Charon's Crossing (A Paranormal Romantic Suspense Novel) (26 page)

"Well, I'll see you next week." Hiram started up the cliff path. Halfway to the top, he stopped and looked back at her. "Just remember what I said," he called. "There's no disgrace in changin' your mind and takin' a place in town."

It was easier to nod than to argue. She was impatient for Hiram to be gone, impatient to get back into Matthew's world.

Moments later, she was.

June the twelfth, 1812

Sweet Jesus, I cannot believe what has happened! I am in possession of information that may well change the course of history.

Last night, I was at Charon's Crossing. Lord Russell was away, having gone to Jamaica on business for the Crown, and Cat and I were truly alone. We were almost carried away with passion in the darkness of the garden, but Cat regained her senses in time.

I know I should be grateful. God knows I would not wish to sully her innocence but I burn to make her mine, to strip away her gown and kiss her sweet flesh, to...

Color flew into Kathryn's cheeks. She turned the page quickly, unwilling to read such things. Matthew's longing for Catherine Russell was too intense. It was personal. And painful, though she knew it was crazy that the thought of a man she didn't know hungering for another woman should send such a sharp ache knifing through her heart.

The next page seemed safer. She took a breath and bent over the journal again.

... and, in my growing despair and frustration, foolishly blurted out what I have lately been thinking, that perhaps she finds more excitement in the secrecy of our meetings than joy in our relationship. Heaven forgive me, I said even worse things, accusing her of having no intention of letting me ask her father for her hand or, indeed, of ever becoming my wife.

"Finally," Kathryn said.

But the next sentence wiped the smile from her face.

I begged Catherine's forgiveness as soon as the foolish words had left my lips. I tried to explain that it had been desperation speaking, not me, but Cat was stunned, as well she might have been. She wrenched free of my arms and fled to the house, with me in pursuit.

And thus it was that I came upon an incredible scene...

* * *

They were in the drawing room,
gathered around the fireplace, three men in huddled conversation.

Matthew only caught a glimpse of them before he fell back into the shadows as Cat slipped by, unseen. He recognized them all. One was Lord Waring, a despicable blowhard whom he'd seen slobbering over Catherine's hand far too often. Cat said he made her stomach turn but since he was head of the British garrison, she had no choice but to treat him politely.

The other was an influential Englishman, head of the most powerful bank on Elizabeth Island. The third man was the bewigged Lord Russell himself, who had evidently returned early from his trip.

Matthew hesitated. Now what? The situation seemed to have been dropped into his lap by fate. He could storm inside and confront Russell, stand up and declare his intentions and to hell with Cat's pleas that he be patient.

But even in his present state of mind, he knew that it would be foolish to do such a thing. First he had to soothe Cat, for he had upset her terribly. Besides, there were others in the room with Russell. No, this was certainly not the time to ask for Cat's hand.

He took a couple of deep breaths. There was nothing for it but to slip out the way he'd come, through the garden, without being seen. Tomorrow, he'd get a note to Catherin'l, beg her forgiveness for the things he'd said.

The banker lit a cigar. Waring frowned, pulled a ruffled handkerchief from his sleeve and waved it ostentatiously before his nose. The banker paid no attention and Waring walked to the French doors. Matthew fell back further into the shadows as he cracked them open.

The men's voices drifted out into the night.

"...great news, Killingworth," Russell said, "but can we trust this information?"

"Dammit, Russell, how many times must I tell you? Henry Clay and the Warhawks have won! On the first of June, President Madison sent the American Congress a secret message informing them that he intends to declare war on Great Britain on June the eighteenth."

Matthew stiffened. Christ, what was this?

"I'm simply trying to be certain we have our facts right," Catherine's father said in his upper-class English drawl. "If we make any precipitous moves..."

"Our spy in Washington has never been wrong, has he?"

Russell's appreciative chuckle drifted into the night.

"No. No, he has not. He's been worth every pound we've paid him."

"Then why should we doubt him now?" Waring asked. "The American government will make a formal declaration of war in six days."

"And no one in these waters will know it but us."

"Exactly."

There was a creak of wood, the sigh of upholstery. Russell's shadow drifted past the partly open doors.

"That's it, then, gentlemen. I shall move to seize all the American ships lying in the harbor on June the nineteenth, one day after war has been declared in Washington."

"Excellent," Waring said, chuckling. "By the time the Americans on Elizabeth Island find out they are at war with us, it will be all over."

"Remember," Russell said, "I'll want no ships destroyed. Make sure your troops understand that, Waring. Those ships will net the three of us a very tidy profit in a prize court. As for the Americans themselves... once we've pressed enough of them to give every British ship that sails these waters a full crew, the rest can rot in Dartmoor prison for all I give a damn." His voice roughened. "I have spent too much time pretending friendship for the roughnecks as it is. When I think how I've had to suffer their company in my home... the captain of the
Atropos,
especially. The man's a dirt-common bastard with pretensions of grandeur."

