Chapter 23

Mason, with a swollen black eye, faced his master with shame in his heart. "My lord, she's been abducted. I tried to prevent it, but failed miserably. I've been in a frenzy to have you return."

"Matthew!" thundered Shane. "I'll cut out his bloody liver … I'll have his balls! By Christ, I've warned the young fool over and over again."

Mason looked doubtful. "My lord, I have grave doubts that it was Matthew's doing. The men who took her were rough … Irish…."

"Irish!" echoed Shane, cold fingers of fear gripping his heart. "O'Neill," he whispered, "only he would dare!" O'Neill had clearly seen that Sabre was his one vulnerability. He clenched impotent fists and cursed heaven and hell in that moment. He vowed that if grave harm came to Sabre, he would murder his father and there would be an end to it.

Without wasting further time he went upstairs and packed for a journey. He hoped against hope that it had been Matthew's men who had taken her. He found him at court and knew with his first glance that he was not involved, for Matt was as open and easy to read as a book. When Matt saw the dark anger in his brother's face he feared the worst. "Is the baron dead?" he groaned through bloodless lips.

Shane shook his head in the negative. "Sabre was abducted from Thames View," he said curtly.

"Who? Where?" demanded Matthew.

Shane shrugged to show his ignorance but ground out, "I'm sailing for Ireland on the flood tide."

"O'Neill?" Matt whispered. "I'm sailing with you!"

Shane shook his head, but Matthew insisted. "Both his sons will confront him with this!"

At the Pool of London, Shane chose the first Hawkhurst vessel with a full crew. It was the Winged Dragon, set for a voyage to the Canary Islands. Shane spoke with his captain. "We must leave on the next tide, but I won't ask you to go one league out of your way. Take us home to Devonport and from there I'll captain my own ship, the Defiant" The Defiant's crew had been sent home on leave following the victory at Cadiz, and though all the sailors on all their merchant vessels were Hawkhurst men, Shane would feel more secure with his own personal crew aboard the Defiant in case it came down to a battle. He would be prepared and ready for any eventuality.

The two men who grabbed Sabre spoke with such thick brogues that she could hardly understand them, yet she knew instantly whose men they were and where they were taking her. They had soon felled poor Mason and carried her to the bottom of the garden and put her aboard a small Irish bark. She grew alarmed as the small fishing vessel left the Thames Estuary and it dawned upon her that this wretched little boat would put out to sea. Her nausea began immediately and she knew that her pregnancy combined with seasickness would soon render her helpless. She had no time to waste, but must bargain now for safe conduct.

"I am Lady Devonport and demand that you show me every respect."

The master of the bark looked sharply at the two men who had captured her. "He said t'grab his whore, not his wife, boyo!"

"That's the one, no mistakin' the hair. Lass, are ye whore or wife?" he demanded.

"I'm both," she said bluntly. "I'm also daughter-in-law to the earl of Tyrone, who sent you for me, and in about two minutes I'm going to need the help of you gallant gentlemen," she said with irony.

The men looked at each other uncertainly. They hadn't spoken to the O'Neill personally, but had been hired by one of his men to seize the wench and carry her to Dungannon Castle. They dared not take the chance of mistreating her and raising the ire of the O'Neill, so as one man sought a blanket to wrap her against the brisk chill, the other, with gentle but strong hands, held her firmly as she retched over the side of the boat, making sure she did not face windward.

In spite of her present situation and what might lie ahead of her, Sabre felt an inner calm, for she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Shane would come for her. No matter the risk to life and limb, Shane would rescue her. She was his woman, and the deep knowledge of it gave her the security of a rock.

What a fool she would be to divorce him just to feed her silly pride. He was everything she had ever wanted and then more; he was everything any woman could want. She shivered as a frightening thought struck her. If she divorced him, some other woman might snatch him for a husband!

The little bark had been fortunate, for the English Channel was unusually calm, and once it had rounded Land's End and entered the Celtic Sea, the small vessel, with the strong winds at its arse, had fairly scooted up the Irish coast, heading toward the Mountains of Mourne.

The sailors had hung a blanket across a small space to allow Sabre a small amount of privacy while attending to her personal needs and they had brought her warm soup three times a day. She accepted it gratefully, knowing it was the same food the men were fed, and marveled at the wiry strength they displayed on the meager fare of cabbage and potato soup. By the time they reached the Mourne Mountains in the Irish Sea, Sabre's seasickness had abated. The magnificent sight took her breath away and as the small bark maneuvered its way into the dark waters of the long, narrow Carlingford Lough she realized that she owned this land she gazed upon. This beautiful passage from the sea up to Newry was why Shane Hawkhurst had married her.

