Falconer's Heart Page 7

  Drawing the mainsheet with him, he returned to Riki’s side and took the tiller. A streaky flash shimmered, barely feet away from the mizzenmast, and Riki cringed as the thunder crashed on top of them. She gripped the varnished rim, then ducked under the boom and inched forward to catch the flapping jib. The boat hove to, throwing her against the gleaming brass handrail.

  “Careful!” Belmont’s cry of warning reached her, thin and distant in the wind.

  She didn’t even attempt to reply. She clung where she was as angry waves buffeted against the sides of the light craft. The deck rose beneath her feet, then plunged downward, throwing her to her knees. Her fingers whitened on the rail as lightning flashed directly overhead.

  The ketch reared back again, then dropped with sickening force as a wave crashed over the bow. Riki dragged herself up from the outer cabin wall where she had been thrown, only to be flung hard against the rail. She hung on as the vessel rose once more, knocked about by the heaving waves as if it were a toy. Her nose and hands felt like ice.

  Behind her, Riki heard Belmont shout, but couldn’t make out his words. She stumbled back toward the stern, only to be thrown hard against the man’s strong chest as the ship pitched violently to port, at the mercy of the raging Channel.

  Belmont gripped her, holding her tight, shielding her face from the freezing sting of the rain and salt spray. The pungently smelling sopping wool of his sweater tasted of salt, but she clung to him, welcoming the solidity of his body.

  A violent lurch of the ship threw them against the cabin. Belmont caught himself, but as the wave receded the ketch plunged downward, tearing Riki from him. She staggered, only to be knocked to the deck by a freezing wave breaking across the stern. The water dragged backward, pulling at her drenched legs, but she struggled to her knees and reached for the hand Belmont held out to her. The ketch pitched to starboard, throwing her to her side as another wave swamped the boat.

  Thunder exploded above their heads as the sky lit with a vivid streak of lightning. Riki clung to the open cabin door as a wave rushed over her and down the companionway.

  “We’re taking on too much water!” Belmont shouted. Rocks loomed up dead ahead, glittering in the streaky illumination of the storm. Belmont threw the tiller and the boat lurched to port, skimming the outer rim of the jagged outcroppings.

  Riki’s sigh of relief vanished into a gasp of pure terror as a wave slammed them hard and the ketch was thrown leeward. The rasping screech of splintering wooden planks sounded loud above the wind.

  Another wave swamped them, spilling over the side, as Riki clambered to her feet. She clung to the door frame, trying to keep her balance. She could see Belmont clutching the rail with one hand and the tiller with the other in a vain attempt to steer clear.

  We’re sinking! Riki stared in horror at the chill water that slapped her ankles. This is madness! Had she honestly expected some magical intervention to sweep them up and carry them across time to safety? Frantic, she scanned the sky. Never would she have dreamed she’d pray her boat would be struck by lightning, but she did so now. In only minutes they would be floundering. They were sinking. They would fail in this desperate, impossible mission—they would drown.

  The churning of the waves took on an eerie echoing sound, and Riki turned in horror to see the swirling arms of a whirlpool form about the bow. Faster and faster the water spun, drawing them into the vortex, pulling them down in a frenzied spiral. A scream tore from her throat as the craft began to gyrate. The sails flapped, useless, as the funnel deepened, opening like a mouth to swallow the spinning boat.

  “Hang on!” Belmont shouted over the tumult of the storm.

  Dizzy, Riki clung to the side. As the ketch plunged beneath the black sea, a shimmering iridescence illuminated the water and danced along the brass handrail. Blinding light flashed directly above them, filling the sky for one brief moment before the dark waters closed over them and Riki lost consciousness.

  Chapter Five

  A smell strong enough to curdle her stomach penetrated Riki’s befuddled mind. She wished she could sink once more into oblivion. Sink…

  Their ketch had sunk, she was as certain of that as her groggy state allowed. Yet the revolting odor that filled her lungs, blocking out the fresh salt spray, was pitch. And from the wild tossing of the uneven board surface on which she lay, she must be still on a boat.

