Hope's Betrayal (2 page)

Wiping his
sleeve across his eyes he forced himself to continue. He bathed the laceration,
cleaning away sand and blood. Something about this lad had stirred deep emotions
and the captain didn’t like it one little bit. He glanced toward the door, not
wanting to be alone with the smuggler and these strange feelings he stirred.

“What the
devil's taking that wench so long?”

The fire was
crackling nicely now, steam rising from the lad's clothes. But it wasn’t warm
enough; cold could kill every bit as much as blood loss.

”Hell's teeth,
do I have to do everything myself?”

With rising
irritation, Huntley set to stripping the lad of his wet clothes.

He peeled back
the patched jacket, twice its weight with water, and dropped it to the floor. A
patched and frayed shirt, sticky with blood, clung to the lad’s lean frame.
Huntley tugged the shirt-tail free of the lad’s sodden breeches and off over
his head, with the result that the Captain's pulse raced alarmingly.

“Get a grip,
man.” Huntley muttered.

The lad had
unexpectedly slim shoulders, a silver stiletto strapped to his thin upper arm.

“Naughty.”

Unsheathing the
knife he held the elegant blade toward the firelight; a finely crafted weapon
of silver filigree over an ivory handle— a lady’s weapon, and obviously
expensive.

“Who did you
steal this from, then?”

Placing the
stiletto safely out of reach, he turned back to the table. Stripped of his
shirt, it seemed the lad had broken ribs, for his chest was strapped. The
bindings were soaked and must come off. Shifting the unconscious lad into a
sitting position, balancing him against his shoulder, Huntley unwound the
bandages.

As he lay the
lad back down on the table, Huntley was suddenly struck by the peculiar shadows
playing across the boy’s chest. A flush of blood heated his cheeks. That
explained a lot!  Huntley’s mouth dropped open; he threw back his head and
laughed aloud with relief.

“Tis not a
lad….but a lass!"

Alone in the scullery
with a half-naked girl…no, not a girl, for she had the soft curves of a woman.
Huntley took a step back. The sense of relief was overwhelming, that it was a
woman who had excited his body so. He looked around for someone to share his
astonishment, but the maid had not yet returned.

In his
experience women were tiresome, wearisome creatures that sapped the spirit and
drained the mind, but he studied this one with interest. Dark lashes lay
brushed against her cheek, an almost catlike tilt to her closed eyes. Her skin
was clear, fresh, and unblemished. Her face was wide, round even, but with a
pointed chin and a nose turned up at the end. In all he decided, she was
beautiful with the stubbornness of a mule and fragility of a china doll. She
had been a worthy advisory on the dunes; agile, brave and resourceful and it
thrilled him to the core. Lost in thought ,Huntley shrugged off his outer coat
and covered her over, then removed himself to a respectable distance.

Nothing had
changed, he told himself. She was a felon and would pay the penalty demanded by
law. And if Huntley felt uneasy at the prospect he suppressed the emotion, it
was just that he had to get used to the notion of interrogating a woman.

With relief,
Huntley heard the clatter of hooves outside in the courtyard. At last, his men
had had the good sense to look for him here.

"In
here!" Huntley shouted.

The scullery
door flew open and Lieutenant Bennett burst through, smelling of cold night air
and sweat.

"Thank
goodness you're safe. You had us worried."

Huntley ignored
the lieutenant's remark; it was clear from the officer's grim expression that
something was seriously amiss.

"What is
it, Bennett? What's happened?"

Bennett
grimaced. "It's Cooper, sir, he's been shot."

The Captain's
blood chilled. "How badly?"

"It's
serious, I'm afraid. The surgeon insisted we call the priest…"

"Hell's
teeth." Huntley pressed his fingers to his forehead, then looked up
sharply. "How did it happen?"

'We caught up
with the landers on the road alright, but the lookouts saw us first. They were
armed, let off a volley of shots and Cooper didn’t dive quickly enough."

"Damnation."

"If he
dies, sir, he leaves a wife and three bairns." Bennett's words hung heavy
in the air.

"I
know." Huntley had grown up around these parts, part of the reason he'd
been posted here because of his local knowledge.  The Coopers had lived in
Sandehope for generations, he knew of their births, deaths and marriages. For
once Huntley felt utterly helpless. "I'll see the family are taken care
of, I'll not let them go short…if the worst happens. You know that, don’t
you?"

"Aye, I
do." Bennett nodded and turned to look at the body on the table. "Is
he dead?"

"Not
quite."

"He's one
of the smugglers?"

"Yes.
Didn’t make it back to the skiff in time."

Bennett narrowed
his eyes, a pinched expression on his face.

"That's
something. At least one of them will pay."

Huntley cleared
his throat. "Actually, it's not a he but a she."

Bennett
guffawed. "No! I don’t believe it."

"Then look
under the coat."

Bennett stepped
forward. "Well I'll be…" He looked thoughtful. "But lass or lad,
it makes no difference. She still broke the law, she's still a felon."

"And she
knew the consequences if caught." Huntley shifted, ill at ease.

"Leave it
with me, Captain. I'll arrange a wagon."

"What
for?"

"To take
her to jail, of course."

An alarm sounded
in Huntley's head but his expression didn’t change. He drummed his fingers on
the tabletop. "Perhaps it's best she stays here for now."

"What! Have
you taken leave of your senses?"

"No,"
Huntley replied slowly, "but she's unconscious. If we move her, she may
die."

"I can't
see a problem with that—it will save the hangman the trouble."

Huntley thought
quickly. "If she lives…then we can interrogate her, get the names of her
associates."

