My Runaway Heart (37 page)

"We've no time for good-byes, Lindsay—you must go,"
her father urgently insisted as the footman opened the door.

Almost in a daze, Lindsay obeyed him, allowing herself
to give him only a quick, fierce hug before she found herself on the quay,
Corisande
rushing to her side.

"Lindsay, come! I don't know how long before
Donovan—"

Corisande
didn't finish,
instead grabbing Lindsay's arm as they both hurried up the gangplank, two sailors
dropping the heavy plank of wood to the dock as soon as they were safely
aboard. Everything was happening so fast, the sails flapping and swelling in
the stiff breeze, the
Fair Betty
slipping away from the quay while Oliver shouted commands to his
men, that
Lindsay felt the only thing steadying her was
Corisande's
reassuring presence at her side.

Her eyes filled, her chest aching at the sight of her
father sitting so alone in the carriage, but when he lifted his hand in
farewell, somehow she managed a smile.

"We couldn't have come this far without him,"
Corisande
said softly, squeezing Lindsay's arm. "Gold,
enough muskets for an army, gunpowder—"

"Gunpowder!" Lindsay met
Corisande's
eyes, apprehension gripping her. "Dear God,
Corie
,
what have you planned?"

"It's a last resort, but we'll use it if we have
to. Oliver says it wouldn't take but a small cask or two to blow a hole in a
prison wall, no matter how thick."

"Oh, no, but that would mean a battle, wouldn't
it? Lord,
Corie
, I don't want any of his men to be
hurt or Oliver or you—what did you say about Donovan? And where's
Paloma
?"

"Safe with Frances and my sisters, so you needn't
worry for her, and Donovan's at
Arundale's
Kitchen.
The
tinners
staged a mine accident only an hour ago,
I hope convincing enough to keep him occupied until we're out of Mount's Bay—"

"Oh, Lord." Her knees suddenly gone weak,
Lindsay wasn't sure why she felt so distressed, but there were so many people
involved, so many people willing to risk their lives to help her, and if anything
should happen to a one of them . . .

"Lindsay, stop, I know what you're thinking."
She shook her head, her throat constricting as her father's carriage finally
rumbled away from the dock,
Porthleven
shrinking
farther into the distance as the
Fair Betty
forged south toward the Channel.

"No,
Corie
, I can't
allow you to do this for me—it's too dangerous—"

"Dangerous mostly for you, I fear. We'll be there
as a last resort, just as I said, but it's you with the largest part to play.
You're at the heart of this plan, Lindsay. Jared's life depends upon you."

Her hair whipping about her face, she looked at
Corisande
, her friend's brown eyes as somber as she had
ever seen them. But all Lindsay had to think of was the way Jared had stared at
her so intensely in his
cell,
and her heart began to
thunder.

"Tell me what I have to do."

***

With darkness heavy all around them save for the
lighted fortress at the distant crest of the hill, Lindsay swallowed hard.
Corisande
crawled closer to her friend, her voice barely
above a whisper.

"Remember, if anything goes
wrong,
find a window and scream, Lindsay, as loud as you can. We'll be waiting right
here to help you."

Flinching as a horse snorted, Lindsay nodded and
glanced behind her toward the copse of stunted trees where Oliver and a dozen
of his crew waited with their hired mounts and casks of gunpowder and muskets
primed and ready—and once again she was nearly overcome by the odds of any of
them escaping with their lives if something did go wrong. Yet she forced away
her daunting thoughts; every mile they had ridden from the inlet where the Fair
Betty lay anchored made her that much more determined to play her part, for she'd
been drawing closer and closer to Jared.

"All right, you'd best go. Whatever happens, we've
got to clear Plymouth harbor before dawn."

Lindsay didn't answer, simply squeezed
Corisande's
hand, and then she was on her feet and trudging
across rugged moorland that seemed to have been crafted to shelter a prison.

Her pulse pounding in her ears, she imagined it wouldn't
be long before she was spotted by guards, and she ruffled her hands through her
tangled hair one last time. She licked her dry lips, tasting the dirt she had
rubbed over her face and upon her pale blue satin gown,
Corisande
having used a knife to prick and tear at the hem to make it appear as if
Lindsay had stumbled through dense patches of brambles.