She spoke her thoughts aloud to the men behind her. Her arm swept the vista. "All this is mine! 'Twas why the son of O'Neill married me." They silently thanked the saints that they had not mistreated her, for the simple statements she made rang with the power of truth. She drew strength from the land and somehow felt Shane's presence drawing closer and closer.

The Hawkhurst vessel, as a matter of fact, had made the voyage so swiftly that it was only hours behind the small bark. Sabre was amazed when she neared Dungannon Castle. It was a formidable fortress with a great circular keep, an upper and lower ward enclosed by a vast curtain wall, and a pair of two-story towers of furnished rooms. It was well fortified by what seemed like a whole army, bristling with weapons including cannon.

When O'Neill first glimpsed her he was angered that she had not been bound, but she came forward with such pride blazing from her eyes, he knew instantly that he dealt with no ordinary woman.

"If I am a guest here, perhaps all is not lost, but if I am a prisoner, I fear for you and may God help you!"

The red-haired giant tried to stare her down with an arrogant male pride that matched her own. "Silence, woman!" he commanded when she failed to even blink before his stare.

"Shane never said no to you, but what he gave, he gave freely. He did it for love. Try to coerce him and he will kill you."

O'Neill's mouth set in grim lines and his chin went higher.

Sabre flung her magnificent hair back and stepped one defiant step closer. "I am Lady Devonport! I am your daughter-in-law! I carry your grandchild in my belly! A royal prince of Ireland by blood!"

There was not a murmur in the vast hall as every man strained forward, holding his breath for the next pronouncement.

She lowered her voice and said simply, "You hold me at your peril."

O'Neill raised his voice to the servants of the hall. "Well, don't stand there like bloody stones, prepare a bath … food … build up the fire. Cannot you see my daughter is exhausted? Plenish the best chamber for my guest!"

He could see that only burning pride kept her on her feet.

A few hours later, after she had been bathed and fed, she lay upon a featherbed beside a blazing fire and drowsily drifted off to slumber. She was aroused by raised voices below in the hall. One voice gladdened her heart, yet she could hardly credit that miraculously he had arrived for her almost upon her heels. A secret smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she realized the speed at which he must have traveled for her.

The O'Neill and his two natural sons stood face-to-face hurling insults and threats back and forth until the air was blue with Irish curses. They slanged each other with every foul name they had learned from the age of three.

"I wish to Christ I'd never laid eyes on you. If you've harmed one hair on her head, you're dead meat; pickings for the vultures!" threatened Shane.

Sabre realized she had better stop it if she could before there was murder done, or before stiff unbending pride made the men such bitter enemies that only death would put an end to their hatred. She pulled on her warm gown, took up a branch of candles, and descended the tower steps. She paused at the entrance to the great hall and called, "My husband, please believe that I have received much hospitality and every honor from the earl of Tyrone."

"Sabre!" cried Shane with relief, sheathing his weapons. He was at her side with his strong, supporting arm about her in less than a moment, while Matthew stood challenging his father with his weapons still drawn.

"Not one more thing will I ever give you!" vowed Shane. "I could forgive anything but this. Only evil could prompt you to take the one thing I love and hold dearest to use as hostage. Take, take, you only know how to take. Well, you've taken the last thing from me, O'Neill!"

Perversely, the great O'Neill was not shamed to have his sons stand before him and curse his existence. He was bursting with pride that he had bred two such wolves whose ferocity could put the fear of the devil into men. He had not been unafraid himself when they drew their weapons upon him, even though he was surrounded by an army.

Suddenly he began to laugh, and the sound of it rolled around the great hall. He looked over at Sabre with fiery admiration in his eyes. "By God's cock, I know why you chose her—she's a match for you, but that's only because she's Irish! Take your woman, she's worth an O'Hara and an O'Donnell any day!"

Shane came back to stand beside his brother, but still had a possessive arm about Sabre.

O'Neill said, "Ye say I never give ye anything, so just to make a liar out of ye, I'll give ye a little gem of information. Philip of Spain sails his Armada for England in August."

Shane looked at him through narrowed eyes. He did not doubt for a minute that the O'Neill knew Philip's plans. He was only suspicious as to why he should be sharing his knowledge with sons more loyal to England than Ireland.

