Bristling, she would have thrown a book at him if he hadn’t slammed the door shut with a finality that sounded like he had thrown away the key.
***
Almost two weeks later, Lindsay was convinced Jared had thrown away the key and forgotten about her entirely.
She stared bleakly out the porthole at the smoldering debris adrift on the waves, all that was left of the Phoenix’s latest victim, the twelfth ship in as many days. The longboats carrying the unfortunate merchantman’s crew, officers and a few dazed passengers were no longer even specks on the horizon; for some reason Jared had ceased taking prisoners aboard the Vengeance after that first vessel was sunk.
And she had ceased to wonder about it when she realized to her deepening dismay that she had become a prisoner in every sense of the word, with no chance for reprieve in sight.
Her requests to be granted a chance for fresh air had fallen on deaf ears; Cooky hadn’t spoken to her or even cracked a smile since that morning she’d first gone above deck. The old sailor had simply seen to her needs in stony silence, bringing her meals and taking away the half-touched trays, providing her with occasional basins of hot water to bathe and tending to the chamber pot.
Even Dag hadn’t granted her more than a glance whenever he served as her guard and stood watch at the door during Cooky’s short visits, although his eyes had remained troubled. As for her other guards, they had met her with the same grim silence and equally grim expressions, which had led her to sense that these men must surely have lost any shred of sympathy for her.
And she knew why.
She hadn’t forgotten the stunned faces when she’d slapped Jared; she now knew the depth of the crew’s loyalty to their captain. Her striking him had been an offense against them all and she hadn’t forgotten, either, how deeply it had angered Jared.
Sighing, Lindsay left the porthole and the glimpse it had offered of the most recent fiery devastation, her heart sinking into her slippers when she felt the ship suddenly list beneath her feet.
Lord help any luckless vessels that might stray into their path; Jared’s search for fresh prey had begun again.
He never lingered very long at the scene of his latest treasonous attack. His relentless pursuit of his next victim had horrified her almost more than watching each ship burn.
Most vessels had surrendered without a fight, but a few had resisted. The porthole had granted her a view of savage, uncompromising maneuvers by the Vengeance to brings its reluctant prey to its knees. At those times she could imagine Jared’s chilling smile as if she were standing once more in front of him and not confined to a cabin that seemed to be growing ever smaller with each passing day. She didn’t know which was worse.
Lindsay dropped onto the bed and thumbed absently through Shakespeare’s Hamlet, a play she believed she was close to memorizing for how many times she’d read it. Add to that Romeo and Juliet, Othello and Antony and Cleopatra, all tragic tales of vengeance, loss and sorrow, which hadn’t helped to lift her mood.
They had left her wondering, too, how Jared’s ship might have come to be called the Vengeance, although she had told herself firmly that she didn’t want to know and surely didn’t care. Yet he had to have chosen his treacherous path for some dark reason, and the immense amount of time she had on her hands allowed unbidden thoughts to plague her.
Why had he grown so furious that she’d called him a traitor? He was a traitor, that was clear, yet strangely, he hadn’t seemed to think so.
And if the Phoenix had been harrying British ships for three years, as that outraged gentleman had claimed at the Oglethorpe ball, then surely that must coincide somehow with when Jared had returned to England from India. Hadn’t Aunt Winifred said three years as well? Yes, Lindsay was certain she had. So what could have happened in that exotic faraway land to turn Jared into a pirate? Yet if he had so ruthlessly abandoned his uncle and younger sister, maybe his character alone was enough…
Lindsay shoved the book away and flipped over onto her back, her head beginning to ache. It always did when her thoughts centered too much around Jared, which seemed to be most of the time.
He was such a study in contradictions, the charming gentleman she’d met in London nothing like the coldhearted master of this ship. But was he truly coldhearted? Not when it came to looking after Dag. And what about the lengths he had gone to warm her after her misguided plunge into the Channel?