 A muscle
twitched along Bennett's jaw. "If you say so, Captain."

"Now, where
has that damned maid got to?"

For all his
composure, Huntley was rattled. Bennett hadn’t said it, but he knew what he was
thinking; that Captain Huntley had been sent to root out corruption in the
Excise service and he'd just offered sanctuary to a smuggler.

*****

In her dream,
Hope Tyler ran for her life. Fear pounded against her ribs, driven on even as
her lungs threatened to burst. She ran, swift as a deer, leaping dunes blindly
in the darkness, as if jumping off the edge of the world. And behind, a demonic
shape pursued her relentlessly—his scalding breath at her back—she ran from the
devil himself. Then the ground lurched and she fell, a red-hot iron binding her
ankle. Unable to move for the searing pain, she lost consciousness.

Hope woke with a
cry. She lay panting and covered in sweat.  She tried to sit but a sickening,
throbbing agony beat against her temples and she lay still again. Slowly, she
raised her fingers to her skull to find her head swathed in bandages. Exhausted
by this small effort, her hand fell back to the covers. She became aware of a
woollen blanket beneath her fingertips and it puzzled her. The last thing she
remembered was a beach and being chased. With a supreme effort she opened her
eyes, and flinched from the daylight. She seemed to be in a large oak bed, the
patchwork quilt swimming in and out of focus. A voice, soothing and kind,
muttered something as a bottle was pressed to her lips. Then bliss. The pain
eased and she lapsed again into unconsciousness.

When Hope woke
again, she had no memory of sleeping and yet the shadows had shifted. The pain
had receded to a dull ache, as cautiously, she moved her head. She stared around
at whitewashed walls and bare floorboards, a sloped ceiling, and through a
small window, four panes by four, she glimpsed clouds. The only furniture was a
ladder-back chair, a table and a candlestick. Craning her head still further
she glimpsed banisters from which hung a lantern, and wooden steps going down.
She was, she guessed, in a garret or attic room. She was also alone.

Her first
thought was escape. Pushing back the covers she sat. But the fierce pounding in
her head beat her back. For some time she lay, waiting for the dizziness to
pass. Taking care not to move her head suddenly, she swung her legs over the
side of the mattress and fire consumed her ankle. With a moan, she fainted.

The next time
she woke, Hope sensed she had company. Keeping her eyes closed, her heart
pounding, she became conscious of a man's heavy tread as he paced the room. She
waited until he was at the window and opened her eyelids a fraction. With the
light behind him she saw an athletic man with wide shoulders, tall enough to
have to stoop under the sloped eaves. Her stomach felt hollow with foreboding,
for without doubt, this was the same man who'd pursued her over the dunes.

He must have
sensed a change in her breathing, for suddenly he turned. Dressed in a naval
uniform, the jacket cuffs ringed with gold braid, the man exuded authority. He
stared, with piercing blue eyes that penetrated her soul. He continued to
stare, his face unreadable; wilful, she decided, and yet uncommonly handsome.
She blushed and reached for the covers, pulling them up to her chin.

"So, enough
pretending. You are awake at last." His voice, deep and melodic, brooked
no argument.

"Please,
sir, where am I?"

"Under
house arrest." He growled, obviously not her friend then. And yet, she
touched her bandaged head, it seemed someone had taken care of her.

"You are in
pain?" His consideration was surprising.

"Not so
much now."

The answer
pleased him. "Good, then you have some explaining to do."

"Please,
sir, who are you?"

The man threw
her a sideways glance and started to pace.

"Captain
Huntley, RN. And you are?"

She decided
against lying, her name alone couldn’t incriminate her family.

"Hope
Tyler."

"Well Miss
Tyler, have you the slightest idea how much trouble you're in?"

"Yes."

The Captain
stared at the ceiling. "A man died because of your felony. A Revenue man.
He leaves a wife and three children."

"I'm so
sorry." She whispered in genuine distress.

"His fellow
officers are baying for blood."

Hope trembled,
things were worse than she imagined.

"Someone
must hang for his death."

Her throat
closed over.

"Be it
you…or the man who pulled the trigger….my men don’t care." Captain Huntley
stepped closer, his presence dominating the room. She couldn’t breathe, he
seemed made of granite, his eyes like flints, sparking with anger. "But
I'm different." His expression softened imperceptibly. "I like to
think of myself as a fair man."

Hope nodded, to
encourage him.

"Any fool
can see you are just a bit-player, a lackey. The men I want are the leaders,
those who finance the contraband and organise the landings. Tell me who they
are, and I shall intercede on your behalf with the authorities."

"What if I
don’t know their names?"

His wide mouth
twitched downward. "Then I cannot help you."

She would have
shaken her head had it not been too painful. "The men you speak of aren't
stupid. They will know I am taken, and will know if I betray them. If I do…
they will come for my family."

"Then don’t
you want them behind bars?"

"It's too
risky. This way, it's only me."

He tried to hide
it, but he looked surprised. She saw him drinking in the logic of her words and
a shadow darkened his face. Clasping his hands behind his back, he turned to
stare through the window.

"Tell
me," he said benignly, "what does it feel like to be abandoned?
Because that's what those men did. Sailed away without a backward glance and
left you to your fate."

"I know
what you're doing and it won't work." She had no intention of explaining
that her stepbrother was in that boat and it would have broken his heart to
leave her.

"They left
you, put out to sea to save their own skins. Are they really worth
protecting?"

Hope's head
thudded and not just from concussion. Thomas, her stepbrother, she would
protect to the end. "You're wasting your time."