“Damn you lawless maggots for what you did to my friends!” Liam was roaring, and bang, his big, closed fist took down his attacker, but even as the man fell Kieran knew they were outnumbered. Joel was down on the deck, rolling in blood and clutching his shoulder. Watts, his scream dying in a chilling gurgle as he was gutted, and more pirates pouring up from a hatch, all yelling, all armed, all converging on Liam who was big, who was strong, but who was not young and certainly not infallible.
Cutlass swinging, his feet slipping in gore, Kieran slashed his way forward to defend him. Liam had his own cutlass out now, his face red with effort beneath his curly gray hair. Another pirate dropped in front of him, quickly dispatched by a chop to the ribs. Another, falling beneath Kieran’s backhanded slash to his jaw. I’ve got your back, Liam. Hold on. Liam down on one knee, blood running from his sleeve, charging back to his feet with a bear-like roar.
“This is for Brendan, you bastard!” Liam shouted, yanking a pistol from his belt and firing it into the chest of an onrushing pirate, and then Kieran had fought his way to him. He spun, his back to the older man and the cutlass already coming up, and in that moment his legs were kicked out from under him and he was slammed to the deck, his shoulder glancing off the edge of a deckhouse, the cutlass still gripped in his fist. Blows rained savagely into his side, his kidneys, and he rolled out of the way and leaped to his feet, slipping in blood. He slashed at another attacker, saw movement to his right. A fist caught his jaw as he turned and in that moment he saw Liam, still howling with rage, wrestling in the grip of three, four, five men, before Kieran was jerked roughly around, stars bursting behind his eyes as a belaying pin collided with his jaw; another blow, this one to the point of his cheekbone until blood ran down his face and into his mouth. The cutlass was gone; he grabbed for his knife. Another blow to his belly brought him to his knees.
Suddenly, the abuse stopped and the deck went quiet. For a moment Kieran could only stare at the bright red drops of blood appearing on the deck beneath him as he swayed there on hands and knees, trying not to vomit. Trying not to pass out. And then he wiped the sweat and blood from his face with the back of his wrist and looked up.
There, a savage, black-haired man stood like an apparition above him, the smoke swirling behind him. He was smiling. His eyes were the color of swamp muck, his mouth twisted and cruel, and what was left of his teeth were filed down to conical points. Ink made lurid designs on his bulging forearms, and he wore no shirt beneath a stained and ragged waistcoat, open to show a hard-muscled chest scarred with letters carved into the flesh. His appearance had brought instant silence from the others. Respect.
Fear.
Kieran, in agony, blinked and turned his head, his eyes meeting Liam’s blue ones.
The pirates stepped back like dogs cringing before a pack leader.
“I am Juan Escobar,” the newcomer said, and spat a wad of phlegm at Liam’s feet. He scanned the dead and dying all around them, his eyes narrowing, and then his gaze slid to Liam.
To Kieran.
And back to Liam.
Kieran knew what the pirate was thinking: that Liam had been in command when Sandpiper had rammed the brigantine. He blamed Liam for the damage to his ship, for his loss of men—and this insult would not go unpunished.
“Where’s the red-haired bitch who was in the boat?”
Neither Kieran nor Liam said a word.
The pirate’s eyes glittered dangerously. “And which one of you is the captain of that sloop?” he asked with deadly softness.
“I am,” Liam suddenly cried. “I’m her master, and I’m telling ye right now that if—”
“Silence, Liam,” Kieran gritted, his abdomen on fire, his kidneys throbbing and his shoulder a wreath of pain. “Just be quiet.”
Liam raised his voice, as though shouting would convince the pirate leader of the truth he so desperately sought to convey. A lie that might save Kieran but would spell a likely and torturous death for the old Irishman. “Don’t listen to the lad, he lies, that’s my ship and he has no right a’tall to be saying what he’s saying. In fact—”
“I said stow it, Liam!” Kieran thundered, pain radiating up his back and girding his loins as he staggered to his feet. Should he live to see tomorrow, he’d probably be pissing blood. Clenching his teeth, he straightened up and leveled his gaze on the pirate leader. “I am Kieran Merrick, the true and only captain of the American privateer Sandpiper. It was my decision to come here and it was my decision to attack. Not his. He was only following my orders.”