  And she was drenched. She lay in a pool of icy water and rain pelted down, matting her hair but not diluting the pungent stench of the sealer on the rough-hewn timbers. She gagged.

  Her other senses began to check in, and the rumble of noise separated into wind, distant thunder and churning waves. The murmur of harsh voices reached her, coarse, heavy with unfamiliar accents. Something about landing kegs.

  “Two extra pairs of hands will make for lighter work.” Belmont’s voice sounded somewhere close at hand.

  Belmont. He was there with her. She was safe. Too exhausted to analyze or remember, she drifted off again.

  She roused to the sensation of someone stabbing her leg over and over with thousands of needles. Either that or the circulation had been cut off and now chose to return with a prickly vengeance. The odor of wet wool, not pitch, surrounded her. The rocking motion of the boat had slowed, become gentle, as if she were instead cradled securely in strong arms.

  A stubbly chin brushed her forehead. Belmont. Riki rubbed her head against his broad shoulder and contentment filled her. Whatever had happened, they were together. For the moment that was enough.

  Wavelets slapped against his legs as he waded through shallow water onto a sandy beach. Riki opened her eyes to a blackness that would have been complete except for the strange lanterns carried by several of the most oddly dressed men she had ever glimpsed. Explanations were beyond her. She closed her eyes again and shifted into a more comfortable position with an arm about Belmont’s neck.

  He strode up a slight rise and stopped at last. Gently, he disengaged her hold on him and lowered her to the cold, wet ground. Scrubby bushes reached out, whipped by the wind, tangling in her dripping hair and catching at her sweater.

  “Lie still,” Belmont murmured, and slipped away into the darkness.

  She did as he suggested. The rain had let up to a steady drizzle, but she shivered in the cold night air. Night? She blinked, coming more fully awake. The last thing she really remembered, it still had been morning. She decided to think about it later, when she was warm and comfortable.

  Thick, dark clouds obscured any moon or stars. Where, she wondered, had Belmont gone? Dimly, she could make out the shapes of about a dozen men, some near the ocean’s edge, some heading toward them leading small horses. Everyone seemed busy.

  One of the dark figures moved away from the group by the shore and headed up the beach toward her. She caught her breath, then released it as she recognized Belmont. She sat up.

  “Well, we made it.” He sounded unusually cheerful for someone who had just been through two boat wrecks in three days.

  “We’re alive,” she agreed as she struggled into a sitting position. She kept her voice low. “Who are those men? And what on earth are they doing out on a night like this? Fishing?”

  A deep chuckle set Belmont’s shoulders shaking. “In a manner of speaking. They’ve brought in quite a catch tonight.”

  “You mean us?” She must be more dazed than she had thought. She felt as if she was missing something.

  Belmont took the hand she unconsciously held out to him. “They’re free traders. Smugglers,” he explained at her blank look.

  She felt the blood drain from her face. “Smug— Oh my God! You mean dope?” Her horrified gaze flew to the figures moving about less than twenty yards away.

  “I don’t know what ‘dope’ is, exactly. It’s brandy they’re landing.”

  “Brandy!” A shaky laugh of relief escaped her as she looked back up at Belmont, who kneeled on one knee at her side. “Why on earth smuggle brandy?”

  “I s
aid we made it.” His sustaining hold tightened on her hand. “I don’t know what the situation is in your time, but you’ve got a lot to learn about mine.”

  “Your—”

  He nodded, and a glimmering twinkle showed in the depths of his dark eyes. “Welcome to 1812.”

  “To—” She shook her head as memory flooded back. David’s war-gaming room, the altered displays, Belmont’s crazy story, the picture of him in that diary, her own reluctant half-belief, their insane journey in the middle of a thunderstorm… “Please tell me this was all a joke.”

  He smoothed the straggly, dripping hair back from her face with his free hand. “You’ll believe soon enough. Right now, if we want to get out of this little escapade alive, you’re going to have to act a little. I’ve told them you’re my young brother.”

  She rose to her knees. “Shouldn’t we try to slip away?”

