It wasn’t even a question in Torrie’s mind, her answer immediate. “I do. Did he tell Logan where he’s going? He refused to tell me.”
“He did. He’s most likely going to the Port of Bilbao.”
“That is in Spain?” Torrie’s gaze went out to the end of the main drive just in case a miracle occurred and Roe had reversed course.
He didn’t appear.
“Yes, he plans on taking the issue into Bockton’s territory,” Sienna said. “Shall I go convince my husband that we are about to take a journey south?”
“Please—yes.” She looked to Sienna. “The duke won’t fight it?”
Sienna turned fully to Torrie as she shook her head. “Robby is his brother—our family—so no, he won’t fight it. He’ll welcome it, as he’s looking for a reason to unbridle himself, whether Robby wants his help or not.”
Torrie’s eyes closed as she nodded to herself. “I just need him safe.”
Sienna grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “I know. Me too. Logan too.”
Her eyes opened and her look pinned Sienna. “And I need to send a message on ahead of us. I think we need a Wolf Duke and several of the largest Scots you’ll ever meet on our side.”
A wide smile took over Sienna’s face. “You mean Sloane’s husband?”
Torrie blinked hard. “Yes—but what do you know of them?”
“Oh that.” A mischievous smile lined her lips as she tugged Torrie back into the room. “I befriended your cousin a few years ago at the behest of Robby.”
“Roe asked you to become her friend?”
She shrugged. “Sloane married the Wolf Duke and he was worried. The man’s reputation does precede him. Robby just wanted to make sure Sloane was well cared for.” Sienna swished her fingers in the air. “But there was nothing at all to worry about on that account.”
“You probably know that I lived with them for a year after I left Vinehill?”
Sienna stopped in the middle of the room, releasing Torrie’s hand as she turned to her. “I do—and I apologize—I know far too much of your life. But it has all been at Robby’s request and I have never been able to deny him. My title and my gender let me get far closer to your cousin than he ever could have.”
“Reiner is an admirable husband to Sloane—and he’s never been anything but kind with me,” Torrie said. “I have never seen a man adore his wife and his niece and their children as much as he does.”
Sienna nodded. “Exactly what I gathered, and as a bonus, Sloane and I have developed a remarkable friendship ever since.”
“Though Sloane doesn’t know it was at the guidance of Roe?”
“Oh, heavens no.” Sienna waved her fingers in the air. “Above all, I must respect Robby’s request of anonymity in it all—except, of course, when it came to what I had to tell you earlier today. He is my family and his guilt over not doing anything at that fire has eaten him to the core. He’s done it for all of you, you realize? You and Sloane and Lachlan. Watched over you where and when he could. But he has always been most concerned for you.”
“I gathered that. I’m apparently the first one that he checks in on when he gets into port.”
“Which should tell you volumes.” A deep breath and Sienna clasped her hands together in front of her. “Are you ready to go after him?”
Torrie nodded, a steel glint in her eyes. “I am.”
{ Chapter 19 }
Roe leaned back against the splintered wood of the half-collapsed building a lane away from the sea lapping against a dike in the Port of Bilbao.
Even in the dark, the spot gave him a perfect vantage point. The water’s edge. The two ships resting alongside opposite piers, their decks silent and dark. The large warehouse that sat along the waterfront. The roadway that had seen wagon after wagon pull up aside the building, men unloading goods into the bowels of the dimly lit structure. Enough wagons that it was clear this was Bockton’s latest shipment, but the deliveries had been spaced out enough in frequency so as to not arouse suspicions.
The opening of the warehouse was situated on the lane leading directly out to the pier in front of him, and once the Minerva docked, the crew would have the ship loaded in no time.
Bockton’s men usually hauled the cargo onto the Minerva in the dead of night, so quick, in and out of port, it was impossible to catch Bockton in the act—at least on English soil.
Here in Spain, Bockton was less wary, for he owned so much of the port. And that was exactly how Roe wanted him. Unsuspecting.
It wasn’t as if Roe and his men could even do anything about the ship or goods in this Spanish port. They were deep in Bockton territory and Roe would find no allies here. Bockton was outside of the reach of the English crown.
Once he’d verified that the Minerva was heading back to Spain for its latest shipment, Roe had rendezvoused with his crew and set his sails south. That they’d dared to enter into Spanish waters had been risky, but it was the best chance they would have to track Bockton’s latest shipment into English waters and then take the ship down for good.
That, or if Bockton showed, Roe was more than ready to kill the bastard here, on Spanish soil—never mind the consequences.
His fingers ran through his hair and he looked from corner to corner along the buildings that surrounded the warehouse. In the alcoves, doorways, or sitting along the street as beggars and drunks, his crew, all at attention, waiting just as patiently as he.
His thoughts wandered to Torrie, wandered as they were always determined to do—no matter how he tried to rein them in.
A month since he’d left her. Thirty-three days. Hours, minutes, seconds within each of those days and all he could think of was her.
All he was bound to think of until she was safe from Bockton’s clutches.
His eyes glazed over, watching what was alive in his memory instead of the dark street in front of him.
