The Prize (18 page)

Then she looked
ahead.

A number of people
were rushing down to the docks. She grew disturbed. Some appeared to be farmers
in their shabby tunics, others merchants, finely dressed in wool coats and
britches. Women were in the gathering, too. The younger ones were waving and
smiling. No—everyone was smiling.

She was uneasy now.

Virginia
heard O'Neill shouting orders as
the ship slowed. She saw a titian-haired woman in the simple garb of a peasant
step out from the crowd. She was carrying a basket of flowers.

Someone cheered. The
cheer sounded suspiciously like, "O'Neill!"

She hugged herself.
The cheering began in earnest, then the titian-haired beauty began tossing
flowers at the ship. The flowers were caught up in the wind and landed in the
harbor's waters. There was no doubt as to what the crowd was

cheering. "The
O'Neill! The O'Neill!" they hollered and cried. In fact,
Virginia
felt certain that there were
tears—
tears
—on quite a few cheeks.

She did not
understand.

Men clad as seamen—not
O'Neill's crew—dashed forward to catch the
Defiance
's
ropes. The ship moved laterally now, and
Virginia
heard a huge anchor being thrown
into the river. Why were these people overjoyed by O'Neill's appearance?

She told herself it
did not matter. She must be ready to escape and the time was now.

But as she cracked
open the cabin door, she knew it did matter—it mattered very much. She simply
did not know why.

O'Neill was standing
on the quarterdeck, viewing the town and the congregation that had come to
greet him as imperiously as if he were a king. He wasn't smiling. But he was,
Virginia
thought, completely preoccupied.
His expression was strange, both intense and strained. She could not help but
wonder at his feelings.

Then the
titian-haired beauty was crossing the deck and climbing up to where he stood.
Virginia
watched her reach out, a bouquet
of roses in her hand. O'Neill suddenly seemed to realize she was present—he
started and turned. The beauty tossed the bouquet aside and leapt forward, her
hands finding his shoulders, her mouth finding his.

Virginia
blinked in shock.

O'Neill quickly
embraced her, clearly accepting and then deepening and finally dominating the
kiss.

The assembled
townspeople went wild, screaming his name, over and over again.

Virginia
could not look away, as if she
were hypnotized.

Then her common sense
rescued her. She knew the perfect opportunity when it presented itself and she
hurried from

the cabin, across the
deck and joined several seamen rushing down the gangplank as the townspeople
rushed up it to board the ship.

On the dock, she look
back. O'Neill was setting aside the woman, but someone, an official of the
town, perhaps, was offering his hand. O'Neill accepted it, his attention never
wavering.

Virginia
moved up the dock, hit the
cobbled street, passing several drays and wagons, and turned into a tiny
cramped street filled with shops below and homes above. Then she ran.

Devlin walked slowly
to the captain's cabin, the decks finally cleared of townsmen, all of his
sailors gone on liberty. He was subdued. It seemed a different lifetime
completely when he had walked those streets as a boy with his father, their
wagon filled with supplies, everyone bowing in deference as Gerald O'Neill
passed, his own small shoulders proud and square. It seemed at least a lifetime
ago that he had run those streets, half-wild, after Gerald's murder, with the
shopkeepers and merchants glancing after him, whispering about "that poor
O'Neill boy" and "that affair up on the hill," a reference to
his mother's marriage to Adare.

He'd been home once
since he'd joined the navy at thirteen, six years ago, a strapping, cold-eyed
youth of eighteen who had just received his first command after Trafalgar.
There had been no roses strewn at his feet when he'd sailed his schooner in
that day, no cheering throng at the docks. But everyone had snuck out of shop
and home to steal a glance at him as he passed their way on his ride to
Askeaton. There'd been whispers, but he had refused to listen. He hadn't known
what they said.

Devlin realized he
was not alone. Jack Harvey stood near the cabin, smoking a pipe. "And the
prodigal son returns," he said.

