Man of My Dreams Boxed Set

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Man of My Dreams Boxed Set Page 30

by Minger, Miriam


  “Stay close.” Donovan repeated Oliver’s order, his voice harsh. But maybe then she would heed him with their bloody lives at stake. “Remember, Corie, under no circumstances do you hand over that chest until we know your sisters are safe--if we end up having to hand it over at all. It’s the only thing we have to guarantee we’re going to make it back in one piece to the ship. Do you understand?”

  Corisande felt stung that he had spoken so gruffly to her, but what had she expected? She gave him a small nod, gripping the wooden chest under her arm as he set off at such a hard pace that she had to hurry to keep up with him, despite her long legs.

  He must be angry, he must be… Ah, but she couldn’t think right now about how angry Donovan must be, how deeply hurt. She had no idea where he’d spent the night while she’d hardly slept at all in Oliver’s cabin. Anxiously she wondered if her sisters might be bound and gagged and held captive in any one of these shabby two-story buildings flanking the harbor. And the few sputtering lanterns hanging here and there did little to dispel the wharf’s sinister look.

  She could hear voices and raucous laughter, shrill female laughter, too, spilling out onto the dock from the several lighted taverns they passed, which illustrated fully that Roscoff was a place that never grew quiet. She jumped when a sailor suddenly careened out of a door to fall to his knees in the adjoining alley and start retching; she moved closer to Donovan when a trio of men followed after him, laughing and jeering.

  “I—I don’t like this place.”

  Donovan didn’t respond, but Corisande could see that his hand had moved under his coat to his pistol, which gave her some comfort. Yet she felt nothing but an icy chill slice down her spine when a voice suddenly carried to them from the shadows, a harsh accented voice that she knew so well.

  “Ah, madame, monsieur, you’ve come to Roscoff and so quickly. I saw the ship enter the harbor and wondered perhaps if it might be you.”

  She spun, but Donovan caught her arm, demanding in a sharp whisper, “Do what I say. Do nothing but what I say.”

  “And I say you both move over here where we will talk,” the voice barked in a low command.

  Corisande saw that Louis, the Marquis de LaCroix, had stepped farther into a dark alley next to a tavern bearing in English the name The White Hart, no doubt for the benefit of its smuggler patrons.

  “No, we’ll talk out here on the dock,” Donovan answered for them, but Corisande was suddenly overwhelmed by such fury and outrage at what that bastard had done to terrorize her and her family that she couldn’t restrain herself.

  “Yes, out here in the light, and we’ll not say a word to you until we see that my sisters are safe! You fiend! Coward! I’ve the jewelry, de LaCroix, do you hear me? We found the chest, and I swear you won’t see a single pearl until I know my sisters are safe—”

  “Good God, woman, will you wake the entire port?”

  Donovan had seized her arm and drawn her back against him, but Corisande gave him little heed as she saw Louis moving out of the shadows toward them, her vehement outburst clearly having worked. He was not as big as Donovan but powerfully built, his moustached face hardened with bitterness and— Oh, Lord. She stiffened in fear when she saw that Louis held a pistol leveled right at Donovan’s chest. Suddenly she wished desperately that she had kept silent.

  “Oui, madame, you resemble my father’s whore Véronique, and for that alone I could have killed you. But now I see it was wise for me to let you live. Keep very still, madame, and you” —the marquis shifted his glittering gaze to Donovan— “draw your hand away from your weapon. Good, now raise both your hands slowly…”

  Louis suddenly gave a low whistle and his two compatriots rushed from the alley, one wresting Donovan’s pistol from his hand while the other reached out to grab the chest from beneath Corisande’s arm. But all she could think of was her sisters and how Donovan had said the jewelry was their only guarantee; with a fierce cry, she swung her fist with all her might and cracked her attacker in the face before fleeing to the edge of the dock, her breath tearing from her lungs as she ripped open the lid and held the chest out over the water.

  “No, I will see my sisters! Bring them out here at once, or I’ll empty this whole thing into the sea!”

