The Ice Captain's Daughter (2 page)

After he gave her the water, he sank back into his chair and turned toward the fire. As she drank, Jillian had the opportunity to examine the man’s profile. Although he was dressed as a gentleman, his curly chestnut-colored hair was tousled and wild. A full beard obscured the lower half of his face, but his nose might be described as elegant. He’d smiled when he handed her the cup, but no sense of merriment lit his arresting green eyes. In fact, he had the glum demeanor of a man in deep mourning. Logan had shown her every courtesy, but Jillian suddenly had the uncomfortable feeling she was intruding on some unspoken grief. In addition, she shuddered to think what Aunt Letty would say about the impropriety of the situation.

While Logan removed the roasted meat from the spit, Jillian set her cup down on a nearby chair and retrieved the jacket and gloves draped over the foot of the bed. Although she lamented the damp and muddy condition of her jacket, her kidskin gloves were ruined and could not be worn. A powerful thunderclap shook the cottage just then, and she jumped. “Oh, my!”

Logan glanced over. When he noticed the jacket and gloves clutched in Jillian’s hands, his eyebrows knit together.

“What are you doing, Miss Roring?”

“I’ve trespassed too long on your privacy. I really must let my family know where I am.”

“I’m afraid this storm prevents us from traveling tonight.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean that you should trouble yourself. There are still a few hours of light left. I believe I can find my way back to the road.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Even if you managed to avoid being struck by lightning, you shouldn’t put weight on your extremity.”

Although she didn’t want to admit it, Jillian knew Logan was right. The slightest movement of her leg was agony. To her horror, tears welled up in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks.

“S-Sorry,” she managed. Despite her best efforts, her self-control kept slipping from her grasp, and a sob escaped her lips. “Forgive me.”

“There’s no need.”

Logan retrieved her cup and took it to a rough-hewn sideboard. There, he poured out a sizable amount of amber liquid from a glass bottle sitting on top. He brought it back to Jillian and held the cup to her lips as if she were a young child.

“Drink this. You’ve had quite a shock.”

She took the cup from him and gulped the contents. When she gasped and coughed afterwards, Logan laughed and patted her on the back.

“You shouldn’t have downed it all in one go.”

“I thought it was medicine!” she gasped.

A shudder shook her frame and Logan took the cup before she dropped it.

“Many people consider brandy medicinal, Miss Roring, but it’s meant to be savored.” Still smiling, he set the cup aside. “Have you never had spirits before?”

“A half glass of wine with dinner upon occasion.”

Jillian rested her face in her hands, suddenly woozy. Logan helped her lie back and drew the covers up over her shoulders.

“I’ll hang your jacket by the fire so it will be dry by morning. Hopefully the storm will have passed by then and I can take you to a telephone.”

For some reason, Jillian found forming words increasingly difficult. “Marvelous invention…telephone,” she murmured.

“Sleep now. Upon my word as a gentleman, you have nothing to fear.”

Although she had only just met Logan, Jillian felt safe.
This will sort itself out in the morning, and I’ll resume my journey to London with an adventure to tell.
Her eyes closed.
At least I made the man laugh
, she thought as she drifted off into a deep slumber.

Logan ate his dinner at the small table underneath the window. The squall rattled the glass panes, but he paid little attention. Instead, he found his gaze drawn to the young sleeping beauty fate had thrown in his path. Her clear complexion had been rendered pale by her ordeal, and her white-blonde hair lay across the pillow like corn silk. Admittedly, when he’d dressed her wound it had been difficult to keep his attention from wandering. He was far too gentlemanly, however, to dwell on inappropriate thoughts about helpless young women. His beard twitched as he pictured her wielding her hatpin as a weapon.
Perhaps the lady is not so helpless after all?

As bedraggled as she was at present, Miss Roring appeared to be well bred and genteel. Although her hat was missing, her dress, petticoat, and shoes were fashioned of the finest materials. She was most likely an heiress or under the protection of someone with money. Logan shook his head with dismay at her predicament.
Gah! England has run amuck with thieves, pickpockets, and opportunists.

Another explosive torrent of rain reminded Logan his horse needed attention. He stepped into the boots sitting next to the door, shrugged on his overcoat, and headed outside toward the small stable adjacent to the cottage. When he returned twenty minutes later, damp and chilled, the girl was still asleep. Logan threw a few logs on the fire and settled down in his chair with a blanket. He gazed at his guest as he waited for sleep to claim him.
She’s extraordinarily pretty and unspoiled. It’s too bad she’s traveling to town. London society will leave her jaded and heartbroken…like me.
His eyelids slid shut.

Chapter Two

Idunn Court

A
LTHOUGH
T
HE
R
OOM
at the roadside inn was dark and shabby, it was greatly brightened by the strewn contents of a hand-tooled leather trunk. Finery lay about, as if the trunk had exploded in an excess of merriment. Clad in an exquisitely tailored tea gown and feathered hat, Betsy danced around in her bare feet. She paused every so often to drink from the uncorked bottle in her hand. Just when she’d added a lace-trimmed fan to her ensemble, a key rasped in the lock and the door opened. George appeared. As he caught a glimpse of Betsy, a broad grin lit his face.