Even her bodice had been torn, revealing the white
curve of a breast, and she shivered at the cool night air, her cloak hanging
forlornly from one shoulder as if she were too weak to protect herself from the
elements. One slipper gone, she sucked in her breath as she stepped painfully
upon a bed of thistles, yet it only helped to remind her she must begin to
weave aimlessly and moan.

Her plaintive voice sounded eerie in such a desolate
place, but thankfully,
Dartmoor
Prison wasn't so far
removed from humanity that it would seem strange she was out wandering, lost
and helpless. Helpless, that is, except for the pistol strapped to her inner
thigh. The cool metal rubbing against her flesh every time she took a step
flooded her with chills.

"Stop! You, there, stop!"

She didn't stop, even though the guard's stern command
seemed to echo around her, soon taken up by a second man, who began to shout. It
was easy for her to tremble now as she continued to weave and even stumble,
dragging herself to her feet as the massive gates to
Dartmoor
Prison swung wide, men armed with muskets rushing toward her.

She stumbled again, hair falling across her face, hiding
the burning in her cheeks as the guards drew closer.

"Help me . . ." she
rasped,
her throat so tight with momentary fear that that was easy, too. "Please .
. . someone help me—"

"
Wot
the devil? It's a girl out here—and
lookin
' none the
better for it. Give me a hand, mate!" Lindsay dragged herself to her feet
as two men took her arms while five others gathered around; she didn't want
anyone to carry her, for they might discern her weapon. Instead she wrenched
desperately at her cloak as if trying to cover herself, sobs washing over her.

"Help me, please. I'm so cold . . . so cold."

"Didn't you hear her, mate?" the man who
supported her on the left side chided his grim-faced companion, shaking his
head with sympathy as he draped her cloak around her quaking shoulders. "God
in heaven, how could the wench have come to be out 'ere?"

"Wench?" scoffed the other while the rest of
the guards fell in behind them, scanning the darkness and keeping their muskets
lowered. "She's a lady, you
fool—
ain't
you
taken
a look at her
gown? The
warden'll
want to hear of this bit o' work,
you can be sure."

Lindsay's pulse beating faster as the huge gates closed
with a resounding thud behind them, she was thankful at least that all but her
two rescuers went back to their posts. She made herself keep moaning, the men
casting looks at each other above her head.

"Do you think the poor girl might be '
urt
? Should we send someone out for a physician?"

"Warden Harford should see her first. It's a
strange business, if you ask me, her being out there all alone—"

"I-I was riding . . . I fell, my horse . . .
oooh
, it hurts!"

"Cripes, mate, did you hear her? She's injured, I
swear! This'll put an end to the warden's supper party quick enough, and with
that Captain Billingsley and his officers come tonight to see after their
precious prisoners, too. You'd think we had Napoleon himself here at
Dartmoor
and not some bloody pirate!"

Captain
Billingsley?
In a panic, Lindsay tried to slow the guards' progress by
sinking to her knees, anything to buy herself some time, she thought
desperately. But they simply hoisted her back up between them and half carried
her through a doorway and into what appeared to be the warden's sumptuous
private quarters, the boisterous buzz of conversation coming from an opposite
room. Oh, Lord, oh, Lord, all it would take was for that pompous man to
recognize her and . . .

"Please, please, no farther," she begged,
emphasizing her plea with a ragged groan as she clutched at her side. "Let
me sit, please . . . it hurts so terribly."

"Over there, mate—can't you see we're only making
things worse? Set her down in the chair, gently, now, gently."

"C-Captain Billingsley . . . you did say
Billingsley, didn't you?" she asked in a piteous whisper, grabbing one of
the men's hands before he could walk away.

"Aye, miss, so I did. Do you know the gentleman?"

"Yes yes. Oh, please, send him to me. He's a
friend . . . a friend of my family's. Please bring him quickly! I fear . . .
oh, God, the pain . . . I fear I'm dying!"

