The Forgiven Duke Part 13

Be Thou, O G.o.d, exalted high;

And, as Thy glory fill the sky,

So let it be on earth display'd,

Till Thou are here, as there, obey'd.

Gabriel clung to consciousness, singing the words of the old hymn over and over as the whip lashed b.l.o.o.d.y lines of murder into his bare back. He couldn't hear the words and he didn't know if anyone else could hear him, but as he sang he basked in color, all the colors of the rainbow.

He closed his eyes and felt his cries of agony seeming from a faraway place, interposing the song in waves of red, like the blood dripping down his back. Yet he sang. To stay alive. He sang and survived with the colors.

Chapter Nineteen.

Alexandria! Alexandria!"

She jerked awake to the early morning light, the rushing waters of the nearby waterfall where she had stopped to rest and think about what she had done gushing like music in the background. It was John. And he sounded panicked.

She stood and mounted her horse, heading back toward the road. There was no sense in running from him. She had to face what she'd said. They had to decide what to do next.

With the dawning light she could just see him come around a bend in the road. She took a deep breath, watching him gallop up to her. "Thank G.o.d." He reined in and stopped. He was hatless and his blond hair was wind tousled. His face was tight with a pained reserve that made her heart ache. He reached over and grasped her arm. "Don't ever frighten me like that again. I've been looking for you for hours. I thought I'd lost you to some horrible misfortune!"

"I followed the road. There was nothing to fear. I found a pleasant spot of soft gra.s.s with a waterfall nearby and fell asleep to the sounds of it."

John rubbed his face with a hand and took a great breath. "Alex, it's too cold for you to be sleeping in the open. We can talk about what happened later. Let's get you to some shelter and a warm fire."

She had to agree that she was cold and damp from sleeping on the ground. And thirsty. She was sure both she and her pretty mare were hungry and thirsty enough for some concern. That he still cared so much after what she had done to him made her feel like a wretch. He was probably cold and hungry too. "Yes, let's find an inn."

They continued west as the sun dawned pink on the horizon, the dark forms of the mountains surrounding them in the background. The road led through the small village of Selfoss that looked to be waking up for the day. The main road had a few businesses, one with a sign with a picture of a ram on it. It was the only place that looked like it might be an inn.

Alex dismounted, unable to look John directly in the eye, and followed him to the door. It was locked and the place looked dark, but he banged on it anyway. The owner, hair askew and still sleepy-eyed, opened the door.

"Good day, sir. We are traveling through and are looking for some food and a place to rest for a few hours. Do you have such for sale here?"

"Yes, come in." He backed away and waved them inside and then showed them to the common room with a.s.surance that breakfast would soon be ready.

Alex sat across from John, seeing his tired eyes and the tight lines on either side of his mouth. His coat was rumpled and he didn't look his usual dapper self. She wanted to say she was sorry, but that felt too small in the face of what she'd said, all that she had done. And anyway, what good would it do? He didn't want her apology. He wanted her for a wife and she knew, after pondering it the night through, that she couldn't give him that.

"Ah, here we are now." The innkeeper, introducing himself as simply Hans, came back scant moments later with two large bowls of steaming porridge and a pitcher of milk. "And whom might I have the pleasure of serving this fine day?"

Alex hurried to introduce them before John said they were married. "This is Lord John Lemon from Dublin, a dear friend of mine, and I am Lady Alexandria Featherstone."

"Featherstone!" The man reared back from pouring a mug of milk, sloshing spills onto the table. "Oh, dear."

"Is something amiss?"

"You haven't heard? You're the lady from England, aren't you? Looking for your parents?"

"Why yes, yes I am."

"The prince regent of England is looking for you! Soldiers everywhere." Hans woke up in an instant, eyes wide and swinging back and forth between them.

"Sir, what exactly are you saying?" John's blond brows lowered over his eyes and his voice turned low and serious.

"The king's soldiers are in Reykjavik as we speak, my lord. They have the town under siege, searching for the lady here." He leaned in, fear lighting his eyes and clutching the milk pitcher to his chest. "There have been all manner of threats if the townspeople don't produce you. Of course, no one knows where you are, so how is anyone to obey?"

