The Daredevil Snared (The Adventurers Quartet Book 3) (20 page)

“Now.” Gemma bustled up and dropped two empty baskets—the woven baskets the children used to ferry the ore from the mine—beside the small pile of reclaimed ore, the ore the girls had discarded but that the women considered worth a closer look. “We need to get this lot over to the shed.”

Several of the girls gathered around and helped load the small pile into the two baskets.

“Allow us.” Lascelle stepped in to pick up one basket, and Caleb gripped the handles of the other.

Caleb watched as Katherine and Gemma confirmed that the children should tidy up their tools and take themselves off; although the light was still good, it was, apparently, the end of the children’s day.

Katherine glimpsed the question in his eyes as she turned toward him and the shed. “They can’t work much longer without starting to make mistakes. Dubois saw the sense in having them work only through the hours during which they perform well. If he pushes them harder, we—the women—just end up redoing the sorting, which takes us away from cleaning the stones.”

Caleb nodded; he hefted the basket and fell in beside her. Together with Lascelle and the other women, they walked back to the shed. The men followed the women in and, at Harriet’s direction, set the baskets down at the end of the long table.

Slipping onto her stool, Harriet caught Katherine’s eye and waved her away. “Except for just now, you’ve been in here all day—it’s your turn for a break. Go for a walk. We can handle the discards.”

Katherine hesitated, but the other women added their encouragement. They took care to spell each other—a concession she’d argued hard to gain them and one they took care to consistently exercise. “Very well. I’ll take a turn about the compound.”

Lascelle saluted the women. “Ladies.” Smoothly, he turned to the door.

Caleb sent a grin around the table, swept the women a bow, then turned to trail Katherine as she went outside. He ducked through the door; as he straightened, he saw Lascelle nod to Katherine, then stroll off toward the men’s hut. Caleb grinned again. He went down the steps and halted beside Katherine, where she’d paused as if debating which way to turn; she looked up, into his face, as he joined her.

He smiled and tried to keep his delight within bounds. “Do you mind if I join you on your walk?”

Faint color tinged her cheeks, but she replied, “No, of course not.” After an instant’s hesitation, she added, “I would be glad of your company.”

He turned his grin into a grimace. “I would offer you my arm, but I’m filthy.” Raising his gaze, he swiftly scanned the segment of the compound he could see. Somewhat to his surprise, he noticed several other groups—men in twos and threes, as well as Jed and Annie—ambling about, hands clasped behind their backs, heads down as they chatted, for all the world as if they were taking the air in some park. “I see it’s the local hour for promenading.”

Katherine gave a soft laugh.

He looked down at her. “Which way? Do we meekly follow the established pattern”—all the others were moving clockwise—“or strike boldly out on our own?”

This time her laugh was more definite. “Why not? We could set a new fashion.”

On the words, she stepped out, heading in a counterclockwise direction toward the mine entrance. As he settled to pace beside her, she murmured, “There is another purpose to our promenades. We check the palisade as we go around. We’ve noticed a few sections where the vines used as binding are starting to fray.”

Caleb nodded. “I see.” They neared the mine entrance and swung to pass between the fire pit and the men’s hut. “One thing I still find curious is Dubois’s...for want of a better term, leniency.” He caught her gaze as she glanced up. “Does he really believe the adults need breaks from their toils in order to remain healthy enough to work?”

She looked ahead. They’d walked several paces before she replied, “Our health is just Dubois’s excuse—the one he gives if anyone asks.”

“And his real reason?”

“Is more to do with encouraging attachments—friendships and relationships, like Annie and Jed. They announced their betrothal a few days ago. To Dubois, that’s just another weakness to exploit.”

“Ah.” Caleb felt his features harden. “That’s more the sort of thing I expected from him—a vile ulterior motive. So in his assessment, allowing us to develop affection for each other, on whatever level, adds more ammunition to his arsenal and consolidates his control over us.”

She inclined her head in wordless agreement.

