Rebellious Cargo Read online

  The boot shifted and more shingle peppered her body as the footsteps retreated. Jane experienced a few seconds of relief before her fingers slipped a little farther off the edge and her arms screamed in silent pain as further pressure was placed on them. Her breath quickened – there was no way she had the strength to pull herself back up on to the ledge.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jane whimpered, bracing herself for the inevitable. If she was lucky enough to survive the fall, she would surely be horribly injured. Sliding one leg to her right, she blindly scraped her toes along the surface trying to find a crevice. Suddenly her foot ran out of rock, causing her body to fall sideways and her hands to slide completely off the ridge. She yelped as she tumbled down the face of the cliff and then jerked to a stop as the flowing material of her shirt snagged on a solitary outcrop of vegetation.

  For a few endless seconds she hung by her shirt, flailing in the air and listening to the ominous tearing sound of the material as it slowly gave way, lowering her inch by inch in interminable increments of terror. Finally the last threads snapped and she slithered downwards, bumping against the cliff until she landed in a heap on a narrow ridge.

  She groaned, forgetting her sore feet and wrenched armpits to focus on the new crop of bruising and scrapes to her body. Gingerly flexing her limbs, she assessed the damage. At least she appeared to have landed with no broken bones. The drop would have probably done for her if her clothes had not broken her fall. Half of her sleeve floated in the breeze on the rock above, the other half wafted around her side. She wrenched the rest of the sleeve off. “As if I didn’t already look foolish enough,” she muttered, as she used it to tie around the worst of the wounds.

  From her new vantage point she scowled down at the swirling sea as it seemed to mock her attempt to reach it. She finally clambered down the last few yards to a small rock pool and gratefully sat down, unwound her other makeshift shoe and dangled her poor, bloodied feet in the water.

  “Ah,” she sighed, and leaned back in pure relief as the salt water stung and soothed her skin in a wonderful balm. A couple of gulls overhead screeched and soared at her intrusion as she slowly unknotted her braid of hair and shook it free. The wind whipped it around her face and a spray of salt water from an angry wave peppered her in soft drops of moisture.

  “Ah,” she repeated, swirling her toes in the pool as she gazed around the small cove. It seemed as inaccessible from the sea as it was from the land. A ridge of jagged rocks curled out in an arc breaking the water into white-tipped waves. But she appeared to be safe for now. Overcome with a powerful need to fully immerse herself in the water and finally free herself of the stench of Ned, she started to remove her shirt – when a voice made her stop and swivel around.

  “Mrs. Charlesworth, you look ridiculous.”

  She didn’t see anyone at first, but the familiar tones had her heart doing cartwheels. Hardly daring to breathe, she scanned the area and finally found him. He stood on one of the rocks to her left as though he had risen from the sea.

  The tall figure was dressed in tan trousers and a simple blue shirt. Both items in their damp condition clung to him like a second skin. She swallowed a couple of times as her eyes swept down the impressive contours of his body. He looked completely different out of uniform. Just as arrogant, but without the gold-braided starchiness, he appeared loose-limbed and feral. He was smiling faintly at her with his arms crossed over his chest. But the look in his eyes did not match his banter.

  “You!” She stared at him. “I was told you had sailed, Captain. Did you swim ashore?”

  “The Serena has sailed, but I needed to find a lost passenger and discover how they jumped ship. You see, Jane, no one is allowed to leave my ship without my permission.”

  He took a long stride to another rock and came a few feet closer. “I am so glad to see you are in one piece, I spotted you clinging onto the cliffside and then you were gone.”

  Despite the joy spreading inside of her, she felt a tremor of fear.

  Why was he out of uniform looking like a dangerous pirate? Was he really to be trusted? She desperately wanted him to be on her side. She needed someone to help and explain to her the nightmare of the last days – but she had disappeared from a ship under his command. Part of her brain, the sensible part, told her to be wary, but the emotional part screamed at her to jump into his arms and beg him to take her away from this horrible island.

