The Prize (13 page)

Devlin relaxed,
relieved by the interruption. He glanced at the ship's surgeon, a small, portly
man with thick sideburns and curling gray hair. "It's fifty-fifty,"
he responded. "I'll know in the next fifteen minutes."

Jack Harvey folded
his arms across his chest and gazed up at the inky, starless sky. "What is
this hostage-taking business, Devlin?"

Devlin stared into
the gray horizon. "My own mad affair, I'm afraid."

"Who is
she?"

"Does it
matter?"

"I caught a
glimpse of her on board the
Americana
.
She's a young lady. I smell a ransom. I don't
know why. You've never ransomed a woman before."

"There's always
a first time," Devlin said, having no intention of telling the good
surgeon anything at all. "How are the wounded?"

"Brinkley is
dying, but I've given him laudanum and he doesn't know it. Buehler and Swenson
will make it. Does she need medical attention?"

Devlin became
irritated. "She needs a gag, but no, she does not need medical
attention."

Jack Harvey raised
both bushy brows in surprise. Then he said, "She's a beautiful wild thing,
isn't she? Good God, the men are talking about how she tried to shoot you!
She—"

"Reams!"
Devlin snapped. 'Take the helm. Stay true to course." He jammed a finger
at the compass heading and stalked across the quarterdeck. He did not know why
he was suddenly very annoyed and angry.

"I take it you
are not inviting me to join you for a bite of supper before we face the winds
of hell?"
Harvey
called out to his back.

Devlin didn't bother
answering. But it was now or never— if the storm caught them, he needed a full
belly and all of his strength.

Had she been
crying
when he left the cabin?

Not that he cared.
Women used tears for the sole purpose of manipulation—he had learned that long
ago. As he didn't care about any woman to begin with, tears had no effect on
him.

He opened the cabin
door and saw
Virginia
seated at his table, which was
set with silver and fine crystal and a covered platter, from which savory
aromas were wafting. Her posture was terribly erect, her hands were clasped in
her lap and two bright pink spots blotched her cheeks. Her gaze, which seemed
wild, clashed with his.

He straightened,
closing the door, sensing a battle's first blow.

She smiled and it was
as cold as ice. "I wondered when you would return..
.Captain."

Delight tingled in
his veins. How he loved a good war. He

intended to enjoy
this one. "I hadn't realized you were pining for my company," he
said with a courtly inclination of his head.

"I only pine for
your head—on that silver serving platter," she said, as regally as if she
were
England
's queen.

He wanted to smile.
He nearly did. Instead, he approached cautiously and saw the fury hi her eyes.
"I fear to disappoint you. My chef is French. I have far better fare on
that platter."

"Then I shall
wait patiently for a better day, when the dinner I truly desire is
served," she almost spat.

He refused to
chuckle. "You do not strike me as a patient woman, Miss Hughes, and as I
doubt the day you seek will come for a good many years, what will you do
instead of waiting?"

"You're right. I
have
no
patience, none at all! Rogue!" she cried.

He almost laughed.
"Bastard" was more like it. "Have I somehow offended you, Miss
Hughes?"

Her laughter was
brittle. "You murder innocent Americans, you abduct me, take me prisoner,
strip in front of me, ogle my breasts and ask me if I am offended? Hah,"
she said.

He reached for the
bottle of red wine. "May I?" he asked, about to pour into her glass.

She leapt to her
feet. "You're an officer!" she shouted, and he tensed, thinking she
intended to strike him. But she only added in another shout, "In the
British navy!"

He set the bottle
down and swept her a mocking bow. "Sir Captain Devlin O'Neill, at your
service, Miss Hughes."

She was trembling
with rage, he saw. He decided to give in to lechery and admire her perfect
breasts. "Stop leering," she hissed. "You have committed
criminal acts. Atrocious criminal acts! Explain yourself, Captain, sir!"

He gave up. This
woman dared to order
him.
It was the single truly entertaining moment of
his life. She was on
his
ship, in
his
command and she ordered
him
about. He laughed.

