When a Rogue Falls

by Caroline Linden

  Jane’s muscles relaxed beneath Chloe’s grip, and Chloe breathed a sigh of relief for her friend, even though she had no qualms about stepping into the waves to wade to shore.

  Fiske’s eyes twinkled merrily as he and Kelly made their way to the gunwale and stepped over the side into the water.

  Chloe squeezed Jane’s hands. “Take Jane first,” she said.

  Jane frowned, her eyes sparking. “’Twouldn’t be right. I am just a maid, nothing more. Ye are a lady and should be treated as such.”

  Madden, standing in the cold water, spat out another brown stream of tobacco. “Make quick work of it then so we can secure the boat.”

  Fiske grinned, jovial lines creasing his cheeks and softening his sea-weathered skin. “A quick jaunt to shore it will be, miss.”

  Far from home, restless, weary, and eager to know how events unfolded between the two men she loved and that disgraceful Carnage, peerage had no place here. She squeezed Jane’s hands again to reassure her. “I insist. Go first, Jane.” She quickly turned her friend to face Fiske.

  “If ye are sure, m’lady.” At Chloe’s nod, Jane wrapped one arm around Fiske’s neck while gripping Otranto securely with the other. “Oh!” she gasped as Fiske began to move, carrying her to shore and setting her down beside him.

  Fiske couldn’t have been much older than ten and eight, but he braced Jane against his chest like a much older man, pivoting toward shore like she weighed not a stone. His physical ability amazed Chloe as his legs sloshed in the surf and his booted footsteps crunched against tiny shingles on the beach when he carried her maid past a bearded border of sea ivory onto dry land.

  Confident Jane was in good hands, Chloe raised her gaze to the cliffs barring her view of the battle at sea.

  Ftoom! Ftoom!

  Another round of gunfire sounded beyond the rocks, making her fear the aged stone would crumble upon them.

  She covered her ears. “When will those cannons stop firing?”

  Holy charity, how long before she saw Pierce and Markwick again?

  There was no help to be had for it. She couldn’t wait. Desperate to climb the clifftop and see what was happening herself, she lifted her pelisse to her hips, slipped her leg over the gunwale, and climbed out of the boat. She shivered as the cold water crept over her boots and soaked the legs of her breeches, then worked her way to the beach.

  Fiske saw her and reached out a hand to guide her to shore. “Ye were supposed to wait for me, m’lady.”

  “And make you wade back out into that miserable surf when I could do it myself? No, Fiske. I thank you, but as you can see, I’m not the weak-willed female you pirates think I am.” She lowered her pelisse, moisture weighting it down as she turned to Jane. “Here I am. Safe and sound on all accounts. You see? That wasn’t all bad.”

  Perilous cliffs lined with white, chalky limestone rose above their heads, its crusty stone covered in patches of a dried oily substance and capped by thatches of upper greensand and interlacing patches of sea campions. The immense size of the cliffs increased her sense of isolation on the small, isolated beach.

  From her vantage point, she could neither see where Markwick had sailed to rescue Pierce nor comprehend what was taking place among the three ships. And not knowing scared her more than reality, making her want to scratch her way up the face of the cliffs to gain a better view and erase the horrors conceived in her own mind.

  It is the unknown slicing through the soul that renders fiction greater than fact.

  Owens tramped up the beach, his crunching footsteps alerting her that they were no longer alone.

  “It will be getting dark soon.” He pointed to an opening of a nearby cave and addressed his men. “Stow the boat there. I don’t want anyone to find it easily if they come looking.”

  “Aye, sir,” the men said collectively, moving to do as their boatswain had ordered.

  Owens settled his gaze on Chloe. “We’ll want to be at the Marauder’s Roost before it’s too dark to see the trail. These cliffs can be treacherous to navigate at night.”

  “Is it treacherous where we are going regardless?” Without being able to see where the trail led, without knowing how high the cliffs rose beside it, there was no way for Chloe to tell how far she and Jane would have to travel and under what conditions. She and Jane were already wet and uncomfortable. “I ask for Jane’s sake.”

  Owens inspected Jane. “Why? Did you injure your foot during that hullabaloo on the boat?”