  With great difficulty she composed herself and sat straight-backed on the rock.

  “I have no idea how I left your ship, Captain. I only know that you didn’t deliver me safely, as you promised. So, forgive my cool reception, I have difficulty knowing who I can trust at the moment.” Her voice quivered a little. “And why are you out of uniform?”

  He took two more leaps across the rocks dividing them and landed by her side. His eyes travelled over her as if assessing her condition before he answered with a faint grin.

  “My clothes are an effort to blend in with the locals – did you hope for the same effect?” He pointed to her shirt. “If so, you have failed miserably.”

  Damn him! He was funning her. She must look ridiculous in a one-armed shirt, giant trousers, bandaged limbs and hair spayed all over the place. She opened her mouth to retaliate when his smile faded and serious grey eyes held hers.

  “The Serena may have sailed but I had not finished my business here. I am not sure what is going on but you can trust me, Jane. Always. Remember that.”

  She tensed as he sat down beside her but her defences rapidly started to crumble as he took one of her hands gently in his.

  “I promised to deliver you safely to Cookson and I intend to do so. Can you tell me what has happened since the night you left the ship?”

  Her shoulders sagged, giving in to the warm reassurance of his touch. “As I said, I have no idea, everything is such a muddle.”

  She sighed trying to remember. “I went up on deck. Will was on duty and we exchanged a few words.” She paused frowning slightly. “I remember he went forward to sort out an argument. I circled the quarterdeck and then I tripped.”

  “You tripped,” he repeated in a tone she didn’t like very much.

  She glared up at him. “Something was clearly stowed where it shouldn’t have been or I would not have fallen over it.”

  “Of course,” he agreed solemnly. “Please continue.”

  “When I tried to stand up, I cracked my head against something. Then I remember nothing until I woke in a strange bed in a strange house guarded by a strange woman, an unsavoury giant, and a deranged Crosby. Who, as I remember, you assured me was definitely not a spy.”

  He kept his grip on her hand as she tried to tug it away, and was thoughtful for a few moments before replying.

  “I had no idea you had gone from the ship until a boat arrived at dawn to collect you. You disappeared during the night and all the evidence indicated you had fallen overboard.” His voice turned soft as he added, “When the remnants of your clothes were fished out, it was presumed the sharks had you for breakfast.”

  Her mouth fell open as she considered his words then she blinked up at him.

  “You believed that I had fallen overboard!” she scoffed.

  “Or jumped,” he added.

  She jerked her hand again and this time he let it go.

  “And why would I jump? Being under your command was rather obnoxious at times, but even I wouldn’t go to those lengths to get away from you.” She faltered for a moment, remembering the passionate moments in his arms earlier that night on deck, before she had pushed him away. Did he really presume that he had upset her so much she would throw herself overboard? Arrogant man.

  He sighed patiently. “I didn’t say I believed it – but I was mortified that I had let you down and whatever happened it was my responsibility to keep you safe. But it was Celine who pointed out the flaw in the story. Have you seen her since your abduction?”

  Jane frowned as she saw the concern
in his face. “No, I have not seen Celine since the Serena. Is she missing as well?"

  He briefly told her of Celine’s note and his findings at the house. He pulled out the knife he had retrieved. “I discovered this beside Crosby. This is yours, isn’t it? I thought you might have had to defend yourself.”

  “Unfortunately, I had no weapon on me or I might well have killed him. As far as I know he was still alive when I escaped.” She took the knife from him and turned it in her hands. “Yes – this is mine.”

  Her blood ran cold, at the thought of Celine and Crosby meeting. Celine would have not come after her without a weapon and would have known where the knife was kept. “Do you think she has been harmed?” She searched his eyes, dreading the answer.

  “I only found one body – that is encouraging. If they did meet then it looks like Celine was the one to walk away. I had hoped to discover you together, but she may be heading back to Valetta in the hope of finding you returned. The best course of events would be to get you to Cookson so you can discover what is in the document that so urgently needs your expertise. Its contents may answer a lot of questions to what has gone on in the last two days.”

