Dark Before the Rising Sun (15 page)

“You needn't worry. He is downstairs listening to Longacres, so you will have a chance to say good-bye to him,” Dante reassured her, understandingly.

“Whatever shall I say to him? I did not expect to leave London without taking him with me to Camareigh. He so wanted to visit, and I did promise him. I hope he will understand,” Rhea fretted, worried both about his reaction to her sudden departure and leaving him alone in London.

“You worry about him too much, Rhea. He may still be a boy, but he is tough. However,” Dante continued, “you may rest assured that I shall be keeping an eye on him. And when I arrive at Camareigh, Conny will be with me. I give you my word that he will not be abandoned. I have been giving a great deal of thought to his future, so you need not worry. And, furthermore,” Dante added with a devilish grin reminiscent of their days aboard the
Sea Dragon
, “there is a room full of men downstairs who are waiting to pay their respects to you. Do you mind stopping and saying good-bye to them?”

Rhea's smile was sad. “Of course not. They are my friends,” Rhea answered, suddenly recalling those languorous days aboard the
Sea Dragon
when the sun rode the yardarms and the sails billowed with the warm trades. And at night, under a black sky full of stars, the rising of a full moon turned the sea to shimmering silver. “I cannot believe it is over, Dante. It seems but a dream now, and soon those friends will be but names and barely remembered faces, but even then I shall always hold dear those days we shared aboard the
Sea Dragon
.”

“I know,” Dante said, and gently taking Rhea into his arms, he held her close, wishing that they were once again standing on the warm sands of their cove. Their love for one another had been found there. That love had found its beginnings in a savage wilderness, yet it would meet its greatest challenge in another wild shore, where it would either endure or be destroyed.

* * *

Kirby had continued to watch the door while nursing his third tankard of ale. He was merely curious when Sir Morgan descended the stairs, looking uneasy. Sir Morgan entered the taproom and, finding himself a table near the door, ordered a brandy, which he quickly emptied. Kirby wondered what Sir Morgan was waiting for with so little patience. He was not to wonder for long, for shortly thereafter a very distinguished-looking gentleman dressed in a flowered silk suit of the finest quality descended the stairs. But it was the scar on the man's cheek that interested the little steward most. It reminded him of something, but the memory was elusive.

To Kirby's surprise, only because the man seemed out of place in the taproom of Hawke's Bell Inn, the scar-faced gentleman sat down at Sir Morgan's table. The way Sir Morgan had bowed, one would have supposed the man to be King George himself.

Scowling, Kirby looked down at his ale. There was something going on that had the hairs on the back of his neck rising. It didn't ease his mind any when the lordly gentleman, who was asking questions of Sir Morgan, continually glanced up and around the room, his narrowed gaze singling out individuals who had sailed aboard the
Sea Dragon
, including Houston Kirby. It was a gaze which did not invite introductions. In fact, it was insultingly assessing, even unfriendly.

“Arrogant bastard,” Kirby mumbled into his ale, beginning to feel as ill at ease as he had when just a young footman standing under the scrutiny of the old marquis. And he was speculating about just what the old marquis would have thought about the strange circumstances of his grandson and heir's return to England, when his curiosity became even more aroused by the sight of Lady Rhea Claire's trunks being carried down the stairs and out the door by two hulking footmen wearing livery he was not familiar with. And since he knew neither man, he was alarmed by their handling of Lady Rhea Claire's possessions. Besides, no one had told him she was leaving, and he had yet to see the captain's sea chest following the same route.

Kirby had reached the door of the taproom by the time the captain and Lady Rhea Claire had reached the bottom of the stairs, and to the little steward's surprise, Lady Rhea Claire was wearing her cloak as if in preparation for a journey.

“Captain? M'lady?” Kirby questioned in growing concern, for her ladyship had been crying. And the captain, well, he didn't look at all pleased.

“Rhea,” a voice caressed her ladyship's name from somewhere behind Kirby's shoulders and, glancing around, he looked up until his eyes came to rest on the scarred cheek of the gentleman dressed in the flowered silk.

“Father, I am almost ready to leave.”

Kirby felt his knees giving way. Oh, Lord, he thought,
this
was the Duke of Camareigh? He understood only too well the reason for the captain's grim expression.

