The Pirate and the Puritan

by Howe, Cheryl

  Drew sat down and began to sort through the booty. “What’s the value on my head these days?”

  Solomon planted his hands on the table and brought his face close to Drew’s. “You don’t have that much.”

  “I might not need it at all.” He reached for the lock of hair he’d tucked in the pocket of his breeches. “If a hair on her head has been touched, beyond this strand, I’ll kill them.”

  “By yourself and without a weapon?”

  “I’ll have a weapon and so will you. I’m not stupid.” Drew looked up from his stacks of coin, waiting for Solomon’s argument. He could be walking into a trap, probably was—but his choices were limited.

  Solomon sat down across from Drew. “Are you going to give them all this? It’s all you have.”

  “It doesn’t matter anymore. It wasn’t worth it after all.” The unexpected truth in Drew’s confession left his throat raw. A life of piracy had brought him riches and power, or so he’d thought. He had accepted his ill-gotten gains as proper payment for the injustices that had been handed to him and every man like him born without privilege or rank. But like everything else in his life, that had been just another excuse to do as he liked.

  He had consciously chosen a crooked path. In fact, he’d reveled in his own wickedness. But he’d be damned if Felicity would pay for that. She’d given him her heart and he’d given her a wooden, theatrical prop and called it himself. When he got her back he’d give her anything she wanted. He’d even try to retrieve the young man who still possessed values and morality.

  It was the man he might’ve been if he’d not ventured to Barbados. If she wanted never to see him again, he’d give her that too. Hell, he’d gladly make her an honest woman and provide her a house full of brats. He’d even leave piracy, but only after one more lawless act.

  Drew raked the treasure back into the chest without counting any more.

  Solomon scrambled to save the coins he had just carefully stacked. “Wait. I can’t count as fast as you.”

  “We won’t need it. I’ve a better idea.”

  Drew slammed the lid closed. He wouldn’t mind handing over every last guinea he had to have Felicity safe, but a dead man wouldn’t have need of treasure. Drew fed on his lust for revenge, longing for dawn.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Through the Fatted Pig’s two large windows, Felicity watched the night turn light blue, then pink. The rising sun gave the world shape. She had preferred the muted shadows. Morning would make it easier for the soldiers guarding her to kill Drew. They said they wanted him alive, but she didn’t believe that. Their heavy arsenal of weapons told her as much.

  No matter how many times she insisted Drew would not come for her, dread tickled her belly, telling her he would. She meant nothing to him, so why should he risk his life and, more importantly, his gold to rescue her? Her death, conveniently carried out by faceless strangers, would solve his problems nicely.

  Her gaze drifted from the deserted street to the man with the musket across his knees crouched by the door. Another quick glance over her shoulder brought a jaunty salute from Admiral Meldrick. He’d traded his white uniform for what he apparently took to be the clothes of a ruffian. His crisp fawn breeches and linen shirt tied with an elaborate cravat still spoke loudly of civilization, a thing sorely lacking on New Providence. Though Meldrick’s authority had surely saved her from a fate worse than death, she still wished she hadn’t been forced into the position of bait. The butterflies in her stomach rose to her mouth with the sour flavor of fear.

  She clasped her hands in her lap and waited. The men at the table beside her seemed absorbed in their card game, unconcerned that a notorious pirate might burst through the door any minute. Both men were dressed in well-worn canvas breeches and linen shirts with faded blue checks. The brilliant red sash each man sported around his waist, a standard for pirates on the island, stood out against the drabness like a beacon. Clean-shaven faces and neat hair gave away the fact that they were British officers.

  She shifted in her roughly crafted chair, knocking the uneven legs against the planked floor. Drew was late. She’d told them he wouldn’t come.

  It hadn’t been her idea to set the trap for Drew, but she had gone along with the scheme. In the first place, she doubted he would rescue her, and her cooperation seemed to appease Admiral Meldrick. She suspected he’d have gladly let the brutes who’d chased her into the street keep her if Bertie hadn’t started babbling about El Diablo. Apparently Bertie had a price on his neck as well and had felt compelled to distract the admiral from himself.

