Chapter 32

Chapter 32

From what Hannah overheard, Henderson had already booked passage to America. Macrath hoped he'd reasoned this out correctly and Henderson wasn't on the way to Inverness or Edinburgh. If he'd been in Henderson's position and kidnapped someone, he'd opt to set sail quickly to lessen the chance of being apprehended.

Kinloch Harbor was deep enough to berth large ships, some of which were bound for foreign ports.

Since pubs were no longer permitted to open on Sunday, a few of the ships served as taverns, fitted up with tables, stools, and enough whiskey to satisfy hundreds of thirsty sailors.

When Jack went to find the harbormaster, Macrath questioned the drinkers at the dockside taverns.

At the first, no one recalled seeing anything out of the ordinary. In the second, however, one man remembered seeing a carriage.

"In the way of being in a hurry, it was," he said.

"Do you remember any of the occupants?"

The man shook his head. "Didn't see 'em. You might want to ask the lad over there," he said. "Stranger to Kinloch. Came in a little while ago."

Macrath went to stand at the table, directly in front of the man sitting there alone. The man didn't look up, concentrating on the tankard clutched in one fist.

"I'm looking for a man named Henderson. Do you know him?"

"What's he done?"

An odd question for a stranger to ask.

"Why do you think he's done something?"

"I want to go back to London," the man said. "I'd rather be in my own rookery than here."

Macrath hooked his boot in front of one chair leg, pulled it out and sat.

The man's ears were so large his hat perched on them. Macrath studied him for a minute and offered a deal.

"Tell me where Henderson is, and I'll make sure you get back to London."

"Without being in lumber? I don't want to be in lumber."

"If you haven't done anything worthy of going to jail, you've no need to worry."

"I saw you dabbing it up with her. Is she yours?"

"Yes, she's mine," Macrath said, biting back his impatience.

"He thinks she's his. A bit nickey about her, he is. I never meant to be part of this."

"If you'll show me where she is," Macrath said, "I'll see you get back to London in style with a reward."

The other man looked slightly less morose at that news. He took a last sip from his tankard, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, stood, and nodded at Macrath.

"Best be about it, then."

Macrath couldn't have said it any better.

Virginia didn't know how long she was unconscious.

Blinking open her eyes, she discovered Paul was on the bunk, kneeling over her. She was down to her black trimmed shift. Somehow, he'd managed to remove the rest of her clothing and his fingers were busy unfastening the bow at the top of her last garment. She tried to stop him, but he merely held her wrists with one hand.

"Stop it!"

"You're not the Countess of Barrett here, my dear. You're simply my beloved wife."

She stared wide-eyed at him, her stomach clenching. "I'm not your wife."

"But you will be," he said. "We're perfectly matched."

He didn't appear to be mad, only determined.

"Paul, please," she said. "The chloroform is making me sick."

"I didn't give you that much, Virginia, and a few hours have passed. I doubt you feel the effects as much as you say."

Appealing to his sympathy wasn't working. She wasn't as strong as he was. If she didn't do something, he was going to rape her.

The idea of him touching her was sickening.

"You're mine, Virginia. You have to understand that."

"I've never been yours," she said. "Never."

"Oh, but you have. You were mine the night Lawrence didn't want you. You've been mine ever since. Lawrence didn't understand and had to be handled."

He was smiling at her but there was a glint in his eyes that frightened her. Almost like he was warning her he could do anything.

"What did you do?"

"Why are you asking, my dear? You've known all along."

She shook her head.

"I can't say it was all for you, my dear, although it would sound a great deal more chivalrous, wouldn't it? Does anyone care about chivalry anymore?"

"What did you do?"

"I was tired of Lawrence," he said. "He was ruining all of you."

Her muscles stiffened and her breath caught. Her gaze fastened on him and she couldn't look away.

She shook her head. "No," she said in a halting voice. "You couldn't have."

"Kill him?" He smiled. "It wasn't a difficult feat to simply place a pillow over his face," he said, unfastening the cuffs of his shirt. "With his weak heart, he didn't have any strength at all."

She was dizzy and nauseous but it wasn't the chloroform.

"But you've been unfaithful to me," he said, pulling off his jacket then starting to unbutton his shirt. "We need to rid you of the taste of Sinclair, I think, as soon as possible."

"So you'll rape me all the way to America? Even if I don't want you?"

"You wanted me once," he said. "I'll just remind you."

"I don't want to go to America," she said, trying to move away. He had her trapped, one knee on either side of her legs.

"I can still talk while I undress, Virginia," he said, removing his shirt collar. "Don't think to distract me with words." He tossed the collar to the floor. "America is your home. Don't you want to see your homeland again?"

"There's nothing there for me," she said.

"No friends? No family?"

"No."

"We shall have to make our own, then."

"I won't marry you," she said. "Nothing will make me marry you."

"Very well. I'll continue to plant my seed in you. I don't care if our children are bastards. The world will never know. I'll simply say we were married on the voyage. Who's to say we weren't?"

"I would."

He smiled. "You're a very good mother, Virginia. I shall have to train you to be a good wife."

