Forever My Love (Historical Romance) (22 page)

Damon was aware of Murdock's enmity toward him, but he ignored it. "I am searching for someone, and I thought you might be able to help me."

"Now, why should I? I got no respect from your fancy army when I wanted to join, so why should I want to help you now?"

"Perhaps I'm wasting your time and mine. If you'll just have your man return my rifle, I'll be leaving."

Murdock's curiosity had been tapped, and Damon knew it. The man was not about to let him leave without discovering why he had come.

"No use your going off 'til you have eaten and drunk with us, Colonel. We are a neighborly group, aren't we, men?"

There was a lot of head shaking and murmuring from the grinning men.

Damon did not like this man. "I didn't come here to exchange pleasantries or to drink with you. I came in search of a man."

Murdock's eyes narrowed with distrust. "Who would that man be?"

"I seek one Preston Seaton—an Englishman."

Murdock's face became blank. "But, Colonel Routhland, if the man is an Englishman, isn't he your enemy? What would you want with him?"

"That's my affair. Have you seen him?" Damon pressed in a hard voice.

Murdock laughed jovially. "But of course I have seen him. He's my prisoner. You forgot to mention that he is a colonel in the British army. At least that's what the insignia on his red uniform implies."

Damon's eyes burned with the anger of betrayal. Royal had told him that Preston Seaton was on a diplomatic mission. Had she deliberately lied?

Suddenly he took notice that the men were forming a tight circle around him. "Is the Englishman here in your camp?" he demanded.

"But of course, Colonel Routhland. Where else would I take him?"

"I want to see him at once. Take me to him."

Murdock's eyes narrowed. "You might be able to order your men around, Colonel, but I'm in command here." He made a wide sweep with his hand. "I'm lord of this domain."

"Yes," Damon agreed bitingly, glancing around the swamp. "That would make you lord of lizards, owls, and snakes—an enviable command."

"Tread softly, Colonel," Murdock warned. "You are here only because I allow it."

"Take me to Preston Seaton," Damon insisted. "Now!"

A grudging light of respect came into Murdock's eyes. "I'll say one thing for you, Routhland, you got guts."

Murdock had heard that Damon Routhland was a man of commanding force, as fearless as he was legendary—and he had heard right. Vincent Murdock looked around at his battle-hardened men. Routhland might be a legend, but Murdock knew if he gave the word to his men that the colonel was not to leave these swamps alive, even a legend could die.

The two men stared at each other in understanding. "The Englishman?" Damon reminded him.

"Come with me," Murdock relented, "and I'll take you to see him, though he isn't much to look at with his fancy red uniform all torn and bloodstained."

Damon's senses were alert as he moved through the camp beside the renegade leader. He had counted twenty-three men, but of course, there could be more. How in the hell was he going to free Royal's Englishman if Murdock decided to hold on to him? For that matter, how was he going to leave?

22

Although he knew it was futile, Preston pulled against the rusty chains that bound him to the moss-laden cypress tree. His wrists were raw, and he was tormented by insects that stung him day and night. This was a bug-infested hell, not fit for humans, he thought bitterly.

He had lost track of the length of time he had been a prisoner, but he had been there long enough to grow a beard. He glanced at his filthy red uniform and dreamed of bathing—of cool, clean water.

Preston tested his sore muscles. He had long ago lost hope of ever being rescued. If this man Murdock who held him prisoner was the measure of the American army, God help any Englishman who fell into their hands!

Murdock and his men had the manners of pigs, and they spoke unintelligible English. Much of the time Preston could not understand them at all. And the food they fed him was unfit for human consumption. He ate it, though, because that was all there was. He thought it strange what a man would do to stay alive. He had always believed himself to be a civilized man, but he slept and ate like an animal.

He closed his eyes and tried to think of his family at Chiswick Castle. He envisioned green, rolling hills—he thought of Royal, with her honey-gold hair and beautiful blue eyes. How far away England seemed to him. He doubted he would ever leave these swamps alive.

He had been beaten several times because he'd refused to give the rabble the information they wanted. He had been too proud to admit to them that he had not been in the Colonies long enough to be privy to valuable information or secret plans. He had been sent merely to report conditions to the prime minister. And he would not tell them that he was not even in the army. He had merely been given an honorary rank by General Cornwallis, and it was of no great significance.

His only world was now a small island about twelve paces across, and it was surrounded by foul-smelling water. Yes, he had become an animal; his main thoughts were of staying alive.

He squinted his eyes toward his captors' camp when he heard muffled voices and the sound of footsteps coming in his direction. The only access to his little mound of dirt was the log that linked his island with the camp of the rebels. Now the log was dropped into place, and he saw Murdock and another man walking toward him.

