When a Rogue Falls

by Caroline Linden

  Carnage was right. Her heart thudded against her ribs. She fought back the sob threatening to burst from her throat and closed her eyes. She was to blame. This was her fault. Carnage had chased Markwick’s ship to kill off the Mohegan’s survivors and had come into contact with Pierce’s ship. Oh God! Nearly forty men or more were dead because of her. Owens had died trying to protect her. The weight of her guilt proved too heavy to bear, and her legs gave way.

  Footsteps clomped along the hardwood floor. Grunts erupted from clashing men. Agonizing moans echoed from the wounded. A look of indecision crossed Oriana’s features then, but when the moment availed itself, she grabbed bottles of liquor from the shelf and began to throw them at Madden’s and Jenkins’s attackers from the relative safety of the bar.

  Chloe fought hard not to lose her mind as she held on to the one thing that gave her hope. Fiske had gotten away. Perhaps he’d found help.

  Carnage stroked her body, rubbing against her, sickening her with his breath, his touch. “I’m going to enjoy takin’ my time with ye.”

  Unable to stand his nearness, Chloe grasped for anything to delay his fiendish plan. “If I help you trap the Black Regent, what then?”

  He laid his bearded chin on her nape. The sensation—so close, so intimate—made her feel as though thousands of tiny ants were crawling down her spine and into crevices she dared not visualize.

  “Deliver the Regent, and we’ll talk.”

  She swallowed thickly, stalling for time. “Swear to spare the lives of everyone here.” Her heartbeat pounded like a cannon beneath her breast, thudding a beat meant to extend the minutes, hours, until her death. But what for? Carnage’s threat was clear. If Madden and Jenkins couldn’t fight off his men, she’d soon find herself at the mercy of Carnage’s lust.

  * * *

  * * *

  Markwick peered inside the window of the Marauder’s Roost, his vigilant eyes landing on a motionless brown-haired woman lying against a wall. Could that be Jane? His mind and body rebelled like storms raging against the cliffs, battering the rocks with unceasing will.

  He inclined his head at Quinn, nodding in her direction. “I think I see Jane.”

  “Where?” Quinn growled, the rumbling sound protesting in his chest as he joined Markwick, keeping his head low so as not to give their presence away.

  Markwick searched the rest of what he could see of the inn for Chloe, gazing past oak pillars holding up the ceiling where two figures stood obscured. Finally, one of them moved and he saw her. She glanced at the windows, her beautiful violet eyes wide with fright.

  She’s alive!

  Hope that he could keep her that way conspired against him as he inhaled a steadying breath, needing the energy for what was to come.

  A man held Chloe tight against his body. Dressed like the captain he’d seen on the Viper’s quarterdeck, it had to be Carnage. One arm encircled Chloe’s neck, extending under her open pelisse to her breast. He wanted to shoot the man straight between the eyes as he cackled with glee, forcing Chloe to watch Madden and Jenkins maneuver an upended table like a shield against two armed men who struggled to get past the barrier and kill them.

  Blood stained Chloe’s hands. Whose blood was it? At least she appeared uninjured.

  He glanced down at her feet. There, a body bathed in crimson was sprawled, unmoving.

  “Owens,” he said glumly, recognizing the boatswain. Who did that leave to protect the women inside?

  Owens’s unseeing eyes stared at Markwick through the windowpane, accusing him of being too late. The sickening sight did its worst, putting him in no mood to allow Carnage to live. The Marauder’s Roost had claimed more victims besides Owens, but the only other one who Markwick could discern was Kelly.

  “Kelly, too.” He lowered to his knees, hunkering into the stones digging at his back.

  Markwick’s rage flared to life, pushing aside the loss of his crew members. “Carnage has Chloe.”

  Quinn jumped to his feet. “I’ll take down the door.”

  “No.” Markwick grabbed Quinn’s sleeve and pulled him down to avoid being seen as movement just beyond the three-foot stone wall caught Markwick’s attention. “We must wait until everyone is in place before we attack. Give Madden and Jenkins time to react.”

  A head bobbed up behind the low courtyard wall.

  “We’ve got company,” Markwick said, pointing to the knee-high stones.

