My Runaway Heart (22 page)

"I asked if I might go to him. I doubt I can do
anything to help, but—"

"Go on. I thought you'd want to see him. Just remember,
Lindsay, there's no escape from this ship. You already know that jumping
overboard won't help you."

Walker's reminder chilling her, she scarcely gave
thought to his having called her by her given name as she nodded and hurried
back to the hold, the brisk wind grown so strong she was almost glad to return
belowdecks
. Several sailors seemed surprised to see her
clamber down the steps unescorted, but none moved to stop her or uttered a
word, merely giving her wide berth to pass.

Moments later, when she entered the crew's quarters lit
by guttering oil lamps, she knew at once where Dag could be found for the
silent, grim-faced gathering of sailors at his bunk. But as she drew near, they
saw her and stepped aside, making room. Her heart flew to her throat when Jared
looked up from the stool on which he was sitting, but he spared her only a
brief glance before turning his attention back to Dag.

Perhaps that indifference hurt most of all, though she
told herself fiercely that it shouldn't. She meant nothing to him, he'd told
her as
much
and he was a traitorous pirate destined
one day to feel a hangman's noose around his neck, so why should any of it
matter? Yet she felt compelled to move closer, to say something; the day she'd
decided she wasn't going to trouble
herself
over Jared
Giles suddenly seemed so long ago.

"Walker . . . Mr. Burke said I could see Dag. How
is he?"

As if her soft words had been a command for everyone to
leave, the sailors moved away and disappeared from the crew's quarters. Only
she and Jared remained.

Yet he didn't look up and she was tempted to leave,
too, as far from feeling welcome as a snake at a ladies' garden tea party. But
at that moment Dag groaned so pitifully, his bearded face contorted in
pain, that
Lindsay sank to her knees beside the bunk and
took one of his huge hands in her small ones.

"
Shhh
, Dag, it's all
right. Jared's here and
I'm
here, too. It was so kind
of you to think of me—"

"He can't hear you."

Confused, she met Jared's eyes, her heart beating
faster at how vividly blue they were. At how handsome he was—the same
inexplicable longing filling her as she recalled tracing her fingers over his
lips. She flushed, glancing back at Dag for an instant before she could find
her voice to speak. "Can't hear? I don't understand."

"Laudanum. Enough to fell three men. It's the only
thing to keep him from thrashing and hurting himself. Hopefully when he wakes,
the pain will be gone."

"But it must be terrible if he sounds so wretched
even in sleep."

"He has a blasted metal ball lodged in his brain,
woman! What would you expect?"

Stunned by his vehement attack, Lindsay felt tears burn
her eyes as she rose abruptly to her feet. "I-I'm sorry. It was a mistake
for me to come here. Foolish for me to think—" She spun on shaky legs away
from Dag's bunk, yet she had taken no more than a step when Jared suddenly
caught her hand.

"Lindsay, stay."

Her breath stilled at the strength of his fingers
gripping hers, her face aflame, she didn't readily turn around for fear of him
seeing what his touch had done to her.

"Please, Lindsay. Dag would be glad you're here.
Talk to him if you like. He might hear you."

Struck by the tremor in his voice, Lindsay turned to
see Jared's face etched by private anguish that moved her more deeply than any
apology. He released her hand as she sank down next to the bunk, but she still
felt the warm pressure of his fingers . . . just as she could feel his eyes
upon her when she gently
lay
her palm upon Dag's
tortured brow.

She didn't know what else to do; there was really
nothing more than the laudanum to help him. But
Corisande
,
if she were there, would have told her reassuringly that she was doing all she
could, which brought Lindsay comfort. Her friend possessed an intuitive gift
for nursing that had always amazed her, making her wish she shared the same talent.
Yet she had always delighted
Corisande's
sisters with
her stories . . .

