My Savage Lord (Hidden Identity)

by Colleen French

  Nineteen

  Duncan hit the deck of the Kelsey Marie running. All day he'd had a nagging premonition that something was wrong, but it had never occurred to him that the ship might be overtaken. Pirates, God rot their black souls, what were they doing in these waters? They were still a good two days out of the Caribbean. It wasn't like the lazy bastards to sail so far from their lairs.

  "Jillian! Go below deck!" Duncan ordered.

  Will was leading her by the hand.

  "I don't want to go down there, not without you," she protested over her shoulder.

  "Will!" Duncan caught up to the two of them. "See what munitions this vessel's carrying. Get your pistol and sword and meet me here. I'll see to Jillian." He took his wife by the arm and pushed her toward the ladder. "Hurry, Jilly, this isn't the time to be stubborn."

  She raced down the ladder ahead of him. "Pirates? Will said pirates."

  "Aye."

  "But this is an English vessel. I thought it was the Spanish they attacked."

  "Only if they're English themselves, and not even that precludes an attack on an English merchant vessel." He halted at Beatrice's cabin door and pushed it open without knocking.

  Bea gave a squeak of surprise. "Beatrice." Duncan stepped inside the room. Mrs. Amstead was seated beside the bunk where Beatrice lay prostrate. He waved. "You and Mrs. Amstead follow me. Now, damn it."

  Mrs. Amstead, a tall, thin woman with a sour face, jumped up from her chair. "What is it? What's wrong, my lord?"

  "Jillian?" Beatrice cried. "What's going on? What's happening? Why are all the sailors shouting?"

  "Just do as he says, Bea," Jillian insisted. "I'll explain."

  Duncan came back out of the cabin with Mrs. Amstead and Beatrice directly behind him. Jillian led the way.

  Inside his and Jillian's cabin, Duncan scrambled to locate the two ivory-handled blunderbuss pistols he carried with him. He found them at the bottom of a small leather trunk he kept beneath the bed. He checked to be certain both were loaded. Then he pushed one into Jillian's trembling hands. "Someone comes through this door other than me or Will and you send him to his maker, you understand me?"

  She was trying to be brave, and yet Duncan could tell she was petrified. "You keep both women inside here and keep them quiet." He left extra shot and powder on the crumpled bedcovers where he and Jillian had made love only this morning. "Can you reload?"

  "I—I'm not certain. If I have to, I suppose I can do it." She held the pistol against her chest, pointed at Duncan.

  He reached out with one finger and moved the barrel so that it wasn't aimed directly into his gut. "Good answer, because I haven't the time to show you. When I go, you push the table in front of the door after you've locked it, and then my sea trunk."

  She nodded, following him to the door, the pistol still clutched in her hands.

  Mrs. Amstead was demanding over and over again in her high-pitched voice to know what was going on. Beatrice, huddled on the edge of the bed, was crying softly, trying not to disturb anyone. Duncan ignored them both.

  "It's going to be all right, isn't it?" Jillian pleaded. "You can outrun them?"

  "No. They're sailing in a shallow draft brigantine. We can't outrun them, not with the weight we're carrying."

  "What of firepower? What about the cannons on the decks? You said just the other day that they could be used if someone tried to attack us. You said the captain kept her well-armed."

  "Perhaps." He strapped his sword belt on his hips and slid his cutlass into its sheath. The weight of the weapon added to his confidence. He crammed the other pistol into the waistband of his breeches. From his sea trunk near the door, he retrieved a thin-bladed knife with Mohawk markings across the hilt. He tucked it into the waistband of his breeches, against his back. Lastly, he added to the sword belt his war club, with the blood of past enemies stained in the wood.

  "Oh, Duncan. We're not going to die, are we?" She looked up at him with her cinnamon eyes, her red hair pulled back off her face, curling at her temples.

  "I sure as hell hope not." Then he kissed her hard against the mouth. "Do as I say, Jilly, and you'll be all right."

  He wanted to kiss her one last time, but he didn't. He had become the warrior he despised once again. He could feel it in his bones, coursing hot in his veins. All these years he had not fought, and yet, suddenly, his hackles went up; he tasted the blood of his enemy again as if it were only yesterday he'd fought the Shawnee and Delaware. Warriors did not weaken themselves with emotions or thoughts of women and children. All that mattered was the success of the battle.