  Quinn adjusted his position against the tavern. “Where?”

  Markwick squinted into the darkness, chastising himself for choosing to be so exposed under the lantern lights. “Just beyond the wall. There!” He pointed at a figure slinking along the courtyard boundary.

  “Could it be the Captain?” Quinn asked. “He’s supposed to meet up with us.”

  “Walsingham wouldn’t sneak around. He’d come barreling in to save his sister.” Markwick shifted positions. The stone building grated against his back as he attempted to catch sight of whoever was lurking outside the courtyard. “That’s not Walsingham.”

  “Who is it, then?” Quinn asked. “What should we do?”

  “Pray that one of our men takes care of him before he starts picking us off one by one.”

  Chapter 17

  Lady O states the BOARD OF CUSTOMS offices have not seen the ILLUSTRIOUS Captain W since Captain Carnage DESTROYED the WINDRAKER. Did Captain W PERISH off the coast of LOOE? Where is the BLACK REGENT? Who will stop CARNAGE now?

  ~ Trewman’s Exeter Flying Post, 13 August 1809

  “No one can help ye now.”

  Every fiber in Chloe’s being warned her not to believe Carnage’s vile boast. If the Viper had sunk, there was reason to believe help would come. She held on to that glimmer of hope as Carnage’s hideous, mocking laughter echoed in her ears and he leaned forward, kissing a sloppy, wet trail down her throat. His forced intimacy magnified a rippling disgust coiling through her body on thorny wings.

  “Don’t touch me!” she cried, struggling against him, trying to elbow him in the ribs.

  He boxed Chloe’s ears soundly, making them ring. Stars sparked in her eyes as he dragged her back toward a table that was surprisingly still intact. He spun her around and sprawled on top of her, the edge of the table digging into her hips as he ground against her, rooting at her neck, groping at her trousers.

  Panicked by how vulnerable she’d become, she slung her free arm wide, searching for anything to use as a weapon. Her heart thudded like a wild beast rattling inside its cage. Then—Oh, blessed be—her wandering fingers grasped a tankard. Pulse pounding, she waited until Carnage raised his head, and then without wasting another second, she swung the pewter mug against his face with all her might.

  Carnage grunted and staggered back, dazed, reaching for the fresh wound on his cheek. When he looked at his hand and saw his own blood, he lashed out, slapping the tankard aside and raised his fist to strike her again.

  Boom. Boom.

  He halted midair. “See who’s trying to access the tunnel,” he shouted to the last of his bodyguards. Carnage watched them run to the back of the inn, preoccupied, as Oriana sneaked up on him and swung another bottle of liquor onto his head. The bottle smashed, sending a clatter of glass across the floor. Carnage collapsed to his knees, struggling to get his bearings.

  Oriana stood with her feet braced apart, her temper flaring like a wild, protective nymph. “Our father would roll over in his grave if he saw ye now.” She nodded to Chloe apologetically. “Thorpes do not rape women. Run, miss. Run!”

  She’d no more than said those words when Carnage grabbed Chloe’s ankle, dragging her to the floor. As Chloe scrambled to rise, Carnage vaulted to his feet and focused on Oriana.

  As he lumbered toward his sister, Chloe helplessly watched Oriana try to defend herself. “Ye aren’t thinking clearly, Charles. Please. I beg ye. Come to your senses before it’s too late.”

  “It is.” In one swift action, he hit his sister so hard she landed against the stones
faceting the hearth and hit her head; her body crashed to an abrupt stop.

  “See what ye made me do?” Carnage asked Chloe, his face a glowering mask of rage.

  Chloe clasped a fist over her mouth as Madden also collapsed across the room, decreasing her chances of survival considerably.

  Carnage was a madman!

  Jenkins turned toward her, blood trailing down his arm, then hid behind a pillar so Carnage couldn’t see him. He put a finger to his lips, warning her to be silent. Then he bent down to pull a knife out of a dead man’s body, spun around the pillar, and took a menacing step toward Carnage.

  “We’ve been breached, Cap’n,” a wide-eyed, sooty man said, running into the room and stopping Jenkins where he stood.

