Rash Reckless Love, page 52
Danforth leaned forward, hand now upon the burnished hilt of his sword, and peered into the darkness. Someone was huddled against the stone wall of that building—no, two figures skulking and one of them, the bigger of the two, carrying a large bundle. As Danforth watched, his eyes growing accustomed to the darkness, the bundle seemed to come alive and there was the sound of a yelp and a smothered curse from one of the two men as the moon came out and a pair of dainty white legs suddenly broke free amid a froth of white lace, and a shoe—from a small foot viciously kicking at the man who held her—was launched into the street.
The shoe landed not half a yard from Danforth, whose countenance had gone from watchful to exceedingly grim as he observed the nature of the bundle the big man was trying to control.
An obviously unwilling bundle.
Never a man to hesitate, Danforth snaked out his sword .and launched himself at the men in the alley..
At this point Anna got free of Bender’s smothering cloak. Clawing herself loose from Burke’s suddenly relaxed hold, she landed on her feet in time to witness Danforth’s charge.
What she saw was remarkable.
A tall man seemed to be leaping at them from out of nowhere—and even in her paralyzing fear, Anna caught her breath at the sight of him. This oncoming warrior had a mighty wingspread of shoulder, and that breadth seemed magnified by the sinewy twist of his body as he lunged. For even as he hurled himself forward, Danforth was engaging Bender. Tardily, Bender tried to drag out his cutlass—even as a sharp blade slashed his arm. With a cry of pain the wizened but tough and wiry Bender staggered back—and collided with Burke.
Big Burke, a bully with a hundred successful tavern brawls to his credit, had no fear of his oncoming foe. These gentlemen were flashy fighters, he had often hiccuped contemptuously on his way to working his way through a keg of ale, but they hadn’t got staying power; the idea was to wear them down. So he shouldered the bleeding Bender into the stone wall behind him and stepped forward eagerly to meet his opponent.
That necessitated clearing the road of Anna, who had landed squarely in front of him, and Bender did that by mowing out his left arm to sweep her from his path. Since she was just in the act of turning her head to watch Bender sag back against the stone wall, Burke’s knuckles glanced painfully across her cheekbone. The contact served its purpose, for it knocked Anna sideways and she landed, gasping, on her hands and knees in the street, while Burke brought up his cutlass to meet the stranger’s challenge.
Anna gained her feet just as Bender, lamenting as he clutched his bleeding arm, lurched away from the battle. Her scarf had been lost in the struggle and had blown somewhere down the dark alley, and now her golden curls cascaded down her shoulders as she lifted her head to watch the battle. Rapt with fascination, she saw the long lean stranger’s sword crash against Burke’s hastily drawn cutlass with a ring that carried into the tavern and brought the occupants pouring out into the street. He seemed to her in that moment larger than life, as he thrust and parried light-footedly, borne back momentarily by Burke’s greater weight and the heavy cutlass.
Anna watched him, riveted. His cold gray eyes were ablaze and his face had a steady intent concentration—she would not have called it ruthless though others had—that surpassed any intentness she had ever seen on a man’s face. Steadily, resolutely, inexorably, he was dominating his foe, now driving Burke this way, now that—there, it was over! As Anna gasped, the long blades had flashed like lightning along each other’s cutting edge, the very hilts had crashed together and somehow, magically, the cutlass had gone winging to clatter along the stones almost at Anna’s feet.
“Care to give up?” came a deep sardonic voice. It was the first time Anna had heard the stranger speak. A little shiver went through her at the resonant timbre of that deep voice. It had in it the faraway sound of the sea rolling onto the shore.
A deep, masculine sound, and to Anna strangely comforting. . . .
Big Burke stepped carefully back, walking almost on his toes, easing away from that singing blade that now snaked almost playfully at his doublet, now flicked off his wooden buttons one by one.
“Not if I had my blade again!” he snarled.
