Authors: Vanessa Royall
Then he saw the gold cross at her throat. He hesitated, staring at it for one precious second, wondering,
Hey, didn’t the bloke in the other cell have this on before…?
Selena used the second, mustering all her strength to yank the weapon upward as hard as she could. It shot straight and true, catching Bonwit squarely in the chin. Bonwit collapsed onto the stones like a pole-axed bull, unconscious. Selena stood over him, shaking.
Thank God for that cross, she thought.
Then she gathered up the keys, left the cell—which Bonwit, in his passion, had neglected to lock—found the right key, secured the door, and fled up the corridor with the keys and the sword.
The big iron door opened easily.
Now the hard part
. Everything was dark.
Remember. Twenty-four paces to the left. Flight of stairs? Yes, here
. Up she went. A torch burned far above.
A hundred paces, had it been?
She found the second flight of stairs that Bonwit had used when taking her to Lieutenant Oakley. Now she smelled the sea air of the harbor, and paused at the top of the stairs. She was on the main level of the fortress. Torches flickered at regular intervals along its battlements. She stood in a stone gateway, peering around the corner. Two guards marched up and down, from one end of the prison to the other. They met briefly in the center, snappily saluted each other, reshouldered their muskets, about-faced, and marched in opposite directions once again.
Beyond the torch-lit battlements, Selena saw the flickering lights in buildings along the water. There was no moon, and she could not tell if there was any activity along the pier.
Then in the nether part of the prison, which she had just escaped, an excited voice cried: “Bonwit’s been attacked. There’s a prisoner missing. Everybody up above on the double!”
The two sentries were now at the far ends of their circuit.
Do it! You won’t have another chance!
Dropping the sword and the keys, Selena dashed across cobblestones, nerved herself, leaped atop the battlement, and without thinking at all, dived toward the black water below.
Down she shot, through the cold crystal air of October and into the icy waters of New York harbor. Here—ages ago it seemed—she had disembarked upon American soil, having come from India with Sean Bloodwell, and all the world had seemed full of promise and light. Now there was only darkness and the prospect of disaster. The heavy woolen dress, instantly wet, grew heavier still, taking her down and down. Her lungs were bursting from the pressure, and the cold penetrated to the marrow of her bones. Thanking Bonwit for the brandy, she managed to wriggle out of the sodden, clinging garment, and claw her way back up to the surface.
Soldiers were yelling and waving torches atop the fortress walls.
“There she be! There she be!”
“Get into the boats!” somebody shouted.
Selena heard the creaking of rope ladders under the weight of scrambling men. Fighting panic, she set out toward the pier, trying to keep her strokes steady and even. The sounds of her pursuers faded a bit, or seemed to, and she tried not to think of the frigid waters. Her chest felt as if it were encased in ice, and she was trying to remember if sudden drops in bodily temperature could stop the human heart. There were lights on the fortress behind her and flickering lights ahead of her, and all of a sudden there was darkness.
Selena stopped, treading water. She was in the shadow of the pier. Weren’t there footsteps on the thick wooden planks above? She could not stay in the water; she’d freeze for sure. But except for the cross, she was naked, her hair matted and sodden.
Gradually, her eyes adjusted to the gloom and she saw the massive tree-trunk-thick pilings upon which the pier was founded.
Coated with barnacles, slivered and gouged, they would tear her flesh apart should she try to climb one of them.
Selena knew that she was afraid, but slowly she became aware of another emotion as well. It took a little while to rise to the surface of her consciousness, but as she swam from piling to piling, the feeling got clearer and clearer: she felt outrage. To be hunted! To be quarry, like a pathetic rabbit or a terrified fox! There was nothing worse. Even in death one had at least the dignity of solitude. But this,
this
—
The anger fueled her for a few more crucial moments, and as if in reward for perseverance, her hand closed on the slippery rungs of a ladder leading to the top of the pier. She climbed out of the water and clung to it, crouching in darkness. The air felt even colder than the water had and her whole bare body felt numb. She did not hear the footsteps now, but the screech of oarlocks on the water told her that the boats were getting closer. Somewhere, in a tavern along the waterfront, people were drinking and laughing. No shelter there. She turned, appraising her surroundings, and saw the dark outline of a large ship anchored a little way out on the harbor. Probably a British man-o’-war protecting the harbor and the city. No shelter there, either.