"They aren't . . . hurting people, are they?" Alex leaned forward and gripped the man's arm.

"Surely not." John scoffed at the idea, shaking his head. "Trying to frighten them, most likely."

But the innkeeper turned white. "The townsfolk there have been threatened for sure. People aren't leaving their houses. I found out from Gunterson, the man who brings the mail. They let him leave to spread the word in the neighboring towns."

Alex swallowed hard thinking of the Magnussons and the Johanssons. They had been so kind and helpful to her. She thought of her parents and the fact that she was at a dead end and didn't know where to go from here. She'd promised the duke that if she came to a dead end, she would come to him in London. And she couldn't deny that she wanted to see him again, to see if the feelings she was fighting were real or imaginary, to see if he was the same man of his letters. "We have to go back. I have to turn myself over to them."

"You would do that?" John's voice lowered into a harsh whisper as he leaned toward her. "Alex, the prince regent will put you under the duke's authority unless we are wed. Is that what you want?"

"II already told you." Alex looked up at the innkeeper. "Please, if we could just have two rooms, to rest up a bit and for our horses to be taken care of and rested, I will pay you well and then be on my way to Reykjavik and turn myself over to the king's soldiers. I give you my word. I do not want anyone to suffer on my behalf."

The man hesitated, looking from one to the other, and then nodded. "I believe you are the fine lady I have heard that you are. I will prepare the rooms and see that your horses are taken care of. Be gone by morning." He backed away with an odd stare and left them.

As hungry as Alex had been, she had little appet.i.te now. John sat stiffly beside her making her feel even more wretched. She had used him. She had given him false hope and broken his heart. But what could she say? She reached over and put her hand on top of his. "I'm sorry," she whispered, feeling helpless. She held his pained gaze for a long moment.

John stood and bowed toward her. "As am I." He turned his back on her and left the room. She watched his tall, handsome form walk away with a lump of tears in her throat, not knowing where he was going or if she would even see him again.

G.o.d, forgive me. I truly have made a mess of everything.

HOURS LATER, A KNOCK ON her door woke her from a sound sleep. She sat up and ran her fingers through her tangled hair, having been too distraught to braid it before dropping off into a deep sleep. It was dark outside her window. She must have slept for hours. Hurrying to the door, she opened it to find John, one hand against the door frame, swaying and gla.s.sy eyed.

"John, what are you doing? Are you all right?"

He shook his head in an exaggerated gesture. "Not aright a'tall." He stumbled toward her and jabbed a finger into her chest. His slurred speech came out in clipped staccato. "Why won't you marry me?" The last word was a near shout.

"Shhhh." Alex grasped his hand, pulled him into the room, and shut the door behind him. "You've been drinking!"

"Maybe . . . maybe I have." He swayed toward her and then straightened. He held out a cup toward her. "I brought you something."

"I don't want that. What is it?" Alexandria took the cup and smelled it. It didn't smell like any liquor she knew of. She took a little sip, thinking it tasted like bitter tea. "Ugh. What is this?"

"That's tea for you, love. I've been drinking ale, of course."

"I'm not your love and I don't want it." Alex shoved the cup toward his chest.

"But I made it just for you. Come on, Alex . . . ander . . . ia . . . please?" He leaned closer and gave her a pout reminding her of a little boy. The smell of strong spirits on his breath took her breath away. He nearly fell against her. "Take a moment and chat with me, won't you? You owe me that, at least, don't you think?"

She sighed. Maybe if she drank some of his awful tea he would go and find his bed and sleep off the effects of his ale. From the few experiences she had had with drunken fools, she'd found it was better to go along with them when at all possible. She took a few sips from the cup, grimaced, and then set it on the bedside table. "It's awful. Did you make it yourself?"

"Yes! Yes, just for you. I badgered the whole kitchen down there for the right ingredients. Just like my mother used to make it. You have to finish it, love."

She shook her head and then sighed, picked it back up, and drained the cup in one long swallow. "There. Now, John, what do you want?"

