My Savage Lord (Hidden Identity)

by Colleen French

  Duncan went down on his knees to cradle Will in his arms. His friend was still breathing, but barely. "Will, Will," Duncan cried. "Hang on!"

  Will shook his head, his eyes closed.

  Blood was gushing from his chest wound. Duncan had seen this type of wound often enough to know that he would bleed to death in a matter of minutes, and that nothing could be done.

  "Will." Duncan shook his shoulders, not wanting to let him go.

  "Too late, friend." Will managed to smile. "They thought I was you," he whispered. Duncan's massive shoulders blocked the view of the other sailors and pirates. "Shhhh." Will lifted a finger to touch his lips, his movement sluggish. "Let them think they got their man. Play the game and save that pretty wife of yours."

  He closed his eyes and Duncan shook him. "Will, Will . . ."

  Slowly, with great effort, his friend opened his eyes once more. "Don't be hard on yourself over this . . ." His breath came ragged and wheezing. "Always friends, you and I. Always . . ."

  "Oh, hell, Will, I'm—" Duncan halted in mid-sentence. He was gone. Will Galloway was dead.

  Duncan leaped up, yanking his war club from his sword belt.

  Someone came up behind him and brought the flat blade of his sword down over his head. Duncan went down on his knees at the impact, seeing stars in his head, but he didn't lose consciousness. He couldn't.

  Two pirates wrestled his weapons from his belt and tied his wrists together before he had enough wits about him to fight them.

  The other sailors from the Kelsey Marie were being tied up as well. Will was right. They had mistaken him for the Earl of Cleaves. Who would have thought such a man would be bared to the chest? It was a logical mistake, one that had cost Will his life and saved Duncan, at least for the time being.

  Fate . . . the Mohawk said all was fate.

  Duncan struggled to remain cognizant. Blood trickled down over both ears. The pirates were gathering the crew members. Jillian. Where was she?

  A sudden scuffle broke out in front of Duncan. A musket-blast sounded and the sailor with the dragon tattoos pitched backward to stare up at the sky, unseeing.

  Duncan squeezed his eyes shut, trying to get control of his senses.

  "Lookie, lookie, there be another one!" one of the pirates declared.

  Duncan opened his eyes to stare down the long barrel of a blunderbuss musket. His gaze met the pirate's. A Mohawk died looking into the face of the enemy.

  "What are you doing?" asked one of the pirates to the one holding the musket. He wore a filthy blue handkerchief tied around his throat. "The cap'ain said only kill the earlie. He wants the others fer crew."

  "Yea, but didn't he say somethin' about a tattoo?"

  Duncan knew he should pray to his God above, but all he could think of was Jillian and their child and what would become of them. Why the Christ hadn't he stayed in England with her? Why had he been so stubborn about returning to Maryland? It suddenly occurred to him in crystal-clear irony that Jillian had been right. He had been running from her.

  "I know that's what 'e said, and that's why I'm killin' 'im."

  The one in the blue scarf rolled his eyes, placing his hand on the barrel. "We already kilt the gentleman and then the one with the dragon tattoos for good measure."

  "Yeah, but I want to be sure. The cap'ain said there was an extra shilling for the man who brought the cur down."

  The man in the blue scarf raised his hand and turned away. "So fine, Freckles, kill 'im. Kill 'im all if ye like."

  Twenty

  The picaroon shoved Jillian so hard on to the deck that she tripped and fell. When she lifted her head, she saw Duncan on his knees, a pistol aimed at his face. Her first instinct was to scream, but something kept her from making a sound.

  "What the hell are you doing?" a commanding voice boomed.

  Stumbling to her feet, Jillian spotted an imposing man with an attractive, chiseled face, in a gentleman's blue coat. His tall, polished boots hit the deck rhythmically as he strode across the deck toward Duncan.

  Duncan's gaze darted in her direction, though he didn't move his head. Jillian understood his thoughts as effortlessly as if he had spoken aloud. Keep your mouth shut, he told her with his green eyes. And I may yet live.

  "Freckles. Respond. I asked what you were doing." The tall man spoke the King's English of a London-born-and-educated gentleman.

  The pirate holding the blunderbuss pistol on Duncan lowered it quickly. He snatched his knit cap off his head. "K—killin' the prisoner, I was, sir. Killin' the earl."

