Chapter 26

Avaline paced back and forth in front of the gallery windows for lord knew how long that evening. Sinking to her knees on the ledge beneath the window, she strained her ears, hoping to hear something in the dark.

The night was peaceful, save for the hollow clucking of the waves toward the hull and the gentle breeze that caressed the island. Now and then, a shriek or squawk or wail would pierce the air and break the monotony, revealing the presence of some unseen creature.

The moon cast a white beam on the water, like a shivering staircase to the distant planet. The scent of salt lost its potency amid the fragrances of tropical flowers and damp greenery from the shore.

She let out a sigh and stared at the dark forest. Adrian and his men had a long journey ahead of them, perhaps two hours or more, to reach Fort Royal. Then, he needed time to organize the deal and return through the darkness to the ship. He wouldn't return until dawn at the earliest.

The knot in her stomach that had evolved throughout the evening and early night tightened, twisting and turning with a vague edginess. A shadow of unease crept through her, but its shape and source eluded her. The evening had passed as usual. The crew had performed their routine duties. Avaline had practiced reading with Elias, and when he had tired of the lesson, she had read to him from one of Adrian's books before they joined the crew in the galley for the evening meal.

The only deviation from the norm was the ban on light and the command to silence as if they were ghosts in the night.

And yet, the feeling of something amiss lingered and grew despite her attempts to distract herself. It swelled and surged through the evening and the night, too strong to let her sleep.

She rose again and drifted through the cabin without aim. Pausing by the wash basin, she reached for Adrian's comb and threaded it through her hair, though she had done so countless times before.

He had been away for mere hours, but she missed him already. She longed for his warm skin and protective embrace, but most of all, for the smile he had begun to grace her with.

And what did this longing mean?

She was attracted to him, of that there could be no doubt. No matter how she had ended up on his ship, he made her feel safe. He made her feel wanted.

He made her feel like she could be herself. He made her feel cherished. Hearing his story, seeing his pain, and feeling his injustice wreaked havoc on her heart.

She gathered her hair into a braid and slid into the berth beneath the blanket. The night air kissed her skin, but it felt cold without Adrian beside her, and she turned back and forth until the cover was but a tangled mess around her feet.

A gentle tap on the door preceded Will's voice. "Miss Hawthorn? Are you still awake?"

Her eyes sprang open, and she propped herself on her elbow. "Yes?"

"I need to talk to you."

He wants you.

Was Adrian right in his suspicions? She had noticed Will's playful charm but attributed that to his irredeemable nature and nothing more. Besides, the alarm in Will's voice told her that something was up.

"What is the matter?"

"Something happened."

Chills shot across her flesh. "One moment."

She jumped out of the berth and wrapped the blanket around her chemise before opening the door ajar.

"I'm sorry to disturb you at this hour, miss," he breathed as if he had been running, and his curls were tousled and unruly. The inner corners of his eyebrows peaked in a distressed angle. "It's… It's Captain Hainsworth," he whispered, his face creased with concern. "We were attacked by French soldiers, and he got shot."

A jolt of shock ran through her body as if lightning had struck her. Her heart skipped a beat, maybe two, and her breath stuck.

"S-shot?" She could hardly utter the word, let alone process its meaning. The hand holding the door fell limp along her thigh. "How is he faring?"

"He is asking for you. If you come with me, I'll take you to him, but we must make haste."

The chill that had chased across her flesh earlier penetrated her skin and gripped her heart.

"Dear God! Give me a moment to get dressed."

She fumbled with the breeches and the shirt, her body shaking, and she cursed out loud when her limbs resisted every command like they were underwater. She snatched her locket, her dress, and another shirt and wrapped them into a bundle with her shawl. If Adrian had been shot, they would likely have no choice but to stay for a while.

"Where is he?" she asked when they moved through the sleeping ship.

"He has been taken to a friend. A woman is tending to him."

"How bad is it?"

"It looked pretty bad when I left, but Madame Thibaut is used to treating wounded soldiers."

The main deck was empty, save for the officer of the watch. She recognized Morris's bulky figure in the shadows and stiffened.

"Where be you goin'?" Morris stood wide-legged, blocking their access to the ladder hanging down the ship's side.

She sensed rather than saw Morris's gaze on her in the gloom.

"I'm taking her to see Captain Hainsworth," Will said. "He is asking for her."

Morris took a moment to consider Will's information, moments that gnawed at her patience, but then he stepped aside and let them go. "Well, then. At the captain's behest."

Will rowed the small jolly boat as hard as he could, every stroke of the oars propelling the tiny vessel closer to the dark shore, closer to Adrian. Avaline sat rigid, her mind a whirlpool of emotions.

