Wings of the Morning

  "Let go of me, Dallas. I've got to go to my ship."

  "Smokey, listen to me--" Dallas began, but the young

  captain cut him off.

  "No. You listen to me, Dallas." Her voice was calm, but no

  one within earshot could have missed the underlying note of

  steel. "I would love the luxury of sitting back and letting you

  take care of me, but I'm the captain of that ship and responsible

  to my men. I will go to London, and you'll not talk me out

  of it."

  "I'm not trying to," Dallas began again, tightening his hold

  on her wrist. "I'm just asking you to wait until morning. We

  can do nothing tonight."

  212

  Smokey hesitated, and Brandon cut in.

  "He's right, Smokey. It would be after midnight by the time

  we arrived. I doubt if even /could see anyone of importance at

  that time of the night."

  Smokey stood in indecision, her heart so broken over

  Darsey's arrest that she thought she might be sick.

  "I need to be away before dawn," she told them.

  'You realize," Brandon began, "there's a good chance you

  will be arrested as well."

  Smokey had not thought of that, but it changed nothing.

  "I still need to leave for London before dawn."

  "The carriage will be ready," Brandon promised her.

  Smokey nodded When she would have thanked them and

  continued up the stairs, Dallas tugged on her arm.

  "Come to dinner and try to eat something."

  "I have to pack."

  "I imagine you'll be up most of the night. You can pack

  then. You need to eat."

  Standing on the first step made Smokey almost level with

  Dallas, and for a moment she could only look into his eyes.

  'Tell me you understand, Dallas."

  "I understand completely," he said to her utter relief. "I

  just didn't want you riding to London tonight with no food or

  sleep."

  Smokey nodded, and Dallas realized they were alone. He

  stepped near, his arms going around her. Smokey needed his

  closeness right now in a way she'd never needed it before.

  When he would have stepped away, she wrapped her arms

  around his neck, Dallas was more than happy to comply and

  hugged her again, holding her firmly for some time.

  "Come into the dining room, darling," he said when he

  could speak. "You won't want much, but you need to eat."

  Smokey agreed and startled herself by eating a fairly

  decent meal. She surprised herself again after going to bed.

  After praying with her whole being, she actually gained a few

  hours of sleep. She woke to find Brandon good at his word

  211

  His largest carriage, pulled by four horses, left Bracken

  more than an hour before daybreak, after a tearful farewell

  with Sunny. Smokey was inside, hair braided and dressed for

  work Seated beside her was Dallas. Across from them was

  Brandon.

  The duke's face was calm, but he was a man who clearly

  needed answers. Looking at his stern visage, Smokey could

  almost find it in her heart to pity Haamich Wynn.

  213

  smokey's view of the akamis from the carriage window

  was one to make her heart pound. She had halfway hoped to

  find that this was all a frightful mistake, but not seeing a single

  familiar face, as well as the heavy guard apparent at the foot of

  the gangplank, made her heart plummet.

  The magnificent carriage stopped, drawing attention

  from nearly everyone. Dallas alighted to give Smokey a hand

  Brandon was directly behind her, but not even he could stop

  the happenings of the next few minutes.

  "Miss Simmons?" a voice spoke, and the three of them

  turned to see a young officer approach,

  "Yes, I'm Miss Simmons. Where is my crew?"

  "If you'll come with me, please," the constable said, ignoring

  her question.

  "Where are you taking her?" Brandon spoke calmly, and

  the officer looked surprised

  "I'm sorry, your lordship, but Miss Simmons is under

  arrest."

  "And what are the charges?"

  "Piracy," another, older constable came on the scene and

  answered. His demeanor was that of one in control, but his

  voice was respectful. "I'm afraid Miss Simmons will have to

  come with us, my lord."

  Dallas was ready to jump in at Smokey's defense, but

  Brandon, wearing his position and power like a cape, spoke

  up.

  "I will be handling Miss Simmons' case myself, constable."

  "Yes, sir," the other man answered, his face serious.

  The younger officer stepped forward then and put a hand

  on Smokey's arm to lead her away. She looked back over her

  shoulder at Brandon and Dallas. Her face was a mask of numb

  surprise.

  Dallas shared her shock, but for just an instant. He recovered

  quickly, and when he started after her, Brandon moved

  his entire body to block him.

  "Don't do it, Dallas," Brandon said as he, with no little

  effort, held his friend against the side of the carriage.

  "I can't let them take her, Hawk! Did you see her face? I've

  got to do something!" Dallas' eyes were wide with panic, but

  Brandon only shook his head

  "You can do nothing for her right now. Your interference

  would only get you arrested as well. Pray, Dallas, and trust

  God to work this out. I'll do all I can to set her free."

