by Shana Galen
“I’m going to kill you,” she said, looking directly
into his eyes. They were cobalt blue and framed with
thick brown lashes.
He raised a brow at her. “I don’t think so.” She
should have seen it coming, should have seen his eyes
flick down or his jaw clench, but he gave no indica-
tion he would move. And before she could react, he
had her wrist pinned on the table, the dagger trapped
and useless. Slowly he stood, his hand warm steel on
hers. She watched him rise and rise and had never
felt as small as she did in that moment. She realized
the tavern had grown quiet as the patrons drank in
the scene.
Percy’s voice broke the silence. “Captain, the boy’s
had too much to drink. He’s young. If you don’t
mind, we’ll just be taking him back to the ship now.”
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Raeven scowled. She could imagine her father’s
men lined up behind her, Percy in the middle, his
hands spread in a placating gesture. She kept her eyes
locked on Cutlass’s, saw him shrug and exchange a
look with one of his men. Devil take her if he wasn’t
going to pat her head and shoo her away. She couldn’t
allow that. This was her last chance. Even now her
father might have noticed her absence, and it could be
months— years—before she had another opportunity
to confront Cutlass.
“Coward,” she said loud enough for her voice to
carry through the tavern. “Too afraid to fight me, a
mere boy?”
She saw the surprise in his face and then the irrita-
tion. “Look, lad, I don’t want to kill you.”
She laughed. “What makes you think you can? I’m
good with a sword. Very good, and I challenge you to
a duel.” Now she did look away from him; she swept
the room with her eyes, making sure everyone heard
the challenge.
“Now you’ve done it,” she heard Percy mutter.
And she had. Cutlass could not back down from a
direct challenge.
She heard a snort and whipped her head back to Cutlass.
Or could he?
“Go back to your ship, boy. I don’t have time
to play sword fighting with you. Come back when
you’ve grown a whisker or two”—he traced a finger
over her cheek before she could jerk her head away—
“and kissed a pretty girl.” With that, he released her
hand and shoved past her.
Raeven spun and drew her sword. She wasn’t
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surprised when, at the sound, he drew his own and
faced her again. “Stupid little brat. Are you really
going to make me kill you?”
“Not if I kill you first, you pirate bastard.” She
thrust her sword, but he parried easily, the weight of
his heavier blade throwing her slightly off balance.
She was in the corner, while he had the open space of
the room in which to maneuver. She needed to push
him back, to give herself more room. She was fast and
agile, but those strengths required space.
She stumbled into a stool and kicked it back and out
of her way. It didn’t help much, but it was something.
And not a moment too soon. Cutlass took advantage
of her distraction to lunge, and she was almost too late
in blocking him.
Not that the thrust would have done much more
than scratch her. He was playing with her, still not
taking her challenge seriously. Why should that irk her
so? He’d see how serious she was when she gutted him.
“Go back to your ship, enfant,” Cutlass said with a
roguish smile that showed off a row of white teeth. For
some reason, his perfect smile irritated her even more.
The man should have some fault. Rotten teeth or a
gap or… something! “Before you cease to amuse me.”
“Oh, but I’ve only begun to amuse you, pirate.”
She made as if to lower her sword but jerked it up
at the last minute, catching the sleeve of his coat and
ripping a gash in the fine material. It was a move she’d
perfected over the years, and she was not surprised it
succeeded now. What did surprise her was that when
Cutlass should have been gazing in surprise at his torn
coat, he was ready for her when she slashed at his
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Shana Galen
throat. His blade connected with hers, the screech of
metal against metal resounding through the stillness
of the tavern. “Not laughing now, are you, bastard?”
she ground out. Cutlass was strong, and it took most
of her strength to keep his sword from slicing her
own away.
“Do you think your little parlor trick impressed me,
enfant?” he asked. “Now you owe me ten pounds for
my coat.”
“Ten pounds! Don’t be ridiculous.” She pushed
back on his sword and leaned to the right. She could
feel the walls behind her, crowding her. She needed
to get out of this corner. Cutlass gave way, edging to
her right, and she felt a small measure of victory. If she
could just get him to circle…
He gave her borrowed clothes a distasteful perusal.
“I assure you that you will pay me ten pounds for the
damage you’ve done.” His eyes narrowed, and she
actually felt a shiver run down her spine. “One way
or another.”
