An Impetuous Abduction

“On your honor?” In a fleeting moment of clarity Phona glimpsed the irony of charging either Lord Hades or a pirate with his honor.

“Word of a…” He hesitated for a heartbeat. “Upon my family’s honor.”

He refilled the spoon, and after a moment Phona accepted a sip. If she was doomed, then she was doomed. She could do nothing to change it. The soup slid warmly down her throat, stinging for a moment. The second mouthful went easier, and after a third a welcome sort of warmth spread through her body, easing some of the fiery ache.

Her eyes began to close, but the two voices exhorted her to wait, to finish her broth. But Phona could not keep the darkness at bay. The bowl disappeared and a cup of bitter tea took its place. She managed to get down several swallows before trying to push it away.

“No, Miss Hathersage. You must drink all of this. It will help you.” She heard the firm voice through a fog, but opened her mouth again, thankful when he took away the nasty draught.

The Skeleton’s voice asked, “The laudanum, do ye think?”

“Aye. It will help her pain.”

Another pungent smell assaulted her nostrils, but this time Phona obediently opened her lips. Now perhaps they would leave her alone. Even as the extra pillows were removed, she was drifting away. And she did not care if she never returned.

Tired as he was, Leo could not bring himself to leave her. He had done this to her. Certainly it had been a better choice than allowing the others to kill her. Unfathomably better than killing her himself.

Better even than allowing to be destroyed all he had spent months setting in motion. Yet, the decision was his, and he bore the responsibility for it. He could only pray that her illness would not finish her after all.

Leo built up the fire, but the room seemed too cool for him to sit bare-chested, and he was loathe to leave the girl long enough to fetch a shirt. He lay beside her, atop the bedclothes, and tugged a corner of the quilt over himself, rolling until he was well wrapped in it.

It seemed unlikely that she would even know that he lay near her, but still Leo moved as close to the far edge of the bed as the arrangement allowed, fearing that he might frighten her further should she unexpectedly wake.

She appeared to be lost in unconsciousness, tossing about and moaning now and again. Several times she started up, wild-eyed, her cry breaking the silence. Each time Leo placed a soothing hand on her shoulder and settled her back onto the pillows.

Each time he was uncomfortably aware of the heat radiating from her. Of the smoothness of her skin, the softness of her hair, the sparks of light from the fire caught in its waves.

What a surprising contradiction she was. So courageous and desirable in her womanhood. So vulnerable and childlike in her fever-induced pain and terror of Hell. Leo smiled into the dark. Little had he known how far his Persephone would take that jest.

He pitied both her pain and her fear. Leo knew what it was to lie in helpless agony, prey to delirious images, terrified, not only of the enemies in one’s dreams, but of the helplessness. The fear that gangrene and the surgeon would take the rest of his arm. Too weak to resist.

A hand plagued him with phantom tortures, yet was no longer his to command. Was no longer there at all. The image of it as it disappeared in a spray of blood and grapeshot. Hell.

She had the right of that.

Just as the light of sunrise began to creep through the shutters, his patient flung the bedclothes off. Leo reached for them to protect her once more, but realized that she was sweating. A hand to her forehead confirmed that, while she still felt too warm, her excessive fever had broken.

It would no doubt increase again later in the day, but Leo gave thanks for any sign of improvement. If they could prevent the lady developing an inflammation of the lungs, they might pull her through.

Leo had been almost two days without real sleep. Now that she slept more deeply, he would have gone to his own bed, save that he feared she would be frightened if she awoke alone.

And he feared even more that the sight of his bare stump would cause her further distress. Last night, when he had heard her scream at the sight of Aelfred, he had just removed his shirt and the straps which secured the hook to his body. He had raced up the stairs without a thought for his repulsive deformity.

Now, in the light of day…

Aelfred solved this dilemma by slipping stealthily into the room and handing Leo a shirt. “How fares the lass?”

“A little better, I think. She is sweating.”

“Aye, a good sign. Ye’ll find coffee and porridge in the kitchen and a bath drawn by your fire. I’ll sit with her until she wakes. Mayhap in the light I won’t scare the bejabbers out of her.” His thin lips quirked. “Or mayhap the light’ll be worse.”