  Corisande saw Louis’s eyes flare, his face stricken with rage, his pistol still pointed so ominously at Donovan that she began to pray, hard. But in the next instant, immense relief swept through her as the marquis nodded to his men.

  “Go. Do as she says.”

  They disappeared at once into the alley, and she saw light spilling from a door near the back of the building, but she wasn’t through with Louis yet, oh, no. “Hand your pistol over to my husband. Now!”

  The marquis stared at her as if she were insane, but when she plunged her hand into the chest and pulled out a brilliant diamond necklace, throwing back her arm to fling it out into the darkness of the sea, he lowered his pistol, and Donovan was there in an instant to take it from him.

  “Good God, Corie…” was all she heard him say before muted weeping carried to them from the alley. The pitiful sound grew louder as Louis’s two accomplices brought forth her sisters half stumbling in their dirty, crumpled nightgowns—Marguerite, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen from crying, carrying Estelle who had her arms flung around her older sister’s neck, while Linette trailed behind, clutching Marguerite’s sleeve.

  “Tell your men to stand away from my sisters and toss away their weapons!” Again Corisande held out the necklace, and Louis, his face gone chalk-white from fury, could do naught but comply.

  “Do as she says!”

  Donovan felt his heart lurch when he saw that Corisande was teetering perilously close to the edge of the dock, but he forced himself to focus upon the three dangerous men in front of him, retrieving his own pistol as weapons were dropped and hurling the rest with a low curse into the sea. Then he beckoned to Marguerite, who was trembling from head to foot as she glanced from him to Corisande. All three girls were clearly so terrified that they hadn’t budged an inch.

  “Marguerite, listen to me,” he said to her firmly, her wide, frightened eyes jumping to his. “Take Linette’s hand, that’s right, now come over here and stand behind me. Everything’s going to be fine. Everything’s—”

  “Donovan!”

  Corisande’s cry split the night, but he saw the danger too late. Louis had pulled a knife from the back of his belt and grabbed Linette by the hair to yank her against him before there was anything Donovan or Corisande could do.

  “Oui, put the chest down on the dock, madame, or the girl dies, do not doubt me!”

  Chapter 36

  As Linette burst into terrified tears, the long knife blade pressed to her throat, Corisande was so stunned she simply stood there, frozen.

  “I said put the chest down in front of you! Maintenant!”

  She obeyed him, shaking so violently as she returned the diamond necklace and closed the lid that she feared her knees might give way when she set the chest upon the dock with a loud thunk. But when she straightened she froze again, her eyes widening to see a man wearing only breeches creep up behind Louis, creep up so silently that no one was aware of him, not even Donovan, as everyone focused their attention on her…until the cock of a pistol made her jump, the weapon suddenly pressed to Louis’s temple.

  “Harm the girl, man, and you die.”

  As Louis swore vehemently, everyone else now stared at the handsome dark-blond stranger, who appeared nearly as tall and strapping as Donovan, and at the other men who suddenly emerged from the shadows with wicked-looking cutlasses and pistols drawn. Corisande’s gaze flew to Linette, her heart thudding painfully in her throat. Dear God, why wasn’t Louis dropping the knife? Why wasn’t he—

  She gasped as an enraged bellow rent the air. Louis had shoved Linette away from him and was lunging straight for her, straight for the chest—at the same moment Donovan dove for Louis and both men crashed to the dock amidst the high-pitche
d screams of her sisters. Suddenly everything was confusion, Corisande crying out, too, when she saw Louis raise his knife in the air to strike.

  “Donovan! Oh, God, Donovan!”

  She nearly tripped over the chest in her haste to reach him only to be grabbed round the waist and swung out of the way as a shot exploded, then another almost simultaneously, Louis’s knife spinning in a spray of blood across the dock as he slumped onto Donovan. The next thing she knew she’d been released, the blond stranger lowering his pistol as Donovan flung off Louis’s limp body—his right hand, his pistol, the front of his white shirt bloodied from a gaping hole in the marquis’s chest.

