Hart's Desire (Pirates & Petticoats Book 1) (21 page)

Landon’s long, firm fingers twined with hers and he gave a squeeze. “I have you.”

She allowed him to pull her into the comforting circle of his arms. “What now?”

“The other way out is through the hole in the flooring above the remnants of our fire, but the cellar floor drops down sharply there and I can’t reach high enough to push the debris aside.” Landon’s voice was carefully even.

“Then we’re trapped here.” her voice quavered and she swallowed. She wished she’d decided to stay in the house this morning rather than take her problems on a ride through the countryside.
 

“There is one thing we could try,” Landon mused. “But it won’t be easy for either of us.” Was that a smile she heard in the darkness? Was he
smiling
? She could think of nothing that was even the tiniest bit humorous.

“What is it?”

“If I lift you, and the debris covering the opening is moveable, you might be able to shift it enough to fit through.”

He waited patiently while she mulled his plan over in her mind. Surely, she could think of something that would work better. But nothing came to mind.

Think of something. Anything.

She let out a frustrated breath. There was no alternative to even consider.

“Tell me what to do,” she said resignedly. She had a feeling the captain would be less uncomfortable with the situation than she. The only satisfaction for her was that she would be spared seeing his rakish leer.
 

Suddenly, the darkness seemed less intimidating.

“Ready?”

No.
 

Landon had explained how he would wrap his arms around her knees and lift her up. He was strong enough to do so effortlessly, but she still wasn’t comfortable with being lifted off the ground in the total darkness.
 

“I’m ready.” She tried to sound nonchalant, but her voice came out thin. Holding her hand, he picked his way through the blackness, then stopped when his boot crunched on the charred wood remnants from their fire. She heard him move behind her, the heat from his body pulsed against her back, and the tiny hairs on her arms and the back of her neck twitched and tingled. Perhaps this wasn’t the best idea after all.

She trembled slightly, but managed to remain mute as his hands moved down her ribs, over her hips. Keelan wasn’t about to give Landon the satisfaction of knowing how his touch affected her, or a reason to mock her for chastising him for it. She'd had enough for one day.

His hands continued down the outside of her thighs with agonizing slowness. She tensed in response, about to lose the fight to remain silent. Before she could open her mouth to snap at him, he hugged her knees and lifted her off the ground.
 

“Oh!” She gasped and flung her arms wide. There was nothing to cling to. Good Lord, she now sat on Landon’s shoulder. He had one arm over her thighs and the other on the small of her back, dangerously close to her bottom. She reached down and grasped the shirt fabric on his shoulder.
 

“Stay still,” he grunted.

“Get your hand away from my backside!” she hissed. He was intentionally trying to irritate her.

“Keelan….”

“Now!”

“As you wish.”

His hand slid up her back and around her ribcage to rest right beneath her right breast.

“Landon
Hart
!”

“If I don’t hold you, love, you’ll fall,” he said with a hint of exasperation in his tone.
 

He could certainly find a way to keep her secure without all this groping. “I suppose
this
is your way of protecting my well-being? Surely it can be done with your hand elsewhere?”

He glided his hand back around her until it rested between her shoulder blades. Without the protective band of his arm, she wobbled and couldn’t keep the startled cry from escaping her throat. Landon’s hand swiftly returned around her ribs and rested again beneath her breast and it was a moment before she realized she was gripping his forearm with both her hands.

“Don’t do that again!” Her breath came out in short pants. “Stay this way, it’s safer.”

He chuckled. “Yes, my love.”

“Stop that.” Irritating man.

“Stop what?”

“Calling me your ‘love.'” It was entirely too unsettling and too intimate. And too untrue.

“But sweet Keelan, you—”

The low murmur of voices filtered through the damaged cabin floor. Keelan’s heart leapt. Someone was out there. They would soon be discovered and rescued, thank goodness.
 

Landon quickly lowered her to the ground and slipped his hand over her mouth before whispering in her ear, “Let’s listen a moment before we alert them to our presence, in case they are not well-intentioned.”

She did her best to swallow her fear, but it was impossible with a dry mouth. Of course, how naive of her. The people outside might be vagabonds or highwaymen. She’d been ready to shout out for help, which could have put them in danger.