  Jane had to agree it seemed the best plan. Celine was intelligent and resourceful; Jane prayed that no harm had come to her. She stood up and looked around her surroundings with a puzzled expression. “How on earth did you get here?”

  “I was advised by a very able local of all the possible routes you might take from the house you were imprisoned in. They all pointed to this part of the coast. It seemed the best way to spot you would be from the sea.” He pointed beyond the arc of rocks. “I have a small boat moored over there.”

  “Have you any food or clothes in the boat?” she asked hopefully. “I am famished and these stupid garments were the only ones available to me. They stink of their former owner.”

  He wrinkled his nose. “Yes, I noticed. I much prefer the rose water you used to wear. Come, let us go.” He turned back to the direction he came, holding out a hand to guide her over the rocks. “We may have to swim a little way but as I noticed you were about to take a dip just now, I am sure you would welcome the chance. Now, jump.”

  She landed unsteadily on the next rock, terrified by his last statement. “But, I cannot swim,” she gasped.

  “Never mind I will help you along – you will soon learn.”

  She glared at him and he returned it with a smile of male supremacy. “Just hold on tight to me, Jane, and do not under any circumstances let me go.”

  ***

  Harrow sat at his desk lost in thought. So Jane Charlesworth was dead – really dead this time. His guards had reported her last seen disappearing over a cliff’s edge. He would have liked the body as proof, but he knew that stretch of cliffs and there was nowhere to go but a sheer drop down to treacherous surf. It seemed ironic that she had met her end by drowning – the same way as he had staged it from Marston’s ship, just a few days earlier.

  Dead she could not decode anything for Cookson. But neither could she be of use to him. The day he had arranged Clayfield’s death, he had thought he had succeeded in saving the Rosa Santos treasure syndicate from discovery. But the code breaker must have known he would not live long with the knowledge of treachery from such prominent names. Clayfield had been a step ahead of him and had already recoded the original dispatch and sent the document to his old Intelligence comrade Cookson earlier that day – the one man he thought he could trust. He had been right; Cookson was loyal, incorruptible – and a bloody thorn in Harrow’s side.

  He had engineered a post to Malta so he could keep close to Cookson. When he had heard that the Serena had been dispatched to locate Clayfield’s daughter, he had planted his own contact on board to track her movements. Yes, it was a pity she was dead. If the message contained what he had suspected – the new coordinates of the location of the Rosa Santos treasure – it was truly a tragedy.

  At least he now could rest easy about his name being implicated. The document Cookson held was useless as it stood, it meant nothing. With Jane Charlesworth in his hands, he would have persuaded her to tell him of the content. He had tried to enlist some talent to make sense of it, someone he could trust or bribe and then dispose of. But whatever Clayfield had written was a mystery to everyone. For the moment his double life was safe. The only person who could unravel the Clayfield code was dead.

  The other woman, her companion, he had nicely tucked away. She was no longer any use to him as a bargaining counter for her employer’s cooperation. He pushed himself to his feet and looked out across the harbour. Perhaps he would question her further before he killed her. She had been close to Charlesworth, and women were notoriously well-known for sharing their secrets between them.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Adam eased the delicious bundle up to the surface by the side of a small boat. Jane had done exactly what he had asked and hung onto him tightly whilst he took her with him through the water. They had to swim under the ridge at one point to gain access to the adjoining cove, and the experience underwater must have terrified her. But she had not panicked and his heart glowed, knowing she had put her trust in him.

  She spat out a mouthful of water and took a few frantic gasps of air as she bobbed beside him.

  “Take it easy. We are here now, safe and sound.” He grinned.

