerve almost deserted her. It would be easier if she didn’t tremble so. She had no choice, though. It was now or never. Once the prisoners were brought from the boat onto British soil, they would never be turned loose.

  She squared her shoulders, decided stealth was better than a direct attack, and slipped out of the shadows and up the wooden planks, crouching low. About halfway up it struck her that it might be immensely practical if she were to carry some large blunt instrument with which to knock out any guard who challenged her presence. She glanced back to the wharf, saw nothing movable, and mentally shrugged. This way, if she was caught, she might be able to talk her way out of it. A weapon would clearly betray her intentions.

  She stepped onto the deck and ducked, and her hand encountered a loose wooden object. A belaying pin! She hefted it, testing its weight. It made a perfect club. So much for her logical reasoning of a minute before. A good stout stick gave her confidence.

  Her spirits lifting at this bit of luck, she crept slowly forward, keeping as much in the protective darkness of the ship’s side as she could manage. At last, though, she had to run for the companionway, and felt every moment of her exposure as if it were an eternity. Still, no shouts were raised from the deck to shatter the stillness of the night.

  So far so good. She reached the doorway, found it ajar and ducked inside. Having opted for the Portuguese slippers rather than Hillary’s hobnailed boots, she descended without a sound into the darkness of the cabin deck.

  At the end of the long hallway another oil lamp shone, and she started toward it. Rather than feel safer, this total lack of guards made her even more nervous. She crept silently, holding her breath, her teeth clenching her lip until they drew a fine drop of blood.

  She reached the next flight of steps that led down to the crew’s deck. Her heart beat so loudly, surely someone must hear—if there was anyone about. Doggedly, she kept on. She reached the next level in safety.

  Again, another lamp hung at the far end, lighting the way into the cargo hold where the prisoners were confined. Dizziness swept over her. You’re crazy, the thought kept repeating through her mind. You’ll get caught. But by forcing one foot to follow the other, she proceeded inexorably though unsteadily forward.

  She stood at the head of the last flight, peering down into the darkness. Why hasn’t a guard come forward yet? Was there only one, who would be watching David and Marie? That was possible. No one in England knew of the pair’s presence on this vessel. No one would be expecting a rescue attempt. And it was also possible the guard, bored and tired, had fallen asleep.

  Heartened by this hope, she descended step by cautious step until at last she reached the hold. Still no one. She braced herself, inched forward, and a rough hand clamped firmly over her mouth from behind.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Quiet!” a deep voice hissed in her ear. “What the devil are you doing here, Riki?”

  She swallowed the scream that welled in her throat and the hand eased on her mouth. Her breath escaped in a ragged gasp. “Gil?”

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he repeated, the savageness of his voice not the least bit dimmed by his words being whispered.

  Reaction swept over her, leaving her too weak to answer. She lowered the belaying pin she had started to raise. Then a sudden—and hateful—idea occurred to her. “You’re the guard!” she accused. She pulled free, torn apart in agony at his betrayal.

  “No.” He took the wooden weapon from her limp grasp before she dropped it and tucked it into the waistband of his breeches. He glanced over his shoulder and the action emphasized the tension in his voice. “But he’ll be upon us if you make any noise.”

  “Us?” Her lip curled. “Don’t you intend to hand me over along with David?”

  “That would be rather pointless when I’ve gone to a great deal of trouble to set him free,” he hissed back, his exasperation patent.

  She eyed him uncertainly. “Have you?”

  “Damn it, Riki, a gentleman does not go back on his promise. I said you could take him back to the future, and so you shall.”

  She looked about. “Where’s Menchen?” she demanded, still suspicious.

  “I made up a story about expecting trouble and sent him ahead to London. I don’t think he believed a word of it, but this way he won’t be involved if we’re caught. Now stay here.” He extinguished the lantern and shouldered past her, starting through the maze of crates for the far end of the ship where another light shone dimly.

  Riki caught his arm and pulled him back. “You can’t!” she whispered.

  “Would you care to tell me why not?”

  She tried to see his face, but only an occasional gleam from the distant, swaying lamp touched his piercing eyes. “Because for you to set him free would be a traitorous action! It wouldn’t be for me.”

  “No, just a damn dangerous one.” He pulled away once more. “All you want is a chance to free Mrs. Marley as well.”

  Again Riki caught him. “I can’t let you do it.” Her fingers caressed the smooth material of his coat. “I can’t let it come to this, Gil. Even if you’re not caught—” She shook her head. “This is exactly what you’ve tried to avoid! I can’t let you become a traitor because of your promise to me.” She reached her hand out to him, just touching his cheek, and felt his jaw tighten.


  “I became a damn traitor the moment I returned to my time and didn’t instantly warn Bathurst of the danger Warwick—my own assistant!—presented.” He gripped her upper arms, hurting her. “All I want is for you to take your cousin and both of you get the hell out of my life.” He released her abruptly and slipped away in the darkness, not a single sound betraying his presence.

  Get the hell out of my life. Riki stared after him, seeing only the dim shapes of crates, only the slightest impression of movement. She had done it, forced on him the choice between honor to his given word and duty to his country. It was a no-win situation. Either way, just by choosing which path he would follow, he destroyed the honor he sought to uphold. For that he would hate her, and she couldn’t blame him.

  Unable to remain behind with her miserable thoughts, she crept forward until she could see the single guard, propped in a chair, a gun lying limp in his lap. Across from her, she caught a glimpse of Belmont’s rigid form as he seemed to hesitate, probably calculating various risks and chances.

  Riki bit her lip. She couldn’t let Belmont make the first move… Then inspiration hit. It was time, she decided, for the oldest trick in the book. And she could only hope the guard had never heard of it.

  If only Belmont hadn’t taken her weapon. But he had, and that meant she had to improvise. She stooped, careful not to make a noise by brushing against anything, and groped cautiously around on the floor until her fingers encountered a small chunk of wood, apparently left behind when the sailors secured the crates.

  Perfect. She weighed it in her hand, made a guess at the best direction and hurled it as hard as she could. It struck another crate some twenty feet away with a satisfying smack.

  The guard jerked, gripped the gun, and his head came up in a pivoting roll as his suddenly alert eyes searched the shadows for the source of the noise. Slowly he came to his feet, raising his pistol, and started away from the dark cells that had secured who knew how many prisoners-of-war in their time. Belmont inched his way from his hiding place, and before the man took more than five stealthy steps, Belmont brought the butt of his own pistol down on the back of the guard’s head. The man crumpled to the wooden deck.