Fourteen

 

Lily stood on deck and watched as the Union sailors led her crew from the ship. She had been on the ironclad for three days and nights, long nights during which she had slept little and dreamed of Quint confined to the brig. Confined for her crime.

No matter how much she begged, how pitifully she batted her lashes, how unmercifully she flirted with the guards who were posted at the door of her cabin, they wouldn’t allow her to see Quint. She was allowed out of the small cabin only once a day, for a breath of fresh air, and during that time her guards watched her closely. Ensign Davis always seemed to be close by, though he didn’t approach her during the voyage.

But as she watched the prisoners disembark, he joined her, standing at her side silently as she tried to study her crewmen’s faces from a distance. They were all solemn, but Lily was pleased to see no evidence of abuse. Tommy was still in irons. He was a man not mellowed by his age, but incensed at the injustices that had been thrust upon him. Once, he lifted his face to Lily, but he gave no sign that he knew her, or even that he saw her there.

Lily was holding her breath, waiting for Quint to appear, and finally he did. He was last, and at a distance from the other prisoners. Quint was in shackles, just as Tommy had been, and he limped along without his cane, the weight of the irons making his steps more laborious. His jacket was missing, and the thin material of his shirt stretched across his broad back, the linen wet with sweat and clinging to his skin.

She thought he wasn’t going to notice her there, and then he turned his head slowly. He stared through her, and Lily’s eyes were riveted to his. How could she let him know that she would somehow find and free him? Did he believe that she would abandon him to pay for her sins?

And then Quint smiled at her, that crooked smile that made him look like a devilish little boy. He had stopped in the middle of the gangplank, and a guard pushed him forward with a heavy hand. Quint stumbled slightly, but recovered and turned his face away from Lily as he continued away from the ironclad.

Lily turned a frown on Ensign Davis. “He might have fallen in the water and drowned, chained as he is,” she snapped at the relaxed ensign who watched with relief as the prisoners left his ship.

Two sailors appeared on deck with Lily’s trunk between them. It was time for her to disembark.

“Where are they taking the prisoners?” She directed her question to the ensign, forcing a calmness she did not feel into her voice. If she wasn’t careful, she could ruin any chance she had of saving Quint.

Ensign Davis gave her a small smile that seemed to pain him. He would, no doubt, be glad to be rid of her.

“All of them, or just the Captain?” There was a teasing lilt in his voice.

Lily grimaced slightly. By this time she should be better at hiding her true feelings. “Just the Captain.”

Ensign Davis relaxed and leaned against the railing, turning away from her to look over the docks. He hesitated, and Lily was afraid he would tell her nothing. And then what would she do?

“I do envy your Captain Sherwood,” he said when he turned back to her. “I suppose it would do no harm to tell you where he will be held until his transfer to the prison at Fort Warren. Perhaps the soldiers there will allow you to see him before that departure. Perhaps not. I will tell you that once Captain Sherwood is imprisoned at Fort Warren, you will not see him again until the war has ended.”

A knot formed in Lily’s stomach as she listened to the ensign’s words, and she knew she had to get to Quint before he was taken to that prison.

 

Quint paced the tiny cell, the heels of his boots clicking against the stone floor, his jaw clenched. Six days. Six days of inedible food, questionable water, and complete deprivation of sunlight and fresh air.

He could handle the poor rations better than he could the lack of sun and fresh air. The place smelled stale, of sweat and piss and fear, the mingled odors of the other occupants of this jail, men in tiny cells of their own that lined the narrow and dimly lit hallway. They seemed to have given up, these prisoners of the Union. All were awaiting transfer to another place, and no one expected that it would be much better than their present accommodations. They were thin and weary and barely spoke. It was as if even speech was too much of an effort.

Quint knew what time of day it was only by the arrival of his two meager meals, one at mid-morning and the other late in the afternoon. Without even a small window to watch the passage of the days, they seemed interminably long.

His black cane had been taken away on the Union patrol boat. He still walked with a slight limp, but no longer needed the aid of the cane. Thank God. He had come to hate the damn thing.

He’d told them, on board the ship and again at the prison, of his true identity. On board the ship he was laughed at, and he didn’t try to convince the Union sailors again. It didn’t help that Lily’s entire crew had taken to calling him Captain. They would protect Lily at all costs.

