Mary Jo Putney (8 page)

There was a British fort, but it was on the far side of the town. Too far. Though they had two pistols and two muskets, a gun battle in the middle of Kinsale would be insanity.

They’d been pursued till they were up against the sea, which left only one chance of escape. A boat.

I
f Sarah hadn’t been concentrating on riding as fast as possible through Kinsale’s steep streets without injuring anyone, she’d have succumbed to strong hysterics. Her abductors were only a few minutes behind them, and she and Rob would be trapped with their backs to the sea. Even Rob wouldn’t be able to find a way out this time.

Rob.
They’d kill him out of hand. They wouldn’t kill her. They’d probably do worse than that because of the trouble she’d caused them.

But she was by God not giving up yet! And neither was Rob.

They reached the waterfront in a clatter of hooves and sweating horses. Sarah’s heart sank when she saw only a handful of boats in the harbor. One was moored at the nearest dock and a man was heaving the last of several baskets of fish up onto the wooden planks. The boat had two sails, looked well kept, and the name
Brianne
was painted on the bow.

Rob reined in his horse at the foot of the dock and vaulted to the ground. “Sir!” he called as he raced onto the dock. “Are you the owner of this yawl?”

The man straightened and stretched his back. “Aye, I’m Michael Farrell. And where are you going as if the devil is on your tail?”

Rob halted beside the
Brianne,
his body rigid with tension. “We need to sail from here
right now
! Can you take me and my companion? We’ll pay handsomely.”

Farrell snorted. “Are you trying to get yourself killed, lad?” He gestured toward the sky, where thunderous clouds were gathering to the north. “There’s a sharp squall coming and I’ll not take my
Brianne
out in it.”

“I’m trying to
save
us from being killed,” Rob said, his voice grim. “Wicked men abducted my companion. I rescued her, but they’re right behind us with guns in their hands and blood in their eyes.”

“Her?” Farrell glanced at Sarah, who had dismounted. She obligingly removed her hat so that her unraveling blond braid fell down her back, then did her best to look vulnerable and winsome. Vulnerable was easy since she was terrified. It must have worked, because the captain’s eyes widened with surprise.

She tethered their mounts to a railing, untied both sets of saddlebags, and threw one over each shoulder to keep herself balanced. Shaking with fatigue from the hard ride and the heavy bags, she followed Rob out onto the dock, praying that he could persuade the captain to take them out.

Rob pulled a pouch from inside his coat and tossed it in his hand so the clinking sound of heavy coins was unmistakable. “You don’t have to take us far, captain. Just away from here.”

Farrell’s gaze sharpened as he regarded the pouch. “I’d be happy to oblige after the squall has passed, if we haven’t lost the tide by then.”

“We haven’t the time to waste,” Rob said tersely. “Surely a seasoned sailor can manage a passing squall.”

“Aye, if I had to, but only a fool would try to sail out of this harbor in heavy winds without a bloody good reason.” He glanced at Sarah and touched the brim of his hat. “Sorry for the language, lass.”

Language was the least of her problems as pounding hooves signaled a dozen armed men bursting from a side street into the open area that rimmed the waterfront. Shouts rose as they spotted their prey and came thundering toward Rob and Sarah.

As she watched, frozen with terror, one of their lead horses staggered and fell. The two horses immediately behind stumbled over the fallen beast and crashed down in a tangle of screaming horses and swearing men that blocked the road. Though the riders behind were able to halt in time, one of the men who’d gone down had crashed into a stone wall and lay motionless.

Sarah uttered a silent prayer of gratitude for this brief reprieve, but it would be very short. Flannery and O’Dwyer were already sorting out their men.

Rob snapped his gaze from the pursuers to the boat. “Sorry, Captain Farrell, but I must take the
Brianne
.” He held out the pouch. “You can have the horses plus this. More than enough money to buy another yawl. If there’s anything you want onboard, take it now, because we’re leaving.”

The captain sputtered, “You can’t just take my boat!”

“I can and I will. I’d prefer your consent, but lack of it won’t stop me.” Rob jumped down into the boat, easily keeping his balance as it rocked from his weight. “Sarah, give me the saddlebags, then take my hand to board.”

