Legacy of the Diamond

by Andrea Kane

  "But she'll recover?" Slayde demanded.

  "With the proper food, attention, and—most of all—rest, yes, I believe she'll recover." A frown. "Although I'm troubled by the fact that she reverted back to such a deeply unconscious state, despite the fact that I gave her only enough laudanum to dull the pain. It's almost as if she doesn't want to awaken."

  "That might very well be the case," Slayde concurred, recalling the girl's agonized state of mind.

  "Well, periodically, she must be roused. Just to ensure that she's lucid. I explained this to Matilda, who will awaken her in a few hours—unless, of course, she stirs on her own." The physician shoved his spectacles back into place. "I've done all I can, my lord. The rest is up to nature."

  * * *

  "Please, don't whimper, child. Whatever it is, it's over now."

  The crooning female voice seemed to come from far away.

  With the greatest of efforts, Courtney's lashes fluttered.

  A heavy-set woman with a neat gray bun was perched at her bedside, leaning forward and frowning as she checked something white that lay directly across Courtney's brow. "Whatever agony you've endured is far more painful than even these wounds," she muttered, evidently unaware that her patient was conscious. "Poor child."

  "Where am I?" The question emerged in a croak as, once again, Courtney struggled to regain mastery of her body. For the life of her, she couldn't seem to overcome the pain or clear the fog from her mind.

  The woman started. "At last. You've awakened." She sprang to her feet. "His lordship will want to know at once."

  "His lordship?" Courtney repeated vacantly. But her attendant was already dashing out the door.

  Groggily, Courtney lifted the bedcovers, wondering why she still felt as if there were an oppressive weight on her chest. She glanced down and surveyed herself, blinking in surprise. She was clad in a nightdress, beneath which she could make out the outline of a thick bandage. More bandages decorated both her arms and legs—and head, she added silently, discovering the last as she reached up to touch her pounding skull. So that's what that nice lady had been tending to, she deduced. My head. The man in the fishing boat had said something about a concussion. She frowned. What else had he said? And how had she sustained all these injuries?

  The water.

  Abruptly, more flashes of memory ensued. She'd fallen from Lexley's shoulder. There had been sharp pain, then a deluge of water.

  And then that man in the boat. Clearly, he'd rescued her, brought her … where?

  With great care, she inched her head to one side, enough to get a glimpse of her surroundings without heightening her discomfort. The room was a palace … ten times the size of her cabin, with furnishings that could be no less grand than those belonging to the Prince Regent himself. The desk and dressing table were a rich reddish brown wood—mahogany, if the descriptions her books had provided were accurate, the carpet thickly piled, as was indicated by the deep indentations made by the bedposts, and the ceiling high and gilded.

  Whoever "his lordship" was, he was indeed a wealthy man.

  Not that it mattered.

  A surge of emptiness pervaded Courtney's heart. Her father was gone, murdered by a bloodthirsty pirate who had usurped her home, bound and starved her, and used her for bait in his obsessive quest.

  Why couldn't she have died, too?

  Tears were trickling down her cheeks when the bedchamber door opened.

  "Ah. I see Matilda was right. You are awake."

  Courtney recognized the voice at once, her dazed mind making the connection that "his lordship" and her rescuer were one and the same man. Valiantly, she brought herself under control. After all, this man had saved her life and, whether or not that meant anything to her any longer, she owed him her thanks.

  Dashing the moisture from her face, she eased her head slowly in his direction.

  He was as tall and broad as she'd initially perceived, his hair as black as night; his eyes, by contrast, were an insightful, silvery gray as they bore into hers. His features were hard and decidedly aristocratic, and there were harsh lines etched about his mouth and eyes that made him look both older than he probably was and cynical—as if life had robbed him of youth and laughter.

  Somehow she sensed he would understand her suffering.

  "Yes. I'm awake," she murmured.

  Crossing over, he took in her pallor, the dampness still visible on her lashes, the torment in her eyes. "What pains you so, your injuries or the events that preceded them?"

  She swallowed. "I would gratefully endure ten of the former if I could erase the latter."

  With a nod, he pulled up a chair and sat. "Do you recall Dr. Gilbert's visit?"

  "Who?"

  "My personal physician. He tended to your injuries several hours ago. Luckily, no bones appear to be shattered. Your lacerations are varied, the most severe being the gash on your brow. That one is deep and bled profusely throughout our excursion to shore. Since you also have several damaged ribs and quite a concussion, there will be a fair amount of pain—more so in a short while when the laudanum has worn off."

  "Laudanum?" Courtney murmured vaguely.

  "Dr. Gilbert put a dose in the brandy you drank." A faint smile. "The brandy you apparently don't remember drinking. In any case, it helped you sleep and numbed the effects of your injuries. When it wears off, the pain will intensify. So you'll need continual doses of laudanum over the next several days, and complete bed rest for a week." Her rescuer's smile vanished. "It seems your body is badly depleted of food and water. You'll need to replenish your strength by consuming a great deal of both. In short, you're going to have to stay abed and let others minister to you until you're well enough to take care of yourself."