Devlin halted, no
longer angry at
Harvey
—in fact, he had accepted his
treachery the way he would have accepted his death, the time for mourning over.
He had no remaining feelings at all except for indifference. "I am hardly
anyone's prodigal son."

"You are this
town's prodigal son."

"They are filled
with delusion and desperate for a hero— any hero—as long as he is Irish and
Catholic, no matter if he is a figment of someone's too-vivid
imagination."

"It's funny how
everyone in the fleet considers you obnoxious, rude and overbearing, not to
mention excessively arrogant. I, however, know the truth. You are one of the
most modest men I've ever had the good fortune to meet."

"Is there a
point to your being here, Jack? I haven't been home in six years and I intend
to make Askeaton before dark."

"Then I suppose
you shall have to hurry,"
Harvey
said.

Devlin knew
Harvey
wished to linger but he did not; he walked
into the cabin. There he started, realizing instantly that
Virginia
was not present. He was
disbelieving—and then, when he realized that she had somehow escaped, he
couldn't help feeling a twinge of admiration for her. She was more resolved
than even he.

"Clever little
witch," he growled.

An odd strangled
noise came from below his bed.

Devlin strode over
and hauled the naked, hog-tied and gagged Gus Pierson out. He slit the ties and
pulled out the gag. Gus was frighteningly white. "Sir, it was my fault. I
take full blame for the prisoner's escape, sir!" he cried, standing.

Devlin felt like
striking him, but he did not. From the doorway, he heard
Harvey
murmur, "Well, well, she did it,
anyway. Will you dismiss Gus, too, or simply keelhaul him?"

Keelhauling usually
meant death and no one used such a method of punishment anymore. 'Tell me
exactly what happened," Devlin said, ignoring the taunt and tossing Gus a
pair of his britches and a shirt.

Gus donned the
garments, turning red as he spoke. When he had finished, Devlin said, "You
will help me find Miss Hughes, Gus, and when she is back in my charge, you will
relieve the watch of this ship. Your privilege of liberty is suspended for the
duration of our stay, until I deem otherwise."

"Yes, sir,"
Gus mumbled, but he looked relieved, as if he had expected far worse.

But Gus was a fine
sailor and a very brave lad, and Devlin was well aware that his orders not to
even look at the prisoner had aided her in her successful escape. His
punishment of Gus was perfunctory at best—he needed the rest of the crew to
witness it in order to maintain his discipline of the ship. But he did not
blame Gus for her escape. There had been no treachery. Virginia Hughes was
simply far more clever than the young Dane.

"And how will
you find her?"
Harvey
asked. "By now, she is
surely halfway to the next village—wherever that may be."

Devlin smiled coldly.
"Actually, you are wrong. There is only one sane way for Miss Hughes to
get to
London
, and that is by another
ship."

Harvey
raised his brows.

"Am I not the
prodigal son? Did not the mayor greet me with a medal of honor? Did not Squire
O'Brien invite me to supper? Did not the captain of the
Mystere
invite
me to dine with him tonight?"

"I begin to
see,"
Harvey
murmured.

'Two can play this
game," Devlin said, turning to Gus. "Put out word on the docks. My
reluctant fiancée is trying to find a passage to
London
, and her return to me, her heartbroken
groom, will be amply rewarded. I will speak with the mayor and town council
myself."

  
                       
145

Gus rushed off to
obey.

Devlin left the
cabin.
Harvey
followed more slowly, and he
muttered, "Poor lass. She doesn't stand a chance."

Something
was terribly amiss.

Virginia
crouched on her knees in the
hayloft of a dark, sweet-smelling barn, peering through the window onto the
narrow, twisting street. Night had fallen and the street was now entirely
deserted. Virginia had been hiding in the barn, which was somewhere in the
center of town behind a carpenter's shop, for several hours. In all that time,
she had seen only the occasional pedestrian, a few pairs of sailors and a cart
or two. Why hadn't there been a huge search party?