“Well, you’ll never have this one!” cried Anna. She scrambled to the cutlass, picked it up and tossed it with all her strength into a long arc that ended in the sea.
A drunken cheer went up from the crowd that had gathered.
“That’s showin’ him, lass!” called someone.
The stranger laughed. “It would seem the battle is over,” he told Burke. “Unless you enjoy seeing your blood run. As I view it, ye’ve a simple choice—either your blood runs or you do.” He gave Burke’s shoulder a sudden jab that made the big man jump back, cursing.
Ah, he was magnificent, thought Anna, thrilling to the sight of the stranger, tall and lean and purposeful. And he was fighting for her! Something no other man on the island had recently volunteered to do—unless one could count Flan’s promise to do future battle!
She was hopping around on one foot, looking for her shoe, when Burke broke and ran, disappearing into the darkness after Bender.
Someone kicked Anna’s shoe toward her and as she bent to pick it up she heard someone cry, “Why, look who the wench is!”
Anna gave a start. She had been recognized, word would filter to Arthur and early tomorrow morning there would be a search for her. She must find a hiding place and stay well hidden until Arthur’s ship had sailed, she must not let these people cluster around her, she must get away!
But—first she must thank him, this man who had saved her from those cutthroats. She could not go without at least doing that. She turned her glorious turquoise eyes on Danforth with a look of mute appeal.
“I—can’t thank you enough,” she said in a trembling voice, and for a moment was held by the intent look on the smiling sardonic face that was turned toward her—a face she knew would be etched forever in her memory.
Then she snatched up her shoe, pulled it on with a single tug and took to her heels, running away from the crowd, away from the town. And although she would not admit it, not even to herself, she was running as much from the man as from the ogling, jostling crowd from the tavern. For there was that about this lean stranger that had shaken her, like the first felt rumblings of an earthquake deep inside the earth, unheard by human ears but causing keen-eared animals on the surface to panic.
Anna knew in a blind, unreasoning way that if she stayed, she would belong to this man.
And that, she who had always been her own woman, who had laughed and taunted and led men on with no care for the future—that, this wild daughter of the islands was not ready to accept.
So Anna ran, blown like a leaf before the wind, her light skirts whipping about her slim legs and her long bright hair streaming behind her in the moonlight.
The huddled houses of St. George were far behind her when Brett Danforth, running lightly, caught up with her. His long arm shot out and caught her by the arm to stay her flight, spun her around toward him.
"Faith, you run like a deer,” he laughed. ‘‘Here now, there's no one about to frighten you, lass. What are you running from?”
"I—I cannot stay,” she gasped. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes fever bright from another reason besides her flight, for Danforth’s very touch sent fiery sparks shooting up her arm. Anna tried to disengage her arm—unsuccessfully. She turned her head away lest he see in her face how that touch affected her.
"And why not?” The dark face above her was calm, but his grip on her arm was inexorable. It demanded an answer and she knew she owed him one.
Slowly Anna turned her head to face her rescuer. The sight shook her.
Broad of shoulder, narrow of hip in his russet doublet and trousers, Brett Danforth’s sinewy leanness had the swaying grace of a finely tempered Toledo blade. Light of foot, even in his wide-topped leather boots with their fashionable splash of white lawn and point lace, his serviceable sword, whose lightning touch she had already witnessed this night, and plain doublet and trousers of sensible russet cloth marked him as no dandy. Indeed his twenty-eight years had stamped a certain watchfulness over his keen hawklike features, a watchfulness that Anna in the moonlight remarked. She was sure this man had met many obstacles in his eventful life and overcome them all.
She was sure of something else as she stared, mesmerized, up into the dark interested countenance that gazed down at her. She was certain that many women had run their cool questing fingers through the thick shock of dark hair that fell in a gleaming mass to rest on the mighty wingspread of his broad shoulders, women who thought they saw their dreams reflected in his light gray eyes. She knew with a kind of instant divining that those dreams had soon faded as this tall fellow strode away, rode away, sailed away. The manner of his going might be different, the good-bye kisses wild or sweet, but he always went—intuitively she knew that. Out of their lives forever.
