No threat at all, and worth a fair sum.
Unless he figured out that she was Red Robert.
A chill swept through her. He didn’t know, and she didn’t want him to find out…until seconds before he died.
She closed her eyes tightly and prayed that there was justice not only in the next world, but in this one, as well.
She heard a soft sound and surveyed the shelter.
Cassandra was awake again, and she was praying.
Red considered joining her.
Please God…
It was as far as she got.
If He was out there somewhere, He knew what she needed.
THERE WERE MULTIPANED windows on either side of the door to the captain’s cabin, but to Logan’s relief, the thick curtains within had them blocked.
He inched along the outer wall, then ducked low to try to see inside past the edges of the fabric.
As he had suspected, the crew were within, four of them, dicing. Luckily they seemed oblivious to anything going on outside.
He watched one man roll and the three others groan when he won. The money flew about the table.
“Double or nothing, winner take all,” insisted one fellow, angered by his loss. He was about forty, perhaps older, and had long graying hair held back by a striped cotton band. His fingers were bejeweled. In the flickering lamplight within, Logan could see that one of the rings was an insignia with a family crest.
A Scottish coat of arms.
He couldn’t help but wonder just how, when and where the man had acquired the ring. He knew that the scent of blood clinging to him wasn’t imaginary, and once again it sent him careening into the past. The men’s voices brought him back to the present.
“Double or nothing, when I’m already sitting on all the money?” asked the man who had just won. Slim and wiry, he sported two gold-capped teeth and a gold earring. His head was clean-shaven.
“Coward,” the one with the rings accused.
“Nay, just smart,” chortled the third crewman. This one was stout with deep jowls.
The fourth man, middle-aged, well-muscled, with wisps of dark hair and a heavy beard, offered his opinion. “Oh, don’t leave a fellow cryin’ in his grog. Once we’ve sold off the girl—and with that ransom intended for that Laird Haggerty, we’ll all be sitting fine enough—while we watch old Horatio Bethany dance the hempen jig.”
Logan felt his fingers twitching at his knife. But as he kept his eye on the foursome, he reminded himself that there were most likely more men belowdecks. He could create a minor disturbance that would draw these four out, but if he had to resort to pistols, he would certainly rouse any others on the ship.
What to do?
Go below first?
No, because he didn’t want to take his eyes off this group. They were drinking, but not drunk. And they all appeared able-bodied and quick enough.
As he stood debating and the four argued about continuing the play, the man with the jowls suddenly rose. “S’cuse me, mates. I’ve a need for fresh air—and the slosh bucket.”
“Piss over the side, you louse. Spare the man on loo duty,” the man with the rings said.
“Fine, I’ll piss in the night breeze.”
Logan straightened against the cabin wall instantly, quickly shifting his plan of action, grateful for the man’s call of nature.
He held still and silent while the door opened and the fellow walked out. He was tall, very tall. And big. Strong as an ox, Logan decided. He would have to be very sure and very quick.
The big fellow looked about, then ambled toward the rail. “Brewster?” he called out. He swore when he wasn’t immediately answered.
He stopped on his way to the rail, and Logan swore silently to himself and hoped the fellow wasn’t going to investigate.
He crept silently behind the big man, his knife at the ready. When his quarry stopped, Logan stopped.
“Brewster?” the sailor said again. “You sorry excuse for a man! You’re supposed to be on guard duty. What if some ship happened upon us, eh?”
He walked forward.
In another moment he would stumble on the bodies.
There was no choice for it. Logan prepared to spring. As soon as the big man bent down to look closer at the bodies of his fallen comrades, Logan made his move. He landed on the man’s back and drew the knife across his throat.
He didn’t die easily.
Even with his life’s blood gushing from him, he managed to stand and throw Logan from his back. But the element of surprise, and the man’s own actions, had given Logan the advantage. No man, no matter how big or strong, could survive a severed jugular.
Logan, tossed down hard on the deck, remained still as the fellow staggered, tried to speak…and fell at last.
He would not be laughing at the hanging of Lord Bethany, that was a certainty.
Logan quickly gathered his wits and got back to his feet, careful to keep a distance from the slippery pools of blood the man had left behind. Looking past the dead man, he noticed the barrels set against the rail at the bow.
He looked toward the cabin. He could hear them arguing.
He strode to the first barrel and pried it open with the bloody blade of his knife.
The thing was filled with jewels and gold.
He looked back toward the cabin. There was no time. Still…
He moved swiftly. He didn’t dump the entire barrel; he was afraid of the noise it would make. Instead he quickly tossed item after priceless item over the side. It took only moments. He opened the second barrel, and the third. In short order he took supreme pleasure in the fact that the treasure that would have allowed these men the luxury of watching a hanging from the best seats was now lying on the seabed.
Then he made a silent retreat back to the cabin.
“What the hell? Do you think the big oaf fell straight overboard, his thing a’flappin’ in the breeze?” the beringed fellow asked.
“Go check on him,” Gold-earring commanded.
“You go check on him,” Rings replied.