Her dark hair, woven into a long braid that always insisted on falling over her left shoulder. Her golden green eyes, inevitably watching him. Her body, lithe and strong under him.
He sucked in a breath, his gaze snapping into focus and going to the muck of the waterfront street below his feet. He shook his head.
Now was not the time to let those thoughts stray into his head—thoughts of her happy. Of the smile he’d put on her face. If he had any hope of staying alert and ready, he needed to think of her in the last moments.
Her face crumpled in agony. Her eyes accusing, all hope in them lost.
She’d thought she’d found someone in him—her match in every way—and to learn she’d been so very wrong had destroyed her.
Destroyed her in a way that had shredded his heart to ribbons, leaving them fluttering, lost in the cold emptiness beneath his ribcage.
Not that he regretted anything he had said to her. He’d had to say it. Had to get her to believe.
I was always going to leave you.
I can’t love you.
His lips pulled inward, his teeth clamping down on the inner skin of his mouth, drawing blood.
No.
He couldn’t regret it.
The words had been needed to keep her safe. And that was the most important thing of all. More important than her heart. More important than his soul.
She needed to be safe.
And if he had to leave her destroyed—without any hope for the future—then he had to come to hard fought reconciliation with it. It would have been far worse if he’d left her with the thought that she’d just lost the one person in this world that loved exactly who she was. That never wanted to leave her side. That fit with her.
Fit with her so perfectly, there was no question as to how they belonged together.
There wasn’t any question on that score in his mind.
Another wagon rolled into position in front of the wide, tall doors on the long side of the warehouse facing the lane that led to the dock. The left door slid open and a slew of men came out, moving in quick order the barrels stacke
d on the back of the wagon under tarps into the building.
Crates, barrels—all of it stacked long and high in the warehouse, from what Roe could see of the storage room from his angle. A full ship’s worth of smuggled goods. Bockton would be moving it soon.
A set of four horses pulling a black coach thundered down the street from the opposite direction of the wagon. The horses so wild and fast, Roe took a step backward into the shadows of the alleyway behind him.
The coach flew past him and the driver yanked up on the reins, pulling the horses to a stop.
His gut tightening, Roe stepped out of the shadows, his look trained on the coach. The springs of it squeaked and he could see the steps being pulled down by the footman.
The coach leaned to the far side. One step down, two and the man set his black boots on the ground.
His fists clenching and unclenching, Roe watched the feet from under the carriage. Back and forth, turning, turning again. Walking forward past the horses.
The man’s head bobbed just past the flank of the front right horse.
Bockton.
Here.
The Minerva wasn’t docked yet and Roe had thought they’d have another day before the bastard showed up. He was wrong.
But Bockton was here. This was his chance.
They were going in, whether they were ready or not.
He didn’t know about his men, but Roe was ready. More than ready. Desperate, even, to smash Bockton’s head against a brick wall.
But first he had to get to him.
Bockton’s pace brisk, he walked into the warehouse, disappearing into the bowels of the storage building.
Roe whistled, low, almost as though it was a moan of the wind.
The sound repeated, again and again along the streets surrounding him.
All were ready.
Pulling the cutlass from the leather scabbard slung about his waist, Roe stepped out from the shadows of the street, advancing on the warehouse.
The men unloading the wagon saw him first and they turned and ran into the building behind them, shouting, screaming.
It took less than a minute for his crew to assemble behind Roe, staring down the men piling out of the warehouse, blades flashing, pistols being loaded as they ran.
He didn’t wait, didn’t give them a moment. The crew of the Minerva outnumbered his men two to one, so he wasn’t about to offer them a gentlemanly opportunity to collect themselves.
This was about vengeance, about survival, and that meant striking fast, brutally hard.
He charged forth, his cutlass high, rage in the growl tearing from his chest.
The boots of the men thundering through the slop of the street alongside him pushed him forward, unleashing all the fury that had stewed in him since Captain Folback had been killed. All the rage that had stewed since Bockton had dared to put a price on Torrie’s head.
Roe swung at the first man he met, cutting him down before the bastard could even get his sword up.
Next one. And the next one. And the next one.
No matter how many it took, he was getting to Bockton, one way or another. If he had to leave a trail of blood, so be it.
Minutes passed—minutes of swinging his sword, punching, kicking and slicing his dagger—minutes that felt like hours, days.
His back bumped into the side of Des.
“Hey, Cap.” Des blocked a blow of steel with his cutlass.
“Des.” Roe spun around him and swung at the man charging at Des from the side.
Des lifted his foot and kicked off the man attacking him from the front. “We’re not doing so well, Cap.”
The quiet tone of Des’s words cut through the battle to Roe’s ears. He looked around. Man after man of his was down on the ground, desperate to avoid death. And there was still a row of Minerva men standing in front of the sliding doors.
“Fuck.” They were losing again. Losing and it was all his fault. Again.
“Aye.” Des lunged with a swing, his blade connecting with the stomach of the man in front of him. Des looked at him. “You okay, Cap?”
His jaw setting hard, Roe nodded.
