by Shana Galen
Nick stepped back and opened his arms wide. “You want to try, you’re welcome to it, sweetheart. I’m going to see if my brother and Lady Madeleine have come up with anything better.”
“Fine. And stop calling me sweetheart.”
“You prefer another sobriquet? Because I can think of a few that fit you far better than sweetheart.”
“And I can think of several choice names for you. Starting with—”
He put a finger over her lips silencing her. “Save them for later.” He winked. “When we’re alone.”
He turned and strolled out the back door, leaving her to call a sampling of her favorite epithets after him.
He smiled and closed the door.
She was still feisty as hell. At least that hadn’t changed.
He surveyed the moonlit courtyard where he’d left his brother and Lady Madeleine. After they’d dispatched Lord Castleigh’s footmen, Jack had suggested they split up to make it more difficult for Ashley’s father, should he still be in pursuit, to catch them. Nick had argued and gone back to attempt to rouse the priest. Jack and Lady Madeleine would just have to wait for the priest to wake and repeat the ceremony—marrying the correct couples this time—and the four of them might as well all wait together. “Our noble priest is half-seas over,” he announced to the courtyard. “He won’t—” Nick paused.
The courtyard was empty.
Jack and Lady Madeleine were gone.
Nick leaned back against the wall of the blacksmith’s shop and wished he had a cheroot. Better yet, he wished he had a jug of rum. Maybe if he was as drunk as the priest he’d understand how all of this had happened. At the very least, he wouldn’t care that his brother and Lady Madeleine were gone and Nick was now irrevocably wed to Ashley, The Hellion, Brittany.
He deserved his fate, of course. He was the one who’d insulted Bleven. He was the one who’d pulled Jack—who’d been completely innocent of any wrongdoing—into the muddle, and Nick was the one who reveled in the adventure of escaping Bleven and his small army of thugs. Nick loved a challenge, always had. Well, he had one now. But Ashley Brittany was more than a challenge. She was a trial by fire, a test of his patience and his sanity.
If they made it through even one day without killing each other, he would count their marriage a success.
Marriage.
How could he be married? What the hell was he going to do with a wife?
No, not just any wife. What the bloody hell was he going to do with Ashley Brittany? She’d cared for him once, but he’d made damn sure he’d annihilated that feeling.
Regret slammed into him like a hammer. His insides wanted to shatter, but he fought the feeling. He didn’t have the luxury of regret. He’d done what he had to do, done what was best for Ashley.
Nick stared at the dark sky and shook his head. Sometimes he wondered if somebody up there didn’t have it in for him. Whoever was in charge of the universe had one cruel sense of humor.
A piercing shriek rent the quiet night, and Nick jumped. His hand went to his belt, but he’d forgotten he wasn’t wearing his cutlass.
Damn it!
He heard the scream again, and this time he placed it. Inside the blacksmith’s shop.
Ashley.
He tore the door open and flew into the room with the only weapon he had—his fists. Immediately, he knew that wouldn’t be enough. Four large men stood in the center of the shop facing Ashley, who waved a poker at them. All four were smiling, and all four were dressed alike: colorful bandanas or plumed hats on their heads, hoop earrings glinting in their ears, and fearsome pistols and cutlasses gleaming at their waists.
Nick shook his head. He should have known.
Pirates.
TWO
“Nick!” Ashley screamed. “We’re under attack!” She waved the poker menacingly at the big brute in the middle. He had mahogany skin, a head full of long black braids, and when he sneered at her, she could see that one of his front teeth was gold. He seemed to be the leader.
One of the leader’s companions stepped forward. This one was fair with red hair and freckles, and Ashley swung the poker to ward him off. “Stay away!”
She darted the poker back and forth, trying to fend off both men.
She glanced in Nick’s direction, hoping he had devised a better way to defend them than the woefully inadequate fire poker she held.
But Nick looked completely unconcerned. He was standing with one shoulder braced against the wall, arms crossed over his broad chest, and a dubious smile on his lips.
