The Daredevil Snared (The Adventurers Quartet Book 3) (33 page)

He drew back and was replaced by Gerry, one of the older boys.

Kate started handing out the rocks that littered Caleb’s back, weighing him down. She steadily worked her way down his body as Gerry eagerly took the rocks from her.

Eventually, Gerry said, “Let me go and empty this.” He gripped the basket’s handles. “I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

“On your way,” Caleb said, “can you ask Hillsythe to look in?”

“’Course, Capt’n.” Gerry grinned and saluted, then moved out of sight.

A short time later, Hillsythe crouched in the opening. “How are you feeling?”

“Bruised and a trifle battered, but I’ve been worse.” Caleb studied Hillsythe’s features. “Dubois? The guards?”

Hillsythe cracked a grin of his own. “Outside—and they’re showing no signs whatever of wanting to come in, not even to see the state of things.” He sobered. “But be prepared to meet Dubois’s questions when we get you out. He’s seen Amy, so he knows why you came into the tunnel, but we’re not yet sure what he’s making of it all.”

“Muldoon?” Caleb asked.

Disgust passed over Hillsythe’s features. “All he’s concerned about is what this means in terms of mining more diamonds. Dixon described the situation here”—with his gaze, Hillsythe indicated the pile beneath which Caleb lay—“and told Muldoon and Dubois that we won’t know what’s what until the tunnel is cleared, most likely later tomorrow.”

“And the timing mechanism?”

Hillsythe’s grin resurfaced. “Well and truly buried and almost certainly smashed to smithereens. Regardless, as it’s us who’ll be digging it out, I think we can be assured Dubois, Muldoon, and the guards will never see anything to stir their suspicions.”

Kate had already realized that the men had engineered the collapse of the mine themselves—in secret—but had she needed confirmation, the comments regarding a timing mechanism provided it. But she held her tongue, and when Hillsythe drew back and let Gerry return to take more rocks from her, she resumed her task. She and Caleb still had to get free of the collapse the men had engineered. Time enough for upbraidings later.

As she worked, freeing Caleb’s waist and hips and reaching as far as his knees—the farthest she could manage—she considered why they’d done it. That, she could understand—desperate times called for desperate measures, and they’d obviously set it up so that if it hadn’t been for Amy going back into the mine, no one would have been hurt at all...

But why hadn’t the men told the women?

Why hadn’t Caleb told her?

With all the larger rocks removed, she smiled and waved Gerry away. “That’s it for now. It must be late.” She’d lost all track of time. “All you children should be in bed.”

Gerry grinned. “Miss Harriet and Miss Annie are just rounding us up.” He looked at Caleb and sobered. “Me and all the others, Capt’n, we wanted to ask if you’re really all right.”

Caleb actually laughed. “Battered and bruised, but more or less intact. My thanks to you and all the others for your help, but you’d better head off before Miss Annie comes to tow you away.”

Gerry saluted. “Aye, aye, Capt’n.” Then he rose and dragged the basket away.

Caleb lowered his head and rested it on his left forearm. The position allowed him to tip his head far enough to look at her.

When his eyes met hers, she arched her brows. “Can you move your legs and feet?”

The space was still limiting, the beams angled over his back too close for him to turn onto his side and pull his legs up. He shifted, attempting various maneuvers, in the process dislodging the rubble about his calves and feet, but eventually, he grunted, gave up, and slumped flat as he had been. Meeting her eyes once more, he grimaced. “They’ll have to lift all the beams off.” He tried to look over his shoulder, but couldn’t manage it. “How many are there?”

“At least three of the big ones, and there’s several others in between. But I think they’re going to lift this first one and then see if they can pull you out.”

He grunted again. After a moment, he caught her eye. “You must be exhausted. You don’t have to stay.”

She held his gaze. “Yes, I do.” In case he thought to argue, she added firmly, “More, I am.”

His lips curved in his usual irrepressibly charming grin. He reached out and took her hand again, and she sat beside him and waited.