“What are you thinking?” Des jumped to the side to avoid the dagger swinging at his ear.
“I’m thinking I will do what needs to be done.”
“Roe, what’s that mean?” Des stilled, looking at him square, be damned the swords coming at his body.
There was only one way left to save this.
He looked at Des. “Bockton wants me—let him have me and then you need to cut the rest of the crew off. Retreat.”
“We’re not about to do that, Cap.”
“Do it.” His glare centered on the line of men protecting the warehouse opening, Roe stepped away from Des, not sure if his first mate would follow his order or not. Probably not.
He shoved his way through the bodies in full battle, reaching the line of the Minerva crew still not in the fray.
Ignoring the grunts and screams of the battle behind him, Roe tossed his cutlass down to the ground in front of them, a sneer on his face as he looked at the two brutes in the center blocking his path. “Bockton wants me. I’m the captain of the Firehawk.”
The one on the left chuckled, stepping forward and punching Roe square in the jaw. “Should’ve fought, ye ass.”
“Probably,” Roe spit the words out with the blood quickly collecting in his mouth.
The brute’s friend stepped up, punching the other side of Roe’s face. Before he could reel back, they both grabbed one of his arms, dragging him forward toward the warehouse. They stopped before the door, the brute on his left reaching for his cutlass.
Roe smiled at him.
Just as the steel hilt of the cutlass came smashing at his face, a roar came from the dock that led to the lane in front of the warehouse.
A band of men, thirty deep, appearing from the dark shadow of the pier, rushing into the melee.
At the front of them, Logan. The Wolf Duke. And what looked to be ten of the fiercest Scotsmen he’d ever laid eyes on.
All of them charging.
All of them out for blood.
He smiled to himself, though his jaw had just been dislodged from his skull.
His crew was going to be just fine.
He didn’t fight the two brutes as they dragged him into the building and slid closed the giant doors of the warehouse behind them. He didn’t fight because after this, all would be done with Bockton, one way or another.
Torrie was safe.
That, he’d done well.
~~~
She knew she was supposed to be below deck, supposed to stay down there no matter what.
She’d promised it.
But when she heard the thundering of the boots on the wooden pier the ship was docked at—Logan and Reiner with Rory and the rest of the Scotsmen her cousin had sent with them, she’d squirmed out of Sienna’s hold and rushed onto the main deck.
The men charged down the dock in a savage wave of muscle and violence. An impenetrable force.
Torrie’s heart stilled in her chest.
That they would do this for Roe. For her.
It humbled her to her very depths.
She could tell from her vantage point Roe’s crew was already in the thick of the battle as the light from inside the warehouse spilled out into the lane where bodies slammed into each other, blades flashing high.
Roe. She spotted him in the melee. Watched him force his way forward through the swinging bodies and stop in front of a row of brutes. Throw down his sword.
No. No. No.
What was he doing?
What was he doing?
A scream stuck in her throat, her eyes stayed frozen on Roe as a fist connected with his jaw.
Fight back.
He did nothing.
Another fist to his jaw.
He didn’t twitch.
What the hell was he doing?
In the next instant, two of the brutes clamped onto him, one of
them bringing the hilt of his sword down onto Roe’s temple.
She winced, bile hitting her throat.
Fight. Fight, dammit.
Why wasn’t he fighting?
They dragged him into the building, sliding the door of the warehouse closed behind them, sending the battle on the street into shadows.
It didn’t make sense, the battle was outside. It didn’t make sense. Not unless…unless…
Bockton.
He was inside, and he wanted Roe. He wanted whatever that blasted box was that Roe refused to tell her about—that stupid box that was worth torturing and killing women for.
No.
Her feet flew into motion, her ears cutting off the screaming of Sienna behind her—grabbing her, trying to keep her from running off the deck.
Torrie twisted her arm, breaking free from Sienna’s hold on her wrist. Five strides to the plank that bridged from their ship onto the pier, her arms outstretched as she ran down it, and her boots thudded onto the rough timbers of the dock.
Fast, faster. She needed to be faster.
The battle expanded with Logan and Reiner’s men, pushing to fully encapsulate the lane that led to the dock on the left side of the building. Damn. There was no way she could make it through the melee to get to the sliding door—or to the street side of the warehouse.
Her head whipped to the building Roe had been dragged into. One thin shelf of stone lined the foundation of the building along the water’s edge. A window was ten steps in. Not too high, she could get into the building through the window as long as she could balance on the ledge and not fall into the water.
She darted to the corner of the building, praying none of the men saw her. The ledge was far skinnier than it had looked. Half the length of her foot at its widest spot—a generous assessment.
Jamming her body against the warehouse, she glanced at the battle in front of her. She couldn’t tell one side from the other—only hear the grunts and screams, only see the blades flashing under the scant light of the street lanterns and light from the interiors of the surrounding buildings.
A dagger flew through the air, imbedding into a wood plank an inch from her left pinky. A man followed it, slamming into the building and falling into the muck of the street just to the left of her feet. Too close.
The Steel Rogue: A Valor of Vinehill Novel Page 19