  "I thought that was the Earl of Cleaves." The authority figure gestured with a manicured hand.

  Jillian followed his gaze. Bile rose suddenly in her throat, and for a moment she feared she would be ill. Will . . . Sweet heaven, it was Will, and he was dead. Dead, like so many men lying on the ship's deck, where blood dissipated in the rising water. Jillian reached behind to take her sister's hand, hoping she understood to keep silent. She didn't dare look directly at Duncan.

  "We—I thought 'e might be 'im," the one called Freckles answered hesitantly. " 'E bein' the only one in fancy clothes like yourself, cap'ain."

  "And what of that one?" The captain pointed to the sailor with the dragon tattoos, who was also lying dead on the deck, his throat cut.

  "Why, he—he 'ad tattoos, cap'ain. Chuma said something 'bout tattoos back in port. I jest wanted to be sure I was gettin' our man."

  The gentleman-pirate swore beneath his breath and lifted his hands heavenward, "Why am I cursed with such stupidity around me? Why?" He turned his gaze to Freckles, much as a father addresses a foolish child. "Freckles, if I had a wart on my ass, would you kill me, too?" He flipped his hand. "Just to be certain you got your man?"

  Some of the pirates cackled, but one look from their captain silenced them all.

  Freckles twisted his knit cap in his hand. "N—no, sir, I would never kill you. Sure not."

  "So is that man you're holding at bay the earl or not? Because if he's not, and you kill him, you'll be responsible for replacing him." The pirate spoke slowly, enunciating each word. "I told you, Freckles, as I told you all, that I require more able-bodied men. There will be no needless killing today."

  Freckles looked at Duncan, then back at his captain. He shifted his weight uneasily from one bare foot to the other.

  "Well, Freckles?" The captain removed a silk lace handkerchief from the sleeve of his doublet and pressed it to his forehead. "How shall we determine if this is the man you seek or not?"

  Freckles glanced at one of his companions, obviously at a loss.

  The captain sighed with boredom. "Freckles, does this man look like an English earl?"

  Everyone aboard the ship, including Jillian, stared at Duncan with his wild red beard and tattooed bare chest. His breeches were torn and soiled; his arms, chest, and face splattered with blood. He looked more like a murdering Saracen than an Englishman.

  "Ah, no . . ." Freckles answered after a hard look at Duncan. " 'E don't look like you, sir—you bein' the only gentleman I ever knowed."

  "No. He doesn't, does he? So, now what?"

  Freckles grimaced. Then, after a second, his face lit up. "I cou'd ask 'im, sir."

  The captain pirate swung his fist enthusiastically. "There you have it. Ask him."

  Freckles looked at Duncan, narrowing his beady eyes. "You the earl?"

  That moment stretched into an eternity as Jillian watched Duncan's face. No, she prayed, say no. Will is already dead. Let him help you. Don't let his death be an absolute waste.

  Duncan drew back his head casually and spat on the deck at the pirate's bare feet. "I looks like a bloody earl to ye?" His tone of voice had changed; his pattern of speech, even his eyes, looked different. There was something savage about them, something feral and untamed. Something that frightened even Jillian.

  Freckles looked at his captain. " 'E says 'e ain't the earl."

  The captain chuckled. "So ask him if he's willing to join us.
If not, feed him to the sharks."

  "Aye, I'm with ye," Jillian heard Duncan say.

  The crewmen of the Kelsey Marie left still alive made no attempt to rectify the error, and Jillian exhaled for what seemed the first time in minutes.

  The captain started to turn away, but then on second thought looked back. "Oh, and Freckles?"

  "Cap'ain?"

  "You can go ahead and join them."

  "S—sir?"

  "The sharks. You're too stupid to remain on my crew." The captain snapped his fingers crisply, his voice sharp and cold. "Three Eyes! See to it. Toss Freckles overboard and get these prisoners onto the Royal Fortune." He lifted one boot, shaking the water from it. "I fear this fair ship is about to sink."

  Freckles screamed as two scoundrels lifted him over their heads and carried him across the deck.

  Jillian closed her eyes tightly in anticipation of the splash as the pirates went to heave him overboard into the shark-infested waters.

  "Nooo, nooo!" Freckles wailed.