  He shook his head. “They’d shoot. Our best bet is to join them.”

  “Join…” Her voice trailed off.

  “That’s right. Can you pretend to be a boy? About twelve or so, I should think. If anyone asks, you’re at school at Eton but you got sent down for some prank. Can you remember?”

  She nodded, still too numb to do anything but play along to his direction, and allowed him to help her to her feet. “Why will they believe I’m a boy?”

  “Ladies of my time do not wear breeches.”

  “Jeans,” she corrected.

  “Jeans,” he repeated. He frowned for a moment then seemed to accept the term. “And they certainly won’t expect a lady to have gone sailing in a storm.”

  “Now, there they have a point.” She steadied herself, then brushed the clinging wet sand from her clothes as best she could.

  “Look excited.” He moved a step away from her. “Remember, helping a band of cutthroat smugglers to land their kegs is the secret dream of every schoolboy.”

  She threw him a comical look of horror, then forced her expression into wide-eyed delight. As they neared the men she didn’t say a word, merely allowing her jaw to drop. She moved slightly behind Belmont and peered out as if hardly able to believe her luck.

  Five oddly assorted men met her uneasy gaze. All wore hats, enveloping coats and boots, but she could see little else in the darkness. One, solidly built and with a straggly beard, stepped forward and peered right back at her. His cap hung low over a face domi­nated by a bulbous nose.

  “Scrawny little whelp, ain’t ‘e?” He grabbed Riki roughly by the arm, looking her over with disfavor. “Are ye strong, lad?”

  “Yes!” The word escaped her in a squeak, and the others laughed. They probably thought her a gangly youth with her voice cracking.

  “Get the cargo up to the ponies,” he ordered, and let her go.

  Riki hurried to where four men waded back and forth between their boat and the beach. A small pile of brandy kegs lay on the sand, and Belmont picked up one. Riki grabbed another.

  It was surprisingly heavy. But that man, apparently the leader, watched her with narrowed eyes. Hoping she wasn’t betraying the strain, she fell into line with the other carriers and lugged her keg to the waiting ponies. There another man took it from her and strapped it to a harness.

  They worked for over an hour. One pony train disappeared into the darkness to be replaced by another. They would go in different directions, Belmont murmured to her, to help throw off pursuit by any excise men who might have gotten wind of their run. Riki nodded, too exhausted to summon her voice for an answer, and staggered back up the beach with another keg. Somehow it didn’t seem like a good idea to suggest they open one and share the contents.

  But I’ve got my own! She had forgotten it completely, for she didn’t normally carry a hip flask. Now she could see the reason for them. She released her keg into waiting hands and started back toward the water’s edge. A subtle feel of her back pockets, though, told her she had lost the flask.

  The men were no longer floating casks to shore, she noted with relief. They must be almost done. She bent down to lift one of the remaining ones in the stack, only to have a booted foot placed on it. She looked up, startled.

  “Well, lad, are ye goin’ t’ tell all yer friends about yer adventure?” The leader of the smugglers leaned over her, breathing a mixture of brandy and onions into her face.

  With difficulty, she didn’t recoil. She allowed her face to fall in dismay. “I can’t!” she wailed.

  “And why not, lad? Ye’d be the envy of yer school.” He watched her through narrowed eyes.

  “Because I gave my word we wouldn’t speak of this, and my brother knows, as do I, that the word of a gentleman is his honor.”

  Belmont placed a firm hand on her shoulder. “You need not think we’ll go to the nearest excise man.”

  The leader let out a guffaw that sent Riki backward a pace from the impact. She’d missed the garlic before.

  “It will make fine telling for him in a year or two, when it can do you no harm.” Belmont met the smuggler’s gaze squarely.

  “Best shoot ‘em both and be done with it.”

  Riki spun about as the man in charge of the second pony train strode up to them. Her stomach tied a bowline that would have made a boy scout jealous. This smuggler looked capable of committing any number of murders—and of enjoying himself while he did them. She lowered her gaze.