It took another half an hour before the men had cleared the debris sufficiently to safely lift the first beam away. Trapped by the remaining beams, Caleb still couldn’t move—couldn’t even raise up enough to crawl out—but after helping Kate out and to her feet, then urging her back, Fanshawe stepped in, gripped Caleb’s hands, heaved, and slowly dragged him out from beneath the remaining beams.

Finally!
Caleb slid his hands from Fanshawe’s, thanked the man, then pushed himself half upright into a sitting position. He drew in his aching legs and bent his knees, then swiveled to lean his back against the tunnel wall. Just that much movement made his head pound and his senses swim; he was grateful for Kate’s steadying hand on his shoulder.

Dozens of men were crammed into the tunnel; they sent up a resounding cheer. In lieu of a grin, Caleb managed to hold up a hand and weakly wave in acknowledgment.

Dixon appeared, briefly gripped Caleb’s shoulder, then addressed the men. “Now he’s out, we’ll leave the rest until tomorrow. No sense risking getting trapped in here if there are any further falls.”

Everyone agreed. The men started to file out.

Phillipe crouched before Caleb and searched his eyes. “How are you feeling?”

Caleb wished he could grin as he had before, but now he was sitting, the blood was rushing through his limbs, making him acutely aware of each bruise and scrape. “I don’t think I’m bleeding anywhere” was the best he could muster.

Phillipe held up several fingers. “How many?”

Caleb was fairly certain the answer was two and said so.

Phillipe grunted. “You’re guessing. You have a concussion. No sleep yet for you.”

“Actually,” said Hillsythe, who had come to stand just behind Phillipe and had been studying Caleb, “I wouldn’t attempt to appear too chipper. Dubois is waiting outside. Your pallor’s quite convincing, but I wouldn’t go out of your way to play down any weakness—not in this case.”

“Ah.” Caleb went to nod, but thought better of it. “I take your point.” He reached behind him to push up off the wall.

Phillipe shifted to his side, seized Caleb’s arm, and looped it over his shoulders. Hillsythe displaced Kate on Caleb’s other side, and between them, the pair hoisted him to his feet.

When he swayed, they steadied him.

Caleb closed his eyes and sucked in a breath. “Damned head.”

“Just as well it’s still attached to your shoulders,” Hillsythe drily remarked, “because we’re still going to need it and you to get us through August and into September.”

Caleb grunted, but as Hillsythe and Phillipe turned to half carry him out of the mine, he opened his eyes enough to find Kate’s face.

She smiled, although the gesture didn’t erase the worry in her eyes, then she spoke to Hillsythe and Phillipe. “Take him to the medical hut. I’ll need to check his injuries, and we should bathe that lump and give him something for the pain.”

Caleb decided he could live with that plan. “How’s Amy? Is she truly all right?”

With their way lit by lanterns held aloft by other men, Kate walked beside the three of them and assured him Amy was better than he was and, more, had retrieved her ribbon. Apparently, that fact, combined with the usual resilience of youth, meant that Amy was already well on her way to being her usual sunny self.

Supported between Phillipe and Hillsythe, he staggered slowly out of the mine and into the open compound. As they paused to pivot toward the medical hut, he saw Dubois and Muldoon waiting ahead and to one side, backed by a semicircle of guards with muskets in their hands. Instinctively, Caleb tried to stand taller, only to have one ankle buckle beneath him.

Kate grabbed the hand of the arm slung across Hillsythe’s shoulder, while both men grunted and heaved Caleb upright.

Beneath his breath, Hillsythe grumbled, “No need for histrionics.”

Caleb murmured, “That wasn’t an act.”

Kate gritted her teeth. She wasn’t at all sure what the truth was. Not that it mattered; his injuries needed tending, and he needed to stay awake. She released his hand. “Straight to the medical hut.”

Dubois, of course, stepped across to block their way, his men ranging behind him.

Hillsythe and Phillipe drew up with Caleb swaying between them. He noted that Muldoon had remained where he’d been—on the sidelines and farther from the captives.