  "I—" Courtney wet her lips, his lordship's words grazing the periphery of her mind. Stay in bed? Let others take care of her? Terrified realization struck. She had no bed, no home, no one to treat her wounds. She also had no money, no worldly possessions, and nowhere to go.

  "Did you hear what I said?"

  "I—yes, I heard." Shattered or not, Courtney was determined to retain the one thing she still did have: her pride, that wondrous pride with which her father had gifted her. "You dived in after me … when I…"

  "Yes."

  "I thought so." She spoke slowly, in breathy fragments that caused minimal movement to her chest. "Thank you. For risking your life. For bringing me here. And for fetching … your physician … to treat my wounds. I realize it must have been … a great inconvenience … to you and your family. I also realize you saved my life."

  One dark brow rose. "That sounds more like regret than appreciation."

  "If so … the fault is certainly not yours." Courtney rested a moment, her fingers clenching as she fortified herself to go on. "I'm sorry," she managed at last. "But the truth is … I have nothing to offer you in return. Nothing at all."

  "All your belongings were on that ship?"

  Her lips trembled. "My belongings, and a great deal more."

  "So I gathered." He cleared his throat. "May I ask your name?"

  "Courtney…" she whispered, wondering why the pressure in her head and chest seemed to be intensifying. "…Johnston."

  "Well, Miss Johnston, one of your belongings did, in fact, survive the ordeal. In fact, I only wish your transfer to my vessel had been as smooth." He reached over, lifting a gleaming silver object from the nightstand. "I believe this belongs to you." He pressed it into Courtney's palm.

  She stared, her eyes brimming with tears. "Papa's timepiece." Instinctively, she tried to sit up—and whimpered, the resulting pain too acute to withstand.

  Instantly, his lordship rose and strode across the room, stepping into the hall. "Matilda," he summoned in a commanding tone, "bring some brandy. Miss Johnston needs another dose of laudanum."

  "Yes, m'lord."

  Courtney fell back weakly, needing to find the words to thank him, to try to explain how much her father's timepiece meant to her. />
  "I … Papa gave me…"

  "Later," he replied, returning to her bedside. "After you've rested, and the next ration of laudanum has had a chance to work."

  "It hurts," she managed, eyes squeezed tightly shut.

  "I know. Just lie still. The medicine is on its way."

  Courtney hadn't the strength to respond. It seemed an eternity before Matilda delivered the requisite brandy, supporting Courtney's head so she could sip it.

  "Drink the whole thing," her rescuer's voice instructed from a distance. "Every last drop."

  She did.

  "Poor lamb," Matilda murmured, settling Courtney in and drawing up the bedcovers. "She's as weak as a kitten. Well, never you mind. A little care and attention and she'll be good as new."

  "Care…" Courtney whispered, her lashes fluttering to her cheeks. "I have … no one … nothing…" Her voice trailed off, and she sank into a drugged sleep.

  The timepiece fell from her fingers to sleep beside her.

  * * *

  "My ship, the Fortune, is just inside that cove. We'll anchor alongside her."

  Sewell Armon propped his booted foot on the deck of the brig and pointed. "There." He scowled as Lexley ignored his orders, instead glancing anxiously out to sea. "You've done that a hundred times," the pirate captain growled. "The bloody girl is dead. Stare all you want, but unless your eyes are good enough to see clear to the bottom of the English Channel, you won't find her."

  "Thank you for that assessment," Lexley replied bitterly, the past week having rended his soul, extinguished his hope—and, as a result, sharpened his tongue. "But a conscience is not always amenable to reason. If one has a conscience, that is."

  "I've had just about enough of your defiance, you rebellious old man," Armon spat, whipping out his sword. "You've been nothing but trouble since your captain and his precious daughter drowned. Well, you'll soon be joining them. Now anchor. You're wasting time—mine." He nudged Lexley purposefully with the tip of his blade. "My crew is waiting."

  "And what will happen to our crew?" Lexley asked, wincing. "Do you mean to kill everyone on the Isobel, or only me?"

  "You'll find that out soon enough. But if it's leniency you seek—for any of your men—I'd suggest you comply with my instructions. Or else…"

  Armon's attention was diverted by a welcome sight, and a broad smile supplanted his irritation. As the Isobel rounded the next jagged inlet of the Channel, the Fortune came into view, tucked away and awaiting her captain's return. Armon's smile widened as a whoop of recognition erupted from the deck of his ship and, in response, he whisked the black stone from his pocket and waved it triumphantly in the air.

  The whoops transformed to shouts of victory. "'E got it! 'E got the black diamond!"

  The instant the two vessels were close enough, Armon swung over to his own deck, flourishing the diamond for all to see.

  "What about them?" his next-in-command muttered, jerking his thumb in the Isobel's direction.

  "Grab the cargo. Sink the ship." His black eyes flickered dangerously. "Take the crew."

  "Take 'em? Why not just kill 'em?"

  "Because the useful ones, we'll keep. And the others—the ones who've been a constant thorn in my side—" Armon flashed a venomous glance in Lexley's direction. "Those I have plans for, plans that'll make them pray to die."