“I wish to say good-bye to my friends, Father. I will be but a few minutes,” Rhea explained with that sweet smile that always managed to warm his heart.

“Oh, Kirby! This is my father, Lucien Dominick, Duke of Camareigh. Father, this is Houston Kirby, steward aboard the
Sea Dragon
and one of the gentlest, kindest men I have ever known. He saved my life when I was so ill. He has a broth that rivals anything Rawley could come up with, even Mrs. Taylor's Special Treat,” Rhea said, laughing at the private joke between them.

“Your Grace,” Kirby responded, bowing deeply, his face a bright red with the guilty embarrassment he was feeling as he remembered his uncomplimentary words of only moments before.

“Mr. Kirby.” The duke spoke to him graciously because Rhea would not have lied about the man's character. “It seems I owe you my deepest gratitude for your conscientious treatment of my daughter,” the duke said, amazed still that he should be thanking one of the men he had expected to have arrested as common outlaws deserving of his condemnation.

Kirby mumbled some inane remark and suddenly remembered where he had seen the duke before. Nervous, he spoke without thinking. “If I may say so, Your Grace, you don't look much different than when I saw you close to twenty-five years ago.”

At Lucien Dominick's politely raised eyebrow, he elaborated quickly, lest the duke think him impertinent. “I was valet to Lord Jacqobi, the tenth marquis. Remember well, I do, him sayin' that ye be a young buck to watch out for, 'cause ye had a temper, and 'cause the dowager had too tight a rein on ye. 'Twould lead to certain trouble one day for the person who dared get in your way.”

In the awkward silence that followed Kirby's outrageous remark, the little steward wished the earth would open up and swallow him. Lord help him, he'd been living in the colonies too long. It came, therefore, as an astonishing surprise when the duke's laughter filled his ears. Even Dante and Rhea looked startled.

“Yes, I remember Merton Leighton only too well. He had much in common with my grandmother, the dowager. They were both tyrants.”

Lucien's glance rested briefly on Leighton, as if seeing him through different eyes. Little did Kirby realize that his innocently spoken remarks had revived old memories for the duke, memories of the headstrong young man he once had been and of the slightly disreputable reputation he himself once had possessed.

But rather than lessening his concern where Dante was concerned, the realization of his own past caused him greater worry. To think that his daughter was now wed to a man who had equaled, if not surpassed, his own youthful follies. Remembering now how ruthless and unprincipled he had been as an ambitious young man, he couldn't help but wonder further about Dante. He would not have let anything or anyone stand in his way of achieving his goals, Dante had stated. It was that single-minded determination which had Lucien worried, because Rhea was now caught up in Dante Leighton's destiny.

“Lady Rhea Claire!”

Someone in the crowded taproom had spotted the small group standing in conversation just beyond the door and, recognizing Rhea, had called out to her.

Much to the Duke of Camareigh's surprised disapproval, his daughter not only acknowledged the hail, but also intended to greet personally the uncouth fellow. Obviously he was a member of the crew of that cursed ship, for the man swaggered across the room as if still walking a slanting deck. And if that had not identified the man as a sailor, then his costume certainly would have, for the man looked like a pirate, the duke thought in growing dismay.

But before the man with the almost toothless grin and cackling laugh could reach Rhea, Alec MacDonald, on the strength of having fought beside her Scots great-grandfather at the Battle of Culloden, stepped forward toward Rhea. He at least looked civilized, thought the duke. But he continued to keep a watchful eye on the wizened gent with the knife protruding from his belt.

“Lady Rhea Claire, we thank ye for takin' the time tae see us,” MacDonald began nervously, for his gaze had not missed either man standing on each side of the lady, and neither man seemed overly pleased by the situation. The captain, he knew, but the other gentleman was a stranger, and the Scotsman, on noting the scar cutting across that austere face, decided he'd just as soon it stayed that way.

But Rhea was having none of that, and with a smile, said, “Mr. MacDonald, this is my father.”

MacDonald's moustache twitched. “Your Grace,” he said, but the Scotsman did not bow or nod in deference.