  Without warning, the bright blue door swung open. The startled marksman moved sideways to keep from being hit. Felicity glanced behind her in time to see Admiral Meldrick duck behind the bar.

  Drew strutted into the room as if he was an honored guest. His presence consumed everyone’s attention. He wore snug black breeches tucked into knee-length boots. His white linen shirt hung open at the neck. Missing from his waist was a sash and, more importantly, the weapons that were usually secured by the cloth. That fact did not lessen the aura of danger surrounding him. His wind-tousled hair fell loosely around his shoulders and his eyes narrowed in feral aggression.

  The two men next to her shot to their feet in a shower of cards. Obviously they’d not expected Drew to come either, much less make such a dashing entrance. The man on her right fumbled for his pistol and pointed it at Drew.

  Felicity gripped the bottom of her seat to keep from leaping out of it. Why had he come? She fought a dangerous combination of hope and fear. Her emotions were too tangled at the moment to know what any of it meant.

  Drew stalked toward them, apparently unconcerned by the threat. Not once did his gaze stray in her direction. “Sorry I’m late. I was detained by some friends of yours. I convinced them I could find my way here on my own.”

  “That’s far enough. Move your hands away from your body,” said the one holding the pistol.

  Drew obeyed. “Release the woman. You have your prize.”

  “Search him,” said the higher-ranking soldier to the man next to him. The other soldier hesitated. His raised eyebrows showed he thought the request the ravings of a madman.

  The officer used both hands to steady the weapon. “That’s an order. I’m aimed at his heart.”

  The soldier inched toward Drew.

  “Mistress Kendall is under our protection now.” The officer holding the pistol squared his shoulder in a confident stance. “I won’t subject her to any more of your brutality, Mr. Crawford.”

  Felicity glanced down at the modest gown hiding her feet. The tight pull of her prudish bun and the high neck of her borrowed dress made her feel a fraud. Fortunately, Drew ignored her. If she had to look into his eyes, she would give herself away. They would all realize she was still in love with him.

  “Are you going to hang me on New Providence?” said Drew matter-of-factly.

  She jerked up her head. She couldn’t bear to watch Drew hang. The man ordered to search Drew squatted as he patted the length of his leg. Without a weapon, Drew would never have a chance to escape. She blinked away the tears threatening to run down her cheeks. What had she done?

  “No, Mr. Crawford. It seems you’ve made one of His Majesty’s favorite noblemen angry with your escapades. He’s on Barbados and wants to see you hang properly. You’ll have a trial, but—”

  The man’s words were cut off by the sound of a thud near the window. She didn’t see the blow that sent the marksman beside the door sliding to the floor. The bulk of a pirate looming outside the window gave no doubt of its source. Before the officer holding the pistol could react to the new threat, a streak of metal imbedded itself in his chest. He looked down at the protruding handle of a dagger, then fell to the sandy floor.

  Drew swiftly brought up his knee, smashing it into the chin of the man searching him. Solomon, followed by Drew’s crew, spilled through the windows and door. British soldiers adorned in bright red coats leaped
from behind the bar.

  Felicity jumped from her chair. She turned in a full circle while the battle erupted all around her. With the cutlass retrieved from the downed man at his feet, Drew engaged two soldiers at once. Swinging cutlasses and screaming men made it hard to follow the tide of the melee.

  Felicity knelt to pick up the pistol dropped by the man with the dagger in his chest, who thankfully remained face down. Before she could decide whether she should roll him over and check for signs of life, the table beside her exploded under the weight of a body being tossed onto it, sending her to her feet. She darted out of the way of the red-haired giant who leaped on the fallen soldier, and gripped the pistol until her knuckles turned white.

  As swiftly as it began, the clash quieted. Felicity frantically searched for Drew. To her relief, the men littering the floor mostly wore red coats.

