Tiger Eyes

by Kimberly Nee

  He tried not to worry about Gabby. Iñigo was right, she was more than capable of taking care of herself. She was probably the most self-sufficient woman he’d ever known. Still, Hampton already struck her once, and for that, his blood would not spill enough for Diego’s satisfaction.

  Each time he thought about the mottled bruise on her face, Diego’s anger burned anew to scorch through him. He would take great delight in taking Lord Hampton apart, piece by piece. When he was finished, the good lord’s own mother wouldn’t recognize him.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Clang!

  Clang!

  Clang!

  Each blow jarred through Jonathan Wrothston’s entire body. James Langdon had been blessed with broad, powerful shoulders, and it showed with each slam of the sledge hammer. With each strike, the sword blade they worked flattened and controlling the tongs became more difficult.

  The hammer’s head sank into the dirt floor and James drew the back of one hand across his forehead as he nodded toward the front of the workshop. “You’ve a visitor, Jon.”

  Grateful for the rest, Jonathan set down both the tongs and sword, and turned to see a small slip of a girl standing in the doorway of his workshop. Sweaty and grimy from an already long morning, Jonathan wiped his face and hands with an old rag, and crossed over to her. “G’mornin’, miss. Wha’ can I do fer ye?”

  “Are you Mr. Wrothston?”

  “I am.”

  “Sir, I am Anne Morris, employed by Lord Hampton, at Hampton House. Are you related to Gabriella Markham?”

  He stared down at the girl with the glassy dark eyes. She seemed terrified of him, terrified of asking him such a question. Surely she knew Gabriella died at sea. Everyone in the village of Ashington knew, and the pain was as fresh now as it had been all those weeks ago, when the Galatea sailed into port without her rightful captain at the helm.

  “Do ye jest, girl?” he asked, his voice gruff and hard, even as his eyes stung. There would never come a day when the mere mention of Gabby’s name didn’t choke him.

  “I don’t understand. She said you would know her.”

  “Aye. I did know her. Her mum was my only sister, and Gabriella was like me own daughter. Or she was, ’til Georgina died and that fancy lord swooped down and spirited her away to live wi’ him.” Jonathan made no attempt to keep the bitterness from his voice. Though these events happened nearly twelve years earlier, they stung as if only twelve days had passed. “And he took her wi’ him, sailin’ around the world. A pirate! And wi’ me only niece. Filled her head wi’ nonsense and made her take to the seas when he up and died. And fer what? The sea killed her as it killed him and left me wi’ only memories.”

  “Please, sir,” Anne broke in hurriedly as he gave her his back and moved to return to the fire pit. “I mean no disrespect, but Gabriella is not dead.”

  James glanced from Anne to Jonathan. “Should I be goin’?”

  “Nay,” Jonathan replied in a taut voice, glaring at the girl over his shoulder. “She’ll be takin’ her leave now. That is, if she’s finished wi’ torturin’ me.”

  “I speak true, Mr. Wrothston!” Anne pleaded, lunging to grab him by the hand. “She is alive and well and at Hampton House. But she is in terrible trouble and needs you.”

  “Be off wi’ ye, wench!” Jonathan jerked his hand free and bent to swipe up his tongs. “Get ready wi’ the hammer, mate.”

  “Mr. Wrothston! You must believe me!” Panic laced through the girl’s voice as she grabbed him again.

  “I’ll no’ be tellin’ ye again. Go now, before ye force me to get nasty wi’ ye.”

  “Jon, I think ye should listen. She looks serious.” James shouldered the sledge hammer as though it weighed nothing, and added, “What’ve ye to lose but a few moments?”

  “Bloody hell.” He threw down his tongs again, and spun back to glare down at the girl, who seemed even smaller now. Obviously terrified, she nonetheless stood ramrod straight before him, and didn’t avert her gaze even though he was easily twice her size, and frightening to boot, with the lower half of his face well-hidden by a wooly, grizzled gray beard. “Out wi’ it then, this blather about my niece.”

  “She lives, sir. It was a lie. Well, it wasn’t supposed to be a lie, as she was marooned in the West Indies and all. But she lived. And she’s here, but locked away in Hampton House.” Her words spilled out in a rush, growing fainter as she ran out of breath.