That daring face above her was the face of a man no woman had ever held—for long.
And Anna, looking up, knew a bright current of fear, for she knew with a woman’s sure instinct that this was a face she could come to love, blindly, unreasoningly, beyond all turning back.
“There, there.” Danforth’s voice was soothing, as if the girl were some nervous colt he must break to saddle. With his free hand he lightly lifted the tangled mass of hair from her shoulders. As he did so, his fingers brushed the back of her neck and a quiver went through her slight frame. “Don’t be frightened,” he said softly. “Come, lass. I’ll take you home safe. It’s over.”
Anna shook her head and her curls bounced. She tried to pull away from him. “For me it’s not over,” she whispered fiercely. “And I have no home—not anymore. I do thank you for what you did for me this night but now you must let me go. And of your kindness, forget you ever saw me.”
The dark brows lifted. No young woman on such short acquaintance had ever asked Danforth to forget her. Especially one he had gone chasing through the moonlight to catch! His next words were laced with amusement.
“Come now, lass. If you’ve no place to go, I’ll find a place for you at my inn.”
“That—that I cannot do.”
“Why not?” There was irony in his deep voice. “ ’Tis not my custom to force myself upon unwilling women!”
Her blush deepened. “Oh—’tis not that,” she protested hastily. She meant him to understand that she trusted him—as a gentleman; it was just that she could not go to the inn. But Danforth mistook her meaning. He thought this lass in her homespun dress and worn shoes was telling him that she was experienced enough with men—as was the case with many a lass of younger years than she—and that she wanted him to understand that she was not rejecting him as a bed partner, but for some other reason.
“Well, then?” he prodded.
“I cannot go to the inn,” Anna admitted uncomfortably. For I’m too well known in St. George.”
Danforth’s interest quickened. What had the lass done? “That pair who were carrying you off?” he demanded. “What were they to you?”
“They were strangers,” she said sharply. “Let me go!”
“Tarry a bit.” Danforth kept his hold on her. The gray eyes studying her had gone thoughtful. “A man who’s just shed a stranger’s blood likes to have his curiosity satisfied as to why 'e s done it!”
Yes, he deserved to know, of course....
“They were sailors from the Running Gull,” sighed Anna. “Their names were Burke and Bender. They had promised to arrange passage for me aboard the Gull.” Best not tell him how! “But once we were outside the tavern, they threw a cloak over my head and tried to make off with me.” A shudder went through her, a shudder he could feel in his hand and forearm. “I do not like to think what would have happened to me if you had not come along when you did.”
Danforth did not like to think of that, either.
The moon was well out now and he could see her clearly. She was a vision of loveliness that might well startle a man. So lovely she looked unreal. The bruise beneath her eye from the rough- handling she’d just received only made her the more appealing. Her burnished hair was pale shimmering gold in the starlight and her upturned turquoise eyes were lustrous and deep as the sea. Her soft lips were slightly parted and gave her a breathlessly expectant look and a little pulse beat in the hollow of her white throat. Danforth’s gaze passed caressingly down that throat, noting the satin smoothness of her skin, crossed her white bosom and relished the molded perfection of her young breasts, straining against the worn material of her bodice.
A lovely wench, this. And she had a wild look to her. If she was so eager to get off the island, she might try something foolish again—as she had tonight.
“And if I’d not come along and they’d got you aboard ship and out to sea, what would you have done?” he asked bluntly.
She drew herself up to her full height and gave him a dauntless look. “I’d have escaped, of course!”
A smile played around Danforth’s wide mouth. Over the side and damn the barracuda! This fiery little wench might have done just that. He judged her to be all of sixteen.
“I can’t leave you here alone, lass.”
“Why not? ’Tis a warm night.”
“That pair might yet come looking for you.”
She gave a shiver of revulsion. “They’ll never find me. I know these shores. I’ll find a place somewhere in the rocks to hide.”