  It was then that Corisande saw Donovan had been cut, bright red blood oozing through a gash in the upper sleeve of his coat, and she started to run to him but was suddenly encircled by Marguerite, Linette, and Estelle, her sisters falling upon her tearfully. Her eyes brimming, too, she sank to her knees to embrace them; when she looked up again, Donovan was surrounded by Oliver and his crew, who must have come running at the sound of pistols firing. The handsome stranger who had helped them, an Englishman she was certain of it, and the other men had vanished just as mysteriously as they had come.

  Louis’s compatriots had disappeared, too, no doubt taking one look at his bloody corpse and deciding no amount of jewelry was worth dying so hideously for. It was a sickening sight, the marquis’s right hand shattered by a bullet that must have been fired by the stranger just as the knife was descending, saving Donovan’s life and giving him the split second he needed to fire his own pistol. And she hadn’t even had the chance to thank the man…

  “Corie, girls, come, we must go!” Oliver cried as he hurried over to them, shepherding everyone in front of him. “Soldiers might have heard—the last thing we need are questions! Go!”

  Corisande grabbed up the chest, and Oliver grabbed up Estelle, while Linette and Marguerite lifted their nightgowns and ran barefoot alongside them. The crew of the Fair Betty and Donovan had their pistols lowered and at the ready as they all headed back to the eight-oared rowboat. And none too soon, as people began to pour onto the dock, a crowd gathering around the body they had left behind.

  The commotion only grew worse as they rowed out to the Fair Betty, but very quickly they were all safely aboard and the anchor hoisted. Corisande tried to push the horror of Roscoff from her mind as she herded her sisters below deck and into Oliver’s cabin. The pitching motion of the ship was a wondrously encouraging sign that they were well on their way. Another blessing was her sisters assuring her that they hadn’t been hurt, especially Marguerite. Dear God, if those men had touched her…

  “I’m hungry, Corie!”

  That from Estelle, and Corisande was only too glad to pull out for them from Oliver’s private larder what was left of the pork and leek pie Rebecca had baked, and an untouched plate of buttermilk cake. She wasn’t hungry, though, content just to watch her sisters eat heartily and begin to smile again, and giggle when Estelle took a spoon and tried to balance it upon her nose.

  But suddenly Estelle grew still, tears filling her eyes. Corisande knew at once her sister was thinking about Luther; Estelle had always performed that silly trick with him before.

  “Luther’s fine, Estelle. He was lying upon your pillow when I found him. He’ll be so happy to see you—”

  “But they tried to kick him, Corie, tried to stomp him until he went to hide under the bed.”

  Sighing, Corisande brushed the buttermilk cake crumbs from Estelle’s mouth as she drew her close to give her a hug. “We won’t think of that anymore, all right? Marguerite, Linette? We’re all safe and sound and together and we won’t think of that anymore. Now I want you to wash up and then try to get some sleep—”

  “But what about the chest?” Marguerite broke in excitedly. “Can’t we have a peek inside?”

  Corisande sighed again; she had wanted to see them quickly settled so she might find Donovan. He had been cut, his wound would need tending

  “Please, Corie?”

  “Very well, but only a peek. Then I want you to get some rest. We’ll talk about all of this when we’re home.”

  As she lifted the wooden chest to Oliver’s bed where they were all sitting, Corisande should have known waiting to explain everything that had happened would be impossible. The moment she opened the lid, she was bombarded with questions peppered with girlish oohs and aahs, and she resigned herself to telling them as much of the story behind the jewelry as she could, given that Estelle was only nine. The full truth of it she would tell Marguerite and Linette later.

  “Oh, Corie, this was our grandmother?”

  Corisande nodded at Marguerite, who held up the diamond-framed miniature of Veronique for her younger sisters to see.

  “She looks like you, Corie—a bit like Mama, too,” Linette said very softly.

  “Yes, and all of this is a gift from Mama to us,” Corisande murmured as she returned the beautiful portrait medallion to the chest and closed the lid. “Now lie down, all of you. This bed is certainly big enough that you’ll have plenty of room.”

  She was pleased that there was little complaint. The covers were soon tucked in snugly, the lamp turned down, and Corisande had almost reached the door when Estelle’s sleepy voice drifted to her.

  “Isn’t Donovan going to come and tell us good night?”