"Alexandria . . ." His voice trailed off, his hand came up and brushed against her hair. "It wasn't just the money, you know. I really do love you."

The money? Did he think she thought he was marrying her for her money? Did he think that if he a.s.sured her he was not, she would change her mind? "John, I know you love me, but you need to go to your room, quietly, and sleep. We will talk about this in the morning."

He took a step closer and grasped hold of her shoulders. She tried to back away but he was too strong. His grip tightened. He brought her against his chest and mumbled, "So beautiful, you're so beautiful, Alex." His head came down and his lips crushed against hers.

"John." She tried to back away and talk against the pressure. "Stop it. You're not thinking clearly. Stop right now."

But he didn't stop. He nudged her with that sweet, teasing smile on his lips, almost gently, but too strong for her to get free, toward the bed. He leaned over her, swaying and smiling, kissing her face and then forcing her back, down on the bed. He landed on top of her with a whoosh of breath. "Mmmm, so soft and lovely," he murmured into her hair.

"John, I will scream if you don't get off me and leave this instant."

"No, no, none of that. Dearest Alex." His lips clamped down over her mouth, kissing her like he'd never kissed her before, deep and consuming, too consuming. She couldn't breathe! She kicked out and heard a little grunting laugh come from his chest. "I love you, Alex. Love you, only you. I'll be a good husband, I promise. We'll find your parents; we will together! That duke doesn't love you like I do." He moved over her until she could hardly draw breath, encompa.s.sing all but her arms. "Let me show you how much I love you."

Fear spiraled through her. He wasn't listening. "John, listen to me. Look at me. John!"

He looked at her, blinking hard as if to focus. Finally he sighed, seeming too tired to argue. "All right. We'll just lie here a moment 'til you feel better."

"Until I feel better?" Alex tried to squirm away. He pulled her back against his chest and, after a few minutes, started snoring.

Thank G.o.d. She would wait a few minutes, just to be sure he was sound asleep, and then leave him in her bed and go and find another.

It was a good plan. She meant to sneak away from under the tight grip of his arms, but a slow creeping lethargy came over her limbs, from her shoulders to her feet. She shook her head, trying to clear it. She lost track of time, floating it seemed, lying with her eyes half-closed as a wonderful warmth seeped into every fiber of her being. And then she drifted into a deep sleep.

Chapter Twenty.

Gabriel woke with a jerk, rolled over onto his stomach, and reached for the ginger root hidden under his pillow. He closed his eyes against the pain of stretching the delicate, healing skin on his back, concentrating instead on chewing the ginger before he opened his eyes. He had found it helped, somehow, getting some of it in his stomach before he opened his eyes. A few minutes pa.s.sed while he chewed on it and then Ryan entered the room. He was one of the few Englishmen on board the ship, used for translating and now nursing, though Gabriel still couldn't figure out how he had accomplished that feat.

Matter-of-fact and efficient, he bade Gabriel to sit up and hold his arms out while he unrolled the bandages, took a look at his back, and then spread some new salve on the cuts. He wrapped fresh bandages around him and then stood back and c.o.c.ked his head to one side with a thoughtful look on his face. "Healing nicely," he mouthed clearly, taking Gabriel's chin and studying his eyes. "How's the rest of you?"

"Sick to death of this stinking h.e.l.lhole." Gabriel felt the rasp of his voice against his vocal chords and knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he would have died without this man. That G.o.d had decided to save his life with a song and a pragmatic Englishman.

Ryan chuckled and handed him a cup of tea and bread and then, when he'd finished that, a bowl of broth with some rice in it. Gabriel ate it slowly, wishing he could really talk to Ryan, ask him questions about how he ended up with these madmen, but they wouldn't allow them a speaking book so they were forced to make do with short sentences.

He had learned a little about Ryan Wrothwood though, enough to know he'd been in the Royal Navy and was from Cornwall. He'd probably been captured on some port of call and pressed into Spanish service. A thin, stately looking fellow, not the typical brawny choice when searching for a good sailor, but he was a good communicator and someone must have noticed that and had him captured. If Gabriel ever got out of here, he was going to take Ryan with him. The question was, could he risk speaking the idea aloud?