Lindsay glanced over her shoulder; Jared watched her
still, his face half cast in shadow. Suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious,
which was not like her at all when it came to spinning tales, she gave a small
shrug. "I don't really know what to say to him, but I could tell him
something of Cornwall, a favorite story of mine—mine and
Corie's
,
actually."

Jared nodded, nothing more, but she hadn't expected him
to reply. She could imagine how he must feel to see the man who had saved his
life three years ago suffering so piteously. She made herself more comfortable
next to the bunk, curling her legs beneath her and once more enfolding Dag's
limp hand in her own.

"Well, there was a certain baronet who had a fine
house and park on the coast—"

"Not your father, I trust."

Jared's voice so low she'd scarcely heard him, Lindsay
still took sudden heart that her tale might give him some relief, if only for a
short while, from Dag's misery. She threw him a smile, shaking her head.

"No, no, this baronet's name was Sir Thomas, and
it was long suspected by the local
excisemen
that he
had done more than wink at the doings of smugglers—fair traders, as they're
called in Cornwall. But the wily '
sarchers
'—that's
what true Cornish folk call the
excisemen
—had no
proof that Sir Thomas ever allowed any fair traders to use his grounds and
outbuildings, though the park, as lovely and green as could be, dipped all the
way down to the sea. One dark night, however, a party of men with kegs on their
shoulders—"

"Scotch whiskey?"

Jared's wry query was a promising sign that his mood
was lifting, just as she had hoped. Lindsay laughed and gently squeezed Dag's
hand. "Brandy, I suppose. That's what Oliver
Trelawny
always brought back from France—"

"Your friend
Corie's
Oliver
Trelawny
? Captain
Trelawny
who allowed you aboard his cutter, the
Fair
Betty
?"

Blushing to her roots at what she had just
revealed,
Lindsay glanced sheepishly at Jared, who was
staring at her intently. Too intently. "It appears you had more interest
in what I was saying during our promenade two weeks ago than you claimed."

"Twelve days ago."

"Well, yes, twelve days."

"And it appears I've just learned something else
about you, Lindsay Somerset. Not only have you admitted to recklessly sneaking
out at night and frequenting taverns, you consort with smugglers as well."

"Fair traders."

"Fair traders, smugglers. Are you admitting that,
too?"

"Of course I wouldn't do such a thing. I only
heard that Captain
Trelawny
made occasional trips to
France. May I please finish my story?"

Hoping she had evaded him when Jared didn't
respond—though he was still staring at her—Lindsay turned back to the bunk to
find that Dag appeared to be sleeping peacefully, his face no longer lined with
pain. Greatly relieved, she laid his hand upon his chest and lowered her voice.

"Where was I? Oh, yes, a party of men with kegs on
their shoulders was seen stealing through the park toward Sir Thomas's house,
and a short while later, they left without the kegs. That brought the
excisemen
down upon Sir Thomas first thing in the morning,
the officer in command apologizing for any inconvenience but saying that they
must, of course, make a complete search of the house and grounds."

"Of course, the bastards."

Imagining from his remark that Jared himself must have
come close to encountering customs officials along the Sussex coast, Lindsay
remembered, too, how he'd ordered his men to blow out of the water whoever
might be following them on the night she'd sneaked aboard his ship. Which could
have been
she.
Wincing, Lindsay continued.

"Sir Thomas was most gracious and promptly
produced his keys for the
excisemen
, encouraging them
to even look in the cellar, where the wine and spirits were kept—which they did
with great enthusiasm. They ransacked the house from attic to cellar and all
the outbuildings, but nothing was found."

"So where were the kegs hidden?"

Wishing that Jared would simply allow her to finish without
interrupting, Lindsay eyed him with exasperation. "I'd wager a guinea, if
I owned one, that you were the sort of little boy who never sat still for his
lessons."

"I didn't. Drove my tutors to despair. What
happened to the kegs?"

She sighed, not even bothering to ask that he guess. "The
excisemen
failed to look in the family coach, which
was full to the ceiling with kegs. So full, in fact, that to prevent the
springs from breaking or showing the coach was so heavily laden, the fair
traders had propped up the axletrees with blocks of wood."