Leo clappedAelfred on the shoulder. “Come now, man. Her fever caused that alarm, as well you know. I must sleep now. Thank you.” He paused by the bed a moment, gently touching the girl’s cheek. “She feels cooler now.”

She looked so vulnerable lying there that he could not leave her uncovered. He tucked the quilt around her and finally brought himself to take his leave.

Phona drifted to the surface of consciousness from an unfathomable depth. She wanted to open her eyes, but the growing light hurt, even if she squeezed her lids tightly. Eventually, they adjusted a bit, and she risked a peek.

The light came from a window. A window in a strange room. Rain beat upon the glass of the casement in an uneven tattoo. She closed her eyes again and tried to think.

Rain. She remembered rain. And riding. And riding and riding. A man—a pirate? And a skeleton? Surely she had been dreaming. But where was she? Phona squinted again through aching eyelids. She still lay in the strange bed in the strange room.

Between her and the window someone sat in a chair. She could not make out his features against the glare, but he was working on something in his hands. She tried to raise herself on her elbow. The person in the chair glanced up and rose.

A tall, lean man walked to the bed and looked down at her. “Morning, miss.” He held up a restraining hand. “Now don’t ye go raising another screech. I ain’t much to look at, but I ain’t no skelyton nor no boggart, neither.”

No, he could not be called a skeleton, but the skin stretched so tightly over the bones of his face that he appeared cadaverous at best. Above his deep-set eyes rose a shining, bald dome of a head, and his lips seemed but a slit in his narrow face. Phona gazed up at him. Was this the bony apparition of her dream?

The alleged apparition announced, “I’m called Aelfred. I keep things in order here.” Before she could ask where here was, he continued. “I reckon ye be needing some porridge and tea. Won’t be a minute.” The man disappeared through the door. Phona heard the unmistakable sound of a key turning in the lock.

He had locked her in!

A moment of panic swept over her. She couldn’t stay here locked in! She flung back the bedclothes and tried to put her legs over the edge of the high bed, struggling to sit. This attempt was met by a wave of dizziness, and she fell back on the pillow with a thump. Dear God, she was weak as a newborn filly!

When her head quit spinning, Phona glanced down at her body. She was wearing a… Yes. A man’s nightshirt enveloped her from shoulders far past her feet, one made of soft, translucent linen. She could see the details of her person right through it. Good grief!

She yanked on the covers. It proved all she could do to deal with the voluminous garment, but she prevailed at last. Exhausted, she lay back, motionless. Dealing with the locking in would have to wait.

After a few minutes she felt able to look around again. She had seen a pirate. He had chased her. Caught her. Forced her to come with him. Now Phona remembered riding on the saddle before him, wrapped in his cloak and his strong arms.

Was this his lair? It certainly looked like a pirates’ lair, the furnishings very old, the walls of rough stones, a huge fireplace.

At the sound of footsteps, she quickly pulled the quilt up to her chin. Aelfred opened the door and came in carrying a tray. He set it on a low chest beside the bed. Lifting her to a sitting position, he stacked the extra pillows behind her and proceeded to spread a large napkin under her chin.

He offered her a bite of porridge. She tried to take the spoon from him, but her arms felt too heavy to bear the weight. She almost knocked it to the bed.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Tears pricked behind her eyelids.

“No matter, miss. Ye passed a hard night. Little wonder ye feel a mite feeble this morning.” He gave her several more spoonfuls and then picked up a teacup. “Here ye go. This will put ye right.”

She wrinkled her face at the bitterness. The taste recalled something else. Someone sitting on the bed last night. Offering her the bitter cup. “Who else was here last night?”

“Just his—my master.”

“The Pirate?”

“Pirate? Nay… Well, mayhap, in a manner o’ speaking.”

Oh, Lord! He really was a pirate!

Chapter Three

By the time she saw him again, Phona had lost much of her interest in her host’s piratical calling. Her head and limbs had begun to ache fiercely once more, and her eyes burned unbearably.

