Red had tried to maintain a stoic expression as fear set in. He would find her second knife, and she would be left defenseless.
Billy Bones, with a lascivious grin on his face, had come forward and ordered her to lift her arms. Then he’d patted her down slowly, her breasts, her stomach. He’d let his hands linger, grinning all the while. She had remained rigid, staring straight ahead. When he had allowed his hands to ride her thighs, she snapped out, not at him, but to Blair Colm, “As you can see, I’m hiding nothing,” and stepped back.
And Billy, Bones, the rodent, had nodded with amusement, looking to Blair. “She’s clean—but I’d be happy to keep checking.”
“Calm yourself for now, Billy,” Blair told him. “Maybe later…”
It had been a threat, but she hadn’t cared. She’d been so afraid she would tremble and fall with relief at having kept her knife.
“Go inside,” Blair had told her. “If you would have any reprieve.”
She was smart enough to take whatever reprieve was offered.
Blair Colm had always had patience. She knew many of his political prisoners had thought themselves protected, thought he was handling them with decency, only to have him discover the one piece of information he’d wanted from them, then strike them down in cold blood in an instant.
For now, she had to control the fury within her, the urgency, the near madness. She had done what she’d had to do. In the split second in which she had made her choice, she had chosen well, for the man had lost his urge to shoot Lord Bethany, and Cassandra was not at the mercy of the crewmen.
In fact, the beautiful Cassandra and her esteemed father were on their knees, huddled together, when she entered their realm. The tight confines of the shelter didn’t exactly offer privacy, for their voices would carry easily out to the crew, though some were so drunk that they had fallen back into their slumbers. But those who remained awake were now on guard as they had not been before the chaos.
Very little light filtered into the shelter, but there was enough so that after a moment Red could see the faces of Lord Bethany and his daughter. They were staring at her, still as stunned now when she had first made her appearance.
“I don’t know who you are,” Lord Bethany said, whispering, “but you saved my daughter from God knows what horror, and you saved my life. We are eternally in your debt.”
“Truly we are,” Cassandra said gravely, staring at her wide-eyed.
“We are not yet safe,” Red told them.
“And you know this wretched man?” Lord Bethany asked.
Red inhaled. “A long story, and not for tonight.”
“You were with Logan,” Cassandra said, staring at her. “He said ‘we.’”
“By God…” Lord Bethany said, his voice trailing off as he turned to his daughter. “Then…you were not dreaming. He is out there.”
Red nodded.
“So…he has escaped? To take the ship?” Cassandra asked.
“So I pray,” Red replied. “Though how he is to do that alone…”
She realized that Cassandra was looking at her strangely.
What was going on in her mind? Red wondered. Did she sense that the man she loved, the man she had risked life and limb to rescue, had betrayed her?
She didn’t know the woman, Red thought. She owed her nothing.
But from what Red had seen—and though her heart and soul balked furiously against it—she admired Cassandra, Lady Bethany. She had acted with courage, fighting the filthy wretch who had attacked her. She would have fought for Red, if it had not been for her father. Even now, she was not cowed but looked expectantly at Red.
“You’re Irish,” Lord Bethany said suddenly.
Red frowned, certain she had long ago lost the accent.
But he was studying her gravely. “Ah, poor lass, I know your story now. He seized you from your parents and sold you in the colonies as an indentured servant.”
She nodded. “But that is not all. Blair Colm makes his income not only by raiding the seas beneath the British flag and seeing there are no survivors. He has contacts in the highest levels of society, and he arranges the sale of women to wealthy, even titled, men in search of mistresses. I’ve heard he also makes great sums trading women in the Middle East, where the novelty of a light-haired or fair-skinned woman is an asset.”
“The man is despicable,” Lord Bethany breathed.
“But you escaped him,” Cassandra noted.
“An accident at sea,” Red explained.
Cassandra was still studying her intently.
“It’s a long story,” Red said again, since something more seemed to be called for.
“You were a prisoner of the pirates, too?” Cassandra asked.
“I was taken aboard their ship, yes.”
“Poor dear. What a wretched time you’ve had of it,” Cassandra said.
How ridiculous, Red thought. Nothing might matter to any of them in a matter of hours, yet she felt a gnawing of guilt in her soul.
“Please believe me, I learned to weather hardship very well,” she said.
Cassandra nodded gravely. “It seems that at least some pirates indeed practice a code of ethics.”
“Far better than at least one man decorated by the crown,” her father added angrily.
Cassandra wasn’t to be deterred. “Red Robert…we received the reply to our offer of ransom saying that none was needed, and that Lord Haggerty would be left at a safe port. You were treated as decently?”
“I was treated quite well,” Red replied, wishing she could fight the temptation to look away. “And I believe we have much to live for, so we need to be very careful. I have every reason to believe that the ship sailed by Red Robert will come looking for us here. Soon, I fervently hope. Those on board will be searching for Lord Haggerty and myself for…for many reasons. Unfortunately, I’m equally certain that Blair Colm will return to his ship in the morning, though he will have to make more trips than he expects, and I also believe he will find a smaller crew aboard.”