  Smokey's mind was in a mass of confusion as she was led

  to a waiting carriage and then to a part of London that was new

  to her. The ride seemed very brief. In no time at all, Smokey

  was being led inside a huge stone structure. Her head craned

  back to take it in as they moved inside, and Smokey wondered

  if this was the infamous "Tower."

  She was given little time to speculate, but was led immediately

  inside and to a cell. There was no rough treatment and

  few words spoken as she was locked inside. Smokey stood for

  a long moment and just stared

  The room was spacious with a large, barred window, and

  Smokey was surprised at the cleanliness. It was dry and swept,

  214

  with a cot in one corner. Smokey's relief was so great that she

  moved to the room's one chair and sank gratefully down.

  She started to pray, giving this nightmarish situation over

  to the Lord She committed herself, Dallas, her men, and

  everyone involved to her heavenly Father. She'd been praying

  for the better part of two hours when she heard movement

  and voices in the corridor without.

  "Smokey."

  Smokey stood quickly, unable to believe her ears, and

  moved to look at the barred portal in the door.

  "Dallas!"

  "Are you all right?" His voice was anxious.

  "Yes." Smokey felt breathless with relief as she stood on

  tiptoe in order to be nearer the man she loved "Have you

  come to get me?"

  "No." Dallas' voice and eyes were pained "But Brandon is

  working on it."

  "All right. Have you talked to Darsey or the men?" Now

  Smokey's voice was anxious.

  "They're all right; just worried about you,"
Dallas replied

  "They didn't hurt you?"

  "No. It's not bad in here at all. It's just that I'm..." she

  hesitated slightly, "a little frightened."

  "No need to be," The surety of Dallas' voice calmed her.

  "God is with you, and I know He's going to show us the best

  way to help you."

  Smokey nodded, unable to speak. Dallas' fingers were

  suddenly there through the bars, and Smokey reached her

  own to touch his. For just an instant they let their eyes and

  fingers speak for their hearts. The next minute a voice was

  heard in the corridor, and Dallas' face disappeared from view.

  Before Smokey could turn away, Brandon's face appeared

  beyond the bars. He spoke gently, and Smokey took his words

  to heart. "Don't give up hope, Smokey. I'll do everything

  within my power to set you free."

  215

  Brandon's "everything" was something to behold Dallas

  accompanied Lord Hawkesbury to the office of a private investigator,

  where he paid the man a huge retainer to immediately

  go to work on the case.

  When they were back in the carriage, Brandon ordered his

  driver to Parliament. Confidently striding into this building,

  Brandon moved into offices where Dallas could not follow in

  order to gain the real news of this case.

  The charge against Smokey Simmons, captain of the Aramis, was piracy, and the rumors about the actual pirate

  were all too true--Haamich Wynn was a free man. The problem,

  as Brandon did more research, stemmed from the fact

  that Haamich Wynn had an airtight alibi for every charge.

  Lord Darrell Lynne had reputable witnesses, one of whom

  was the prime minister himself, who had seen him at balls,

  parties, and even on the streets of London each and every time

  he was supposed to be attacking a ship.

  By the evening of the first day, Brandon had gathered

  enough conflicting information to baffle a genius. He and

  Dallas retired to Brandon and Sunny's town house in the early

  evening, both men feeling spent and confused

  They talked over dinner and then for hours afterward

  before both went to bed exhausted but peaceful. They had

  formulated a plan. In the morning they would pay a visit to

  Haamich Wynn.

  Neither Brandon nor Dallas would have slept so soundly

  had they realized that not two hours after they left Smokey,

  she had a visitor. He was a fat, foul-smelling man who did not

  use the main entrance to exit the Tower. Fear clawed at

  Smokey's throat as she was led out of the Tower courtyard and

  into a back alley to a waiting carriage.

  "Where are we going?" she tried to question the man who

  216

  217

  seemed to be in charge, but she was simply ignored as the

  carriage lurched into motion.

  Ten minutes later the coach came to a halt in front of

  London's Klink Prison for women; Smokey could only stare in

  horror until she was commanded roughly to alight from the

  carriage and go inside. The smells that assailed her senses

  nearly caused her to vomit as she was led below street level to

  a dark, damp cavern.

  She could barely see as she was ushered forward to her

  cell, but as her eyes became accustomed to the dark, she

  realized that the inmates of Klink Prison were treated like

  animals. Pale faces beneath layers of dirt were momentarily

  illuminated as the lantern moved across their cells. The eyes

  in those faces were nearly lifeless, as hopeless as Smokey had

  ever seen.

  Smokey was taken all the way to the cell at the end. Until

  that time no one had touched her, but she suddenly found

  herself pushed forward over the threshold where she heard

  the door slam behind her. With just two steps she caught

  herself, but started violently as a weak but irate voice spoke

  from the corner.

  "Put her across the way in an empty. It's my turn, and I

  don't want her."