Lindsay felt a blush race to her scalp, a strange breathlessness overwhelming her when she reminded herself that Jared had seen her naked, had seen every inch of her, her breasts, her--
“And you’re a ridiculous fool to feel as giddy about it as you do,” she groused as she rolled onto her side and swept a sheaf of silken hair off her face. “You’d think, Lindsay Somerset, that you might have wanted him to touch you!”
She closed her eyes, it becoming no uncommon thing for her to be talking to herself. Anything to relieve the oppressiveness of her enforced solitude. Yet once more her thoughts seemed to jump right back to Jared and how he hadn’t touched her, or so he had said.
Just as he hadn’t seduced her in London, which made her wonder anew about his supposed ruthless character. She had certainly presented him with enough ripe opportunities; she flushed to her toes at the memory of their heated encounter at the Boar’s Head tavern. And of the carriage ride back to Piccadilly when she’d been thrown willy-nilly onto his lap and he’d kissed her so thoroughly—Oh, Lord.
Her lips suddenly burning, Lindsay rose from the bed, pondering again why he had resolved to teach her a lesson. Given what she knew of him now, it made so little sense, unless… She went to the desk and picked up a slim volume of medieval romantic poetry, truly one of the few things that had given her pleasure these past days, although she could already hear Jared deriding her.
But if such poetry had been enjoyed by his sister, then she certainly wasn’t going to think less of herself for reading it. The second volume was a lovely collection of poems by the Scots poet Robert Burns, but she preferred the other, she knew, because of the graceful handwriting in the margins that so intrigued her.
She settled into the chair and let the pages fall open to a thirteenth-century poem by Wolfram von Eschenbach:
Your love and my love keep each other company—
that is why I am so joyful.
That your heart is constant in its love for mine
is a solace beyond compare.
Lindsay didn’t read any further, her gaze drawn instead to the jubilant musings of the young woman who Aunt Winifred had told her had died almost three years ago.
Oh, sweetest joy! I had hoped Ryland might care for me, but now I know it’s true. He has told me of his love at last! We are to be married! I only wish Jared were here to share in my happiness. I miss him so, and fear some terrible tragedy must have befallen him. To have left England so suddenly and never written me? And with Uncle Alistair gone now, too, Mother and Father two years ago… Thank God for Ryland’s comfort. I would be lost.
Lindsay laid her head back against the chair, pity welling inside her.
Could Ryland have been the man who had treated Elise so abominably? Aunt Winifred had said her husband’s surname was Potter… Ryland Potter?
Lindsay flipped through the book and read other jotted notes of a damsel clearly very much in love. But she stopped when she came to the poignant sentences that always made her heart beat faster.
Only two days until our wedding. I’m so happy, we’ll be so happy! Sylvia has stitched the most exquisite veil for my hair. I hope Ryland finds me lovely. He’s so handsome, so wonderful, everything I’ve always dreamed!
The breathless words reminding her so acutely of herself, Lindsay felt her niggling intuition growing stronger.
At first she hadn’t wanted to even think that Jared might have decided to teach her a lesson because she reminded him somehow of his sister, but that last line… She had said those very words about him! And if her suspicion was t
rue—her every perusal of this book making her believe more and more that it was so—then Jared must have been concerned that a similar tragic fate would not befall her as it had Elise. And that would mean he wasn’t cold and unfeeling at all, but more of a gallant gentleman than she could have imagined—Oh, Lord.
Very much aware that her face had grown hot as flame, Lindsay flipped to one of the last pages, but her eyes weren’t drawn to the poem decrying the fickleness of love. Instead she traced her finger over a simple heartrending line Elise had written, the ivory vellum puckered and the ink smeared by what she imagined could only have been tears.
Dear God, help me. I have been betrayed. Help me!
Fresh pity tightening her throat, Lindsay stared at the page, wondering what could have happened. To go from such joy to such utter despair? It was so achingly familiar, yet different, too. Jared had deceived her, true, but poor Elise had given her love to a man she must not have known at all--
“Oh, Lindsay.”