Dubois studied Caleb with cold detachment. “Captain Dixon informs me that the collapse of the tunnel was most likely due to a minor earth tremor that caused the newly constructed entrance to the lower level to shift and subsequently fail.”

Caleb tried valiantly to raise his head high enough to nod, but couldn’t quite do it. He managed, “I’m not an expert, but that seems about right. The ground did...tremble, and it was somewhere back there—around the entrance to the lower level—that collapsed first.” He really didn’t want to relive the moment—the sickening seconds before the roof had fallen in and he’d thought he’d finally pushed Fate too far—and if some of that reluctance crept into his tone, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Dubois said nothing for several seconds, but Caleb had a mother and three manipulative brothers; silence wasn’t going to make him obligingly rush in to fill it.

Kate, however, wasn’t so inured. “I was closest to the mine. I felt the ground shake, just a little, before the collapse.” She offered the comment reluctantly, as if feeling forced to speak up.

Dubois glanced her way, then inclined his head. “As it happens, the guards in the tower felt the movement as well.” He returned his gaze to Caleb. “Which leads me to conclude that the cause was, indeed, a natural one.” Dubois’s smile was as chilly as his tone as he continued, “Which is good news for you, Captain Frobisher. If part of the mine had collapsed inexplicably, even with you sending in a young girl to give you a reason to go in when no one else was there, I would have been sorely tempted to lay the blame at your feet.”

At that, Caleb did raise his head enough to look Dubois in the eye. “Do you really think I would be fool enough to bring down the mine about my own ears, let alone with Amy in there with me?”

Dubois held his gaze steadily. “Do I think you would be reckless enough to arrange such a scenario, but misjudge the outcome and get caught in the collapse? Yes, Captain Frobisher, I do.”

Caleb’s frown was entirely genuine. “Well, I didn’t.” For once, his scheme had been determinedly nonreckless, and it certainly hadn’t been any part of his plan to send Amy in as a decoy of sorts. He felt he had a right to be huffily indignant, but wasn’t sure that wasn’t his concussion talking. “It was an earth tremor.”

“As Captain Dixon and my men bear that out, I accept that to be the case.” With a coolly contemptuous nod, Dubois stepped back. His men followed suit, clearing their path to the medical hut. “I have been told,” Dubois said, “that you are not so badly injured that you will not be able to continue to work as you have been.”

It was Kate who snapped, “He has a concussion, but that appears to be all. He should be recovered enough in twenty-four hours.”

“Excellent.” With a cold smile, Dubois waved them on. “According to Captain Dixon, it will take that long to clear the debris. I’ll expect to see you on your feet when Mr. Muldoon and I make an inspection of the mine tomorrow afternoon.”

Caleb didn’t bother attempting a reply.

Her head high, Kate swept past and on, leading the way to the medical hut, and he allowed Hillsythe and Phillipe to steer him in her wake. His mind buzzed with questions regarding the state of the mine and their plans for the upcoming inspection, but then he had to climb the steps into the medical hut.

Kate had gone ahead and stood holding the door.

He hauled in a breath and started up.

The change in elevation rocked his balance.

The buzzing in his head abruptly increased—and giddy dizziness rose and dragged him down into blessedly unfeeling darkness.

* * *

When he regained his senses, he was lying in the bed in the medical hut, under the mosquito netting. From somewhere nearby, a lamp shed golden light upon the scene.

He blinked.

Several seconds passed, then he realized he was naked.

He was also clean.

Someone had sponged the dust from all of him, from all his cuts and bruises, and everywhere in between...

Without moving his head, he shifted his gaze and saw Kate carrying a wide bowl to the chest against the wall.

He blinked again. Surely not?

He knew his brain wasn’t working all that well. While her back was to him, he lifted the sheet and peered down.

Yes, he was naked.

And yes, he was clean.

Someone
had washed all of him.

CHAPTER 18

Caleb lowered the sheet and glanced at the door.

Kate turned and saw. “What is it?”

He looked at her. “Is there someone else here?”
When did Phillipe and Hillsythe leave?