His eyes burned with hatred as he looked at Murdock, the instrument of his torture. Apparently the man took sadistic pleasure in inflicting pain, and it didn't matter to him that his victim was helplessly chained. Lord Preston prayed for the chance to have that man in his power one day.

He looked past Murdock to a tall man he had never seen before. He surmised that the stranger must be one of the rebels because he was dressed in buckskin.

"Well, here's your man, Colonel Routhland. Not much to look at, is he?"

The Englishman was chained like an animal, and his red jacket was muddy and tattered. In spite of this, the man stared at Damon with insolence.

"You bastard!" Damon said, turning to Murdock. "How dare you keep a prisoner in such deplorable conditions! Release him at once."

Murdock's eyes snapped. "Not likely. This here's my prisoner. I will release him when and if I decide."

Preston blinked at the newcomer. Was it possible the man had come to help him?

Damon knelt down beside Preston and, taking a handful of hair, turned his face to the light. He frowned when he saw the bruises and lacerations on the prisoner's cheeks and his blackened eye that was swollen shut.

"This man has a fever and needs medical attention. If you don't release him at once, and something happens to him, I'll not stop until I see you punished."

Again Preston blinked. Was he ill? He hadn't known he had a fever.

"Now ain't that ambitious," Murdock stated in a taunting voice. "And who's going to help you do that? As far as this Englishman goes, he's just one of those lily-soft British officers who can't function out of a nice-smelling drawing room. If he's sick, it's because he's weak."

"I suggest you release him into my custody without delay. It will go hard with you if you don't. You know I have the means to run you into the ground, and make no mistake about it, I'll do it."

Murdock's laughter had an evil ring. "Now if I was you, Colonel Damon Routhland, I wouldn't go making any threats, being as how you are here alone."

"It is you who should be afraid, Murdock," Damon said, undaunted by the man's words.

"You see this key, Colonel Routhland?" Murdock jingled a key that was attached to a leather thong that hung around his neck. "That's the key to the Englishman's chains, and no one but me can unchain him."

He poked a finger into Lord Preston's chest. "He was such a pretty boy when he fell into our hands, all dressed up in his bright red uniform." His eyes gleamed as he mocked the Englishman. "He's not so pretty now."

Preston strained against his chains to reach his tormentor.

"See how riled he gets, Colonel Routhland? I've taken a liking to him, though. It would grieve me fiercely if I lost him."

Damon dipped his handkerchief in a nearby pail of water and washed the caked mud from the poor wretch's face. He looked into questioning blue eyes, trying to see what there was in this man for Royal to love.

"We are not all animals," Damon told the Englishman. He took a dipper of water and held it to Preston's cracked lips. He leaned in closer and whispered, "Take heart. If possible, I'll be back tonight. Stay alert and watch for me."

Damon stood up, deciding to take another approach. "Will you take money for the release of your prisoner?"

Murdock grinned. "Now, I'd expect a man like you to think you could buy anything you want. But your money won't help you here, Colonel Routhland. My prisoner isn't for sale."

"Is that your last word?"

"Yep. I bent some in allowing you to see my prisoner at all. But my patience is spent, and I want you out of my camp right away—unless you want to join your friend here."

"You'll regret this day, Murdock," Damon informed him. "If the American army doesn't get you, the British are sure to blast you out of these swamps."

"Not likely." Murdock swaggered and danced across the log before turning to look at Damon. "No one is going to outsmart Vincent Murdock."

Damon's eyes grew cold, and the intensity of his golden glare made Murdock halt in his tracks. "If you don't remember this day, Murdock, I'll be back to remind you of it."

Damon crossed the log, forcing Murdock to scramble out of his way. "Expect my return," he warned, moving in the direction of his horse.

When Damon came to the guard who had taken his rifle, he jerked it from the man's hand and shoved him aside. No one made a move to stop him as he left the camp, mounted his horse, and rode away.

Preston rattled his chains, wondering who the man was who had just given him hope. He could not understand why an American colonel would want to help him. There had been something about the man that made Preston trust him. He had said he would be back tonight, and Preston believed he would.

***

The swamp was at it noisiest just after sundown. The continuous croaking of the frogs harmonized with the distant hooting of a tree owl.

Damon slipped into the swampy water and made his way silently toward Murdock's camp. Holding his rifle over his head, he moved closer to the ring of light from the campfires and watched silently.

There seemed to be a festive mood among Murdock's followers because the men were drinking and he could hear their loud voices raised in song. The women moved among the men, rubbing against them and making suggestive remarks. Damon waited, knowing he could do nothing until the camp slept. He watched the changing of the lookouts and took notice of their positions.

