Not until she was alone in her cabin did Cassandra allow her stiff back to bend and her reserve to crumble. She felt totally abandoned by the man who had sworn to love and cherish her until the day he died. With a sob she fell on to the bed, burying her face in the pillows and weeping tears of bitterness and absolute despair. Her ears were completely deaf to the frenzied mayhem on deck, and it was only as the sounds began to penetrate her consciousness that reason seeped into her brain and she pulled herself together and considered what had to be done.
A deadly calm stole over her, as cold and fathomless as death. It was as though a voice spoke inside her head, unravelling her thoughts and placing them in perfect order so that she could study them and rationally throw off any challenge the arrival of the Dolphin had flung at her. Only when she had come to a decision did she strip off her filthy clothes and pour some water into a bowl to wash herself.
Along with her dress she threw caution to the wind in her determination to do what she could to save her husband, despite his insistence that she stay out of the way. Behind the smoothness of her face was the savagery of a lioness defending her young, but in Cassandra’s case it was her husband she would defend, and woe betide anyone who stood in her way. She would kneel and kiss the ground Drum O’Leary walked on to save Stuart from death if need be. And afterwards—what then? She would let fate or Drum O’Leary take care of that.
Chapter Eleven
It didn’t take long for the fighting to go against the crew of the Sea Hawk, and when Cassandra arrived on deck it was to a scene of utter devastation. A grey canopy of smoke hung over the ship and slaughtered and wounded men lay everywhere, with blood soaking into the wooden planks—stark evidence of the ferocity of the battle that had been waged on the Sea Hawk’s decks. The remaining bloodied crew of the merchantman had been rounded up by the pirates, who kept a careful watch on them.
Cassandra quickly looked for her husband, praying with every part of her being that he was still alive. And then she saw him, surrounded by gleaming cutlasses, his arms held behind his back by a bare-chested brute of a man. She was alarmed to see a wound inflicted on his torso, but the ferocity of his curses and the way he struggled with his tormentor told her it wasn’t life threatening.
She sent up a silent prayer of thankfulness to God that he had seen fit to spare him, but no emotion showed on her face as she moved through the men thronging the deck, an inanimate object which moved with a conditioned reflex, with one single thought—to save her husband’s life. Her unexpected appearance shocked the men who were still fighting into immobility.
The pirates who had sailed with her on the Dolphin recognised her immediately. When they had recovered from their initial shock, the air resounded with their raucous cheers of welcome, causing the crew of the Sea Hawk to stare at each other in absolute bewilderment. Unafraid and contemptuous, Cassandra’s gaze swept over the pirates, before coming to rest on Drum O’Leary.
As straight and slender as a young sapling she moved towards him. There was a look of fragility about her—but there was nothing fragile or frail in her manner as she looked at the pirate captain, remote and untouchable in her icy calm. The tenacious pride bred into her by her father forbade her to show fear, as boldly she drew back her shoulders and held her head high. No one seeing her could have doubted her courage and determination. All eyes were focused on her, for she cut a compelling figure indeed.
Stuart was as mesmerised by her presence as everyone else, and he could not believe that this was the same smoke-grimed, bloodstained woman he had sent to her cabin just a short while ago with tears in her eyes. Before him now stood a vibrant, haughty young woman, looking every inch a lady of distinction in a gown of gleaming gold satin. Her unbound sunburnt hair tumbled down her back—a plaything for the breeze that teased and tugged the silken strands. She met his gaze proudly as he soaked up the sight of her, completely unprepared for the surge of admiration that flooded his whole being.
Even now, after all this time, she still had the power to strike at him with a strength that both surprised and frightened him at times, and he was confounded by his own mixed emotions. But his admiration was soon replaced by fury over the way in which she had taken it into her head to openly defy him.
Ramrod straight, with a pistol shoved into his belt and a bloodstained cutlass clutched in his hand, Drum O’Leary watched her approach. Staring at her in absolute incredulity, he paled beneath his brown weathered skin, as if he were looking at a ghost.