She nodded and he removed his hand. Footsteps sounded on the planks above, but the voices remained muted and she couldn’t make out any words or identify the voices.
 

“What should we do?” She wanted to yell for help, but what if the strangers were indeed highwaymen taking advantage of the chaos following the storm?

Landon slid his hand down her arm in the darkness and before she could question his motives, the handle of his dagger pressed into her palm.
 

“I’ll shout out to them in a moment. Keep the knife handy in case things go awry.”

Before Landon could proceed with his plan, a dim glow appeared from within the small alcove. It took only a second for her to conclude that it was an entrance to a small tunnel, rather than a storage area, and the people who were outside a moment ago were now on their way in.
 

They were trapped.

Landon leapt into action, dragging Keelan with him. He pressed her against the wall adjacent to the tunnel opening and touched his finger to her lips to remind her to be silent. In the slow dawning of light, he withdrew a pistol from one of the saddlebags. Her heart pounded wildly as fear seeped through her, robbing her of breath.

The glow grew brighter and a brown arm holding a lantern appeared. A young man, perhaps in his early teens crawled from the tunnel. He stood and locked gazes with Keelan. His eyes widened in fear and shock, but before he could say or do anything, Landon moved in from behind him, put a hand over his mouth and pressed the pistol into his side. He pulled the young slave away from the lantern and into the shadows.
 

A young woman emerged next. She stood and brushed her skirts, then turned to help a man crawling behind her. As he straightened, Keelan could see he was cradling his arm, and blood had seeped through the sleeve of his shirt. The man froze in place, but he seemed to coil like a viper, every muscle active, eyes fixed on Landon and the boy. The woman reacted to the tension of the man next to her. She turned and stifled a scream as her gaze fell upon Landon’s pistol and the young man he held.

The last person to crawl from the tunnel made Keelan gasp in surprise.

 
It was little Joseph’s father.

“Simon!” she said with surprise and relief.
 

He jolted as if struck. His head snapped up, and he spun until his gaze fell upon Keelan. A multitude of emotions fluttered across his face…shock…relief…fear.

“Miss Keelan! Praise the Lord you all right! Ruth an’ yo family has worried themselves sick.”

The enlarged root cellar made more sense, now. The baskets of root vegetables, the small sacks of rice, the tattered blankets and straw pallets, were enough provisions for a few people who might need a place to rest without drawing any attention.
 

“What are you doing here, Simon?” she asked quietly, already knowing the answer. She had heard of a secret society who helped slaves escape north to their freedom. What were they called? Freedom Runners?

Simon shifted his weight from foot to foot for a moment. Landon had released the boy, but still had his pistol pointed at the group. He shifted his position to stand next to her.
 

With trembling fingers, the woman reached over, grasped the boy’s arm, and hugged it to her stomach. Finally, with watery eyes, Simon appealed to Keelan. “Miss Keelan, these folks here…they jus’ need a place to stop over on their way…along.”

“Along where?”

Simon studied his toes. The woman began to weep softly; the boy stood stiff as a statue. The other man put his uninjured arm around the woman’s waist. “Hush, now, Nettie,” he whispered.

Landon touched her arm. “Keelan, I think it’s best for us if we don’t know their destination.” He moved closer to her side and spoke in a low voice. “’Tis obvious they’re runaways. Unless you plan to force them back with us, the less we know, the better.”

Keelan studied Simon, wondering what his part was in all this. Unlike her father and uncle, she hadn’t been able to adjust comfortably into the Low Country society of plantation owners and their families. If she were a slave, she’d run away too. She might yet run, herself.

She jerked her chin toward the other man’s wound. “Let me see your arm.”

He straightened and gave a sideways glance to Simon, who nodded. He stepped forward and peeled back his bloodied sleeve to reveal a jagged slash. She glanced at Landon. “I’ll need your rum-laced water, unless you have straight whiskey?”

“I do have a small flask of whiskey,” Landon replied. He rummaged around in his saddlebags and pulled it out.

Keelan turned to Simon. “Please see if you can find some garlic in those bags in the corner.”