  “Easy, girl.” He put out a hand to steady her. Could it be true? Did God not turn his back on him and take away the last vestige of family? It had been twelve years since Georgina’s death. Twelve years since Gabriella lived under his roof and teased him about Emily Haverston. She prodded him into asking for Emily’s hand, and took such joy in helping her aunt plan their wedding.

  But life was as cruel as it was kind, and in the span of not quite six months, he lost his bride to fever, his sister to the same and his niece to her father. Oh, she visited whenever she could, but it wasn’t often, as she discovered a newfound love for the seas and spent as much time aboard a ship as possible.

  When the lord died, Jonathan was overjoyed that she would return. Though by then, she was a grown woman, and too much her father’s daughter. The last time he saw Gabriella, they argued at the East India Company docks. He never regretted anything as much as he did his hurtful words to her about being ashamed of her beginnings. For the next five years, she stayed far away from England.

  When word reached that the Galatea was in London, and that her captain had been lost at sea, Jonathan broke down and wept as he hadn’t done in a lifetime. She was gone forever.

  But now, this tiny creature, with the wide, gleaming eyes and prim little white cap atop her head, was telling him otherwise?

  “Locked away in Hampton House, ye said?”

  Anne nodded. “M’lord and Captain Carmichael plan to hang two men as pirates this morn. One of those men is her intended. And she does not know yet, but m’lord plans to hang her as well.”

  Fury burned through Jonathan’s gut at that, hotter than the fire in the pit before him, or in the wrought iron he forged. “Is tha’ so?”

  “Yes.”

  “Over my bloody dead body.” He turned to James. “Go fetch me my steel and yer own as well.”

  “Of course.” James hurried through the door at the rear of the workshop.

  Turning back to Anne, Jonathan said, “Ye’ll take me to Hampton House so’s I may have a bit of a word wi’ his lordship. Markhams have done enough to this family already. I’ll no’ stand for losin’ Gabriella twice at the hands of a Markham!”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The rope around Diego’s wrists was rough and William took a perverse delight in making certain the knots were tight enough to burn his skin and cut off the flow of blood. His fingers were stiff already, the tingling long past and numbness set firmly.

  Iñigo stood beside him. Like Diego’s, his wrists were bound behind his back. How tightly, Diego couldn’t hazard, and Iñigo gave no indication of discomfort. Neither of them did, but stood almost shoulder to shoulder, not speaking, but staring straight ahead at the ominous woods surrounding the estate.

  Carmichael and Hampton were at the elm, also silent, but staring at him and Iñigo as if trying to provoke an action with a mere look.

  “Why do I not have any confidence that between the two of them they could wind a decent noose?” Iñigo broke the silence with a low whisper.

  “Perhaps you ought to volunteer your neck.”

  “How kind of you to offer to make my wife a widow.”

  Diego grinned as he tried to wiggle his stiff fingers. They only barely obeyed. But they did keep him from dwelling on Hampton’s intentions.

  This wasn’t the first tight spot he’d found himself in, but it was the tightest of them all. Back in their privateering days, he and Iñigo would laugh over the fools who wound up with nooses about their necks, or worse. Greedy imbeciles. Privateering was only slig
htly less lucrative, and not nearly as dangerous.

  No matter how tight their spot, though, Diego refused to dwell on it. Much like the first days on the island with Gabby, he would simply face Hampton, swallow any fear, and not go down without a fight.

  “It must be driving these dolts mad that neither of us is quaking with fear or begging for our lives,” Iñigo muttered as Carmichael and Hampton strode toward them.

  No. Neither one visibly quaked, and Diego didn’t know how Iñigo felt, but his own belly leaped and squirmed with such strength it sent nausea rippling through him. His mouth was almost painfully dry, and his heart pounded with wild, erratic beats, which did nothing to ease that damned nausea, either. But Hampton would never know how Diego’s gut wrenched and twisted. Never.

  He twisted to stare in the direction from which they’d come. No Gabby. It was only a hunch that Hampton would make certain she was there to witness his hanging. But he didn’t know it for a fact, and it certainly didn’t preclude Iñigo’s being hanged first.