"Well, lads, will ye stay and get drunk wi' me tonight?"

Shane declined. Drink-sodden Irish tempers would flare up like flash fires once the sun was down and the smoky Irish whiskey was liberally passed around. "I've better things to do," said Shane bluntly.

O'Neill eyed Sabre with a leer. "Ye've yer work cut out for ye, lad."

Shane saw Sabre favor the old man with a wicked smile and knew they shared some secret.

Sabre's eyes widened when they left the fortress, for outside waited the entire crew of the Defiant Dwarfed between the two tall Hawkhursts she looked up at Shane. "Did you expect to fight a battle?"

"In truth I didn't know what to expect, but I was ready to wage war to get you back."

Matt spoke up. "We had one hell of a time. The Defiant couldn't go any farther than the Lough, so we left her anchored at Shane's own town of Newry, piled the crew into the lifeboats, and rowed up the River Bann and the River Blackwater."

"You make me feel like Helen of Troy," said Sabre appreciatively. "Now I suppose you've to do it all again to get back to the ship."

"'Tis nothing," boasted Matt. "Every man jack of them would have gone twice the distance."

Though the night was black and chill for July, and her feet and skirts were drenched from the rough terrain they walked, she had never felt safer in her whole life. These were men, and more, these were her men!

Shane bent down to murmur, "I'm sorry to drag you from your warm bed. Let me carry you, love."

It was on the tip of her tongue to refuse, for he must be every bit as weary as she, but she longed for his touch and in a weak moment gave in to the need for him. She stopped in her tracks and reached up loving arms. "Please pick me up?" she whispered, and with a satisfied grunt Shane swept her up against his heart. He was instantly conscious of the blood flowing hot and thick in his veins and of the heavy, sweet ache that flooded his loins. Whatever good intentions he'd had about giving her a divorce vanished the instant he clasped her to his body. Her breast was crushed against his chest, his arms held her slender thighs, and her delicious buttocks brushed the tip of his manhood, ripe and swollen with desire. The exquisite torture drove him forward, dispelling any fatigue he might have felt. If Sabre insisted on keeping a barrier between them, he decided in that instant, he would enjoy smashing it.

There was something wickedly exciting about being carried so close in Shane's arms. It was a singularly erotic journey for both of them. Never had she been more aware of his powerfully muscled torso, and as the wind blew strands of her hair across his cheek, he thought he would go mad with longing. When they reached the boats, he did not relinquish her, but sat her between his legs where she was secure and sheltered and intimately close to him. Though they were in a crowded boat, for them the world receded until they were aware only of each other and their longing. She drew strength from his strength, her weariness drained away, and she was left with such a heightened feeling of anticipation for the love he would make to her when finally they reached his cabin aboard the Defiant. She had somehow fallen madly in love with her husband and craved the drugging, passionate kisses only his mouth could give her.

When they reached the ship, he lifted her once more into his arms and climbed the rope ladder to the deck with one strong arm. As her arms crept about his neck, he could not resist the tempting mouth just below his own, and captured her lips in a searing kiss that left them both dizzy with hot desire. He swept down to the captain's cabin and laid his precious burden upon the wide berth. He lit the lamp, then went down on his haunches before the safe in the corner of the cabin. He held something in his cupped hand as he came back to the bed.

"Sabre," he whispered tenderly, "can we begin again? I swear to woo you as you deserve. I pledge on my honor not to rush you. All I ask is a chance to make you fall in love with me."

She almost told him how madly she loved him already, but liked the notion of being wooed so much, she held her tongue. His arms encircled her in a surprisingly gentle embrace. His lips and tongue slowly explored the warm honey of her mouth. Then he drew back with a deep sigh and lifted one of her hands to his lips. He placed a tender kiss upon her palm, then filled it with a chain of diamonds. "Good night, my beloved," he whispered, and arose reluctantly from the edge of the bed.

"Where are you going?" she asked in alarm.

"I'll never force you to share my bed again, darling. I'll bunk in with Matthew on the voyage home."

She blinked, not believing that he had left her to sleep alone, and had sworn to do so for the rest of the voyage. She looked down at the fortune in diamonds he had poured into her hands and a sob caught in her throat. It wasn't jewels she wanted, it was the hard, muscled length of him. Her body screamed with her need to have him fill her, and now, of all ridiculous things, he had decided to play the gentleman and give her the wooing of which she accused him of cheating her!