Barbarous

by Minerva Spencer

  Malcolm, who appeared to have learned nothing about their captor’s uncertain temper in the past day, had more questions. “But what if my men have failed to notice and Ramsay sent a message to his ship? What if all his men arrive to help him? How can you two possibly fight them all?”

  Calitain laughed, punctuating the sound with a long rasp of stone on metal as he sharpened the wicked blade.

  “We have you on our side, don’t we? That should be worth at least a dozen men, eh?” He and Jean-Paul laughed so hard they had to pause in their sharpening. Once he’d caught his breath he looked up. “Don’t you fret, little man, my men will be here; we will not be overmatched.” He eyed Malcolm scornfully before turning his attention back to the dangerous metal in his hands.

  Malcolm opened his mouth just as Calitain sprang to his feet.

  “Shh!” he hissed, cocking his head and listening.

  They sat perfectly still and Daphne heard the low keening of a horn.

  Calitain’s mouth curved into a triumphant smile and he grabbed his sword belt from the table, strapping it around his waist before sliding the blade into the scabbard.

  “What? What is it?” Malcolm demanded.

  The pirate ignored him as he and Jean-Paul readied themselves. Calitain lighted the only lantern while Jean-Paul picked up two rough torches from a bundle that lay on the floor and lit them at the hearth. The two men headed toward the door.

  “Come,” Calitain said, beckoning to Malcolm. “You hold the girl—you can do that much, can you not?” He yanked open the door.

  Jean-Paul followed closely behind him, stopping long enough to place a torch in each of the metal rings set in the wood pillars beside the door.

  “You arrogant, insolent scum,” Malcolm murmured, leveling a look of sulfurous hatred at the backs of the two sailors. “Come on!” He grabbed Daphne’s upper arm. “Don’t try anything on me, precious, because I’m in the mood to cut your bloody throat without thinking twice.” To illustrate his point he held up the small knife he’d menaced her with inside the coach.

  Daphne followed him willingly, grateful to leave the confines of the wretched shack. It was immediately clear why the cottage was so dank and damp; a small inlet lay not two hundred feet from the building. The rank smell of rotting vegetation filled her nostrils and told her the little cove was marshy and would be too shallow for any but the smallest of boats.

  Daphne saw a flicker of light some distance from the shore and realized a rowboat was approaching. Whoever it was, they carried only a small light, which they flashed briefly before concealing it again, as if to avoid detection.

  “Ho there!” Jean-Paul called out. The four of them stood frozen in suspense, waiting for some response; but there was nothing but the faint sound of oars in water. Jean-Paul cupped his hands to his mouth to call again when a familiar voice sounded behind them.

  “Ho there!”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Daphne spun around. “Hugh!” Malcolm’s arm snaked around her neck and jerked her back, his knife against her throat.

  “Move again and I’ll cut you,” he hissed in her ear, the cold metal scraping her skin.

  “Standish!” Calitain’s voice pulsed with excitement as Hugh rode into the small circle of light cast by the torches and lantern. “You are early, my friend. You must be eager to see me.”

  There was Hugh, so impossibly huge on Pasha. Daphne’s eyes searched frantically behind him—but there was just one other figure. Only Kemal attended him. Her heart, which had just been leaping for joy, froze. How could two men fight Calitain’s entire crew?

  “Hugh! It’s a trap! There are more men in the—”

  Malcolm’s arm tightened and cut off her air along with her words. Daphne struggled against him, feeling the point of the knife beside her eye. “You’d better shut your mouth, you slut!”

  Calitain turned to look at them, making a tsk, tsk, tsk. “Come now, lordling, that is no way to treat a lady. Loosen your grip and lower the knife. We don’t want you slipping and perhaps poking out your own eye, do we?” His words were polite but his tone was menacing.

  Daphne felt the internal struggle in Malcolm, but he lowered the knife and loosened his arm, allowing Daphne to gasp for air.

  Calitain turned back to Hugh. “There, you see? Nothing to worry about now; she is safe.”

