Rogue Pirates Bride
Page 23
spotted. Knew, too, her silly reverie was over. She
hurried toward the bow and almost toppled over
when Maine all but jumped on top of her.
“I’m sorry!” Maine grabbed her arm and steadied
her. He carried a lantern, and it bumped hard against
her arm.
“I didn’t see you there, Miss Russell,” Maine said.
She stared at the lantern, stared at Maine, and then
looked across the water.
“That’s quite all right,” she stuttered. She had her
balance back now, and she withdrew her arm from
his hand. The air around them shattered as the first
volley of cannon fire exploded from La Sirena. They
were too far out of range, and Jourdain was wasting
ammunition, but the sound of it was terrifying.
“I need to get to my station.”
She nodded as he hurried away, but she didn’t load
her pistol. Instead, she watched Maine. What was the
quartermaster doing with a lantern when the ship had
been ordered to maintain silence and darkness? And
why was the man on the bow? Even on a pirate ship,
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where positions and duties varied from those on a
naval vessel, she could see no reason for the second-in-
command to stand uselessly on the bow. And where
was the watch?
She stared up the foremast as a foretopman scurried
across the deck and, brushing past her, began to climb
aloft. She frowned at him. She had no authority, but
it didn’t stop her. “You there!”
He looked down at her. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Why are you just now reporting to your station?
Where are the other foretopmen?”
She thought he might ignore her, tell her to be about
her own duties—perhaps adding some surly remark
about how her duties were on her back—but she must
have sounded dictatorial enough that he answered.
“Mr. Maine sent us to Mr. Castro to help the
gunners. Captain’s orders. I’ve never fired a cannon
before, and Mr. Castro sent me back. I think the other
boys are coming back, as well.”
Another boom from Jourdain’s cannons, and she
saw the youth jump. La Sirena was out of range, but
the Shadow was closing the gap. Mr. Castro, no fool,
was standing fast until his guns could hit the target.
“Get aloft,” she ordered the boy, “and check those
sails. Make sure all is ready.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She considered going up with him to supervise, but
she saw the other foretopmen stream back on deck
and scamper up the rigging. Now she should ready
her pistol and get in position, but she couldn’t get
Mr. Maine out of her head.
Her head had screamed a warning this morning
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Shana Galen
when Bastien had given the quartermaster orders.
Something on his face hadn’t looked… right. She’d
watched him go, and the unbidden thought had been:
He’s the traitor.
She had no proof. She had no reason other than
intuition to suspect him. But she trusted her intuition.
It was when she didn’t listen to it she found herself
in trouble. And so instead of preparing to fire on La
Sirena, she stared at the bow then up the foremast.
With no one on watch, Maine had been alone. Free
to do as he would. Free to open the lantern, briefly
shine a light, and give the Shadow’s position away.
“Bloody traitor,” she hissed.
The cannons boomed again—this time the shot
coming from the Shadow—and the whole vessel
shook. Everyone paused to observe the damage to La
Sirena. One cannonball crashed into the deck, causing
minimal damage, while another tore through a sail.
The battle was on now.
La Sirena returned fire, grazing the Shadow’s bow
and causing Raeven to stumble. The two ships were
turning, coming alongside one another, moving into
firing position. It would be several more moments
before the most effective shots would be fired, and
she could do the most good by taking out some of La
Sirena’s crew. She started toward the rail only to find
herself grabbed from behind and thrust hard on deck.
For a moment, she wondered if the ship had been
struck again, but she hadn’t heard the boom or smelled
the gunpowder. She looked up and saw Maine staring
down at her.
“You couldn’t leave well enough alone, could
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you?” he yelled over the sounds of the coming battle.
“You couldn’t stay in his cabin—where you belong.”
She rose up on her elbows and was alarmed when
her head swam. Maine seemed to shimmer in front of
her. “And I know what you did. You’re the traitor.”
“No one will ever believe that.” He reached for her,
but she had her dagger in her hand and ready to throw.
She’d end Bastien’s problem right here and now. But
before she could loose the weapon, she heard someone
yell, and a boot came down on her wrist.
She cried out in pain as it ground down, forcing
her to release the dagger. She looked up, saw one
of the foretopmen had come to Maine’s aid. She
exchanged a quick glance with the quartermaster,
who gave her a victorious smile. He looked at the
foretopman, concern in his features. “She attacked me
for no reason. I think we have a traitor in our midst,
Cooper. Take her to the hold and chain her there
until after the battle.”