  Confusion reigned as men pushed into the main room from the back of the inn, and Jenkins rushed to Chloe’s side.

  The front door burst open then, slamming to the floor and causing a cloud of dust to billow up in its wake. A large man followed the broken wood, staving off the mass exodus of bodies bolting toward the exit.

  Chloe gasped. It was Quinn! And close behind him was Markwick, the most marvelous-looking man Chloe had ever seen, once more dressed in black from head to toe. Her heart soared as Jenkins took her by the arm and angled her for the doorway.

  He let out a grunt and fell forward before he could urge her out. Carnage snatched her by the hair, yanking her intimately close. He tightened his hold, using her as a human shield.

  “Not so fast. You’re comin’ with me.” Hatred oozed from him, his body rigid with determination.

  Men continued to advance from the back of the inn, plowing through the main room like herded sheep, ramming their way toward the front door. Within moments, the two groups met and fought in a riotous mob. In the resulting chaos, Chloe couldn’t tell who was rescuing whom as Carnage inched around the room, dragging her along with him.

  A man hailed Carnage from the front door cleared by his fellows. “This way, Cap’n!”

  Chloe searched the crowd for Markwick. When she met his sharp gaze, his eyes followed them, his face wraithlike in the crowd of angry, hot-blooded men. He rushed forward, raising his cutlass to taunt her captor. “You won’t get away, Carnage.”

  “With this woman as my captive, I daresay I shall.”

  “Don’t listen to him,” she blurted, breathlessly. “He’s all bluster—”

  Carnage answered as if she’d spoken to him. “I will get away, and with ye by my side. He’ll see to it or you’ll die.” He kissed her cheek, and a spasmodic trembling vibrated within her.

  The kiss of death.

  “Get your hands off her!” Markwick shouted, his hawklike stare boring into Carnage, muscles working in his jaw as his mouth pressed into a grim line. “You cannot win.”

  “No?” Markwick pointed to the men around them who were destroying the inn, battling one another for supremacy. “We have you surrounded.”

  She wasn’t ready to die. But her heart grieved sorely for what could have been if she’d waited for Markwick to return home to Exeter instead of following him to Penzance.

  Carnage squeezed her throat, cutting off her air. She clawed at his hand, scratching him with her nails and despairing that Markwick would be forced to watch her take her last breath. Tears slipped from her eyes, the salty moisture nearly blinding her, preventing her from seeing Markwick’s face clearly. She smiled sadly, wishing she could spare Markwick the agony of watching her die.

  The earl’s stare bore into her soul before flicking to Carnage.

  She glanced down at the bloody bandage on the pirate’s injured arm as he braced it around her neck. If she could angle her head just so, she could bite the wound and purchase her freedom long enough to help Markwick gain the upper hand.

  Now’s your chance. Act now while Carnage is distracted.

  Ever so gently, she turned her chin toward the crook of Carnage’s arm, careful not to draw the wrecker’s suspicion. She steadied her legs, then inhaled a deep breath and clamped her teeth down on the man’s bloody arm wound, biting as deeply as she could into his bandages, prepared not to let go until he ripped her teeth out.

  He shouted and unclenched his grip, ripping his arm out of her teeth and tearing a bit of flesh along with it. Blood oozed from her mouth. She stomped on his foot and then elbowed him in the ribs.

  Carnage reeled back, gasping, and Markwick moved in. He raised his sword, brandishing it in a frightening arch. He placed his body between her and Carnage. “Stay behind me, Chloe.”

  She spat out the wrecker’s bitter-tasting blood and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

  Markwick lunged forward, dipping his knees and angling his body to protect Chloe as he cut a jab at Carnage, burying the sword’s tip in his arm.

  “You’ve won, Regent,” Carnage admitted, racked with pain and clutching his bleeding arm. “This round.” He stumbled away, weaving to the side of the room, howling angrily as his men quickly gathered around him and shuttled him out the door into the darkness.

  Markwick set off to make chase, but Chloe latched onto his arm and pulled him back. “No! Send someone else. I want him to pay for what he’s done as much—if not more—than you do, but I never want to be parted from you ever again.”

  Markwick frowned. “As you wish.” He motioned for several of his men to pursue Carnage. “But that requires your promise to live a dreary, normal life.”

