Surrender the Stars (49 page)

"Higgins? Are you the watch?"

The seaman rushed over and saluted. "Yes, sir, Captain Coleraine! Are we going to set sail soon? Shall I alert the rest of the crew? Most of them are at the White Dog. When Captain Raveneau arrived this morning, I wanted to ask him, but—"

"Is Captain Raveneau on board?" Ryan cut in harshly.

"Yes, sir. He came a couple of hours ago with his son-in-law. They went below, then the other fellow came back up on deck and told me that the captain was tired from his journey and was going to sleep for a few hours. Said I shouldn't disturb him."

Struggling for control, Ryan pressed, "Higgins, do you know where Captain Raveneau's son-in-law went when he left here?"

"Yes, sir. I saw him rowing out to the
Lady Hester,
which was at anchor out in the harbor. I noticed that she set sail shortly after he came on board."

"Damn!" Coleraine raked a hand through his hair. "All right. Listen to me. It's imperative that we overtake that ship. I want you to go and tell Lindsay Raveneau to come aboard. Do you see her on the pier? Good. Then run to the White Dog and find Drew. The two of you gather as many of the crew as you can find and come straight back here. Understand?"

"Yes, sir!" His eyes agleam with excitement, Higgins scrambled to the rail and disappeared down the gangplank.

Dropping himself down through the hatch, Ryan's mind raced with confusion and concern. Why would Raveneau have stayed below after Harry's departure? As horrifying possibilities occurred to him, Ryan dashed down the gangway, praying that Lindsay took her time getting there.

The door to the captain's cabin was locked. When Coleraine's shouts brought no response, he kicked in the mahogany door. The cabin was in chaos: books and papers were everywhere. In the midst of the wreckage lay Raveneau, sprawled across his bunk at an awkward angle, his face drained of color. A large red stain spread over the front of his shirt.

"Oh, Christ." Ryan groaned. "Andre, can you hear me?" He took the older man's face in his hands.

"Ryan." The word was barely audible, but Raveneau's eyes opened for a moment. "Help."

"You're damned right. You'll be fine, just fine." His strong fingers were busy as he spoke, ripping the linen shirt away from Andre's chest to expose the wound.

"Oh, my God!" Lindsay cried from the doorway. "What has he done to Papa?"

"Get me some water," Ryan instructed over his shoulder. "And soap. Hurry!"

Somehow, she gathered her wits and obeyed. As Ryan gently washed the blood away, Lindsay stared down at her father and swallowed hot, bitter tears. "Papa? Can you hear me?"

His fingers moved against her clutching hand. "Shh,
cherie
," he whispered.

"He's been stabbed, but fortunately the wound is near the shoulder," Ryan said. "Of course, if we hadn't arrived, he would have bled to death, which is doubtless exactly what Harry expected. We should remove him to an inn where a physician can look after him."

"No." Raveneau's voice was clearer. "I'm going... with you. Just need to heal."

Ryan finished cleaning the wound, then bandaged it with strips of linen. He and Lindsay removed Andre's boots, eased him onto the bunk, and then she sat on the edge, holding her father's hand.

"Papa, you cannot go to sea in this condition!"

Slowly, he opened his slate-gray eyes. "Surgeon—Treasel—will look after me."

"We don't even know if Treasel has remained in Falmouth with the crew," Ryan pointed out.

"Look, then," he advised evenly.

As it turned out, Treasel was among those who were boarding the ship, and after examining the captain, he agreed that the sea voyage would probably do him no harm as long as he stayed in his bunk. The wizened surgeon had served under Raveneau for thirty-five years and assured them that the captain had survived worse crises than this. There was no time for Ryan to argue. He left Lindsay to deal with her father and went above to speed their departure along. This crime against Raveneau intensified a hundredfold Ryan's determination to overtake Brandreth and Chadwick. He burned inside with an outraged fury that surpassed any anger he had ever felt before. Ryan wanted more than justice: He hungered for revenge.

* * *

Lindsay came up behind Ryan on the quarterdeck as he leaned against the rail. His hair was ruffled lightly in the salty breeze, but the muscles of his thighs flexed against his buckskin breeches, betraying his tension.

"The stars are beautiful tonight," Lindsay remarked, resting her head against his shoulder.

"Are they? I hadn't noticed. I just keep hoping that if I stare at the sea long enough, that damned ship will materialize."

The rage in his voice made her uneasy. "Ryan, I know how you feel. I'm angry, too. I could kill Harry myself for what he's done to Papa." Pausing, Lindsay covered one of his hands that clenched the rail. "However, I am
not
angry with you!"