“Yes, sir!” He grabbed her under the arms and
pulled her to her feet. She stumbled and was pushed
toward the ladderway.
“No!” She fought, tried to reach Maine, but
Cooper grabbed her injured wrist, and she buckled
from the pain. She was shoved down the ladderway.
“Wait. Cooper, is that your name? Wait. It’s Maine.
He’s the traitor. He gave our position away. I was
trying to help.”
“We don’t need yer kind of help. Now shut yer
hole, or I’ll shut it fer you.”
She knew when she’d lost. She shut her mouth
and cradled her wrist close until he chained her in
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the hold and left her. Above, she could hear the
sounds of men’s feet on the boards, the scrape of the
cannons moving into position, the sound of orders.
Cooper could follow orders, but he didn’t think
for himself. She was still armed with her sword and
Bastien’s pistol. Of course, with her injured wrist,
neither was very useful to her, but they were better
than nothing.
And she had still had her hairpins. She wasn’t going
to spend the battle loc
ked down here.
Bastien stood on deck as the two ships slid alongside
one another. Across the space dividing them, he
spotted El Santo, and beside him, Jourdain.
Jourdain had not changed. He stood tall in his
brightly colored clothing. Bastien remembered that
about the man—he preferred bright colors. Now he
wore lose brown pants of some sort, a vivid green
tunic, and a red vest. His head was bald, and the rising
sun glinted off the oiled skin. Bastien couldn’t see the
earrings glinting from his lobes or the rings adorning
his fingers, but he knew they were there.
The two men locked eyes, and Jourdain raised
his hand in a salute. Bastien saluted back then stood
tall as the brig’s cannons fired, and his ship shook
under his feet. Wood flew around him, and he heard
the tearing of canvas as the grapeshot tore through
his sails.
One for Jourdain.
“Mr. Jackson, damage report!” he ordered.
And then his cannons fired. Mr. Castro was deadly
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as hell, and Bastien watched as men and wood scat-
tered and shattered on the decks of La Sirena. A few
of their guns took a hit, as did a portion of their hull.
The sails had barely been touched, and there were
still far too many topmen handling them. Where was
Raeven and her sharpshooting?
Jackson charged up to him. “The ship’s holding, sir,
but we were missing men on the foremast. They’re
climbing back up now.”
Bastien stared at him. Why the hell weren’t his men
in position? “Where is Maine? I want this ship running
smoothly. I need maneuverability, Mr. Jackson.”
“You’ll have it, sir!” And he was gone again.
His cannons fired again, and he saw a large chunk
of La Sirena’s main mast torn away. “Get grappling
hooks and”— La Sirena’s cannons answered back, and
he lifted a hand to shield his face from the spray of
what he hoped was wood—“weapons!” he continued.
“And prepare to board!”
Raeven swore as she dropped another hairpin. It was
bad enough trying to pick a lock with the ship shaking
beneath her feet, but doing so with her left hand was
all but impossible.
She fumbled in her hair for another, knowing she’d
never find any of those she’d lost in the darkness. But
she was running out of hairpins. She’d used only a
few this morning to keep the hair out of her face. For
a moment, she couldn’t find one at all, and her belly
clenched, but finally she touched glorious metal and
pulled the last one out.
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“Raeven?” a tenuous voice called.
“Percy? Percy!” she all but screamed it. “I’m here.”
He had a lantern with him, and she welcomed the
light as he stepped into view. A rat scurried away, and
Raeven tried not to shudder. “Here. Shine that over
here,” she ordered as she fumbled with the lock on her
manacled wrist again. Now that she could see, she’d
make quick work of it, even with her left hand.
“What’s going on? Why are you chained here?”
“Maine,” she said through teeth clenched in
concentration. The lock was being difficult, and she
couldn’t finesse her movements as she would have
liked. “He’s the traitor. He had me brought in here.
Will probably be back later to finish me off. Damn!”
She felt hot tears sting her eyes as she dropped the
hairpin. “Can you shine that light down here?” She
dropped to her knees and felt for the hairpin. “I need
to get out. Warn Bastien.”
She heard a clank and looked up. Percy was holding
a set of keys, selected one, and coming forward,
inserted it into her manacles. “I came prepared.”
“Oh, Percy!” She stumbled out. “I could kiss you.”
