Hart's Passion (Pirates & Petticoats Book 2) (8 page)

“Quiet, idiot! You’ll have the whole house upon us!”
 

The taller assailant still had his hand in her hair, and he jerked her head painfully forward. Keelan swung her forearm up in an arc and struck him in the throat, eliciting a strained hiss of breath. His hand loosened slightly. She opened her mouth to scream as a wide fist made contact with her chin. Little white dots exploded in front of her eyes then vanished into utter darkness.

Keelan woke to a dull throbbing pain in her jaw and moaned. Her mouth tasted like she’d chewed on a horseshoe and gargled with sawdust. She opened her eyes to total darkness. In a panic, she squeezed them shut before carefully opening them again.
 

Was she blind? She rested on a hard floor of some sort. She wrinkled her nose at the stench. Was she in a barn? The realization that she was in chains dawned, as she heard the faint
chink
of metal links when she moved. Panic swallowed her breath and she sat up quickly. A blunt force of dizziness crashed into her, and she braced her hands on the floor to keep from collapsing. Her head was throbbing.

Where was she?

Slower this time, she straightened. Flexing her fingers and rotating her wrists, she winced. The manacles were heavy and roughly made. She tugged at the shackles. It might be possible to wriggle her wrists out, if she could collapse her knuckles enough, but the links were securely fastened to the wall about knee height from the floor. Twisting her hands only managed to make her skin chafe and burn.
 

A sound disturbed her work, and she stopped moving to listen.
 

The lumbering shuffle of heavy footsteps grew louder. They stopped and the door creaked open, swinging on rusty hinges. A faint light from a lantern fanned into the room. At the sight of dozens of empty shackles hanging from the walls around her, a renewed wave of panic enveloped her. She glanced frantically around, trying to get her bearings, and search for something to use to remedy her plight.

Aside from the manacles on the walls, there were two doors. One was nestled in a far corner, away from Keelan. The other was obscured by the form of a short, round man carrying the lantern. He moved forward to the center of the room and held the light high.

“Yer awake, finally. Feared I might’ve hit ye too hard.” He eyed her before placing a bottle of ale and a small bundle wrapped in a bit of cloth within her reach, then warily stepped back.

“Who are you?” she demanded sharply. She tried to prevent her voice from shaking but failed. “Why have I been chained?”

The man cocked his flabby head to study her. “None o’ yer business who I be. You’re locked in ‘ere for safe keeping until yer new master comes to fetch you.”

“New master?” A sharp jolt of panic tightened the skin across her cheeks.
 

She struggled to her feet, tried to ignore the dizziness and leaned against the wall. She held her pounding head until the spinning subsided enough to focus on the hulking form in front of her.
 

Fear coursed through her and the only way to keep it from totally taking over her body was to funnel it into anger and indignation. Otherwise, the hysterical scream beginning to bubble in her chest would surely burst out.
 

“Release me at once!” She fought to keep the terror from shaking her voice, but failed.

He shrugged his broad shoulders in indifference. “I do the bidding of me Cap’n. He’ll deal wi’ ye.”

Her voice shook with barely contained fury. “What’s his name? I demand to see him.” Her words echoed in the chamber.

The man faltered back. “Cap’n Gampo will see you when he’s good an’ ready.”

Gampo…that was a familiar name. Why? She remembered. Conal O’Brien and Landon Hart had told a story about the man during breakfast several weeks ago. Gampo was a pirate, with whom they had an ongoing feud. He was the one responsible for killing Conal’s uncle, Fynn.
 

He pointed at the bundle he’d put on the floor. “I brought you somethin’ to eat. You’d best get at it before the rats take it.”

“I demand you release me!” She raised her voice, but it sounded more like a warble than a shout.

He backed quickly to the door.

Keelan reached down, grabbed the knotted piece of cloth, and angrily threw it at him. He flung his pudgy arms up to protect his face and ducked. The bundle opened and a piece of bread and two chunks of molded cheese rained down on her captor. The cloth floated crazily to the floor at his feet.