“You’ll have to pry the blunt out of my cold, dead
hands, pirate bastard.” She was sweating now and
breathing heavily, but she’d managed to make him
edge a little more to her right. Their swords were still
locked in a stalemate, but she knew he was waiting for
the right time to strike. She kept her weight on the
balls of her feet, ready to defend.
Around her, she could hear the crowd exclaiming,
could hear bets being placed and feel the men crowding
in to observe. She wondered if anyone bet on her.
“I know we’ve not formally met,” Cutlass said,
“but might I ask why you keep referring to me as a
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‘bastard pirate’ when I’m neither a pirate nor a bastard?
It’s rather impolite.”
“I’ll show you impolite!” She stepped back, moving
quickly as his blade came down with a swish of hot air
before her face. But before he could raise it again, she
feinted to the left and skirted around him.
Ha! Victory! Now she had the open room to her back!
But Cutlass, quicker than she anticipated, spun around
and thrust, forcing her, stumbling and pinwheeling,
back into the crowd. One of the men caught her by
the arms and shoved her forward again. She ducked
and fell into a somersault as Cutlass’s blade swooshed
above her.
That was no swordplay. Cutlass was finally serious.
She sprang to her feet and, whipping around, paired
her sword with his. The blades scraped together as
she thrust and parried, and he followed suit. He was
a good swordsman, she realized, as he matched her
move for move. He’d studied the art, didn’t just act on
instinct. She too had studied, and mentally she went
through her list of offensive maneuvers.
But the frustrating man blocked her every attack.
He seemed to know what she would do before she
did it. And the worst part was she was growing tired.
When she’d left her father’s ship, she’d been fueled by
excitement and revenge. Now, Cutlass systematically
wore away at her reserves. He defended but did not
attack. And she couldn’t help but notice he did not
seem even slightly winded.
The crowd cheered at each of their advances, and
she had the distinct impression they were rooting for
her. But Cutlass would have his supporters as well. If
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Shana Galen
she killed him—no, when she killed him—she needed
to be ready for another attack.
“Devil take you!” she swore after another forceful
lunge merely resulted in the two circling each
other again.
“Not tonight.” He smiled again, but she could see a
faint sheen of perspiration on his upper lip. So he was
not made of steel. He was tiring.
And that was the last thought she had before he
attacked. Without warning and with great finesse, he
switched stances and drove his blade toward her heart.
She parried, of course, but it was a near thing. And
then he was on her again, forcing her back into the
throng, crowding her until she had little choice but to
defend with quick, small movements instead of larger,
more powerful ones.
“You’re not going to win,” he said, pressing her back.
“Then I die trying,” she gritted out. She swiped
at him to prove her point and had the satisfaction of
seeing him jerk to the side to elude the sharp steel of
her blade.
“And what are you dying for?” He struck back, and
she struggled to hold her position.
“Revenge.” She met his blade high, then low, then
high again. She pushed hard, and he pushed back, and
they stared at one another for a long moment.
“A noble cause. How did I offend?”
She opened her mouth and closed it again, unsure
whether or not she wanted to answer. Finally, she said,
“You killed my… friend.”
“Doubtful. I kill far fewer than the rumors would
have you believe.”
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The anger rose inside her like a tidal wave, and she
brought her blade down hard on his. “You dare to
mock me?”
His answer was a quick, triumphant grin, and just
as she realized his intent, he brought his sword up and
drove her back.
Into the tavern’s support beam.
Frantic at the feel of the scratchy wood on her back,
she tried to skirt around it, but Cutlass’s blade caught
her sleeve and drove into the wooden beam.
She was trapped.
Her right arm, that with the sword, was incapaci-
tated, but she had enough presence of mind to toss her
sword to her left hand and make a jab at him. She’d
never been very good with her left hand—unlike
those fencing masters who could fight with either
hand—and he easily evaded her blade.
“I’ve beaten you,” he said, leaning close. “Admit it,
enfant, and I let you go.”
“I’d rather choke on my own blood when you slit
my throat.”
He raised his brows at that, obviously not expecting
such a vehement response. “Well, as appealing as that
sounds, I don’t want a reputation as a child killer.”