  "Shut yer trap, ya old hag," the guard snarled, banging on

  the bars with his stick. Smokey shrank back from both the

  Jailer and her cellmate and then watched as the jailer walked

  away, taking his light with him.

  A few moments passed before Smokey's eyes acclimated

  once again to the dark and she took in her cell, illuminated

  only by a small, filthy window, some ten feet off the floor. The

  cell was a square, Smokey figured perhaps eight by eight feet

  in size, with two filthy straw ticks on the floor and a chamber

  pot in the corner.

  Her nearly skeletal cellmate lay prone on one of the ticks

  and spoke when Smokey's eyes met hers.

  "You'll not 'ave all that pretty flesh on yer for long," she

  said in a voice weak from her surroundings as well as her age.

  "How long have you been in here?" Smokey asked, although

  not sure why she did.

  "This time? A month, maybe two. Down 'ere, you lose

  count."

  Smokey suddenly felt as if her legs were going to go out

  from under her. She moved to the edge of the unoccupied tick

  and sank to her knees. Her pants grew immediately damp, but

  she couldn't force herself to stand again.

  With a shudder that ran over her entire body, she let her

  shoulder fall against the damp stone wall. The old woman

  appeared to be sleeping. Smokey let her own eyes slide shut,

  only she didn't sleep. She silently prayed the only words that

  would come to mind as her world began to close in to the

  point that she thought it would suffocate her.

  Help me, Father, I beg of You. Help me to believe You never

  make mistakes.

  "I'm sorry, you must be mistaken, my lord," the young

  footman told Brandon the next morning as he and Dallas tried

  to gain information from the doorman of a rather seedy club

  in the heart of London.

  "We have not now, nor ever, had a member by the name of

  Lord Lynne." The servant's air was so superior that Brandon

  wanted to laugh, but he also felt the man was telling the truth.

  That day and into the next had led them to one dead end

  after another in an effort to speak with Darrell Lynne. A visit to

  Lord Lynne's London town house had directed them to his

  club. They had gone to White's, only to come up empty, and

  finally now to this club, where no one had ever heard of him

  either. Brandon was beginning to wonder if the agency he had

  hired was going to offer him anything more than empty leads.

  He also began to wonder how many aliases the pirate had

  Their choices were quickly narrowing down. Brandon and

  Dallas would have to ride out into the country where Lynne's

  218

  wife lived in hopes of tracking the man down. Brandon knew!

  he could damage the case if Lynne could prove harassment,

  but something was driving him to confront the man himself,

  and without knowing exactly why, he knew he must carry on.

  "Is it routine to starve the prisoners?" Smokey asked her

  cellmate in a small voice as the second morning of her captivity

  dawned

  "They say it keeps us
weak and easy to 'andle," the other

  woman told her. Smokey's heart sank.

  They had done very little speaking since Smokey had

  arrived, mainly because the other woman seemed to sleep a

  great deal of the time.

  Even though Smokey was still in a state of shock, she was

  aware enough to believe that the woman across from her was

  dying right before her very eyes. There was water every day

  from a bucket in the corner, but neither she nor Smokey had

  been given anything to eat since Smokey arrived. Smokey was

  hungry; the other woman was starving.

  "Every other day," the other woman went on in a whisper,

  as though talking took more energy than she could spare.

  "They brings bread every other day."

  Suddenly the other woman's words became clear. As

  Smokey had been pushed into the cell, she said it was her turn.

  Smokey understood now that her cellmate had gone extra

  days without food since they were not yet ready to feed the

  newest resident of Klink Prison.

  What kind of place is this, Smokey asked herself not for the

  first time, that they starve people to death? Smokey could think

  of no crime so heinous as to deserve this.

  The morning stretched on. Just when she thought she

  would go mad for want of food, a light appeared from somewhere

  down the cavern. It hurt her eyes as it neared, but she

  forced herself to look anyway, hope pounding in her breast.

  219

  / Two men appeared, one carrying a bucket and cups, the

  other a basket of loaves. Keys jingled, and the cell door was

  opened Two loaves of bread were thrown in, and cups of

  some type of gruel were scooped up and set just inside the

  door before it was slammed shut again.

  Smokey scrambled for the bread as fast as she could move,

  cramming it into her mouth in a frenzy, but the other woman

  stayed her movement.

  "Easy, go easy, child, or lt*ll make ya sick."

  Smokey stopped in midchew and forced herself to calm

  down. She reached for the other loaf and set it beside the

  other woman's pallet.

  The woman's laugh was low and had a rusty sound to it.

  "Ya must be something special when yer not in 'ere. Anyone

  else in this 'ole would 'ave eaten 'em both."

  Smokey moved to the cups then and ignoring her own,

  took one to the other pallet. She held it while the old woman

  took a sip and left it within reach next to the bread

  Her hand shook so violently as she drank from her own

  cup that she nearly spilled the contents. The gruel was thin