She had scarcely spoken above a whisper, but she could have shouted for how forcefully her realization had hit her. She had been ready to do the same thing, too—give her heart, her love, to a man she hardly knew.
“Only ready to give…?” Lindsay murmured unhappily, struck by a piercing pang that she had felt more than once since she’d discovered Jared was the Phoenix. Sighing, she closed the book but didn’t rise, not really knowing what to do.
To attempt to nap might consume the hours before supper, but sleeping only brought her dreams. Vivid, often wanton dreams of Jared, which she imagined now, given her unsettling insight, might prove all the more disconcerting.
Yet to stay awake would leave her plagued with thoughts and questions to which she had no answers, while to stare out the porthole at the gray, rolling sea would only make her wish that much more futilely for escape. Or bring her face-to-face with another ill-fated ship on the horizon soon to meet Jared’s wrath. Lord help her, wasn’t there some diversion to free her from being so utterly preoccupied with the man?
A sudden knock at the cabin door made Lindsay gasp and fly from the chair, the book of poetry spinning across the floor.
“Yes?”
“Miss Somerset, Walker Burke. I’ve been given permission to escort you above deck if it might interest you.”
Chapter 19
“Interest me?” Lindsay ran to the door, startled as much by the unexpected boon as by the fact her prayer had been so quickly answered. “Yes, yes, that would be lovely!”
She had barely combed her fingers through her hair and straightened her rumpled shirt and breeches before she was staring at the dimly lit passageway, Walker and a stony-faced guard standing aside to let her pass. Yet she stood rooted in place, still incredulous that she had been granted a few moments’ freedom.
“Miss Somerset?”
She started, meeting Walker’s midnight eyes, and blushed at his subdued yet wry smile. “I-I’m sorry. It’s been so long.”
Walker’s smile dimmed, but it returned when he bowed slightly and gestured that she should leave the cabin. She did, feeling oddly self-conscious as she slipped past the two men, and surprised, too, that she’d been allowed to lead. The last time she’d been down this passageway, Jared had shoved her along in front of him and none too gently— Oh, Lord. Jared.
Her heart suddenly thundering because she would soon see him again, she could not help thinking, with exasperation at herself, that he’d scarcely been gone from her mind for a few moments. So much for a diversion.
She felt equally self-conscious when she passed through the galley, Walker and her guard—another Norwegian, from his ruddy-faced, blond looks—trailing in her wake as Cooky and his assistants looked up from their tasks. But nothing was said, the old sailor going right back to hacking slices from a slab of salt pork, while the other two men resumed peeling carrots and potatoes as if they weren’t surprised at all to see her and didn’t care, her affront to their captain days ago obviously still on their minds.
Given that, she was relieved to reach the companionway, the brisk ocean breeze pouring into the hold lifting her spirits immensely. She turned to Walker, but once again he gestured that she should go ahead of him. She obliged and clambered up the steps, her heart thudding all the harder when she straightened and stood waiting for the raven-haired American while her gaze flew to the quarterdeck.
To her surprise, Jared wasn’t there, her disappointment so keen she felt it like a sharp stab. Yet in the next instant she felt only annoyance at herself that she might have wished to see him.
It was ridiculous! He had virtually forgotten about her for nearly two weeks, and let her not forget that he had stated she was nothing more than a prisoner to him. And he had certainly treated her like one, although he had finally granted permission— Oh, she didn’t know what to think anymore! Squaring her shoulders, she forced a bright smile as Walker joined her, even though her mind was once more awhirl with the myriad confounding contradictions that were Jared Giles.
“How truly kind of your captain to allow me to resume my promenade,” she said lightly, trying not to clench her teeth. “And only two weeks later—”
“Twelve days, Miss Somerset. Now, shall we walk?”
As Walker offered his arm, the same subdued smile on his darkly handsome face, Lindsay stared at him with astonishment. Suddenly reassured that someone hadn’t forgotten how long she had been left to languish belowdecks and perhaps had protested about it, she nodded and accepted his escort, proceeding with him along the same course she and Jared had taken days before.