  “I—I’ll go see,” Corisande fumbled, not knowing what else to say.

  He wasn’t below deck, that she soon realized after a quick search of the first mate’s cabin; the crew’s berths were empty, too, all of the men probably at their posts until they were farther out into the Channel. She climbed the narrow stairs, a balmy breeze stirring her hair as she stepped onto the deck. She saw Donovan at once, standing far to the prow, standing so tall and straight that her throat closed tightly as she remembered how close that knife had come—Dear God, she loved him so much.

  She loved him so very much!

  Corisande was astounded, for the first time not denying to herself the truth of what lay in her heart. For the first time not wishing for it to go away or that she didn’t want it…for the first time not feeling afraid. She felt only one thing, that she wanted desperately to be with him. She must have flown across the deck, for in the next instant she was standing just behind him…

  “Donovan?”

  He spun, and her stomach sank to her shoes at the hardness of his expression, the tension in his body.

  “Donovan, I—”

  “What, Corie? Come to tell me you can’t wait for us to reach Porthleven so you can formally lay your charges against me?”

  His voice was a low growl, and she shivered. “Charges?”

  “I’m an informer, remember? At least according to you.”

  “No, no, I wanted to thank you for helping me find my sisters,” she blurted out, realizing with a sick feeling that Donovan was clearly in no mood to talk to her. She stammered, her thoughts suddenly in a jumble. “I—I would have liked to thank that other man too—”

  “And his American friends?”

  She stared at him, wholly confused as he gave a hollow laugh.

  “An Englishman with American friends in a French port, and we’re at bloody war with both of them.”

  “You—you think those other men were American?”

  Donovan shrugged. “I heard them talking among themselves when Oliver and his crew came running—and it wasn’t the King’s English. Hell, it doesn’t matter.”

  He turned abruptly back to the railing, and Corisande felt as if she had been dismissed, Donovan’s broad back still stiff with tension.

  “I…I was wondering how your wound—”

  “A scratch. Already seen to, thank you. One of the crew kindly loaned me a clean shirt.”

  He said no more, and Corisande didn’t have the heart to press things further. Now was not the time. He was obviously furious with her. But hopefully tomorrow—

  “Your sisters. They’re well?”

  S
he started, suddenly encouraged that his tone had grown softer. “Yes, yes, fine. Estelle, in fact, was asking for you. She wanted to tell you good night—”

  “You tell them for me. You should get some rest yourself. Bloody big day for you.”

  His sarcasm hitting her like a fierce blow, Corisande turned away, scarcely able to see for the tears burning her eyes as she fled across deck. She didn’t stop until she had reached Oliver’s cabin, fumbling with the door in an attempt to close it quietly.

  “Corie?”

  “Go to sleep, Estelle, go to sleep,” she said hoarsely, grabbing an extra blanket and throwing it around her shoulders before settling herself in a stuffed wing chair bolted to the floor. “Donovan said he would see you when you wake up, all right?”

  Corisande got no answer; gentle sounds of sleeping came from the bed while she could but stare blindly into the darkness.

  ***

  “Corie, will ‘ee wake up? You girls have slept right through the docking, ‘ee have!”

  Corisande blinked open her eyes, squinting at the daylight streaming in the door. “What…?”

  “It’s Oliver, Corie! An’ I’m telling ‘ee, Frances is damned an’ determined to climb up the gangplank herself if you an’ your sisters don’t show yourselves to her an’ quick! Can’t ee hear her bellowing? Like a cow she sounds, bawling for her calves!”

  Corisande started from the chair, suddenly feeling dizzy from standing up too quickly. She was so groggy she could but mumble a hoarse thank-you to Oliver as she went to the bed to shake her sisters awake. Then she heard it, carrying down the stairs from outside, Frances’s voice loud enough to shake the very timbers of the ship.

  “Marguerite, Linette, and Estelle Easton, I’ll not be waiten another minute! I don’t want to come aboard the ship—I like to feel the good, steady land beneath me, but I will! An’ that goes for you, too, Corie Véronique! Come out here this very instant so I can see all my girls are safe!”

 

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