  "What kind of plans?"

  Armon rubbed his bristled jaw. "Can you still navigate the waters around Raven Island?"

  "Ye know I can," the stout pirate answered proudly. "Not in the Fortune, of course—I wouldn't risk damaging 'er on the rocks. But in a longboat? I'm the only one who can whip Raven's currents and come out alive."

  "Good. In that case, don't sink their ship—yet. Transfer all but the troublemakers onto the Fortune. Then, board the Isobel. A handful of our crewmen are still there, awaiting instructions. Have them tie up our unwanted passengers. Sail out to Raven." A malevolent leer. "At which point, toss the bastards into the longboat, row them out to the island, and leave them there—to starve and rot."

  "I get it." An admiring nod. "In the meantime, ye and the Fortune will be headin' to Dartmouth to make yer exchange."

  "Exactly. Once you've disposed of your cargo, sail to Dartmouth in their ship. Then sink it, reboard the Fortune, which will be in the cove we agreed on, and await my arrival." So saying, Armon held up the black gem, pivoting it slowly in order to admire all its facets. "I've waited a long time for this day. And no one and nothing is going to stand in my way."

  * * *

  "Good morning."

  That deep baritone penetrated Courtney's haze, and she blinked, taking in the sunlit room, the disheveled bed—and the man who stood at its foot.

  "How do you feel?" he inquired.

  "You changed clothes," she murmured inanely, assessing his fine waistcoat and polished boots, a sharp contrast to the rolled-up sleeves and muddied breeches of the man who'd rescued her.

  Startled, he glanced down at himself. "I customarily do at the onset of the new day. Is that unusual?"

  "No. But before you looked like a fisherman. Now you look like a…" Her brow furrowed. "What is your title anyway? Duke? Marquis?"

  His lips twitched slightly. "Sorry to disappoint you. A mere earl." A penetrating look. "You haven't answered my question. How do you feel?"

  "Like I've been beaten, inside and out." Speculatively, she glanced at the tangle of sheets surrounding her.

  "You had a restless night," the earl explained. "Each time the laudanum started to wear off, you became fitful. I hope you'll have an easier time of it today. In any case, you must begin replenishing your strength. When Matilda advised me you were coming around, I sent my housekeeper, Miss Payne, to fetch some tea. Perhaps later you can manage some toast. It's the only way you're going to improve."

  As the earl spoke, bits of memories trickled into Courtney's mind in ugly, measured increments.

  Abruptly, she grabbed at the bedcovers, sifting through to find the treasure she'd been holding during her last conscious period.

  "Your timepiece is safe," her rescuer assured her. "I placed it in the nightstand drawer. I was afraid you would break it when you began thrashing about."

  Courtney stilled, emotion clogging her throat. "Thank you. As for sparing the watch, your efforts were for naught. 'Tis already broken. It broke the day Papa died." Turning her face into the pillow, she confessed in a trembling voice, "I prayed I'd awaken to find this was all a horrible nightmare."

  "I understand."

  Slowly, she lifted her head from its protective nest, pivoting until her anguished gaze met his. "I'm not sure why," she whispered, "but I believe you do."

  A heartbeat of silence.

  The earl cleared his throat, clasping his hands behind his back. "Miss Johnston, I realize you've been through an ordeal, one you'd prefer to forget. Nonetheless, I must ask you some questions—if you're physically able to answer them. Are you?"

  Before Courtney could reply, a willowy woman of middle years entered the chamber, carrying a tray. "The tea you requested, my lord."

  "Thank you." He indicated the nightstand. "Leave it there. Miss Payne, this is Courtney Johnston, the young woman I spoke of. She'll be staying here while she recuperates."

  "Miss Johnston." The housekeeper nodded. "I know Matilda has been tending to your needs. You couldn't be in better hands. Still, as I am overseer of the female staff, please let me know if there's anything I can do for you."

  "Thank you, Miss Payne. You're very kind," Courtney managed awkwardly.

  "Tell Matilda to get some rest," the earl advised. "I'll administer Miss Johnston's next dose of laudanum. Once the medicine takes effect, she'll sleep until midafternoon, so neither you nor Matilda will be needed. However, once Miss Johnston awakens, perhaps the two of you could entice her to eat some toast."

  "Of course," the housekeeper agreed immediately. "'Twould be a pleasure, my lord." With a polite smile in Courtney's direction, she took her leave.
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  The earl gave Courtney another probing look. "Is the pain severe?"

  "I can bear it, if that's what you mean. Ask your questions. The laudanum can wait a few minutes."

  "Damn, I feel like a cad," he muttered.

  "Don't. Obviously your concerns are serious."

  "Serious? Yes. Or I wouldn't be pressuring you like this." A pause. "My sister's life is at stake."

  "Your sister?" It was the last thing Courtney had expected.

  "Yes. The pirate who seized your ship used you as bait. He wanted something from me, something quite valuable. And he's not alone. Hundreds of greedy bastards want the same prize. And one of them—I don't know who—kidnapped Aurora. Hell, he might even kill her, and all to get his hands on that bloody gem."