“Want a chance to get your money back? He’s the only one on your side, mate,” Gold-earring pointed out.
Swearing, the loser with the rings rose and came outside. Leaving the door open behind him, he stepped forward and called, “Griffin, where ye be?”
Logan inched closer, gently pushing the door so that it would close slowly, as if from a shift in the ship.
When the man turned, Logan ducked.
“Griffin? Brewster?”
He would cause an alarm if he was left alone any longer, so Logan sprinted up behind him, clapped his hand over the man’s mouth and slipped the blade of his knife between two ribs to pierce the heart.
For a moment, the man gurgled wetly and struggled.
Then his struggles weakened and he grew silent.
Logan eased him to the deck, then rolled him behind a water barrel.
Two more. He made his way back to his post outside the captain’s cabin. Long minutes passed. The two remaining men discussed the lack of quality whores in both New Providence and Jamaica.
“Where are those two?” the bearded man finally asked.
The thin pirate rose. “We’ll find ’em. Maybe they’re out there hoarding the gold, eh? Well, I’ll not be losing out on it!”
Both men were coming out at once.
Logan knew he had no choice.
The skinny man saw him, so he pulled one of the pistols and shot. The explosion seemed louder than a roll of thunder directly overhead.
The other man was pulling his own pistol, so Logan let his knife fly. It caught the man straight in the heart.
But the shot had created a noise he hadn’t needed.
And there were far more men still aboard the ship than he had imagined. They were suddenly streaming up from belowdecks, using ladders at both the stern and the bow.
He emptied his pistols, threw his last knife and drew out his sword.
There were de
ad men everywhere. His efforts were aided by the fact that Colm’s crew was slipping and sliding in the blood; those who had pulled their pistols fired off shots that went wild and twice hit members of their own crew.
The remaining men dropped their pistols as spent or dangerous and drew their swords.
How many of them were there? Logan wondered.
No matter how many swords he parried, there was always another. He didn’t know how long his senses would cue him in to a man at his back, or how long he could fend off a man in front and another at his side.
He was forced back, again and again.
He was nicked, and he knew that in time the blood loss would begin to sap his strength.
He leapt atop the rail, with them grouped around him. He had but one chance to survive and fight another day.
To leap into the water.
He never leapt.
And his opponents never forced him over.
Because suddenly, out of the darkness of the night, came an explosion.
Loud. Shattering. The ship itself trembled.
And then he was cast overboard, and as he fell into the dark, he was aware of the scent of burnt powder and the orange of flame.
As he struck the water and plunged hard and deep into the sea, he realized that Blair Colm’s ship had been hit by cannon fire.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
BRENDAN HAD NEVER intended to start a gun battle that night.
But Jimmy O’Hara had called down from the crow’s nest as, under cover of darkness, they had reached the island.
As they rounded the shore, they had seen the ship anchored just outside the reef and recognized the flags it flew, then seen signs of activity on the island. If Red was there with Logan, they might have been captured by Blair Colm, Brendan thought in fear.
And if the man knew he was holding the notorious pirate who had been chasing him around the Caribbean…
He didn’t want to think about that.
If she were aboard Blair Colm’s ship, he didn’t want to sink it. And yet he couldn’t become a sitting duck himself.
Then Jimmy O’Hara had called down that a man who appeared to be Logan Haggerty was waging a savage and single-handed battle against nearly two score crewmen, and Brendan felt he had no choice.
So he had ordered cannon fire, a singe shot from the thirty-two pounder. Blair Colm’s ship was a merchantman with a thick hull; it would take far more than a single round to sink such a ship. But something had to be done.
Strangely, the cannon fire seemed to coincide with the break of dawn. The shot exploded and a fire burst up from the deck—good God, they must have hit a powder reserve—and then the horizon seemed to stay alight, a yellow line sweeping across to separate sea from sky.
“The beach!” Jimmy cried.
Brendan drew out his spyglass and studied the shore. People were scurrying about the beach, looking almost like ants from this distance, trying to ascertain the source of the explosion and gauge the danger. Brendan had run the ship in the dark, and they might have stayed hidden if he hadn’t fired off the shot.
Jimmy had been right about more than just the existence of the island. Logan Haggerty had been fighting for his life on Blair Colm’s ship. Brendan had seen him just before the shot went off.
He focused the glass in that direction now, but there was no sign of Logan anymore. The men aboard Blair’s ship were working frenziedly, hauling up the anchor and putting out fires.
He swung the glass back to the beach.
He didn’t see Red. All he saw were men reaching for their weapons and running toward the boats.
Then he saw Blair Colm.
He was standing on the beach, in full view, as if he were convinced he was invincible. He was shouting orders, and the men were rushing to obey.
Brendan shouted to Peg-leg. “Turn the guns. I want one volley—straight on the beach. Aim forward, not into the trees.”
Peg-leg turned, hurrying to deliver the order. Already gunners were taking their positions at the swivel guns on the deck.
Their aim was true. A shot exploded in the shallows, and men went flying.
And then Brendan saw her.
