The Daredevil Snared. Stephanie Laurens

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      CHAPTER 1

      July 14, 1824

      Jungle east of Freetown, West Africa

      Caleb Frobisher moved steadily forward through the jungle shadows. His company of twenty-four men followed in single file. No one spoke; the silence was eerie, stretching nerves taut. Beneath the thick canopy, the humidity was so high that forging ahead felt like walking underwater, as if the heavy atmosphere literally weighed on their limbs.

      “Hell’s bells,” Phillipe Lascelle, at Caleb’s heels, breathed. “Surely it can’t be much farther.”

      “It’s only midmorning,” Caleb murmured back. “You can’t be wilting already.”

      Phillipe snorted.

      Caleb continued along the path that was little more than an animal track; they had to constantly duck and weave under and around palm fronds and low branches festooned with clinging vines.

      Somewhere ahead lay the slavers’ camp they’d come to find—or so Caleb fervently hoped. Despite his determination to unwaveringly abide by the rule book throughout this mission, thus proving to all and sundry, and his family especially, that he could be trusted with such serious endeavors, sometimes instinct—albeit masquerading as reckless impulse—proved too strong to resist. His brother Robert’s hand-drawn map described the location of the slavers’ camp—Kale’s Homestead—when approached from the west. However, Caleb had studied the camp’s position and decided to come in from the north. From all he’d gleaned from Robert’s notes, the slavers would be alert to any incursion from the west; they would almost certainly have lookouts posted, making west not the wisest direction from which to approach if one’s intention was to seize the camp.

      Which was, rather plainly, their purpose; why else would twenty-five strong men all armed to the gills be trooping through such a godforsaken place?

      Three nights before, Caleb, in his ship, The Prince, closely followed by his old comrade-in-adventure, Phillipe, in his ship, The Raven, had slipped into the estuary on the night tide. They’d kept to the north shore, well away from the shipping lanes leading into Freetown harbor, and sailed deeper down the estuary and into Tagrin Bay, reducing the risk of detection by any naval vessels going into and out of the harbor; according to Robert’s information, the West Africa Squadron should now be in port, and Caleb would prefer to avoid having to explain himself to Vice-Admiral Decker.

      They’d anchored off the southern shore of the bay at a spot Caleb judged was due north of Kale’s Homestead. According to Robert’s map, miles of jungle lay between the slavers’ camp and the ships’ positions; Caleb hadn’t known how passable that jungle would be, but his confidence had been bolstered by the intelligence they’d gained from natives living in a village nearby. Phillipe had a way with languages—another excellent reason for inviting him along—and he’d quickly established a rapport with the village elders. The villagers had known of the slavers’ camp, but, unsurprisingly, avoided it with a near-religious fervor. Sadly, they’d known nothing about any mine or similar enterprise anywhere in the vicinity, but they’d been happy to point out a narrow track that, so they’d insisted, led more or less directly to the slavers’ camp.

      Unfortunately, the villagers hadn’t known the name of the slavers’ leader. Caleb clung to the hope that he and his men weren’t going to find themselves at some other slavers’ camp entirely—and trudged on. They’d set out on the previous morning, leaving skeleton crews on their ships and taking the strongest and most experienced of their men. Seizing a slavers’ camp would be no easy task, especially if there were any captives currently in the slavers’ clutches.

      Turning that prospect over in his mind—wondering what he might do if it proved to be so—Caleb led the way on.

      He almost didn’t trust his eyes when, through the dense curtain of trees, palms, and vines, he glimpsed a pale glow—indicating a clearing where daylight flooded in, banishing the jungle’s pervasive gloom.

      Then their narrow track ended, opening onto a wider, better-maintained path, one clearly frequently used.

      Caleb stopped and held up a hand; the men following halted and froze. He sent his senses questing. A rumble of male voices was faint but discernible.

      Phillipe leaned close and whispered, “We’re twenty to twenty-five yards from the perimeter.”

      Caleb nodded. “This wider path must be the one between the camp and the mine.”

      Rapidly, he canvassed his options. Although Phillipe was the more experienced commander, he waited, silently deferring to Caleb—this was Caleb’s show. Another reason Caleb liked working with the man. Eventually, he murmured, “Pass the word—we’ll creep nearer, keeping to the jungle, and see what we can see. No reason to let them know we’re here.”

      Phillipe turned to pass the order back down the line. Of their party of twenty-five, thirteen were from Caleb’s crew and ten from The Raven’s. Because of Caleb and Phillipe’s previous joint ventures, their men had worked together before; Caleb didn’t need to fear that they wouldn’t operate as a cohesive unit in what was to come.

      After one last searching look around, he ventured onto the wider path, placing his feet with care. He followed the well-trodden trail, but halted just before a curve that, by his reckoning, would expose him to those in the clearing. Instead, he slipped silently sideways to his right, into the cover of the jungle. Quietly, he skirted the edge of the clearing, continuing to move slowly and with care, shifting from north to west. Eventually, he reached the western aspect; on spotting a clump of large-leafed palms closer to the clearing’s perimeter, he crouched and crept into the concealment the palms offered. A swift glance behind showed Phillipe following him, while the rest of their men hunkered down, strung out in the shadows, their gazes trained on the activity in the camp.

      Caleb returned his attention to the clearing and settled to study Kale’s Homestead. He recognized the layout from Robert’s notes—the horseshoe-shaped central space with a large barrack-like hut across the head and four smaller huts, two on each side. Caleb and his men were at the open end of the horseshoe, virtually directly opposite the main barracks. According to Robert’s diagram, that meant the path from Freetown should be somewhere to their right; Caleb searched and spotted the opening. The path he СКАЧАТЬ