When a Rogue Falls

by Caroline Linden

  He’d done this!

  He pictured her in his bed, her body molded against his. She fit him perfectly, her rounded bottom and full breasts divinely made to sate a man’s hunger. And yet he’d fought his baser instincts to make her his due to his friendship with Walsingham and his oath to Blackmoor. Where had that gotten him? No better off than when he’d started. Except now, he didn’t have Chloe, and if they were too late he might never know what they could have shared if he’d only been willing.

  He closed his eyes, trying and failing to blot out the nauseating images lumbering through his mind. Since he’d taken on the yoke of the Black Regent, he’d seen more horrific reminders of the depravity of humanity than his father had ever supplied. Now this?

  If Chloe died, he’d be worse than his father. No greater horror existed than that.

  Waves slapped against the hull as they moved toward the shore. In them, he heard his father’s cackling laughter. Oars ground against the gunwale, denying him any modicum of peace from the irony drilling into his soul.

  Pain knifed through him. Chloe was as tenacious as the day was long. Her beautiful soul drew him in, and the irresistible dimple in her cheek only enhanced her allure. But it was her violet eyes glowing with passion that drew him like a moth to a flame. She was gullible, exasperating, fascinating, stunning. Devil doubt it, the most precious, kindhearted soul he knew. He had to save her.

  “Thirty feet, sir,” Quinn announced, manning the tiller next to Walsingham at the stern.

  “Steady, men,” Walsingham said. “We have no way of knowing what awaits us on shore. Be ready for anything once we hit the beach.”

  “Twenty feet.”

  His senses revived, Markwick placed a hand on the hilt of his cutlass. Soon his feet would touch the ground and God help the man who’s harmed a hair on Chloe’s head.

  “Ten feet.”

  Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

  The launch touched the seabed, and Markwick’s pulse drummed a deafening beat as he examined the shadows littering the water’s edge. Seeing nothing unusual, Walsingham motioned for them to leave the boat.

  Soundlessly, oars were withdrawn from their oarlocks and stowed inside the hull. Some men slunk slowly into the knee-deep water and began to wade to shore. Others pulled mooring lines to secure the craft from the tide. Others still, like Markwick and Walsingham, lifted their weapons, fully prepared to hack a trail up the cliff through as many men as needed to reach the Marauder’s Roost.

  Quinn dropped to one knee in the sand, reading a trail that led away from the shingled beach and up the cliff top. He rose, took several steps, then stopped abruptly, taking another knee and reaching for something Markwick couldn’t see.

  He moved forward to join him. There he spied Fiske’s motionless body, his stomach gutted, his unseeing eyes wide.

  “Did his best to fight ’em off for us, he did.” Quinn lifted Fiske’s hand, which was locked on a bloody blade, and inspected it.

  “Poor devil.” Markwick scowled. “Leave him. We’ve no time to lose.”

  Walsingham joined them. He flagged several men to move on ahead. “Make haste. I’ll lead reinforcements once our boat is secure.”

  Markwick turned to go, but Walsingham stopped him. “Save her or you will have hell to pay.”

  “I swear on my mother’s grave I will find her or die trying.” Markwick braced himself for what he would find when he reached the summit. His heart hung suspended by a thread that threatened to break.

  Walsingham nodded. He couldn’t hide the tremor in his voice as he turned back to the men who were working to tie the launch. “Quickly, men.”

  Markwick took a deep breath and looked to Quinn. “Let’s go.”

  They raced up the cliff, veering through passages too narrow to navigate by twos and scaling the jagged face that moved upward at a steep incline. How had Chloe and Jane managed to hike up the distance from the beach to the Marauder’s Roost? It was a miracle they hadn’t fallen to their deaths.

  One of the men lost his footing but was quickly caught and deposited onto a sturdier portion of the trail just as that thought raced through Markwick’s head. Loose shingle skidded along limestone, crackling and multiplying as they fell to the crashing waves below.

  Markwick paced himself. He needed to get to Chloe alive.

  Quinn stopped and leaned against a rough, lichen-covered rock face. “We’re almost there.”

  But were they too late?