  “After the work we did?” Belmont straightened up and regarded the man with hauteur. “I should have thought we’ve earned our rescue.”

  The leader guffawed again. “Spoken like a gen’leman. Leave off, ‘Arry. ‘E’s not one to open ‘is gaff. Nor the lad, neither.”

  “Yer not jus’ turnin’ ‘em loose, are ye?” The one addressed as Harry glowered at his leader. “Damn me if I works wi’ the likes o’ ye again.”

  “Ye’ll work for me. You, take yer brother and get back in the boat.” He jerked his head without moving his gaze from Harry’s.

  Belmont grasped Riki’s elbow and hauled her down the sand into the slapping waves. “Do as he says,” he muttered in her ear.

  She shivered as the water rose to her waist. Belmont dragged her along until they reached the boat’s side. One of the smugglers had already returned to it, and Belmont scooped Riki up in his arms and handed her over the side to him. With an athletic grace that drew her admiration, Belmont followed.

  Riki glanced back at the shore. A single lantern bobbed in the distance, then disappeared among the trees as the land smugglers led their ponies away. Darkness engulfed the beach once more. Only dim shapes could be glimpsed as the free traders made their way back toward the water.

  Riki huddled in the stern of the yawl beside Belmont. Under cover of darkness, her hand stole into his. He gave it a reassuring squeeze, but that didn’t help much. If the smugglers wanted to dispose of their unwanted guests, it would be much easier to take them back into the Channel and dump them overboard. Between the icy cold and the choppiness of the waves, they wouldn’t stand much of a chance of getting back to shore alive. Then there wouldn’t be any messy corpses with bullet holes in them to explain away.

  The leader returned to the boat last. Silently his men raised anchor and manned the oars. The clouds separated and one star peeped out as they eased out of the cove.

  “Where are you putting us ashore?” Belmont kept his tone conversational, as if he had only the most passing interest in the answer.

  “There’s a safe landin’ a few miles along. No need t’ fret, now, m’ bully. They don’t go a-callin’ us ‘gen’lemen o’ the trade’ for nuthin’. I said ye’ll go free, and so ye will.”

  He returned his attention to his crew, and Riki huddled against Belmont’s arm, welcoming the warmth of his body that reached her even through the drenched wool of his sweater. Apparently, they weren’t to help with the rowing. She was relieved. She’d gone through quite enough for one day. Her arms ached from the carrying.

  The single star disappeared again and the drizzle resumed. Riki gazed across the
dark waters of the Channel, seeing nothing. Where are we? Somewhere along the southern coast of England, most likely. If she knew for certain maybe she wouldn’t feel so vulnerable.

  In spite of her tension, exhaustion overcame her and she dozed off, only to be awakened by Belmont’s movement. He came to his feet, standing easily in the pitching boat. She joined him.

  “This is where we part company?” He offered his hand to the smuggler.

  The man hesitated, then grinned suddenly, wiped his own on his bedraggled breeches and shook. “We’ll leave ye tied, but not so’s ye can’t get free.” He turned away. “Bring ‘em.”

  The man nearest Riki secured his oar, then turned to her. She cringed, but he merely grabbed her and heaved her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Another latched on to Belmont’s elbow and followed their leader. The small band made their way ashore in the sheltered cove.

  Riki’s carrier dumped her unceremoniously facedown onto the sand, and she closed her eyes and mouth tight. He dragged first one of her wrists then the other behind her back. The rough rope with which he tied her cut into her tender skin, and she gritted her teeth to keep from crying out. Next her ankles were secured, then her captor rolled her over and she gasped for air.

  Dimly, she could make out the shape of Belmont lying a few feet away from her. The bulky figure of the smugglers’ leader bent over him.

  “On yer honor as a gen’leman, not a word o’ tonight’s ‘appenin’s. Now, ye should be able t’ work yerselves free in a hour or two. Our thanks fer lendin’ an ‘and.”

  He signaled his companions and the three free traders strode away, back to where their yawl rocked in the shallow water, awaiting them.

  “They left us above the high tide line,” Belmont remarked after a moment.