Aelfred brought gruel and nasty brews, saying that his master would visit her when he awoke. When finally the turning of the key in the door announced the presence of this personage, Phona could hardly believe her blurry eyes.

She could not mistake the man who walked through the door for anyone other than her assailant of yesterday, yet he looked very…different. The black patch still covered one eye, but the wild, dark hair and beard had been combed and trimmed, the long mane neatly restrained at the nape of his neck by a black ribbon. No hook appeared at the end of his left arm.

Nor did a hand.

The sleeve of his fine linen shirt simply ended, folded over and tightly fastened with a pair of buttons. He wore a black leather vest, but no coat or cravat. Nor was yesterday’s scowl visible on his face—a face constructed of strong features, chin square, nose prominent.

He stopped at the foot of the bed and smiled. The flash of fierce, white teeth within the beard reminded her of his grinning like that in the dark woods. In the night she had not seen the brightness of the single blue eye that now twinkled at her.

He still looked like a pirate. A slightly civilized pirate.

Very slightly.

But when he spoke, the Cockney voice she had first heard was not in evidence. “Good afternoon, Miss Hathersage. I hope I find you feeling better?”

Phona glared at him. “No, I am not better.”

“I am sorry to hear that.” The Pirate’s smile faded. He strolled around the bed and, without a by-your-leave, rested his hand on her forehead. “You are very feverish. I had hoped for more improvement, but at least you are lucid.”

She moved away from his hand. “No thanks to you for it.”

“Au contraire, Miss Hathersage. Had I not brought you here, improvement would be beyond the realm of possibility.” He pulled the chair vacated by Aelfred nearer the bed and sat facing her.

“You mean that I would be dead.”

“Dead in fact, rather than in fancy. Do you remember last night?” He propped his feet comfortably on the chest by the bed.

“Very little. Only extremely strange dreams.”

“In your delirium you thought that I, as Lord Hades, had abducted you to the Underworld.”

“Oh, my.” Phona felt the heat rising in her face. “How foolish of me.”

“Nay, not foolish. You were quite out of your head with fever. You’d had a very hard passage. But would you prefer to call me by some other name? Perhaps Hades is a little too apt.” He stroked his beard and peered questioningly at her.

“Lord Cad, perhaps? Lord Blackguard? We agreed yesterday, I believe, that those were suitable designations.” Phona raised her eyebrows and returned the inquiring gaze.

“Ha!” A short laugh burst out of him. “I see you have recovered both your memory and your spirit. A fierce little kitten challenginga wolfhound. You must be better, after all. But I believe I might prefer some other appellation.”

“Lord Hades will do well enough. It certainly fits the situation. But how did you know my name was Persephone?”

“Persephone Proserpina. Poor child, christened in both the Greek and the Latin version of the myth.” He chuckled again. “I make it my business to know everything that might affect an enterprise before I embark upon it.”

“This most recent enterprise appears to be one of piracy.” Phona folded her arms across her chest and stared at him severely. “And you, sir, give every appearance of being a pirate.”

“I did once have a career upon the sea.” He nodded thoughtfully. “But you hardly expect me to confess to you that I am a freebooter.” His grin flashed. “Unless, of course, you wish to call me Lord Blackbeard instead of Lord Blackguard.”

“I believe I shall stay with Lord Hades. And no, I do not expect you to tell me your felonious business. I can see that it is not to my advantage to know it.”

“Quite right, Miss Hathersage.”

“I only wish to know how long I must stay… wherever it is that I am. I don’t suppose that you will tell me that, either.”

“Perceptive as always. My apologies.” He smiled again. “Our whereabouts are one of my better-kept secrets.” Sobering, he added, “As to how long you must stay, I cannot be sure. For now, you will stay in that bed until I am satisfied that you are in no more danger from your illness. After that…we will have to see how long it takes for me to complete my present…uh, felonious business. One cannot rush these things.”

In alarm, Phona tried to sit up. “But I must go home. My parents will be frantic. Mama has by now fallen into strong hysterics. You cannot so cruel as to keep me here.”