“How many of the boats did you fix to sink?” Lord Bethany asked.
“Just two. We had intended to use the third.”
“He will know that you scuttled his boats,” Cassandra pointed out.
“He already knows how much I hate him.”
“He will hurt you,” Cassandra whispered. Her concern was far more difficult to accept than Red had expected.
“What of this pirate seeking you?” Lord Bethany asked.
“If the ship comes…well, those pirates will not be against us.”
Lord Bethany said, “We don’t even know your name, child.”
He spoke so gently, and it was far more painful than any blow Blair Colm could have struck her. Such a good man, with the tenderness of a father, extended now to her.
Why couldn’t she at the very least dislike Cassandra? She had a wonderful father, and she had genuine strength, though she had no doubt been cosseted her whole life.
And Logan cared for her very deeply—more deeply, perhaps, than he even knew himself.
“My name is Roberta. Bobbie,” she said.
Lord Bethany gripped her hand. “Lass, if by the grace of God we should survive this, I swear that I will spend my days seeing to your welfare.”
The passionate tenderness and true gratitude in his voice hurt almost unbearably.
“Well,” she whispered briskly, “first we must survive this. It’s imperative that we be ready to assist Logan, come the morning. We must get some rest.”
“Two at a time,” Cassandra said. “I was resting when that vile pretense of a man made his way in here and…”
Lord Bethany groaned.
“I am fine, Father,” Cassandra said quickly.
“I had some rest this afternoon,” Red told them. She refrained from explaining that Logan had knocked her flat to keep her from walking into danger. “I will keep what watch a prisoner can.” She hesitated. “I believe we’re being watched too closely right now, but in case t
here is a chance at some point…there is something you must know. There is a cave behind a spring, which can be reached by walking straight inland. And there are fissures in the rear, not really entrances, but small enough to slip through. If there’s ever an opportunity…you may have to run fast. You won’t easily see the entrance, because it’s shrouded with growth. But it’s there, around the spring, to the east.”
“If we escape, you will be with us,” Lord Bethany said.
“I dearly hope so, but you must know where we are running, should we have an opportunity to run. Logan has a plan, however, so we will only go against it if it appears that we must,” Red told him.
Lord Bethany nodded.
“Logan will know what he is doing,” Cassandra said.
Logan is desperate, Red thought, and his options are few. We’re all desperate.
But she smiled with encouragement.
Lord Bethany nodded and sat, leaning back against a palm. Cassandra sat at his side, resting her head on his shoulder.
Once more, Red couldn’t help but feel a pang.
Once upon a time, I had a father who loved me, too, she thought. He was a noble man. He died trying to save my mother and myself, and the others in the village.
Cassandra did not rest long, though. She waited only long enough for her father’s breathing to deepen as he slept, then moved toward Red. “I fear for him so greatly,” she whispered.
“He seems a fine man.”
Cassandra shook her head with worry. “Men…they feel they must be noble. That life is nothing if they are not. They don’t know how to use guile and their wits. Women’s weapons. If he thinks I am in danger…he acts rashly. A woman can wait. She knows patience. She knows that some battles are best lost so that a war may be won. It’s something we are taught by the very society in which we live.” Her last words sounded bitter, and Red wondered if there had been times when Cassandra longed for a different life than that dictated by her position.
Yet somehow the words seemed important to her, as well.
Had she forgotten there were weapons other than guns and blades?
Perhaps it was a lesson she should make a point of recalling.
LOGAN REACHED the ship. The waves slapped around him, washing him against the hull. He swam around it, seeking the trail of the hempen ladder he prayed was still hanging over the side. Had the remaining crew hoisted it?
The darkness wasn’t to his advantage, but he looked up to find the davits that had held the tenders silhouetted against the sky and used their positions to orient himself, and there, at last, he found the ladder.
Carefully, he looked up. No one was in sight, so, grasping the ladder, he pulled his knife from the sheath at his ankle and slowly, carefully, made his way up.
When he had almost reached the level of the deck, he paused and looked back to shore.
All seemed quiet.
He could just see Blair Colm seated near the fire, his back against a palm. Did he sleep? Or had Red’s appearance unnerved him enough to keep him awake?
Logan kept climbing and, as silently as possible, checked the immediate area, then eased himself over the rail. He looked toward the helm, but there was no one at the wheel. Since he had come this far undetected, he reasoned there was no man in the crow’s nest, either.
He hunched low against the ship’s rail and inched along, watching. Finally, as he neared the stairs to the deck, he saw a man on guard. The fellow was lax; he was armed, but his pistols were set in holsters that hung low on his hips, and his hands were on the rail.
Logan felt a moment’s unease. He had killed in battle.
He had never killed in cold blood.
He had to remind himself that these men had been part and party to the murders of dozens of men aboard various ships, even if they had not been with Blair Colm when he had massacred whole villages in the name of King William.
He was killing in self-defense.
With that, he moved as quietly as the air and came at the man from the back. He felt the hot blood spurt over his fingers as he slit the man’s throat.