  “No.” Jane blushed, making Chloe bristle with guilt. If she hadn’t insisted Jane participate in her mutiny aboard the cutter, the men wouldn’t have been given a reason to tease her. “I am afraid of ’eights.

  “Is that all?” Owens cackled as if Jane’s fears warranted no concern. “Then let us be off.”

  “Don’t mind them,” Chloe said, grabbing Jane’s hand. “We will do this together.”

  Fiske’s and Kelly’s doubtful expressions were laughable at best, shameful.

  Chloe didn’t care for these men’s opinions. She did, however, care about Jane. And when Jane had insisted on accompanying her, she’d inadvertently become Chloe’s responsibility. Considering Jane’s discomfort was the least she could do to begin to repay Jane for her loyalty and friendship.

  She forced a smile and looked in the direction they were to go. Yellow gorse and kidney vetch bordered an almost imperceptible path at the edge of the shoreline. The trail led up a slope lined with pink thrift, then disappeared behind a large rocky crevice. She glanced up at the stone walls rising on all sides but seaward. How far could they push Jane before she broke?

  Chloe cut her eyes at Fiske and Kelly as the men began to argue.

  “Hold your tongues,” Owens snapped. “We have our orders.”

  “We are not the Regent’s men, Owens,” Fiske said. “As of now, we’re free.”

  “You swore to uphold the Regent’s orders. Do you see anyone else willing to pay us? Captain Teague is dead.”

  Chloe couldn’t contain her anger. “Yes, your captain is gone, and we need you now. Must you be reminded that you would be dead, too, if not for the Regent?”

  “No,” Fiske said, scratching his stubbled jaw.

  Owens took Fiske and Kelly by the arms and angled them toward the trail. “Lead the way,” he ordered.

  “But Madden and Jenkins have been here afore. Not us.”

  Madden grumbled. “Just follow the trail, Fiske. It be easy enough.”

  Jane inched closer to Chloe, her blue eyes wide.

  Chloe patted Jane’s hand. “Don’t be afraid. Markwick wouldn’t have sent us here unless he thought it was safe. Let’s do as they ask.”

  Owens, who was walking directly in front of Chloe and Jane, nudged Fiske and Kelly to begin. Madden and Jenkins trailed behind.

  “Somethin’ . . .” Jane scrunched her nose. “Doesn’t seem right. I can’t explain it, m’lady, but . . .”

  Chloe nodded, her heart going pitter-patter twice as fast as their footsteps. “I feel it, too,” she admitted. “Oh, Jane . . . You’ve been forced to weather a foolhardy ordeal of my own making. How entirely churlish I’ve been. Will you ever forgive me?”

  “I didn’t give ye a choice. Remember?” Jane’s insistence that she wasn’t to blame did nothing to calm Chloe’s heart. “And our journey ’asn’t been a complete failure. Ye did find ’im.”

  Yes. She had found him. And if anyone had told her weeks ago that the man she adored and the pirate she’d idolized for the past two years were one and the same, she would have never believed them. But how was that possible? How had she stepped into a quagmire of deceit sure to endanger their very lives as Isabella and Matilda had?

  I pray I do not end up like Matilda . . .

  Chloe furrowed her brow. She hadn’t risked everything to find Markwick only to lose him or Jane forever. “Perhaps you should have reported my plan to my parents instead of joining me on my adventure. Maybe then you’d be home, warm, safe, and snug in your b
ed.”

  But where would she have been without Jane?

  “I prefer keepin’ an eye on ye, m’lady.”

  God help her, she hoped Jane would not suffer for it . . .

  In the perfectly formed foothold, their leather boots held fast to dry land as they left behind the safety they’d found on the sand for shakier, even more unsettling ground on the rocky cliffs above.

  Jane clung to Chloe as if her very life depended on it.

  “Be strong, Jane,” she said, reassuring herself more than her young maid. “I have faith in these men. Let us not forget we have been delivered safely here thus far, yes?”

  But for how long?

  “Of course.” Jane frowned, clutching Otranto close to her breast. “Where exactly is here?”

  Chloe shook her head. “I cannot say. I do not know how far we’ll have to travel to the Marauder’s Roost, but I know we will arrive there together.”