While Simon searched for garlic, Keelan took the knife and slit through her petticoats. Soon she had a half dozen wide, cloth strips. Remembering Slaney’s words in the kitchen house, she doused the wound with Landon’s whiskey. The slave had a stronger countenance than she and showed no sign of pain, except a slight hissing intake of breath. Keelan crushed the garlic, using the knife handle, and rubbed it over the wound then wrapped it securely. She gave the left over strips to the woman, along with the rest of the garlic clove.
 

“Use these later to change the dressing.”

“Yes’m.” The woman took the items and placed them in her apron pocket. Her eyes were still wary, but she gave Keelan a small smile.

She turned to Simon. “Will you be going along with them?”
 

He gave her a surprised look. “Why no, Miss! I wouldn’t leave my family. We together. I ain’t runnin’ Miss Keelan.”

Family. She recalled Ruth and Joseph, and how they had clung to each other after the incident with the rabid dog.
 

She came to a conclusion. Hopefully Landon would go along with it. Turning to him, she handed him the dagger. “It has been an exhausting day, and I’d like to go home.” She spoke to the runaways before she moved into the low opening in the wall. “We’ll make no mention that we saw you. God speed on your journey.”
 

Landon’s face softened. “Go on ahead, I’ll gather my saddle and bags and meet you outside.”
 

The tunnel itself was cleverly hidden behind a large rock several paces from the old cabin. She climbed out and perused her surroundings. In the aftermath of the storm, an eerie, golden, pink veil had settled about the countryside. The evening sun began to peek from behind the dark purple clouds now moving swiftly northwest.
 

Keelan stared at the remnants of the small shanty that had been snuggled in the grove of Live oaks. It had been flattened by a massive tree. Her throat constricted at the sight of the devastation surrounding them. A swath of trees, snapped midway up the trunk, trailed away from the cabin as if a giant had stepped on them. The ground was littered with shaggy remnants of Spanish moss, dark prickly pine cones the size of her foot, and a carpet of twigs and green leaves. She couldn’t restrain a shudder. They were lucky to escape injury. What of her family? Were they unharmed?
 

Landon emerged from the tunnel, then dragged an old plank across the opening to hide it.

“’Tis my good fortune your knowledge of storms is sound, Milord Pirate,” she murmured.

“Been through enough of them to see them coming, most times,” he replied, taking in the demolished cabin behind them.

It was as if there was an unspoken agreement between the two of them to avoid discussing Simon and the runaways, almost as if ignoring them made them invisible and kept them safe.

Had Sham made it? Was he harmed? Where was Orion? “Where did you hobble your mount?”

“I didn’t.” he responded. “In conditions like these, it’s best to allow the animal’s instincts to see it safely through. I trust Orion found adequate shelter.” Glancing at her he added, “Sham would have, too.” He gave a loud piercing whistle and waited.

Keelan heard the pounding hoof beats before she caught sight of the stallion. He rounded the demolished cabin and skidded to a muddy halt before snorting loudly in greeting. Landon stepped down and spoke to the horse in soft tones, while he moved his hand over the mud-streaked shoulders and quivering flanks. Aside from several twigs tangled in his mane and tail and a few streaks of red clay, Orion had weathered the elements well enough.
 

Satisfied the horse was sound, Landon quickly saddled him and turned toward Keelan. “At a leisurely pace, it shouldn’t take long to reach Twin Pines. Come, I’ll help you mount.”

She stepped into Landon’s waiting hand, and he lifted her up easily. It’d been many years since she’d had ridden astride a horse. Her father insisted she learn how to control a well-trained mount with her knees and heels before she attempted to ride sidesaddle. Even so, it still seemed strange and unfamiliar as she settled her seat. Her shift hindered her ability to keep her knees wide enough to comfortably straddle Orion’s back, so she pulled it up beneath her skirt and allowed it to bunch around her waist.

Landon secured his bags, and swung a leg up behind her. Keelan’s back went rigid at the shock of his hardened thighs against the backs of her own. His arm slipped with bold familiarity around her waist. Even more shocking was the heat of him against her backside. She squirmed forward as far as she could.