  This added to his growing nausea as he turned back to stare at the ominous noose swaying in the light breeze. Finn would never forgive him, should he return with such blood on his hands. Hell, he would never forgive himself. Ever.

  “Well, Gabriella, I must admit, I am not at all surprised to see you looking like the pirate you’ve become.”

  “You are assuming that I even care what you think of me.” Gabby’s voice washed over Diego like a salve, and the faint flutter of butterflies’ wings went still. “But since I don’t…”

  Hampton shook his head, his face heavy with a resignation that didn’t seem completely genuine to Diego. “This is most disheartening. Father would be greatly disappointed to learn his precious Gabriella met her fate at the end of the hangman’s noose.”

  Diego’s blood ran icy, but Gabby merely snorted. “At your hands? I think not, brother dear. You made one very grave mistake when you locked me up. You didn’t take away my things. Not even my boots.”

  A smile pulled at Diego’s lips as he twisted back to see her standing with her legs shoulder-width apart, arms folded over her chest. She looked every inch the pirate in her breeches and flowing white shirt. The wind lifted her dark curls, tossed them freely, haphazardly about her face. Her eyes narrowed. “You left me with a weapon as well. So, if you intend me to hang, you’d best figure out how you’ll disarm me without killing me.”

  This time, Carmichael and Hampton both brandished pistols, but Gabby stared them down with hard eyes. Then, Hampton grinned and shifted his aim from her to Diego. Carmichael did the same, but took careful aim at Iñigo, who groaned and muttered, “Hijo de perra. Tell me she has a pistol.”

  “If only I could,” Diego muttered back.

  Chinks appeared in Gabby’s armor as she glanced from Hampton to Diego, and her arms slowly unfolded. Do not be a fool, Gabby, he thought. Do not sacrifice yourself.

  However, she held a dagger in one hand and—God help them all—a pistol in the other. His heart rose as she said, “Why do you do this? If you simply turn Captain Sebastiano and Captain Santa Cruz loose, the three of us will leave England, never to return if that’s what you wish. You lose nothing. I lose nothing.”

  “Because you keep your shares of Markham Enterprises.”

  “That’s what this is about? Because Father made certain I would never have to rely on anyone else in order to support myself? So that I could be where I wished to be, at the helm of a ship, instead of sipping tea in some silly lord’s drawing room?” She shook her head. “If that’s what it is, you may have it. I’ll gladly sign over my shares.”

  “He was always disappointed in me because of you. You were the one who accompanied him ’round the world. You were the one he wished to share his voyages with.”

  Beneath his breath, Iñigo muttered, “Why the hell doesn’t she just shoot him?”

  “I wish I knew.” Diego scowled. Why didn’t she shoot him? There was only one reason he could think of, and it clenched his stomach to send sour bile rising in his throat. The pistol had no ammunition.

  Gabby snorted. “Because you showed no interest in him or in his business and I did.”

  “Because he killed my mother by plowing yours!” The fury behind his shout seemed to surprise him as much as it did her, for he snapped his mouth shut as his cheeks burned bright red, while Gabby just stared with a slack jaw.

  “That is your reason for wanting me dead?” Disbelief wove through her words, along with a hint of hurt. “Because of sins my mother committed? Because of sins your father—our father—committed? I had nothing to do with that. I was born on the wrong side of the blanket, you’ll kindly recall. The only reason I knew anything other than my uncle’s blacksmithy is because your father, my father, was a generous, loving sort.”

  “Your whore mother drove mine to her grave.”

  Diego winced at that and glanced over to see Gabby’s eyes were wide and glassy, and spots of color appeared high on her sun-kissed cheeks. “Your mother was a shrew who did nothing but hound and complain and criticize and browbeat him into seeking comfort with another. The one thing he asked of your mother, she wouldn’t give, and that was a divorce!”

  “You lie.”

  “I do no such thing.” She lifted the pistol to aim at him. “I have no need to lie, William. The proof of it is right before you. He chose me. He may have left you the physical buildings, but he left me with far more than that, with more than any amount of gold could possibly buy. He loved me. He tolerated you.”