Surely her clever
captor had discovered her disappearance shortly after she had escaped. Surely
he had organized his men into various groups in order to thoroughly search the
town. But she hadn't heard a search party, and from her hiding place she could
hear the laughter and music coming from the wharf-front inns and bars. From
time to time she could even hear drunken conversation on the streets just
beyond the one where the barn was situated.

What could it mean?

Virginia
stood, her knees aching, and
stretched. As worried and suspicious as she was, she knew she must move on. She
had to find a ship leaving for
London
, or if that failed, for any port
in
Great Britain
. That seemed to be the only intelligent
way to get to
London
—traversing
Ireland
, on foot and penniless, would be absurd.

Virginia
climbed down the ladder and left
the barn. She hurried toward the wharf, certain that, at any moment, her captor
would appear from around a street corner, legs braced apart, a wicked and cool
smile on his disturbing features, determined to capture her all over again.
But neither O'Neill nor a search party materialized around any bend.

This was very odd,
indeed.

Virginia
's unease and alarm grew as she
faced the docks.
Limerick
had a few oil lamps on the main
public streets, but the wharf was left mostly in shadow, except for the
occasional glow of torchlight. It did not matter. Instantly she saw the dark
outline of the
Defiance
rocking gently at its moorings, shadowy and
huge, proud and beautiful even in the cloak of night. The reefed sails stood
out starkly against the inky black sky. No lights burned from the captain's
cabin, although one torch signaled the presence of the watch. She half
expected Devlin to suddenly appear on the quarterdeck, a ghostly figure in his
white shirt and pale britches, but he did not.

Her heart beat far
too hard. Why wasn't he searching for her? Had her plea been effective, men?

Virginia
suddenly flinched as voices
sounded behind her. She ducked her head, pressing against a shop door as she
tried to look at the pair of men.

They were obviously
sailors. As obviously, they were drunk and boisterously discussing the merits
of a wench at the Boar's Head Inn. She did not recognize either of them. But
then, she could not possibly recognize all of O'Neill's crew.

Virginia
ran up to them, lowering her
voice as she spoke. "Hey, mates. I'm lookin' fer a ship to get home to
London
." She hoped to mime a cockney accent.
"D'ye know who's bound that away?"

The men paused, one
of them drinking from a mug. The stout one spoke.
"Mystere
sets
sail on the first tide, boy. I heard the cap's short his crew, too, an' he's
takin' anyone who can walk."

Virginia
could not believe her good luck.
She beamed. "Why, thank you!"

The man suddenly
shoved his face closer, peering at her. "Hey, you look familiar, boy. You
been on the
Defiance
,
sailin' with us?"

Virginia
turned and ran without
answering, aware of how fortunate she was that the two sailors were so drunk.
The
Mystere
was a sloop, half the size of the
Defiance
and berthed close by.
Virginia
hurried up the gangplank.
Instantly the watch called out to her.

"Name's
Robbie," she growled. "I'm looking to set sail tomorrow with ye boys
if the cap'n will allow it."

A lanky sailor came
forward, shoving a torch toward her. "Cap is dinin'," he said.
"But we're real short of men. C'mon, Rob. I'm sure he'll speak with
you."

Virginia
followed the other youth, her
heart continuing to race, relieved he carried the torch while walking ahead of
her.

"How old ye
be?" the watchman asked. ' She hesitated. "Fifteen."

"Ye look twelve,
maybe," the lad laughed. "Don't worry, Captain Rodrigo won't care if
yer eight. We got a few boys just out of nappies on board."

Virginia
grunted as they paused before
the small cabin that was just beneath the quarterdeck. The watch knocked, was
told to enter, and Virginia followed him in.

"Got a boy here,
Cap, lookin' to sail with us."

A barrel-chested man
with a gray beard and dark piercing eyes sat at a small table, apparently
finishing a supper of bread, cheese, mutton and ale. He eyed Virginia, who
stood as close to the door as possible. "Step forward, boy," he said
roughly. "Ye ever sailed a ship before?"