  She tried to smile, wincing at the effort it cost her cracked lip. “I’ve seen enough bloodshed to last a lifetime.” She reached up to caress his cheek. “I’d be perfectly content to live an unadventurous life with you.”

  Within seconds, she was in Markwick’s arms.

  “Oh, Chloe . . .” He held her tightly in his embrace, then raised her chin, gently stroking hair away from her bruised face. “What in God’s name were you trying to do?”

  “Save you . . .” she said, looking into his eyes. Then her heart stuttered. “Where’s Jane?”

  His face turned grim. “I believe she is over there,” he said softly.

  Sadness weighted Chloe’s shoulders as she looked to see her maid lying on the floor. “Poor Jane!” What she has been forced to go through for my sake. “Help me over to her.”

  He eyed her critically as he guided her across the floor. “I pray you know I had no idea the Roost wasn’t safe,” Markwick said. “If I’d known, I would have never allowed—”

  “Shh,” she said. “I understand. I have never known evil until now, and I am content that you are here at last, and I can take Jane home.”

  He smiled strangely, tenderly wiping her lip and drawing a bloody finger away. “Yes, my love. You will be safer there.”

  My love?

  Church bells rang in Chloe’s ears. She couldn’t breathe. Everyone faded into the ether.

  Had she heard him correctly? After the cannon fire, the gunshots, and the frantic beat of her heart, it was possible her hearing had been damaged. “My love?” she repeated.

  “A strange thing happened on the way to rescuing you,” Markwick continued.

  “What could be stranger than this?” she asked, sweeping her hand out toward the room.

  “I suffered a romantic . . . urge,” he said with a wink.

  She gasped and placed her hand on his chest. “A romantic urge?”

  “Positively dreadful, I assure you. It is the worst kind of pain. I do not recommend it.”

  She raised her gaze to his silver-blue stare. The passion there sent a shiver all the way to her toes. “I—”

  “Have feelings.” He peered over his shoulder at the men who were trying to bring some semblance of order back to the Roost.

  She blinked. “Of course you have feelings. You are human.”

  “No, that’s not what I meant.” He glanced around as if he didn’t want to reveal too much too soon, and definitely not in the presence of strangers. “What I mean to say is that I found myself thinking of you and it brought me unconscionable pain.”
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br />   “I should hate to be the one to make you suffer,” she said, her heart in her throat.

  He quirked a brow. Weren’t they talking about the same thing? Then she recalled what he’d said: I found myself thinking of you.

  Did that mean . . . ?

  He looked down at her hand resting on his chest. “I love you, Chloe,” he said, unable to hide the slight tremor in his voice, “and I never want to be parted from you again.”

  “You do? I mean . . . you don’t?” She blinked, knowing she sounded silly and she looked unkempt after being so brutalized by that sniveling coward of a man. “You love me?”

  “Aye. I realize that I can’t—”

  Boom. Boom. Boom.

  “You cannot what?” she asked, fearing if he didn’t speak the words now, he never would.

  Curse that dreadful tunnel and its imperfect timing. The tunnel! Her chest tightened. Who was trying to access the inn now?

  “It’s coming from the back of the inn, Cap’n,” Jenkins said, stepping up beside them.

  “I need to get Jane,” Chloe said urgently.

  She tried to keep Markwick from leaving her side as several men brushed past to discover the source of the sound. Meanwhile, other men carried out the bodies of the wounded, tied hand and foot to secure them—as she overheard them say—with the swine.

  Markwick took her by the hand. “Come. I cannot leave you alone and unattended while Carnage is on the loose. Your brother would tear out my spine.”

  “The Captain?” To her annoyance, she couldn’t wait to see her brother. “Is he here?”

  “I believe we’re about to find out.”

  “First, take me to Jane. Please.”

  “Of course,” he said.

  They began to move, winding their way past the rough-hewed oak columns, toppled tables, splintered chairs, and overturned barrels, stepping over broken bottles and pottery.

  There, in the corner, Jane was now lying in Quinn’s arms. She lifted her head, touching her forehead with shaky fingers as Quinn uttered soothing sounds near her ear.