It was to Damon's advantage that Murdock would not expect him to return by way of the quagmire. Damon had spent two of the most uncomfortable hours he had ever known waist deep in swamp water. Mosquitoes were buzzing and pestering him, and at one point a water moccasin slithered right past his hand.

Around midnight the camp grew quiet, and Damon moved forward cautiously. Slowly he inched out of the swamp, ducking behind trees, his gaze on the lean-to where he knew he would find his prey.

At last he stood over Murdock, who had one of the women in his bed. They both appeared to be sound asleep. Quietly he bent down and felt around Murdock's neck until he found the leather thong. Cautiously he cut the thong and grasped the key in his hand.

Letting out a pent-up breath, Damon moved away from the lean-to. Avoiding the guards and keeping in the shadows, he made his way to the mound where he would find Lord Preston Seaton.

***

Preston stared into the darkness, keeping his vigil. His spirits, kept up by the man's promise to return, were being dashed. The American colonel was not coming. Drawing in a despairing breath, he wondered how much longer he could live under these brutal conditions. There was no hope, no reason to live.

Suddenly he stiffened. Had he heard something? He strained his eyes, looking for anything that moved in the darkness. When a hand touched his, he jerked away, startled, causing his chains to rattle. The man was no more than a vague shadow, and he had come so silently he had taken Preston by surprise.

Preston felt the man kneel beside him and heard him insert a key into the lock that bound his chains together.

He was free.

Damon placed his fingers to his lips, indicating that the Englishman should be silent.

Preston struggled to stand. Feeling as if his legs would not bear his weight, he collapsed on the ground. This was his only chance at freedom, and his body would not obey his command.

At that moment a wicked laugh came from across the mound. Preston looked up and saw Murdock standing in their path, his legs spread in an arrogant stance, his rifle aimed at Preston's heart.

"I should have told you I'd shoot the prisoner before I'd let you have him, Colonel Routhland. Having heard of your daring, I figured you'd try something like this."

Damon tensed as Murdock cocked the hammer of his rifle. "Your Englishman is about to die, Colonel Routhland," Murdock promised.

Preston was so weak he could not even move to save his life. He watched in amazement as the American colonel moved in front of him, placing his body between him and Murdock.

The gun exploded, and the American slumped forward for just a moment as the bullet tore through his body. But even as he was hit, Damon raised his knife, took aim, and lobbed it toward Murdock. Murdock moaned in agony, then crumpled to his knees and fell forward on his face.

Damon struggled to stay on his feet. Preston attempted to come to the American's aid but did not have the strength. He saw the irony of the situation; here was his only chance to escape, his rescuer had been wounded, and he was too weak to stand, much less walk. Why had the American taken the bullet for him? They were enemies, were they not?

Damon staggered forward. "Can you walk?" he asked.

With renewed effort, Preston tried to rise, but he fell back, feeling embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I cannot."

Damon reached out and boosted Lord Preston onto his shoulder. "Then I'll have to be your legs until we get out of this hellhole."

Preston could do no more than allow the American to carry him like a helpless rag doll. "Who are you, and why are you doing this for me?" he asked in a whisper.

Damon staggered and fell to his knees, got up again, and plunged into the swamp. His voice came out in a painful gasp: "Be quiet. You ask too many questions, Englishman."

***

With the added burden of Lord Preston, Damon felt his strength waning. He could not maintain this pace for long. He remembered a small island he had used as a young man and headed in that direction.

He staggered when he tripped over tangled roots but kept his balance. He had to make it out of the water before he collapsed. Just when he thought he could not take another step, he climbed onto a low island and crumpled to his knees. With his last bit of strength, he laid the Englishman on the ground before he fell forward, too weak and exhausted to move.

In the distance he could hear the baying of hound dogs, and he realized that Murdock's men were already in pursuit. Since he had kept to the water, there would be little chance of the hounds picking up his scent. They were safe for a time.

Damon felt wave after wave of nausea sweep over him just before he lost consciousness.

***

Preston awoke and blinked his eyes. Why was he lying on the damp ground, no longer chained? In total bewilderment he glanced at the veil of stifling humidity. When he could not see the familiar landscape of Murdock's camp, his confusion deepened. Slowly he remembered the daring rescue and looked about for the man who had freed him.

He wondered if he had been delivered from his tormenters only to become a prisoner of this harsh swamp. In the pale moonlight, he noticed that the ground had few high places. The sweltering heat was unbearable, and the water was alive with slithering reptiles. Like an ocean of grass, the low, sharp-edged reeds rippled and waved in the breeze. If he had to walk out on his own, which way would he go? He would surely become lost and be recaptured by the rebels.