  Daphne raised her eyes to Hugh and he gave her one of those smiles that melted her heart, before gracefully sliding off Pasha. He handed the reins to Kemal and walked toward the two men, keeping his eye on her as he came closer. He moved with a lazy confidence that breathed new life into her. She was no longer alone; she now had somebody to fight beside her—her eyes flickered to Kemal, who smiled reassuringly and nodded—two somebodies.

  “You’ve come far enough,” Calitain cautioned him.

  Hugh stopped. He was no longer wearing his eye patch and his mismatched eyes were so beautiful it was almost painful. He was dressed in a way she’d never seen before. Everything he wore, from his caped coat, shirt, and gloves to the leather of his thin-soled boots, had been dyed the deepest black and fit his body like a second skin. The only part of his ensemble that wasn’t black was the monstrous sword slung over his shoulder. Daphne gaped; it was so big it was like something out of an Arthurian legend.

  “That is a very fine horse you have there, Standish,” Calitain drawled, his tense stance belying his casual words. “Perhaps I will take him with me after I kill you.”

  “You can try,” Hugh said, the amiable rumble of his voice at odds with the contemptuous look he cut the other man, “but I think he might have other ideas. You see, he has no tolerance for treacherous slaving trash.”

  Calitain looked amused rather than insulted by Hugh’s words. His crazed eyes were the only part of him that betrayed his unease as they jumped nervously between Hugh and the rowboat, which seemed to be creeping toward the shore at a glacial pace.

  “I want my money. Where is it?” he asked, no longer bothering to act amused.

  “Money?” Hugh chuckled. “Why the devil would I bring you any money?” His laughter filled the night air.

  Calitain’s hand settled on the hilt of his saber. “I’ll not play word games with you, Standish. Give me the money or his lordship here”—he tossed his head toward Malcolm—“will kill the whore.”

  Daphne met Hugh’s gaze. He stared at her, pointedly looked at the ground, and gave a slight nod. The message was clear: she should drop to the ground. Malcolm tightened his arm, but, thanks to Calitain’s earlier words, he didn’t raise the knife. It was now or never.

  Daphne opened her mouth wide and sank her teeth into Malcolm’s hand.

  Malcolm gave an earsplitting howl and yanked away his arm, shoving her in the back to get away. Daphne stumbled and caught her foot in the hem of her tattered gown. She struggled to free her slipper and Malcolm buffeted her in the head, knocking her to her hands and knees.

  “You bitch!” He stared from her to the bloody bite on his hand and drew back a booted leg to kick her. Daphne threw her body sideways as his foot came her way, closing her eyes and wrapping her arms around her head to protect it.

  But the blow never came.

  She peeked out between her forearms and squinted up at her tormentor. Malcolm still stood over her but his eyes were no longer fixed on her. Instead, he was staring at a sharp point sticking out of his chest, just above his breastbone. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. His wide eyes flickered from the metal point that spitted him to Daphne.

  He blinked. “I—”

  Blood spilled over his lips and dripped down his chest to join the stain that was spreading out from the wicked metal point like a vivid sunrise. He plucked at the arrow convulsively as his eyes rolled back in his head and he crumpled like a cow felled by an ax.

  Daphne wasn’t the only one staring in openmouthed surprise. Calitain and Jean-Paul began to back away. As if waking from a daze, they simultaneously drew their weapons, eyes darting and
searching frantically for the source of the arrow.

  Daphne pushed herself to her feet and lurched toward the cottage, expecting any moment to feel the cruel bite of an arrow through her own chest. When she collapsed against the wall, still unscathed, she turned to find Kemal crouched beside her, his usually inscrutable face smiling.

  “Come, my lady.” He slid his arm around her and pulled her toward the safety of the trees, where he’d tethered the two horses.

  Hugh had watched her escape and winked at her before turning to the two men, his movements those of a relaxed, leisured man. Calitain and Jean-Paul, on the other hand, were back-to-back, circling and craning their necks toward the men in the boat. The skiff hit the rocky shore and the men who poured out of it threw off their dark cloaks.

  Daphne didn’t need her spectacles to recognize the giant figure of Two Canoes as he advanced on them, a massive bow in his hands, another arrow nocked and ready to release.