  Markwick turned to the men behind him. “Prime your guns. I want to send Carnage back to hell.”

  Then they were off again, winding up to the top of the cliff until they came out of a stony face and saw the Marauder’s Roost dead ahead.

  Wind whirled about their faces, fierce and incessant like the fury surging in Markwick’s blood. The courtyard, lit by iron lanterns, was littered with barrels and crates, and the soft, warm glow flickering from the windows on the first and second floors beckoned them forward.

  Quinn took a step, but Markwick held him back. “Wait. We’re not alone.” He sensed another presence, waiting, calculating how long it would take them to step toward their destruction. Carnage—if he’d taken control of the Roost—wasn’t stupid.

  He motioned to several men with two fingers and pointed to the left. Then he flashed three fingers at three more angling his wrist to the right. The men set off, no questions asked.

  He acknowledged Quinn with a tight nod. “Let’s go.”

  Quinn and the rest of his men followed Markwick across the road to the courtyard ahead. Cutlasses raised, muskets primed and aimed at anything that moved, they slowly entered the stone gate. They passed the Roost’s squeaking sign, a water trough, and several discarded wagon wheels leaning against barrels stacked near one wall.

  Before they reached the door, a shot rang out within the Roost.

  A woman screamed.

  The air fled Markwick’s lungs, nearly knocking him to his knees. He gestured roughly, ordering his men to be still, and then peered inside the window, terrified of what he might see.

  Chapter 16

  The BOARD OF CUSTOMS has reported the ILLUSTRIOUS Captain W was recently given another commendation from its newly formed PREVENTATIVE WATER GUARD! The EXCISEMAN dutifully promised to defend CORNWALL and DEVON from WRECKERS recently TERRORIZING our shores.

  ~ Trewman’s Exeter Flying Post, 13 August 1809

  Chloe collapsed to her knees and used Owens’s neckerchief to staunch the blood loss by pressing the garment over the boatswain’s gaping neck wound.

  “Hang on, Owens! Hang on,” she cried, inwardly dying a swift death with him. She knew her efforts would do little good.

  Expending what little energy he had left, Owens snatched at her hand, gagging, gasping.

  “Oh God!” she cried as his body seized one last time and his hand fell away. Shaking, tears escaping her eyes, she looked up at the people standing around her. “Help him! I don’t know what else to do.”

  “There’s nothing ye can do,” Carnage spat, yanking her up off the floor.

  Her sorrow and disbelief blazed into raging hatred. “You’re despicable!” She fought him, tugging against his muscular side. “You cannot just leave him there to die!”

  “He’s already dead.”

  In disbelief, Chloe looked down at Owens. His sightless eyes stared back at Jane, who dropped the spoon Chloe had given her and stood, motionless, eyes wide, her skin paler than the moon on a clear night.

  “Let me go,” Chloe cried, struggling to get free, knowing Jane needed her. She raised her hands to fight off Carnage and caught sight of the fresh, wet, sticky blood on her skin—Owens’s blood—and froze.

  Carnage cackled. “Now that I’ve got your attention, tell me about the Black Regent.”

  Chloe blinked, unable to focus on anything but the red staining her skin. “Who?”

  Carnage shook her. “Who are ye to him?” Spittle shot from his mouth as he jerked her arm behind her back.


  Pain shot through her, along with the fear that the limb would break.

  “Have ye lost your mind, Charles?” Oriana’s voice shook as it carried across the room.

  “I know exactly what I’m doing,” he said, the venomous words dripping from his lips. He wrenched Chloe around until she faced him.

  Before she could process what was happening, Oriana materialized out of the foggy haze. She raised a bottle over her head and clubbed Carnage from behind. He howled and staggered but surprisingly didn’t go down. His fingers released, letting go of Chloe and instead reached out for his sister. He swung his massive forearm at her as punishment for her interference.

  Chloe’s pelisse ripped as she twisted out of reach, fearing they were all going to die. Buttons scattered around her feet as she dropped to her hands and knees, scrambling for the dagger she’d left on the floor while she’d tried to save Owens’s life. It was still there, coated in his blood. She reached out to grab it, but a boot kicked it out of the way. The blade skittered across the floor.

