Surrender the Stars (5 page)

"You had no right to interfere!" Lindsay cried in frustration. "I refuse to play the coward and surrender! At least we could fight back!"

"I can see that you're in no mood to listen to reason." Ryan started to turn away, then paused to stare down at her, his eyes softening. "It's certainly hard to believe that the proper schoolmistress I met this afternoon could have been transformed within hours into a raving, bloodthirsty rebel clad in dirty breeches!"

His amusement made Lindsay burn with hatred. "I'm not raving—and these breeches were clean! They're my brother's. And—where are you going?"

"I'd love to continue this riveting conversation, Miss Raveneau, but duty calls." He was walking toward the door.

"But what about me?"

"I think you'd better stay down here until we're ready to leave the ship. For your own safety, of course."

Rushing forward, Lindsay caught his arm. "You can't do this! My father will be furious!"

Ryan shook her off as if she were a kitten. "I doubt that. And if I were you, I'd use this time to compose myself. Strive to behave like an adult rather than one of your eight-year-old students."

He went out then and Lindsay heard a key turn in the polished brass lock. Loathing boiled up inside her. She nearly gave vent to a wild scream but held it in when she realized it would probably amuse that uncouth Irishman to hear her lose the last vestige of control.

Lindsay suddenly realized that, until this morning, she hadn't known what hatred was. Never in her life had anyone dared to treat her so rudely, and never had she felt such raw anger. If she were male, Lindsay decided, she would challenge Ryan Coleraine to a duel and aim straight for his heart.

"I might do it, anyway," she muttered, pacing in the lantern-lit cabin like a caged tiger. "Odious, high-handed, arrogant, vain, uncivilized
man!"

* * *

Dawn lent an incongruous beauty to the sight of the British landing at the foot of Main Street. Under the cover of darkness, Ryan Coleraine had overseen efforts to remove everything of value from the
Chimera.
The warehouse Andre Raveneau had built to store his ships' goods was located farther around the Point than the others, and Ryan held out hope that it would escape any pillaging the British might do. Ryan surmised that the townspeople's awareness of the attack meant that an alarm had been raised, and the British would have little time to waste if they intended to get safely back to their ships in the sound.

Now as the landing craft disgorged what appeared to be nearly three hundred redcoats onto Main Street, it was clear to Ryan that his time on the
Chimera
was ending. Anger burned in his gut like a fiery coal, but reason told him that resistance would only endanger the lives of his crew and the townspeople as well.

The sun, bright and juicy as a freshly cut orange, rose over the Lyme hills across the Connecticut River. Ryan was oblivious to its beauty, though, as he motioned Drew to join him on the quarterdeck.

"The men should leave the ship now. Why don't you see to it, Drew."

"Yes, sir." The slim young man looked pale and lost. He wanted to cry: What happens to us now? Is it over? Will there be another ship? Have we lost our home, our trade, our lives? Will we have to find a new port and sign on with a new captain? Drew felt sick at the thought. The
Chimera
had been home and family to them, and Ryan Coleraine was the fairest, smartest, and most daring captain alive. At least his crew thought so.

"For the moment, we will deal with today," Ryan said softly.

Drew blinked, astonished that he had taken the time to discern his thoughts. "Yes, sir."

"After Captain Raveneau returns and I speak to him, I'll call you and Harvey together for a drink. The prospects aren't good, but we can at least toast past exploits, eh?"

Tears crowded Drew's throat. Coleraine was staring down the river, toward the sound rather than at the red columns flowing up Main Street. A chilly dawn breeze ruffled his black hair, and Drew thought that the captain's rakishly handsome profile was accentuated by an air of sorrow.

"I'll see to the crew, sir. And, sir?"

Ryan glanced down at the young man's earnest face and flinched inwardly. "Yes, Drew?"

"I'll look forward to making those toasts with you."

Rather than suffer eye contact with each departing member of the crew, Ryan decided to subject himself to what would doubtless be an even more bitter dose of Lindsay Raveneau's temper. When he lowered himself through the hatch and jumped lightly down to the gangway, ignoring the ladder, tears stung Ryan's eyes as he realized that soon all this lovingly polished wood would be ashes. He was counting on Lindsay to distract him from the sharp pangs of grief that were becoming more painful by the moment.

