Rogue Pirates Bride

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Rogue Pirates Bride Page 8

by Shana Galen


  I’ve moved up in your estimation, then.”

  “Hardly.” She stalked down the corridor, the light

  flickering off her gown. “I want a word with you.”

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  He raised his brows. “Only a word? What, no

  dagger hidden in the folds of your dress? I was certain

  you were only out for my blood, ma belle.”

  In the shadowy corridor, he had difficulty seeing

  her face. Even as she moved closer, he could discern

  only that her expression was cloaked. “I will have

  your blood, pirate.” Her voice was as hard as the

  marble surrounding them. “But first I’d like my

  property back.”

  “Do I have something of yours?” he drawled.

  “My sword.” Her voice was ice, her mouth once

  again thin and tight.

  “Ah.” He drew out a cigar, stepped toward one of the

  candles, and lit it. “It’s a beautiful piece. Handcrafted?”

  Behind him Maine cleared his throat, and Bastien

  waved at him. “Go ahead, Mr. Maine. I shall see you

  back aboard shortly.”

  “Yes, Captain.” His boots clicked as he marched away.

  Bastien drew on the cigar and faced his cabin girl

  again. Her eyes were hard emeralds. “I noticed you

  didn’t send him to fetch my sword.”

  He blew out smoke. “Why would I intentionally

  arm you again? No, Miss Russell. I think we are all

  much safer when you are weaponless, though your

  eyes are shooting flaming arrows at me this moment.

  You have dangerous eyes.”

  She shook her head and scowled. “Do statements like

  that charm other ladies, pirate? They don’t charm me.”

  He shrugged, drew on his cigar again. In fact, state-

  ments like that did charm other ladies, but he didn’t

  imagine they would work on his cabin girl. In fact,

  he was glad that they didn’t. “I hadn’t expected to

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  see you in Gibraltar. Your father’s ship isn’t usually

  assigned to these waters.”

  She smiled. “I see in my absence you’ve done

  your research.”

  “I like to know something about my enemies.”

  She glanced back over her shoulder, toward the

  ballroom. He supposed she would have to return to

  her father, and he actually found himself disappointed

  their conversation would end. “Are we still enemies?”

  he asked.

  “Oh, most assuredly.” She stepped closer, looked

  him directly in the eye. “I made you a promise, pirate,

  and I will keep it.”

  “For what it’s worth,” he said quietly, “I didn’t intend

  to kill Captain Bowers. It was an unfortunate incident.”

  She stiffened, and he saw her clench her gloved

  fists. “An unfortunate incident? Is that what you call

  assault and murder? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,

  knowing you’re a pirate.”

  “Hmm. Privateer. Would it make any difference if

  I told you Captain Bowers engaged my ship? I didn’t

  go after him.”

  He could see in her face she hadn’t considered that

  possibility. She opened her mouth, closed it again, and

  swallowed. “That’s not the report I was given.”

  “And who gave you the report? An impartial

  observer or one of the men from the Valor?”

  She notched her sharp chin up. “I have no reason to

  doubt the report I was given or the man who gave it me.”

  “And every reason to doubt me.” He tossed the

  butt of the cigar on the floor and dashed the last

  embers with the toe of his boot.

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  “Of course! You’re a lying, thieving, murdering

  pirate. You have no sense of honor, of honesty. You—”

  “I see you haven’t done your research in our

  absence. You still know nothing about me.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “Do you have

  my sword?”

  He thought of the object hanging in his cabin.

  “Then that makes you a thief. Did you kill Captain

  Bowers?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Then that

  makes you a murderer. Do you attack ships on the

  high seas, confiscate their cargo, and sell it for your

  own profit? Then that makes you a pirate. Do you

  deny all of these accusations? That makes you a liar.”

  “How old are you, Miss Russell?”

  She blinked, seemingly taken back by the question.

  “Why?”

  “Because your view of the world is startlingly naïve.

  It would be charming in a girl of eleven or twelve, but

  as my sources put you closer to twenty, I think we

  might safely call it ignorance.”

  Her jaw dropped, and he could see her reach for

  her side where her sword was absent.

  He nodded at her. “You see, ma belle, better if you

  are unarmed.” A movement at the other end of the

  corridor caught his attention, and he squinted to see

  through the shadows.

  “But I won’t be unarmed forever, and when you’re

  least expecting it, I’ll be there to slit your—”

  “Shh.” He grabbed her wrist and pulled her into

  a shadow.