Cassandra stopped in front of this devil in human shape, avoiding Stuart’s eyes, and yet knowing they were fixed on her. The pirate captain had the look of one who was a predator among men, with all the marks of precocious vice. His mutilated face was hideous, his scar a vivid trail against deep brown skin, drawn tight over a living skull. He looked fearsome and his permanent smile was evil. His pale eyes glittered with a singular malice. They were cold and full of cruelty—like a snake’s, she noticed, suppressing a shudder of revulsion. Why had she never seen it before? Why had it never disturbed her?
Her memories of him were of the kindness he had shown her in the past, but she found it difficult to tally that with his vicious attack on the Sea Hawk. She felt nothing in his presence now but a deep and utter loathing. The strong breeze blew from behind him, billowing his baggy scarlet shirt like the wings of a giant bird of prey, adding to the terrible apparition that was Drum O’Leary.
Drum’s eyes were locked on Cassandra’s in a burning, searching gaze, piercing the secretive veil of her covert thoughts. He assessed them correctly and was disappointed. ‘Are you having trouble recognising me? I have no such difficulty in recognising you—despite your fine gown and the animosity I see in your eyes when you look at me. You are not happy to see me, Cassandra.’ His mock reproof reawakened all Cassandra’s anger against him. He laughed, a noise that was more like a wheeze than a sound of mirth.
‘I recognise you. You have a brutal way of making your presence felt, Drum. And you are right. I cannot say that I welcome you.’
Drum’s face remained singularly calm. ‘So, you’ve turned sour on me. It grieves me to know that. I can see you’ve changed much since I left you at Trinidad—not so much the innocent. I’ve a soft spot for you—you have always known that. You’ve got pluck, for all the knocks you’ve had. But—where is my daughter? Where is my Rosa?’ he asked, looking over her shoulder, hoping to see his daughter behind her. ‘She is here with you, is that not so? You ensured me you would take care of her.’
‘Rosa is dead,’ Cassandra stated flatly, but she was not without a heart. Knowing how much Drum had loved Rosa, she felt compassion for the pain and sadness he must surely feel on receiving this grievous news.
Am unbelieving, stricken look entered Drum’s eyes, but his expression remained blank. ‘What scurvy trick is this?’ he hissed. ‘You’re lying.’
‘I would never lie to you, Drum,’ Cassandra said quietly. To feel anger for his attack and the killing of the crew was one thing, but to slash at him with words about Rosa was another. Not given to moments of weakness, Drum turned and faced the sea. Cassandra moved to his side. ‘Rosa became sick on board ship,’ she explained. ‘She—died of a fever. There was nothing any of us could do. Your bombardment wasn’t to blame—in case you should think that.’
‘Did she suffer?’ His eyes were clouded, his voice strangled in his throat.
‘I don’t think so—at least not much. She was delirious for most of the time. I…know how much you loved her, Drum—we both did. For the short time we were together we became close—and I miss her terribly.’
Because of the life he led Drum had seen and been responsible for the deaths of countless men and women, but the death of his daughter hung heavy on his villainous heart. He turned and looked at Cassandra, who saw his eyes clear, and his face settle into an expression of lifeless formality. ‘You say you loved her, and yet you look at her father with so much hatred in your heart. Why? Have I not always shown kindne
ss towards you? Have I ever hurt you?’
‘No. But then, being Nat’s daughter, you wouldn’t, would you? ’Tis a pity the same cannot be said of the men on board this ship—the ones you murdered.’
The accusation fell between them like a cannon ball. Drum’s face closed up instantly and he moved away from her. After no longer than a moment, in charge of himself once more—he would mourn his Rosa later, in private—his hideous smile broke his expression as his eyes swept over those on deck. Suddenly he burst out in a spontaneous roar of laughter that rent the air—a cold, thin sound, which caused a prickling to break out on the flesh of all who heard it.
Cassandra was acutely aware of Stuart’s presence close to her. He was standing without moving a muscle, his face hard and implacable as he watched and listened, omnipotent and contemptuous of his enemy, emanating a wrath so forceful that even the man holding his arms was wary. She stared at Drum, feeling neither fear nor intimidation. ‘When we parted at Trinidad I hoped never to set eyes on you or the Dolphin again. Are you not surprised to see me on board the Sea Hawk, Drum? Have you not asked yourself what I am doing here?’