“Father, Mr. MacDonald fought beside my great-grandfather at Culloden. He remembers Mother and Aunt Mary. I told him Uncle Richard had rebuilt the castle and lives there during most of the year.”

“Out of respect tae the memory of MacDanavel of MacDanavel, I would have fought tae protect any of his kin coming tae harm,” MacDonald said with simple pride and dignity. “MacDanavel of MacDanavel, a fine man he was, came tae my assistance and offered me the hospitality of his home in Timeredaloch. 'Tis been a rare privilege for me tae know his great-granddaughter.”

Lucien sighed. Once again he had been cheated out of the pleasure of disliking one of the smugglers. Out of loyalty and decency, they had all befriended and protected his daughter.

“Thank you, Mr. MacDonald,” the duke replied, a smile lifting some of the harshness from his features and which must have been as rare as the sun shining on a winter's day in the Highlands. “My wife, who has always been proud of her Scottish heritage, will be quite touched to learn of your kindness to our daughter.”

MacDonald's moustache twitched again, and this time there was the beginning of a wide grin. “Aye, remember her well, I do. Dark as night and just as wild, she was. 'Twas the other sister, the one with the red hair, who had the gift. Heard stories about her, I did, but—”

MacDonald glanced down at the elbow nudging him none too gently. Clearing his throat, he continued, “Well, as I was about tae say, on behalf of the crew of the
Sea Dragon
, we wanted tae thank you for bringing us good fortune.”

“I fear I did little more than get in your way most of the time, but I shall cherish my memories of our voyage. And I wish all of you Godspeed and keep you safe,” Rhea said, her softly spoken words carrying to the men who had gathered close around her cloaked figure.

One man stepped out beyond the rest, his dark eyes sparkling as he bowed deeply. “To be sure, 'tis a sad occasion havin' to say farewell to so lovely a lady, but so she might not forget the bonny crew of the good ship
Sea Dragon
, we hope she will be acceptin' this small token of our esteem.” Seumus Fitzsimmons recited his carefully memorized speech perfectly, then flourished a small leather case.

Under the expectant gaze of all the crew of the
Sea Dragon
, Rhea opened the surprise gift. Her expression did not disappoint them. Tears filled her eyes as she looked up at the rough men who had become her good friends.

“You should not have done this,” she murmured, her fingertip lightly touching the exquisitely detailed jeweled brooch. It was a golden ship with diamond sails. A wave of emeralds and sapphires curled past her bow and there was even a rubied figurehead of a grinning red dragon.

Rhea was speechless. Their generosity was astounding. But her expression was satisfaction enough for them.

“We all own a piece of that wee ship,” Alastair Marlowe commented, having moved up closer through the crowd.

“Thank you,” Rhea whispered huskily. “I shall always treasure it,” she promised. And before Alastair could realize her intentions, she had pressed a soft kiss against his cheek.

Bemused, he glanced around and encountered the gaze of Dante Leighton and then the stranger's sherry-colored eyes. They seemed no more understanding than the captain's did.

His face turning a bright red, Alastair stepped aside, allowing the others to crowd close in the hope of being treated in a similar fashion, which they all were. Even Longacres's grizzled old face was not ignored. After kissing them all Rhea glanced around worriedly, for there was one member of the crew whom she had not said good-bye to yet. But she could not find the small dark head. “I do not see him. I cannot leave without saying good-bye to him, Dante,” Rhea said, her gaze searching the room anxiously now, for she felt her father's hand on her elbow.

“I will tell him what has happened, Rhea,” Dante reassured her, smoothing a stray curl back from her cheek, his hand purposely lingering against its softness as he met Lucien Dominick's gaze above her head.

“I just hate to leave without explaining to Conny.”

“Who is this Conny?” the duke asked, still disturbed by the sight of his daughter mixing so freely with this rowdy group.

“He is the cabin boy aboard the
Sea Dragon
,” Dante explained. “Rhea became quite fond of him while she was aboard.”

“We should be leaving, my dear,” the duke reminded her.

With a sigh of disappointment, Rhea nodded. She heard several voices toasting her name and she waved a last farewell to her friends. Clasping the jeweled replica of the
Sea Dragon
in her hands, she allowed her father to escort her from the room.