  “What are you doing? Release m—”

  He clamped a hand over her mouth, effectively

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  silencing her. For his pains, he received an elbow jab

  to the abdomen and a slipper thrust down hard on his

  foot. But as she stiffened after the impact, he decided

  she received the worse part of the blow. Soft slippers

  were not made for warfare. He wrapped his other

  arm around her middle to keep her arms at her sides

  and bent close to her ear. “I’m not kidnapping you ,

  mademoiselle. I need you to be silent a moment.”

  She said something against his hand, which he

  took as a refusal because she began to writhe and

  struggle against him anew. The men at the far end

  of the corridor were drawing closer, and he had no

  option but to drag her into a nearby alcove. He did so,

  ignoring her flailing until he had her out of sight. Using

  his body to anchor her, he peered around the corner.

  Bon Dieu! He hadn’t been mistaken. It was Juan

  Victor de los Santos. Jourdain called him El Santo,

  The Saint. He’d been serving with Jourdain for as long

  as Bastien had known the man. And where he went,

  Jourdain could always be found. So his information

  had been correct! Jourdain was in Gibraltar.

  A sharp kick to his shin reminded him he had other

  concerns at the moment. He ducked back into the

  alcove. “Be still for one moment.” She kicked him

  again. “Merde! ” With his arms covering her mouth

  and holding her wrists still, he had no way to contain

  her feet other than to press against her. She obj
ected

  immediately, twisting her face back and forth and

  attempting to cry for help. The effect was that he

  quickly became intimately acquainted with her lovely

  breasts. She must have bound them quite tightly to

  pass as a lad before.

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  “Stop moving,” he growled, attempting to ignore

  the warmth the motion of those breasts was beginning

  to ignite. The last thing he wanted was to be spotted

  by El Santo. If Jourdain knew Bastien was searching

  for him, and given the lengths Jourdain had gone to

  conceal himself, he probably did, Bastien knew the

  only way to find the Barbary pirate was to follow El

  Santo undetected.

  He risked one last glimpse around the corner and

  swore again. El Santo had not gone into the ball as

  Bastien had anticipated. Instead, he was coming this

  way. In a moment, he would pass Bastien and the

  struggling Miss Russell. Bastien looked down at the

  woman, and even in the darkness he could see murder

  in her eyes. “Je suis désolé,” he murmured, lowering his

  mouth to hers.

  He kissed her passionlessly, more intent on shielding

  their identities from El Santo and the men with him.

  He wanted them to see nothing more than a couple

  engaged in a romantic rendezvous.

  A somewhat tumultuous rendezvous, as his cabin

  girl was fighting him with everything she had. She was

  petite, but she was feisty and strong. It took all of his

  concentration to keep her under control. He might

  have had a moment to enjoy the kiss—she still tasted

  of cherries—but she bit his lip, and he had to suppress

  a bark of pain.

  He heard the men passing, heard the remark,

  spoken in Arabic, about the lovers, and then their

  boots clicked away. He drew back from his cabin girl,

  careful to cover her mouth again before she could

  protest. He peered out from the alcove again and saw

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  El Santo turn a corner down the hall. Immediately, he

  released the woman and started after him.

  At least he tried. The little hellion stuck out her

  boot and caught his ankle. He would have sprawled

  across the floor if he hadn’t caught himself. He tossed

  her an impatient frown. “I don’t have time for your

  games, chérie. But if you’re good, I promise to play

  with you again later.”

  “Bastard. What the hell is going on? What was that

  about?” She pointed to the alcove where he’d just

  been embracing her.

  He glanced impatiently at the corner down the

  corridor. “Once again I succumbed to your many

  charms, mademoiselle. I assure you it will not happen

  again.” He took her hand, kissed it. “Now I must

  be away.”

  He started after El Santo, but she was right behind

  him. Merde! But he did not want her following him,

  and every moment he spent with her meant El Santo

  was getting farther away. “Isn’t your father in some

  need of assistance?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Oh, so now you want to be rid

  of me. Is there something you don’t want me to see?”

  He stopped himself from glancing over his

  shoulder again, but she must have caught the move-

  ment nonetheless.

  “What are you looking for? Who are you looking for?”

  He gritted his teeth and tried to remain calm. He

  had to get away from her. “Why don’t I explain

  everything tomorrow? I shall call on you and your

  father in the morning. I’ll bring your sword.”

  Her eyebrows winged up. “You must want to be

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  rid of me quite badly if you’re willing to go to all

  that trouble.”