Oh, God, where is Royce?
She started to climb the ladder, stopping when her eyes were level with the wooden planks. Darkness here too, and no one seemed to be about. She saw the lights of the tavern now, across the street from the pier, and three men lounging in the doorway, mugs of grog in their hands. A redcoat on horseback came riding up the street, gaping at his comrades who were shouting as their boats drew near the pier.
My luck could not be worse
, she thought.
Still, her only chance lay in flight. And she chose it, pulling herself up onto the dock, ready to run. There were textile warehouses and clothing shops in this part of town, and if she could reach one of them she’d at least find something to cover herself, even if she had to break a window or kick a door down in order to do it.
The horseman had paused about twenty yards away. His attention was directed toward the boats.
Selena ran.
“Duck in here quickly and don’t make a sound.”
A tall figure stepped out from the shadows of a waterside warehouse,
intercepting her in mid-flight, and a strong arm gathered her in. She was whirled around and caught a glimpse of polished brass buttons, epaulets, and a tricornered British officer’s hat. She clawed at the face hidden in the shadow of the hatbrim.
“My God, Selena,” said Royce Campbell, “is this any way for a Scottish lady to carry on!”
Royce?
It was. It was! Their predicament grew more threatening as the soldier looked toward them, raised himself in his stirrups, and shouted, “Halt! Who goes there?” But Selena felt a rush of safety and security course through her, like adrenalin or strong wine.
“Oh, darling!” she cried. “My God, I’m so glad…Are you all right?”
She clung to him and he held her close. The brass buttons of his long, swallow-tailed officer’s uniform pressed into her breasts, hurting her and imprinting images of the imperial British lion in her flesh. She didn’t care.
“Am I all right?” he repeated, astounded. “The question is, are you?”
“I feel wonderful,” she answered, wishing there were time to kiss him. Then she remembered her condition, her rat-wet straggly hair and lack of clothing. “Oh, I look just terrible—”
“On the contrary, my love. You have never looked better to me, but I think we’d better discuss it at a later time. You’re freezing. Here,” he said, slipping off the big coat, “put this on. Tie the tails around in front. It’s the best we can do right now.”
Selena complied.
“Now put your arms behind you as if you’re bound,” he said, rushing her along toward the horseman and shouting, “I’ve got her. I’ve got her. You. Soldier. Bring that horse over here right now.”
The boats had reached the pier; soldiers in pursuit of Selena were climbing up onto the dock.
The horseman cantered over, reined his mount, and saluted, staring down at the officer and the half-naked woman with him.
“Devil be bound, sir. What on earth…?”
Royce, with his arm around Selena, grabbed the horse’s reins.
“Get down, man, and be quick about it. I’ve just seized the notorious spy, Selena MacPherson, and I must take her directly to
General Graves’ headquarters on Wall Street. Get off. I need your horse.”
The baffled yeoman, beginning to dismount, was partially cowed by rank, but also distracted by the shouting riflemen swarming onto the pier.
“Selena MacPherson?” he wondered. “Aye. And isn’t there a price on ’er ’ead?”
“Yes, and I’ll give you fifty percent of it,” Royce snapped, dragging the man down from the saddle and pushing him aside.
“Ye seen a woman swim onto shore?” yelled one of the redcoats, racing toward them across the dock, the muzzle of his musket brandished like a guidon. “I say, ha’e ye seen…?”
And he saw Royce lift Selena onto the prancing horse, swing up behind her, spur the beast, and gallop off into the night.
“’E forgot t’ ask me m’ name!” complained the now earth-bound horseman sullenly. “’E promised t’ share the reward money wi’ me, but ’ow can ’e do tha’ when he don’t even know me name?”
“Oh, ye ninny and ye oaf!” decried the musketeer, as he realized that Selena had been snatched from under his very nose. “Ye’ll be lucky not t’ be ’anged, ye stupid lout.”