Shot.

Moisture stung behind her eyelids, but she swallowed them back. She had to have faith in Madame Thibaut.

They traversed the rugged landscape for what felt like hours, scaling the slopes, their efforts limiting their communication to the absolute necessary until the faint lights of Fort Royal gleamed in the valley below.

The damp shirt clung to her skin and every breath she took tore at her lungs. Her feet throbbed, and her legs felt like lead, ready to collapse at any moment. She had lost count of how often she had fallen in the dark, scraping her knees and hands on the rough ground.

"Not far now," Will assured. "Just down the hill."

Was Adrian still alive? Please, dear Lord, save him!

Their pace quickened as the terrain grew more forgiving and they reached the settlement. Will hung left onto a dirt road in the direction of the harbor. Avaline followed him, her numb feet tracing his path by reflex.

What if Adrian was dead already? Stop it, Avaline! You must have faith.

When the dirt road gave way to a more trafficked cobblestone road, Avaline raised her head and paid attention to her surroundings.

Wooden buildings lined the street, casting long shadows in the moonlight. A few taverns lay tucked away in the dark side alleys, disclosed by sounds of revelry and merriment, pierced by the occasional raucous laughter.

A hint of smoke floated in the air, mixing with the salty breeze from the bay. Beyond sat the fortress, a bastion of force and strength overlooking the bustling harbor.

"Will, where are we going?"

Will stopped and turned, letting out a long breath as if dreading her question. His moist forehead reflected the shine from the lanterns on a nearby building.

"I'm sorry, Miss Hawthorn. I lied to you."

Avaline halted midstride. "Lied?"

"Captain Hainsworth was not shot."

"I beg your pardon?" Relief flushed through her, quickly tinged with confusion. "Whatever do you mean? Where is he?"

"I have no idea. I haven't seen him since he left the Ranger ."

"I-I don't understand. Is Captain Hainsworth all right?"

"Probably," he said and took her hand in his. "Listen, Captain Hainsworth is wanted by the British. They will pay a handsome reward for information that leads to his capture."

"What?" she whispered.

He squeezed her hand. "We could do anything with that money."

His eyes shone with intense frenzy, sending shivers of cold dread through her weary body.

"We could start over," Will continued. "Buy a plantation, have a big estate like you had at Hawthorn Manor, get rich–"

"Rich?" She tore her hand out of his grip. "You're betraying Adrian for riches?"

"I'm not willing to sacrifice my life for his personal revenge."

Queasiness swirled in her stomach. "Are you out of your mind? They will kill him!"

"Hainsworth is a catastrophe waiting to happen. It's only a matter of time. I have a future, and so do you. I want you in mine."

She shook her head. "No. I'm not doing this. After all he did for you, how can you do this to him?"

Will threw his arms up and retorted. "Why do you protect him after what he did to you?"

"You don't understand. I'm going back to the Ranger . I don't want to be a part of this."

"No, you're not." He latched onto her wrist.

"Let go of me." She twisted to escape his grip, but he held her firmly. "Let go of me!"

"It is too late. The guards have already seen us."

She cast a look around, spotting a couple of French soldiers approaching.

"Hé! C'est qui?" One of them shouted, alerting more soldiers further up the street. "Qu'est-ce qui se passe?"

"What is he saying?" Will asked and tightened his grip around her arm.

"He is asking who we are and what is going on."

With a relentless grip, he headed for the soldiers. Avaline dug her heels into the ground, but he dragged her along with brute force, and she was powerless against his strength.

"Will, please don't do this. I can give you the money if that is what you want. Just let me go back to the Ranger . I thought you were my friend."

"No. I'm not alone in this."

"What? Who–"

"Why do you think Morris let us go ashore?"

Adrian's fate had so consumed her mind that she hadn't questioned anything Will had said or done after he knocked on the door to the grand cabin. Not Morris's compliant attitude, nor how Will, if he had been part of Adrian's team, had managed to go to Fort Royal and back before approaching her.

Desperation brewed inside her, but she choked it back. Adrian was still alive, hopefully unharmed. He would come looking for her as soon as he returned to the Ranger and found her gone.

She sensed the scrutiny of the two French soldiers as Will elucidated the purpose of their nightly walk. "This is Miss Avaline Hawthorn. She is English."

The blue coat and white lapels adorned with cuffs, a collar, and golden buttons gave away the older soldier's officer rank. The other one, dressed in a less prominent uniform, seemed only a shade older than herself.

The last word had the officer wake up. "Anglaise?"