“Nick!” She seethed his name. “Don’t just stand there. We’re being attacked by”—she glanced at the men—”highwaymen.”
“Pirates,” Nick drawled. “Well, privateers, actually.”
“Pirates?” She frowned, unwilling to believe it.
A tall whale-sized man who looked as though he could lift a cannon with one hand stepped closer. He grinned, showing several gaps where teeth should have been. “Argh.”
Ashley gasped and brandished her poker. “No, these can’t be pirates, they—” She took in the men’s appearance once again and swallowed.
“Hello, Cap’n,” the leader with the gold tooth said in a voice rife with the lilt of the Caribbean. “Might we have a word alone?” He nodded at Ashley.
Ashley swung the poker back at him, but he only scowled at her attempts to cow him.
Not a good sign.
She’d seen drawings of pirates in books and the periodicals, and these men looked to have taken their fashion advice straight from those illustrations.
But which one was their captain? Gold tooth? Perhaps if she tried to reason with him...
“Keeping busy, Captain?” the red-haired man asked.
“I haven’t been exactly sitting around reading poetry,” Nick said, and the men—all except Gold Tooth—laughed.
Ashley gaped at her new husband. Was he actually joking with these cutthroats? And why did he keep leaning against that wall instead of doing something to help her? Lord, was she going to have to defeat four pirates all by herself?
Knowing Nick Martingale, she probably was.
“Gentleman!” If she was going to save them, best begin now. She waved the poker at the men again to get their attention. “That’s enough talking. I want you four to listen and listen carefully, damn it!” She supposed she was going to have to make good on that promise to stop swearing next week.
“Look at the little lass,” a short blond man said. “Acting like she’s the cap’n.”
Ashley banged the poker on the floor and had the satisfaction of seeing three of the four pirates jump at the sound. Gold Tooth was the only one who seemed unfazed.
“I said no talking!” she ordered in a stern voice. “I don’t know what you had in mind when you walked in here, but you’re going to have to change those plans.” She jabbed the poker at them to punctuate her words. “You’re going to turn around, open that door, and walk right back out.”
Gold Tooth crossed his arms over a chest as thick as a tree trunk. “And if we doan?”
Ashley nodded. Right. Good question.
What would happen if they didn’t comply?
She’d run?
Lord. She’d have them shaking in their boots with that threat.
She decided to use an old trick her father liked to employ with her five brothers. She gave the men a menacing look. “If you don’t leave right this instant, you’re going to be very, very sorry.”
The men broke into fits of laughter. “Oh, we’ll be sorry, will we?” the redhead managed between chuckles. “I’d like to see that.”
Ashley frowned. This wasn’t the response her father usually got from her brothers. Had her look not been frightening enough? And now Gold Tooth was moving closer. That was definitely not a good sign. She glanced over her shoulder, sending one last look of appeal to Nick. But he was frowning at the pirates and ignoring her.
If he wasn’t going to help her, the least he could do was to
run for aid from one of the local villagers.
If nothing else, she knew the man was good at running away.
“Come on,” Gold Tooth said, moving closer still. “Give me the poker, lass. I doan have time for this.” He swiped a large hand at her, and Ashley squealed and stumbled back. The priest was still lying on the floor, and she stepped on his arm, losing her balance and her grip on the poker. The metal rod clanged on the wooden flooring, and Ashley swayed backward.
The hearth was behind her, and she was acutely aware of the crack of the logs in the fire. The thought of falling near to that fire, of seeing its angry orange flames reach out hungrily for her, sent her into a panic. Anything but the fire. She pinwheeled her arms wildly, her hands grasping desperately to catch hold of something. But her fingers closed on air, and she went back and back, the fire rising up...
In one quick motion, Nick stepped forward, reached out, and caught her arm. He hauled her securely against him, and she didn’t fight. Instead, her gaze landed hard and fast on the hearth, and she was embarrassed to note that it was much farther back than she had imagined. She would not have fallen near it after all.