They paced slowly past the gate and the pair of guards lounging to either side, then diverted to pass along the front of the women and children’s hut. Once they were out of range of the guards’ hearing, his gaze on the kitchen and storerooms ahead of them, Caleb debated, then decided he might as well take the bull by the horns. “Would you rather I kept my distance?” He felt her gaze, surprised, strike his face and looked down to meet it—openly, without any screen, without the slightest guile. “I’m not going to dissemble. I’m interested in you, and I hope, in time, you’ll come to be interested in me in the same way. But will that—my interest in you—increase the danger you face...?” Lost in the warm hazel of her eyes, he paused, then forced himself to say, “For instance, as it did in the jungle the other day?”

She held his gaze for a moment longer, then swiftly searched his face. Then she looked forward. They walked on in silence for several minutes, skirting the front of the open-air kitchen and the large supply hut beside it.

Katherine felt awash on a tide of emotions. She couldn’t disbelieve the evidence of her own eyes, could not doubt the sincerity of the message she’d read—been allowed to read—in the vibrant blue of his. His “interest” was real; the recognition had set her heart beating significantly faster. Her lungs felt constrained, her breathing restricted, as if she were wearing stays cinched too tight instead of no stays at all.

But his question was genuine, too. And so she’d swallowed the impulse to brazenly assure him that his interest was entirely reciprocated and she most definitely returned his regard.

His question was pertinent—the danger he alluded to clear and present.

And yet...

This was not a situation she’d ever dreamed of facing. Again, she felt as if Fate was challenging her in order to test her true worth.

In the end, as they passed sufficiently beyond the base of the guard tower so no one could overhear their words, she drew in a deep breath and said, “We can never predict the future.”

She glanced sideways and saw that he’d bent his head and was pacing alongside, his hands clasped behind his back. She sensed he was listening to her with the same focused attention she’d come to expect of him. “We—here and now—cannot be certain how much future we might have. And although I understand Dubois’s reasoning, and that he sees affections and relationships as weaknesses, in my experience, affection, and relationships based on that, can bolster one through the worst of times.” She tipped up her chin. “In my view, relationships don’t make one weak.” She gestured, searching for the right words to explain her view. “They may create a...vulnerability one wouldn’t otherwise have, but even purely in the sense of shared purpose, of having shared goals, they give one so much more.” The right words suddenly glowed in her mind. “They give one a reason for living. A reason and a future to fight for.”

“Indeed.” From the corner of her eye, she saw his dark head nod. His deep voice held a conviction she hadn’t expected as he went on, “I agree. Relationships are like internal armor—they impart strength, an inner fortitude, and courage. Potentially boundless, limitless courage. But your description is exactly right—relationships give one a future to fight for.”

He glanced at her then, met her wondering gaze.

For an instant, she felt weightless, as if she’d pitched into some emotional void, and then he—his blue eyes, the solid certainty she saw in them—caught her and steadied her.

She felt breathless again. Pulling her gaze from his, she looked forward. How could this be happening—and so very quickly? She wasn’t fool enough to pretend not to recognize what
this
was. No long, gentle courtship with glances exchanged across a drawing room and a protracted period of meeting each other in social company, no extended preliminaries; they were simply here, already talking about a relationship.

And it was already a reality taking shape between them.

No wonder she felt giddy.

Yet...something in her responded to him. To his honesty in reaching so directly, clear-headedly, and openly for what he wanted. For not dissembling and playing society’s games.

“I believe,” she said, and wondered where the words that burned the tip of her tongue truly came from...from some inner self she’d long been aware of, yet only now—with him, in response to him—had that inner self emerged, “that when Fate deigns to offer something one wants, it’s better to take what’s offered when it’s offered, rather than let the chance slide by in the expectation—the assumption—that the chance will come again. Because taking Fate for granted is never a wise move, and she might not let that particular chance come your way again.”

She glanced at him. “So my considered opinion is that, if Fate offers us a chance we want, we should seize it regardless of any potential repercussions.” She waited until he met her eyes to brazenly ask, “What do you think?”

The smile that curved his lips, that lit the brilliant blue of his eyes and made them sparkle, was the definition of irrepressible. “As anyone who knows me will attest, I’m the very last person to play cautious.”

Reading his expression, she accepted that as truth, yet still, she arched her brows. “Not even in this? Many men would not agree.”

“
Especially
in this.” His jaw firmed. “And I am not like many other men.”

That was certainly true; there was an openheartedness to Caleb Frobisher, and a readiness to meet life and whatever life threw at him with a grin and the confidence to succeed come what may, that was, if not unique, then rare.