  “Felicity.”

  Her softly spoken name sounded above the soft moans and angry curses. She spun to find Drew walking toward her. He reached out to her with his right hand, the lowered cutlass in his left dripping blood. Solomon yelled something and the pirates hurried through the door.

  With his arm still outstretched, Drew stepped closer to Felicity. “We must leave now. There are more British in the area.”

  The door of the tavern swung shut when the last pirate dashed out. Drew stayed, his back to the door.

  Felicity dropped her gaze, afraid she’d weaken if she looked too long into his eyes. “Get out of here.”

  Drew moved purposefully toward her, looking as if he intended to throw her over his shoulder and carry her out. And God help her, she wanted to let him. She glanced up at him and forced herself to see the killer she knew him to be instead of the man she feared she still loved. In the breadth of Felicity’s exhalation, everything she thought she believed in fell away. She knew she had no choice but to act and act now. She raised the pistol and fired. The shot flew over Drew’s shoulder. The force of the blast startled her. She staggered, unbalanced by the noise and her own actions. Acrid smoke rising from the pistol burned her nostrils. She blinked hard to orient herself.

  Solomon swung open the door. “We’re saddled and ready to go. More soldiers are on their way from the harbor.”

  Drew stared at her, the understanding of her seeming betrayal dawning on his features. Without a word, he turned and ran to join Solomon. A sob caught in her throat. She couldn’t have explained her actions even if he’d given her the chance. She didn’t understand herself. At that moment, all she could think about was killing the man aiming the musket at Drew’s back.

  The door again swung closed. The marksman slid to the floor, clutching the hole in his belly made by Felicity’s shot.

  ***

  The ship heeled violently leeward. Water rushed over the sailors’ feet as they scrambled to keep from being swept overboard. Drew held the wheel steady, yelling orders above the rush of wind. Cold rain stung his cheeks and he squinted to protect his eyes. The British became little more than a speck on their stern, but he’d not slacken their sails, even in the face of the storm. The Rapture sliced through the turbulent waves with the grace of a gull in flight.

  Soaring with the wind lessened the heaviness in his chest. He didn’t want to stop or slow down. If he did, he feared he’d sink under the weight of Felicity’s betrayal. Had she orchestrated the trap or was she just a willing participant? The muscles of his jaw tightened at the thought of either possibility.

  He’d recognized the British trick the moment he encountered the soldiers lurking on the outskirts of town. The patrol of seamen there instead of the well-trained, red-coated marines could only mean that the British were undermanned or the ground troops were involved in something more important. Drew wasn’t that lucky. It had to be a trap.

  Fear had been his first sensation when he realized who held Felicity, but not for himself. She would undoubtedly trust the demons in uniform and babble on about her father and his innocence, unknowingly giving the British enough evidence to hang Ben with a clear conscience. Being the fool that he was, it had not occurred to him that she’d hand him over to prove her point.

  The trap had not concerned him. What choice had she really had once the British got their hands on her? He could have freed her, and they could have been on their way without too much damage done. It was the way she’d stared through him as she leveled the pistol that severed his heart. The ball had missed him, but the shot had found its mark.

  Sails strained against another powerful gust, forcing Drew to give the order to release the tension on the sheet or risk tearing his foresail. The ship’s leeward side emerged from the water, but Drew maintained their speed.

  He should hate Felicity. He should see her for the conniving women she was. Even Samantha Linley would be impressed. Unfortunately, his heart still beat faster at the thought of Felicity Kendall. And with each throb, the knife there twisted.

  Solomon staggered up beside Drew and shouted something that was lost in the roar of the waves. Drew shook his head. Solomon raised his voice to the pitch of a kettledrum. “The navigator wants to know where in the hell you’re going.”

  “Just hell in general. Care to join me?”

  Solomon shook his head and pointed to the small cabin used for navigation. Drew signaled to one of the men on deck to take the helm, before following Solomon into the shelter.

