Bound by Decency

by Claire Ashgrove

  Using her throat as a lever, Slater guided India sideways to better confront Cain. So unnatural was the movement, so full of pain from his grip, that India tripped over her feet. To prevent from hanging herself on his arm, she flung a hand out to catch herself on the desk. As her palm connected with the cluttered surface, Cain’s ledger tumbled to the floor. The tip of her index finger touched cold metal.

  “Now sit, Cap’n,” Slater commanded. “A delicate neck she be havin’. It’d be a shame if it snapped.” To emphasize his meaning, he gave her throat a squeeze.

  India yelped at the bite of ragged nails. The sound stole the last of her breath, and she found she couldn’t draw in another. Long moments passed where she heard their voices but words did not make sense. A strange warmth filtered through her limbs. Her ears began to ring. As her knees wobbled, darkness descended behind her eyes.

  In the next instant, Slater relaxed his fingers.

  India gasped. Air rushed in to fill her lungs. Rage slid into her veins. Only a coward would hide behind a woman. A man who was no better than a flea-ridden dog.

  She glanced sideways in search of Cain. He sat in the chair, his jaw set and his fingers wrapped around the hilt of his sword. In the dim light she caught the faint white of his knuckles, the checked fury that lay just beneath his calm exterior.

  “Thirty lashes I be gettin’ fer a bit o’ sport.” Slater directed his words at Cain. “Thirty lashes fer a woman. One who ain’t got but one purpose fer bein’ aboard a ship.”

  “You signed the Articles, Slater. Took an oath, like the rest of the men.” Cain kept his voice even, his gaze locked on the threat.

  “Aye, an’ the Cain I sailed fer woulda never thought o’ whippin’ a man fer the woman’s foolishness.” He glanced at India with a snort. “Somethin’ ta do. Bored ye say. An’ ye didn’t offer no protest.” Looking back to Cain, his gaze narrowed. “Don’t sound like she weren’t willin’ t’spread her legs t’me.”

  While he spoke, his hold on her throat relaxed. India pulled in a long breath to combat the acceleration of her pulse and lifted her index finger. She trapped the metal beneath it, and curling her knuckle, edged it closer to her palm.

  “Don’t be daft! She’s not a common whore who would lay with gutter tripe.”

  In the corner of her vision, Cain’s blade glinted beneath the lamplight as he moved. It took all of India’s willpower not to investigate his position and keep her mind on the object beneath her fingers. She lifted her third and forth fingers and tucked the insignificant blade beneath her palm.

  “Aye, but she be layin’ wit’ the cap’n. Makes her a prize. An’ since I be due a share of all our treasure, I aim ta’ take me piece.” Slater rasped a chuckle. “Don’t ye be worryin’, Cap’n, there’ll be plenty left fer ye. Though I won’t be guaranteein’ she won’t find ye lackin’ after she’s lain wit’ the likes o’ me.”

  As hearty laughter gripped Slater, India snatched at opportunity. She summoned all her strength and tightened her fingers around the letter opener. Before Slater had a chance to regain his breath, she raised her arm and drove the length of steel into his bicep.

  On a pained bellow, his hand fell away from her throat. He grasped the letter opener in a gnarled hand, pulled it out, and tossed it on the floor. “Wretched little bitch!”

  Bloodied fingers snatched at her. India scurried out of his reach. Sword raised, Cain bolted to his feet. He stretched his free hand out for her, and India rushed to grab his fingers. All thoughts of protest forgotten, she followed his urgings and allowed him to guide her behind his back, where she backed up several more paces to put as much distance between her and the inevitable clash as she could manage.

  Slater spun on Cain, his features a grotesque mask of loathing. His arm arced toward the rafters, sword poised for a lethal descent. Cain raised his weapon to block the downward arc. With a grunt, he shoved the cutlass back at Slater and braced his feet apart, widening his stance. “Now, you die,” he stated flatly.

  They moved around one another in a slow, calculated circle. In the low light, Cain’s expression was unreadable. To a stranger, whether he felt rage, offense, or anything at all would be mystery. But to India, who had become so familiar with the light behind his blue eyes, his naked fury was as obvious as the blade he held in his hand. And in all her lifetime she’d never seen such unadulterated hate.