Entering the cabin, he found her sitting in the bowbacked chair in front of his desk, asleep. Though her back remained straight, her breasts thrusting against the white fabric of her brother's shirt, Lindsay's head had dropped to one side. Looking at the silken spill of curls that fell over her right arm, Ryan decided that her hair was nearly the same color as the leaves of the sugar maple in autumn. Quite amazing, even to an Irishman who had grown up with red-haired girls. Lindsay's was different, it seemed... or perhaps it was
she
who was different.

Ryan shook his head and rubbed his eyes. Would he ever sleep again? Sighing, he looked around the cabin. Harvey had come down and packed most of his things, removing them from the
Chimera
along with everything else of value. The bottle of Irish whiskey still nestled in its bulkhead niche, however, and now Ryan reached for it, drew out the cork, and indulged in a long, fiery swallow.

His gaze returned to Lindsay. Her guarded, upright sleep posture made him smile. He allowed himself the luxury of admiring the provocative curve of her lower lip and the sweep of her lashes against creamy, soot-smudged cheeks.

Ryan's smile took a cynical twist as he thought, It's damned lucky we don't get along. This woman could be dangerous.

After replacing the whiskey, he touched Lindsay's arm. Her eyes flew open instantly, her head came up, and she stiffened.

"Time to go," Ryan said shortly.

She adopted an air of frosty reserve. "Would you do me the courtesy of telling me what has been happening in the world above this cell you locked me in?"

In spite of his exhaustion and despair, Coleraine was amused by the sight of her, smudged and disheveled in her boy's garb, lifting her nose and addressing him in queenly tones. However, he knew that if he smiled now it would be like lighting a keg of gunpowder.

"It's dawn. The British have landed in an orderly fashion and are marching into the village. It's my understanding that they will not harm anyone unless provoked. I suppose that their commanding officer will speak to the townspeople and then see to it that the ships are burned."

Lindsay bit back a fresh tirade. She wanted to see and hear for herself what was happening in town but realized that Coleraine would never allow it if he suspected that she might make a scene. Lifting her chin, she said coolly, "I'm ready to go, then, if you are."

Ryan put out a hand to help her up, but she ignored it. Gingerly, Lindsay rose and stretched, looking around. "I don't suppose you have any water? I'm awfully thirsty."

"Sorry, no. Just some whiskey." He inclined his dark head toward the bottle.

It seemed a suitable outlet for her rebelliousness. Uncorking the bottle, she observed, "For a ship's captain, you certainly have barren quarters!" Her eyes were fixed on the empty bookshelves as she decided that here was final proof that the man was a boor.

"I would offer you a glass, Miss Raveneau, but my steward packed all my things less than an hour ago. Didn't you hear him? We were fortunate enough to remove everything on board of value to your father's warehouse. I hope that the constraints of time and space will force the British to confine their crimes to the ships, leaving the warehouses untouched."

Lindsay flushed, embarrassed to realize that she had slept so soundly she hadn't been aware of the steward's activities in the cabin. She had slept right through a perfect opportunity for escape! Ryan was watching her, one black brow arched slightly, so she lifted the bottle and swallowed bravely. The whiskey was like liquid fire coursing down her throat, and the next thing Lindsay knew she was coughing and then choking, tears gathering in her eyes.

Ryan patted her on the back with mock solicitude and relieved her of the bottle.

"This is poison!" she accused, gasping for breath.

"I beg to differ," he countered mildly. "You have just tasted the very finest Irish whiskey."

"Irish! No wonder it isn't fit for proper human beings!"

"Careful now, Lindsay. You know that we barbaric Irish are famous for our ungovernable tempers. You and I are all alone on the ship and I doubt that you want to discover what I'm capable of when aroused." He couldn't help the twinkle that danced in his dark blue eyes. "Or do you?"

Her cheeks flamed. "I will not dignify such a base speech with a response." She swept past him to the door, then turned back to deliver another icy setdown only to discover that Ryan was grinning. Trying to ignore the appealing sight of white teeth against his trim black beard and the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, Lindsay declared, "You are the rudest man alive!
And
"—she drew herself up to her full height—"I have not given you permission to address me by my Christian name."

Ryan laughed aloud at that. "Well, it's plain that my sins are so numerous that there's no hope of redemption." He gestured toward the gangway with an ironic flourish. "Shall we go, Miss Raveneau?"

