Spies of the Angui - Cipher's Kiss Book 3

by Walker, Heather

  An almighty impact struck Malcolm’s shoulder. He whipped around to find Boyd standing at his side.

  Boyd cast a benign smile his way. “Why so despondent, lad? What’s amiss?”

  Malcolm turned his face into the breeze and closed his eyes. “Naught’s amiss unless ye count going into battle with a lassie on board. It’s no’ exactly gentlemanly.”

  Boyd gazed out over the ocean. “Ye’ve taken an appreciable concern over that lassie. If I didnae ken otherwise, I’d be forced to conclude ye fancy her. I havenae seen ye so worked up over a lass since I’ve kenned ye.”

  “I’m no’ worked up over her,” Malcolm snarled. “If anything, it’s ye that’s appreciably concerned over her, but since I ken that’s no’ possible, I have no choice but to conclude ye’re playing her for all she’s worth. Ye ought to be ashamed of yerself, lad. Ye’re a coldhearted schemer, and the worst part is, she’s completely taken in by ye. She thinks ye’re a kindly, caring soul that’s taken her in to help her.”

  Boyd’s eyes twinkled as he bit back a smile. “And I suppose ye’ve seen fit to relieve her of that misconception, have ye no’?”

  “Of course I have,” he replied. “I cannae let her continue to swoon over ye the way she has. She had to ken her own place on this mission.”

  Boyd shook his head and chuckled. “In all the years I’ve kenned ye, ye’ve never changed. Ye’re too idealistic for this job, and that’s why ye’ll never be Guild Master.”

  “Who wants to be Guild Master?” Malcolm fired back. “If it means yanking lassies around by their heartstrings to get what ye want out of them, then I’ll leave the job to ye.”

  “Aye,” Boyd murmured. “Ye will.”

  “What do ye mean to do with her?” Malcolm asked. “Do ye mean to bring her out on deck in the middle of the battle and see if they balk at the sight of her? Is that how ye mean to determine if they ken who she is? Is that yer plan?”

  Boyd cocked his head, and his eyes hardened. “Ye’d have naught to say about it if it was. What will ye do if I decide to do just that? Will ye hie on down to the cabin and tell her what I just said? Will ye jump into the battle and tear her away from me? Is that what ye want to hear?”

  Malcolm spun away to hide his burning cheeks. He was treading a fine line between betraying Boyd and doing what he knew was right. He would never let Boyd put Vic in harm’s way, and they both knew it. What other reason could Boyd have for bringing Vic out here? He believed Vic belonged to the Lewises and had set out to prove it. He intended to use her as a bargaining chip against them.

  Boyd patted him on the shoulder again. “Perhaps ye should stay in the cabin during the battle too.” He walked away, and his shoes thumped on the deck, receding out of earshot.

  Malcolm closed his eyes and gritted his teeth against this whole horrible situation. Who would he encounter on board the Prometheus? Would he have to fight Ned? Would he have to kill some Angui to keep his place in the Falisa?

  No! He wouldn’t do that. He didn’t care what he had to do. He would throw himself overboard first. If he turned against the Falisa, he could still live the rest of his life among his brothers. He wouldn’t kill his own kind just to maintain a pretense.

  A shout echoed across the waves. Malcolm whirled around, searching the deck, and then looked up. A man in the crow’s nest leaned out and pointed east. Within seconds, pounding footsteps vibrated all over the deck.

  The captain leaped up the steps to the poop deck and bellowed orders to everyone. “Come about and shorten sail to intercept her. Gunnery teams into position and load, ready to fire on my command. Mr. Warren, take the wheel for tactical maneuvers.”

  Boyd strode up the steps to take his place next to the captain. Malcolm stayed where he was, his eyes trained to the east on another ship floating there on the smooth blue ripple. Her sails bulged with the wind. The Prometheus headed northwest to skirt around Lewis for the open Atlantic beyond, making a run to America.

  Malcolm’s pulse quickened at the sight of her. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to be on board that ship with his brothers right now, with the wide ocean spread out before them. As the merchantman drew nearer, he saw tiny sailors rushing over the galleon’s deck. They scurried up and down the masts and put on more sail but couldn’t outrun the merchantman.

