An Impetuous Abduction. Patricia Rowell Frances

back the bedclothes and tried to put her legs over the edge of the high bed, struggling to sit. This attempt was met by a wave of dizziness, and she fell back on the pillow with a thump. Dear God, she was weak as a newborn filly!

      When her head quit spinning, Phona glanced down at her body. She was wearing a… Yes. A man’s nightshirt enveloped her from shoulders far past her feet, one made of soft, translucent linen. She could see the details of her person right through it. Good grief!

      She yanked on the covers. It proved all she could do to deal with the voluminous garment, but she prevailed at last. Exhausted, she lay back, motionless. Dealing with the locking in would have to wait.

      After a few minutes she felt able to look around again. She had seen a pirate. He had chased her. Caught her. Forced her to come with him. Now Phona remembered riding on the saddle before him, wrapped in his cloak and his strong arms.

      Was this his lair? It certainly looked like a pirates’ lair, the furnishings very old, the walls of rough stones, a huge fireplace.

      At the sound of footsteps, she quickly pulled the quilt up to her chin. Aelfred opened the door and came in carrying a tray. He set it on a low chest beside the bed. Lifting her to a sitting position, he stacked the extra pillows behind her and proceeded to spread a large napkin under her chin.

      He offered her a bite of porridge. She tried to take the spoon from him, but her arms felt too heavy to bear the weight. She almost knocked it to the bed.

      “Oh, I’m sorry.” Tears pricked behind her eyelids.

      “No matter, miss. Ye passed a hard night. Little wonder ye feel a mite feeble this morning.” He gave her several more spoonfuls and then picked up a teacup. “Here ye go. This will put ye right.”

      She wrinkled her face at the bitterness. The taste recalled something else. Someone sitting on the bed last night. Offering her the bitter cup. “Who else was here last night?”

      “Just his—my master.”

      “The Pirate?”

      “Pirate? Nay… Well, mayhap, in a manner o’ speaking.”

      Oh, Lord! He really was a pirate!

      Chapter Three

      By the time she saw him again, Phona had lost much of her interest in her host’s piratical calling. Her head and limbs had begun to ache fiercely once more, and her eyes burned unbearably.

      Aelfred brought gruel and nasty brews, saying that his master would visit her when he awoke. When finally the turning of the key in the door announced the presence of this personage, Phona could hardly believe her blurry eyes.

      She could not mistake the man who walked through the door for anyone other than her assailant of yesterday, yet he looked very…different. The black patch still covered one eye, but the wild, dark hair and beard had been combed and trimmed, the long mane neatly restrained at the nape of his neck by a black ribbon. No hook appeared at the end of his left arm.

      Nor did a hand.

      The sleeve of his fine linen shirt simply ended, folded over and tightly fastened with a pair of buttons. He wore a black leather vest, but no coat or cravat. Nor was yesterday’s scowl visible on his face—a face constructed of strong features, chin square, nose prominent.

      He stopped at the foot of the bed and smiled. The flash of fierce, white teeth within the beard reminded her of his grinning like that in the dark woods. In the night she had not seen the brightness of the single blue eye that now twinkled at her.

      He still looked like a pirate. A slightly civilized pirate.

      Very slightly.

      But when he spoke, the Cockney voice she had first heard was not in evidence. “Good afternoon, Miss Hathersage. I hope I find you feeling better?”

      Phona glared at him. “No, I am not better.”

      “I am sorry to hear that.” The Pirate’s smile faded. He strolled around the bed and, without a by-your-leave, rested his hand on her forehead. “You are very feverish. I had hoped for more improvement, but at least you are lucid.”

      She moved away from his hand. “No thanks to you for it.”

      “Au contraire, Miss Hathersage. Had I not brought you here, improvement would be beyond the realm of possibility.” He pulled the chair vacated by Aelfred nearer the bed and sat facing her.

      “You mean that I would be dead.”

      “Dead in fact, rather than in fancy. Do you remember last night?” He propped his feet comfortably on the chest by the bed.

      “Very little. Only extremely strange dreams.”

      “In your delirium you thought that I, as Lord Hades, had abducted you to the Underworld.”

      “Oh, my.” Phona felt the heat rising in her face. “How foolish of me.”

      “Nay, not foolish. You were quite out of your head with fever. You’d had a very hard passage. But would you prefer to call me by some other name? Perhaps Hades is a little too apt.” He stroked his beard and peered questioningly at her.

      “Lord Cad, perhaps? Lord Blackguard? We agreed yesterday, I believe, that those were suitable designations.” Phona raised her eyebrows and returned the inquiring gaze.

      “Ha!” A short laugh burst out of him. “I see you have recovered both your memory and your spirit. A fierce little kitten challenginga wolfhound. You must be better, after all. But I believe I might prefer some other appellation.”

      “Lord Hades will do well enough. It certainly fits the situation. But how did you know my name was Persephone?”

      “Persephone Proserpina. Poor child, christened in both the Greek and the Latin version of the myth.” He chuckled again. “I make it my business to know everything that might affect an enterprise before I embark upon it.”

      “This most recent enterprise appears to be one of piracy.” Phona folded her arms across her chest and stared at him severely. “And you, sir, give every appearance of being a pirate.”

      “I did once have a career upon the sea.” He nodded thoughtfully. “But you hardly expect me to confess to you that I am a freebooter.” His grin flashed. “Unless, of course, you wish to call me Lord Blackbeard instead of Lord Blackguard.”

      “I believe I shall stay with Lord Hades. And no, I do not expect you to tell me your felonious business. I can see that it is not to my advantage to know it.”

      “Quite right, Miss Hathersage.”

      “I only wish to know how long I must stay… wherever it is that I am. I don’t suppose that you will tell me that, either.”

      “Perceptive as always. My apologies.” He smiled again. “Our whereabouts are one of my better-kept secrets.” Sobering, he added, “As to how long you must stay, I cannot be sure. For now, you will stay in that bed until I am satisfied that you are in no more danger from your illness. After that…we will have to see how long it takes for me to complete my present…uh, felonious business. One cannot rush these things.”

      In alarm, Phona tried to sit up. “But I must go home. My parents will be frantic. Mama has by now fallen into strong hysterics. You cannot so cruel as to keep me here.”

      “Therein you are mistaken, Miss Hathersage. I can, and I shall. But I do not intend cruelty. I have already written to your family to relieve their minds. The letter will be delivered within a day or two.”

      “But what—” At that moment Aelfred interrupted the conversation by opening the door and shoving a cot into the room. Hades rose and helped him muscle it to a place near the bed.

      Phona gazed at it askance. “What is that