It was impossible to miss her. Her hair was like a beacon—and she was wearing a dress.
A dress? He could barely remember how she looked in such attire, which she had last worn the day the notorious Red Robert had been born. He thanked God. Perhaps that meant Blair Colm had never recognized her as the pirate captain.
She was with a woman and an elderly man. Lord Bethany and his daughter, perhaps? How the hell had they all come to be together?
He couldn’t dwell on the question. He saw Red almost dancing with the fellow she was fighting.
The other woman was no silly fool. He watched her knee a man in the groin as he made a lunge for her.
“Fire again! One more volley, and take care—the captain is ashore!” he cried.
The beach and the water exploded once more.
“Man in the water!” Jimmy O’Hara shouted.
Brendan looked up toward the crow’s nest.
Jimmy was waving wildly. “Man in the water!” he shouted again. “It’s Laird Haggerty!”
TIMING WAS everything, Red thought, as she realized what ship had arrived.
Oh, God, if only Brendan and his crew had made it a day earlier…
But they had not, and now Brendan was doing the best he could, and making all the right moves under the circumstances.
A quick glance out to sea showed her that Blair’s ship had been hit—and there were more than a dozen men racing about the deck.
Her heart sank.
What had happened to Logan?
Was he dead?
Or had he somehow escaped?
She wielded her second knife to keep Colm’s men at a distance and managed to find the Bethanys and drag them along the path that led to the fresh water and the cave.
“What are we doing? Where are we going?” Cassandra gasped.
“To the cave. The entrance is behind those trees. Hurry, and don’t stop, no matter what. You’ll find more weapons there. Now run!”
But as they rounded a bend in the path and she pushed them ahead, she nearly went sprawling facedown on the embankment by the pool.
Someone had hold of her skirt.
She reassured herself that Cassandra and her father were racing ahead, as commanded, then turned, her knife ready, and the man who’d caught her—Billy Bones—laughed and jumped back. “You want to fight me?” he asked, amused.
“You want to fight me?” she returned.
He laughed again. “Oh, little girl, don’t be foolish.”
He made a grab at her; she swiped with the knife.
“I like them feisty,” he said with a nasty grin.
“I understand you’re equally fond of livestock,” she informed him. She had assessed him as the kind of man who was quick to anger, and like most men, he would make rash mistakes when he was angry. It would give her the advantage she needed.
“You are livestock, little girl,” he countered.
He flew at her then, still laughing.
She was ready.
She never even had to stab him.
He impaled himself on her blade.
His weight and momentum knocked her to the ground under him, and he stared at her in disbelief. His laughter turned to a gasp, and then, his mouth and eyes still open, he died.
With a cry, she shoved him off her, wrenching her knife free.
But before she could rise, she was pinned to the ground by a boot on her chest. She moved to stab at her attacker’s leg, but someone else stamped down so hard on her arm that she cried out. The knife slipped from her fingers, and she looked up.
Blair Colm was standing with his foot atop her, several of his men at his side. “Get her up. And bring her with us. I’m getting a strange feeling there’s a relationship between this bitch and the convenient arrival of Red Robert.” He leaned low, until his thin fa
ce and cold eyes were uncomfortably near her own. “What do you say, dear Bobbie? Is there perhaps a romance between you? Am I right?”
She spat at him. He retaliated by slapping her with the swiftness of a serpent’s strike. Her head reeled.
It continued to spin as he dragged her upright. She dimly heard him snap, “Where are the other two captives?”
“They must have been taken out on the first boat, Cap’n,” someone responded. “They aren’t with her.”
“Walk,” Colm commanded.
But the world was still spinning, and she couldn’t.
She couldn’t even protest when he threw her over his shoulder.
She simply lost consciousness.
THE SUN ROSE QUICKLY.
Logan was barely out of the water when he cried, “Fire at will at the ship. Red and the Bethanys aren’t aboard.”
Brendan quickly turned to the crew and ordered, “Fire on the ship! Fire at will!” Then he turned to Logan and said, “I know. I saw them ashore.”
Logan gripped his shoulders. “You saw them? Were they—”
“They were running inland.”
“A glass! I need a spyglass,” Logan said. Peg-leg quickly supplied one, and Logan focused on the beach.
With black powder filling the air, it was difficult to make out details, but then he saw two boats, both of them riding dangerously low in the water, thanks to Red.
“Their boats! Fire on their boats!” he yelled.
“Calculate fire!” Brendan shouted. “Aim for the tenders.”
And then Logan felt as if an ice cold hand had reached out from the cloud of smoke and closed around his heart.
“Stop!” he roared.
“Cease fire!” Brendan commanded. Then he turned to Logan and asked, “Why?”
“He has her. Blair Colm has Red,” Logan said, feeling physically ill.
As Brendan lifted his own spyglass, Logan stared, then slumped against the rail. Walking in easy view, Blair Colm was making his way down the beach to the third longboat, Red thrown over his shoulder. She was unconscious.
Unconscious? Oh, God, please let her only be unconscious, he prayed.
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