A Brother's Honor (10 page)

“Damn!” he muttered when a chip of wood popped out of his hands to roll across the floor to land on her wrapper. If Abigail stepped on it, she could cut her foot. Then both of them would be unable to walk. Then both of them might starve.

He stretched his hand out as far as he was able. When his shoulder was seared by pain, he sat upright again. The burned skin allowed him too little motion. Concentrating on not putting any weight on his ankle, he shifted himself along the floor.

When his fingers touched something hard beneath her wrapper, he scowled. Slipping his hand under her cast-off clothes, he withdrew a pistol. She must have hidden it there. When? Had she had this ever since she came ashore?

Glancing from the pistol to see Abigail returning to the hut, he checked the gun. He cursed. It was useless. It had been ruined by the seawater. Mayhap if she had cleaned it immediately, the mechanism might have been saved, but rust dotted the metal and the hammer refused to pull back.

He lowered it to his lap. Damn! It would have made the situation easier if they had had some weapon other than his knife.

A shadow crossed Dominic. Raising the gun in a swift motion that he had practiced as a boy until it was instinctive, he heard Abigail's sharp intake of breath. That she did not scream and race away like a frightened child showed him again that she was not given to swoons.

He tossed the gun across the floor. When she choked out a warning, he said, “Don't worry. It is useless.”

“Can it be repaired?” she asked, her face regaining some color.

“If we had access to a gunsmith's shop, possibly. Here, no.”

“I was afraid the gun had been ruined, but I did not want to fire it and waste the only ball in it.”

He laughed bitterly. “Were you saving it for a special occasion?”

“Mayhap I was.”

“You should have told me that you had it. What else have you hidden from me?”

“Nothing.”

“An easy answer.”

Her sapphire eyes sparked like his knife on the honing stone. “The truth is always easy, Dominic. You might know that if you spoke it more often.”

“You are accusing
me
of lying when—”

“I did not lie to you. I simply did not tell you about the pistol. I was saving it for an emergency.”

He scooped it up again and shook his head in regret. “Then you would have faced an enemy and been unable to fire it. This little pistol would have guaranteed your death,
chérie.
”

“I could have thrown it!”

Although he guessed she expected him to smile at her half jest, he continued in the same somber tone, “Whether the gun worked or not is hardly the issue. What is the issue is that you hid it from me.”

“Yes.” She took a deep breath, then released it slowly. “You are right. I should have told you about it.”

“Abigail Fitzgerald is admitting she was wrong?”

Her smile appeared and vanished so quickly he could have believed he had not seen it. “I do admit I am wrong when
I
think I am wrong, not when others think I am.”

“
Touché.
” He leaned toward her, capturing her gaze with his. How he wished he could lose himself in those crystal blue depths that were as changeable as the sea. “
Chérie
, you must be honest with me as long as we are in England.”

“If you will be with me.”

“For as long as we are here, which should not be much longer.”

“We are leaving England?” Her eyes grew round.

“Of course.”

“When?”

“That I cannot answer as quickly.”

“Oh.” Her shoulders slumped, and he put his arm around them. He had thought she would pull away, but she rested her head against him. That warned him how high he had raised her hopes and how hard he had dashed them.

Dominic was startled at the regret racing through him. Being less than honest with her would be stupid. Yet he wished he could ease that lost expression that stole every bit of glitter from her eyes.

Tilting her chin up so he could look down at her, he whispered, “By now we have been missed in Calais, but Ogier will not—”

“Ogier? Who is that?”

“Ogier Broulier is my first mate. He is mastering
La Chanson de la Mer
until I return. He will search for us as long as he can.”

“As long as he can? You are his captain. Why would he stop?”

“They have other things to do,
chérie.
”

Abigail shivered involuntarily. Dominic's words were like a slap across the face. This man holding her was her enemy. He wanted to see Father hang, and he had had no sympathy for what she would have endured in France.

Trying to keep her voice steady, she said, “I already have faced the fact that I may not get back to New Bedford for a very long time.”

“And that does not frighten you?”

She started to reply with bravado, but halted her sharp answer. Meeting his gaze steadily, she said in an even tone, “It scares me almost as much as being captured and being put to death as a spy. I do not want to die here in England all alone.”

“You are not alone.” He stroked her hands gently.

Withdrawing her fingers from his, she pulled away from him and shook her head. “In many ways, Dominic, I am more alone than I ever have been. Unlike you, I am accustomed to being with my family.”

“The crew of
La Chanson
is my family.”

She glanced at the wedding ring on his left hand and stood. “If we want to eat tonight, I should find us something.”

“
Chérie?
”

“I am sorry I did not tell you about the pistol, Dominic, but it does not matter, does it?”

“No, it does not matter.” Sorrow filled his voice. “Nothing matters but getting out of England before we are discovered.”

“It will not be easy.”

“True, but we must try.”

She dampened her abruptly arid lips, then whispered, “Do you think we will succeed?”

“I am not sure.” His eyes met hers as his voice grew cold. “The only thing I am sure of is that, if we must, we will die trying.”

Chapter Eight

Hearing someone outside the hut, Dominic woke and reached for the knife. He clenched and unclenched his hands. Yes, he could beat back an intruder.

He lowered the knife as Abigail peeked in and asked, “Awake?”

“Yes.” He growled a French curse as he rubbed his aching shoulder.

“Are you hurting worse?” she asked as she held out a cup of water to him.

He was about to chide her for risking her life, then realized that the sun was just rising. In the past ten days, Abigail had kept the promise she had made not to go near the stream during the daylight. He hoped she would hold as dear other vows that he must ask of her.

“Dominic?”

