The Daredevil Snared. Stephanie Laurens
never cares if we overhear his discussions with his men—we know he, Dubois, has been stymied in pushing ahead by a lack of more men. He’s been calling for more for weeks, but Kale hasn’t been supplying as many as Dubois needs.” Her lips curved with satisfaction. “And now, of course, Kale won’t be supplying any more at all.”
Phillipe pulled a face. “We’ll have to see how that plays out. Dubois doesn’t strike me as the sort to let Kale’s disappearance stop him for long.”
“No,” she admitted with a dip of her head. “But it will slow things down even further, which is all to our good. Dubois doesn’t dare push us—the workers he already has—too hard for fear of accidents and injuries, which will only result in lower production. So he’s caught—he has to simply wait for more men. That helps us keep production from the mine at what we hope will be a safely low level.”
Diccon appeared, sliding through the palms.
They all rose. Caleb felt a flaring impulse to reach for Katherine Fortescue’s hand; he thrust both his hands into his breeches pockets instead. “Last question—I assume all those held captive have elected a leader. Who is it?”
“We actually have two—Dixon and Hillsythe. Dixon manages the mine, and Hillsythe plots our way. The others—their lieutenants, I suppose—are Lieutenants Hopkins and Fanshawe, and I speak for the women and children.”
Caleb spared a smile for Diccon, but immediately returned his gaze to Katherine Fortescue’s face. “If there’s any way to do it, I would like reports from Dixon and Hillsythe. They’ll know what’s needed, and such reports would be invaluable.”
She nodded. “I’ll ask.” She paused, then added, “Given the reports will have to be done in secret, they will almost certainly take more than a day to prepare.” She met Caleb’s gaze. “I’ll come out again the day after tomorrow. If Dixon and Hillsythe have the reports ready, I’ll bring them then.”
“Thank you.” Caleb bent and picked up her basket. He handed it to her. “One thing—please stress to everyone concerned that at no point should they do anything to arouse suspicion.”
She nodded and turned to Diccon. She took his hand, then glanced at Caleb. “Thank you.” Her gaze moved briefly to include Phillipe, then returned to Caleb’s face. “I’ll see you in two days.”
She turned away, and she and Diccon started toward the compound.
Caleb and Phillipe watched them go, then once the pair were far enough ahead, started trailing behind.
They halted deep in the jungle shadows, well concealed from the guards on the gate, and watched Katherine Fortescue and Diccon walk stoically back into captivity.
After a moment, Phillipe stirred. “She told us quite a lot. Dubois sounds...dangerous.”
“Hmm. And this bind he’s in—more production on the one hand, no ability to achieve it on the other. That must be frustrating, yet he doesn’t seem to have lashed out.”
“Which only proves my point,” Phillipe said. “Dangerous. Any man can play the bully. A sadistic bully who can control himself...that’s something else again.”
Caleb grunted and turned away. “Let’s get back to the camp. I’d better start writing my own report, because heaven knows, these people need rescuing.”
* * *
After seeing Diccon on his way to the kitchen with his basket full of berries, Katherine reined in her giddy, rather scattered thoughts, mentally girded her loins, hefted her basket, and climbed the steps to the mercenaries’ barracks.
She walked along the narrow porch to the single door, which lay toward the left of the front of the long building and was presently propped open. Dubois’s “office” lay beyond the door in the space at the end of the single room, separated from the bunk beds by a communal area with stools and low tables where the off-duty mercenaries lounged and played cards. Out of ingrained courtesy, she tapped on the door frame, waited for a heartbeat, then calmly walked in. She spared not a glance for the other mercenaries sprawled at their ease but fixed her gaze on Dubois’s desk and the man himself, leaning back in his chair behind it.
There was a wide window set in the side wall of the barracks. Through it, Dubois could see the entrance to the mine. He appeared to be staring moodily at that sight, but as she approached, he turned to study her.
By anyone’s measure, he cut a commanding figure, with a powerful physique, thick dark hair, and even features. He had oddly pale hazel eyes; she often thought that cold steel had somehow got mixed into the hue. Hazel eyes weren’t usually chilling, but Dubois’s gaze certainly was.
“Miss Fortescue.” Dubois didn’t smile, yet she detected amusement in his tone. Much like a cat viewing a potential mouse. His gaze fell to the basket. “I take it your foraging was successful?”
“Indeed.” She placed the basket on the desk. “Here are your nuts. I quite enjoyed my time beyond the palisade, but I confess I hadn’t expected the atmosphere beneath the trees to be quite so oppressive.” She frowned as if somewhat chagrined. “I suspect I had better not indulge again tomorrow—not so soon.” She forced herself to meet his gaze. “Perhaps one of the other women might take my place and fetch nuts for you tomorrow?”
Dubois’s lips eased. He reached out and pulled the basket toward him. “I don’t think that will be necessary. I believe I will be quite content with nuts delivered every second day.” He looked steadily at her. “By you.” He paused for a beat, then stated, “Thank you, Miss Fortescue. That will be all.”
Katherine suppressed a derisive snort. She contented herself with a tiny, haughty inclination of her head, then she turned and left the room.
The man made her skin crawl. His habit of trying to bait her—and the others who were well born, too—by subtly lording it over them added another layer of grating irritation.
But they had all long ago resolved not to react—not to play the mouse to Dubois’s cat. As he enjoyed the hunt so much, he tended to let them go—the better to taunt them the next time.
Descending once more to the dust of the compound, she drew in a deep breath—and finally allowed everything she’d learned in the jungle that morning to surge to the forefront of her brain.
Rescue was on the way. They hadn’t been forgotten.
She felt hope, real hope, bubbling up inside—a startling, entirely unexpected upwelling of an emotion she’d thought excised from her soul.
She remained where she was, staring unseeing out of the gates while she considered who she should speak with first, what was most important to be communicated, and how best to achieve that.
Over and above all other considerations, she resolved that, whatever steps she and subsequently the other captives took, they would need to ensure they did absolutely nothing to jeopardize the safety of Captain Caleb Frobisher and his men—for all their sakes.
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