  Pulling off his hat and canvas jacket left Solomon relatively dry, while Drew stood dripping water onto the floor. “I’ve been to hell. It was a sugar plantation on Barbados and, as I remember, it was your idea to leave.”

  Drew peeled off his shirt, and Solomon tossed him a dry piece of cloth. He squeezed excess water from his hair and dried off his upper body. When he felt relatively dry, he approached the large desk covered with maps. The navigator stepped away.

  “Go below and get some rest.” Drew took the compass from the tired man.

  He waited for the navigator to leave before he spoke. “That plantation wasn’t really hell, just one of her many settlements, my friend. The real place exists only in the darkest parts of one’s own heart.”

  Drew lifted the top map, glancing beneath it. When he didn’t find what he searched for, he bent down and rifled through a chest below the table.

  He stood and unfurled a map on top of the others. “This is the place.”

  Solomon glanced over his shoulder. “The Orient. That’s on the other side of the world.”

  “Exactly.”

  “What about Felicity?”

  Drew picked up a divider. He swung the points of the instrument across the map. “It’s been my experience that when your loved one points a gun at your heart, it’s a signal her affection has waned.”

  Solomon ignored the map, scrutinizing Drew instead. “The British could have coerced her.”

  Drew studied the map in hopes of diverting Solomon’s interest away from himself. He felt like an open wound and he feared it showed.

  “They could have, and she could have aimed for my knees.”

  Solomon folded his arms over his chest. “Your bruised manhood is no reason to leave her in danger.”

  Drew put down the instrument and faced Solomon. “You weren’t there. The little witch fired a pistol at my heart at two paces. Thank God I neglected to teach her to aim.”

  Solomon finally glanced at the map. “Maybe she missed you on purpose.”

  “Don’t worry about Felicity. They’re likely to make her governor of Barbados by the time this is over.”

  “What of Ben? You’re abandoning him too?”

  “I feel for Benjamin, but Felicity is his flesh and blood. I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “Miss Kendall’s rejection must have wounded you deeply to make you turn your back on Ben. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this.” Solomon pointed to a spot on the map. “I’ve always wanted to visit China. I think it would be good for Hugh to see the world.”

  Drew glared at Solomon’s downcast face. He pi
cked up the weights holding down the map, letting it curl up on Solomon’s nose. “Ben’s in much better care with Felicity as his protector. She’ll secure his release in a week with stories about me that will make Blackbeard look like a suckling babe.”

  The portal leading from the deck tentatively creaked open. Drew expected to see Hugh, who’d been ordered below deck, but instead a white-faced Avery Sneed stumbled into the room. “Heard we were engaging the British. I’m ready for duty, Captain.”

  “Sorry, Avery, but we’ve outrun them.” Drew stepped toward the man with the intention of helping him back to his hammock.

  The second mate clutched his side and wavered on his feet but straightened at Drew’s approach. “No need for your assistance, Captain. I’m as strong as I ever was.”

  “Back to your quarters, Mr. Sneed.” Solomon barked the order. He motioned Avery through the door with a wave of his hand, making no move to help him. “You’ll have the helm tonight, and with the impending British threat, we don’t have room for mistakes.”

  Avery nodded. He limped from the room with his head held high and his back straight. Drew stood in the open portal, watching him go. The rain had stopped, but the strong winds shoved at the wounded man’s thin form. When he disappeared below deck without falling flat on his face, Drew closed the door.

  “Do you see? She can even raise the dead—and they call me El Diablo.”

  “Felicity means well, despite her tactics. She’s not a killer. You’re mistaken about what happened.”

  Drew stepped around Solomon to return to the navigation desk. Solomon hadn’t experienced the sensation caused by having the woman you love aim a pistol at your heart. Drew had almost been disappointed when she missed. Maybe then he could have hated her and not felt as if he’d left a vital organ behind.

  For his own sake, he changed the subject. “You’re not going to let Avery return to duty tonight. That’s an order if it has to be.”