Except it wasn’t the same, the time not morning but late afternoon, the day not brilliantly sunny but overcast, the sky a somber, leaden gray. And the salt air was cool, the wind gusty, making her wish as she shivered that she were wearing more than Jared’s cambric shirt.
Yet she wasn’t going to complain for fear her walk would be cut short. Instead she focused her attention out to sea, noting for the first time a dark smudge of land not far to the northwest. But where…? She frowned, trying to catch her bearings.
“Ireland.”
She glanced at Walker, not surprised that he’d read her thoughts, although she was somewhat startled that Jared’s field of attack was so vast. “So the Phoenix plagues the waters of all the British Isles.”
“Plagues? Let’s say we’ve sailed them all. North Sea, Irish Sea, the English Channel, St. George’s Channel. That’s where we are now, bearing south. The hunting’s always been good out of Cork Harbour. We should make another kill by sunset.”
Her shiver was more of a shudder as she swiped blowing hair from her face, Walker’s grimly matter-of-fact statement making her suddenly aware of the sailors standing watch around the deck, a few even sitting aloft on the creaking spars. Like vultures, waiting. Dear God, wasn’t one merchantman enough for a day’s treasonous work?
“I don’t understand why you’re doing this!” she blurted out, fixing her indignant gaze back on Walker. “You, Jared, all these other sailors, Norwegians, Irishmen, the looting, the burning—”
“Don’t forget Americans. There’s twelve of us aboard.”
Lindsay clamped her mouth shut to stare at him, not sure if he was mocking her or being serious. His slow half smile made her suspect the former, which fueled her exasperation no matter he might have protested to Jared on her behalf.
“And we’ve only one Irishman, Cowan. And one Englishman, with whom you’re already well acquainted. The rest are Norsemen through and through… the best damned sailors in the world.”
His smile suddenly faded, and she heard a catch in his voice that puzzled her. In fact, he didn’t seem as wittily amused as he had at the few other times she’d seen him—although anyone would appear a merry soul compared with Jared and his dark moods. Even so, she doubted she could force a straight answer from this enigmatic man, but she was certainly going to try.
“Well, I can’t imagine how the lot of you came to be pirates together.”
“Not pirates, Miss Somerset, privateers. I believe Jared already explained the difference to you.”
“He did, and I’m no more convinced the two are not the same than when I first came aboard—even less so! Twelve ships plundered and destroyed, not including that merchantman the first morning—”
“Which makes thirteen altogether, matching the record from our last cruise. One more and perhaps Jared might consider a day’s rest. I believe you’ve brought us good luck, Miss Somerset.”
Lindsay dropped her hand from his arm as if stung and turned to face him, her frustration so great at his cavalier manner that she felt ready to explode. “Is everything a jest to you?”
Clearly, it wasn’t. Walker’s expression had grown as dark and daunting as Jared’s, which almost made her wish she had kept her outburst to herself.
“You seem in a quarrelsome humor this afternoon, Miss Somerset. It was thought a stroll in the fresh air might cheer you, but you seem more inclined to fret over things that are none of your concern. Do we continue our walk, or is it time for you to return to your cabin?”
“My cabin?” she bit off, not appreciating being talked to like a child. “My prison cell, you mean, and contrary to your opinion, sir, I believe these matters are of my concern.”
“Really? How so?”
She gaped at him, suddenly feeling a bit foolish. She truly couldn’t think of a sound reply, other than that her curiosity about everything surrounding Jared was close to overwhelming her. And that was the last thing she wanted to admit to his second-in-command, and clearly a close friend, too. She had sensed that about them at once, Walker the only man aboard the Vengeance who didn’t call Jared “Captain.”
“Well, now, this is becoming even more interesting than I had thought.”
She felt a slow flush creep up her face at his quizzical scrutiny, wondering if he had managed once more to read her mind. Lamely, she murmured, “I… I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Burke.”
Man of My Dreams Boxed Set Page 46