Shivering, she obeyed, there being no point in struggling when a knife dug at your side, and surely the men of Penrose would soon come searching.
The animal stamped as he mounted behind, clutching her close, and she felt the hilt of a sword dig at her back, knew the danger he posed.
His hands tugged the reins and they sped through the east gate, past stubbled fields and swaying trees. She thrashed in his arms but the rushing ground held death as he whipped the horse to a frenzied pace, salt-laced air lashing her skin, thunder splitting the heavens as they made for the headland.
“I relished your silence whilst not with you,” he shouted over the restless wind, “but now we are together once more, I want you as in the cave. Screaming, struggling in rage. I have waited so long for you,ma belle.”
The saddle’s pommel stabbed her thigh as they cantered, and dread struck anew when they passed by the Devil’s Claw. The place where so much terror had begun.
Their horse stumbled as the Frenchman swerved onto the narrower cove trail and Tamsyn now fought to knock him to the dense gorse.
The devil merely laughed and jerked her tight.
“You English have taken much from me,” he hurled in hatred, “but I will keep you.”
Fury surged through Tamsyn’s bones and blood. For Jonathan, Benjamin, even the turncoat Lynch, and for all the lives crushed in this chameleon’s wake.
Both fury and fear.
To sail would mean death. If not at the hands of the brewing storm, then by the hand ofLa Chauve-Souris.
Hooves slipped on the slender trail, pitching them forward, but all too soon it widened onto the secluded cove. Waves splintered against the rocks, pitiless and violent as lightning cleaved the air.
Never had she seen the sea in such turmoil and yet no more than a wooden rowing boat lay beached on the sand.
“We’ll drown,” she screamed.
“No choice,ma petite, your fop has rushed my plans, but I have somethingplusconfortablein the next bay,” he assured in her ear. “We wait out the storm upon her and then…” His grip tightened.
Their mare refused to take to the shingle, sensing the sea’s bitterness and power, soLa Chauve-Sourisleaped down, hauling her into his arms and dragging her toward the boat.
“No!” Tamsyn yelled, ramming her head beneath his chin, squirming free to stagger up the cove, skirts tangling in the wind.
A hand caught her hair, snatched her back. “Mais oui,my wild one.” His laughter as manic as the air that swirled. “I could have killed you in that cave,non?”
She slapped at his face, raked her nails. “Get off me, you whoreson!”
Grinning, he caught her cheeks, tight and pinching. “Tonight, you will call me Francois and beg for my touch. My name is upon you,ma chérie. I own you.”
“Jack will come and–”
His shake clattered her teeth. “I will tear that English fop apart. Get in the boat.”
The churlish clouds burst, rain beating a path through the wind’s bluster. They stung, soaked, and the fiend cursed, shunting her forward, until she tripped over her damn skirts, falling headlong into the pitiful boat. Before she could rise,La Chauve-Sourissnatched her wrists behind her back and coarse rope snarled around them, taut and unyielding.
“I’ll drown,” she screamed but he grabbed the bow, grunting, shoving the boat into the furious waves.
It took no time for the sea to claim them and he leaped the side, dragged her to sitting, twisted her hair and stole a violent kiss. “If I die tonight,” he roared, “then you,ma amour, shall accompany me to hell.”
Chapter Twenty-five
The devil and the deep-blue sea.
Jack’s emotions raged, at one with the wind and turbulent skies, yet motion felt sluggish, Jowlik’s hooves too slow, no action swift enough.
Dread coursed as he flung himself from the horse, fell to his knees and grasped the lifeless Benjamin into his arms, blood running colder than when he’d read Rakecombe’s dispatch:
You have found a dead man. Captain Lynch killed at Waterloo. Sending assistance at once.