‘Aye. I confess I did not expect to find you on board this particular ship.’ Drum looked meaningfully at its captain. The fight between them had been fierce as each had fought for mastery over the other, but when the Sea Hawk’s captain had smashed through Drum’s guard, Drum’s men had intervened and overpowered him.
‘’Tis obvious that you’re returning to England after visiting your cousin on Barbados, but you cannot have been aware, when you arranged passage on the Sea Hawk, that its captain was the man responsible for Nat’s capture and death. Knowing this, perhaps you will enjoy witnessing the way in which I intend to avenge my friend—your father. So, what is it to be?’ he said, pointing at Stuart with a long quivering finger, hoping to goad him to further anger.
‘I expect you have it worked out already.’ There was a quaking in the pit of Cassandra’s stomach.
‘I promise you he will be so much carrion flesh before the day is out. Shall he be flayed, hanged outright—which I do not consider painful enough—or keelhauled?’ Drum rasped with a savage sneer, wiping away the sweat stinging his eyes with the back of his hand. ‘But then, if we administer the latter, there is every danger that he might drown if the rope becomes snarled on the barnacles beneath the hull. His death would be too quick and I have clamoured for his blood too long. I am determined that he will provide my men with pleasure. Come, Cassandra, the choice is yours, unless you wish to combine all three—or, better still, you would like me to suggest some other torture more horrible.’
Appalled by the obscenities Drum’s hideous mouth spewed forth, Cassandra paled, but her expression did not alter as she listened to the horrendous tortures he intended inflicting on Stuart. ‘I am certain there are a thousand tortures you can think of that would turn even the strongest stomach. And I am equally as certain that practice has enabled you to perfect your barbaric entertainments.’
‘You are right, there is nothing I would not do. I will have my vengeance as I have dreamed ever since that day at Execution Dock. Remember?’ The word was spoken fiercely and caught Cassandra and slapped her. Drum’s smile was evil when he saw her blanch, and a light of madness gleamed in his pale eyes. ‘I see you do. Now, at last, the plaguing dream will be real in body and torment, culminating in triumph—vengeance realised.’
‘And in so doing you will make me suffer. Is that what you want?’ Cassandra’s voice was low and hoarse with indignation.
Drum turned his attention on Stuart, and face to face the antagonists stood. Drum was tall, but his prisoner towered over him. Stuart’s whole body was rigid, his face so expressionless it might have been carved from stone. Pressing the blade of his cutlass to Stuart’s chest, Drum locked his gaze on his. ‘To see him squirm, crawl and die will be a pleasure.’
Stuart’s eyebrow tilted sardonically and his mouth curved thinly. ‘Put away your cutlass, O’Leary,’ he said, oblivious to the cold touch of death at his chest, ‘and we’ll see who squirms.’
‘Have a care, Marston,’ Drum snarled viciously, his body quivering slightly with anger and rage, his lips drawn tightly against his teeth. Lowering his cutlass, he took a step back. ‘There is nothing I would not do to make you suffer.’
Somehow the bitter knowledge of his helplessness gave Stuart the strength to struggle free of his captor and thrust himself forward. He dismissed the malicious, leering face of Drum O’Leary with a look of loathing and contempt, refusing to allow his threats to intimidate him. That he meant to kill him by some grisly method he did not doubt, but he did not want his wife to have to witness it. His eyes snapped on to Cassandra, who recoiled in shock from the full force of the scorching fury directed at her in his eyes.
‘What do you hope to achieve by this—this madness?’ he hissed through clenched teeth, his blazing rage frightening to see. ‘I ordered you to stay below. If you ever,’ he warned savagely, ‘dare to defy me again, I won’t be responsible for the consequences.’
Cassandra longed to fling herself into his arms and tell him that she wanted to share his suffering, that she was trying to save his life, but she knew his survival depended on her keeping her emotions in check and remaining calm. ‘Ordered!’ she exclaimed. ‘Stuart, I am not one of your crew or some—some trained chattel or underling to do as she is told. I am your wife, and my place is to be here—by your side.’