  Boyd stood frozen in place, his glittering eyes fixed on the Prometheus falling into his clutches and a twisted smile curving up his lips. The captain paced back and forth while his men rushed hither and thither.

  Malcolm steeled his resolve for what he had to do. He had to fight. That was inevitable, but he would rather let one of his friends kill him than harm a hair on their heads. Anything would be better than living this double life century after century.

  The merchantman angled north to pull up alongside her prey. The gunnery teams flew around their cannons in a blur. Closer they came, and Malcolm recognized the man on the deck of the Prometheus. Ned waved his saber in the air and his voice floated on the wind to the merchantman, but Malcolm couldn’t make out the words.

  The faces of his comrades flashed before his eyes. He beheld the features of every man he knew on board the Prometheus. He’d faced the Lewises in battle before, when he’d fought for the Gunns, but never with Boyd watching. When Malcolm was in command, he could do what he wanted and never had to worry about anybody questioning his loyalty. He couldn’t be sure if Boyd questioned his loyalty or not, and he didn’t intend to find out. His fingers tightened on his saber grip, and he checked his dirk at his belt.

  British soldiers poured on deck from below and lined up in red rows near the rail, ready to board the galleon.

  Malcolm took his place next to the ranks when Boyd called down to him, “Ye remain on board, Malcolm. Ye defend the companionway in case they overrun us.”

  Malcolm raised his eyes to Boyd’s face. Did he hear right? Defend the companionway? That meant Vic. He backed up to the steps and took his position, drawing his saber. He couldn’t steady his heart rate, his breath stuck in his throat, and cold sweat trickled down his spine.

  The captain gave one last shout. Mr. Warren tugged the wheel hard to port. The Revenge veered a few inches west, and the two vessels came alongside barely feet apart. Every battery of cannon on both ships opened up at once, and a deafening boom thundered across the waves.

  The Prometheus shuddered down her sides, and the merchantman lurched back. Malcolm teetered into the bulkhead as the batteries reloaded and let rip another catastrophic barrage of cannon fire. Back and forth it went until Malcolm lost awareness of who was firing when. The soldiers rushed the ship’s rail and threw grappling hooks at the Prometheus, hauling her in close. Then all the Redcoats flooded over the rail at once.

  Malcolm couldn’t see or hear anything above the din. Screams and yells and the metallic sound of swordplay tangled in a confused soup of noise and pandemonium. Gunsmoke obscured his sight through the hatch. He took a step forward to see what was going on as a gust of wind billowed through the smoke. Malcolm’s blood ran cold when he caught a clear view of the battle raging on the Prometheus. Redcoats and pirates fought hand to hand all over the ship. The soldiers fired their muskets and stabbed with their bayonets. The pirates responded with sabers and pistols. Malcolm spotted Ned wrestling with his fingers clasped around Boyd’s throat. Malcolm’s nerves screamed to intervene, but he dared not leave his post. He couldn’t leave Vic unguarded in this mayhem.

  Sure enough, in front of his eyes, the tide of battle shifted. Ned hurled Boyd off him, slamming him back against the main mast, and then launched to his feet. He swung his saber over his head and roared to his comrades. Ned and several dozen pirates broke free from the Redcoats and turned their sights on the Revenge. They flooded over the rail to take the enemy ship. Malcolm’s heart plunged into his boots. He knew he had to fake attacking his comrades to keep up the ruse. That meant he might have to slash an arm or two or break a nose or even have his own nose broken. It was something he’d always dreaded. B
ut it had to be done or his cover would be threatened.

  Another cloud of smoke obliterated the scene, but Malcolm had seen enough. He retreated into the companionway and prepared to fake his last stand.

  He couldn’t appreciate the irony with Ned, Gilias, and five others scrambling over the rail onto the merchantman. First, they set to work attacking the gunnery crews. The gunners tried to snatch up their weapons, but the pirates hacked their way through them until no one remained to man the guns.

  More pirates disengaged with the Redcoats to leave the Prometheus. They poured onto the Revenge and dove down below to disable the rest of the cannons. Then, to Malcolm’s horror, Ned and Gilias both turned around and fixed their beady, smoldering eyes on his position. He’d have to “fight” them after all.