  Slater’s patience wore out first. In a bold strike, he lunged at Cain with a short thrust of his sword. Cain leapt backwards to avoid the piercing blow. His bare feet grabbed the smooth planks easily. Slater’s boots slipped against the unexpected evasion.

  Cain drove in fast and furious. Steel sang as swords clashed. Unrelenting in his pursuit, Cain pressed in on Slater, offering the man no quarter to recover from the onslaught of his attack. He moved with the grace of a cat, driving Slater backwards until his back slammed into the wall.

  Slater pushed off with an impressive heave. His sword arced across his body to come down hard against Cain’s unburdened left arm. A narrow vein of crimson seeped through his skin.

  India cried out on his behalf. But on hearing the sound, clamped a fist in her mouth to squelch the noise. Distracting Cain would only leave him vulnerable. Better he forgot her presence.

  As if his injury somehow fueled him, Cain attacked with renewed vigor. He ducked sideways, avoiding a backhanded slice as Slater brought his sword into his body. On a sharp twist, Cain thrust in to close the sidelong gaps. His cutlass sank into the fleshy area beneath Slater’s ribs. Blood rolled down the hilt to coat Cain’s palm.

  Transfixed by the horror, India watched as Cain put his weight into his arm and gave his blade an upwards jerk. Slater’s eyes went wide. Shock passed across his face. As he glanced down to where Cain’s weapon gutted him, his cutlass tumbled from his fingers. It clattered to the floor, the sound more deafening than the ruckus beyond the walls.

  In the oppressive silence, Cain put his weight on his opposite foot and withdrew his blade. “Be off to hell, you bloody bastard.”

  Slater stumbled into the wall, his hand pressed to the gaping hole in his flesh. His knees gave out, and he sagged to the floor, silent and lifeless.

  Cain dropped his sword and bowed his head. His shoulders slumped with the deep breath he expelled. For several unending seconds he stood motionless, as if he sought to compose his temper before he chose to confront her.

  India stood by the bed, torn between the urge to flee far from Cain, or to go to him and see to his wounds. Her stomach heaved at the pool of blood that seeped from beneath Slater’s unmoving form. She averted her eyes, swallowed down the bitter taste of rising bile. But the tumult of the encounter got the better of her, and her legs wobbled unsteadily. She placed a hand on the mattress at the back of her knees to ease herself onto the edge.

  Cain lifted his head. Slowly, he turned to look at her. In his hesitant gaze, she read the acceptance of what he’d done. On a long, drawn out blink, he pulled in another breath, then exhaled hard. “Are you unharmed?” he asked quietly.

  Not trusting her voice, she nodded.

  Indecision flickered behind his probing gaze. The hand at his side twitched, as if he sought to reach for her then thought better of it. Instead, he bent over Slater’s body and picked up his sword. He wiped the bloody blade on his trousers, then stuffed it in the leather belt about his waist.

  “I’ll dispose of him and clean up this mess,” he murmured.

  Again, she nodded, but her acceptance was lost on Cain. His back to her, he couldn’t witness the movement of her head. He stuffed his hands beneath Slater’s arms and dragged him through the open door.

  351

  Bound By Decency

  16

  Cain emerged from his cabin for the second time, his hands full of blood-soaked rags. He followed the brown smear where Slater’s body had tainted the planks down the corridor, onto the deck, to the larboard rail, and pitched the rags overboard, as he had the man. They buoyed on the surfac
e, churned with the surge of water that signified The Kraken’s departure from the skeleton remains of the sloop. Little by little, the rippling waves engulfed the cloth, pulling them down until they became grayish squares against a midnight backdrop. Then nothing remained. No thread, no shadow. Just an emptiness to mirror the chasm in Cain’s soul.

  He had killed a man in front of India. He’d been glad, almost eager, to execute her abuser. The memory of the way she had looked at him, as if she saw not man but monster, would haunt him throughout his days. Whatever time he had left in this world, he would see those wide, disappointed eyes each time he closed his own.

  He leaned both elbows on the rail and rested his forehead against the smooth wood. When had he become so indifferent to murder? Worse, when had he come to believe in men like Slater? Like Drake. Like himself.

