The Pirate's Duty (Regent's Revenge #3)(62)

“I will catch him. And I won’t let him ever hurt you or anyone else ever again.” His nostrils flared, and his eyes darkened dangerously. Lethally. “If I told you the truth—”

“I am thick in the head.” She surveyed the road, chastising herself for thinking she could enjoy one single minute of happiness. “Why did I think ye’d be any different?” Suddenly very cold, she set her chin in a stubborn line. “Damn ye, John, or whatever your name is. You’re just like the others!”

“No!” His throat bobbed as he shook his head. “You didn’t let me finish.”

“No need.” Pain keened inside her, nearly blinding her. “I understand perfectly.”

“Do you?” His horse pawed the ground, then moved sideways, forcing him to bring it under control.

The surf crashed against the aged cliffs, the sound echoing the heartbeat pounding in her ears. Was she ever going to escape Charles? Ever going to experience safety? She gazed at the sea, wishing her life could have been different, knowing that it was too late and she’d been robbed of that dream.

The gulls above screeched a cacophony, mirroring her pain. Even the sun sought sanctuary behind the hill, desiring to hide its face from the world. What good was placing faith in someone who would most certainly be snatched from her forever?

Tears spilled out of the corners of her eyes. “It makes no difference who ye are and why ye are here. What matters now is findin’ Nicholas.”

Placing his hand on his knee, he leaned forward. “Let’s find him together, then.”

Oriana tossed her head back, refusing to be bewitched by John and abandoning any hope that more would ever develop between them. She boldly met his eyes and raised her chin defiantly. “Very well. But only for Nicholas’s sake.”

John nodded and, without saying another word, veered his horse east.

Oriana followed, nudging her horse into a trot, a full gallop, and then a canter. She struggled to breathe steadily and evenly as she admired John’s broad, muscled back, remembering how she’d clung to him in the throes of ecstasy. Was it that easy for one touch, one man, to awaken a woman’s heart? By the saints, she knew nothing about him. Except his touch, his kiss, the pleasure he gave her.

John had stolen her breath and made her feel incredibly wanted. He made her believe in tomorrow, that even a simple barkeep with a name like Thorpe deserved joy.

Impossible!

Forcing back more tears, Oriana fought against self-pity with a vengeance. No matter what happened, if John continued to lie to her or if he deserted her when all was said and done, she wouldn’t weaken. Her mother had died a slow, agonizing death; the life drained out of her body before Oriana’s eyes. She trained her gaze on the Roost and vowed that no one would ever have that kind of power over her.

It stood—as it had for years—like a proud beacon, calling her home. But something was wrong. A guttural despair coiled deep inside her like a slithering, hissing snake as two horses pawing the grass near the stone hedge leading to the courtyard came into view, a wagon harnessed behind them.

“John!” she shouted. “Is that—”

“Yes.” He wasted no time. He broke away, riding several paces ahead of her.

Fear closed around her, and Oriana raced to keep up as the Roost drew ever nearer until they were upon it. John reined in his horse, jumped to the ground, and rushed over to the wagon, examining its contents. When she finally slipped out of the saddle, she rushed to his side, joining him at the back of the wagon.

“Where’s Nicholas?” she cried. John caught her in his hard-muscled arms, and she fought to see past him. “Is he here?”

“Easy,” he said, his tone deceptively calm. “You must prepare yourself for what you’re about to see.”

“No! It can’t be . . .” She tore herself out of his arms and looked into the wagon bed, unable to control the scream that tore from her throat. Nicholas lay there unconscious. His face had been cut and bloodied, and his eyes were swollen nearly shut.

“My poor boy!” she cried, climbing in beside him. She ran her hands over Nicholas’s body to check for other serious wounds. When the wagon shifted, she didn’t need to look to know it was John who joined her. Fighting back tears, she asked, “Who would do such a thing?”

“There’s a note,” John said, retrieving a piece of folded parchment from Nicholas’s collar.

“Who is it from? What does it say?” she asked, scalding fury boiling within her.

“It’s a warning.” The veins in John’s forehead bulged, and his eyes deadened.

“From Charles?”

He gave her a bleak, tight-lipped smile and nodded solemnly.

A chill washed over her. “Read it.”

John opened the note and read the script as she carefully placed Nicholas’s head in her lap. When he was done, he glanced at her, his nostrils flaring as he drew in a slow, steady breath. “You won’t like—”

“Out loud.”

“Are you sure you want to hear this?” The muscles in his jaw clenched.

But she wasn’t listening as tears stung the backs of her eyes. “Who would do this to a child?”

“Your brother.”

Reality stung as her eyes met John’s, and in that finite moment, she felt connected to him, linked by emotions beyond comprehension.