Capture The Wind (16 page)

Philippe would be wondering where she was, and why she had not arrived in New Orleans yet, and oh, heaven forbid if he tried to contact her father! Papa would be beside himself with worry and grief. If he heard that his only daughter had fallen into the hands of pirates
 . . .
She spared a moment of prayer for Captain Turnower and the ill-fated crew of the
Scrutiny
before reflecting that their deaths had at least spared her father the knowledge of his daughter’s fate. It would be some time before anyone knew what had happened to the
Scrutiny,
she was certain. Perhaps she would be able to get a message to Philippe before he began to worry badly enough to contact Papa.

Yes. Though she deplored the method, she saw Dylan’s attentions to Emily as possible freedom. Pirates had no compunction whatsoever in impressing their will on helpless victims, so she saw no need to spare a moment’s guilt at what she contemplated. All she had to do was convince Emily of that fact. It should be easy enough. They had little to lose if Captain Saber really did intend to hold them hostage or sell them. And there was little she would put past him.

She lifted her head and focused her gaze on Emily. Some judicious warnings of dire fate would be all that was necessary. Once they were free, she could ease her conscience.

And besides—it may be their only chance to escape.

Kit slammed his closed fist
against the rail. “Bloody hell,” he muttered softly. The bird perched on his shoulder echoed the sentiment with warbling cheer, digging talons deeper into the bunched linen of his shirt. Kit gently detached the talons and swung Rollo to his forearm.

“Yes,” Turk said, “I agree with your sentiment. It will be most inconvenient to journey to America. Are you certain of your information?”

Opening his closed fist, Kit held up a crumpled sheet of paper. “If I believe this communiqué from Gabriel, yes. He’s never been wrong before, though I seem to be always a day or two too late.”

The last was said bitterly, and Turk nodded. After a moment, the tall giant remarked, “A rather coincidental meeting, in my opinion. Rather like the taking of the
St. Denis,
when Gabriel was aboard.”

Kit smiled faintly. “Gabriel does have a flair, does he not? He is the most excellent spy I have ever employed. If anyone can find her, he can. And does so consistently.”

“Kit,” Turk said after a moment of silence, “has it occurred to you that perhaps she does not wish for you to find her? That these near misses are deliberate instead of coincidental?”

Rollo muttered something obscene, and Kit stroked the bright feathers with two fingers, focusing on the bird for a moment. Occurred to him? Oh yes. And more than once. Constantly would better describe it. Yet what else could he do? He’d find the bitch, whether she wanted it or not. And he’d find the truth when he did, even if it was not the truth he wanted.

He looked up. “Yes. I have considered that. And it doesn’t matter.”

Turk looked over the rail at the ship now barely visible on the far horizon. The
St. Denis’
s sails caught dying rays of sunlight and turned pink, a rosy mirage against the dark blue of the water. “I can only hope,” he said quietly to Kit, “that the truth does not destroy you.”

A knock at the door barely preceded Dylan’s entrance. He wedged his head between door and jamb with impudent and obvious glee; a silky skein of black hair hung down, shimmering in the early morning light.

“Ladies, I have a surprise for you,” he announced without preamble. Angela exchanged a quick glance with Emily, who was curled up on one bunk reading
Camilla
by Fanny Burney. That Captain Saber possessed the novel at all had surprised Angela. She much preferred reading his books on theology and history, a rather extensive collection that surprised her even more. Now, Emily’s eyes widened, and she closed her novel with a decisive snap.

“What is it?” Angela asked cautiously, recalling Dylan’s last “surprise.” It had been a dead rat with two heads that one of the crewmen had encountered in the bilge area of the ship, an oddity that Dylan had been certain the two women would appreciate. He had been slightly disgruntled at their failure to value his efforts to entertain, and had loftily informed them that they “ain’t got no idea of what’s a right fair sight.” Angela had mulled over his assessment for a few moments before agreeing with Emily that Dylan’s idea of entertainment and theirs could not pass within a nautical league of one another.