"Those bloody
excisemen
must have been blind."

"No, no, it truly works."

"Ridiculous. I don't believe it."

"And I know that it does!
Corie
and I had to use one of my father's coaches once to hide some kegs when
excisemen
were prowling too close— Oh, Lord!"

Chapter 20

Jared had risen from the stool, and Lindsay scrambled
up from the floor, clutching nervously at the wrinkled strip of lilac silk
knotted at her waist.

She wasn't sure what he was going to do—not that it
really mattered he knew now she had lied to him about consorting with fair
traders. He had lied enough to her!

Yet she wasn't prepared for the smile that cut across
his face, Jared shaking his head as if in disbelief. She smiled, too,
uncertainly at first, but when he began to chuckle, she couldn't help herself,
either. It had been hilarious, she and
Corisande
struggling to fit all those unwieldy kegs into the coach . . .

"A smuggler, too. This is bloody rare."

She shrugged, still grinning as Jared once more shook
his head, but she sobered and began to feel a little nervous again when he
suddenly stopped chuckling.

"Out into the passageway. Now."

His eyes burning into hers, Lindsay gulped. "I—I
think I'd rather stay here—"

"Woman . . ."

His tone was so low and
ominous,
Lindsay hastily decided to comply—if only for Dag's sake, she told herself, a
last glance at the bunk assuring her that he was still asleep.

Her heart hammering against her breast as she hurried
out of the crew's quarters, she knew Jared was right behind her. She had barely
moved into the shadowy passageway when she felt his hands at her waist; she
gasped as he spun her around to face him and pinned her shoulders against the
wall, his voice as husky and fierce as before.

"
Dammit
, Lindsay, are
you mad? Don't you know they hang people for smuggling?"

She was so startled she could only gape at him, his
outburst not at all what she might have expected.

"Or that, at best, if you were ever caught you'd
find yourself imprisoned for years or transported to some godforsaken place?"

"But we weren't caught, Jared, we never came close
except for a few times, and besides, we didn't do it for ourselves.
Corie
used all the profits to help the people in her father's
parish!"

Now it was Jared's turn to stare, his exasperation so
great at that moment that he didn't trust himself to continue. Yet he was
equally incredulous, his hands tightening of their own accord around Lindsay's
shoulders.

"Your friend
Corie's
father is a vicar?"

Her quick nod almost made him start to laugh again, but
not out of humor. Would this beautiful slip of a woman never cease to amaze
him? Or frustrate him?

"And
Corie's
a
smuggler—no, forgive me, a fair trader?"

"Not anymore. Her husband made her promise—"

"Wonderful. A vicar's daughter and a baronet's
daughter up to their ears in contraband goods and fending off armed
excisemen
to boot. No wonder you're as reckless as you are
with such a paragon of virtue to lead you."

"
Corie
didn't lead me;
it was my choice to help her and I was glad to do it! Didn't you hear me? I
said she's no longer a fair trader. And I don't know why you're so upset about
how I spent my time-in
Porthleven
and—and you're
hurting me!"

Her outcry making him realize how tightly he held her,
Jared eased his grip on her shoulders but didn't release her.

Which was his second mistake.

His first was ordering her out into this narrow
passageway and standing so close to her that he could feel the sensual heat of
her body as if he held her in his arms, which was almost the case. And here he
had sworn when he'd sent Walker after her that he would have nothing to do with
her, intending to ignore the chit at all costs. Blast it to
hell,
that
he had failed so completely should alone be enough to upset him.

"I'm not upset," he muttered, lying through
his teeth. "I can't believe you involved yourself in such a dangerous
business, is all . . . though God knows you've surprised me enough times
already."

"And you're not involved in a dangerous business?"
came her surprisingly soft query after their spirited exchange, her voice alone
stirring him more than he cared to admit. "If I never see a merchantman
burn again, it will be too soon."