  She put one foot in front of the other and followed wherever these men led her, believing Markwick had chosen this haven as the safest place for them to be while the battle between the ships raged for a reason. It wouldn’t do to give in to her misgivings, even when something inside her screamed at her to run back to the sea and swim as far away from this place as she could. Putting one’s fears into words gave debilitating phobias more power over one’s emotions.

  The waves below them chased the sand, and seagulls flew overhead while skylarks chirped out an unseen greeting. As Chloe and Jane crunched along the path, their coats snagged on various plants and shrubbery, forcing an occasional rip of fabric.

  Behind them, Madden and Jenkins chuckled, then whispered, the process repeating the longer they walked.

  “’Spect not to be here long, I don’t want . . .”

  She could only hear snippets of their conversation. What were they talking about?

  “. . . sweeter than honey, I wouldn’t complain.”

  “I’m not, but I don’t like . . .”

  “Good.” Madden elbowed Jenkins in the ribs when he noticed Chloe looking over her shoulder. “Eavesdropping, m’lady?”

  Owens stopped suddenly, and Chloe gasped as she stumbled right into his back.

  Jane came to her rescue, lifting her elbow to keep her from skinning her knees.

  “Thank you, Jane.” The last thing Chloe needed was an injury. “What is it?” she then asked Owens. “Have we arrived at the inn?”

  Owens nodded to his men, enunciating his words into the eerie quiet. “The guns have been quiet a long time.”

  A ceasefire! She looked to Owens, the urge to put out to sea overwhelming her even stronger than before. “I order you to turn around and go back to the boat.”

  “No.”

  “No?” Chloe lifted her nose, dismissing the boatswain. “It is insanity to go to the inn when our people”—for she already thought of Markwick’s crew as her own—“need our help.”

  “I have my orders, my lady. I gave my word to protect you, and I will keep it, whether or not you allow it. The cap’n believes I’ve taken you to the Marauder’s Roost, and that’s what I aim to do.”

  Defeated for the moment, Chloe frowned. Owens’s loyalty was commendable, but he couldn’t know her pain, the way her stomach churned inside her. She ached to hold Markwick in her arms, to feel his lips on hers, to be taken to his bed and shown the world. She also wanted to be held in her brother’s arms, sheltered as she’d been as a child, and fought back the onset of tears, fearing the worst.

  Carnage had almost succeeded in ending her pursuit of Markwick. Had he taken the life of the men she loved, too?

  Chapter 11

  REPORTS have spread throughout CORNWALL and DEVON with news that more SHIPS have been driven to DISASTROUS ends. The MOHEGAN has been LOST at SEA. FIFTY are feared dead. Who will be next? Can the BLACK REGENT save us?

  ~ Trewman’s Exeter Flying Post, 6 August 1809

  A furious hail of lead erupted around the Fury as she sailed into the line of fire. Arching geysers of seawater from narrow misses had showered her deck, dousing men and making it slick underfoot as she sailed between the two battling ships in the Windraker’s defense.

  The Viper’s mainmast and foremast teetered dangerously over the water in a tangled mass of rope, canvas, and fragmented spar. More importantly, the Fury’s twenty-four pounders had rendered Carnage’s starboard gundeck ineffective, leaving his ship unable to protect itself.

  “Prepare to board!” Markwick shouted as the Fury reached the Viper.

  Within moments, his men would throw boarding hooks across the divide, bridging the gap between the two ships.

  He’d effectively rallied his men in Walsingham’s defense, men who now stood shoulder to shoulder with him, holding flintlock pistols, daggers, cutlasses, and boarding axes, waiting for the moment to strike. The Fury’s short-range carronades protested on their trucks as his crew sponged, loaded, and wadded the muzzles, doing everything he imagined was being done belowdecks but on a grander scale. Snipers who were positioned in the ratlines aimed their muzzles at the Viper’s deck, ready to fire on the enemy.

  Markwick wasn’t taking any chances after what he’d seen these pirates do. Carnage had wrecked the Mohegan, hunted down the Fury like a fox, and attacked Walsingham’s preventative ship with no consideration for lives lost. If Carnage was desperate enough to ignore the threat of roving revenue officers or customs officials in Porthoustock and Coverack, there was no telling what the pirate would do.