“Oi, don’t ye look grand!”

Betsy dropped into an exaggerated curtsy.

“Thank ye kindly, brother. Would ye care for a bit o’ refreshment?”

She tapped the bottle with the fan, in invitation.

“Don’t mind if I do. Ye look like you’ve had a wee head start.” George took a long pull, and smacked his lips with satisfaction. “I done posted the ransom note off ter Sir William.”

“He’ll be a mite put out when he reads it.” Betsy’s giggle ended in a snort.

“And I got a pretty penny for the brougham, too, though not as much as it’s worth. We won’t be needin’ it where we’re goin’.”

Betsy hiccupped. “I’m not leavin’ England without Sam.”

“Don’t fret. We’re not settin’ sail until we’ve had our share o’ the ransom.”

“Ye were brilliant, by the way.” She giggled. “For a moment I thought ye really
had
been shot. When we get ter America, maybe ye should become an actor.”

“Aye, I might fancy that.”

“And if Sam won’t marry me, I’ll find somebody with money who will.”

He snickered. “Ye’d best marry someone daft, then. Nobody else will mistake ye for a lady, despite your fine purloined feathers.”

Betsy snatched the hat from her head and began whacking George with it. She chased him around the room until a banging came on the door. They stopped dead and exchanged a horrified look.

“Coppers?” Betsy whispered.

“Can’t be!”

The banging continued, accompanied by the sound of a familiar voice.

“Open up.”

Wide-eyed, George threw the door open. An exasperated Sam strode into the room. “Did ye post the ransom note ter Sir William yet?”

“Yeah, an hour ago,” George said.

Sam cursed, grabbed the bottle of liquor from George, and drained it.

“What’re ye doin’ here?” Betsy asked, aghast. “We didn’t expect to see ye till Liverpool.”

“We said we’d meet up here if somethin’ went wrong. The girl got away.”

“Ye dolt!” George exclaimed.

Sam shoved him. “If ye hadn’t backed the carriage over my foot, she wouldn’t have done!”

George returned the shove. “Nobody asked ye ter stand so close, ye fool!”

“Stop!” Betsy pried the two men apart. “Tell us what happened, Sam.”

“The she-devil ran off and when I grabbed her, she stabbed me with this.” Sam opened his jacket, where he’d woven the hatpin into the inside lining of his jacket. A spot of dried blood was visible on his shirt.

Betsy gasped. “Are ye all right?”

“Aye, but she saw my face. Then we run smack into a gent with a Purdy shotgun. I near got my backside ventilated.”

Sam began to pace back and forth in the ensuing silence. Betsy pushed her fingertips against her temples as if to quell the onset of a headache. George folded his arms across his chest, drilled Sam with a level stare, and waited.

“Nobody knows ye two are involved,” Sam said finally. “Ye can drive the brougham back to Gloucester and put this business all on me.”

“That’s brilliant,” George snapped. “We can’t go back. I already done sold the brougham, like we planned.”

“I should have done her in right off and dragged the body into the woods. The rain woulda washed away the blood in no time.”

“What a minute…what’s this about doin’ Miss Roring in? I thought ye were holdin’ her fer ransom,” Betsy said, taken aback.

“Don’t be daft. I never had any intention ter hand her over alive. As it is, she’s a loose end.”

Sam passed a shaking hand over his face. Betsy squeezed his arm.

“Don’t despair. That hatpin will fetch a few quid. Them is real diamonds. And I also have Miss Roring’s gold earbobs. Between the three of us, we might have money enough fer passage ter America.”

“You reckon so?” As Sam peered at her, the pinched look on his face eased.

“We can always roll a few swells in Liverpool,” George said.

A smile lifted the corners of Sam’s mouth. “That we can, laddie.”

“I’m a fair pickpocket, I am,” Betsy said.

Sam chuckled. “All right. We’ll ride fer Swindon at dawn and take the train ter Liverpool. After that, we’ll buy tickets on the first ship sailin’ west.”

Betsy threw her arms around Sam’s neck and planted a kiss on his mouth. “We’re ter be married when we get ter America, promise?”

Sam disentangled himself.

“Aye, sure. Right now I’m headed ter the tavern for a pint or three.”

After Sam left, George blew out a long breath. Betsy peered at him.

“Ye got that look on yer face, Georgie. What’re ye thinkin’?”

“Seems ter me, little sister, that yer boyfriend has become a liability. If Miss Roring saw his face, the coppers’ll be after him.”

“What’re ye goin’ on about?”

“Maybe he should meet with a little accident.”

Betsy clutched her brother’s arm. “No, Georgie. I love him.”

He leveled a cool stare at his sister. “Aye? That makes one of us.”

When Logan woke, the cottage windows were glistening with the light of a clear morning. Miss Roring was leaning over the washbasin, splashing her face with water. He stretched to unwind the kinks in his neck and back.