  He braced himself in the companionway, brandishing his saber in one hand and his dirk in the other. He had to go down swinging. He had to make a good show of it so no one knew the truth.

  Chapter 13

  The noise of battle echoed through the ship to Vic’s ears. She watched through a round window as the Prometheus slipped closer on the waves until the Revenge collided with it. She sat hunched and tense on her bunk when the first cannon shots ripped into the hull, but she didn’t leave the cabin. What could she do out there, anyway? She didn’t know the first thing about fighting and was unarmed.

  Her fingers clenched her skirts, released them, and tightened again. She swept her gaze back and forth over the ceiling in a desperate search to see something going on outside. The worst horrors played out in her imagination. What was happening out there? Were men dying? Was one ship destroying the other?

  She’d grown up in an idyllic home and never experienced any conflict in her life. Now that she’d dropped into a dangerous war, she didn’t know what to do with herself. She couldn’t form a thought on how to defend herself in this horrible reality.

  One torturous concussion after another rocked the ship. Piercing screams rent the air and crushed her spirits. What could she do? She had to do something besides just sit there, but she couldn’t move.

  What a useless wreck her life turned out to be! She didn’t have one useful skill of which she could make use at a time like this. What would Ellen do in a situation like this? Probably nothing. Ellen looked the warrior part, but in the end, she wasn’t more than an executive, just like Vic and the rest of their friends.

  Vic should have prepared for this better. Of course, she couldn’t have known she would get transported to Scotland, but the fact remained. She could have prepared for difficult circumstances better. She could have learned to use a gun or a knife. She could have learned some self-defense skills instead of spending her life with her nose stuck in a chemistry book.

  A loud screech ripped down the companionway right outside her door. She bolted to her feet. Men’s bellowing voices echoed from one direction and then another. She tried to retreat from the sound but only succeeded in bumping into the bed.

  She glanced around for any weapon, cursing herself for not doing this sooner. She knew they were going into battle. She should have asked Malcolm to give her a weapon.

  At that moment, she understood something about him she’d never considered before. He would have done it if she’d asked. If she’d told him she wanted something to defend herself, he would have understood.

  She couldn’t say the same about Boyd. In that instant, she realized the awful truth. Malcolm had been telling her the truth about Boyd. Boyd had brought her on this trip to use her, to manipulate her, and to deliberately put her in harm’s way. If she’d asked Boyd for a weapon to defend herself, he probably would have laughed in her face. He would have placated her with a bunch of nice words about how he and his men would protect her and take care of her. That realization rankled her the worst. She would have believed him and listened to him. His manner and his magnetic good looks would have soothed her into relinquishing control to him. She would have thrown her safety on his assurance.

  Malcolm didn’t play that game. He would have given her a knife, a gun—whatever she asked for. He might even have shown her how to use a flintlock if she’d asked. He’d warned her about Boyd.

  All this time, Vic had persisted in trusting Boyd and hating Malcolm. If she had half a brain, she would have done the opposite. She’d allowed appearances to lull her into a false sense of security and put herself in the wrong man’s hands.

  The moment she made that connection, her cabin door exploded off its hinges. It smashed back into the bulkhead, and Malcolm backed into the room with his saber crossed against another man. The two tumbled into the cabin, the attacker tackling Malcolm flat on his back in front of Vic. The veins stood out on Malcolm’s neck and forehead as he strained to force his assailant off.

  All at once, Malcolm broke one hand off the man’s grip and slammed his palm into his chin. He shoved the black-haired assailant’s head back, and Vic found herself staring at the contorted face of Ned Lewis.

  The two wrestled all over the floor, but Vic didn’t have time to react before another seven men barreled into the room. In seconds, they filled the cabin and rushed at her. They caught her in their burly arms and hoisted her off the bunk.

  Vic’s surprise evaporated in their powerful grip and she flew into a frenzy. She kicked and scratched and ripped at their hair, but they surrounded her with more and more bodies until she couldn’t move. Hands pinned her arms to her sides, and someone circled her legs. They heaved her off the floor and carried her thrashing and struggling toward the door.

