Page 43 of The Swan Syndicate #1

Nails. Someone was pounding nails into her head. It seemed familiar.

Stella didn’t want to open her eyes. Before her brain could overrule the action, the signal most likely blocked by the sound of the hammer hitting home, she pried one open.

Darkness.

She waited. Nothing changed. The blackness was complete. Not a single ounce of light.

The atrocious stink attacked her senses, and she forgot all about the intense headache. Urine and fecal scents were the first to hit, followed closely by the rot of dead fish. But what made her gag was the sickly sweet scent of a spice she couldn’t name that wove through the other acrid smells.

Her first thought was that she was in an alley. Maybe behind the inn or a pub. If that were true, there should be more light.

The rest of her senses rushed in. The sway of a ship battling waves. The creak of wood rebelling against such rough handling.

Giving up on where she was, she tried to remember what happened.

When she considered the question, the throbbing returned with a debilitating tempo.

A door creaked open.

A startling bright light forced her to slam her lids shut. The pain would have brought her to her knees if she hadn’t already been sitting.

“Hello, pretty lady.” The voice was English and gave her a cold chill.

A rough hand ran over her hair. “You must be thirsty. Drink some water.”

Without opening her eyes, she felt the metal lip of the mug and tasted the cool water as it ran into her mouth, and she felt the chill as it spilled onto her chin and down her neck. She’d taken two swallows before the sweet scent sounded an alarm as the bitter taste brought back her gag reflexes.

“If the captain wasn’t saving you for himself, we could have some fun. But he doesn’t trust you and prefers you sleep.”

His body pressed into hers, and she stifled a groan.

The pain in her head receded, and a light euphoria chased away the anxiety as the deep darkness returned.

S everal hours had passed since leaving port.

Beckworth leaned against the railing as the Daphne plowed into the sea in its dogged pursuit of The Horseman , nothing but a dot of light in the darkened skies.

Soft raindrops struck his face and mixed with salty spray each time the bow struck another wave.

He raged against their inability to overtake the ship. Cheval had gotten ahead of them, but Jamie assured Beckworth they’d catch up, it was just a matter of time.

But how much time did Stella have? Was she already gone?

No. He couldn’t afford to think like that. His feelings for Stella had to be pushed aside so he could focus on the mission. She was strong. She survived Gemini. She was of value as long as her cover hadn’t been blown.

If Cheval considered her competition and not a spy for the Crown, then he’d be wise to keep her for barter. Or he could sell her to another captain. That idea didn’t sit well, but Cheval wouldn’t have time to put those plans in motion with the Daphne chasing him.

The wind had shifted shortly after leaving the bay, and the ship lost ground before Jamie and the crew had time to readjust the sails. Yet, Jamie, Lando, and Fitz had all agreed they could make up the lost time. But, the yellow dot of light seemed to grow dimmer not closer.

If he only understood why she’d ended up on that ship. He should have forced his hand and made her stay at Waverly. He snorted. She would have probably stolen a horse and chased after him. Barrington would’ve had to lock her in a room with no windows until it was too late to follow.

He laughed into the night.

What would he have come home to then?

A spitfire.

Would she have forgiven him?

Finn had warned him about this. He hadn’t given the man as much credit as he should have in dealing with headstrong women.

And he cursed himself for the hundredth time for the pain he’d caused them both when he’d stolen AJ away through the fog.

At the time, he hadn’t been able to trust them any more than they could have trusted him.

Then Finn had given himself up to Dugan, allowing Beckworth to escape and mount a rescue.

But it had taken months, and Finn almost died.

It hadn’t been his fault, yet he’d held the guilt. And it had been heartbreaking to watch AJ’s stubbornness in finding Finn. It had all miraculously worked out.

Would everything work out this time?

He was well aware that he was a nineteenth-century man at heart. Possessive. Overly protective.

But he’d been attracted by Stella’s independent nature, her strength, and her intelligence. She’d been the woman he’d fallen hard and fast for. The only woman who’d broken through his shell—that truly understood him. The one woman who could make his life better. Complete.

However Cheval had become aware of her and then considered her a threat no longer mattered.

He’d get her back. She was his life.