She frowned. “I don’t think so.” Carrying a pot of salve in one hand, she walked to the door and looked into the corridor. “No. No one’s about.” She shut the door and latched it. Turning back to the bed, she said, “In case anyone else is brought in.”

His wits, he discovered, weren’t cooperating. “What time is it?” How long had he been non compos mentis?

“It must be nearly midnight.” She advanced on the bed.

He watched her approach and reminded himself that he should be trying to keep a viable distance...shouldn’t he? His wits were fuzzy about that, too. When she lifted the netting, ducked beneath and let it fall, then sat on the bed beside him, he cleared his throat. “How did I get here?” He waved. “In the bed?”
In this state?

She’d been unscrewing the lid of the pot. She looked up and met his gaze. “Hillsythe and Lascelle carried you in, then Hillsythe had to go back. Lascelle helped me undress and bathe you.” Her lashes lowered, but her lips quirked. “If that’s what you want to know.”

He wasn’t at all sure what he felt about that—tantalized or horrified. But... “I can doctor my own cuts.”

“Actually, you can’t.” She looked up, and he saw determination of a sort he hadn’t previously encountered in her eyes. Before he could decide what it foretold, she went on, “Most of your abrasions are on your back—you won’t be able to see them much less reach them.” She gestured with one hand. “Now turn over so I can rub some of this on. You know you can’t risk infection in this place.”

A second was all it took to convince him that he was really not up to arguing. He humphed, and clutching the sheet to keep it over his shoulders, he turned away from her onto his left side, then, gingerly, onto his stomach.

Of course, she promptly drew the sheet down, but only to his hips.

Then came the excruciatingly delicate touch of her fingertips as she dabbed the ointment around a scrape on one shoulder blade, but that was followed by the much firmer and definitely soothing pressure as she gently stroked, then rubbed the ointment in.

After she’d attended to several such scrapes, he found he was all but floating, relaxed and strangely content.

Then she stood, circled the bed, and came to sit on his other side, the better to reach the rest of the damage. She dabbed, then stroked. He felt her gaze on the side of his face, but didn’t raise his heavy lids.

“You’re supposed to stay awake,” she said, her voice soft and low, “or at least, I’m supposed to make sure you don’t sink into sleep for too long.”

“Hmm.”

“So why don’t you tell me why you and the other men chose not to tell the women about your plan?”

Although he didn’t raise his lids, he was immediately wide awake. And for a wonder, his brain seemed to realize that he needed all his wits about him. “I wanted to tell you—you and the other women—but the rest of the men made a convincing case.”

“So Lascelle informed me. He also said the reasons the other men put forward were unarguable, and that if the same situation arose again, you would behave in the same way.”

Caleb made a mental note to reward Phillipe appropriately for his help. First, Phillipe had acquiesced to Kate being involved in undressing and bathing Caleb, and then Phillipe had told her just enough to leave Caleb having to explain a point he was well aware women often didn’t appreciate. “Phillipe’s such a good friend.”

“Indeed.” The crispness in her tone suggested she understood enough to suspect Phillipe’s motives. “But in the interests of keeping the peace among us all, why don’t you explain what those ‘unarguable’ reasons were?”

Inwardly, he sighed. “They convinced me by pointing out that when the tunnel collapsed, the reactions of the women and children—your shock and surprise—would instantly eliminate all of you from Dubois’s list of suspects. Moreover, we’re all fairly certain that Dubois amuses himself by watching us plotting, so he knows that, generally, the women and children are included and involved in all our plans. So in this case, having you—the women and children—all reacting in obvious shock and surprise would also assist in keeping Dubois from thinking that we—the men—were responsible for engineering the collapse.”

He paused, knowing the next part was actually the crux of the matter, at least for him and her. He raised his lids and shifted his head so he could meet her eyes. “We couldn’t risk Dubois guessing the collapse was our doing, because if he did, he would retaliate.” He held her gaze. “And the first person he would hold to blame would be me. So the first victim he would seize for his atrocities...would be you.”