  “No, but…” He could see she didn’t believe him.

  He might as well stop wasting time and tell the truth.

  “Very well. I spotted someone I have been looking

  for, someone I need to see very badly. Now if you’ll

  excuse me…” He started down the corridor, but she

  was right by his side. At this point, he had no choice

  but to continue with her beside him, else he would

  lose any chance of finding El Santo again.

  “Who is this man?”

  He gave her an impatient look and continued walking.

  “Oh, perhaps it’s a woman.”

  They were nearing the corner, and Bastien did

  not know what he would find when he rounded

  it. “It’s no one you need concern yourself with. I

  assure you.”

  “Oh, but I want to concern myself, pirate. After all,

  you did say I needed to do more research.”

  The smug look on her face devastated the last of

  his patience. He pushed her up against the wall, disap-

  pointed to see the action didn’t seem to faze her at all.

  “This isn’t a game, Miss Russell. This is serious. Now

  go back to your father and your ball.”

  “And you can continue to treat me like a child,”

  she said, green eyes searing him, “but you’re wasting

  your time, and the man you’re seeking is getting away.

  Now, who are we following?”

  A hundred thoughts raced through his mind; most

  centered on how to be rid of her, if not for good, for

  a good long time. His hands itched to circle her neck

  and throttle her. She was like a plague he couldn’t

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  seem to be rid of—one who infested him at the most

  inopportune times.

  Unfortunately, she was right. He was out of time.

  “Stay out of my way. If you can’t keep up or get into

  trouble, don’t look to me for assistance.”

  She sneered at him. “As though I would need your

  assistance, pirate.”

  He was about to release her but leaned close

  instead. A hint of cherries teased his senses, but he

  resolutely resisted inhaling more deeply. “And if you

  do anything to jeopardize my plans—anything at all—

  I’ll make sure you are very, very sorry.”

  She tilted her head coyly, and the movement of her

  hair stirred up the cherry scent again. “I like this side

  of you. The desperate, bargaining side.”

  On an oath, he released her and started after El

  Santo. He rounded the corner and spotted the exte-

  rior door at the far end. There were several doors

  throughout the corridor, undoubtedly leading to

  various rooms. He would have to try each, a time-

  consuming and potentially dangerous process, or he

  could go straight for the exterior door.

  “I think the exterior door,” his cabin girl said deci-

  sively. “The rooms in this hallway are used for storage

  and by the servants.”

  Again, she was correct. He’d seen servants
coming

  and going from this corridor earlier in the evening.

  But it galled him to acknowledge she was correct.

  Instead, he stalked down the corridor, aware she was

  right on his heels. Aware, too, she had to scamper to

  keep up with his long strides.

  Compared to the corridor behind them, this

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  hallway was spartan and dark. A few guttering candles

  sputtered in dark wall recesses, casting shadows over

  the bare floors and unadorned walls.

  He reached the exterior door and tried the handle.

  It was unlocked, and he pushed it gingerly open.

  Merde. No sign of El Santo.

  He leaned back, prepared to order Miss Russell to

  return to her father, carry her all the way, if necessary,

  when the shot exploded and he felt a hot spray of

  wooden splinters. Belatedly, he ducked then glanced

  up at the hole in the wooden door.

  If he hadn’t turned back…

  If he’d been standing just a fraction to the right…

  “What are you doing!”

  He felt her hand claw at his shoulder, then she

  reached past him and pulled the door closed.

  “Someone’s shooting at you! Get down!” she cried,

  falling back against the wall as another lead ball hit the

  door, sending a shock reverberating through Bastien.

  Bastien clenched his fist. El Santo had seen him

  after all. But Jourdain must be frantic to avoid Bastien

  if El Santo was willing to kill him so openly. And that

  made Bastien all the more eager to get his hands on

  the man—on both men. He reached into his coat and

  pulled out his pistol. A swish of green satin beside him

  drew his attention in time to see his cabin girl hike

  her skirts and draw a dagger from a belt strapped to

  her thigh.

  A quite shapely thigh…

  He blinked. “Put that away, and go back to your father.”

  She shook her head and flipped the dagger into

  throwing position. The move was smooth and

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  practiced, and Bastien would have liked to see if she

  could throw and how accurately. Judging by her skills

  with a sword, he had a feeling her aim was deadly.

  “Get out of here,” he ordered.

  “I don’t think that’s possible.”

  “Yes, it is…”

  But she was looking over his shoulder, down the

  corridor through which they’d come. “No, it’s not.

 

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