She obeyed, at the same time giving Farrell her most wide-eyed, heart-melting gaze, the one that always worked on her uncle and father. “Sir, this truly is life or death. Have mercy on us!”

Uncertain, the captain opened the pouch. His eyes widened. Before he could reply, the bang of a musket echoed around the harbor. Water spouted up in a dozen places and pellets rattled off the hull. Rob ducked as another musket blast shot their way. “You see we weren’t exaggerating! I advise you to get out of the line of fire.”

Jaw dropping, Farrell looked to the shore and saw two men reloading their muskets. “Holy Mother of God!” He shoved the pouch in a pocket, grabbed a bulging canvas bag, and scrambled onto the dock. “Very well, damn you!” He dived into a dinghy moored on the opposite side. “The
Brianne
is yours, and if you get yourself drowned, don’t blame it on me! Watch out for the bar at the harbor mouth!”

As Farrell rowed swiftly away, Rob untied the
Brianne
and shoved at the dock so the boat started to drift into the harbor. Then he moved to the forward mast and started to raise the sail. “Stay low and out of the way, Sarah!”

She moved toward the stern obediently. She could see Boru standing patiently where she’d tethered him and hoped Farrell would see that the pony was treated well.

Led by O’Dwyer and Flannery, her abductors were racing down the dock toward the
Brianne.
Fifty feet, twenty, O’Dwyer was raising a pistol and aiming at Rob. . . .

With a crack of canvas, the
Brianne
caught the wind and slid briskly away from the dock. The lurch when the boat began to move almost tumbled Sarah overboard.

“Stay
down,
dammit!” Rob barked.

“Aye, aye, captain.” Shaking, Sarah grabbed hold and stared at her abductors. The
Brianne
was well out of jumping distance now. Several shots were fired after them, along with a lot of curses. The ones in English were filthy and those in Irish were probably worse. None of the shots came close; the boat was moving too quickly and erratically for a good aim, she guessed.

They’d made it! They’d escaped the devils who would have taken Mariah and her unborn child and probably killed both in the process.

With relief came fury. Those horrible men had terrified Sarah and would have gladly killed Rob. Standing up and cupping her hands around her mouth, Sarah shouted, “You ignorant fools! I’m not even the Duchess of Ashton, I’m her sister! You got it wrong from the beginning.”

Shock and rage twisted Flannery’s face. “Don’t laugh too soon, you bitch!” he shouted back. “When my chief finds out, she’ll come after both of you!”

Sarah blinked. Did he say his chief was female? With the wind and the distance, his voice was trailing off. No matter. She and Rob were safely away, and Adam would insure that Mariah was very well guarded in the future.

The boat lurched and she almost pitched overboard. A strong hand caught the seat of her trousers and pulled her down. “Sit, princess,” Rob said dryly. “I understand your need to vent some temper at your abductors, but it’s not worth drowning for.”

Which was true, but she had enjoyed letting some of her anger loose. She turned and settled on the bench that ran across the stern. The boat was perhaps thirty-five feet long and sat low in the water, with a couple of benches and lockers across the front end.

Rob sat at the tiller in the rear, steering the
Brianne
away from the docks. They had almost reached the mouth of the harbor now. He frowned, his gaze alternating between the lowering sky and the harbor bar Farrell had warned them of.

A gust of wind tilted the boat sharply to the right. Sarah tightened her grip on the gunwale. “You do know what to do with this thing?”

“I grew up in Somerset, the English side of this channel, and learned to sail from the local fishermen in yawls much like this one,” he said reassuringly. “But Farrell was right to worry about that squall. I want to be in open water before it hits. Stow the saddlebags in the port locker if there’s space. That’s on the left. If not, try the other locker on the right. That’s starboard. When you move around the boat, always stay low and hang on to something solid.”

Sarah scuttled forward, skimming her hand along the gunwale. By the time they reached England, she’d know what to call the different parts of the boat. The
yawl
. “Are all yawls designed like this one?”

“There are a lot of variations, but the fishing yawls are usually about this size and they generally have two sails.”

Sarah opened the port locker. Thinking it would be useful to inventory their resources, she said, “There’s rope in the bottom and a sort of small bucket, but there’s room for our saddlebags. I don’t even mind that everything will smell of fish.”