He gave her a speculative look. “But there is the
matter of that ten pounds you owe me.” He glanced
at his torn coat, and she doubled her efforts to escape,
but her sleeve would not tear. If her shirt had been
made of fine linen, as Cutlass’s was, she’d already
be free. But this coarse homespun was not easily
damaged.“I don’t have ten pounds, so you’ll have to
kill me.”
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Shana Galen
“Or…” He gave her a triumphant smile. “I’ve been
looking for a new cabin boy. I think you might be
right for the position. I’d enjoy seeing you empty my
chamber pot each day.”
The crowd hooted with laughter, but she was
not amused.
“Never!” She tried again to strike him with her
sword, but he plucked it out of her hands. She
clenched her fist. If she lost that sword, there would be
hell to pay. Her father had it made especially for her,
and it had not come cheaply.
“Tut-tut.” Cutlass grinned at the crowd, who were
enjoying this little play. “You’ll have to learn some
manners. And we’ll start with removing your cap
when you speak to me.” He reached for her.
“No!”
But she was too late. Before the words were out
of her mouth, he’d snatched the cap from her head
and was staring in shock as the mass of black curls
tumbled down her back. She’d secured her hair
tightly, but he’d ripped the hair pins loose when
he tore the cap away. Cutlass stared at the cap,
then at her, then at the cap again. For the moment,
he appeared speechless. Then, slowly, he reached
forward, wrapped a lock of her hair around two
fingers, and tugged.
“Ow!”
He leaned close, peered into her face, and shook his
head. “I must be an idiot. I can’t believe I didn’t see
it sooner.” She noted his blue eyes slid over her face
with what looked to be appreciation. His gaze slipped
down, and heat crept into her cheeks.
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“So I’m a woman,” she said, standing straighter.
She managed to spare a glare for the patrons who were
staring at her with expressions that ran from contempt
to hilarity. “It doesn’t mean I can’t fight.” She met
Cutlass’s gaze directly and ignored the spark of heat
flooding into her. “It doesn’t mean I won’t kill you.”
He raised a brow, glanced at her sword, which he
held in one hand, then at his own sword, which still
held her pinned to the tavern’s wooden beam. The
crowd chuckled.
“Devil take it!” She tried once more to free her
shirt from his sword, but the material and the steel
held fast.
“Such language from a woman. You really do need
>
to learn some manners.” He reached for her face, and
she jerked away, but his touch was tender as he skated
a finger down her cheek. She felt more heat burn
across the skin he touched. Why was she reacting this
way? He was a killer. He’d killed Timothy.
“I suppose I could hire you on as a cabin girl,”
he was saying, glint in his eye. “Though your duties
might differ somewhat.”
This brought cheers from some of the tavern’s
patrons, and, from the corner of her eye, Raeven
could see the uneasy shuffling of her father’s men. She
did not want them to step in and save her. She’d rather
let Cutlass take her and escape later than have to be
rescued. She caught Percy’s eye and shook her head.
His white face paled further, and he looked ready to
toss his accounts.
She glanced back at Cutlass, who was watching
her. Had he seen her exchange with Percy? Doubtful.
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Even if he had, he wouldn’t make anything of it. “I’ll
be your cabin girl,” Raeven said, her voice low and
husky. She leaned forward, flirting, and Cutlass shook
his head.
“I imagine you’ll empty my chamber pot… right
before you slit my throat.”
She gave him a winning smile. “You know me
so well.”
“Well enough to make sure I don’t turn my back
on you.” He gestured to his men. “Mr. Maine, see
that she makes it aboard the Shadow and finds her way
into my cabin. Untouched.” He extracted his sword
from the wooden beam, freeing her, but not before
his man grabbed her arm. She could have fought, but
Cutlass was playing right into her hands. She would kill
him. Unaware of the danger he was in, Cutlass turned
his back and strode for the tavern’s exit.
“You’re going to regret this, Cutlass!” Raeven
called after him. “In more ways than you can count.”
He waved a hand without looking back, clearly
dismissing her.
“Let’s go,” Mr. Maine said, pushing her forward.
Percy was instantly at her side, hissing in her ear.
“I can’t let them kidnap you. Your father will kill
me.” He gestured to the other men of the Regal. “Kill
all of us.”
“If you intervene, I’ll kill you,” Raeven hissed
back. “I’ll be back on my father’s ship before morning.
You know I can escape anything and anyone.”
Percy looked dubious.
“Besides,” she added, “if you intervene now,