Quint’s claims were taken no more seriously at the prison, but the warden had reluctantly agreed to send word to Colonel Fairfax in Washington. And so Quint waited, not knowing how long it would take for word to reach Washington and a reply to arrive at the prison in Baltimore. There was no guarantee that Fairfax would be in Washington.

No one would tell him what had become of Lily. Logic told him that if ever there was a woman born who could take care of herself, it was Lily Radford. But still he worried. There was a war raging, and he didn’t think she would hide from it. He thought—he knew—that she would walk right into the middle of it all, if she had the opportunity.

The sailors on board the Union ironclad had taken great pleasure in telling him that his ship had exploded and sunk to the ocean floor. They had all heard the massive explosion, and Quint had actually been relieved to hear that the Chameleon was gone. By the time they told him what had occurred, he had ceased his efforts to convince them that it was not his ship, and he accepted the news with no visible response. No one was hurt, by all reports, but the cargo was lost. On hearing that, Quint was certain that Lily was somehow responsible for the destruction of the Chameleon.

Lily. Damn her, he didn’t know if he wanted more to kiss her or to spank her. Perhaps he should do both. He’d had more than enough time to think in the past six days, and the more he pondered the more amazing it was. She was Captain Sherwood. A blockade runner. A soldier as fierce as any he’d ever known, with her own driving motivation. Revenge. A powerful force.

But he loved her. That was an emotion he had thought never to feel again. It was so much more powerful than anything he’d ever felt for Alicia that it boggled his mind. Alicia had been a proper lady, and he had felt an attraction to her. But at the same time his choice of her as a future wife was also based on the fact that she came from one of the county’s oldest families, that she was much like him, in many ways. He would have been content, if his life had not taken the turns it had, to marry Alicia and give her children. Content, but not happy. He would have bedded her, but not with the passion he felt for Lily every time he looked at her. His life would have been dull, and comfortable, and bloodless. And he never would have met Lily.

She was a part of him, as though the joining of their bodies had joined them heart and soul. A lifetime with Lily was not so much a choice as an inevitability.

All heads turned when a key rattled in the lock, and the heavy door that separated their hallway from the guards’ office was thrown open. It was too soon after the morning meal for any routine visit. That meant they were coming after someone.

It was as though every prisoner in the block was holding an anxious breath. Quint had already learned that being singled out meant either interrogation or transfer, and as bad as their Baltimore prison was, they all knew it was better than most.

Quint had a glimmer of hope that word might have come from Colonel Fairfax or one of his aides, though it was probably still too soon.

The sergeant walked directly to Quint’s cell and turned the key with a clang that echoed in the close hallway.

“You’ve got a visitor.” The sergeant spat the words, his voice coarse and full of hate. Quint looked the man straight in the face, refusing to be intimidated by the short, burly man who seemed to take delight in strong-arming the Confederate prisoners.

Quint was relieved, and gave the sergeant a half-smile as he stepped from his cell. Colonel Fairfax had apparently wasted little time in getting word to the prison that he was who he claimed to be.

His first warning was the low mutter of the sergeant behind him. “Cocky bastard.”

The sergeant used what was an evident weakness, trying to kick Quint’s legs out from under him. There was a low chuckle from the sergeant, but Quint caught himself and turned to face the man, only to find a loaded and cocked pistol in his face.

“Go ahead, Reb,” the sergeant said in a low voice. “Give me an excuse to shoot that smug-lookin’ face clean off.”

The sergeant was disappointed, as Quint gave him a crooked smile and turned his back to the man who held the pistol trained on him, waiting for any excuse to fire.

“I’ll be givin’ you a thorough search when you’re done.” The sergeant whispered the warning as he pushed open the door to the warden’s office. “Can’t be too careful.”

Quint barely heard the threat as the door swung open and he saw Lily standing in front of a barred window. The harsh light hurt his eyes, but it was her all right, standing there in that ridiculous pink dress she had worn the night of the Chameleon’s capture.

Lily turned to face him as the door opened, and she appeared calm and cool as she clasped gloved hands at her waist. She didn’t even smile, but her eyes twinkled with excitement.

“Lily.” He whispered her name. What was she doing here? She should be on her way back to Nassau. At least, he had hoped she would be.

Lily didn’t move. She stood primly and properly, as any refined lady should. “Sergeant?” At last she smiled, at the sergeant who still held his gun on Quint. “Could we have a few minutes of privacy? Please? The warden has consented.”