The guards blanching white, they stumbled into each
other as they both hastened to oblige her, disappearing into the next room and
leaving Lindsay, at least for a moment, alone. Her heart wildly thundering, she
flew to the door and sought refuge behind it her hands trembling so badly she
feared she wouldn't retrieve the pistol from beneath her gown in time.

"An injured girl asking for me? Did she tell you
her name?"

Billingsley's arrogant voice carrying to her from the
dining room, Lindsay held her breath and began to pray. Please, please, may
they not think she was bluffing . . . She heard the chink of fine crystal and a
chair scrape, then footsteps approaching, annoyance emanating from Horatio
Billingsley as he stopped just beyond the door.

"What the devil is the meaning of this charade? There's
no girl here, not a soul. The damned room's empty—"

"Except for me, sir," Lindsay said hoarsely
as she reached up, grabbed the man's
collar
and thrust
the pistol against the base of his skull, just as Oliver
Trelawny
had instructed her to do. "Tell your men—everyone—to stay back or I will
shoot you. I swear it!"

Chapter 34

The air was still. The silence hung so heavily Lindsay
could hear only the pounding of blood in her veins. Finally Captain Billingsley's
subdued voice broke the charged spell.

"I believe she means what she says, gentlemen.
Stand away, give her room—"

"I do mean it!" Lindsay moved closer to her
captive, her back carefully against the wall. "Warden Harford. I want to
speak with Warden Harford!"

A portly, pink-faced fellow peeked around the corner,
eyeing her nervously. "You . . . you wish to see me?"

"The Phoenix, take me to him. Quickly!"

The fellow did, giving her as wide a berth as possible
in the small room, the two
guards
and half a dozen
ship's officers who had accompanied Captain Billingsley to
Dartmoor
attempting to follow the warden until Lindsay pressed the pistol deeper against
her captive's head. "Stay where you are, all of you. Just me, the
captain
and Warden Harford."

"Do as she says! Do as she says!" cried
Captain Billingsley.

Lindsay felt a rush of unease, but she could not allow
herself to drop her facade. She only had to remember how brutally Jared had
been treated aboard the H.M.S.
Clementine
,
and she found more than enough determined resolve to allay any pity. As they
left the warden's quarters and moved into the prison yard, Lindsay continued to
keep her back to the wall and the pistol firmly upon the captain, lest anyone
doubt her intentions. A tense hush had settled over the place, the warden gesturing
frantically for guards to lower their muskets and stand away as his little
group walked to a nearby stone building with tiny barred openings for windows.

"He's in here, miss," Warden Harford said
nervously, once more leading the way as they went inside.

"And his men?"

"All together in the same cell—the lot of
them,
miss."

Lindsay felt a shiver as they passed cell after cell
from which stark, astonished faces stared out at her, but she kept her eyes
riveted upon the two men in front of her, her hand firmly grasping Captain
Billingsley's collar, Oliver's stern warning ringing in her ears.

"Where is he? Where?" she demanded an
interminable moment later, when it seemed they had passed a hundred cells, her
face grown flushed, her nerves taut, her fingers cramped around the pistol. And
then she saw him, Jared rising to his feet and staring at her in utter
amazement while his men gathered openmouthed behind him, only Walker Burke with
the wryest smile on his face.

"Unlock that cell—quickly!"

Warden Harford was so desperate to oblige that he
grabbed the ring of rattling keys from an ashen-faced guard and released the
prisoners himself. Lindsay's legs had become so shaky she doubted she could
have gone another step. At once the cell door flew open, Jared and his men
spilling out. But what amazed her was how silent and grim they were. Even
Walker had become somber.

"Give me the pistol, Lindsay."

Jared's hand covered hers, and she was only too glad to
relinquish the deadly weapon, his touch alone filling her with such
overwhelming relief that she truly thought her knees might give way. Almost in
a daze, she watched as Walker, Cowan,
Cooky
and the
others disarmed the guards standing near and shoved them into the cell. Then
Jared lowered the pistol to Captain Billingsley's chest.