She fought him, becoming a frenetic ball of arms and legs. She connected with him more than once, feeling a vicious surge of joy at his grunts of pain. She didn't care if she broke her arms or legs.

Paul Henderson was not going to rape her.

Her hand fumbled for something to strike him. At first she thought the ledge above the bunk was empty.

Metal, she felt cold metal with her fingertips. She reached up and grabbed the neck of a lantern as he lowered himself to her. She struck him with the lantern, but the blow hit his shoulder, not his head as she'd aimed, and fell to the floor.

He slapped her hard with his open hand.

"Don't make me punish you, Virginia. Don't make me do this."

She screamed. He clamped his hand down over her mouth, grinding her lips against her teeth.

He kneed her legs open. She arched upward, trying to dislodge him. He ground one knee against her pubis. When she cried out in pain, he slapped her again, his eyes dark, his face contorted with a frightening smile.

She tasted blood and it galvanized her, pushed her to scream again and bite at his hand.

He grabbed her hair, loosened from the struggle, and jerked on it until she cried out in pain. His fingers scraped at her shift, tearing it, exposing her breasts. His hand grabbed a nipple and twisted it.

She sagged against the mattress, giving up the fight.

He said something to her, but she couldn't understand the words. He was going to win. He was going to rape her when he wanted and there was nothing she could do.

Her hand dropped off the bunk, knuckles brushing the floor.

No, not the floor. Something he'd brought on board. The metal box. A heavy metal box that made a thunk as it hit the floor. Would it work? She didn't have time to worry about it because he was unfastening his trousers.

She hooked her fingers in the handle, grabbed it and prayed she was strong enough. Lifting the strongbox in an arc, she slammed it into Paul's temple.

He didn't make a sound as he crumpled to the side.

Pushing him off her, she slid out from beneath his weight. Had she killed him? Dear God, she didn't care. No, she hadn't, because he made a sound.

She scrambled from the bunk, ran to the door and escaped up the stairs.

The deck was crowded with people, men and women, sailors and servants, all standing at the railing watching as the sails caught wind. She could feel the movement of the ship beneath her, knew they were leaving the harbor by the panorama of masts they passed.

"Help me, please."

Several people turned. A woman cried out, and soon the entire crowd was staring at her. As well they should, since she was dressed only in a ripped shift.

A man came forward to offer his coat. She took it with gratitude.

"I need to speak to the captain," she said. "I need help. I've been kidnapped."

"That's not necessary," Paul said.

The man who gave her his coat stepped back.

She turned to see Paul standing in the doorway, blood from his head wound coating the side of his face. Two people rushed up to him, but he pushed them away, grinning as he approached her.

"Virginia, dear, you must dress. You know you shouldn't appear in public in your undergarments."

She grabbed the lapels of the coat, holding it around her as she stepped away from him.

"My wife has been ill lately," Paul said. "You'll have to excuse her. I'm taking her home to be with relatives."

She glanced around and saw only concerned faces. He was going to convince them they were married. Or worse, that she had delusions and he was caring for her.

No one was going to help her.

She felt where her lip was still bleeding.

"You brought me here against my will. You hit me and tried to rape me."

The word caused several gasps from the onlookers. She could just imagine the story they would tell. Let them talk. Let her be the brunt of a thousand jokes. Just let her escape.

"Come, Virginia, you know that's not true," he said. "You're just overwrought." He glanced at the crowd. "She's a new bride and a bit shy."

More than one man chuckled, but the women looked either worried or horrified.

"Get away from me," she said when Paul took two more steps.

"You're making a scene, dear. People are scandalized."

"He kidnapped me," she said to the closest woman, a matron dressed properly in traveling coat and hat. For a moment she thought the woman might help her, but then she said something to the man next to her and moved away.

"I'm not your wife," she said to Paul, the comment eliciting gasps from the assembled women. "I'm the Countess of Barrett."

"I do apologize for her," he said, glancing around him. "She has fits on occasion and I think the excitement of going on her first voyage is telling on her."

He kept advancing, the crowd parting to allow him to approach her. She took a few steps away, only to feel the railing at her back.

The ship was nearly at the mouth of the harbor. Once they were out to sea, she wouldn't be able to escape him.

The breeze skittered across her skin; she wanted to clap her hands over her ears to silence the clamor of conversation and speculation. Her heart beat too quickly. Her skin was tightening with each shallow breath.

A man dressed in a dark blue coat with a slouch hat over his gray hair pushed his way through the crowd and strode toward her. Beside him were two burly men. The man spoke to Paul, who nodded and remained where he was.

The captain was going to subdue her. That wasn't difficult to figure out. They were going to place her in Paul's cabin, where he could rape her whenever he wanted. No one was going to hear her or understand what he'd done. As far as they were all concerned, he was her husband and had full rights over her. He could say anything and they would believe him, but they wouldn't believe her.

They would think she was crazy, and laud him for his care of her.

