Mary Jo Putney Read Online Free PDF

take to reach Cork in these winds.”
    “Excellent! Can you describe the boat?”
    “A two-masted yawl,” the ostler said. “With the name St. Brigid on her stern and a figurehead of the saint on the bow.”
    Rob’s gaze swept the harbor as he examined the fishing boats moored there. “I need to hire the fastest boat available. Who would be the owner?”
    The ostler blinked. “You don’t waste time.”
    “There is no damned time to waste,” Rob said tersely.

Chapter 5
    T hree days as a kidnap victim had crushed Sarah’s ability to view her situation as a romantic adventure. Her captors continued uncommunicative, but a day’s sail brought the ship to a port that was obviously in Ireland, though Sarah wasn’t sure where. It seemed too small to be Dublin.
    She’d immediately been hustled into another carriage, this one shabbier than the English vehicle. They didn’t travel with the same urgency as in England, but they made as good speed as possible on the rough roads.
    When it became too dark to travel, they stopped at a substantial house. Sarah was locked into a closet under the staircase, along with a rough blanket for warmth. The next morning the party continued west into the countryside. She refused to relinquish the blanket and used it as a cloak.
    The second night, they stopped at a similar house and she was locked in a revolting root cellar. The space was dark and damp and cold, with things crawling in the darkness and a disgusting stench of rotting potatoes.
    Sarah warily felt around the pitch black space hoping to find some way to escape. Unsurprisingly, she found nothing. The kidnappers were nothing if not careful. She wrapped herself tightly in the blanket and sat up all night. It was a struggle not to have strong hysterics. Only the knowledge that weeping and wailing wouldn’t help and would leave her in even worse shape helped her maintain her control.
    She tried to think of happy things: her sister and the new baby, her parents, the knowledge that her family would never stop searching for her. But it was hard to be optimistic in the cold, reeking blackness. She almost wept with relief after they released her in the morning.
    During the long days of rattling along in the carriage, she maintained the cool reserve of a dignified duchess while listening carefully for something that might help her. Some of the conversations were in Irish and completely unintelligible to Sarah, but the rest were in English. Apparently Flannery and his men were members of some secret organization, and they stayed at the homes of other members.
    The air of secrecy made her wonder if she’d been taken by political rebels. Perhaps her captors wanted to imprison a duchess to make some bizarre political point. Would she be better off revealing that she was plain Miss Sarah Clarke-Townsend? Probably not. If they wanted a duchess and found that she wasn’t one, they might kill her out of hand.
    At least she wasn’t dead yet.

    By the time Rob reached Cork, he was more than a day behind the kidnappers. Even so, he took the time to visit a few taverns and take the measure of the city’s mood. He learned that Cork still nourished a rebellious spirit, and that a new group called Free Eire had formed here in southeast Ireland. They were said to be more radical than the United Irishmen, a liberal group that included Protestants, Catholics, and Dissenters. He had no proof that Free Eire was behind the kidnapping, but his instincts were twitching.
    He bought two strong riding horses and followed the trail of the kidnappers west into the heart of southern Ireland.
     
     
    With the coach jolting too violently for Sarah to rest, she spent her time hanging on to a strap and observing the very green and usually wet countryside. Riding horses would be more sensible than this old and rather battered vehicle, but she guessed her captors didn’t want to give her a chance to escape.
    Wise of them—if they gave her a horse and even a slim