This revelation caused Drum to step back apace, clearly appalled by her disclosure, but then he threw back his head and laughed out loud at the absurdity of it, the sound an unnerving rumble in his chest. ‘Wife!’ he roared. ‘Wife, you say?’
The face Cassandra turned on Drum was white, but her eyes blazed. ‘Yes, wife—and I am hardly likely to enjoy watching the spectacle of my husband being keelhauled or hanged,’ she flared.
Stuart was fully aware that his crew knew who Cassandra was by now. They were beginning to shift uneasily. Tension was evident among them and, briefly scanning their faces, he saw they were bright with hatred and a sense of betrayal. ‘Cassandra, I command you to go below,’ he ordered in a low, deadly voice, throwing her a warning glance, which caused Drum to laugh even louder, his entire body shaking with mirth. Indeed, he found the situation so amusing it had brought tears to his eyes.
‘Anyone knowing her would know better than to command her to do anything. ’Tis not in the nature of Nathaniel Wylde’s daughter to bow and scrape to any man.’ He ceased laughing as his eyes slid to Cassandra, full of irony, suddenly. ‘How a marriage between the two of you came about baffles me and must be a strange tale, one that must have Nat laughing in his watery grave—one I shall find extremely interesting. But did you know Marston was Nat’s implacable enemy when you married him—the man responsible for bringing him to the gallows?’
‘And with good reason, Drum. When I married Stuart I was not aware of the part he played in bringing Nat to justice, any more than he knew who I was. It was not until after we were married that we became aware of it.’
‘Then knowing what you do about each other must make for strange bedfellows,’ Drum chuckled.
Stung by Drum’s amusement, Cassandra glared at him. ‘Nat got what he deserved, though it grieves me to say so—as you will when the law catches up with you. Your luck will run out one day.’
Drum scowled at her. ‘It disappoints me to hear you speak like this, Cassandra. I never thought you would dishonour your father’s memory. Nat loved you. He would have been disappointed in you.’
The tone of his voice and the way he was looking at her made Cassandra feel like some faithless, flawed creature who had failed her father, that she was not the daughter he would have wanted. She blinked back the tears of remorse and self-denigration that suddenly sprang to her eyes and looked away, feeling terrible. For the first time since Stuart had discovered who she was and told her of the horrendous crime her father had inflicted upon those on the stricken vessel on which
his brother had met his death, guilt that in her thoughts she had betrayed Nat filled her, made her feel physically sick.
‘I loved him in my own way—he was my father, after all—but I do not feel duty bound to honour the memory of a man who lived by inflicting misery on others. He was cruel and unscrupulous—and he had no right to make me a part of it.’
‘You knew the nature of his profession, but as a source of protection you clung to your ignorance because it suited you to do so at the time.’
‘Maybe you’re right,’ she admitted. ‘Now I know better. But, listen to me, Drum.’ Moving closer, she softened her tone in an attempt to appeal to his better nature. ‘I am asking you to spare my husband’s life. If you care for me at all, do not place this horrendous memory between us.’
Faced by the soft appeal in her lovely eyes, Drum’s face closed instantly and he felt anger, for, like her father before her, he knew she had the power to make him weaken. ‘No. I can’t do that, Cassandra. Not even for you. You’ll find another husband—you’ll forget.’
Contempt was written broadly in Cassandra’s eyes. She raised her head defiantly. ‘I am Stuart’s wife. I will have no other man, for there is no other.’
‘He deserves to die. Do not forget the man he hounded and saw hanged was my friend.’
‘And my father,’ she countered fiercely. ‘If I can forget, then so can you and every man who sails with you. Nat was responsible for the death of Stuart’s brother, Drum—on a vessel bound for the Caribbean that he attacked and plundered before watching it sink beneath the waves with nearly every man, woman and child on board. I have no doubt that you were a party to that. Can you in all honesty blame Stuart for wanting to see him brought to justice? Do you think killing him would be what Nat would have wanted—for you to avenge his death in this cruel manner by hanging his daughter’s husband?’
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