  The Fury had to be ready for anything. Time was running out, and Markwick was eager to rescue his friend and hasten a reunion with Chloe.

  Nearby, her brother’s ship was taking on water and was now incapable of protecting itself. Walsingham stood to lose more than his ship if Markwick wasn’t successful—his crew, possibly even his own life.

  For Chloe’s sake—for Walsingham’s sake—he couldn’t allow that to happen.

  “Look lively!” Markwick called to his men. “I want every one of these verminous scum to pay for what they’ve done.”

  Mere minutes had yet to pass before they’d be able to mount their attack. He rubbed his hand over the corded muscles in his neck, sneaking glances at the Viper’s deck, inspecting it for signs of a trap.

  His heart pounded as he withdrew his sword. The pinging steel sang with delight, louder in his ears than the excited voices of his men, who appeared to be mentally preparing themselves for battle, standing nearby. “Steady, men, steady!”

  The two hulls collided, a hollow thump resounding at the contact.

  “Now!” He grabbed a rope and swung over the chasm between the two ships. Once across, a stream of his men joined him as he braced himself on the opposing ship’s rail before hopping to the deck and immediately bracing for an attack of arching steel against the Viper’s combative crew.

  Men darted out of hiding places on the enemy’s deck, shouting in a collective frenzy. Gunfire erupted from the Fury’s ratlines, cutting men down before him as he moved across the deck. He parried and feinted, dodging attacks and hacking his way toward the companionway.

  “Where’s your captain?” Markwick demanded, picking up a wounded pirate by the collar.

  “G-Gone,” the man gurgled. “H-Home to . . . r-roost.” The man seized, blood oozing from his mouth. His head rolled back until sightless eyes glared at the sky.

  Markwick laid the man on the deck. Home to roost? That meant Carnage’s home was nearby.

  Hell’s fury! No, it couldn’t be . . . Carnage couldn’t be at the Marauder’s Roost.

  Markwick’s blood ran cold, and he moved quickly to the companionway, racing down the steps and forcibly working his way to the captain’s cabin, his blade singing with every thwarted effort to fend off anyone who tried to stop him. Once there, he kicked open the screen door.

  The room was empty, proving the tar had been right. The captain had fled. In a burst of rage, Markwick kicked over a table. They’d been tricked! Carnage wasn’t here. And if Markwic
k had understood the dead man correctly, he’d sent Chloe straight to the pirate’s lair!

  He clenched his jaw until he thought his teeth would crack. Racked with guilt, he prayed the tar’s last words were another trick.

  He stormed out of the cabin and through the gundeck. There, he heard something that stopped him in his tracks—a strange hissing, thwacking sound. He followed it to the galley where the stove door had been left wide open. Flames licked the deck there, dancing over supplies, surging and consuming everything in its path.

  Bloody hell! It was a trap!

  He took off at a run. He had to warn his men, to get his ship away before they both blew!

  He scaled the companionway ladder two steps at a time, waving his arms at his men as soon as he reached the quarterdeck. “It’s a trap! Bear away!”

  His crew scrambled over dead bodies and rigging, scaling over the rail to swing back aboard the Fury.

  “Hurry, men!” Markwick called, spurring them on. “Every man for himself. Move!”

  “Smoke!” someone shouted.

  A gray plume rose from the grates over the galley. “Are there any more men on board?” Markwick asked.

  Bodies lay strewn across the deck where they’d been cut down. He sheathed his sword, waiting mere seconds more before grabbing a rope someone tossed him and swung across the divide to the Fury’s deck. “Cut the mooring lines!”

  Immediately, boarding axes were put to good use, and the Fury eased off.

  Quinn moved up beside him. “We can use this to our advantage, Cap’n.”

  “How? I was just told Carnage is on his way to the Marauder’s Roost!” He slammed his fist on the rail. “Chloe is in danger!”

  Quinn got strangely quiet. “Can you believe the man who told you this?”

  Could he afford not to? That very question had been roiling in Markwick’s mind.

  “It could be another trick,” Quinn suggested.

  “A dying man has no reason to lie,” he said. “Unless—”

  “We’re talking about the Viper’s crew.”

  “Aye.” Markwick held on to a frayed strand of hope. “Pray you are right.”