Grinning, Dylan said, “Remember that bath you wanted?”

“That was three days ago.”

“Do you still want it or not?” he demanded. His brows lowered slightly. “’Cause if you changed your mind after all the trouble I went to—”

“Oh no,” Angela put in hastily, “we haven’t changed our minds at all. We’d just assumed a real bath to be an impossibility.”

“Damn near was,” Dylan said frankly. He stepped inside and leaned against the doorjamb, arms crossed over his bare chest. Today he wore a huge diamond earring in his lobe; it sparkled gaily in the sunlight streaming through the high portholes of their cabin. He grinned again. “Saber is having another one of his spells and ain’t in a great mood, so I had to do some kind of talking to get permission for you two to use his tub.”

“Spells?” Angela shifted uneasily. She hadn’t seen even a glimpse of Kit Saber in two days. Since depositing her in the new cabin, he had gone out of his way to avoid her. On the one occasion she’d encountered him, he had been even more brusque than normal. It left her feeling uneasy.

“What kind of spells?” she asked, wondering if Saber had fits of violence. It was not a comforting vision, and she was faintly relieved when Dylan assured them it had to do with a physical malady.

“Coughing,” he explained. “Sounds like he’s spitting up bits of lung. Smoke usually irritates it more. Or when we have wet weather.”

Angela was slightly intrigued to learn that the indomitable Captain Saber had any sort of weakness. Oddly, it made him more human and sympathetic.

“Is it a fatal illness?” Emily leaned forward and asked with wide eyes. Dylan shook his head.

“No. Sounds like it at times, ’specially when he’s in one of his worst spells, but Turk says it’s only a broom—bron-something condition. Not fatal or contagious. Now—do you ladies still want that bath?”

“Definitely.” Angela stood up. “Where shall we set the tub?”

Dylan studied her for a moment before saying, “In Saber’s cabin. And don’t give me that suspicious look. He ain’t there. He’s up on the quarterdeck with Mr. Buttons and Turk. This is the best time to do it, and if you refuse, it will be the last chance you get.”

With that frank decree hanging over her head, Angela had little choice but to concede. After all, Saber would hardly want to come to his cabin while she and Emily were there, would he? It seemed highly unlikely. And Dylan was promising to stand guard outside the door to keep away any “half-wits who don’t mind risking neck and back by disobeying Saber’s orders,” so it should be quite private.

To their mutual delight, Angela and Emily discovered that Dylan had also managed to acquire a jar of perfumed bath salts, two thick cotton towels, and a silk dressing gown for each of them. It would do no good, of course, to wonder to whom these items had once belonged. It might only mar the pleasure now, so Angela and Emily accepted them with gracious glee.

Dylan’s grin grew even wider. “I’m glad you’re being sensible ’bout this. I wasn’t sure. The green dressing gown is for you, Miss Angela. It goes with your eyes. And the pink”—he held out a rose-colored gown as if it were a sacred offering—“is for you, Miss Emily. I think it will look bloody swell on you.”

Emily accepted the silk dressing gown with a blush, and Dylan held it a shade too long before releasing it to her. Then he swept them a slight bow that was clumsy but enthusiastic before he closed the door and left them to the high-backed brass tub placed in the middle of the cabin. A tall black-lacquered Chinese screen had been placed at a discreet angle around the tub, and a brass bucket of hot water simmered on a brazier.

“You go first,” Angela offered, and Emily gave only a token protest. Circumstances had simplified their former relationship in a short time, and Angela thought little of performing the tasks of a ladies’ maid for Emily. She helped her unhook her gown, then placed it neatly over the back of a chair. In scant moments, Emily was sinking into the tub with a luxurious sigh of pleasure. Angela laughed.

“You’ve become a decadent creature, Emily. I don’t know if I shall be able to bear you much longer without reproof.”

There was a muted splash from behind the screen. “I know. Shocking, isn’t it? In less than a week, our lives have been changed forever.”