He was tempted to push the dying man overboard, but he didn’t want any corpses washing up on shore with the dawn and warning Colm, and so he dragged the body back behind two supply barrels shoved against the rail, taking the man’s two fine pistols and sword for his own.
One man down. How many more remained here on the ship?
He decided to explore the deck first.
He almost tripped over the man by the rail near the mainmast. He was sprawled against it, arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed.
The position was bad, but he had to remove each crew member as he came upon him. He held his breath for a moment, then struck, going swiftly, straight and hard for the jugular vein. The man’s eyes opened. Too late. The blood gushed. Logan was covered in it this time. But slitting the throat ensured a quick death, and a silent one, severing the vocal cords. The man died in less than a minute.
A surprised minute, one that Logan thought might haunt him forever. Those eyes, just staring…
There would be no way, come the light, to hide the pool of blood. But in the darkness it might look like shadow, should the rest of the crew rise. He laid the body against the rail and hid it with a pile of rigging.
He heard voices then; two men walking toward him from the captain’s cabin.
“Did you not enjoy Lord Bethany’s surprise when Captain Colm assured him that he would hang for a pirate?” one asked.
“Still and all, it gets a bit irksome, don’t ye think?” asked the other. “We should have killed the old bastard with the others. And the daughter! A rare beauty. Why must we keep the girl all safe and pure? She should be booty to be shared, like everything else.”
“Well, she will be booty. I heard he planned on offering her to a Moroccan prince—who will tire of her eventually, of course. Maybe we can make a deal to get the girl back…used,” the first man said, clearly amused.
Logan felt his jaw lock, and any sickness he had felt at the thought of killing these men faded. But there were two now, and he dared not let them see him. This would demand finesse.
He let them walk by.
As they ambled along the portside rail, he moved. Silently, swiftly, he crept behind the rigging he had just used to cover the last corpse.
As they turned and walked back, musing on Cassandra’s feminine assets, he spoke from the cover of the rigging.
“Mates!”
They turned.
“Over here.”
He waved the arm of the dead man.
“It’s Brewster,” one of the men said.
“Get up, you drunkard,” the second one ordered.
“I need your help…fer the love of God…please…” Logan said, slurring his words.
As the two came forward, Logan barely breathed, calculating the perfect moment to strike.
The first of the men was frowning; he had stepped in the pool of blood.
“What is this…?”
“Help!” Logan repeated.
Both men came closer and leaned down.
Logan shoved the corpse toward them. Before they could cry out, he attacked, with a sword to the neck of the first, his knife to the neck of the other.
His knife had severed the vocal cords of the second man.
The other, despite the gash to his throat, didn’t die as quickly.
He staggered, falling against the rail, as Logan swung again.
The man’s hands were at his throat as he stared accusingly at Logan. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, he fell to his knees, then slumped down. Dead.
Four.
Four were gone.
He closed his eyes. For a moment, just a moment, as the sea breeze failed to waft away the smell of blood on the air, he remembered the past.
Remembered it as if it had been just yesterday….
His father, riding away…
His mother, turning to fight…
Dying.
This was it. The smell of blood he could never forget….
He straightened, stepping away. Let them stay where they lay. Now he had to carefully calculate where he would find the rest of the ship’s onboard crew.
The master’s cabin, perhaps, where these two had come from. While Blair Colm was on shore, his men—who no doubt had their moments of envy—might well be enjoying his private quarters.
Silently, his blades in hand, he started toward the captain’s door.
IN TIME, CASSANDRA, too, fell asleep. Red didn’t mind being on guard; she couldn’t have slept, anyway, so she was happy to stay awake, ready to do her best to divert any trouble that might appear.
It was amazing what hope could do for the human soul.
Allow it to rest.
She kept looking below the canvas cover, out to sea.
So far, nothing. No sign of trouble from the ship.
Had Logan made it out there? He was a good swimmer, so she had to believe he had the strength to reach the boat safely, but what if he had been brought down by some small danger he’d never imagined?
Red-legged Jeeves, a privateer during Queen Anne’s war, had met many a Spanish ship and survived, then been killed when one of his own rigging lines had snapped.
What if Logan had met with a shark on the way to the ship?
No, she had seen sharks many times. They attacked only when there was blood, and Logan hadn’t been bleeding.
What if he had scraped himself on the coral as he passed over the reef?
At the very least, she was certain he hadn’t been caught aboard ship, for undoubtedly the alarm would have been sounded if an intruder had been found.
She looked around the beach, taking care to lie on the ground and look beneath the canvas, rather than through the open “doorway.” Most of the pirates—that supposedly decent crew sailing under the Union Jack—were still sleeping off their rum, but she saw that the one called Nathan had taken his orders to heart. He was pacing the shore, occasionally stopping to look out to sea.
He kept his hands constantly on his gun belt, ready to draw at the slightest provocation.
And Blair Colm?
She couldn’t see him and wondered if he slept. She doubted it. She had certainly taken him by surprise tonight, but even so, she would live—unless he decided she should die. He didn’t consider her to be much of a danger. In his mind, she was just a slip of a girl.
The Pirate Bride Page 22