Regardless of their surroundings, despite the murkiness of any potential future, feeling blessed by Fate, Kate—
Katherine
—accepted the challenge, took the plunge, and disregarding the dust covering his clothes, she slid her hand into the crook of his arm and felt steely muscles tense beneath her touch. “So,” she said, shaking back the wisps of hair that had come loose from her bun to dangle about her face, “tell me who Caleb Frobisher is.”

He studied her face for a moment, then he shifted his arm into a more comfortable position and closed his other hand over hers on his sleeve. “Did I mention I’m the youngest of four brothers?”

“How much younger? And what do the other three do?”

They strolled on, circling the compound a second time while he answered her questions, and she answered a few of his.

CHAPTER 12

For the next three days, little of significance changed within the camp. The men labored in the mine. Those working in the first tunnel kept the actual mining to a steady pace, the lack of escalation excused by the limited number of picks and shovels. Meanwhile, Caleb, Lascelle, and their crews worked alongside the carpenters widening and shoring up the second tunnel—again restrained by the even more limited number of picks and shovels that could be spared to them.

More, after the first day, the lumber started to run low. By the end of the second day, those working in the second tunnel could no longer move ahead due to a lack of the large beams necessary to frame the tunnel. They busied themselves putting in supporting struts and braces along the first yards, while Dixon champed at the proverbial bit, frustrated because he wanted to push farther so he could size the deposit and reassure them all.

Given the limitations caused by the lack of implements and lumber, the captives saw no need to use any of the delaying tactics they’d explored and assessed. Dixon, assisted by Hillsythe, Fanshawe, and Hopkins, had evaluated the possibilities put forward and decided on a shortlist of those actions most likely to support their cause. At Caleb’s suggestion, they took advantage of the days before Arsene returned to make any preparations necessary to put their delaying tactics into effect.

Arranging for the lamp oil to run low was high on their list. They needed a place to secrete oil—somewhere out of sight of the guards. The dim far reaches of the first tunnel, beyond the area still being mined, was the obvious place. In between using their shovels to scoop shattered rock into the children’s baskets, those wielding the shovels—assisted by the children who kept their eyes peeled for any guards—slipped into the shadows at the rear of the tunnel and dug a pit. Shovel full by shovel full. Once it was deemed deep enough, they refilled the pit with sufficient loose rock to hide its existence. But by initially using large slab-like rocks propped at angles, creating spaces between, then covering all with smaller fist-sized rocks, they left plenty of space for oil, when poured through the upper level, to pool in the depths of the pit.

By the morning of the third day, when the leaders had inspected the pit and congratulated everyone concerned, the company was feeling ready for the challenge to come, buoyed by the simple fact of having taken some definite action toward their own relief.

Also during those three days, Caleb, Lascelle, Jed, and two other men who’d been apprenticed to blacksmiths in their youth stopped by the cleaning shed whenever they were free. As long as no patrolling guards were near, they worked on the women’s chisels and hammers, taking care to weaken only a few and each in a different way. They also didn’t want the tools to fail too soon—another issue they had to juggle. They worked out their best approach and did what they could, but couldn’t go too far.

More covertly yet, Caleb, Lascelle, Hillsythe, Fanshawe, Hopkins, and Dixon concluded that they might eventually need something akin to a small disaster to slow production down. Something along the lines of weakening the second tunnel and causing a cave-in, but that was such a desperately dangerous proposition they decided to keep the notion strictly to themselves.

“The problem,” Caleb said, as he strolled beside Katherine in the softer light of the late afternoon, an exercise that had quickly become a part of their daily routine, “is that from what Dixon’s seen of the second deposit, he’s convinced it’s going to yield many more diamonds per foot of tunnel, and they’ll be larger, too, and hence more valuable.”

Her arm twined with his, Katherine frowned. “Isn’t that good? For us, I mean.”

“Good as far as it goes. Whoever’s behind this enterprise, they, and certainly our mysterious backers, are in it for the money. They’re greedy for wealth, and the second tunnel looks set to offer them that and more. So opening up the second tunnel and demonstrating that there’s untold wealth there for the taking will be the most effective way of keeping the mine open. If we present it correctly—
and
keep production up—they’ll argue and fight to keep the mine operational and everyone here alive.”