  Malcolm jerked back his head, and when he saw them carrying her off, he erupted in rage. He hauled back his fist and smashed Ned across the jaw, flattening him to the floor, then pounced on top of him and raised his dirk to strike as another man charged up behind him. For one terrible instant, Malcolm towered over Ned’s prostrate form with his dirk poised on high. The blade glittered ready to impale Ned through the chest.

  The next moment, a crushing blow struck him behind the neck. His broad shoulders collapsed on top of Ned, and his weapons clattered to the floor where they couldn’t do any harm.

  Vic stared in horror at the sight. No other members of the merchantman’s crew came to help her. They must all be fighting the Lewises over on the other ship, or else they were dead. Malcolm alone remained to defend her, and now he lay unconscious on the floor.

  These pirates would kill him. They would take her prisoner and maybe kill her too. They dragged her shrieking and enraged onto the deck. She twisted every which way, but she couldn’t see Boyd anywhere. No matter how much she screamed, no one came to her rescue.

  The men grappled her into the open air, but they didn’t take her near the rail. They set her on her feet near the steering wheel but never slackened their grip for an instant. They forced her to stand up and face her fate.

  She rasped for breath through her parched throat, her disheveled hair hanging in her eyes. She glanced right and left for any sign of a way out of this, but she didn’t see anybody she recognized or even one red coat.

  Highlanders crisscrossed her view in all directions. One of them stood behind the wheel of the merchantman. Over on the Prometheus, more barefoot Highlanders pitched dead Redcoats over the side.

  A tall figure emerged from the companionway. Ned drew himself up to his full height and eyed her up and down. His long hair hung free from the ponytail behind his neck. His kilt swayed around his knees when he walked, and blood stained his arms and his saber.

  Vic shrank before his piercing stare. She’d always thought he looked nice back in modern-day San Francisco. He gave everyone a welcoming smile and always had a kind and encouraging word. No one could think of him as nice now. His shoulders bulged under his shirt, and his kilt gave him a warlike appearance. Then again, maybe that was the blood and sweat clinging to him all over.

  He halted in front of Vic. For some reason, his Scottish accent didn’t surprise her. “Who are ye, and what are ye doing here?”

  She braced
herself against her captor’s grip. “That’s none of your business. You have no right to take me prisoner.”

  “We’re pirates, so we’ll do as we please with ye,” he returned. “Ye’ll be lucky to make it off me ship alive, the way me men have of treating the women who fall into their hands.”

  Vic narrowed her eyes at him. She didn’t come up to his chin, but he didn’t scare her. He might be immortal, but he was still the same Ned Lewis. He couldn’t be kind and considerate and encouraging in 2018 if he was a total douchebag in 1740. She couldn’t bring herself to believe this wasn’t all bluster.

  “You wouldn’t dare harm me,” she snapped. “I demand you release me immediately.”

  “Release ye!” His eyes flew wide. “I cannae release ye when I mean to sink this vessel. Ye have a choice, lassie. Ye can come aboard me ship, or ye can go down with this one. Those are yer choices.”

  Vic stiffened but refused to back down. Being dragged out of her cabin like a sack of potatoes had ruffled her feathers, and now she wanted to peck his eyes out. “If you sink this ship, you’ll be a murderer. You will have killed everyone on it, including that man you just fought down in the cabin.”

  “The Gunn, ye mean?” he asked. “Aye. He’ll go down, and I hope he makes a muckle great meal for the fishes. All the Gunns belong at the bottom of the ocean, and that’s where ye belong if ye dinnae pull yer tongue in and learn to behave.”

  Vic cast one last glimpse around the ship. She didn’t see Boyd anywhere. He must be dead. While she watched, the pirates manhandled the remaining crew on board the merchantman. They shoved them into a huddled mass around the mast to await their fate.

  Ned turned to one of his men. “Go below and chop a hole in the bilge, then clear everyone off.”

  The man started to walk away.

  The sight of this disaster happening before her eyes sparked a chain reaction in Vic. She launched herself forward and seized Ned by the arm to spin him around. “No!”