  Jillian didn't know what made her react. She should have known better than to interfere. Her life and Bea's were at stake. But she couldn't help herself. "Hasn't there been enough killing for one day?" She took a few steps forward toward the captain, her skirts dragging in the rising water.

  "Well, my stars, what was that you said?"

  The pirates hesitated at the ship's side, Freckles' body hanging precariously over the rail.

  Jillian blinked in the glare. She heard the pirate captain's voice suddenly very near her, but the sun was so bright that she couldn't see anything but his silhouette as he approached. She shaded her eyes with her hand, knowing he spoke to her. "I—I said we've had enough killing for one day. I have, at least. Haven't you?"

  The captain held his hand to his heart, dramatically. "A lady? A lady aboard ship?" He lifted his plumed hat from his head and bowed gracefully, presenting a fetching leg. "Heavens, but I do believe I'm in love."

  Jillian stared at the pirate, her eyes filled with hatred.

  "You think my punishment too harsh for my man."

  "Yes," she challenged.

  He thought for a moment, then gave a wave of his hand in the direction of the man about to be thrown overboard. "The lady is right. There's been enough death today. Let him go. I imagine he's learned his lesson."

  The men lowered Freckles to the deck. "Thank ye, sir. Thank ye." Freckles groveled.

  But the captain paid no attention. His eyes were on Jillian. "I am called Captain Indigo Muldune, but you, my beloved, may call me Indigo." He returned his hat to his head. "That or my wretched love would be acceptable."

  Jillian made no response. All she could do was stare straight ahead to where Will Galloway lay slumped in death.

  "Oh, heavens." The pirate captain touched his cheek. "Don't tell me the earl was your husband. Oh, I am so sorry. Truly I am. I hope you won't take it as a personal affront. It was business, madame, merely business."

  Jillian stared at the pirate. "You can't do this. You can't take us against our will."

  He sighed. "I agree. The trouble is, that this ship is sinking, my lady." He offered his arm. "So, please allow me to escort you onto my fair ship. She's called the Royal Fortune. I assure you, you will be made comfortable."

  Jillian looked out on the deck. Indigo was right. Water was rising fast on the deck, and the Kelsey Marie was listing hard. The merchant ship wouldn't remain afloat much longer, thanks to the pirates' cannonballs.

  Jillian scanned the deck, trying not to be obvious. She couldn't see Duncan now. He'd been led away with the other crewmen, bound hand and foot. She hesitated in indecision. What did she do now?

  Play along, of course, just as Duncan had. Really, she had no other choice.

  Jillian refused the captain's arm, lifting her chin arrogantly.—"My name is Jillian, Jillian Roderick. You may show me the way to your ship, sir, but I shall require whatever belongings are left of mine below deck, as shall my traveling companions, my sister and Mrs. Amstead."

  For the first time, Indigo glanced at the two women behind Jillian. "Ladies." He dismissed them immediately with a wayward glance, snapping his fingers. "Portence," he called to the small man who had dragged Jillian from below deck. "Go back down and see what you can salvage of the ladies' belongings."

  "But, cap'ain! She nearly killed Petey, the redhead did."

  Indigo broke into a handsome smile, his clear blue eyes sparkling with sincerity. "Oh, dear, and a spine, too." He touched his chest. "Ods fish, but I fear I'm madly in love with you already, madame." He glanced at the pirate, sharply. "Portence?"

  "But, cap'ain. She's already floodin' below deck."

  He sighed. "Then I suggest you hurry and fetch the ladies' possessions." Then he turned to escort the women across the deck to his ship. "Because this charming lady is going to be my wife."

  For two days, Jillian, Beatrice, and Mrs. Amstead remained locked in the captain's quarters aboard the pirate ship the Royal Fortune. Several times each day, food and water was brought; a half-grown boy even cleaned the cabin and removed the chamber pot. The three women were made comfortable, just as promised, yet remained completely isolated from whatever was taking place beyond the tiny room.

  Jillian saw no sign of the pirate captain, Indigo, or any of his crew. She had no idea what had happened to Duncan and the others. She assumed they remained on board; the only other possibility was beyond consideration.

  When Jillian attempted to bribe the cabin boy for information with coins from inside the hem of her petticoat, he refused her and the payment. All he would say was that no amount of gold was worth kissing the bottom of the sea.