“To keep us working and producing the diamonds.”

“Exactly. Dubois might be a cold-blooded killer, but he’s consistently demonstrated that he’s pragmatic to the nth degree—as long as he needs us to work the mine, he’ll do whatever is necessary to preserve his workforce, meaning us, in sound and effective condition.” He paused, then admitted, “Truth be told, that he is so amazingly devoid of the usual weakness that afflicts mercenary captains—namely seizing short-term gains rather than holding out for long-term riches—makes him more of a threat in my eyes. That quality of cold calculation is, no doubt, what has allowed him to thrive in this business for so long—and why his men obey him without question.”

She huffed a cynical laugh. “It’s ironic, isn’t it? Without Dubois, we wouldn’t be here, and yet now we are here, it’s because of him that we are, relatively speaking, safe.”

Caleb snorted.

Arm in arm, they strolled on, then she glanced frowningly at his face. “You said that the second tunnel having more diamonds was somehow a problem. How so?”

He grimaced lightly. “Dixon’s uneasy over the size of the deposit. He can’t yet see far enough to even guess how many diamonds the second pipe contains, and how spread out they are, which is the critical factor in determining how long it will take us to mine out the deposit. And in terms of us surviving until the rescue force arrives,
that
is the critical question. Dixon equates the likelihood of discovering a third pipe as akin to lightning striking twice, so effectively, the second pipe is all we have to see us through. An added complication is that once Arsene returns with the extra picks and shovels and more timber, the work will ramp up—those working on the first deposit will soon mine it out, although we’re hoping that by then, we’ll have the second tunnel fully open.”

Caleb paused to draw breath. “And
that’s
the point at which we’ll know whether lasting until September is going to be a simple exercise or whether we’ll have to manufacture delays. Not having enough of a deposit to stretch the distance output-wise is one potential scenario. Another is that the diamonds are there in sufficient quantity, but are too concentrated and too easy to mine, so the output will escalate, and again, the deposit won’t last long enough. Both those scenarios will require us to act, either to slow the mining itself in some believable way or, in the second case, perhaps to allow the mining to proceed, but to hide the diamonds so we can feed them out at a slower rate.”

“Yet it could be that the second deposit is both large enough and spread out enough that mining it will take more than enough time.”

“True. But that’s the best-case scenario.”

Katherine glanced at him. “And you’re not inclined to place your faith in the best-case scenario?”

He pulled a face. “Let’s just say that I’m more comfortable making contingency plans.”

She smiled, but all levity faded as she envisaged how anything other than the best-case scenario might play out. “As long as the backers are satisfied with the flow of raw diamonds, Dubois is unlikely to concern himself. Which in turn means that as long as we can keep the number and quality of the diamonds sent out to the coast sufficiently high, he’s not going to be overly exercised by any temporary holdups.”

Caleb nodded. Several paces on, he mused, “I’m sure Dubois knows, or at least guesses, that we’re plotting and planning, but as long as we don’t test him—as long as we make no overt bid to escape and keep working, and the diamonds going out satisfy his masters—he really doesn’t care. His men maintain absolute control over the perimeter, and while that’s in place, he knows there’s no point worrying about what we might be up to. We can’t get out, and he has immediate access to effective hostages should we ever attempt a challenge. As far as he can see, we’re no threat and never will be. All of which is true. For us, there is no way out of here
unless
some force attacks from outside—and even then, with so many hostages, Dubois believes he’ll always have the upper hand.”

“Still,” she murmured, “if we’re forced to act to influence production, we can’t afford to have him guess that we’re doing so.”

“That we’re manipulating him?” Caleb’s grin took on an edge. “No. We need to ensure he never has any firm evidence of that. He might suspect, but he won’t act on suspicion—he still needs us to keep working the mine. As long as there’s nothing overt—as long as we do nothing that forces him to confront the reality that we’re managing him—he’ll leave us be.”

“But if he does find out...” She shivered.

Caleb unwound their arms, looped his arm about her, and drew her against his side.

The medical hut was near; he steered their steps in that direction. He glanced at her and caught her eye. “There’s no sense worrying—we all know the score, that we have to keep our activities hidden.”

He guided her into the dense shadow at the side of the hut, then halted, leaned his shoulders against the plank wall, and drew her to stand before him.