Liam grew frantic. “That’s a lie, look at him, he’s just a young pup, he’s no captain, got the gift of gab, he does, and—”
“Lieutenant Doherty! You will let me handle this!”
Escobar’s thick lips curved in triumph. There was no question in his mind which one of these two was the real captain of the rakish, well-armed little sloop that had brought these intruders to his secret island. None at all. He jerked his head to a burly man standing nearby and wordlessly, the brute seized Kieran’s arm, yanking him aside.
Escobar’s eyes, the color of soil at the bottom of a compost heap, narrowed as he studied Kieran, who faced him boldly. He cocked his head and dug at the point of a tooth. “And why did you come here?”
“You took the merchantman, Penelope. I want her captain and crew back.”
“What makes you think I have them?”
“I know you have them.”
“And what makes you think I’m going to give them to you?”
“You left a prize crew of your own men aboard her. One led me here. The rest of them, including a boy who claims to be your little brother, are still aboard her as prisoners of my prize crew. If you want them back, you’ll negotiate.”
“What? You have Pedro?” The pirate’s eyes were savage and he stepped menacingly closer. “What did you do to my little brother, Yankee? Where is he?”
Kieran didn’t flinch. “That’s my truth to tell unless you give me what I came here for.”
The pirate’s face clouded and he yanked a dagger from his belt. “Why, you arrogant, high-minded piece of offal, how dare you speak to me like that—”
“Don’t hurt him!” Liam roared, struggling wildly against his captors. “You hurt him and Sir Graham Falconer himself will exterminate ye like the vermin you are!”
“And what value might a Yankee privateer have to a mighty British admiral during time of war, eh?”
“This Yankee privateer is Lady Falconer’s brother! You lay a finger on him and Sir Graham will make your elimination his top priority, if Lady Falconer, who was once the Pirate Queen of the Caribbean, doesn’t do it herself. In fact—”
“Liam, please!”
“So you’re Lady Falconer’s brother?” Escobar looked like a snake about to strike. His lips pulled back in a snarl. “Well, well…that certainly does change things.” He sheathed the knife and moved a step closer to Kieran. Another, until he had come right up against him, right into his breathing space, so close that Kieran could smell his sweat and the garlic on his fetid breath. He stood his ground, refusing to step back to reclaim his space, refusing to look away, refusing to yield to the pirate’s demand for fear and subservience.
Neither man moved. And then a glitter came into the pirate’s dark eyes, something calculating and cruel, and it was he who finally stepped back, sneering, as he beckoned to a giant of a man leaning negligently against the rail cleaning his knife. Instantly the behemoth stepped forward to do his leader’s bidding, and a low hush of excitement and anticipation moved through the dozens of watching, waiting brigands.
Escobar looked at Kieran as though he was dung on his boot. “You were foolish to come here and now that you know where our island is, you’re not leaving. Sir Graham will never find us. Or—” he made a motion with his head toward his waiting minion—“you.”
Kieran had no time to prepare or react. The giant seized his shoulder and flung him hard against the mainmast. The side of
his head struck it with a loud crack, his knees buckled, and he had a dim sensation of falling….
Kieran Merrick went down in a heap at the pirate captain’s feet and knew no more.
* * *
Rosalie sat in quiet terror.
They had dragged her off the beach and then, a musket at her back, through thick forest choked with insects, cloying heat, rain dripping from tangled overhead branches, vines and foliage pierced by occasional shafts of sunlight. She closed her mind to what must be happening aboard the pirate brigantine and to those brave souls who’d boarded her in a desperate attempt to save them all, herself included.