“I’ll settle for your pistol. I don’t have a weapon,
and we’re about to board La Sirena.”
“We’re boarding?” She handed him the pistol and
started for the ladderway. “Is it going that well?”
He pushed in front of her. “Let me go first.”
She wanted to roll her eyes. Percy was always the
gentleman. “Cutlass is a genius. He’s all but put a
hole through the brig. Now it’s just the down and
dirty part.”
The chaotic part, he should have said. And what
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better time for Maine to kill Bastien, if that was his
plan, than in the midst of the madness? Regardless, she
had to warn him. She had to—
Just as Percy reached the lower deck’s ladderway,
Maine stepped out. Raeven saw his pistol even before
she saw his face. “No!”
The blast of sound filled the cramped space, and
Percy flew backward, his blood spattering her shirt
and neck. She didn’t have time to go to him before
she saw Maine look to his weapon again. Ignoring
the pain in her wrist, she drew her sword and slashed
at him. He jumped back, fumbled, and dropped the
pistol. When he looked up at her, his eyes burned with
hatred. He gestured to Percy. “That should have been
you.” He drew his own sword.
“You’ll wish it were you,” she said, circling him.
“I’m going to carve you up.”
He laughed. “You can hardly hold that thing.”
“I don’t need to hold it.” Their blades clashed, and
she could feel the burn in her wrist as she held steady.
“I just need to stab it through you.”
He thrust and she parried, almost losing her footing
on something slippery.
Blood. Percy’s blood. The bile rose in her throat,
and she wanted to look, needed to look at her friend,
but she didn’t allow her eyes to stray from Maine.
She could tell from his movements and his thrusts he
was no match for her, but she was not at her best. He
would take any opening she gave him.
“Why did you do it?” she asked, ducking when he
slashed at her. She spun and thrust, cutting his arm and
drawing blood.
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He swore and came at her. But he was angry, and
she easily evaded.
“Money? Power?”
“Money, if you must know.” He struck, and she
sidestepped, feeling the whoosh of the blade tickle the
skin of her throat. He grinned at her. “I told you. I
have a wife. A son.”
“And Cutlass doesn’t give you your share of the
profits?” She feigned left, moved right, and sliced
across his midsection, opening a gash. She couldn’t
tell how bad it was, but his face paled visibly, and his
mo
vements slowed.
She risked a glance at Percy. He was lying on his
side, one leg drawn up and his hand clutched to his
abdomen. His eyes were open and filled with pain.
There was blood. Everywhere blood.
She pulled her gaze away, tried to plan her next
move, not act out of anger and fear for her friend.
“Cutlass is obsessed with finding Jourdain. Passed
up too many opportunities for profit.” He thrust,
and she easily parried, though her wrist twinged in
protest. “I thought, he wants Jourdain, I’ll give him
the corsair!”
He thrust again, but it was weak. Still, her wrist was
aching and she knew she couldn’t last much longer.
“I’m sorry to ruin your plans.”
“Oh, you haven’t ruined them, sweetheart. This is
far from over.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” She thrust, ducked
right, and brought her sword up, stabbing him in the
side. She felt the blade go through flesh and hit bone,
saw Maine’s look of shock before he crumpled, and
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she pulled out her sword, allowing his blood to drip
on the wooden deck planks.
She kicked Maine’s sword out of his reach, sheathed
her own, and turned.
“Oh, Percy. No…”
Bastien stood on the port side of Shadow and threw
his grappling hook. Much of his crew followed while
others fired pistols at Jourdain’s men to give the
boarding party cover. Bastien wondered if Raeven
had hit any of Jourdain’s crew. He hadn’t seen her
since early morning, and though he knew he shouldn’t
concern himself with her, she was constantly in the
back of his mind.
Half a dozen times, he’d wanted to leave what he
was doing and search for her. But he was the captain.
He couldn’t leave his command to chase after his
paramour. Besides, she’d more than proven she could
take care of herself. She had probably fared better in
the battle than he, as he now had several cuts Gaston
would need to stitch later.
She was fine, he told himself as his grappling hook
caught La Sirena’s rigging. But he had a niggling
feeling something wasn’t right. As soon as the battle
was won, he would find her, hold her, see for himself
she was well. Right now, he had little choice but to
swing from the Shadow to La Sirena. He landed with
a thud and immediately drew his sword as several of
Jourdain’s men charged him.