Resting her hands lightly on his chest—an innocent, all but absentminded touch he felt to his marrow—she studied his face. Then in a transparent bid to lighten their mood—to turn to a happier subject—she demanded, “Tell me about your home. Does your family live in Aberdeen?”

He grinned. “No.” Settling his hands comfortably about her waist, he held her gaze. “Our business—the shipping company—operates out of Aberdeen, but home is a manor house at Banchory-Devenick. That’s about two miles west...” He paused. Her eyes had widened, her brows rising. “What?”

“I know the place—not the house but the village.” She held his gaze. “I was born not far away.”

“Oh? Where?”

Katherine studied his eyes, drank in the uncomplicated interest that was evident even through the shadows. She tended to keep her background private, but it was no real secret, and she wasn’t ashamed of any of it. “Fortescue Hall. It’s just outside Stonehaven—on the coast about fifteen miles south of Aberdeen.”

His eyes flared. “You’re a local!”

She couldn’t help but smile at his open delight. Yet she felt forced to continue, “Although I was born at the Hall, my father was a younger son, so we lived in a house in the town, in Arbuthnott Place. And later, after he died, my mother and I moved to a small cottage on Mary Street.”

There was nothing deficient about Caleb Frobisher’s understanding; his features sobered and the expression in his eyes grew more intent. “Your father left debts?”

His tone held no pity, just a simple wish to know.

She nodded. “My mother had broken with her family in order to marry him, and although my grandmother—my father’s mother—always stood ready to help, my mother refused to live on charity. She was a gifted needlewoman, so she became a sempstress specializing in fine embroidery, mostly, of course, for the local gentry.” Which had ensured that she, as the daughter of their sempstress, was forever excluded from the social circles into which she’d been born.

She drew in a breath and lifted her chin. “When Mama died, I had the option of living as a poor relation with any of several connected families, but I decided I was too much my mother’s daughter.” She smiled somewhat wryly at her memories and met his gaze. “I saw an advertisement in
The Times
for the position of a governess with a family located in Freetown, so I went to London and applied, and ultimately, that’s how I came to be here. Dubois decided he needed someone to oversee the children, so he asked Kale to get him a governess.”

For one instant, his expression was—unusually for him—difficult to read, then he grimaced. “On the one hand, I wish Kale had chosen someone else. On the other”—his blue eyes held hers—“if he had, I wouldn’t have met you.”

And I would never have met you.
She could feel the connection between them—new, growing, still fragile, yet quite tangibly there... “Truth be told, I’m not sorry Kale seized me—there’ve been times I’ve been glad, even grateful, that I’ve been here for the children.”

“Like Diccon.”

She nodded. “Although I had no siblings, I grew up with tribes of cousins, which is why I chose to be a governess—because I liked children and knew how to deal with them.”

She lowered her gaze to her hands, to where they rested splayed on his chest. Through the thin linen of his shirt, she could feel the warmth of his body impinging on her fingers and palms, seducing her senses. If they’d been in some more normal place, she would have felt compelled to break the illicit contact—and step free of his grasp, away from the hard hands that rested gently yet firmly about her waist.

But they were here, and this was now, so she looked up and met his eyes. “Tell me about your brothers—about you and them.”

Caleb smiled easily and proceeded to entertain her—and distract himself—with long-forgotten tales of the Frobisher brothers’ exploits. “Royd was always the leader, of course—and often there were far more in the group than just us four.”

There were so many tales to choose from, he rattled on, seeking to draw her smiles, and even more her laughter, yet his nerves were alive in a way they’d never been before, and something—a web woven of primitive instinctive interest and some more fundamental need—had wrapped about them and now held them.

As if they were trapped in that moment in time, in a place far removed from either of their homes, and so very far from the comfort of family—and there was some degree of visceral understanding they each had of the other that made each unique to the other...

Here. Now. Together in this place.

When he came to the end of his latest tale, he felt as if the weight of the moment had reached a peak that demanded he act.

His eyes remained on hers, her gaze locked with his. They’d been speaking not just with words but with their eyes for long minutes.

So it seemed natural, expected—certainly anticipated—when he slowly lowered his head...

At the last, she pressed her hands more firmly to his chest and stretched up—and their lips met.