Page 9 of His Unforgettable Bride
“While at it,” said the gruff voice, “check how long until we dock.”
The toothless man mumbled as hay rustled and the floor creaked. Soon, footsteps sounded and faded.
With only one foe guarding him, should he attempt to escape?
Henry slit his eyes to examine his surroundings. It was broad daylight, and cloudy blue skies floated past above the deck railing. If it was past midday, then he had been unconscious since at least last evening.
His elbow itched, and he glanced at his arm. Dried blood stained his sleeve. Why did he only wear ripped undergarments? No wonder he was cold. Was his clothing removed to deter him from fleeing? If so, his captors had judged him incorrectly, for nothing would stop him other than a bullet.
A body length away, the assailant with the gun resting in his lap casually leaned against a plank that perhaps shielded the animals from the chilly water’s spray. His legs stretched before him with ankles crossed. The brim of his hat rode low, covering much of his shadowy face. Regardless, Henry had no trouble identifying him—the assailant who had rendered him unconscious with his rifle.
Every muscle in Henry’s body tensed. He would sooner take a chance on fleeing than remain complacent. But what advantage did he have over a man with a weapon?
But then his guard released a snore, a deep-chested rattle—a positive development.
Any minute, the man’s partner might return. Therefore, Henry had to be clever, inconspicuous, and on his way. Silently, he rose, then paused to regain his bearings and combat his dizziness before tiptoeing around the cows, sheep, pigs, and a horse tethered to posts. Once he moved away from the livestock, he halted again to catch his bearings.
The rumble of an engine nearby and the steady slap of a paddlewheel told him that he was indeed on a steamboat. Ahead of the steamer to the east, the rocky shoreline and harbor surrounded by a small town seemed to beckon him. It could not be more than a quarter of a mile away. Was this the Everlyhis captors had mentioned?
Voices and footfalls drew near, and he ducked behind a mound of crates. Two deckhands passed by, perhaps getting ready to dock soon.
Should he search for the captain and report his kidnapping? His heartbeat thumped in his head, tapping a message to find a doctor. He touched the laceration at the back of his head from where he had hit something. It was still slick with blood. He winced, though he doubted the wound required stitches, and wiped his hand on his underclothing.
A steam whistle split the air with a long, slow bellow as if announcing the steamer’s ever-nearing proximity to the shore. At the noise, the pain in his temple sharpened. He braced his head until the throbbing subsided before rising and moving along the rail. Should he jump into the water and try to swim to shore? When in Bascandy, he swam the pond length at the palace daily, sometimes twice.
More than anything, he wished he was there now.
Was jumping over the side his best option? Or, in his weakened and injured condition, should he wait until the gangplank was lowered? It wouldn’t be long.
He kept to the shadows as the steamboat chugged into the harbor. With another whistle, this one with three shorter blasts, the vessel drew alongside a wharf. The deckhands began to secure the boat, and a few minutes later, Henry sidled toward the gangplank, now being lowered with chains and large iron hinges. He paused to watch, willing the escape route procedure to move along faster.
A few workers glanced sideways at him, and why not? Barefooted, filthy, and in his undergarments, who would not raise their eyebrows at his appearance?
“Hey!” The slurred voice belonged to his toothless captor. “Stop that man!”
Undoubtedly,that manwas Henry.
Without glancing behind him, he hopped onto the gangplank, which had just barely touched the shore. His head and feet were pounding with each step. Charging forward, he perused the scene before him. A line of passengers was starting to board a steamboat pointed west—presumably toward Victoria.
Of course, its destination could be anywhere. But anywhere appealed more than his current position.
An idea formed around the edges of his mind. What if he raced on board, fooling his pursuers into thinking he intended to hide on the ship? Instead, he would leap into the strait. But only after he reached the front, putting distance between himself and everyone else, ensuring his pursuers failed to notice his escape.
Except he was a spectacle in his unmentionables. In theory, his plan could succeed. But then again, based on his injury, he may drown. Still, he had to take the risk, mainly because shouts from his kidnappers trailed behind him.
Henry charged down the wooden wharf, dodging passengers, livestock, and carts headed toward the departing steamer. He spun onto the crowded gangplank and jostled travelers as he maneuvered forward. “Apologies, apologies,” he repeated countless times.
A giant of a man in a coonskin cap elbowed Henry. “Watch where you’re going.”
“Please forgive me.” He hurried forward, aware he exhibited deplorable manners, yet plowed toward his goal. Otherwise, he may lose more than a footrace.
When Henry’s feet hit the slippery deck, he bolted forward yet maintained his balance. He veered to starboard, needing to disappear.
Ideally, his pursuers would search high and low for him. With any luck, the steamer would pull away with the kidnappers still aboard, offering Henry ample time to swim to safety. If he survived the next twenty-four hours, he may even book a passage back to Victoria as early as tomorrow morning.
What a tale to relay to Dobbin upon his return…if Dobbin had survived. Hopefully, his friend was safe, sound, and at the hotel, though he would undoubtedly suffer physically from his assault and mentally with worry over Henry’s disappearance. Dobbin would blame himself for neglecting his duties and allowing his charge to vanish mysteriously. But the kidnapping was not his friend’s fault.
Henry reached the deck’s railing and glanced behind him. Finding nobody nearby, he climbed over and dropped into the icy water, praying he did not splash.