She hated him more than she'd hated any man in her life. More than her father, who'd considered her a commodity. More than Lawrence, who only saw her as an instrument of revenge. The only man who'd ever treated her with decency, kindness, and love was Macrath, and she'd repaid him by being deceitful.

The captain was only a few feet away. Before he could reach her, before anyone could grab or stop her, she threw her legs over the railing and plunged into the sea.

At the harbor's mouth a ship was heading for open water. Macrath was on the pier when he realized it was the Oregon.

A woman stood at the railing, and although it was too far to see her clearly, something told him it was Virginia.

His heartbeat thudded in his ears.

As he watched, she turned and, in a slow and terrifying act, jumped off the ship, disappearing into the water.

"Stay there," he said, turning to the young man who'd told him about Henderson.

He stripped off his boots and dove into the water.

He was damned if he was going to let the woman he loved drown.

Virginia sputtered to the surface, the desperate need to get away from the ship blotting everything else from her mind. All she had to do was swim, that's all.

She pushed a bobbing crate out of her way, treaded water for a few moments to get a second breath. The chloroform was making her light-headed, or maybe it was the sudden, exhilarating freedom she felt.

Still, she had to pace herself. She was out in the middle of the harbor and had to swim to the pier. Pausing a moment, she thought she heard her name being called and started swimming again. She wasn't out of reach of the ship. Someone could lower a boat and Paul could come after her.

Debris floated in the harbor: oranges and pieces of something green, shards of wood not yet waterlogged. A tankard floated by, as if a sailor had simply finished his measure of grog and pitched it into the sea. She didn't like seeing the hulls of the ships coated with barnacles and green slime disappearing into the murky water. Nor could she abide the smell of fish.

Her legs cramping, she rested again, floating on her back. The distance hadn't seemed so far before. Now it looked almost unattainable. She told herself she could reach the dock. All she had to do was concentrate on swimming, then resting, then swimming again.

At the closest pier, fishing boats clustered like nursing puppies suckling at their mother. All except one ship, larger than most, nearly the size of the one she'd escaped.

The teak figurehead caught her attention. A woman emerged triumphant from the waves, arms thrust behind her, her smile joyous and free, the face a duplicate of her own.

She started to cry.

He'd said the figurehead resembled her. He hadn't said how magnificent it was.

Something was coming in her direction, splashing furiously. Not a something after all, she then realized, but a person, someone who knew her name. Was the chloroform giving her hallucinations? Suddenly, she saw it was Macrath, fully clothed and swimming toward her.

When he reached her, she stretched out her hand to cup his jaw, then pressed her fingers against the frown on his forehead.

"Are you really here?" she asked.

"I'm really here, but I might ask the same of you."

Macrath turned, shouted something at the ship looming nearby, and a rope slapped into the water. Pressing her hands around it, he moved behind her, guiding her toward the hull. She didn't like ships. She didn't like the ocean, either. Did he know that?

It seemed like he did.

"You can swim," he said. "You would have saved me some bad moments there if I'd known. Why do you hate the ocean yet know how to swim?"

"My father insisted I learn," she said, "since we lived so near the Hudson."

"Well, thank God for your father, then, and I'd never thought to say that."

What a foolish reason to weep again. Truly, it was the chloroform.

"There's a ladder," he said. "Can you manage it? If not, I can carry you on board."

She turned to face him, still treading water.

The sight of Macrath, hair slicked back, his blue eyes intent, was the most stirring thing she'd ever seen.

"You're very handsome," she said. "Have I ever told you that?"

"You might have. Shall I return the compliment? Or concentrate on getting out of the harbor?"

"How did you know I'd be here?" she asked. "Hannah told you," she said before he could speak. "How is she? You really must arrange to have Paul Henderson arrested. He struck her viciously."

His fingers traced her bottom lip and she winced. "Did he strike you, too?"

"Can we stop the ship? Or send word to America? He can't be allowed to go around doing awful things to women."

He didn't answer, but his face changed, became the stern Macrath she'd heard about but rarely seen.

"You're very fierce with your expression. I'm not afraid of you, though. I never was."

"Good. I don't want you to be. Henderson's another matter."

She contemplated the thought of Macrath pummeling Paul again, and realized the idea didn't disturb her at all. When she said as much to him, he smiled.

"Can we continue this conversation once we're on deck?"

She looked up at the ship, and didn't like the fluttery feeling in her stomach when she saw how far up she'd have to climb.

She could reach out now and touch the hull, but would much rather have just swam to the pier.

What a pity she couldn't simply decide to be courageous and everything might be magically easier. She would have to work on overcoming her fears, starting right now.

She turned, kissed his mouth softly, given her swollen lip, then forced herself to face the rope ladder stretching straight up into the sky.

As she gripped the first rung, it occurred to her that she was already brave. She'd given birth nearly alone, stood up to Enid, come after Elliot, descended a cliff, stood her ground with Macrath, and jumped from a ship.

What was a silly ladder?

"You have to look away," she said. "I'm nearly naked. I've only my shift on."

There was that severe look again. She had the feeling Paul Henderson should go somewhere very far away, where Macrath couldn't find him.