“Therein you are mistaken, Miss Hathersage. I can, and I shall. But I do not intend cruelty. I have already written to your family to relieve their minds. The letter will be delivered within a day or two.”

“But what—” At that moment Aelfred interrupted the conversation by opening the door and shoving a cot into the room. Hades rose and helped him muscle it to a place near the bed.

Phona gazed at it askance. “What is that for?”

“For me, should we be fortunate and the watch uneventful. You did not expect me to leave you here alone and delirious throughout the night, did you?”

Panic rushed over Phona. She could not sleep in the same room with a man…with him. “But…I don’t need…”

Lord Hades grinned at her in his most piratical manner. “Do you prefer that I share the bed with you as I did last night?”

Heat rushed to Phona’s face, and she covered it with both hands. “You did not! You could not.”

The blue eye twinkled. “I could, Miss Hathersage, and I did.”

As shame suffused his guest’s lovely face, Leo immediately regretted his words. He hastily sat on the edge of the bed and gently drew her hands away from her face. “No, no, Miss Hathersage. Forgive me for teasing you. We did not share the sheets. I lay atop the quilt.” He smiled. “Had I a naked sword, I should have placed it between us, as did the knights of old.”

She wrinkled her nose. “That sounds both very dangerous and very uncomfortable.”

Leo could not help but laugh. “Indeed, it does, however virtuous and romantic. But have no fear. Your honor is quite intact.”

“If anyone ever learns of the fact, that will make no difference at all. My reputation will be in tatters. If Mrs. Rowsley ever gets wind of it…”

“No one will ever hear a word of it from me—I swear to you.”

“Word of a…?”

Leo laughed aloud. “Clever minx. Do you suppose you will find me out that easily? I swear on my family’s honor.”

“A conveniently anonymous family.” She turned her face.

Leo paused. Had a man questioned his heritage in that manner, violence would certainly have ensued. But this was not a man. This was a woman, a very sick woman, one with a genuine grievance. He moved from the bed back to the chair and took a steadying breath. “Just so, Miss Hathersage.”

Perhaps the expression on his face warned her that she had gone too far. She looked at him again, started to speak, subsided once more. Finally, she closed her eyes and sighed.

Once again Leo felt a complete brute. How was she to know that at one time his parentage was a very tender subject with him? And she looked so pulled and pale. What was he doing bullying a lady too weak even to respond?

He leaned forward in the chair. “My dear, I assure you I meant no harm. You were so very ill. I could not leave you, yet I was weary and cold to the bone. If you can but seal your own lips, the matter is forgotten.”

Without opening her eyes she muttered, “You are not acquainted with Mrs. Rowsley.”

Leo chuckled and leaned back as she drifted into sleep. “Thank God.”

If the previous night had been Hell for his guest, the next night exceeded that condition for Leo. She tossed and moaned. One moment she clutched the quilts to her chin, her teeth rattling in her head and chills racking her small body. Minutes later she flung them away, revealing the sweat-soaked nightshirt clinging to every feature of that well-molded form.

Leo tried to do the noble thing and avert his gaze from high, round breasts crowned with firm nipples peeping through the damp linen. From perfectly formed legs unveiled by the rucked-up hem.

By midnight he had developed a very strained view of nobility. A lovely lady lay in his bed, and that constituted a major improvement over recent months. He would never lay a hand on a helpless woman, but she would be well again someday and still in his bed.

Might she stay there willingly?

Angry with himself, Leo shook his head in frustration and firmly tucked the quilt around her. He was doing it again, letting his self-imposed deprivation make him vulnerable to misconduct. He must muster his self- discipline. He would not put himself in the wrong again.

True, he should have smelled the trap when he found Celeste in his bedchamber. He should have known that no innocent maiden would put herself in that position, accepting forbidden intimacy with a mutilated wreck of a man.

But he never, never should have taken a virgin.

Or so he believed her at the time. How foolish she must have thought him. How she must have laughed as she wrapped herself around him.

He had not ventured to approach any woman since his maiming—not since the first one had backed away from him, horror on her face. But Celeste had enchanted him, and he had been made weak with need. He had gone against his principles and made love to a woman he believed to be an innocent.