Nick’s body was large and solid, and without a sense of danger from the fire, she couldn’t help but notice the tingle she felt where his hands touched her and his familiar scent of musk and man. Both sensations had the predictable effect of making heat rush into her belly. And that, of course, had the predictable effect of making her angry.
Traitorous body! Why did it have to keep reminding her that, despite everything, she still wanted him? Tamping her desire down, Ashley struggled free of his embrace and reached for the poker. One of the pirates—the short blond one who’d been standing in the back—grasped it first.
“Oh, no, missy. I think we’d better keep a hold o’ this.”
The redhead was still laughing at her. “Toss the lass here, Captain,” he said. “I want to see how very, very sorry I'll be.”
“That’s enough,” Nick said.
Ashley blew out a breath and tried not to roll her eyes. That was his big defense? He thought that if he told these bloodthirsty pirates enough they’d actually listen...
Wait a moment.
Did the four men look contrite?
The redhead shrugged sheepishly. “We don’t mean nothing by it, Captain.”
“We’re just having ourselves a bit o’ fun,” the blond said.
“Argh.” That from the whale of a man.
“You’re scaring her,” Nick answered.
Ashley stiffened indignantly. “I am not scared!”
Well, not very scared. But she’d rather face a roaring fire than show any fear to these men. She was no coward.
The redhead held up both his hands. “Sorry for frightening you, lass. We got carried away. Right boys?”
The other pirates nodded earnestly.
Ashley shook her head. “B-but I’m not frightened.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I could have beaten you.”
Beside her, Nick snorted. “Quit while you’re ahead.”
Angry, she rounded on him. “And you!” She pointed her finger at him. “You better explain what’s going on. Why are these men listening to you? Are you”—her eyes widened as the possibilities occurred to her—”are you in league with these pirates?”
Instead of answering, he glanced at the so-called pirates, and Ashley knew right then that her presumption was true. Oh, no. She’d known Nick had a reputation for finding himself in all sorts of trouble. She’d even heard his brother jokingly call him Robin Hood. She hadn’t thought anything of the sobriquet before, but seeing these pirates made her wonder. Had Nick’s foolish escapades escalated beyond an adventurous hobby?
“Who are they, Robin Hood?” she spat, gesturing to the other men. “Your band of merry men?”
Nick shrugged. “You might say that. They’re my crew.”
“Your crew?” Ashley looked at Nick then back at the men. What would the second son of a marquess need with a crew? “What crew?”
Gold Tooth doffed his black hat and bowed. “Crew of the Robin Hood. Best privateer ship in the Atlantic. Cap’n, I need to speak with you.”
Ashley stared at him. “The Robin Hood?” She swallowed as the air in the room seemed to evaporate. That name was familiar. A ship. A privateer ship? Ice raced through her veins. Now she remembered. The ship—it was a pirate ship—had been in the papers. Her brothers had discussed it at length one evening. The ship and its captain were wanted by the navy for acts so vile her brothers would not discuss them in her presence.
But Nick couldn’t be—he wasn’t—
She turned to stare at him. With his bronze skin, unruly black hair, and startling blue eyes, he certainly looked the role of a pirate.
But he was also Lord Nicholas Martingale. He was charming and polished and accepted in the best homes in Society.
This Captain Robin Hood nonsense couldn’t be true.
Please, don’t let it be true. Don’t let her be married to—
“Allow me to introduce myself.” Nick bowed with a flourish. “Captain of the Robin Hood at your service.”
The look Ashley gave him was so full of hate that Nick almost stepped back. Well, he hadn’t exactly expected her to rejoice at her new status. And he supposed that the only thing worse than being the wife of a wayward rogue who broke your heart was being the wife of Captain Robin Hood.
But then this situation wasn’t exactly his fault. He’d tried to protect her from finding out his true identity. He’d tried to protect her from being part of this life he knew she couldn’t possibly support.
Now maybe she’d understand why he’d cut things off between them all those months ago.