His distraction was such that it took a few moments for her meaning to sink in. Then his body relaxed suddenly as he exhaled and turned to take her in his arms. "I'm sorry. You've been through so much yourself today. Forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive. I understand." They shared a bittersweet kiss, then Lindsay basked in the solid comfort of his embrace for a long moment before she spoke again. "Papa awoke a little while ago. I think you'll feel better if you speak to him."

His eyes widened. "Let's go, then." They walked toward the hatch together, arm in arm, stopping to speak to Drew at the wheel. "I'm going below for a bit. Can you manage?"

"Yes, sir, I'm fine." The young man bit his lip, then blurted out, "Why don't you steal a few hours sleep, Captain? You could use it, I'll wager, and you can trust me to keep to the course you've charted."

"A very wise suggestion!" Lindsay exclaimed before Ryan could answer. "Come along, Captain Coleraine."

Below decks, Raveneau's cabin was bathed in the lantern's glow and he lay against snowy pillows on his wide bunk. Ryan went straight to his side, drew up a chair, and took Andre's hand.

"Are you feeling any better, sir?"

"Some." He smiled weakly. "Treasel insists on giving me laudanum for the pain, but I wanted to speak to you beforehand. Might not wake again until we're in Galway Bay!" His eyes twinkled first at Ryan, then moved to Lindsay, who was perched near his feet. "Want to thank you both. So grateful."

Tears shone in Ryan's eyes as he nodded. "I'm going to take care of this for you, sir."

Raveneau studied the younger man for a moment, then murmured, "Harry's not worthy of your vengeance. Don't lower yourself."

"I don't want you to tire yourself, sir, but can you tell us briefly how all this came about? When I left the house, you were asleep, and I would have thought that Harry and Chadwick would have been far away from London by that time."

"They traveled separately. Harry waited until the house was dark. Came for my charts of ports. I interrupted him, said they were here, on ship. He couldn't leave me there to sound the alarm, so he brought me to show him where they were. I didn't give him trouble because I hoped to get Chadwick, too."

Lindsay fetched a cup of water and Ryan helped Andre sip it. "Can you go on, Papa?"

He nodded. "Harry meant to get the charts and sell them to the spy without telling Chadwick. Greedy fool. Chadwick never knew I was with Harry. We came on board, then down here. I pretended to show him where the charts were hidden, but meant to hit him over the head with a whiskey bottle. Turned, saw me."

"And he stabbed you?" Lindsay cried in outrage. "And left you to die? Vile, contemptible coward!"

Raveneau lifted his brows with a suggestion of amusement. "Very true. Last thing I remember before Ryan's voice was seeing Harry ripping things apart in search of the charts."

"Did he get them?" Ryan asked tersely.

"Look in sea chest. They were at the bottom."

"Never mind," Lindsay said sadly. "I cleaned the cabin while you slept, Papa, and put everything back in your sea chest. It was empty when we arrived. The charts are gone."

Andre's eyes met Ryan's. "Have to get them. I've made notations on them that could prove dangerously useful to that damned Cockburn and his British navy."

"We'll retrieve them, sir, I can promise you that. And I mean to make Brandreth—and Chadwick—pay for the suffering they've caused."

"How far ahead?" Raveneau asked, wincing with pain.

"Three, maybe four hours, I'd guess." A muscle moved in Ryan's jaw. "Not far enough, that much is certain!"

Lindsay had gone to fetch Treasel, who now appeared with a stoppered bottle of laudanum. Raveneau sighed in surrender, then glanced at his daughter. "You need sleep, too. Both of you. Good night."

* * *

The next day passed swiftly for Lindsay as she alternately sat with her father, whose laudanum-induced sleep continued, and dashed up on deck to talk to Ryan and take in the shipboard activity. To her surprise, she found that she felt invigorated by the ocean and the pervasive atmosphere of adventure. The sensation of
La Mouette
slicing through the sapphire waves as she was pushed onward by the wind that filled her sails excited Lindsay as it never had before.

Ryan continued to brood, though he was tender with her. In deference to her father's presence, they had slept apart in their former cabins and Lindsay missed him sorely. She missed the warm shelter of his arms during the night, but now that they were awake, she missed his laughter. Her father had been right when he spoke of vengeance. It was having an unpleasant effect on Ryan.