“And tomorrow? What will you do tomorrow?”
She gave him a miserable look. Tomorrow there was Floss to think about. Floss who must be fed, watered—and kept hidden away, for horse thievery on this island was severely punished and Anna had no wish to have the flesh torn from her back by a cat-o’-nine-tails.
“Tomorrow,” she said in a soft hurried voice. “Tomorrow I’ll have to decide what to do. Each day must take care of itself.”
Her words had a mute appeal that called to Danforth. In a life that had been, to say the least, eventful, Danforth had gone through long periods when each day must indeed take care of itself, when every man’s hand seemed turned against him and he had hungered and faced death in alien territory.
Those memories softened his voice. “I’ll not let ye do it, lass. Not alone.” Forgotten for the moment was his detestable mission, forgotten was the longboat that would arrive tomorrow night and would not wait, forgotten was everything but this lovely child-woman, hurt and frightened and needing him. “I’ll go with you to the beach,” he decided. “Tomorrow we’ll decide what’s to be done with you.”
And Anna, who had given orders imperiously to a whole plantation of slaves and bondservants and had them obeyed without question, Anna whose will had been sole rule of a little island empire, let her hand slip into his and walked beside him as docile as a child.
The touch of his hand seemed to communicate something to her, something unspoken. Her senses were tumbling, her awareness of the night heightened. The sky held a distant glow that seemed more than just the moon behind the clouds, the sea wind seemed to caress her hot face in a special way and twine gentle fingers in her long hair and blow her light skirts intimately against her young thighs, brushing, tingling—
For in that crazy tangle that her thoughts had become, Anna knew, she knew without question that this man could touch her, thrill her, make her his... if she let him.
By now she had adjusted her stride to his and was taking two steps to each of his long ones as they strolled toward the sea.
‘Why did ye seek passage aboard the Running Gull?” he shot at her.
“I’m leaving Bermuda,” said Anna tersely.
Danforth chuckled. This walk through the pleasant night promised to be entertaining. “Does your family know of your impending departure?” he hazarded.
“I have no family. Not anymore.” There was a sadness in her voice that made him wish he’d not asked. Still, he wanted to satisfy himself about the wench.
‘‘Your employer, then?”
Her voice hardened. “I have no employer! Although—” She stopped, for had she not signed Articles of Indenture and let those Articles be sold to Arthur, intending to dupe him, to elude him?
Danforth digested her answer. It was possible the girl was running from the law. Possible, he thought, but not likely.
‘‘So ye’ve run away from home?” He stated it as a fact.
Her stubborn silence told him he was right.
They were walking under the shelter of tall cedars now and a pungent fragrance filled the air. Danforth brushed aside a dangle of sea grapes that barred his path. They parted like a curtain. He could see that they were coming out onto a promontory of rocks. They had reached the sea.
“Where were ye bound?”
“Some other island.” She shrugged. “America perhaps.” She was clambering over the rocks as she spoke and suddenly she gave a sharp outcry. “I’ve broken my heel!” she wailed.
Danforth bent down and lifted up her ankle and inspected the shoe. He couldn’t know how that slight contact made her heart pound.
“ ’Tis a fine ankle, but the shoe’s hardly worth fixing,” he said, noting that the leather was badly scuffed, the sole nearly worn through.
“But they’re my last pair,” she told him sadly.
“I’ll buy you a new pair in St. George,” he offered.
“I—I couldn’t let you do that,” she said breathlessly—and the breathlessness came from his caressing grip on her ankle. “Give me back my foot!”
He let it go with a smile. A proud lass, this—she wanted no favors. He couldn’t remember when he’d met a girl with shoes as worn as this one who’d have turned down a new pair. He followed as she walked unevenly ahead of him.
“And what would ye do in America, lass, if ye reached there?”
Anna had not really thought about that. She wended her through the big rocks and frowned. “I’d—I’d get a job, I suppose.”