Kate found herself drowning in the vibrant blue of his eyes, in the steady, rock-solid, unwavering devotion that was so much a part of him, a cornerstone of his character, and in the knowledge that that devotion was now hers. This man would walk through fire for her. She knew that—could see it with her own eyes. She would never have to doubt him, never need to question his commitment to what he patently had taken on as a new cause.

Her and him living a shared life.

He would never give up on that goal.

And after tonight, she knew that regardless of any quibbling of her rational mind, her soul had already decided that she should throw in her lot with his.

Tonight, she’d known what it was to care for another to the exclusion of self.

Tonight, she’d felt something inside her rise and break free, and fill her, drive her, to find him, rescue him, care for him.

Still holding his gaze, she tilted her head. “So you kept me in ignorance to protect me?”

He searched her eyes, then his lips and chin firmed. “Yes. And Phillipe spoke truly—if the circumstances were the same, I would do it again.”

What Lascelle had actually said was that that was simply the way Caleb was, and she’d have to get used to it. She dropped her gaze from his, but knew he would see her lips curve. But she wasn’t yet ready to explain why, after being exceedingly irritated over being kept in ignorance earlier, having learned of his reasoning, she now found his actions...romantically endearing.

If this was a portent of their lives to come, then she was, indeed, willing to get used to it.

She drew in a breath, then set about anointing another deep scrape on his side.

He shifted his head and studied her face. “Well?” he eventually prompted.

She still hadn’t found the right words. “Well...just as long as you had sound and solid—indeed,
unarguable
reasons...then I suppose that’s all right.”

She glanced at him and found him staring at her as if she was a puzzle for which he was missing several pieces. She smiled and looked away, continuing her careful ministrations. “And in this case at least, the ploy worked. When the mine collapsed, I screamed and tried to race in. Lascelle had to catch me and hold me back. There’s no chance whatever that Dubois didn’t believe my performance or those of the other women and children.” She met his gaze briefly. “And you’re also correct in that our shock and surprise is infinitely more convincing. You men just get more stony faced when something dreadful occurs—just more stoic. There’s no telling what you’re really feeling, much less why—you all so rarely show your emotions.”

He nodded fractionally. “And never to an enemy. That’s written in the rules of engagement.”

She grinned, then patted his side. “There are several bad abrasions on the backs of your legs. I’m going to lift the sheet and tend them, and you’ll just have to lie there and bear it.”

His eyes flared wide, but when she rose and pulled the sheet up from his feet, he humphed and relaxed again, sinking his head into the pillow.

“How’s your head?” She started with a long scrape down the back of one calf.

He frowned slightly as if taking stock. Eventually, he replied, “Not as bad as I thought it would be.”

“Both Hillsythe and Lascelle said you need to stay horizontal until tomorrow—that the longer you do, the better you’ll be when you eventually get to your feet.”

He made a noncommittal sound that she interpreted as confirmation that his friends’ prescription was an appropriate one.

Which only led her mind further along the path her emotions had been tugging her down for the past hour.

She let the thoughts, the impulses, brew as they would while she tended the rest of his injuries. When she finished, she stood back and surveyed all she could see of his back—the thin sheet now draped over his buttocks and little else. “Lascelle was right—he said you have the luck of the devil.” His friend had also stated that the gods looked after such as he.

Caleb snorted. “He can talk. I’ve seen him come through pitched battles without even a scratch.” He raised his head and tried to look over his shoulder and down his back. “I, at least, end with scratches.”

“Scratches, scrapes, deep abrasions, and bad bruises—from being all but buried in a mine collapse.” She shook her head at him, then ducked under the netting, walked to the dresser, and set down the ointment. “Incidentally, you have several deep bruises on the front of you, too. But I tended those earlier.”

She’d rushed to salve the bruises before he’d woken; she’d been fairly certain he wouldn’t have been as amenable about her tending those as he had been about the abrasions on his back. She smiled to herself, but didn’t glance around; she could imagine his expression. For all his confident, pushy ways, there was a strong streak of the gentleman in him.

