“Ha! You still don’t understand, do you?”
“Explain it to me.”
“You’ve been a thorn in my side for too long, Hardacre, but I have also made you an instrument in my hand. Your assistance in ridding me of Kaddouri was most welcome. It was easy enough to set one against the other and profit from you both. It’s a pity the man didn’t live up to the bargain of ridding me of you, too. Kit… that’s another name for a cat in your language, is it not? And cats are said to have six lives.”
“In my culture, it’s nine.”
Sharrouf inclined his head to concede the difference.
“Nevertheless, your appearance here today is unexpected. Never mind. We can expend your remaining lives, and I’m sure Selim Omar will appreciate the return of one of his special doves.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Kit saw Marco fumble with a flint, his movement slow and agony written on his face.
Come on Marco, you can do it!
Kit pulled one arm away slowly and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m afraid that’s going to be a problem, Sharrouf. Selim Omar is dead. Why do you think the palace guards are out?”
He could see the news was a surprise to him. “Your doing?”
“Not I.”
Sharrouf turned to Sophia. “You?”
She smiled enigmatically, making sure his full attention was focused on her. His men followed suit, looking at her. Kit shifted on his feet.
That’s it, Sophia, a few more minutes, we need just a few minutes more.
He watched her shake her head slowly. “Another woman. Yasmeen,” she answered. “She stabbed him through the heart while he slept.”
Sharrouf laughed and looked back at Kit. “Empty shoes, eh? Another gift you’ve given me, Hardacre.”
He barked a command to the two men guarding Sophia. They left. Kit heard them descend the ladder.
“I will check what she says.” He held out his remaining whole arm to Sophia. “You, my dear, will join me over here,”
Sophia glanced at Kit and walked to Sharrouf’s side, positioning herself to obscure the view of Marco. The boy sweated with the exertion of reaching a thin line of black powder that disappeared out of sight behind a stack of crates.
“Selim Omar’s chief eunuch is loyal to me. I’ve always fancied myself a potentate. Four wives without direction is a hazardous thing. They will need a man to guide them.” He ended his observation with a knowing grin. He turned to Sophia and raised a hand to stroke her hair. “I look forward to getting to know you better.”
Sophia didn’t resist the gesture, and Kit forced boiling violence back within himself.
*
That odious man touching her hair was the least of the indignities she had suffered over the past year, so she bore it without flinching. She knew, without a doubt, one sign of distress from her would send Kit over the edge and sign all their death warrants. All they could do was wait and hope Marco could successfully light the fuse.
A loud groan drew Sharrouf’s attention at last to Marco who, in his pain, had fumbled the flint and steel striker. Sharrouf moved. Sophia was swifter.
She swung her right hand concealing the knife up and under the man’s ribs. He screamed in pain, raining closed-fisted blows on her head and back. She ignored them, withdrew the blade and stabbed him again.
One of Sharrouf’s henchmen pulled her off him. He squeezed her right wrist hard. She bit the inside of her lip, dropped the knife into her left hand, and slashed behind herself blindly. Her assailant hissed in pain and shoved her away from him. She tumbled across the floor. The sounds of other fighting around her in the gloom grew more violent.
She regained her feet. The man she had slashed behind her was slumped on the boards, clutching his neck soundlessly. Blood spurted between his fingers with the weakening beat of his heart. Sharrouf lay face down nearby, emitting a bubbling, gurgling sound interspersed with groans. Another man lay a few feet away, either dead or unconscious. Kit’s doing. Where was he?
Marco groaned and she rushed to the boy’s side. His tunic was soaked in blood. The knife used to stab him lay discarded nearby.
“Help me, Miss Sophia,” he whispered. She tried to sit him up but the young man yowled in pain.
“No. It’s too late… too late. Help me light the fuse… I don’t want to let the captain down.” His voice was weaker.
Sophia swept a lock of hair from his brow. Even now, she could see him fade before her eyes. Her tears fell onto Marco’s face.
“Do it for me…” the boy gasped and breathed his last.
The flint and striker fell to her hand. Without thinking, she scored the flint and, on the second attempt, the spark ignited the line of powder. She didn’t even know how far away the powder keg was.
She stood now on trembling legs. Two men wrestled at the edge of the mezzanine but there was so much dust in the air, she couldn’t tell which one was Kit.
Both disappeared over the edge. There was a scream and a thump. A moment passed before a man pulled himself up the ladder, silhouetted in the filtered light of the dust-filled store.
“Sophia!”
Her heart started beating again.
“Marco’s gone. I lit the fuse.”
Kit ignored her and staggered to Marco’s side. She joined him in time to see him slip off the ebony rosary and place it over the young sailor’s neck.
“Forgive me,” he whispered before rising to his feet. Sophia reached out to clasp his hand and squeeze it. Not one lost – the credo Kit lived by was now over.
“Come on,” he said, his voice hoarse. “We have about two minutes before this place goes up.”
He hefted Marco’s body over his shoulder and started down the ladder.
Chapter Forty-Five
The scent of lavender soap remained strong, long after the bathwater had been emptied.
Sophia rolled onto her back and looked up at the ceiling. Laura slept soundly beside her in the captain’s quarters, but she could not rest. After so many months of living a nightmare, she could hardly believe she was here and wondered whether it was truly over. Perhaps it wasn’t.
Would Kit look at her differently now? Would he look at her and see another man’s hands on her? Could he touch her knowing what type of man Selim Omar was? Worse, did he blame her for Marco’s death?
The answers would be found in Kit’s eyes. She would know then. She slipped out of bed, donned a heavy robe, and ventured on deck. She wrapped the robe around her firmly against the cold, stiff breeze and glanced at the barometer. There would be rain soon. At the wheel, Jonathan became aware of another presence and turned. On seeing her, he smiled, but she could only manage a nod in return.