  Calitain turned from the men converging on him, a grudging smile on his face. Daphne could only see Hugh’s profile; for once, he was not smiling.

  “You”—Hugh pointed to Jean-Paul—“throw down your weapon. This is between me and him.” One of his hands was at the hilt of his sword while the other held the scabbard; a hiss filled the air as he freed the giant weapon and tossed the belt to the side.

  Jean-Paul and Calitain looked at one another for a long moment. Daphne could not see well enough to say what passed between the two men but at the end of that lingering look, Jean-Paul threw down his sword and pulled out three more knives, one from the back of his belt and one from each boot. He threw the knives into the dirt at Two Canoes’s feet and swaggered toward the armed group of men with his hands in the air.

  Calitain smirked at Hugh. “It has been a long time, eh? Not since I killed the last owner of that fine sword, Wüstenfalke. Tell me, what have you done with my crew?” He sounded curious rather than concerned.

  “They have been redistributed.” Hugh held his own blade almost negligently.

  “And my ship?” Calitain’s voice was tight and a violent twitch pulled at his left eye.

  “Your ship?” Hugh chuckled. “Why it seems to have fallen into the hands of someone better equipped to keep hold of it. You might recall Martín Bouchard? The man who made such a mess of you and your crew the last time he ran across the Golden Scythe?” Hugh didn’t wait for an answer. “He’s been hounding me for some time for a ship of his own. Nag, nag, nag! So when we found the Scythe just bobbing about, waiting to be taken—actually begging to be taken with that pathetic crew you left in charge—I decided to give in to his infernal nagging. The last I saw of Martín, he was moving his possessions into your cabin.” He grinned. “He was complaining the wardrobe was not large enough for his needs.”

  All day long Daphne had seen Calitain move quickly, but she’d not seen him move with the intent to kill. If she had been standing where Hugh was, she never would have moved in time to block the savage man who launched himself with such lightning speed.

  But Hugh merely smiled and stepped to his blind side as Calitain’s blade came down where his head had been only a split second before. When the crazed man turned around to confront his tormentor, Hugh was already pressing down on him, plying the giant sword as if it were an extension of his body. He drove fast and hard with the five feet of steel, and the two weapons met with a harsh clang, metal scraping against metal as each man pulled away, circling like tomcats in an alley.

  Even with no knowledge of fighting, Daphne could see Calitain was dangerous. Not only was he remarkably strong and fast, but his unpredictable behavior would keep his opponent constantly guessing. He darted and retreated like an angry hornet, driving at Hugh’s blind side and pushing him back a step with each thrust. Hugh moved fast for such a big man, but he would always be slower than Calitain. Not only was he slower, but he was handicapped by his blind eye, a disadvantage Calitain was making the most of.

  Even so, a six-and-a-half-foot man swinging a five-foot sword was no small threat, and Hugh wielded the lethal blade with fearsome strength. Whenever his sword made contact with Calitain’s, the impact reverberated through the smaller man’s body like vibrations through a bell. If even one of those blows got inside Calitain’s defenses, it would prove fatal.

  The disparate weapons meant this fight was unlike anything in a text on swordplay. The movements of both men were abrupt, actions conceived in haste rather than the result of any given style.

  The only sound beyond the scrape of metal on metal was the shuffling of feet as the crowd of men moved to accommodate the combatants. The two men were in a world of their own, their breathing increasingly harsh. Their dance was mesmerizing, the vicious beauty of flickering steel lulling Daphne into a trancelike state. But then, in the midst of it all, Calitain broke from the dance and feinted to Hugh’s left, the move faster than her eye—or Hugh’s—could follow.

  Daphne saw the mistake almost before it happened: Hugh’s parry was a fraction too wide, meaning he could not draw back in time to block Calitain’s sweeping horizontal slash. The wickedly curved scimitar sliced through shirt and skin with equal ease.

  Daphne screamed and lunged toward Hugh, but Kemal held her with arms like iron.