Realizing the worst was over, he straightened and pointed at the scraps littering the floor. “Them is all the rations you get, woman!” He stepped nearer, careful to stay out of reach. “You’re lucky I brought you anything at all after you cracked me bloody nose!”

Both of his eyelids were purple and the man’s nose was indeed slightly askew.

The sight was grimly satisfying. “What kind of reception do you expect to get when you enter a lady’s chamber in the middle of the night and attack her?”
 

He touched his nose gingerly. “Well, it hurts like bloody hell.”

“Good.”

Growling, he opened the door, pausing first to hang the lantern on a large iron hook on the wall. He scowled at her over his shoulder then strode out, slamming the door behind him, and muttering words that were probably best she couldn’t clearly hear.

Her head was spinning and she closed her eyes. She must have managed to doze off for a short while. Awakened by the low rumble of hunger from her stomach, she stared longingly at the cloth still crumpled in a small heap. The food had disappeared. The bottle of ale still sat nearby, and she quenched her thirst gratefully then placed the bottle close to her blanket and hugged her knees to her chest. An overwhelming despair unfurled within her chest. She choked back a desolate sob; she shouldn’t allow herself to cry. If she started, she might never stop. She had to escape and find Landon. But how?

It was nightfall when Landon and Conal met Commodore Hall and Sheriff Pinkerton outside a pub near the waterfront. They walked along the pier rather than meet inside. Spies were everywhere, and extra cautions had to be taken to avoid being overheard. A small sliver of a moon occasionally darted from between quick-moving clouds. The wind had picked up and was caressing the land below with gentle gusts hinting of rain.
 

Sheriff Pinkerton spoke in a low voice. “We have a total of twenty able men between Captain Hart’s crew, my four deputies, and your seamen, Commodore Hall,” he stated. “If Captain Hart is correct about the men in the warehouse, we should have them outnumbered. Let’s hope they surrender without much of a fight.”

“We’ll meet there in an hour’s time with our men,” Landon said. “With only the night watch up and about, we should be able to catch them off guard.”

“I like those odds.” Commodore Hall clasped his hands behind his back. “In an hour then.” The three men walked along together for a short distance then the Commodore parted company.
 

Landon and Conal walked for several moments in silence.

Landon’s musings drifted to Keelan Grey.
 

Again.
 

He’d tried to banish the woman from his consciousness, but the memory of their time together in the abandoned cabin cellar during a fierce storm last month haunted him in both sleep and wakefulness. Keelan’s soft curves and passionate kisses left him hungry, wanting more. Many nights he lay awake wondering what it would be like to make love to that fiery tigress.

When they’d reached the plantation after the storm, her father and uncle were understandably furious he and Keelan had been together without a chaperone.
 

He’d offered to marry her that day, to appease her father.
 

On the surface, he supposed it looked as if he did so to save her reputation. Truth was, he spoke without contemplating the consequences of his words. It was as if his mortal mind shrugged off its duties and allowed his foolish heart to take the helm. He’d thought he’d never tie himself to another woman in marriage, but the idea of waking every morning to Keelan pressed against him had pushed out any trepidations he would normally have had with regard to the bonds of matrimony. Something about her drew him to her like a parched man to water. She was impetuous and reminded him a bit of Conal, who acted first and asked questions second. She was compassionate. She’d not hesitated to rescue Simon’s boy from a rabid dog, even at her own peril.
 

In the end, she’d saved him by choosing the physician, Garrison. Or so he’d told himself.
 

Over and over and over.

He’d been bound only to the sea, then. The freedom of the open ocean and the thrill of finding exotic treasures to trade and sell along the shores of the Americas had nourished him as well as any plate of food. Perhaps even better.

Never would he permanently weigh anchor and retire to a landlocked life. Keelan seemed to sense that from their first meeting. She’d made it very clear his “type” would never make her happy, and she’d not marry a man who would sail off for months at a time, leaving her behind, lonely and alone. He knew too well what lonely women did when their husband’s left them alone for too long.
 