She had heard the gunfire aboard the ship, the screams of dying men as her captors, a dirty, sweating, stinking horde, forced her through the forest toward a fate she dared not contemplate. A fate that made her mouth go tinny with fear. She felt the reassuring press of the pistol, still tucked into the strip of leather around her calf, the knife she’d slid into her half-boot. The brigands had not found them. And until they did—by either accident or design—she would not go down without a fight.
Deeper into the forest they went. She tripped over a banyan root and was rudely hauled to her feet, a hand lingering on her bottom as she was shoved forward. Nausea flared in her stomach and her terror escalated. Behind her, the sounds of fighting aboard the brigantine had stopped, and Rosalie knew with a cold and frightening certainty that she was on her own.
Kieran Merrick and his brave men were likely all dead.
She put his handsome face with its tousled dark hair, its kind but suffering eyes from her mind. Thinking of his fate would not alter her own. It would not give her any advantage when it came time to use the two weapons she’d concealed on her person and for that, she needed her mind to be clear and focused and intent on one thing, and one thing only.
Survival.
* * *
“Pick him up,” snarled Escobar, pointing to Kieran’s motionless form.
Liam stood frozen. He glanced around at the carnage on the deck. With the exception of Joel, all of Sandpiper’s men appeared to be dead. Joel himself was lying curled around his own torso, groaning in pain. And Kieran….
Brendan’s final words came back to him.
You have been the best friend a man could ever ask for. Take care of him for me. All of them.
And now Brendan’s youngest son lay bleeding and unconscious at his feet. He sure wasn’t doing a good job of taking care of his children, was he? He and Kieran were a hair’s breadth from death. Both of them—if Kieran wasn’t dead already.
“I said, pick him up.”
Liam drew in his breath. He squatted down in front of Kieran, dreading what the murderous bastard whose greasy boots were just within the line of his sight, had in mind. Gently, he slid his hand beneath his captain’s shoulders and knees. Thoughts flashed through his mind. Too bad he and the young lady hadn’t gotten on better. Too bad they’d come to this miserable, wretched island. Too bad she was out there all by herself, where she’d either be found by the pirates or die the death of the marooned.
“Come on, laddie,” Liam whispered under his breath. “We’re in this together.”
Kieran did not stir as Liam, groaning with the effort, lifted him in his huge, brawny arms. The younger man’s outside arm flopped lifelessly. Blood oozed from his cheek and trickled down his jaw, soaking his shirt, and his lashes lay heavily against his cheeks. His head lolled against Liam’s massive chest as the big Irishman cradled him protectively close.
I’ll keep ye safe, laddie. We’ll get through this.
Escobar was watching him shrewdly. Looking for weakness to exploit, a way to be cruel. More cruel than he already had been.
“Walk to the side,” the pirate leader commanded.
His nerves tingling, Liam instinctively tightened his arms around Kieran’s body and shuffled to the gunwale.
“Throw him over.”
Here then, was the cruelty. Liam planted his feet and didn’t move.
“I said throw him over, you Irish swine,” the pirate hissed.
Shielding Kieran with his own massive bulk, Liam looked over his shoulder and met the pirate’s cold sneer. “No.”
A muscle ticked in Escobar’s jaw and he reached up to rub at it. “How loyal you are to a man whose actions are about to get you killed. Makes no difference to me, though. I’ve got a damned nice sloop to add to my growing fleet, thanks to him. I’ve got more weapons, more armament, more bargaining power now than I did before. And you, you impertinent pig? What do you have?”
“An inkling of the whereabouts of yer little brother.”
“Which you’re going to share.”
“I said an inkling. Only Captain Merrick here knows where he and the rest of yer men are for sure.” Liam glanced down at Kieran’s still face. “And he’s obviously not telling.”
An artery throbbed in the pirate’s temple.
“Still want me to throw him over?” Liam challenged.
Escobar drew his dagger and contemplated its glittering edge. “I have my ways of extracting information from both of you.” He returned the knife to its scabbard and spat over the side before his menacing black eyes found Liam’s once more. “But I’ll keep him alive until he tells me what I want to know—and then he’s going to wish he’d died here and now.”