  She struggled against him. “Stop them!” she yelled at the circle of silent men. “One of you—help him!” But nobody would meet her eyes as she stood helpless in Kemal’s unbreakable hold.

  The distinctive clang of metal on metal drew her eyes and she gasped. A long gash striped Hugh’s exposed torso, bleeding freely and soaking the thin black cloth around it, which gaped open across his chest.

  The sight of Hugh’s blood seemed to rejuvenate Calitain and he laughed with maniacal glee and thrust his sword over and over, driving Hugh back, pace by pace by pace.

  Hugh blocked the flurry of blows, his face grim and set, his single eye struggling to do the work of two. Daphne saw the piece of driftwood just as Hugh’s heel struck it, the impact jarring him as he parried a forceful thrust. He stumbled and his balance was temporarily disturbed, making it impossible for him to completely dodge a sweeping cut aimed at his head.

  Calitain’s blade missed Hugh’s blind eye, leaving a long, thin trail of blood across his forehead.

  The pirate laughed. “Oh, what memories this brings back, eh?” he said, using precious breath to taunt Hugh, who’d quickly resumed his stance after his brief stumble but was still being driven back. “Perhaps I will do your other eye today—just as I warned the Barbarossa to do so long ago—the day he killed your friends and promoted me.” He grinned. “But he said he liked to make you watch the things he did to you. He liked that too much, eh, Standish? But it cost him his head in the end.” He thrust, the movement quicker than the flick of an adder’s tail. “I won’t make the same mistake.”

  Hugh dropped low and dodged to Calitain’s right to avoid the saber, his huge body flowing like water. Daphne was watching his face when it changed. One moment it was the blood and sweat-slicked face of the man she knew and loved, an instant later he was the embodiment of vengeful fury. Someone else looked out of his eyes—both eyes, although she knew that was impossible—and they leaked hate as freely as his body leaked blood.

  Rather than retreat, he took a step forward. The action so startled Calitain, he stepped back and hesitated a second too long to make his next thrust. It was all the time Hugh needed to heft his sword and swing the huge blade in a sweeping arc, the heavy steel slicing the air like a giant scythe.

  Calitain had to scramble to dodge the massive blade, staggering to one side and overcorrecting in his haste to avoid the savage cut.

  He wasn’t smiling when he righted himself just in time to block the next blow. Hugh wielded his blade like an ax as he stalked the retreating man, and the clang of metal on metal was deafening as he swung five feet of steel with all the power his enormous frame could summon.

  Calitain blenched each time he blocked blows so savage Daphne couldn’t believ
e his blade didn’t snap in half.

  It ceased to be a swordfight and became a beating. Again and again and again Hugh bashed the stumbling and retreating man. Calitain’s sword arm became shakier and his battered body responded sluggishly to his commands, until a stunning blow knocked the sword from his nerveless fingers. He cried out, turned on his heel, and ran for the shack.

  But Hugh was like the winged hangman of death on his heels. He flipped the pommel in his hand and swung the blade with the flat side leading, the wide expanse of the sword making a deafening crack when it struck Calitain across the shoulders and slammed him to the ground.

  Calitain screamed and crawled on hands and knees before rolling over and wedging his back against the wall. He covered his head with his arms.

  “Do it! Finish it, you bastard!” he yelled from behind his protective cage, his words coming between ragged gasps for breath. “This is what you’ve wanted for fifteen bloody years! What are you waiting for?”

  Hugh raised the sword over his head, both hands gripping the pommel.

  Daphne opened her mouth but her throat was frozen.

  Flickering torchlight turned the massive blade into a flaming sword. It hung for what seemed like forever. Nobody spoke, nobody moved, nobody even breathed.

  And then his arm began to fall and Daphne closed her eyes.

  But the dreaded sound of a man being cut in half never came. She opened her eyes a crack and then a little more.

  Hugh stood over his vanquished foe, his sword arm hanging at his side, the blade once again cold, dull steel.

  “For fifteen years I was convinced you ruined my life. For fifteen years I lived only to find you and kill you.” He shook his head in disgust. “And for fifteen years I’ve given you control over me, Emile.”