Her decision to accept Garrison’s proposal was a relief. His freedom had been preserved. He’d decided that as soon as they recovered his cargo, and brought to justice the band of thieves who took it, he’d set sail north along the coast to trade the rest of his goods.
 

However, a month had passed, and the desire to be with her again had nearly driven him mad. Her decision grated against his piece of mind. She came to him in his dreams, floating naked on the water, sparkling drops of sunlight dancing all around her. Light pink nipples topped her supple, round breasts and her hair flamed all around her like rays of a burnished sun. He could still feel the velvety warmth of her lips on his neck, and the touch of her slender fingers twined in his hair.
 

He had indeed goaded her into a final kiss. He’d found her in the garden, away from the dancing and the guests. She didn’t…
couldn’t
love Garrison, and he’d intended to prove it to her. A person doesn’t agree to kiss one person when they are in love with another. If they do kiss another, they couldn’t possibly do so with passion and heat. But,
that
kiss…even the memory of it made his pulse quicken. Perhaps, he’d also needed to prove to himself that she’d really, truly captured his heart?
 

No woman could have kissed him with that kind of fire and been in love with another. It wasn’t possible. Was it?

Her lips, soft and eager, stirred a heady passion from deep inside him, leaving him hungrier rather than sated. It was at that moment, he couldn’t imagine sailing for the open sea without her.
 

He’d asked her to join him and she had accepted, promising to come to him by today. Yet she’d not arrived, nor had she sent word to him. He had sought her out.

The image of Keelan and Garrison locked in a long, passionate kiss burned in his gut. He clenched his hands into fists. Why had she changed her mind? How had he been so wrong about her? His chest tightened and he tried to divert his thoughts elsewhere, but his mind wouldn’t obey.
 

Originally, she’d wanted to live in town and open her own shop before she’d agreed to sail off with him. Perhaps she changed her mind about life on the sea with him? Did her desire to be a woman of substance and independence outweigh her desire for him?
 

But, why choose
Garrison
? That bastard had been violent when he confronted her in Twin Pines’ garden. How could Keelan go back to him knowing the kind of man he was?
 

Only one answer made sense.
 

She wouldn’t.
 

Unless he was more wrong about her than anything or anyone he’d ever been wrong about in his life, she would never bind herself to Garrison willingly.

It would be a mighty blow to his pride if he was mistaken, but he’d speak to her one last time before he left port. He wanted to hear her reasoning from her own lips. The ones he wanted to devour. On the morrow, he would call on her and wouldn’t leave port until he spoke with her and heard a worthy explanation. She might tear his heart open further, but he had know if she ever wanted him, or if she had been using him all this time to spur Garrison into marriage.

 
“I wish I coulda rounded up more men,” Conal said, interrupting his thoughts.
 

Landon forced the images of the fiery-haired beauty from his mind. “I’ll not take a drunk man into battle," he said firmly. “Only those with clear eyes and a steady hand can help us.” He clapped Conal on the shoulder. “We’ll do fine with what we have. The good Commodore Hall has offered his assistance. The odds weigh heavily in our favor.”

“Aye.” Conal agreed. “Let’s go gather the men.”

A large rat sat in the middle of the floor, sizing up Keelan with a jaundiced stare. She grabbed the ale bottle and cracked the bottom against the brick wall. It shattered leaving a long shard protruding from the bottle’s neck.

“Come any closer, you bloody rat, and I’ll have
you
for
my
supper.” She picked up a piece of the broken bottle and threw it at the filthy creature, causing it to scurry into the shadows of the far wall.

Footsteps outside the cell door broke the quiet, and she quickly hid her new weapon in the blanket.
 

“Slow down, Orvis. It’s dark on these steps.”

The short man, apparently named Orvis, was back and he had brought a friend. By the stench, neither had bathed in quite a while and at least one, if not both, had been drinking. They confirmed her suspicions when they staggered into view.

“’Ere she’s awake now, Crowe.” Orvis gestured at her with the bottle in his hand. “Little Miss ‘igh an’ Mighty.” He managed two steps toward her, but the third step strayed to the right.