It was a daunting thought, and Angela was quiet for a moment before saying, “I suppose we must learn from our tribulations.”

“What do you suppose this particular tribulation is meant to teach us?” Emily asked to the accompaniment of more splashing. “I already knew about fear.”

Angela smiled. “Perhaps we’re meant to exercise our minds and think of a way to escape.”

“Escape?” Emily sounded uneasy. “I’m not that brave. I don’t think I should like the consequences if we fail. Didn’t you hear Dylan’s comments yesterday about captives who have tried escaping and been caught?”

“He was only trying to frighten us into cowering in our cabins and not asking anything of him that might be the least bit inconvenient,” Angela replied. “I’m not at all certain Saber would actually tie cannonballs to our waists and throw us overboard as Dylan claims pirates are accustomed to doing.”

“But are you certain that he wouldn’t?”

That question gave her pause. No, she wasn’t certain of him in any way. Even though on occasion she had the thought that he might truly have been reared as a gentleman, there were too many times Saber had shown traces of ruthlessness to make her believe he had latent tendencies toward mercy. If she was ever foolish enough to believe he might display charitable traits, she had only to bring to mind the memory of Captain Turnower and his ill-fated crew being blasted out of the water by cannon fire.

She suppressed a shiver. That particular memory did fervent battle with other memories, those disturbing visions that came to her mind in the long, dark hours of night when she should be sleeping. At those times, her traitorous mind and body would recall the touch of his hand and the press of his mouth against her lips. It was ridiculous, of course, yet the memories still burned and made her ache at times, a most mortifying response to such a villainous pirate.

“No,” she said at last, “I’m not at all certain of his reaction. But I do know that we can govern our own actions and rule our own fates.”

“I don’t know about that last,” Emily said from behind the screen. There was a loud splash and a blur of movement as she rose from the tub and reached out an arm for the towel draped over a chair. “It’s difficult to rule your own fate when someone else holds the power of life or death over you.”

“But does he? I know that he does to some degree, yet I still think we can overcome any obstacles if we put our full minds and energies to it.” Angela paused, then said, “If we are truly careful, I believe that we can outwit Captain Saber.”

Emily’s head appeared at the edge of the screen, her dark eyes wide and damp strands of hair clinging to her plump shoulders. “Outwit him? How?”

Angela stood up and began to unfasten her gown. “If we are clever enough to make full use of everything we have at our disposal, it can be done. I’ve thought about it for several days.”

Emily looked doubtful. “Do you mean to steal a boat and escape? I’m not a very good sailor, you know.”

“I know.” Angela pulled her gown over her head and tossed it over a chair, then sat down and began peeling off her stockings. “Sooner or later, we should be near enough to land to form a solid plan. What we need to do until then is ensure that we’ll have the means to carry it out.”

“I don’t understand.” Wearing the silk dressing gown Dylan had provided for her, Emily stepped out from behind the Chinese screen. The thin rose silk clung to her damp body in places, and the hem was much too long for her, dragging over the canvas Dylan had placed under the brass tub to protect the floor. “How can we plan to have the means to escape when we don’t even know where we’ll be?”

“We may not know, but there are others aboard who do.” Angela let that sink in for a moment as she focused on rolling her stockings neatly and placing them atop her gown. She looked up to find Emily staring at her with a puzzled frown.

“The crew? I should hope they know where we’re going, but that still doesn’t help us. None of them would tell us, I’m sure.”

“Not normally, no. But if we have gained the affection and trust of one of them
 . . .
” Angela deliberately let her voice trail into silence while she stepped behind the screen and removed the rest of her garments.

She had poured the rest of the hot water into the tub along with a liberal dose of bath salts and was sinking down into the tub when Emily finally said, “You mean Dylan.”

Angela leaned back and draped her arms over the high rim. She raised her voice to be heard over the screen. “Yes. Dylan likes you. I’m certain he would help us if we convinced him our lives were in danger.”