Lady in the Mist - Laurie Alice Eakes [142]
“No.” Tabitha tried to rise. “You can’t—”
Dominick gave his head a barely perceptible shake and raised a finger to his lips.
Roscoe glared at him. “Did you lie to me, man?”
“No.” Dominick smiled. “And neither did—what’s your friend’s name?”
“Wilk—how am I supposed to know the name of a Yankee?” Roscoe snapped.
“A thought.” Dominick stepped toward Wilkins. “I suppose you have reinforcements, so trying to escape is pointless, unless Roscoe thinks it’s better to protect the son of a peer of the realm than help him save his own neck.”
“A disgraced son.” Wilkins snorted. “Or did you think none of us knows?” He turned to Roscoe. “He can’t do anything to harm you, Captain Roscoe. He can’t deny that he’s a redemptioner, and after his master is done with him for attempting to run away, you’ll be long gone from these shores.”
With Tabitha aboard.
She bit her lip and hunched beside the cot. She could choose between helping to ease Raleigh’s last minutes or hours on earth, ensuring he reached the shore of the land he considered home rather than being dumped into the sea, or stay with Dominick and prevent him from receiving another flogging he did not deserve. She couldn’t leave her old friend alone. She couldn’t see Dominick hurt again, scarred worse than he already was.
She couldn’t bear the idea of Wilkins getting away with his crime.
She lowered her head to Raleigh’s chest again. The rattling grew fainter under her ear.
Above her, Captain Roscoe cleared his throat. “I didn’t realize he was a redemptioner, marquess’s son or not. I think you need to remove him from my ship, Wilkins. We need to sail.”
“So you do know his name,” Dominick said. “Do you think my knowledge can’t harm you?”
“Who listens to a redemptioner against an upright gentleman like Mr. Wilkins here?” Roscoe’s tone was dry, his face sneering.
“Kendall might have, but not any longer.” Wilkins’s voice held a note of joviality. “And I need to get this servant back to his master. A whipping should teach him he’s not a lord’s son anymore, ha-ha.”
Tabitha’s fingers convulsed around Raleigh’s. She sucked in her breath. She couldn’t stay. She had to go after Dominick, save him, and expose Wilkins for what he was—a traitor to his country, a debaucher of women, indirectly a murderer who completely ignored his victim lying on the cot, his lifeblood dripping out of him.
And Dominick was leaving peacefully, without a fight. A quick glance up told her he submitted to the two men who grabbed his arms and twisted them behind him before they marched him toward the companionway ladder. In fact, he smiled as though he held a delicious secret.
Except pain tightened the corners of his eyes and darkened the irises.
Tabitha touched her lips to Raleigh’s cheek. “I love you, my friend. Go to God in peace. I’ll tell everyone you’re a hero. You helped—” Her throat closed. She started to rise.
His fingers tightened on hers and his lips parted. “Tabbie, don’t go.”
She looked at his once dear and healthy face, now gray and somehow distant. She heard Wilkins and his men departing with Dominick. Her heart felt ripped in two. She might be able to help Dominick. If she stayed, she could give Raleigh comfort in his last minutes.
“Please.” He gasped for breath. “So I know . . . forgiven.”
“You are.” She bent, kissed his brow, then raced up the companionway after Dominick. No one tried to stop her as she raced for the Marianne. She needed to sail it alone for only a mile. Surely she could manage that.
36
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Dominick gritted his teeth against the pain of two burly strangers twisting his arms behind him. He knew it was nothing compared to the pain to come, flesh bared to the night, bared to the bite of the whip.
His stomach rolled. He swallowed and smiled over his clenched teeth. He had Wilkins. He had Roscoe. Wilkins could claim Dominick was running away, but he knew Wilkins was a traitor. Roscoe could sail away, but Dominick knew when he would make contact with his uncle,