  Duncan walked out the cabin door and slammed it behind him. "The chest and table, Jillian," he ordered, barely recognizing his own voice. Then he ran down the narrow passageway and climbed the ladder into the sunlight and the smell of battle.

  The deck of the Kelsey Marie was already swarming with sailors as they made for their battle stations. Although she was not a fighting ship, like all merchant vessels that traveled through the Caribbean waters, she carried a few light guns.

  Duncan had just set foot on the deck when he heard the first sounds of cannon blast from the pirate vessel approaching from the rear. Chain shot hurled through the air, ripping at the Kelsey Marie's rigging. Men shouted, and the bosun's mate's shrill whistle could be heard above the melee.

  Duncan ducked as canvas and line fell from the clear sky overhead.

  The Kelsey Marie responded with the boom of a four-pound cannon volley.

  "Sweet heaven, what are they carrying?" Will shouted, running toward him.

  Duncan squinted in the bright sunlight. The brigantine was approaching fast, keeping its keel at an efficient angle to the wind, its boarding nets already erected. Her intention was clear. From where Duncan stood, he could see at least a dozen six-pound cannon and a host of deadly swivel guns. The miniature cannons were mounted on the elevated poop deck, giving a commanding sweep of the Kelsey Marie's topside. One was even mounted on the crow's nest high about the pirate vessel, giving it an even better vantage point.

  The Kesley Marie's cannons returned fire again and again, belching black smoke, and the air was filled with the stench of burnt black powder.

  The first cry of a dying man sent a shiver down Duncan's spine. No matter what language they spoke, all men sounded the same as they died.

  "What can we do?" Will questioned.

  "Not much, until they board, then slit their gullets." Duncan stepped over a pile of tangled rigging. "See if any of the gunners could use some help."

  "Aye, captain," Will answered, forever keeping his sense of humor.

  Out of impulse and completely unlike himself, Duncan reached out and squeezed Will's arm. "Take care, friend. Don't let them roast your liver."

  Laughing, Will ran off across the deck toward the nearest cannon, shouting he would fetch more lead.

  The pirate vessel was now so close that Duncan could make out her name on the hull. Royal Fortune, she read, in metallic gold lettering.

  Fortune, indeed. If Duncan had his way, the pirate brigantine would sink this day into the depths of the hellish sea.

  A sailor crossed Duncan's path with a bucket of four-pound shot for the cannon. "Let me take that and you go back for more," Duncan hollered above the sound of the cannon-fire.

  The pigtailed mate nodded, pushing the bucket into Duncan's hand and disappearing aft in the smoke.

  Duncan carried the bucket of lead to the nearest cannoneer. "More shot," he told the man who was ramming a powder cartridge down the bore of his cannon.

  "Going to need more cartridges, too." The cannoneer never even looked up at Duncan. In battle, every man knew a wasted moment could mean death.

  "Christ, almighty," Duncan murmured, watching the pirate ship as she passed the Kelsey Marie on her windward side. "She's armed to the teeth. She could take three vessels with that cannon." He and the cannoneer ducked as the deck was sprayed with walnut-size shot from one of the pirate ship's six-pounde
rs.

  "Aye," the cannoneer agreed, returning to his task. "It don't seem like happenstance, does it? The way she's attacking, it don't seem like she wants the Kelsey Marie or her cargo, else she wouldn't be fillin' the hull so full a' lead."

  The cannoneer was right. Something was wrong here, very wrong, but he couldn't put his finger on it. So what do they want? Duncan deliberated, the hair bristling on the back of his neck.

  The Royal Fortune passed the Kelsey Marie by two lengths and shivered her sails.

  Cries went out about the merchant vessel's deck. The pirate vessel intended to collide with her. The captain shouted to turn the Kelsey Marie's helm hard about to avoid the collision, but it was too late.

  The clever captain of the Royal Fortune put her helm hard alee and locked her bow into the merchant vessel's rigging. The ship was so close that Duncan could make out the pirate captain in an azure-blue coat as he called, "Prepare to board!"