“In a few hours, you won’t even notice the smell. The bucket is for bailing water. Make its acquaintance, because the way this yawl is designed, you’ll be using it sooner or later.” He glanced at the sky. “Sooner. Find a secure spot where you can hold on with both hands, and keep your head below the level of the boom so that if we come about, it won’t knock you overboard.”

Sarah hadn’t known what a boom was, but it was easy enough to figure out Rob’s warning. She settled down with her back against the locker, one hand on the gunwale. Not only did she feel safe, but she was facing Rob and could watch him at the tiller.

He’d taken off his hat, and his brown hair blew in the wind while his light blue eyes studied the approaching clouds. With his strong features and effortless competence, he was a sight to stir any girl’s romantic dreams as he arrowed the
Brianne
out of the harbor. But he was more than a girl’s romantic dream. He was real and strong and utterly reliable. Perhaps that meant he was a woman’s romantic dream.

Since such thoughts were unproductive, she studied the approaching squall. She could watch the rain and wind sweeping across the gray waves and heading straight toward them. They’d just cleared the harbor when the squall struck, shoving the
Brianne
over so sharply that Sarah gave an involuntary gasp, sure they would capsize.

“Hold tight, Sarah! We can ride this out!” Rob’s words were for her but all his attention was on the sea and the wind. The
Brianne
straightened and carried on through the drenching rain.

Sarah held on grimly. Rob’s steering was no longer effortless as he fought to control the yawl. With surprise and then amusement, she realized that he was enjoying this battle with the elements. She doubted he’d have that light in his eyes if they were in danger of drowning, so she began to relax.

The rain stopped with startling suddenness and the wind diminished to brisk rather than threatening. As the sun emerged, touching highlights on the waves, Sarah released a sigh of relief. “I’m seriously impressed, Rob. Is there anything you can’t do?”

He laughed, looking more relaxed than at any time since he’d rescued her. “There is much I can’t do, but I do know my way around boats. This is a sweet little yawl. She’ll carry us safely back home.”

“How long will that take?”

“Hard to say. If the winds cooperate, about a day. If we were farther north, opposite Wales, the crossing would be much shorter. I hope Farrell has a supply of fresh water, or we’ll be very thirsty by the time we arrive.”

“The rest of me is wet enough to compensate.” Wet and
cold
.

Rob must have noticed her shivers, because he said, “You can warm up with a dry blanket from our luggage, but first, you’ll need to use that bailing bucket. We took on water during the squall.” After a pause, he added, “I can do the bailing if you’d like to try your hand at the tiller.”

“No, thank you! Maybe if the sea was calm and the winds light. Under these conditions, we’d probably end up in Spain if I tried to steer.” After pulling out the bailing bucket, she dug more deeply into the lockers. “Here are pewter mugs and plates and a small jug of something that might be drinkable.” She pulled out the cork and took a sniff, then wrinkled her nose. “Some kind of fierce spirits. Care for a taste?”

Looking regretful, he said, “Later, maybe, if I need warming. Anything else useful?”

She found a small keg and turned the tap a little so she could sample a few drops. “This one is water.” She returned the keg to the locker and explored further. “Here’s a parcel of smoked fish, and bread that smells like smoked fish. Several eggs, probably hard-cooked since he couldn’t do much with raw eggs.” She sat back on her heels. “That seems to be it. Time to start bailing.”

She bent and began scooping. There was a certain freedom in knowing it didn’t matter if she splashed water on herself because she couldn’t be any wetter. Plus the labor warmed her up.

When she finished her task and stowed the bucket away, Rob said thoughtfully, “I’m not sure Ashton will approve of my returning a scruffy urchin in place of the elegant young lady he lost.”

She laughed. “I shall recommend that he pay you full price even if I do look as if you fished me from a pond.”

She was starting to feel cold again, so she dug into the saddlebags for one of the dry blankets. “Do you want the other blanket?”

“Better to save it. There may be more squalls.”

That was not a welcome thought. She wrapped the blanket around herself and the warmth helped, but not enough. She pulled the blanket tighter and tried to keep her teeth from chattering.