  Behind him, voices rose in celebratory chorus, and crewmen hefted the last of the heavy crates down the main hatch to the hold. Had Slater not gone after India, Cain would join his fellow brothers in laughter, arrogance, and drink. Now, he wanted nothing to do with the life Richard bound him to. He craved the honest seamen, the quiet carefree days spent sailing to the distant ports where he would buy his cargo in earnest gold and tie it down tight to bring it to safe harbor in the Colonies.

  He ached for the decency he had known but only a short time.

  Lifting his head, he looked to the setting sun and swallowed down the bitterness. At least he lived. And he would exact justice before a noose could find his neck. Then he would willingly hang. No regrets. No disparity.

  A shadow descended on him, as did Drake’s hushed voice. “I didn’t see you on the sloop.”

  Drawing in a haggard breath, Cain pushed off the rail and stood upright. “I wasn’t there.”

  “Ah.” Drake chuckled. “Decency again. Come to haunt you, eh?”

  Cain slapped a balled fist against the railing. “Damnation, Drake! Leave off! Slater attacked India.”

  Dark eyebrows drew together, and all traces of Drake’s good humor ebbed. “Is she harmed? We’ll have him strung from the yards as a lesson to every man. Where did you confine him?”

  Cain nodded at the water. “With the sharks.” He pulled his bandana from his head and wadded it into a ball. Unable to answer Drake’s inquiry about India, and unwilling to consider the injuries she suffered beyond the physical, he gestured at the last large crate being dragged toward the main hatch. “How did we fare?”

  “Very well. Their hold was full. I can’t say who was stupid enough to fall victim to the sorry lot, but they chose their quarry well. We lost two. Four more are with Cleaver, bein’ stitched back together.”

  “Who fell?”

  “A man we picked up in Charles Towne. His death doesn’t surprise me. He was too eager to fight.”

  Cain quirked an eyebrow. “That’s one. Who’s the other?”

  For the first time since they’d struck their agreement, remorse flashed behind Drake’s eyes. He pushed a hand through his hair and let out a heavy sigh. “Young Jim.”

  As a whole new wave of regret flooded Cain, he closed his eyes. Unlike so many of the other men, Young Jim knew the meaning of loyalty. It was that devotion, his unfaltering respect for Cain, that prompted him to sign aboard this trip for vengeance, despite the wife and coming child he left behind.

  Cain tightened his hand on the rail, feeling Charlotte’s inevitable pain. God’s blood, he would see Richard paid for this as well. Before Cain sliced his traitorous throat, he would carve out a pound of flesh for Young Jim, Charlotte, and the babe each.

  He stiffened and opened his eyes. “Sort the goods. See that the men are well rewarded for their service with all the drink they desire. I will log the shares tomorrow. When we reach Nassau they can claim their bounties. I must see to India.”

  To Cain’s surprise, Drake offered no jest or sarcastic retort. He backed away with a deferential inclination of his head and joined the men at the hatch, where they struggled to right the heavy, toppled crate.

  No matter how Cain despised the chore, he couldn’t put India off any longer. He would face her wrath and be done with it. Perhaps her tongue would cut deeply enough he would cease to be concerned with what she thought of him.

  Determined to have the confrontation done, he stalked toward his cabin.

  ****

  Even with the body and the evidence of death removed, India couldn’t bear to look at the place on the floor where Slater had fallen. Each time she did, she saw Cain’s effortless execution. The way he failed to hesitate before he plunged his sword in for the fatal gutting. The vision haunted her. Not so much the death, although that in itself was a horrific thing. But for the easy way Cain snuffed out a life.

  He had killed before, and often. The knowledge shouldn’t have surprised her. Yet compared to the man she had come to know in her brief time aboard The Kraken, and the man who she had fantasized about for so long, the proficiency seemed out of place. Wholly inappropriate.

  He did not even flinch.

  But in stark contrast to his comfort with death, the remorse he’d shown after Slater fell to the ground befit the image of Teddy, the honorable co-owner of Grey and Cathain, that Richard had unwittingly created in her head. Cain had not gloated over the body at his feet. Had said nothing, in fact, during the entire time he cleaned up the mess.