Giving her a wry smile so she could not guess the course of his thoughts, he said, “Yes, I am hurting, but 'tis my fault. All night I was careful not to lie on the burned skin across my left shoulder. So I woke with my right shoulder all cramped from sleeping on it.” Stretching, he winced again. He scratched his cheek, which itched with unshaven whiskers. “Why are you smiling?”

Abigail chuckled. “Because you are in such a charming mood this morning.”

He glared at her, then relented. Her continual attempts to cheer him must be as difficult on her as on him.

He tried to move his ankle, and the ruts in his forehead eased. The pain was almost gone. Cautiously he stretched his left arm, then his right, and grinned. Only his head continued to ache. The wounds there would take a few more days to heal. It was time to find his way back to
La Chanson
.

As Abigail handed him a slice of stale bread for breakfast, he appraised her. She had tended to him tirelessly. Every day, she crept into the village to find something to eat. She had been an excellent ally, but would that change when he told her what he had planned?

He smiled as he took a sip of the fresh water and looked over the cup to admire Abigail. In her loose shirt and breeches that accented her lovely legs, she urged him to forget about the dangers of crossing England and think only of making love with her.

Abigail lowered her eyes from Dominic's smile. If he thought she was unaware of his gaze, he was a fool. And she knew he was no fool. As soon as he was well enough to travel, they must be on their way, so she could say good-bye to England and this intriguing French pirate. The uneasy truce between them must not be broken until then, but she feared that was impossible.

“The villagers were speaking about attending a fair day,” she said as she took another sip.

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

He laughed. “The timing could not be better. They will be exhausted by dark.”

“And we can be on our way?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“London.”

Abigail stared at him. “Are you mad?”

“Mayhap, because, if I am not wrong, we are near the region the English call Dartmoor.”

“Where is that?”

He smiled. “Almost the full breadth of England away from London. We were swept by the storm north almost to Caernarvon in Wales. As soon as the rudder was repaired, I headed the
Republic
south to go around Cornwall. We had not gotten far when your father's crew decided to destroy the ship rather than face their fate in France.”

Abigail frowned, waving aside his words that did not matter now. “That is not what I meant. You must be mad to go to London.”

“Mayhap, but London offers us our best chance to flee this island, because so many ships come there.”

“Not French or American ships.”

He chuckled. “You would be surprised,
chérie
. It is not difficult to hide a ship's origins when there is money to be made.” He put his cup on the floor. “
La Chanson
has sailed into the Pool at least a half-dozen times in the past two years. It sometimes is easier to buy supplies in London than to return to France.”

“But your accent must give you away.”

“Men who are interested in profits seldom care about their government's policies. If we can reach London, I know of several people I can get to help us.”

“Help us or just you?”

He smiled tightly. “I hope they will help both of us.”

“You want me to base my life on a hope?” She toyed with the hem of her long shirt. “And even if they are willing to help, I am no better off than I am now. I will be among my enemies in France instead of in England.”

“I have thought of that.” All amusement disappeared from his face as he took her hands. “
Chérie
, help me get to London, and I shall see that you are sent back to your aunt in New Bedford.”

Abigail knew she should agree before he changed his mind, but she could not. “What of my father?”

“Once Ogier has turned him over to the authorities, I can do nothing.” He put his finger to her lips to halt her next question. “My debt is to you, Abigail. You saved my life, and I will do all I can to return you to yours.”

She nodded, not knowing what to say. Dominic St. Clair would not unbend enough to break the laws of his country, but he possessed a certain sense of honor. She did not want to admit that, because then she might have to admit as well that she had come to enjoy his wit and his efforts to save her from the dismals … and she had enjoyed his kisses.

She looked at the ring on his left hand. Mayhap he did not intend to be as honorable about his wedding vows as he was about helping her, but she must be.

“All right,” she said in little more than a whisper. “I will help you if you help me.”

“Is that a promise, Abigail?”

“Yes.”

“And 'tis a promise from me as well.” He lifted her right hand to his lips and kissed it swiftly. “A promise sealed with a kiss,
chérie
, is one that neither of us can break.”

She laughed, unable to halt herself when he sounded so serious. When a smile warmed his stern face, she was certain of one thing. The trip ahead of them would not be boring.

Night trailed out of the trees to throw itself across the shore. In the distance, the lights from the village looked like earthbound stars. A lantern from a small ship bounced with the waves.

Abigail shoved her ruined clothes beneath a loose floorboard. Nothing must suggest that anyone had been living here. She glanced toward the shore. The bodies there had vanished. Had the sea reclaimed them, or had the villagers taken them away and buried them? Even if the villagers had shown that kindness to the corpses, she doubted that their clemency would extend to a living American and Frenchman.

She brushed dirt back over the board, satisfied that it would not catch anyone's attention. Coming to her feet, she wondered who else had taken shelter here and then disguised any signs of their stay. She took one last look around before going to the door. This moonless night was perfect for beginning their journey.

A darker shadow passed in front of the door, lurching with every step. Abigail picked up the dark lantern she had taken from a shop in the village. She went out and watched as Dominic struggled to walk. He leaned on the hut with each step. When he turned at the end of the hut, he hobbled back toward her.

“It will not be easy,
chérie
” he said. “This ankle will not support me completely.”

“Then we will go slower.” She forced a laugh. “It is not as if we need to be anywhere by a specific time.” She hesitated, then asked, “Dominic, will you be all right?”

He slid her hand across his cheek that was turning black with whiskers. When it was against his lips, he kissed her palm.

She yanked her hand away, fearful of the luscious fire that surged along her arm. She must not surrender to his easy seduction. “I can see you are quite yourself! I do not know why I waste time worrying about you. Let's go.”

“Have you been worrying about me?” Astonishment filled his obsidian eyes.