                             
105

Virginia
froze, startled by the brief
eruption of that rough sound, with its oddly raw tone. Then, still furious at
his deception, and worse, at what clearly was not the dire predicament she
had thought herself to be in, she snapped, "I am waiting for an
explanation,
Captain."

He shook his head and
looked at her. Very softly, he asked, "Are you not afraid of me?"

She hesitated. What
kind of question was this?

"Be truthful,"
he said, as if in earnest.

"You terrify
me," she heard herself say, her pulse quickening. Then she amended,
"You have terrified me, and all for naught, damn it!"

His brows lifted.
"Ladies do not curse."

"I don't care.
Besides, I have not been treated like a lady, now have I?"

He gave her a very
odd, long look. "Another man would have had you in that bed—where you
belong. But you are hardly there, are you?"

She went still. Alarm
filled her. Alarm and such a forceful heartbeat she could no longer breathe. "I
har—I har— I hardly belong in your bed!" she stammered. Terrible images of
her there, with him, in his powerful arms, assailed her.

"A slip of the
tongue." His brows, darker than his hair, lifted. "I agree. Skinny
women tend to be exceedingly uncomfortable."

She almost gasped
again. Then she cried, "I am only fourteen, sir! You would take a child
to your bed?"

His gaze slammed to
hers.

She wet her lips. She
was perspiring and she desperately needed him to believe her now.

His jaw flexed. His
gaze narrowed with speculation, causing her heart to lurch with dread. 'This
is a dangerous game you play, Miss Hughes," he said softly.

"It is no
game!"

"Indeed? Then
explain to me the fact of your passage, alone and without chaperone, aboard the
Americana
?"

Her mind scrambled
and raced. "I had to lie to Captain Horatio to get passage," she
said, and she thought her explanation brilliant. "Obviously he would not
let a child travel to
Britain
alone. I told him I was
eighteen—"

He cut her off, his
eyes cold. "You did not look fourteen in your wet gown, Miss Hughes."

She stiffened.

His smile was a mere
twist of lips. "Do sit down. As interesting as this conversation is, I am
here for a purpose. A storm threatens to catch us, and if so, a long night
ensues." He moved swiftly to the table and held out her chair.

Virginia
found it hard to sit down.
Oddly, she hated her deception now; she did not want him to really think of her
as a child. But did he even believe her? She did not quite think so. And he
wasn't a pirate, oh no! Some of her anger at being duped—and pointlessly
frightened—returned. "Why didn't you tell me that you are a captain in the
royal navy?"

He shrugged. "Do
you care?"

"Of course I
do!" she cried, facing him earnestly now "Because I thought I was your
prisoner, although I could not fathom why. Now I know differently, although I
still do not understand why I am on your ship and not the
Americana
.
I know that the British navy thinks nothing
of seizing American ships, as you have clearly done, for your country has no
respect for our rights! But we are not at war with you, and you are not a
pirate! In some ways, we are allies. Clearly you will release me in
Portsmouth
!" For this was the
conclusion she had drawn upon finding his naval uniform in his closet. An
officer in the British navy was not about to ransom an American citizen. But
what was he about?

"We are not
allies," he said harshly.

This was not the
reply she had expected and she did not like the look on his face or in his
eyes.

"And I am not
releasing you in
Portsmouth
."

"What?"
She was shocked. "But—"

"In fact, I am
taking you to Askeaton. Have you ever been to
Ireland
, Miss Hughes?"

Virginia
was disbelieving. "
Ireland
? You think to take me to
Ireland
?"

"I hardly think
it," he murmured, "I plan it. Now, do sit down, as I also intend to
eat." He held out her chair.

Confusion overcame
her. "I am not sure that I understand."

"Good God!"
he shot. "What is there to understand? I am taking you to
Ireland
, Miss Hughes, as my guest."

She was truly trying
to comprehend him. "So I am your
prisoner,"
she managed to say
hoarsely.