* * *

Standing on the Point, Lindsay placed delicate hands on her hips and glared at the British seamen who remained behind with the landing craft. They stared back, obviously curious about this beautiful girl got up as a scruffy boy. Her hair was the color of the sunrise, a glorious mane of tangled curls framing a pale, fine-boned face that featured great dark eyes and smudges of ash. She wore a loose linen shirt haphazardly tucked into ill-fitting breeches. The redcoats' eyes roamed the girl's body as they wondered how such masculine attire could still accentuate the female shape. There was something provocative about the way that loose shirt blew against her curves, and it was exciting to see such long, shapely legs displayed in breeches rather than being hidden under a gown.

"What are you savages staring at?" Lindsay demanded. "If I had a musket, I'd shoot you all!"

This prompted the Englishmen to look at each other in astonishment, then engage in a great deal of whispering.

Ryan Coleraine took in the drama on shore as he descended the gangplank to join his charge. One side of his mouth quirked upward; in a strange way, he was thankful for all the trouble Lindsay had caused since the appearance of the British three hours earlier. She'd been relentless in her unconscious efforts to distract him from a tragedy which he was powerless to stop, and she'd even given him moments of amusement.

Striding up behind her, Ryan lightly took her arm. "Either the whiskey or those breeches have gone to your head," he murmured ironically. "Your behavior is that of a hot-headed fifteen-year-old boy, and you believe you can get by with it because it's obvious that you are
not
a boy. However, before the story begins to spread that Schoolmistress Raveneau has gone mad, I think we should take you home. No doubt a hot bath, some sleep and a maidenly frock will work wonders."

Lindsay jerked her arm away. "I'm going to the Griswold Inn to see for myself what's going on."

"I think not."

"Think whatever you like, but leave me alone." She pivoted away and started up Main Street. Marching along, Lindsay decided that she liked walking in breeches.

Only the memory of Andre Raveneau and all he'd done for him over the years kept Ryan from leaving Lindsay to fend for herself. He told himself that she was upset and exhausted, that she must be defending the Raveneau honor in the absence of its men. Lindsay had seemed poised and mature during their meeting the previous afternoon, but in fact she was probably a dozen years his junior. It was a situation that called for patience.

Drawing alongside, Ryan attempted to appeal to her pride. "Lindsay, the whole town will be outside the inn. Do you want them to see you like that?"

"It's none of your concern," she replied coldly, staring straight ahead. The fact that she could not walk faster than he made her furious.

Ryan rubbed his eyes with his right thumb and forefinger, thinking, The hell with it! I'll stay close, in case the little hellion goes berserk, but no more. It's Raveneau's own fault for not hiring a keeper for his daughter when he left town.

An almost macabre cloud of excitement hung over Main Street's budding trees, handsome houses, and neat shops. People were everywhere, their voices high-pitched in the dawn light. Grumbling men, whispering women, and shouting children crowded near the Griswold Inn where ranks of British marines stood in silent contrast to the conquered Americans.

Ryan followed Lindsay as she sought a place as close to the inn as possible. He was relieved to see that no one seemed to recognize her, or if they did, they were too preoccupied to care.

"Captain Coleraine!" a shopkeeper exclaimed in his ear. "What's happened? What do these cursed redcoats mean to do?"

The sound of Ryan's name prompted others to crane their necks in the crush. In the absence of Andre Raveneau, they all hoped his celebrated protégé might perform a miracle and dispose of the British or at least reassure them that this was some kind of mistake.

"I know little more than any of you," Ryan said grimly. "That's why I'm here. We'll just have to see what—" He broke off in relief at the sight of a British officer mounting the steps of the Griswold Inn.

Above the crowd, the young officer cleared his throat and unfurled a sheet of parchment. "I am Lieutenant Lloyd and I am here to read a message from Captain Coote, the officer in command." The stilted proclamation announced that the British intended only to destroy shipping. No harm would befall the local residents unless there was resistance, in which case the torch would be put to the entire town. Seagoing ships would be warped out into the river to be burned, while vessels under construction would be torched in the yards. Marines who were not employed in the destruction of the ships would seize supplies from the naval stores to be loaded on two ships that the British intended to spare and take with them when they left Pettipauge. Captain Coote had chosen the
Young Anaconda
and
The Eagle,
both privateers. "We mean you no harm and appreciate your cooperation in ending this episode as speedily as possible," Lieutenant Lloyd declared in closing.