  Her arms were still tight around him as her feet paddled the water, and he was reluctant to tell her that the depth would not now cover her head if she cared to let go. The rounded contours of her body fitted rather nicely around him. He quite liked the fact she was helpless and in his arms, and lingered with her for a few minutes until she looked pointedly towards the boat. Reluctantly he lowered his hands down under the smooth curves of her bottom and tipped her smoothly into the small craft. He swiftly followed her in and cast a careful eye over the landscape before saying, “Welcome to my new command, Mrs. Charlesworth.”

  She shook her hair, showering him in a soft rain, before scrambling onto a seat at the stern. Her face was flushed as she looked at him with wide-eyed surprise at his last manoeuvre.

  “Was that really necessary? Oh Lord!” She stopped suddenly as she realised the giant trousers had parted company with her sometime during the swim. Pulling up her knees to her chin, she tugged the remaining bits of the shirt down to her ankles, glaring at him with rather ungrateful and unwarranted annoyance. He was doing his best.

  “Do not look, do not laugh, do not speak – just give me something to wear.”

  He stifled his amusement, reached into a locker beneath the seats, and pulled out a well-worn blanket. Shaking it out with a flourish he passed it over to her, and then dutifully averted his eyes.

  There was a frantic swish of material and a few mutterings then finally, “You may look now,” she said, stiffly.

  The blanket was wrapped around her body and secured under her armpits with a neat knot. He swallowed at the sight, and his breathing became a little more laboured. “Quite stylish, Mrs. Charlesworth.”

  With the security of a blanket around her and a boat beneath her feet, she appeared to relax and cast him a more amiable look.

  “Thank you,” she said. Although that suspicious look still hung around in her eyes.

  “You are welcome. I will make my first priority to find you clothes.”

  She had the grace to smile. “The blanket is an improvement. I just smell of fish now.”

  He was relieved her mood had lightened. He had never encountered such an intense feeling of loss as when she had disappeared from the cliff and thought he must surely now be looking for her corpse. The sight of her on those rocks bathing her feet was the most heartwarming image he had ever beheld. He couldn’t lose her again, not before he had put things right, not before he had removed her from danger, and not before he understood her. He could not rid himself of that night on board when he had held her in his arms. He needed to know what had happened to make her run from him.

  She was st
udying the small boat with interest. “As you are in command – does this make me first mate?” she enquired with a mischievous lift of an eyebrow.

  Her hair was glistening with moisture and she was regarding him steadily with those soft chocolate eyes. He had never considered appointing a first mate he wanted to ravish before.

  She squealed suddenly. Adam’s head whipped around to follow the direction of her eyes, and then relaxed at the sight of Jake peeking over the side of the boat.

  “No, ma’am. I am first mate,” the boy said.

  Adam shrugged in mock regret. “He’s right, Mrs. Charlesworth. I am afraid you will have to be content with second mate status for now.” He nodded towards the boy. “May I introduce Jake, the person responsible for leading me to your rescue.”

  Jake gave her a crooked grin. “Pleased to meet you.”

  Jane smiled back at him – then narrowed her eyes as she remembered her ascent into the boat.

  “Are you standing up in that water?”

  “Get in, Jake,” Adam ordered before the boy could reply. He then attempted to divert her suspicion by supplying her with a large chunk of bread from an oilskin bag and a flask of water. It worked. She took the offerings with a small sigh of happiness and began demolishing them in a most unladylike haste.

  ***

  The shingle bit into Jane’s flesh as she stepped from the boat and hobbled behind Jake as he led her towards a small cave. Adam, after securing the vessel under a stone canopy, briskly caught up to her.

  “Here let me help. I think those poor feet have had their fill of punishment for one day.”

  Before she could reply, those warm impudent hands whisked her up and continued striding effortlessly up the narrow strip of beach.

  “It really isn’t necessary…” she began, then decided, as the torture on her feet subsided, perhaps she should ignore his boldness on this occasion. Hell – what did it matter? Any sense of propriety was laughable after the events of the last few days. She had not realised how exhausted she was and found it difficult to prevent her head nestling rather conveniently on his warm, damp chest.