The sergeant backed out of the room, obviously disgusted with this turn of events.

“Lily, what are you doing here?” Quint stepped toward her, but she looked down and started to push aside the large satin rosettes that decorated the bodice of her gown.

“Getting you out of this place,” she said with assurance, her fingers flying through laces that had been hidden by the satin flowers. The laces ran from her neck to below the waist of her pink gown, and in less than a minute she was stepping out of the dress. Underneath, she was wearing her sailing garb—dark pants and white shirt; tall, soft boots; her saber strapped to her thigh. She adjusted the saber, which had been lowered to accommodate the line of her gown, raising the weapon to waist level. Her hands flying, she unwrapped a Colt six-shooter that was strapped to her right thigh.

“It’s too dangerous.” Quint grabbed her shoulders and was greeted with a smile for his concern.

“I love you, Quint. I can’t allow them to keep you here.”

Her declaration was so heartfelt, he felt a swelling in his chest. But what he’d said was true. What she was attempting was much too dangerous. She could get herself killed. He didn’t waste any time telling her as much.

“I can’t die now. I’ve got too many things still to do.” She gave him a wide smile. “Sounds like nonsense, I know, but in my heart I know it’s true.” She laid a hand on his stubbled cheek. “But I would die if anything happened to you in this hellish place. I should shoot Tommy for this. What was he thinking?”

Lily planted a light kiss on his lips. “I’m glad they don’t have you shackled. That would have slowed us up a bit.” She placed the Colt in Quint’s hand.

“Lily.” Quint grabbed her hand and squeezed it. He should tell her the truth now—that in a few days, perhaps a week, word would reach the prison that he was a spy for the Union. He wouldn’t die in prison. He had only to survive a while longer. “You can’t. I want you to put that dress back on while I —”

The turning of the key in the lock startled them both. It had only been a few minutes. Lily moved to a position behind the door, and Quint held the Colt behind his back. The door opened, and the warden stepped inside his office, a stern expression on his face.

“Miss Smith —” he began, searching the room for Lily. His gaze fell on Quint, then on the crumpled pink dress on the floor. Before he had a chance to call out, Lily was behind him, the point of her saber at his back.

“Thank you so much, sir, for your cooperation,” she said softly. “But we’ll be leaving now.”

The warden stared at Quint with open disgust and balled his fists as if he planned to rush forward and attack. But he didn’t. He was an older man, gray-haired and too thin. His hands trembled slightly. Perhaps he had been a great soldier once, but now he was just waiting for the war to end.

“You’ve had this planned all along.”

“Don’t hurt him, sweetheart.” Quint was reluctant to use Lily’s name in front of the warden, even though he could remember saying it as the sergeant led him to her. “This will all be over in a few days. There’s no need for this.”

“I suppose you’re speaking of your bogus claim,” the warden seethed. “Don’t plan on any help arriving, you lying Reb. Do you think I’m stupid enough to fall for a lie like the one you spun for me? Did you really think I’d waste valuable manpower by sending a soldier off on a wild goose chase? All of my men are here, Captain. There’s no way you can escape.”

The warden had never sent the message to Washington. That much was clear. He’d thought it a trick, and all of Quint’s plans were for nothing.

Heavy footfalls were approaching quickly, plodding and determined steps that Quint recognized. He saw the sergeant behind Lily, and then he saw the pistol in the Sergeant’s hand. Before Lily could react, Quint brought around the Colt that had been concealed behind his back. His reaction was quick, and almost unconscious, as he cocked the hammer with his thumb and fired, his aim true, and the surprised sergeant grunted and fell.

Quint ran forward and grabbed Lily’s arm as he pointed the six-shooter at the warden. “The key.” There was no time to waste. The sergeant who had taken such delight in making Quint’s life a living hell was lying half in and half out of the doorway, and another guard could come along at any moment.

The warden grudgingly produced the key to his office, all the while staring at the barrel of the Colt. This had to be every warden’s worst nightmare—held by a prisoner bent on escape.

“Pull him into the room.” Quint nodded his head at the wounded sergeant, the man clutching a bleeding forearm. The bullet had gone straight through.

Quint’s first instinct when he had seen the sergeant aiming a pistol at Lily was to shoot him right between the eyes. Only a last-second impulse had saved the sergeant’s life. The warden pulled the wounded man into the office, the sergeant’s boots scraping loudly against the floor, and he looked up at Quint and Lily as they blocked the doorway.