  She glanced up, afraid of what she’d see.

  Carnage, his face contorted with anger, went straight for Jane.

  Already frightened beyond comprehension, Jane screamed so shrilly that Carnage hit her across the face. She let out a strangled cry as she succumbed to the brutal blow.

  “Jane!” Chloe launched to her feet, her heart pounding against her chest, pulse throbbing in her ears as she tried to reach the poor girl in time. But she wasn’t fast enough. Carnage shoved Jane’s unconscious form aside, and her body landed roughly against the paneled wall, rolling limply to a horrifying stop.

  Chloe screamed, an all-encompassing, primal rage taking hold of her person. She rose to her feet, desperate now to find something to use to fend off the demon and put an end to his reign of terror.

  Carnage’s men blocked the fireplace where the pokers hung from their braces. She rushed to the table and picked up her book. She turned and swung it at Carnage’s face. The contact bloodied his nose, jolting up Chloe’s arms to her shoulders. She swung again, but he prevented her attack, catching her arm easily. Otranto thudded to the floor at her feet as the conniving cutthroat reached out and grabbed her by the neck.

  “You’re causing me a lot of trouble,” he ground out.

  One of his men cackled.

  “You . . . won’t . . . get away . . . with this.” She gasped, trying to suck air into her lungs, desperately searching for coherent words as he tightened his grip.

  “You’ve got quite a mouth on ye for a baron’s daughter.” He grinned, revealing a row of perfectly set teeth.

  How could a man who took such good care of his teeth be so vile? What had happened to make Carnage journey down a path of destruction like this?

  “Put her down!” Oriana sprang forward, dodging a spindled chair that landed on the wall behind her and splintered into pieces, as Madden and Jenkins fought to reach Chloe and Jane. “Haven’t ye done enough?”

  “Round up more of my men!” Carnage ordered her.

  “I will not!” Her face reddened, and she put her hands on her hips. “I have endured your cruelty and the shame it’s borne me long enough. I am done trying to reform ye. I refuse to appease the bitterness that’s taken root in your soul. No one can replace Eliza Price, Charles. Ye tried to save her. It isn’t your fault she couldn’t keep your secret. But this is! It’s time ye understood.”

  Chloe struggled against Carnage’s hands, gasping for air as he increased the pressure around her neck. Who was Eliza Price and what had she done to him?

  He stared into her eyes strangely. “She should have listened. Women never listen!”

  “I . . . do not . . . know what . . . you are talking about,” Chloe struggled to say, tugging at his hands.

  He grimaced. “I’m sure the Regent covets ye as much as I did Eliza, but no woman can keep a man’s secret. I’m going to make ye tell me everything there is to know about the Regent, where he holes up, his habits—” he stroked her breast “—his vices.”

  Oriana appeared behind Carnage. She cocked a pistol, aiming the muzzle at her brother’s back. “I will not help ye harm these women. Don’t make me shoot ye.”

  “No,” he spat as if she’d finally gone too far. “Do ye intend to hand your own flesh and blood over to the magistrate and claim a king’s ransom for me? Is that it?”

  “Ye are forcing my hand.” Oriana’s face reddened even further. “Would suit ye right, if I did.”

  “Don’t ye understand? They’ll come looking for me . . . the excisemen . . . because of the ship I sank. They’ll come on her account. The Regent and his men.” He squeezed Chloe’s neck tighter, cutting off what little air she could get as he spun them around to face his sister. “She’ll rat me out. They always do.”

  “I do not want customs officers to arrest ye, Charles,” Oriana said, her imploring eyes boring into him. “That is the last thing I want, but I cannot turn a blind eye . . . not any longer.”

  Chloe fought to stay conscious as everything started to go dark. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head.

  I was a fool for believing in fairy tales.

  “Release her!” Oriana shook the pistol. “Now!”

  Carnage reluctantly obliged.

  Chloe slumped to the floor, gasping for breath.

  “I cannot abide this any longer. Look at my inn!” her voice raised an octave. “I’ve tried to help ye, Charles. I have. I know now, ye will never change. Ye will kill everyone who comes near ye, just like ye killed Eliza if I don’t stop ye now.”