Rustling came from the bed. She turned to see him once more on his back, the sheet flipped modestly over him, and his gaze fixed on the netting above.

After a moment, he said, his tone utterly sober and serious, “It would have been a lot worse if those beams hadn’t fallen as they did.”

“Indeed.” And that realization had been her turning point. Seeing and understanding that he’d come closer than a whisker to death—confronting what his death would now mean to her—had forced her to see, to acknowledge and admit, that there was only one path she could take. Only one path to the future that she wanted.

That she now craved.

She walked, slowly, back toward the bed.

His gaze lowered, and he watched her approach.

She paused beside the bed and reached for the laces of her drab, unflattering gown.

He blinked. His eyes widened. “Kate? What are you doing?”

Instead of answering, she wriggled her arms out of her loosened bodice, then pushed the fabric to her waist, then farther over her hips until of its own volition the garment fell to the floor. She rather thought that words would be superfluous, that her actions would speak clearly enough.

All she had on beneath the wretched gown was the fine lawn chemise she’d been wearing when kidnapped. Her walking dress hadn’t lasted long in the conditions of the compound, and as Dubois had with all the women, he’d given her the dun-colored drab to wear.

She’d expected to feel self-conscious, but shedding the hated outer garment made her feel more herself.

And the stunned yet openly heated expression in Caleb’s bright blue eyes made her feel...

As if she—Kate, the woman she truly was—was his ultimate prize.

She didn’t hesitate but ducked beneath the netting and knelt on the bed.

She leaned over him, falling toward him, and he instinctively raised his hands to grasp her waist. His fingers nearly circled her, and she briefly closed her eyes; she didn’t try to mute the delicious shiver that traveled over her skin, along her nerves. Felt through her thin chemise, the heat of his touch was all but scalding.

Then she felt him draw in a long breath—sensed the lift and swell of his chest. Before he could speak, she opened her eyes, looked into his, then she bent her head and fitted her lips to his.

This time, it was very definitely she who kissed him. She who pressed on; she who framed his face between her palms and dove into his mouth and claimed.

And he let her. He parted his lips and let her lead the way—let her direct, even dictate their play, even though he was hard on her heels, following every move she made and reciprocating gladly. With vigor, verve, and openhearted enthusiasm.

Just as she wished.

Just as she wanted.

Because she wanted him. Because she wanted the future he’d conjured. He’d committed to it already, in both words and deeds. She...she’d been sitting on a mental fence, too lacking in confidence in her own impulses—her own emotions—to take the plunge.

Tonight had put paid to that.

He and his plan and the collapse of the mine—let alone his selflessness in going after Amy—had slain every quibble, eliminated every uncertainty.

What was she waiting for?

Coming so close to losing him had set that question blazing in her mind.

There wasn’t any sense in holding back. In not committing, in not openly acknowledging
this
.

This hunger, this desire. This burning wanting to claim him and have him claim her.

She released his face and traced one questing hand down the strong column of his throat to where the sheet was trapped across his upper chest. She gripped and wrestled the screening fabric down, then she spread her hands on his chest—and tactilely devoured, even as she pushed their kiss on into what, at least for her, was unchartered waters.

His hands rose to cup her breasts. Then those powerful hands closed and kneaded, shifting the fine lawn against her sensitive skin. Then his fingers found her nipples, teasingly circled, then tweaked until the buds furled so tightly she gasped.

She broke from the kiss, straightened her back, and raised her head high to drag in much-needed air. And realized that, at some point, she’d shifted to straddle his waist.

Good.
The siren inside her purred in approval. Now she’d taken the plunge and made her decision, she felt remarkably at one with that rarely glimpsed side of her—the side only he had ever evoked.

Sitting half upright, she drew her hands reluctantly from the glorious width of his chest, cupped the steely muscles of his forearms, and traced them upward, feeling the flex of muscle and tendon as he continued to minister to her breasts. She skated over his wrists and finally closed her hands about the backs of his, and gave herself a moment to savor the sensation of his hands working as he pleasured her.