Virginia
came forward, avoiding looking
him in the eye. She needed to get to
London
,
and decided there was no choice but to lie. "Aye, sir. Been at sea since I
was, er, eight."

"Really?"
The ship's captain wiped his hands on his thighs, then belched. "Which
ships?"

Virginia
felt herself pale. Then a
brilliant idea came to her and she said, "The
Americana
,
Cap."

"Never heard of
it."

"We were seized
by the
Defiance
,
sir. Just a few days ago. The
Americana
is probably at the bottom of the sea right
now—she'd never have had the sail to outrun the gale that hit us. I was lucky
enough to be taken aboard the
Defiance
"
she
said, and she smiled at him.

"An' why jump
ship?" Rodrigo stared far too closely at her. "Most of my men would
give an arm to sail with O'Neill."

Virginia
hesitated. "Not me, sir. He
likes boys, if you know what I mean, Cap."

The captain's broad
face never changed expression. "O'Neill's reputation for fine women is
well-known. Seize her, Carlos."

Seize her, Carlos.

Seize her.

Virginia
whirled as the lanky youth,
Carlos, reached for her. She ducked under his arm easily enough and bolted out
the door.

"Get the
girl," Rodrigo shouted. "She's O'Neill's fiancée, goddamn it, and
there's a pretty reward for her return!"

It all clicked then,
as she raced across the deck. O'Neill

750                           

had not bothered to
search for her, knowing she would try to find a ship to
London
. She hated him then as she ran toward the
gangplank.

How could she fail
now? When freedom was so close?

A group of men were
stepping onto the gangplank from the docks below. Behind her, Carlos cried,
"Seize that woman! That's not a boy, it's a woman!
O'Neill's
woman!"

Virginia
faltered as the men below
hesitated, and then the four of them bolted up the plank toward her.

She looked back.

Carlos stood a few
feet behind her, grinning at her, his arms dangling at his side, fingers
twitching as if eager to grab her.

Virginia
looked to her right as the four
sailors ran toward her.

The water was black
and iridescent in the starlight.

It looked so calm.
She was a strong swimmer, too.

Virginia
darted toward the rail. And then
she leapt up onto it.

Carlos shouted,
"Grab her before she jumps!"

Virginia
paused on the top rail, took her
dagger from her belt, and held both arms high up overhead. Then she dove.

Devlin strode toward
the docks, leaving the waterfront bars and inns behind. His mood was dire,
indeed. Somehow his dead father had haunted him all day, as if he did not have
enough on his mind with
Virginia
's witty escape. Everywhere he
had turned since setting foot on Irish soil, he had almost expected to see
Gerald O'Neill standing there, having something to say. But that was only his
imagination, of course. Gerald was dead and unlike most people, Devlin did not
believe in ghosts.

Besides, what could
his father wish to say to him, anyway?
Eastleigh
was nearly ruined. Long ago, Devlin had
decided

a miserable
impoverished existence would be far better punishment than death, and wasn't
that revenge good enough?

Sightless eyes
stared up at him from the bloody stump of his father's severed head.

The memory made him
angry. He hadn't been tormented with it since he had set sail from
London
—no, since he had seized the
Americana
,
and the absence had been a huge and welcome
relief. But hadn't he known that returning home would undo him?
The boy had
returned, frightened and uneasy, weak and without confidence.

Devlin hated the
boy—he always had—and he softly cursed.

He needed no
haunting, no memories of his past, not when his prisoner was missing. And he
could not rest easy until he had his captive back. He reminded himself that if
she managed to escape, it really did not matter; she was only salt that he
would mercilessly rub in
Eastleigh
's gaping wounds. But that
rationalization did not quell his annoyance. Virginia Hughes was far more than
a brat, daring to defy him. This was a challenge, one he could not let pass.