"Yes, English." The damp curls bounced around Will's head when he nodded. "The betrothed of Governor Ashcroft of Barbados."

"Miss Avaline Hawthorn?" the officer asked with a strong French accent. Thick brows furrowed above a long but narrow nose.

"Oui, c'est moi." She sent Will a stabbing glare as she confirmed her identity.

The French officer arched an eyebrow at her reply and swept a hard look down Avaline's sweaty and dirty form. Still, he continued in English as if he resented this sordid enemy for sullying his elegant language. "You need to come with me."

He gestured for her to follow him, and they crossed the harbor toward the fortress's gate.

Adrian had a good relationship with the governor. If she got to speak to the governor, she could explain the situation, and surely, he would help his friend. Relieved with this prospect, Avaline followed the senior officer through the gate and into an office across the courtyard.

The room was simple but functional. A wooden desk dominated the space, neatly arranged with a sequence of papers, maps, charts, a compass, and a sextant. Behind the desk, a coat of arms hung on the wall, and along the side wall, shelves and cabinets with books and other documents occupied the space. A small table and a couple of chairs stood along the other wall, ready to receive visitors. A faint whiff of cigars lingered, a different and more poignant type than her father used.

The officer pointed at one of the chairs. "Madame."

Avaline ignored the invitation and followed him as he sat behind the desk.

"I need to speak with the governor," she explained in French. "This is all an unfortunate misunderstanding."

He retained his aloof expression. "Oui, I will notify Governor Bertrand at this very moment. Please have a seat." He gestured at the chairs again and concentrated on finding a piece of paper.

The officer dispatched a note to the governor and proceeded to arrange a light meal for her. She was too nervous to eat but took a greedy gulp of the warm chocolate.

How could she have been so mistaken about Will? Her blood rushed when she thought about his betrayal. Adrian had trusted him, protected him, paid him, and fed him, and Will had sold him out to gain a reward .

Morris must have nursed such a grudge against Adrian for his punishment that he had turned on his captain, and Will, lured by the prospect of a quick fortune, had been readily swayed.

Maybe this was her fault.

She didn't have to wait long before a commotion outside heralded the arrival of Governor Bertrand. He was a squat and rotund figure whose frock strained to contain his bulging belly. His sparse gray locks sprouted from his head in unarranged tufts, exposing a bald pate he had neglected to cover with his wig in his haste to reach the fort.

Avaline wanted to clear her dry throat but refrained.

"Miss Hawthorn?"

Bertrand's wideset eyes traveled over her with a sharp alertness, widening as they scanned her disheveled appearance.

"Please forgive me for disturbing you at this hour," she started. "This is all a terrible mistake."

"There is nothing to forgive, Miss Hawthorn." He turned to the officer and asked him to leave them alone. When the officer closed the door behind him, Bertrand nodded at the pair of chairs. "Now let me understand this correctly; you are Miss Avaline Hawthorn, betrothed to Governor Ashcroft, yes?"

She nodded. "That's right."

"And you were captured by Captain Hainsworth on your way to Barbados, yes?"

"Yes. Captain Hainsworth is your friend, isn't he?"

Bertrand pursed his lips and studied her for a beat. "I know Captain Hainsworth, yes. Is he here?"

"No. I mean, yes, he is here in Martinique, but not with me. One of his crew members thought he could get a reward if he delivered me to the British and tricked me off the ship. I need to get back to the Ranger . Can you help me? Adr—Captain Hainsworth would appreciate it."

"Of course, he would. Where is the Ranger docked?"

"A way farther up the coast to the north."

A sharp knock on the door echoed in the room. The French officer poked his head in. He gave Avaline an inscrutable glance that lifted the hairs on her nape. "A word, Governor?"

She clenched her hands as Bertrand excused himself and stepped outside. The knot in her stomach churned. Governor Bertrand hadn't seemed happy when he heard that Adrian was in Martinique, but why? They both had a common enemy, and they were old acquaintances.

So why was Bertrand so reticent?

Bertrand returned after a few minutes but didn't bother to sit. "Miss Hawthorn, it is too late to return to the Ranger at this hour. I invite you to be my guest tonight. You will get to wash and have a good night's sleep." He offered her a thin smile. "Tomorrow, we will find Captain Hainsworth and sort this out."

Avaline let out her air in a long exhale. "Thank you, Governor. I appreciate your hospitality."

Her body trembled as she followed Governor Bertrand out to his coach.

Everything was going to be fine. She was safe, Adrian was among friends, and they would be reunited tomorrow.

Yes, everything was going to be fine.

Just fine.