"How long until we dock at Reykjavik?

Ryan held up two and then three fingers for days. "Depending on the weather."

So they were almost there. They had been aboard the San Cristobel for over two weeks, and while his back wasn't the constant fiery agony of the first few days, it was still sore and tight with new skin knitting the strips of torn flesh back together. His back would never look the same, that was certain.

"Do we walk today? I need to regain my strength." Every day he was allowed on deck for a brief walk, but the jeers and violent-filled hatred he received from the crew made him uneasy to be on the top deck alone. If Ryan was available to walk with him, he went. If not, Gabriel roamed his tiny cabin like a caged cat, padding back and forth with darting, suspicious green eyes, wondering if at any moment they would burst in with new reasons to harm him.

Ryan nodded. "One hour." He took the empty dishes and turned to go.

"Wait." Gabriel lowered his voice, hoping he could still be heard. "Escape is paramount. I plan to find a way. You are welcome to come with me."

Ryan's gaze darted to the door and then back to Gabriel. He nodded and then took something from his pocket-a very small piece of paper-and pa.s.sed it over to Gabriel. He pressed a companionable hand on Gabriel's shoulder, squeezed, and nodded again, turned and left, locking the door as he always did behind him.

Gabriel sat back on the bed and opened the note.

Your Grace, I sense in you a desire to escape if the opportunity presents itself. If you are reading this then you have confirmed my suspicions. If we should have opportunity, I am willing to take the risk and hopefully make my way back to England with you. I will be looking for opportunities when we dock. Let us pray G.o.d provides one. Please destroy this after you have read it. Your faithful servant, Ryan Wrothwood Thank G.o.d. Someone on his side. He bowed his head and prayed that G.o.d would have mercy and provide them the opportunity and means of escape. Then he tore off a little piece of the paper and placed it in his mouth. He chewed with a grim smile.

Compared with some of the fare they'd been giving him since his capture, it wasn't half bad.

THE DAY DAWNED EARLY WHEN the San Cristobel docked on Reykjavik's sh.o.r.es. Three soldiers burst into Gabriel's cabin, filling the small s.p.a.ce with their muscled bodies and dark, scowling faces, demanding he come with them. He barely had a chance to throw on his shirt before they hauled him above to the foredeck where Didacus, resplendent in the Spanish uniform of black coat with tails, red waistcoat with gold b.u.t.tons, a golden sash, and dark breeches, stood ready to meet him. His cohort, El Gato, made the uniform look less stately, more like a tomato with a tricorn hat for a stem, but his eyes were equally hateful as he glared at Gabriel.

The Spanish soldiers shoved him in front of the two men. Gabriel stood straight and lifted his chin, refusing to acknowledge the ill treatment, acting as if he had come here on his own accord, in full health, with the power of the St. Easton name behind him. It was a bluff. But a bluff was all he had at the moment.

"We will be going ash.o.r.e now." Didacus motioned with his hand toward the sh.o.r.e.

Gabriel nodded briefly that he understood. The first order of business was to find out if the regent's army was still here. If so, and he wouldn't be surprised if that were the case, then they had yet to locate Alexandria and it would be up to him to find her. If they had departed for England, then she was on her way or already there. But he must not let the Spanish know of this possibility. If Alexandria was in the regent's care and protection, they would no longer need him. That fact would make him as good as dead. And if the regent had her safely in England, then his only chance for any kind of future would be escape.

Didacus motioned to Ryan, who was ready with pen and paper. He spoke instructions while the man wrote. Gabriel pressed his heels together and waited, the wind blowing his hair into his face. It hadn't been this long since he was a boy. He didn't like it long; it had too much curl in it. Even though waving locks were the fashion for some, it wouldn't behave well enough to suit him. He liked it short. Manageable. Within the confines of a quick brushing or raking of his fingers. What he wouldn't give for a haircut and shave.

He looked down and almost chuckled at his thoughts. His clothes were filthy, in tatters, his body thin and battered. Alexandria probably wouldn't recognize him if she saw him like this. He doubted his own mother would.