"I prefer to
think of you as a guest." He became serious. "I will not harm you—not
even if you are eighteen."

"Why?"

"It doesn't
matter. Now, sit."

Virginia
had believed her terrible
predicament over. She shook her head, refusing to take the offered chair.
"I have no appetite. Is it a ransom that you seek?"

"How
clever." His smile was cold.

"I have no
funds. My inheritance is being sold in bits and

pieces as soon as
possible, and the proceeds go to the repayment of
my
father's
debts."

He shrugged as if he
did not care.

Virginia
became very alarmed, but managed
to breathe slowly, evenly. "You let Mrs. Davis go. She was rather
wealthy."

"If you think to
starve, so be it." He sat down and began serving himself from the platter,
where a hearty mutton stew was revealed.

Unfortunately, the
sight and smell of the stew caused her stomach to growl loudly, but he did not
seem to hear. He began to eat, and quickly, as if eating were a mission and he
were in a rush to accomplish it.

Finally he took a sip
of wine and saluted her with his glass. "Fine contraband, indeed."

Virginia
did not reply. A terrible
inkling was dawning upon her. He intended to ransom her and he couldn't care
less about her inheritance.

He had known her name
from the moment they had met.

He must know of her
uncle, the earl.

She sat down hard on
the chair he had left pulled out from the table. That action caused him to
glance up, although he never ceased eating.

But now she was safe
enough, was she not? The man was in the navy, even if about to be discharged,
or worse—and she hoped he hanged from the nearest gallows. He was no common
outlaw. He wanted a ransom, one that would surely be paid, and considering all
circumstances, she doubted he would return her to her uncle blemished in any
way.

Virginia
wondered what the ransom would
be and if her uncle was wealthy enough to pay her ransom and her father's
debts. Her dismay was infinite.

"You seem
distraught," he remarked, leaning back in his chair, apparently having
finished his meal.

110                           

"You have no
morals, sir," she said tightly. "That much is clear."

"I have never
said I did." He eyed her. "Morals are for fools, Miss Hughes."

She stared.
Impulsively, she leaned forward. "How can I make you change your
mind?" She could hardly believe herself now. "There cannot be a
ransom from my uncle, Captain O'Neill. I am eighteen, not fourteen." His
face never changed expression. "I will do whatever I must to be
freed."

He stared for an
interminable moment "Is that the offer that I think it is?"

She felt
ill...breathless...ashamed...resigned. "Yes, it is," she croaked.

He stood. "The
storm is upon us. I am afraid I must go. Do not leave this cabin. A chit such
as yourself would be blown overboard instantly." He tossed his napkin
aside and strode across the now-rolling floor of the cabin as if it were still
and flat.

That
was his reply? She was
incredulous.

At the door, he
paused. "And my answer is no." He walked out.

She collapsed on the
table in tears, all of which now flowed purely from desperation. She already
knew her uncle didn't give a damn about her. He would never pay both a ransom
and her father's debts.

Because of the damned
Irishman, she would lose Sweet Briar.

Anger exploded and
she leapt up, racing across the cabin. As soon as she had swung the door open,
a huge gale wind sent her forward helplessly across the entire deck. She had
never felt such a force in her life;
Virginia
saw the raging, frothing sea beyond the railing and it seemed to be racing toward
her. She couldn't even cry out and then she was slammed hard, midsection first,
into wood and rope.

Pain blinded her. The
sea sprayed her, while the wind wanted to push her overboard. Panic consumed
her—she did not want to die!

"You damnable
stubborn woman," O'Neill hissed, his strong arms wrapping around her. And
she was cocooned against his entire hard, powerful body, the sea and the wind
now relentlessly battering them both.

She inhaled, unable
to look up, her face pressed against his chest. His grip tightened, and then he
was dragging her with him as he confronted the wind, walking fiercely, determinedly
into it, a single man against the elements.