  “Shut it!” Carnage wailed. “Ye are a fool, sister.”

  A chair crashed against the bar, knocking over several porcelain pitchers of dried heather as Madden and Jenkins fought off their attackers behind Oriana.

  “Aye, but a sober one seeing all that I’ve achieved come to ruin.” Oriana leveled the pistol at him. “I cannot lose my inn. The Roost is all I have.”

  “Ye,” Carnage stressed, “aren’t going anywhere.”

  Chloe scanned the room. The inside of the Marauder’s Roost now resembled a seedy tavern. Chairs lay broken on the floor, tables overturned. Carnage moved forward, quickly disarming Oriana and shoving her backward. Madden struggled to beat a man on the head with his bare fists. That man sidestepped him and grabbed a pewter plate, hurling it at Madden. It missed, clanging past Oriana’s head.

  Now without a weapon to defend herself, Oriana bolted for the safety her bar counter provided, cursing her brother and the state of her inn. “Ye swore ye would never bring violence to my door. You’re going to pay for ruining my tavern, Charles!”

  “Ye want to see me swing? Is that it?”

  “Ye know that isn’t true,” Oriana shouted.

  Chloe swallowed, testing her throat. Then she squeaked and squawked while the two siblings argued and searched out Jane. When she found her, Chloe moved, rising to her feet to reach Jane and protect her vulnerable body from the melee.

  Carnage was paying her more mind than she’d thought, however, and he grabbed Chloe by the back of her pelisse and picked her up like a rag doll, ripping more buttons off as he spun her around. He wrapped his arms around her middle and held her to him, her back braced against his chest. “Hmm . . . Ye are soft in all the right places, m’lady. I’m a bit tempted to try ye on for size.” He opened her pelisse, reaching in to splay his meaty fingers over her linen shirt and the stays beneath. “Aye. He likes ye to dress like him, too, I see.”

  She panicked, her body rebelling, disgust boiling in her stomach like a rotten brew. Carnage’s close proximity, the murderous gains he’d purchased to achieve this moment, felt wrong, dirty, and abhorrent. His fetid breath made her want to retch, as did the rigid member pricking her back. He was nothing like Markwick, whose comforting embrace and touch awakened wild, sensuous longings inside her that she’d never known before. But in Carnage’s arms, she felt defiled. He wasn’t at all like the man she loved, who was chivalrous, noble, and a thousand times mo
re honorable and caring, seeing to her comforts before his own.

  Carnage moaned gruffly and licked her throat, leisurely dragging his tongue over her skin, and then burst into laughter. “Ye taste sweeter than ye look.”

  “Sweeter than Eliza?” she asked, knowing the barb would hit where it hurt the most.

  “Bitch!” He cinched his hold tighter and squeezed her breast cruelly. “Watch your tongue or I’ll gladly remove it.”

  “Do it and you won’t learn anything about the Regent from me.” She was tired of his threats.

  “Don’t tempt me.” She flinched at his tone.

  No witnesses. Good God, his oath cut through her with a surgeon’s precision, making her quiver uncontrollably.

  Kelly and Owens were dead. Madden and Jenkins were still fighting off Carnage’s men. Madden, the more talented fighter, kept on his feet, accustomed to fighting in close quarters. He dodged a misfire, grabbed the butt of a gun, and struck his attacker on the head with it, then turned to defend himself against a dagger a man swiped across his arm.

  A loud crash echoed behind them, and Carnage twisted Chloe around. There, Jenkins was bringing a chair down over a man’s head and then threw his pistol at another, knocking the man out cold. He grabbed that man’s dagger, turned, and threw it into a man attacking Madden from behind. The blade lodged in Madden’s assailant’s back.

  Chloe had never seen men fight like this—to the death—in her entire life. The matter was too indelicate for Pierce to speak of, too abhorrent to visualize in her books. She trembled, her mind at last coming to grips with reality. She was done hunting adventure. Done! When, and if, she survived this night, she would tear out the pages of her books and burn what was left.

  “Think about this,” Carnage whispered in her ear. “This never would have happened if the Regent had not saved ye from your ship.”