“Captain Sherwood,” he seethed. “You’re no better than a damned pirate.”

Quint ignored him. “Are you all right, sweetheart?” he asked Lily without turning to face her. His eyes were on the men on the floor.

“I’m a mite better than these two,” Lily answered his question confidently.

Quint watched the warden’s eyes as the man studied Lily. There was fear there, and wonder. The transformation from Lily Radford, or “Miss Smith,” to the woman he faced now was amazing. Lily looked like a pirate, or a siren sent to lure her victims to their deaths at the hands of her captain. The warden paled as he looked up at her.

“Should we kill them?” There was humor in Lily’s voice. To Quint, it signaled that she was trying to scare the warden and the sergeant who had tried to shoot her. But to the men at her feet, it could have meant that she would kill them without a qualm.

“Not if they promise to be very quiet for the next several minutes.” Quint tilted forward and whispered, “We have men waiting just outside the door, and if they hear a sound—even a whimper—they’ll kill you.”

Quint and Lily backed out of the door and closed it solidly. Quint turned the key in the lock and bolted the door. Even if the warden and the sergeant started yelling for help right away, it would take a while for the barrier to be battered down. It was solid oak.

He grabbed Lily and pulled her into his arms. The kiss he gave her was passionate and violent and deep and filled with the frustration of the days they’d been apart. The missing. The wanting. Lily pulled away from him with a smile.

“There will be time for this later, my love. Right now, I’ve got two horses waiting for us not five minutes from here.” She looked down at his leg.

“They took away your cane,” she said, anger in her voice.

Quint took her arm and propelled her down the hallway. “Yes. But I don’t need it so much anymore.”

Quint looked down at her, at the riot of dark blond curls that fell over her shoulder and down her back. Damn. If anyone had told him that he’d fall head over heels for a woman who could do the things she’d done just that day, he never would have believed it. She was beautiful and strong and wily. Strong and wily had never been traits he’d looked for in a woman before. She looked up at him and smiled radiantly.

She loved this. It was all a game to her. The Chameleon, breaking him out of prison—a prison where he would have stayed until his transfer to Fort Warren, thanks to the warden.

But his heart had stopped when he’d seen the sergeant level his weapon at her. He had to convince her to stay out of this damn war, and that wouldn’t be easy.

Lily noticed that Quint was walking with a less pronounced limp, moving at a steady pace with no apparent discomfort. His leg was healing, and that meant his wound had to be much more recent than he’d been willing to confess. Lily wasn’t blind. She had seen the scar and knew what that kind of wound meant, but there was no time to question Quint now.

Stepping into the sunlight momentarily blinded Quint, and he raised an arm to block the glare. Lily took his other arm and led him toward the gate.

“The guards?” he asked her in a low voice, unable to see clearly.

“Drugged,” she snapped, all her attention on getting Quint and herself away from this place. “They’ll wake in an hour or two with one ’ell of a ’eadache, and swear to never again accept a cool drink on a warm mornin’ from a British lass.” Her voice was an almost perfect imitation of Cora’s, and Lily smiled brightly. Everything was going according to plan.

Quint looked tired, with dark circles under his eyes, and he seemed to be thinner. She had arranged everything as quickly as she could, but it hurt her that he’d had to endure even a day in this place. And all because of her.

It was no more than three minutes before she was leading Quint into a dark alley where two horses waited. They weren’t fine horses, but they were sturdy and nondescript, saddled and hidden from the street.

Lily mounted the mare she had chosen for herself and watched as Quint stepped into the stirrup to take the saddle with ease. In spite of all that had happened, in spite of the fact that they were still in danger, she glanced across the charged air that danced between them and smiled widely.

She turned her mare and tossed her head to Quint. “Follow me.” She left the alley not with cautious prancing of hooves, but like thunder, her body low and her eyes sharp on the road ahead. Without looking, she knew that Quint was right behind her, would follow her until they came to the hideout she had secured for them.

Where they would go from there was undecided. Quint might know exactly where he wanted to go. He’d mentioned heading West, one night aboard the ship, as they’d snuggled on the narrow cot and whispered in the dark. With the Chameleon gone, her future was uncertain.

West. Unless they went clear to California, she wouldn’t have even a glimpse of the ocean. No salt air, no sand between her toes, no ocean breezes.

But it didn’t matter. Not as long as she had Quint.