With one arm around Selena, holding the reins with his free hand, Royce urged the fleet chestnut gelding along the waterfront. Selena saw the closed windows of shops flash by, and the darkened facades of houses shuttered against the night. She was freezing. The smooth leather of the saddle, as she rocked in rhythm to the horse’s pace, felt sensuous, solid. But far more comforting was the presence of her beloved, better even than this strong horse or the refuge toward which it carried them. She began to feel warmer.
“They are looking for you,” she told him, turning her head slightly. “I heard talk in the fortress.”
She saw his strong teeth glinting. “It’s nothing that hasn’t happened before, now, is it?”
Then he laughed and so did Selena, and everything in the world was fine and good.
Perhaps half a mile from the point at which Selena had come ashore, Royce slowed the pounding horse and turned it into an alleyway. Here he reined the beast to a walk, picking their way
slowly far back into a tiny canyon of darkness between two rows of brick houses. He was looking upward, searching for something. Selena could not imagine what.
“Home,” he said then, halting the animal, “for the time being anyway.”
He stood up on the beast’s back as the animal shifted nervously, and pulled Selena up as well. Her bare feet slipped a little on the smooth saddle.
“All right,” he whispered, “feel up along those bricks. You’ll touch a ledge—”
She did.
“It’s a window. Open, I hope. Pull yourself up and crawl inside. I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”
Don’t leave me
, she wanted to say, but did as she’d been told, clinging to the ledge for a moment, catching a toehold in the bricks. The ledge scraped against her belly and thighs, but then she was up and over and into a dark room. The outline of a table and chairs took shape in the gloom. Outside, in the alley, she heard the receding clip-clop of the horse, followed by a burst of excited shouting.
The redcoats!
They had spied Royce!
The thought was too much to bear. For a moment, Selena debated whether to cry or not, but before she could decide, she felt the floor tremble ever so slightly, heard footsteps coming nearer, closing on her in the night.
A door opened.
“Selena? It’s me. I’m safe. The British are chasing a horse.”
Royce drew the curtains on the window through which Selena had entered, and then they held each other and lost themselves in a kiss that went on forever. She had grown to know the many nuances of his kiss, lazy or searching or tender, playful or powered by raw passion. But this kiss was one of gratitude and relief. He could hold her again, and she him, and it was as if a shroud of serenity descended out of the darkness to protect them.
When at length they drew apart, he lit a candle on the table. Selena saw a small, neat room, sparsely furnished. In addition to the table and chairs, there was a washstand with a cracked porcelain pitcher and bowl, a battered waist-high cupboard, and several rolled-up packets of bedding piled along the wall.
“Our agents use this place from time to time,” Royce explained. “It’s behind a false wall at the back of a harnessmaker’s establishment. Erasmus Ward stayed here quite often, God rest his soul.”
“You know?”
Royce nodded. “When we learned of his capture, we held a conference and decided to send Penrod over to the fortress in priestly disguise. I understand he suffered a great deal?”
“It was terrible. Oakley did not spare him. But I don’t believe he revealed anything about the coming attack on Yorktown.”
“Shh!” Royce cautioned. “One never knows where there are ears. We will even it with Oakley in due time. And you? Did he harm you?”
“He would have, had you not rescued me. Did you know I was in the fortress?”
“Not for certain. But I had a feeling. It was the strangest thing, as if you were speaking to my mind.”
“I know.” Selena smiled. What she had learned in the Orient regarding the mystical bonds between true lovers was indeed valid, and she was glad.
“Anyway, you saved yourself,” Royce was saying. “I had precious little to do with it.”
“Modesty sits strangely upon you, my dear,” Selena teased. “What are we going to do now?”
“We’ll remain here in hiding until late tomorrow night. Oakley will expect us to make a run for it immediately. Let us wait until he has lowered his guard a bit. I ordered the
Selena
to sail around Long Island to Newport. We’ll ferry across to Connecticut and make our way up the coast. And then we’re off to the Caribbean.”
Selena, who had been rejoicing over the whole day they would spend together, and the fields of time that stretched out after that, was puzzled.
“The Caribbean?”
“Yes. It’s rather a first stop. I have some plans.”
He said no more, turning from her and walking to the cupboard. Opening it, he took out a bottle of wine, two glasses, a loaf of bread, and a large wedge of cheddar. Then from a compartment at the bottom, he also withdrew a fluffy towel.