He shoved her into
the cabin, and for one moment stood braced in the doorway, pounded by the wind.
"Stay inside!" he shouted to make himself heard.

"You have to let
me go!" she shouted back. Oddly, she wanted to thank him for saving her
life.

He shook his head,
lashed her with a furious look and began running across the deck, finally
leaping up to the quarterdeck. It had begun to rain, pounding and fierce.

Virginia
stayed safely within the cabin,
out of the reach of the storm, but she made no move to close the door, which
had become nailed open by the wind. Now she realized how serious the storm was.
The ship was riding huge tidal waves the way the tiny dinghy had earlier,
cresting to each huge tip, only to plummet sickeningly down again. She glanced
around and saw sailors everywhere, straining against ropes, crawling in the
masts. They were hanging there, too.

Then she looked back
up and cried out in horror, because a man was hanging from a middle yardarm,
and she knew he had fallen and was about to careen to his death.

She had to do
something, yet there seemed to be nothing that she could do.

She glanced toward
the quarterdeck. She was too small to even cross the space between O'Neill's
cabin and where he

stood, to tell him
what was happening. She looked back up— and the hanging man was gone.

Vanished.. .drowned.

Her insides lurched
terribly. He was gone, and she hadn't even been able to hear him scream.

As the ship bucked
violently,
Virginia
saw that all of the sails were
tied down save one. She quickly realized that the sailor who had fallen had
been sent up the first mast to reef a single sail that remained taut and
unfurled.

And the huge ship
instantly began to turn over on its side.

Virginia
was thrown against the floor and
carried all the way across it, downward, until she slammed into the opposite
wall, her shoulder taking the blow, and then her head. For a moment, as the
ship lay on its side—or nearly so—she remained there, incapable of moving, stunned.

She then realized
that the ship was going to capsize if it didn't become righted again. She
looked at the doorway, which remained wide open, and now was oddly above her,
like the ridge of a hill, the angle severe, perhaps forty-five degrees or more.
The black sky shimmered in the open hatch.

They were all going
to die, she thought wildly.

Virginia
began to climb the floor, using
the bolted table legs to help her, then the leg of the bed. Once there, she managed
to stretch flat and reach high up to grab the ridge of the floor where it
adjoined the door. Her arms screamed in protest, her shoulder joints felt
racked.
Virginia
slowly pulled herself to the
doorway, and once there, her back pressed into one wall, her feet into another,
gazed wildly around.

The sailors on deck
were also fighting the terrible angle of the ship, and its lowered side, while
still not submerged, was being pounded with whitecaps.
Virginia
looked up at the masts and froze.

There was no
mistaking Devlin O'Neill, a dagger in his teeth, climbing up the first mast,
another man behind him.

Above him, the huge
foresail billowed, begging the storm to capsize them.

He was going to die,
she thought, mesmerized, just the way that other man had. For as he climbed,
using sheer strength and will to fight the pitch of the ship, the huge winds
and the rain, the frigate rolled precariously even further to its side.

Virginia
watched in horror. Even if he
didn't die, they were surely doomed, as no man could defeat the wind and the
bucking ship in order to cut the sail free.

She watched as
O'Neill paused, as if exhausted, the man beneath him also stopping.
Virginia
could not remove her gaze. She
prayed as both men took a brief respite, clinging to the swaying mast.

He started back up.
He'd reached the yardarm from which the sailor had fallen and he began to slash
at the rigging. The other man joined him.
Virginia
watched them avidly. A few brief moments
passed into an eternity when suddenly the huge canvas broke free of its
rigging, sailing wildly away into the night.

The huge ship groaned
and sank back evenly into the water.

"Oh, my
God," she whispered, watching him begin a precarious but nimble descent.
It was obvious he had just saved his ship and crew, and it was also obvious he
had dared to do what few others would even contemplate.

She began to shake.
The man knew no fear.

She realized she had
never been more afraid in her life.

She wasn't sure how
long she sat there when a sailor shoved his face at her. "Get inside,
Captain says so."