He let the rage dissipate, and as a deeper purpose rose, his focus sharpened. It was time to stop wallowing like the insipid lords at the London parties. Lando was right. This was a mission, and the enemy had taken one of their own.

It was time to push the offensive.

The rain increased as he strode along the deck. He studied the sailors as they worked until he found one that was slower than the rest. The man needed sleep.

“Get some rest. I’ll take the rest of your shift.”

The sailor stared at him and must have noted the conviction on Beckworth’s face. Maybe he saw the devil. Either way, he muttered a thank you and, without a word, headed for his hammock. The other man who’d watched the short discussion, nodded at Beckworth before going back to work.

He leaned back to see what he could of the sails then worked the lines to keep the sails trimmed. He didn’t pay attention to Jamie or Fitz when they’d strode by. Nor did he question the orders given as the rain and storm increased.

Had Stella taken her herbs before her meeting with MacDuff?

The men around him didn’t say a word, and perhaps they couldn’t hear past the storm as Beckworth laughed into the night.

He almost felt sorry for Cheval.

One thing was for certain. Stella wouldn’t remain idle. She would bring nothing but chaos to that ship.

T he next time Stella woke, her chin rested on her chest. She lifted her head, and a soft moan escaped. Pain radiated through her body, and she wasn’t sure what hurt more—her stiff neck or the jackhammer in her head.

She moved her limbs, but nothing happened.

Her eyes snapped open, and when she grimaced at the light from the lanterns, she shut them again.

She attempted to move her arms again but found them tied to a wooden chair.

Memories flashed of the first time she’d been kidnapped.

It had been in Baywood when AJ and Finn had taken a sail down the coast. She’d made her daily stop at the inn to water plants and fill the bird feeders.

That was when she’d found Gaines waiting in the kitchen.

He’d mistaken her for AJ, and that had been her first step down the rabbit hole of the fog.

A trip that had changed her entire life.

On a good note, Beckworth had rescued her, and that had made the whole experience worth it.

Who would rescue her this time?

She couldn’t move her legs. They were also tied, but she could move her feet, and she did so to ensure the blood continued to flow. She sensed someone enter the room, which was proven correct by the soft scuff of boots on wood. More than one?

She could pretend she wasn’t awake, but what would be the point? There wasn’t going to be an easy way out of this so she might as well get this over.

She slowly lifted her head, scowling at the kink as she slowly rolled her head from side to side. Two men filled her line of sight before a third came into view.

He bent down, his face close enough for her to smell his foul breath and the remnants of alcohol. “Lady Swan. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. My name is Cheval.”

Great. Of all the luck.

She didn’t see a reason to respond, so she remained silent while she wrestled with her fear.

He lifted her head with a single finger under her chin before using it to caress one of her cheeks. “I can see why MacDuff has become enamored with you. Or was it the promise of French rifles?”

Her eyes widened. She couldn’t help it. How the hell did he know about the rifles?

He stepped back and laughed. “Oh, yes, I know all about the little trade you were trying to make with him.” He pulled a dagger from his pocket.

She blinked. “That’s mine.” Her throat was sore, and the words came out raspy.

He took a long look at the dagger. “Yes, I found it in your pocket. Too light for my liking but well crafted. It will make a nice addition to my collection.”

He tapped the side of the dagger on her cheek. “I’ve been working my way into MacDuff’s lucrative network for months. I don’t need another competitor moving in. If it wasn’t for your French rifles, you’d be feeding the fish by now—or perhaps pleasuring my crew.”

Her skin crawled. This was really bad. Then the rest of his words worked their way through her foggy brain.

“You don’t have a contact for French rifles.”

He grinned and his brown teeth explained the rotten smell. “Now I see why MacDuff canceled his meeting with me. You’re a smart one—for a woman.”

Maybe there was a way out of this. “If you think I’ll give up my contact, you’re not as smart as you think.” This might not be the best approach, but she couldn’t appear weak. She needed time. Beckworth had to have found the swans. Had to know where she went. Was he already following them?

Cheval strode to the other side of the room, and one of his men moved with him holding a lantern, which he placed on a tall barrel.

Another man was there in what she now recognized as a cargo hold filled with crates and barrels.

This man was also tied to a chair, but she didn’t recognize him.

At least it wasn’t someone from the Daphne .