My Runaway Heart (21 page)

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 true—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."

"Oh, I suspect you do. If you've some special
interest in Jared and his affairs, I suggest you
pose
your questions to him. I don't speak for the man. Never have."

Feeling strangely as if a precious secret had suddenly
been exposed, Lindsay lifted her chin. "Very well, I will speak to him, if
you'll kindly let me know where I can find him. He wasn't on the quarterdeck—"

"He's below in the crew's quarters. Dag isn't
well."

"Not well?" Remembering what Jared had told
her about the huge Norwegian, she felt a sudden knot in her stomach. "What's
happened? May I see him? He was so kind to me . . . at least until I struck—"
She didn't finish, Walker's tightening expression telling her she didn't have
to.

"He took ill less than an hour ago—it's happened
before. Like a spell that comes over him, the pain in his head is sometimes so
bad we have to tie him down. But that didn't keep him from asking Jared if you
might be allowed to leave your cabin."

"So—so it wasn't you?"

"Me? I spoke on your behalf the first time, but after
what you did . . ." Walker laughed grimly. "I decided it might be
best, like Jared, to leave things as they were. No, you've Dag to thank for
your freedom. He plagued Jared every day, three, sometimes four times, never
letting him forget just how long it had been."

Lindsay didn't know what to say, she was so stunned.
Not Walker. Or anyone else. It was Dag who had thought of her welfare.

Touched more deeply than she could say, she still felt
a telling stab that it had taken something so severe to make Jared relent. How
little he must think of her! It was all she could do to force back the dismay
that cold realization brought her.