Chapter Thirty-nine

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Daphne rubbed her chafed wrists and looked around the nasty little room she’d been tossed in. The bone-jarring ride in the wagon hadn’t lasted long, thank heavens, and she could still smell the salty air of the docks. She wasn’t far from where she’d been abducted, but wherever they’d taken her, it was a horrid place. Her abductor had hauled her out of the wagon, tossed her over his shoulder like a bag of hay, making the air whoosh from her lungs painfully, and carried her up three flights of stairs. She’d counted. A wooden door had creaked open, he’d removed her ties, and she’d been unceremoniously dumped in her current environment.

She glanced around. Not particularly hospitable. The room was perhaps ten feet square with a dirty wood floor and one tiny window at the top of the far wall. The window let in a bit of hazy moonlight but she was far too short to see out. One small wooden stool rested haphazardly in the far right corner. Some dirty remnants of food lay tossed on the floor and there was a—she gasped—fairly large rat gnawing on a piece of moldy bread near the stool. She willed herself not to scream. She’d never been particularly frightened of rats but she certainly didn’t want to share a living space with one.

“Good day, Sir Rat,” she said with a shaky voice. “What did you do to get put in here?”

She smiled at her own nonsensical behavior. At least she hadn’t lost her sense of humor… yet. What had she thought earlier about wanting adventure? Rubbish. Utter rubbish. Though she supposed if she made it home, she’d have a harrowing story for Delilah.

Daphne scooted back against the door and eyed the rat nervously. “Let’s make an agreement, you and I.”

The rat merely blinked at her. He did not stop his nibbling.

“You remain over there…” She scooted to the right around the wall and slowly pulled the stool back over toward the door. “And I’ll just stay over here. How about that?”

The rat blinked again but didn’t move, thank heavens.

“I don’t suppose you could give me the address of this place?” She smiled at herself again. Not that she’d be able to do anything with it if she had it. She was sorely lacking a carrier pigeon. Keeping on eye on the rat’s location, she pushed the stool over to the wall with the window and stood on it. Still too short to see out. Blast. Being the opposite of tall was such a curse. She jumped. Nothing. She tried again. Only a sliver of the outside appeared. But the stool seemed in imminent danger of cracking into pieces so she decided not to try again. The tiny glimpse she’d got on the second jump had only been enough to see darkness. Reluctantly, her eye still on the rat, she scraped the stool back over toward the door to put as much distance between herself and her hairy little cellmate as possible.

“Nothing personal,” she said to the rat.

Daphne glanced all around the small room. She wasn’t about to just sit quietly and wait to be rescued. First, she tried the door. It was locked, of course. She jiggled the handle furiously. No movement. Screwing up her courage because proximity to the rat was involved, she backed up to the far wall and ran as hard as she could, tossing her body against the door with all her force. She bounced off the door and flew backward, knocking over the stool, which went skittering toward the rat. The rat narrowly escaped it, scurrying out of the way just in time.

“Ouch.” Daphne rubbed her injured and no doubt bruised shoulder. “I beg your pardon,” she said to the rat.

The door was obviously locked with a bolt from the outside and made of extremely sturdy wood. She glanced about again. There was nothing else. No cracks in the walls, no other entrances or windows. Just her and the rat. She had to think. There must be some way she could get out. Something she could do. She considered yelling for help but thought against it. If her captor heard her and returned, he would no doubt threaten her with stabbing again. She could only hope he hadn’t heard her run at the door.

She sat with her back against the wall and pulled up her knees. The crew of the True Love had been in the crowd at the tavern earlier. They must have seen her leave. And Rafe. Rafe would soon realize she wasn’t coming back and he’d come for her. He’d rip Anton and Viktor and probably that barmaid apart as soon as he realized they’d double-crossed him. Then he’d be on his way. She knew it.

In the meantime, perhaps her captor would return and provide her with an opportunity to escape. The man seemed like a hulking mass, but she was small and spry. She just might manage to get around him and run. He wouldn’t have the element of surprise he’d had earlier. She just might make it if she could find the staircase easily. Regardless, she had to try.

She let her head fall back against the dusty stone wall behind her and assessed her situation. She had two things going for her. One, Rafe and the rest of the crew would be searching for her and they wouldn’t stop until they found her. She knew it. And two, she just so happened to have a knife in her boot. She slid her hand down to her ankle and patted the knife’s handle. It had warmed against her skin and gave her confidence.

For now, or until she could come up with a plan, all there was to do was wait.

She’d drifted off to sleep a bit, lulled by the rhythmic sound of the nearby waves, when the bolt screeching against the door woke her.

“Who’s there?” she whispered into the dark. She glanced over. The rat was gone.

The wide wooden door swung open and the huge man stood blocking the light from the corridor.

“What do you want?” she asked, trying her best not to cower against the wall from his sheer size.

“What’s your name? And don’t lie to me,” he demanded.

“Ye don’t know who ye kidnapped?” she said in her cabin boy voice.

The hulking mass kicked her leg, hard, and Daphne quickly decided against further antagonism. Earl’s daughters were never kicked. Apparently, mouthy cabin boys, or whoever they believed her to be, were. Regardless, she wasn’t about to give up her false identity. She rubbed her aching calf. “Thomas Grey,” she said. “I’m the cabin boy from the True Love .”

“I said don’t lie to me.” Spittle flew from the hulking mass’s mouth.

“I’m not lying,” Daphne insisted.

“Yes you are.”

“Fine. Why don’t ye tell me wot me name is then?” she answered, glaring at him, daring him to call her bluff.

“It’s Daphne Swift. Or should I call you ‘my lady’?”