  A man who enjoyed killing would have spoken more. He would not have fallen into silence nor bowed his head in brief mourning.

  Who was he, this man who had whisked her out of her bed, locked her aboard his ship, and provoked her body into sinful pleasures? At moments she would swear she kept company with a gentleman. A man of good breeding who, like her father, possessed an insatiable love for ships and sailing. Other times, like tonight, it became quite clear he embodied every horrific rumor of the fabled Cain, marauder of the sea.

  That two opposing halves could come together as one not only baffled India, it shook her to her core. No greater myth could exist. Part man, part monster—which half claimed his soul?

  She jumped at the closing of the door. Warily, she looked over her shoulder. Her body relaxed as Cain made his way to his footlocker, where he shed his belt.

  “How fares your throat?” he asked as he bent over to retrieve his ledger and set it atop his desk.

  “My throat’s fine.” She wasn’t so certain about the rest of her. Between the death, the shocking realization she had wanted it to occur, and the fact she’d contributed to the deed, the injuries John Slater inflicted upon her were too much to consider.

  As if Cain sensed her discomfort with the entire situation, he replied, “I do apologize for what you witnessed tonight, India.”

  Her eyebrows arched. “Apologize?” To her chagrin, her voice rose. She tempered the brittle tone by pausing to count to three. On a softer note she continued, “If you hadn’t taken me from my bed, none of this would have occurred.”

  A heavy sigh spilled from his chest, and he gave a slow shake of his head. “I realize this. Unfortunately, I cannot undo the past. You were necessary to my plans.”

  “Your plans to murder Richard.”

  He gave her a stiff nod.

  Bitterness crept in, unbidden. Against India’s will, words tumbled out, a combined mix of all the indefinable emotion coursing through her. “Tell me, will Richard’s execution resemble Slater’s?”

  Cain stared at the tall shelves, his handsome profile distinct in the fading light. His jaw clenched, but he offered no response.

  Silence spanned between them. India plucked at the quilt while Cain studied the contents of his shelves as if he looked upon them for the first time and found something of great interest. Time took on an oppressive weight that settled on her shoulders like great boulders intent on pushing her through the floorboards to the sea below. Her gaze followed the outline of his muscular thighs, trim waist, broad shoulders, and the strength in his exposed arms. Enigma did not define him. He was more a mystery than the sphinx.


  “Who are you?” she asked in a low whisper.

  For the first time since he had entered the room, he looked at her. Puzzlement drew his chiseled features together, creating deep lines and creases. “Who am I? I’ve made no attempt to hide from you.”

  She shook her head. “No, Cain. What you’ve told me, and what I see, are drastically different.”

  He blinked. With a touch of exasperation edging his voice, he replied, “Then your eyes fail you.”

  “My eyes see clearly. And I’ve witnessed two different men. The one who stands before me now is not the one who knows how to make my body yearn.”

  His frustration rose, evidenced by the curl of one fist. He let out a short laugh. “Two men can’t exist in one body.”

  Laced with the sound of his amusement, rang the brittle edge of bitterness. A tremor she hadn’t recognized before, but on reflection, heard all too clearly. A frown pulled at her brow. How had she failed to observe such obvious acidity? Every time he referred to himself as a pirate or mentioned the acts that made him infamous, the same derisive note clung to his voice.

  A veil lifted to reveal a shadow that had yet to take on definition. But in the dim outline, one unarguable detail came into clear focus. He was gentle born. Perhaps not with the blue blood that ran in her veins, but Cain was a product of something. Not a devil by nature.

  “How did you come to this?”

  He blinked again, then cocked his head to look at her as if she had grown two noses. “Pardon?”

  “This.” She swept her arm around the cabin. The wide arc came to a stop where Slater had fallen. “How did Teddy become someone who doesn’t flinch at death? Who besieges smaller, less equipped vessels? Who calls men like Drake friend?”

  To her absolute surprise, dark color crept up Cain’s throat to stain his cheeks. Anger flashed behind his eyes, and the fist he held curled at his thigh tightened. “Don’t, India. I warn you, your games will not sit well tonight.”