Chills darted up Liam’s spine.
“Of course, there’s no reason I should show you that same courtesy.” Escobar looked scathingly at Joel, struggling to his knees a few feet away. “Or him, either.”
“Except that if ye kill us, Captain Merrick’ll be less inclined to tell ye what ye want to know when he wakes up. We aren’t related, but we’re family. Kill us and he’ll not tell you a damned thing.”
“How touching.” Escobar gestured to the giant who’d rendered Kieran senseless. “Get the boat ready, Rocco,” he snapped. “We’re going ashore.”
Chapter 10
Rosalie sat in the humid gloom, listening to the soft, steady drip of water falling from the stalactites above and into the pool of clear, shimmering water a few feet away.
They had brought her here to a small cave, its limestone walls a prison, a heavy iron gate caked with rust stretched across the entrance. A hole in the cavern’s ceiling allowed in a tube of light that turned the water at her feet a pale blue-green and allowed her to see, tucked away in the furthest reaches of the cave, hundreds of bats hanging upside down from the rock. The sand on which she sat was hard and firm, but they had skirted quicksand on the way in and she dared not venture far from where they had deposited her a half-hour before.
She was alone.
Alone to contemplate her own actions which had landed them in this mess. Actions which had appealed to Captain Merrick’s sense of duty to bring them all here and to what looked increasingly to be their doom, if not their deaths.
Alone to contemplate Captain Merrick’s fate and whether or not he, Liam Doherty and his crew had been able to overwhelm the pirates. Surely they had emerged victorious, beaten back the pirates and taken the brigantine, and would be here any moment to rescue her. She would believe that. She had to believe that, or she would go quietly insane with fear.
And if not?
Alone to contemplate the pistol beneath her skirts and the most effective way of using it, even if it meant turning it on herself—a fate she’d embrace before she let even one of those filthy bastards touch her.
But not before I slice the guts out of you wretches like I would a fish, she thought savagely, touching the hilt of the knife hidden in her half-boot.
The thought bolstered her nerves. Stay strong. You’ll find a way out of this.
Her head suddenly jerked up. Outside, voices. Laughter, and the crunch of sand underfoot. Someone was coming.
She tensed.
The voices were closer now. Louder. She heard obscenities, the sound of a fist hitting flesh, a grunt of pain. More laughter. The clang of a key in the lock of the rusty iron gate, its pro
testing screech as it was hauled open, scraping against the rocky base into which it was set. Rosalie lunged to her feet, the pool at her back, and her heart dropped.
There were her captors, teeth flashing in sunburned faces, lank, dirty hair against brawny shoulders, their leering stares predatory as they eyed her. And there, at the forefront of this formidable pack, a very tall, very menacing figure who turned her blood cold. Greasy black hair drawn back from a ruthless face. Glittering eyes the color of tar and a cruel and ugly mouth. He wore no shirt, just a dirty waistcoat that gapped open to show a chest carved and inked with letters that had no meaning to her.
“Ah,” he murmured, and the gleam in his eyes become savage. Conniving. “I saw you in the boat. Wondered where you’d gone.”
Rosalie swallowed hard. Sweat ran down the groove of her spine and turned cold.
The pirate gave her a threatening smile and then, his gaze still locked with hers, raised a hand, wiggling his fingers in unspoken command to someone behind him. The other brigands stepped away, two men were shoved forward, and Rosalie felt everything inside her stop.
No.
But there was no denying what she was looking at.
Joel, his braided hair hanging in bloody snakes around his battered face, one eye swollen shut. And Liam Doherty, a deep purple bruise blooming on his cheek and a dead man in his arms.
He was shoved closer and it was then that Rosalie saw that the dead man was Captain Merrick.
The blood drained from her heart. Her hand flew to her mouth in horror as the men were brutally shoved inside. Liam Doherty, still carrying his captain and his face florid with both heat and exertion, instinctively moved closer to Rosalie as though to protect her with his large body. He was breathing hard.
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