  Mid-morning on the third day, Jillian heard sounds above deck. There was a great deal of activity: pounding feet, the shrill call of the bosun's pipe, a voice shouting orders. Jillian was trying to ascertain what was happening, but Mrs. Amstead's droning voice made it difficult.

  "Hush, Mrs. Amstead, please," she snapped crossly. For more than two days she had listened to the woman's fervored prayers and lengthy Biblical recitations, and she was sorely on edge. It wasn't that Jillian didn't believe in the power of prayer, only that she also believed in doing something for one's self besides wailing about the predicament. "Listen. Something's happening. Do you hear them racing about? The boat seems to be altering its course."

  Beatrice rose from the bunk where she had remained curled on her side for most of the journey. "What is it. Jilly?" she asked excitedly. "Have we made a port, do you think?"

  Jillian was greatly relieved by how calm her sister had managed to remain throughout their ordeal. Accepting her plight and trying to make the best of it, she had been far easier to deal with than Mrs. Amstead. She had even remarked several times that Indigo couldn't be all bad. She rationalized that he had let them live, hadn't he? It was odd how Beatrice was that way. Despite her weak nature on some points, when a crisis arose, she was able to meet it head-on with surprising strength.

  "Perhaps someone will help us! Perhaps, we can escape," Bea offered with enthusiasm.

  Jillian walked to the cabin door, locked from the outside. She heard sailors go by in the passageway and could have sworn she heard the pirate captain's voice. She wiped her perspiring forehead with the back of her hand.

  It had grown hotter and more humid in the last two days as they'd approached the Caribbean Islands. It was so warm that both she and her sister had shed their petticoats and stockings. Now they walked barefoot about the cabin unencumbered by as little clothing as possible. From their belongings saved from the Kelsey Marie they had changed into their lightest cotton gowns and put their hair up on their heads.

  Mrs. Amstead, on the other hand, refused to remove any of her proper attire. She said it was inappropriate; so consequently, she spent most of her days seated on a stool, sweltering as she prayed.

  "I think you're right, Bea." Jillian listened to the movement beyond the locked door. "I think we've hit port. All she could think of was Du
ncan. Was he all right? She had missed him so much these last few days, sleeping alone without his arms to comfort her, that she refused to even consider the possibility of life without him.

  Jillian heard footsteps approach their cabin, then the sound of the door being unlocked. She took a step back just as it swung open and Indigo appeared, dressed in pale-blue breeches, a loose white coat, and a wide-brimmed straw hat. He was dressed as crisply as if her were about to go bowling on a London Town lawn.

  "Good morning, ladies." He bowed. "I hope you've been made quite comfortable." His gaze was fixed on Jillian. "I apologize for not seeing to your needs myself; but honestly, I thought you could use a little time to adjust. I understand that this could be difficult for you." He smiled a handsome smile, opening his arms wide. "So, there you have it."

  Jillian refused to acknowledge his charm. "Where are we? Where have you taken us?"

  "Why, dearest, we've arrived home. Port Royal, Jamaica, home of the sweetest rum and the most magnificent scenery you have ever laid eyes upon. I just know you're going to like it here."

  He spoke as if she were to remain here forever. Had he been serious when he'd told the picaroon that he intended to make her his wife? God's teeth, she thought, I can only handle one problem at a time. She turned her sharp gaze on Indigo. "What's happened to the crew members?" She went on without hesitation, not wanting him to become suspicious. "As the earl's widow, I'm responsible for their plight. I'm simply interested to know if they've survived with the same care the ladies and I have."

  "I commend you for concern for the underlings. If we don't watch after them, who will?" He smiled, flicking a bit of lint from his pressed coat. "For your information, madame, the prisoners will be off-loaded shortly and dispersed where needed. I have a dozen ships, you know."

  Jillian arched an eyebrow. "A dozen pirate ships? Heaven's sir, you have become quite profitable at the sake of others."

  He chuckled. "Ah, Jillian—I may call you Jillian, may I not, Mrs. Roderick?—considering the circumstances, of course."

  She made an exaggerated smile. "Of course."

  "Jillian, dear, I do appreciate your sense of humor, though I must correct your term, pirate."