At dusk, she took bread, cheese, and wine up to the quarterdeck, and they leaned against the carved rail together, eating and drinking slowly. When the food was gone, Ryan poured the rest of the wine into their mugs and gazed pensively out over the violet-tinted ocean.

"Would you care to see Ireland?" he asked quietly after several minutes of silence.

"Yes, of course!"

He picked up the brass telescope and handed it to Lindsay, who squinted next to the eyepiece, then cried, "I see land!"

"That's Toe Head. We're nearing the southwestern corner of Ireland, but there's still a long way to go. Galway is a good distance up the western coast."

"I've always wanted to go to Ireland." She looked at him with shining eyes.

"This visit doesn't promise to be very enjoyable, angel."

Lindsay studied his rakish profile in the twilight, realizing that Ryan's mood had altered. He seemed almost melancholy now. Softly, she ventured, "You miss it, don't you?"

He closed his eyes and sighed. "I suppose I do. It's been so long that I haven't allowed myself to think much about Ireland. I supposed that it was behind me and that I had a new home in America, but—"

"We can never leave the past completely behind," Lindsay finished for him. "Ireland is in your blood, Ryan! I wish that you would tell me about it."

"Ireland?" He tasted the word rather tentatively. "Yes, I should tell you. It's time you knew." His eyes were far away as he continued, "Ireland's rather a magical place. I'm from an area known as Connemara, which stretches across west Galway to the rocky edge of the Atlantic. There, where the sea is wild, I lived until I went away to Oxford." Ryan paused, remembering. "Connemara is truly an ancient Gaelic kingdom—bogland, mountains, and dramatic views of the ocean. It seems timeless, and rather haunted and mystical. English has spread over most of the rest of Ireland, but in Connemara everyone still speaks Erse, the mother tongue, and the old ways live on."

"It sounds wonderful!" Lindsay breathed.

"Ireland is different from America, or even England. It's rugged and intense. You've never seen greener hillsides or bluer skies or steeper cliffs overlooking a more violent ocean. It's beautiful, but not in a relaxing way. Ireland makes one feel
alive."
He gave her a sidelong, ironic smile. "Not a breeding ground for gentlemen, I fear."

"Ryan, you
do
miss it! Why did you ever leave?"

"Part of me misses home, but it's always with me—in my blood. As a child, I used to stand on those staggering cliffs above the ocean and dream of going away to see the rest of the world. I was never fit for a life in the same village, seeing the same people all one's life. There's a great deal to be said for settling in and being content with one's lot, but it's simply not in my nature." Sensing the sudden whirl of Lindsay's thoughts, Ryan laughed softly and slipped an arm around her waist. "I think my wandering days are over, angel. Right now, that's the least of our worries. There's something else I need to tell you now that you've drawn me out this far."

"I'm glad. Remember our promise to confide in one another?" When he looked down at her with concern in his blue eyes, Lindsay knew a twinge of alarm. "Ryan, whatever it is, I'll understand!"

"I hardly know where to begin." He glanced heavenward. "You know that I have always regarded my early years as part of a different life, one that I left behind when I sailed for America..."

"Ryan, if you're ashamed of your origins—"

"That's not quite it. I wasn't raised in a bog gnawing on raw potatoes. The truth is... my parents were the Marquess and Marchioness of Clifden." Seeing Lindsay's expression of astonishment, he hastened to add, "That doesn't mean quite so much as it might in England. Titled Irishmen are thought of as the bastards of British peerage, but it is a far cry from poverty. The first marquess, Hugh Coleraine, was given his title by Elizabeth. What he did to earn it remains a subject for debate, but it was whispered that his contribution was amorous rather than heroic. He built a rather modest castle overlooking the sea to the west and the village of Clifden to the south, and it was there that I was born. We had a large home in Galway, too, where my mother took me for months out of each year."

"Ryan, were you the only child?" Lindsay asked dazedly.

"No. I have a brother, Blake, fifteen years my elder. He had been groomed to become the marquess long before my birth, and when my father died when I was eight, the title passed to Blake. All I remember about my father is the sound of his raised voice. He and Mother argued, it seemed to me, all the time. After he died, we spent most of our time in the city of Galway. Blake loved Clifden Castle, loved Connemara, and was perfectly content to settle down there to raise his family. I, on the other hand, never quite felt welcome after Father's death and left for Oxford as soon as I was admitted. Mother died not long after, while I was in my first year at Christ Church." Ryan swallowed the rest of his wine, thinking back. "Blake was always very kind to me, the model brother, yet I never felt easy in his household. There were always undercurrents that I couldn't quite explain...."