Had Celeste truly been a virgin, he would have married her, of course. But that did not answer to his conscience. The real bite of some of the accusations that had been fired at him later was that they bit too close to the bone.

He had failed his own standards. He had given up his discipline. He had broken his own rules.

What disturbed him the most was that, for once in his life, he had thoroughly enjoyed doing it.

When Phona awakened again, it was daylight. As promised, Lord Hades lay sleeping on the cot, his long form stretched the length of it, and his feet hanging over the end. Locks of hair, escaped from the ribbon, curled around his face and made him look younger and…yes, less ferocious. He was snoring just a little.

What a difference in his aspect! Did snoring make everyone seem harmless? Phona had only seen Hades as big and threatening. Commanding and enforcing obedience. Brooking no resistance.

Piratical.

Now he looked… Well, human. She supposed even brigands had to sleep sometimes. But clearly, this man had not always been an outlaw. Not only his knowledge of the classics, but—except for the few words spoken to the man called Hardesty—his speech and address marked him an educated man. How could he have come to this?

Phona rested her eyes for a moment. They still burned and felt blurry. When she opened them again, a single blue eye regarded her steadily. Just that suddenly his humanity dissolved. He became once more the indomitable force.

“Good morning, Miss Hathersage.” He swung his feet over the side of the cot. “Apparently we both slept at last. How do you feel this morning?”

“Better than yesterday evening.” Phona tried to sit up, failed and fell back against the pillow. “Not well enough.”

“That is to be expected. You had developed a very high fever before I could get you out of the rain and cold.” He rose to his feet. “Forgive me if I leave you for a while. I’ll let Aelfred know you are awake. He will bring you something to eat.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I am confident that gruel is on the menu.”

“No doubt, at least once before the day is out. And several cups of nasty medicine. I will come again this afternoon after I have slept. Try to do the same. Your rest last night was badly disturbed.” He grinned, and again regained a hint of the human. “And obey Aelfred while I am absent.”

Phona grimaced, and he laughed aloud as he went out.

During a dismal, foggy day, Phona dutifully slept, ate as much as she could and drank from the bitter cup. In spite of the fog in her mind and the fire in her limbs, she suddenly noticed that she was eating from silver implements and sipping from fine china. Now where in the world would a man like Hades come by those niceties?

Unless, of course, he stole them.

After breakfast Aelfred brought her a fresh nightshirt. “We’ll see to changing the linens as soon as you are able to sit in the chair, miss,” he assured her. Phona could hardly wait. The sheets had become damp and sticky with perspiration.

The day dragged on interminably. She still had trouble staying alert. Sometime after a light nuncheon—which had included a slice of bread with her gruel—she woke abruptly from a doze to find Lord Hades sitting in the chair beside her bed, reading.

He set aside the book. “Good afternoon, Miss Hathersage. What is the report now? Any progress?”

Phona coughed and cleared her throat. “Well, I am no longer beside myself. That must be counted progress, I should think.”

“Yes, indeed. That is a terrifying condition.” He rose and picked up her wrist. “Hmm. Still much too warm and your pulse is a bit tumultuous.”

He returned her arm to her own keeping, and Phona hastily hid it under the covers. Something about his touch, his nearness, created an unfamiliar unease. She heaved a small sigh of relief when he sat again.

“So…” He leaned back in the chair, rested his elbows on the carved arms and cupped his right hand over the folded left sleeve. “Tell me more about the dreaded Mrs. Rowsley.”

Phona thought he might have steepled his fingers, except, of course, that he had no fingers on the left hand to steeple. The thought gave her pause. How awful to lose a limb! And an eye. She quickly looked at his face.

But he had already caught her staring. He started to move his hand to his lap, then instead, resumed the position and gave her a tight-jawed look. “Does my lack of a hand distress you, Miss Hathersage?”

His voice held a hint of ice, a challenge. Phona looked steadily into the cool blue eye. His oddity did unsettle her a bit, but she refused to be intimidated by it. Or by his manner. “No, my lord, but surely it must distress you.”

“It does so no longer. But let us return to Mrs. Rowsley.”