  The collision rocked the Kelsey Marie so hard that Duncan had to struggle to stay on his feet. One sailor was hurled from the mainmast to his death on the deck far below. Another went overboard with an agonizing scream as he was crushed between the hulls of the two ships.

  Duncan drew his cutlass as the pirates poured over the boarding rigging onto the deck of the merchant vessel like rats fleeing a shipboard fire. There must have been thirty or forty of them, trained fighters, to the two-dozen sailors. As Duncan swung his cutlass over his shoulder and brought it around, neatly detaching the first pirate's head from his shoulders, he realized this would be a slaughter.

  Only Duncan's Iroquois training kept him from being paralyzed by the thought of Jillian below deck. If Duncan fell, he knew what her fate would be. He only prayed she had the sense to kill herself before the pirates took her captive.

  Duncan stepped over the decapitated body with a sense of detachment and took on his next attacker. The pirate who faced him wore a short white coat over his red-and-white-striped shirt. The white lines of the shirt turned crimson as the tip of Duncan's cutlass sank into the man's heart. As Duncan pulled back his sword from the man's chest, arterial blood gushed forth. Duncan had only to step out of the way to let the pirate fall.

  Even in the confusion of the shouting, the musket-fire, and the men's screams, Duncan could tell the crew of the Kelsey Marie was no match for the blood-thirsty pirates. The pirate captain was shouting for surrender or no quarter. If he called for no quarter, every man and woman would die.

  Behind Duncan, along the port rail, a fire spread, its flames licking the deck. The Kelsey Marie was floundering in the waves, taking water on fast.

  How odd it was, Duncan thought calmly, that the sun could shine down so brilliantly, the water sparkle like jewels of a royal crown while men died, screaming in pain.

  Duncan had just turned to search for another opponent when he heard Will's strangled cry. A pirate had him pinned against the starboard rail, his sword knocked uselessly to the deck. Duncan let his own cutlass fall from his hands and, without thinking, he drew his blunderbuss. The shot was true and clean. The pirate pitched forward under the impact of the lead ball to his head, and Will heaved him out of the way. With a gentlemanly touch to the brim of the cocked hat he still wore, Will retrieved his own sword, plus the pirate's, and dove into the center of the fight again, swinging both weapons over his head.

  As Duncan turned to search out his next victim, he caught the eye of the merchant vessel's captain. Adam Percy, standing overhead on the poop deck, was bleeding heavily from a shoulder wound, his arm dangling uselessly at his side. Duncan read surrender in his eyes. Of course, a Mohawk never surrendered. He died fighting, but the matter wasn't up to Duncan, was it?

  Sure enough, Captain Percy threw up his arms, shouting to the blue-coated pirate captain who sat on his own bowsprit, sipping from a silver flask. "We surrender!" He looked down from the poop deck at the crewmen still standing. "Lay down your arms!" he cried in defeat.

  Duncan pressed his back to the side of the poop deck and slipped around the corner. He wasn't ready to surrender, not yet. He wanted to see what these pirates were about, first. He had to come up with some plan to save Jillian, that or he'd kill her himself. He'd not let these monsters take her.

  From the other side of the elevated poop deck, Duncan could hear everything that was taking place, though he could see very little.

  "You know my orders," the pirate captain called in well-spoken English as he boarded the Kelsey Marie. The fire was spreading, but no one made any attempt to put it out. "Find him and be done with it. Salvage what cargo can be salvaged before she sinks and take what prisoners are willing to join us. Throw the others to the sharks."

  Him, him who? Who were they looking for? Before Duncan could think, he heard a voice shout, "I've got him. I've found the gentleman! I've found the earl, I did!"

  "Kill him."

  Duncan's breath caught in his throat. They were looking for him. This was all his fault. And if they didn't have him, who did they have? The answer, horrifying, came to him too late.

  "Nooo!" Duncan roared, stepping around the corner of the poop deck just in time to hear the musket-shot and see Will Galloway crumple to the deck.

  Jillian stood beside the cabin door, her pistol poised. The sound of the cannon's roar had been terrifying. When the pirate ship had collided with the Kelsey Marie, Jillian had been nearly paralyzed by her stark fear. But now, the silence was even more frightening. There was no cannon fire, no shouting. Only the creaking of the boat and the rushing of water somewhere along the hull.