She snatched the poker from Mr. Fellows and turned, waving it at Nick. “You bastard.”
Or maybe not.
Nick clenched his jaw. He didn’t really want to play this out in front of his men. He’d sent a message to his ship a day or two ago informing the crew of his planned arrival in Gretna Green and asking his officers to meet him. Now that they’d arrived, he was eager to return to the Robin Hood.
Without Ashley Brittany—make that Ashley Martingale—in tow.
But what other choice did he have? He couldn’t exactly leave her here, alone and unprotected in Scotland.
She waved the poker at him again, and Nick tried to hold his temper.
“How dare you be a pirate? How dare you make me the wife of a pirate? How—”
“Uh, Captain?” Red, his bos’n, said tentatively, stroking his patchy red beard. “I hate to interrupt this er—domestic moment, but we ‘ave a bit o’ a crisis on our hands.”
Nick straightened. “Crisis?” He grabbed the poker out of Ashley’s hand and tossed it to Mr. Johnson, who was one of his yardmen and, with all of his arghs, playing the role of a pirate very well. Nick hauled Ashley up against him, where she wouldn’t get in any trouble. “What crisis?”
“Unhand me! Let go.”
He ignored her struggles, instead focusing on Chante, his quartermaster. “Mr. Chante?”
The quartermaster barely gave the fighting woman a glance before saying, “I tried to tell you.” He scowled at Ashley as though this were her fault. Then he looked back at Nick. “Trouble with our old friend again. But this time it’s more than a swipe at the Robin Hood. This time old Yussef gone too far.”
Nick felt fear, cold and hard, settle in his belly. “What do you mean?”
Ashley must have heard something in his tone because she stopped struggling. Nick glanced down at her and saw that she was watching Chante, a mixture of curiosity and concern on her face.
“Sir, I doan like to be the one to tell you this—”
The fear in Nick’s gut was like ice now. So cold it hurt. “Spit it out, Mr. Chante.”
“It’s the isle, sir. Right after we got your message we heard a rumor that Yussef attacked—”
“Isla de las Riquezas,” Nick whispered. “No.” The ice pierced his he
art, freezing it.
“We doan know if it’s true. And maybe it was just firing the cannons for show.”
But Nick knew better than that. So did Chante, but the quartermaster obviously hadn’t wanted to alarm the men before informing the captain.
“What’s Isla de las Riquezas?” Ashley asked.
Nick ignored her, addressing his men. “There’s no time to lose. Where’s the ship? What provisions have you made? I want to leave yesterday!”
“Aye, Cap’n,” Chante said. “I thought you’d say that. We’re more than eager to be gone. Had to wait for fresh horses.”
“The ship is docked in a cove not too far from here,” Red told him. The bos’n looked pale now and sober. “If we ride all night, we should be there by morning. We can sail on the next tide.”
“Make it so.” Without thinking, Nick released Ashley and headed for the door to the blacksmith shop. His heart was ice, gripped by the chilling knowledge that everything he had ever loved could be gone.
He had the door to the blacksmith shop open and was halfway through when Mr. Fellowes, his short, blond third mate, cleared his throat. “Uh, Captain, begging your pardon, but wot do you intend to do about her?” He hooked his thumb back at Ashley. “I—ah couldn’t help but overhear her say that she was”—he swallowed—”your wife.”
Nick clenched his jaw and turned to look at Ashley, who was, little as he liked the fact, still his wife. She was still standing in the blacksmith’s shop, the low fire in the hearth behind her and the unconscious priest at her feet.
Hell’s teeth!
He couldn’t leave her. She was his now. He had to protect her.
She glared at him. “Keep walking, Martingale. Don’t even think about it.”
He spread his hands in a gesture that said what-do-you-want-me-to-do?
“I’m not going.” She braced her feet and put her hands on her hips defiantly. “I’m not going on any pirate ship—”
“It’s a privateer ship. We have a letter of marque.” Somewhere.
“—I’m going back to London, and if you won’t take me, then I’ll go on my own.”