“You’ll find him at the bow, Sophia,” he said.
She stopped at a brazier and warmed her chilled hands before placing them back in her pockets, and braved a windswept walk along the deck.
Kit either sensed her presence or, perhaps, even heard her footsteps, though to her own ears the wind carried them off. He glanced at her, then turned back to the ocean.
“You should be inside,” he said. “Out of the cold.”
“I should be with you.”
Kit gave a long, drawn out sigh and said nothing more.
“Touch me,” she whispered. It was the bravest thing she had ever uttered. His response to those two words would tell her if they still had a future together. The bow of the Calliope pushed through a breaking wave. She rocked back with the roll of the ship – and he caught her.
His eyes wandered over her face and settled on her lips before his mouth descended and claimed hers. She kissed him without reservation, savoring the feel of his rough stubble, his soft, questing tongue. She pressed herself against him and his arms fully enfolded her into his embrace.
The first drops of rain fell, cooling her heated cheeks.
“Do you want this?” he asked.
“I want you.”
“Bella.” Kit swept her into his arms. They r
etreated below deck as the heavens opened.
He opened the door to one of the officer’s quarters that he had claimed for the duration of the voyage. It was smaller but cozy, heated by the coals in a stove.
“You’re wet,” he whispered. “You’ll catch a chill.”
“There’s only one cure for that,” she told him. She kept her eyes on him and untied her robe, removing it. She placed it on the sea chest at the foot of the bed. The ribbons at the neck of her nightgown were next. Without a word spoken, it too had gone to join the robe.
She watched his eyes as he looked at her. She stood before him naked, not just in body, but in spirit, too.
“Can you accept me for who I am now?”
His hazel eyes met hers. She saw his desire as well as his hope. “Do you still want me?”
Her laugh was a nervous one. “Still answering a question with a question.”
“Things have changed.”
“Between us?”
“I failed you. How could you possibly…”
She saw the maelstrom of emotions in his eyes. Her heart ached. She stepped forward and placed a hand on his chest as if by doing so she could ease his pain. He stepped back. She held her breath but his eyes never left hers. He removed his clothing piece by piece to stand as naked as she.
She eyed the fresh bruises and barely healed scars across his arms, torso and legs that should have seemed ugly to her, but did not. Somehow, she sensed Kit needed her to see him, too, and accept him as he was.
She repeated her earlier demand. “Touch me,” then added softly, “I need you to.”
Thunder followed a flash of lightning and continued its rumble across the sky. Rain lashed the hull outside but all Sophia could feel now were the kisses raining on her face.
Epilogue
The wind howled, bending the yellowed grass flat against the headland. Even the trees bowed against the force of it. But standing firm against nature’s onslaught were the remaining upright columns of the ancient villa on Catallus. They had seen weather like this for a thousand years and would see it again until time itself ended.
Sophia’s cloak whipped like an unsecured sail. She fastened it, keeping her eyes on the man standing as unmovable as a rock at the edge of the promontory.
She approached him unnoticed. The fury of the gathering storm on the western horizon seemed to have deafened and blinded him. She reached Kit’s side. A slight shift on his feet was the only acknowledgement of her presence. He used his cane less frequently now and the limp only became noticeable when he was tired.
She followed his gaze. Out to sea, dark grey waves wore whitecaps whipped by the storm. Something caught her eye in the blue-grey light, a large sail, glowing white, billowing proudly. For a while, she watched the vessel push forward valiantly against the heaving swell.
One against forces much mightier.
Once, she thought such odds were impossible, but now she knew better. When the sensible and the rational yielded no results, then fearless – no, reckless courage was required.
The wind chilled. She could smell the scent of rain on it. The storm was drawing closer. She slipped her hand in Kit’s, anchoring herself to him. They had weathered their violent tempest and not emerged unscathed. There were wounds still to heal, scars to fade. But now, in their safe harbor, they had time. They had peace.
She wished the same for Laura. She closed her eyes to silently pray for her cousin and the baby she unwillingly carried. It was a journey she had to make on her own. Though not entirely. Laura had not gone home. What future was for her there? Sophia hoped Laura would, in time, come to accept Elias’ tender, steadfast presence.
There was Samuel, too. He was not undamaged. She freely forgave him because the weight of guilt already pressed heavily on his heart. She could not add to it and wished him a happy future with his bride. May she understand the man she married was not the same one who had proposed.
Finally, she commended young Marco to God’s keeping and she prayed.
Sophia opened her eyes. The ship at sea was smaller now, dwarfed by distance and the towering clouds of the storm ahead. It was time to let it go; time to let them all go.
Saint Christopher protect us.
As though he knew the pull of her thoughts, Kit turned and wrapped his arms around her, the chill of her body and her heart warming in his embrace.
Lightning jagged across the sky, now filled with bruised clouds of black and purple. Thunder quickly followed.
Sophia accepted the whole of Christopher John Hardacre – his courage and his flaws – and loved him all the more for them. He once told her she made him a better man. Now she could tell him he made her a better woman, braver and more resourceful than she herself knew.
The storm clouds finally swallowed the sun, casting day into night. The air charged with electricity as if the world itself was holding its breath.
It would be perilous finding their way back in the dark.
“We should go,” she whispered. Kit nodded. Still in his embrace, they turned from the edge. There was a light ahead, a yellow lamp that someone held aloft. They would follow it home.
Heart of the Corsairs Series
Captive of the Corsairs
Revenge of the Corsairs
Shadow of the Corsairs
Elizabeth Ellen Carter Amazon Author Page
Regency Scandals and Scoundrels: A Regency Historical Romance Collection Page 171