  “Loved you?” William’s voice rose to a shrill squeal. “He loved only that you reminded him of his whore. And that is all you are, you bitch! A whore, just as your mother was before you.”

  “He should not have said that,” Diego muttered to Iñigo.

  Iñigo nodded. “This could be interesting.”

  Carmichael sighed and slapped one hand against his thigh. “Can I just bloody well shoot her and be done with this? She’s given me enough of a pain since she was a girl.”

  “No.” Hampton shook his head. “No, I want to see her dance. See her pay for destroying my family. I’ve waited for this for twelve years!”

  He marched up and grabbed Gabby by the arm, but she was too quick. Steel glinted in the weak sunlight, and Hampton let out a scream as he jumped away from her, clutching his left arm against his body. A long slash in his fine shirt revealed a thin ribbon of blood from his elbow to his wrist. “You bitch!”

  Carmichael snorted. “Hampton, you’re a bloomin’ idiot.”

  Gabby pointed the dagger’s blade at Hampton again. “I think you should make haste in releasing Captains Sebastiano and Santa Cruz, William. Before I do something I’ll possibly regret.”

  “Bloody hell,” Carmichael sighed as he lazily lifted his arm to bring up the pistol in his hand. “Why must I always do the dirty work? Now can I shoot her? Or do you still want to see her dance, Will, ol’ chum?”

  Despite his bound hands, Diego lunged at Carmichael, tried desperately to hit him before the gun went off. Unfortunately, the previous day’s storms left the ground a spongy, swampy mess, and he lost his footing to slam down hard on his side.

  A shot rang out and Diego jerked over in time to see the look of utter horror on Gabby’s face, just before she toppled over backward and hit the ground, where she lay as still as death.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The voices were so very far away, but most definitely familiar.

  A rough voice growled, “If ye’re wise, Markham, ye’ll drop that pistol before I bleedin’ plug ye like I did yer pig friend. James, go untie them, would ye?”

  Uncle Jonathan? Was it possible Anne had come through for her?

  “Who the devil are you?” Diego. Thank the Lord.

  “Jonathan Wrothston. And I’d be careful, Markham, about where yer aimin’ that. Ye see yerself I’m a crack shot wi’ mine. Can ye say the same?”

  Gabby tried not to whimper, tried not to make any sound that mi
ght draw William’s attention, but it wasn’t easy. Her right shoulder burned as though she’d been run through with newly forged steel. It hurt more than anything she’d ever felt before, and she had to bite hard on the inside of her cheek to remain still.

  “I’d not do that if I was ye, Markham.”

  She cracked one watering eye to see William standing stock still, staring alternately at Jonathan, and then at the obviously lifeless form of Ryan Carmichael. As the stinging in her shoulder faded somewhat, she slowly pushed herself up to pick up her dagger.

  “You’ll need this.” She rose up to her knees, groaning as an icy cold sweat burst out over her skin. It was difficult to breathe, and the ground seemed to rise and fall right before her very eyes. Still, she swallowed hard against the rising nausea and forced herself to her feet. William stared at her as if she’d just risen from a grave, but she paid him no heed as she stumbled toward Diego on jellied legs to shove by the dark-haired man she didn’t recognize.

  The dagger’s razor-like blade sliced through the ropes binding Diego’s wrists, and he caught her as she stumbled again. “Your shoulder is bleeding, Gabby.”

  She nodded. Why did he sound so far away? She felt like a spectator, as if everything unfolding around her was merely a play and not reality. “Yes… I know…”

  “Sit, love,” he murmured, urging her back down to the loamy earth. She offered no argument, but was grateful to no longer have to remain on her feet. Another few minutes, and she would have collapsed anyhow.

  He prized the pistol from her grasp. “So, that’s why you didn’t shoot?”

  She smiled at his chuckle. “Anne told me where to find the gun, but not where William keeps the bullets.”

  He squeezed her gently. “It doesn’t matter now, love.”

  She nodded, sinking into him as she struggled to focus on what was going on around her.

  “James, free his friend,” Jonathan directed. “And we will make use of this noose.”

  Gabby shook her head. “No.” Her tongue felt thick and unresponsive as she shook her head. “There will be no hanging.”