"His pretentions are all he'll have left, once his ship's been seized and he and his men are in chains," Waring said, and the three men laughed.

Matthew felt the blood drain from his face. He clenched his fists, felt his nails cut into his flesh. But he stood his ground, telling himself that there was more to avenge than his own honor.

When there was no more to learn, he slipped away into the night.

* * *

Luck, at least, was on his side.

Almost all the American ships that sailed the Caribbean under the protection of the British Crown were lying at anchor in the Hawkins Bay harbor.

The next day, working carefully and stealthily, Matthew sent word to their captains that there would be a meeting that evening on an isolated point of land on the far side of the island. By the time the meeting ended, Matthew and the others had hatched a plan.

They would strike first, at midnight on June the eighteenth, and seize Elizabeth Island from the unwary British.

The captains all agreed that an attack on Charon's Crossing and the capture of Governor Russell would force the garrison to capitulate and would avoid a difficult and possibly prolonged and bloody battle. They agreed, as well, that Matthew was the man to lead the attack since he was most familiar with the grounds of Charon's Crossing.

He was honored, and more than willing. But he had one demand.

Before he led the assault, he would go to Charon's Crossing and lead Catherine to safety.

The other captains looked at him as if he were daft.

"She is English," said the captain of the
Shenandoah.
"She cannot be trusted."

He found himself hauled to his toes, with Matthew's out-thrust jaw inches from his own.

"She is my betrothed," Matthew snarled, lying only a little, for surely he and Catherine had pledged each other their hearts. "And I would trust her with my life."

"What nonsense is this?" the captain of the
Enchantress
said, glaring at the two men. "The English are the enemy! If we fight amongst ourselves, our cause is lost before it begins."

Matthew slowly let go of the other man's shirt.

"I tell you that I will not abandon the woman I love," he said.

"She will be safe," the captain of the
Decatur
insisted.

Matthew snorted with derision. "Safe? A woman, in the midst of what may well become a battle?"

"Yes," another captain called out, "she will be. We will tell our men to look out for her."

The others nodded their agreement, then turned their gaze on Matthew.

"Well?" the captain of
Shenandoah
asked. "Will that satisfy you? Or shall we forget this playing of soldiers and save our ships and ourselves, whilst we still have the chance?"

Matthew looked at the faces of his friends. They had agreed to risk their ships, their lives and the lives of their men for the honor of their country.

How could he argue for his own selfish ends?

He nodded and held out his hand.

"I am satisfied," he said.

The men shook hands, clapped him on the back and wished him well before rowing back to their ships.

That night, Matthew sat late in his cabin aboard the
Atropos,
finalizing a daring plan that no one else would know about.

He would slip ashore three hours before midnight on the night of the American assault.

I will spirit my Catherine to safety before the fighting begins, he wrote in his journal. She will be safe and no one will be the wiser...

* * *

It was the final entry he'd made.

Kathryn flipped through the remaining pages, but they were blank.

She shut the book and lay it aside. The hours had flown by while she sat reading. She was startled to see that the fiery sun was beginning to dip towards the sea.

A breeze sprang up, carrying with it a chill that made her shudder.

"Oh Matthew," Kathryn whispered, "what happened to you?"

"You know what happened to me, Catherine," a deep voice snarled.

She shot to her feet and spun around. Matthew was standing just behind her, legs slightly apart, hands fisted on his hips. His face looked as if it had been chiseled from stone. He looked enraged and intimidating, and Kathryn knew that it was time for her to stop denying the truth.

Matthew McDowell was not an intruder. He was a ghost.

For one racing beat of her heart, Kathryn almost laughed at the insanity of it. But then she looked into those cold green eyes and her throat choked with fear.

"You're wrong," she said. "I have no idea what happened to you."

He laughed, as if she'd made some terrible jokes.

"Such sweet protestations of innocence, Cat. put then, I should have expected no less."

"Matthew, listen to me! I don't know what happened to you. I'm not your Catherine."

He started towards her, his eyes burning into hers.

"That, at least, is true. You never were my Catherine, though you swore that you were."

"No! I never was. I..."

God, oh God, he was going to kill her! She wanted to run but where was there to run to, with the sea at her back and the cliffs rising ahead?

He was on her before she could do anything, his hands clamping down hard on her shoulders as he dragged her to him. She had freed herself from his grip by kicking him the last time but there was no chance of that now. He had her tightly pinned against his hard, unyielding body.

His fingers wrapped around her throat.

"Bitch," he said, grinding the word out through his clenched teeth.

"No!" Kathryn forced her clasped hands up between his wrists. "Please," she gasped, "Matthew! You're making a terrible mistake!"

His thumbs pressed down into the hollow of her throat. She gasped for air, struggling fiercely against him, but he was far too strong.

The world started to grey before her eyes and a roaring began in her ears.

Was it the sound of the sea, or the sound of her approaching death?

"Matthew," she whispered, and then there was only darkness.

Chapter 11