The Brazen Bride

Another very real truth.

“What?” She looked genuinely surprised.

Which had him narrowing his eyes. “You heard. If you’re with me, I’ll know you’re safe. If you’re not… I’ll most likely fail in my mission because I’ll be distracted, concerned over you.”

Her eyes slitted to green shards. “No.” They were trading forceful whispers. “I am not falling for that. I don’t mean that much to you-not that much. Nothing you can say will convince me otherwise. I am not coming with you.”

He held her gaze. “That’s your last word?”

Linnet searched his eyes, trying to find some clue as to what he was up to. She saw nothing in the midnight blue beyond his usual relentless determination. She raised her chin. “Yes.”

“Very well.” Stepping back, he nodded to Edgar and Griffiths, standing to one side behind her. “I’ll send word.”

She was wondering what he meant by that-what word he would be sending to them-when, turning back to her, Logan ducked.

He angled his shoulder into her midriff and, before she could react, cleanly hoisted her over his shoulder, anchoring her legs against his chest with his right arm, in the same sweeping movement swiping up both of their bags in his other hand, then he turned and strode down the gangplank. Fast.

“What…?”

For one definable instant, she was speechless-utterly dumbfounded.

How dare he?

He swung off the gangplank and turned along the wharf, and she found her tongue. Cursed and swore using every invective, every colorful expletive she’d ever learned in all her years on board-an extensive litany that had no discernible effect whatever.

He actually chuckled.

She threatened him with castration, and he only lengthened his stride, rapidly crossing the wharf toward the old town and its narrow streets.

Fisting her right hand, she thumped on his back, hard. “Put me down this instant, you moron-I am not going with you.”

He jiggled her on his shoulder. “Watch out for my wound-you don’t want to burst your stitches, not after all your hard work.”

She swore, switched to her left hand, and thumped his other side. All but screeched, “ Logan! Enough! Put me down -or I’ll make it my duty to make the rest of your misbegotten life a misery!”

He halted, heaved a gigantic sigh, then, dropping their bags, finally grasped her waist and eased her down, sliding her down the front of his body until her toes neared the ground.

Before they did, he kissed her.

Kissed her in a way he never had before, with passion, yes, but it was passion leashed, held back so he could…

Woo her. Plead, persuade.

Beg.

Her hands came to rest on either side of his face, gently cupping. She couldn’t pull away, couldn’t stop herself from sensing, savoring, knowing.

When he finally lifted his head, hers was swimming, previous certainties fading, new questions rising.

He stared down into her eyes. “My life is already yours to do with as you please-to make it a misery, or even a living hell. Just as long as you’re alive to do that, I don’t care.”

His gaze lifted, scanning the wharf behind her, then he set her fully on her feet, seized her hand, and their bags. “Now behave, and come along.”

He towed her on, into a street she recognized as Looe Street. “Do you even know where you’re going?”

“Yes. I think.” He glanced back at her. “I haven’t been in Plymouth for years. The Seafarer’s Arms-it’s this way, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” She grimaced as he pulled her along. As she let him. Resisting, knowing he’d only hoist her up again, didn’t seem worthwhile. But she did want to escape him… didn’t she?

Frowning, she glanced around. “This is nonsensical.” Night was closing in; there were few people around. “You can’t keep me with you against my will.”

The glance he shot her was dark-too dark to read. “Possibly not.” Jaw tightening, he looked ahead. “But I can change your mind. There’s no reason for you not to come with me, and every reason that you should.”

She knew better than to encourage a madman, but… “Why?”

“I told you why.” Forging on, he spoke through clenched teeth. “Because I can’t function properly without knowing you’re safe. And while you’re safe, all the others are, too. I know you don’t believe that-any more than you believe that I’ll return to you when this mission is over-but whether you believe or not doesn’t change reality. That is my reality-my truth.” Reaching an intersection, he halted, met her eyes as she halted beside him. “The least you can do is give me a chance to prove it.”

She held his gaze, in the light from a nearby street flare searched his eyes, saw that he truly was asking for that, a chance to prove he meant what he said. And no matter how hard she looked, the midnight blue of his eyes showed nothing but an unshakable veracity, and beneath that an unshakable belief.

It wasn’t a belief she had any confidence in, any faith in, but he did.

She heard herself sigh. “All right.” She looked around, pointed. “The Seafarer’s Arms is that way, if that’s where we’re truly headed.”

He nodded; scanning the shadows, he grasped her hand more tightly. “Come on-we need to get there. We’ll definitely have been spotted by now.”

Eleven

Linnet didn’t ask, Spotted by whom? She kept her eyes peeled as she took over the lead and steered them to the ancient inn, one of the oldest in the old part of town.

She wasn’t certain just what she should do, but leaving Logan at this point wasn’t an option. She was still wearing her cutlass, and he his saber; she felt certain he would have his dirk on him somewhere, and she had two knives, one in each boot.

They reached the Seafarer’s Arms without challenge, but her instincts were pricking, and by the way Logan looked around before ducking in the door behind her, his were, too.

She paused inside the door. The tap room opened out to her left, a low-ceilinged room with massive oak beams hanging low to strike unwary heads. Lamps bathed the long oak bar with golden light. Five old tars sat enveloped in smoky haze at a pair of tables before the fire. An old woman nodded in the inglenook.

A man in a heavy coat and well-polished boots was sitting at the bar, large hands cradling a pint pot; as the door clicked shut, he turned his head and glanced their way.

And slowly smiled. Leaving his mug on the bar, he stood and walked unhurriedly to them.

He had thick, curling dark hair, and much the same build-much the same dangerous presence-as Logan. Dark, heavy-lidded eyes passed over her, noting and taking in, but as he neared, the man fixed his smiling gaze on Logan and held out his hand. “St. Austell. Monteith, I presume?”

“Indeed.” Logan gripped the offered hand with very real relief. He was inexpressibly grateful that St. Austell had been kicking his heels, waiting. That he and Linnet would have to spend the night at the Seafarer’s Arms, waiting