Legacy of the Diamond (Black Diamond 1)

“Very well. Suggestion taken. But in return, you must accept one from me.” He framed her face between his palms, his gaze holding hers. “Tell me about your dream—and the memories you saw when you stared into the waters. They were one and the same, weren’t they?”

Courtney’s lips trembled. “Yes.”

“Tell me.”

“ ’Twas mostly what I’ve already told you,” she whispered. “I was beside Papa at the helm. I heard someone shout. When I turned, Armon and his pirates were boarding our ship. Two or three of them dashed below to overtake whichever members of our crew were on the berth deck. Armon and two others leapt onto the quarter-deck. One held me, while Armon and the other seized Papa, b

ound and gagged him, then shoved him at Lexley, who was being held at gunpoint, and ordered him to tie a weight to Papa’s leg and thrust him from the Isobel.” Courtney began to tremble again. “I remember Lexley’s stricken expression as he complied. Dear God, how I wanted to spare him and save Papa. I tried. I fought and kicked, but those monsters dragged me below and locked me in my cabin. I was on the stairway when I heard Papa’s scream.” Tears slid down her cheeks. “Yesterday, when we reached that spot in the Channel and I gazed into the water, I could actually feel his terror. ’Twas agonizing, almost as if I were living through it with him.”

“You were.” Slayde gathered her against him, warming the chill from her soul. “You still are,” he added softly, stroking her hair, even as his mind began to race.

Something about her recounting troubled him, struck a note of discord. He frowned, wondering what it could be and why he hadn’t perceived it the first time she relayed the specifics to him. Probably because he’d been preoccupied with Aurora’s safety, hearing only those things that could provide a clue as to his sister’s whereabouts. But now…

Silently, he reviewed Courtney’s story, beginning with Armon’s seizure of the Isobel and culminating in Johnston’s horrible demise, his screams as he fell to his death…

Screams?

Slayde tensed. If the man was securely bound and gagged, how could he scream? Whimper, yes. Choke out a cry, perhaps. But scream? Hardly.

Had Johnston somehow managed to loosen his gag? Or, more plausibly, had Lexley found the opportunity to loosen it for him? And, if so, could the first mate also have loosened the bonds and the sack of grain about Johnston’s leg? Was it actually possible that Lexley had found ample time to try to save his captain’s life?

Caution warned Slayde that his premise was far too obscure and unlikely to risk upsetting Courtney with. Moreover, even if his notion had merit, even if Lexley had aided Johnston, severed all his bonds when no one was looking, the currents would still have hauled Courtney’s father out to sea. Survival was virtually impossible.

Virtually.

But what if, by some stroke of luck, Courtney’s earlier premonitions were right? What if Arthur Johnston was alive? What if, futility be damned, there was a filament of a chance that Courtney could have her old life back?

It was the most unlikely prospect Slayde had ever entertained, much less acted upon. He was a man who believed in absolutes, never in dreams and signs and implausible hopes.

And never in miracles.

Reverently, Slayde gazed down at the miracle in his arms, casting all his former principles to the wind, and making a new, unspoken vow—one more decisive than any that had preceded it.

If Arthur Johnston was alive, he would find him.

Chapter 12

COURTNEY FELT ALMOST AS helpless now as she had when Armon attacked the Isobel.

Sighing, she rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling of her bedchamber. She was anything but tired. Yet, feigning exhaustion was the only way she could be alone with her thoughts. Not that she wasn’t grateful for the cluster of concerned faces that had accompanied her arrival. Never had she felt so much a part of a family as she had when Aurora had hugged her fiercely and said, “Your home is here now. We’ll help you heal.” Or when Matilda’s compassionate eyes had filled with tears—which she’d quickly dabbed away with her apron—and she’d clucked over how worn out Courtney looked, how badly in need of hot food and sleep. Even Siebert had taken special pains, ordering the footmen to assist Miss Johnston to whatever room she preferred and then insisting they make her thoroughly comfortable. And when she’d chosen the yellow salon. Miss Payne had herself delivered the refreshment, hovering about like a bee poised over a flower.

The caring reception meant more to Courtney than she could ever express.

If only Slayde hadn’t disappeared into his study the instant they arrived, summoning Siebert once or twice to dispatch messages to parts unknown, not emerging even to join her for dinner.

Relinquishing all attempts to rest, Courtney rose, crossing to her window to watch the sun set. Halfway there, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the looking glass, and paused, stepping forward for closer inspection.

The same face looked back at her, thinner perhaps, and a great deal more strained, but otherwise unchanged. And her nightrail-clad body looked pristine, revealing nothing of the metamorphosis that had taken place.

Funny, how false appearances could be.

Slowly, Courtney’s hand came up, fingers brushing her lips, her cheek. The emptiness inside her still lingered, yet it was eclipsed by the glory of what had taken place in that simple inn at Cornwall.

Never had she imagined making love could be so beautiful, so all-encompassing. Never had she envisioned being so utterly one with another human being. Those hours in Slayde’s arms had changed her life, magnified her love threefold, and she wouldn’t trade them for anything on earth. She ached for the pain that had brought them together, but, in her heart, she knew their joining had been inevitable, as natural as dawn melding with day.

If only Slayde weren’t suffering.

Courtney’s arm dropped to her side, and she continued her path to the window.