  Jillian knew that the ship was taking on water; she could feel by the way it listed to one side. Still, the water had not reached her cabin, so she decided to stay put just a little longer. Duncan would come for her, she knew he would . . if he survived.

  "We've got to do something," Mrs. Amstead whined, wringing her hands.

  Beatrice sat on the edge of Jillian's bunk, her knees drawn up. She was no longer crying, only rocking back and forth, hugging herself.

  "Hush, Mrs. Amstead. My husband said stay put, and stay put we will!"

  Just then she heard the sounds of footsteps in the passageway. Men were running and flinging open doors. Wood splintered, and Jillian heard the distinctive sound of water rushing through the passageway.

  "Oh, sweet Mary, Mother of God, we're going to die!" Mrs. Amstead went down on her spindly knees. "I'll never live to see my Rupert again."

  Jillian rolled her eyes. "Nonsense. I'm not ready to give up yet. You shouldn't be either."

  Mrs. Amstead clasped her fingers and began to recite the twenty-third psalm. " 'The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want

  Jillian listened, her ear pressed to the wall as the men approached the end of the passageway where her and Duncan's cabin was located.

  " 'He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake . . . ' "

  First, the doorknob turned. Jillian took a step back.

  "Someone there?" called a deep voice. "Let me in, else I'll come in after you!"

  " 'I fear no evil, for thou art with me,' " Mrs. Amstead moaned.

  "Let me in!" A fist pounded on the door.

  Jillian took a step back at the sound of the splintering wood. The lock had not held more than a few seconds.

  " 'Thou preparest a table before me, in the presence of thine enemies . . . ' "

  "Bea, get something to use as a weapon!" Jillian ordered, her voice amazingly calm. The door opened a crack, and through it, she could see a giant of a man with a red kerchief tied around his head. "Bea!"

  Beatrice leaped up with a stool and stepped around Mrs. Amstead, who was still on her knees in the center of the room.

  Jillian watched as the desk and sea trunk slowly slid across the floor from the weight against the door.

  "Shoot him," Beatrice insisted in her sister's ear. "Shoot the pirate, Jilly!"

  Salt water was rushing in though the crack in the door.

  Jillian shook her head. Not yet. N
ot until he was closer, not until she had him in full view. She only had one shot; she'd make it a good one.

  When the pirate finally broke through the door and the barricades, Jillian gave an involuntary cry. He was wielding a sword covered with blood. In the back of her mind, she heard Mrs. Amstead still reciting.

  " 'Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the

  Jillian outstretched her arms, aiming the pistol. "Back up or I'll shoot!" she ordered.

  Beatrice screamed as the giant sailor swung his cutlass.

  The pistol sounded, and the recoil sent Jillian stumbling backward into her sister.

  Hit in the shoulder, the giant pitched backward, and Beatrice stepped around Jillian to bring the stool crashing onto his head.

  "Petey!" a voice came. Another pirate, a small man with a dark complexion, appeared in the doorway. "Petey!" He looked at Jillian. "You shot my amigo."

  Now what was Jillian to do?

  The small pirate pulled a derringer from the waistband of his canvas breeches. "Get topside and we will see what the capi'tan will do with you. Ahora!" He waved the derringer, going down on one knee to examine his unconscious friend.

  "Get Mrs. Amstead," Jillian told Beatrice. "We're going to drown if we don't get up on the deck."

  "Drown?" Mrs. Amstead blubbered as Beatrice pulled her to her feet. "What difference does it make? Better to drown than to be raped by pirates!"

  Beatrice looked at Jillian, stricken.

  "We're going to be all right," Jillian insisted. "I'll find a way to get us out of this, I swear I will, Bea."

  A strange calmness came over Beatrice's face. "I know you will, sister."

  The small pirate dragged Petey through the rising water to the door and passed him off to another man in the passageway. Then the little man stepped back into the cabin and grabbed Jillian by a hank of hair. He started to drag her toward the doorway. She struggled to keep up in the water that was now knee-deep. Tears came to her eyes as the pirate yanked her hair again.

  "I'm going, you little troll," she shouted. "I'm going!"