China Rose

by Canham, Marsha

  China felt her cheeks burning and her chin trembling, but she held fast to her courage, as pitiful as it might be at this moment, and focused on the warm promise in Justin's eyes.

  "Well you are not going to cheat me out of anything," Ranulf declared. "Certainly not with any of your wild accusations." He laughed and looked around the group of huddled crewman and the thugs guarding them. "He is obviously desperate to save himself and cast suspicion on others. I can only prescribe a hearty gallows breakfast for him come morning."

  "You've killed off my crew, Ranulf." Justin's voice was low and clear. "No matter what else happens here tonight, you stand accused of the murder of eighteen good men."

  "Without proof, your accusations mean nothing," Ranulf spat. "And you have no proof."

  Justin smiled. "But I do. I have Chambers."

  "Chambers?" Ranulf's eyes flicked over the sullen faces again.

  "I'm sure he can be persuaded to admit that he was paid well to carry out your orders."

  "He will admit to nothing. There is nothing to admit."

  "Are you thinking he owes you his loyalty?" Justin's smile tilted crookedly. "How do you suppose Eugene found out about Bessy? How do you suppose I found out about the blackmail payments? Or how I found out where and when you would be making them?"

  "Chambers...? I don't believe it." Ranulf's eyes flickered again.

  "Believe it. Men like Chambers sell their loyalty to the highest bidder. I imagine he would have tried blackmailing you himself, eventually, after Eugene and I were out of the way."

  Ranulf shook his head. "Chambers would never betray me."

  "He would do more than that," Justin said and raised his hands slowly. His fists unclenched and released the two ends of the jute rope that was supposedly binding his wrists. The coils went slack instantly and an amused flick sent them coiling onto the deck.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Ranulf gasped and stepped back. "He's cut through his bindings! Grab him, you fools! Hold him!"

  "It is entirely possible they don't hear you, Ran," Justin said calmly, his own voice carrying clearly across the torchlit deck.

  "I said, he is free!" Ranulf whirled around and shouted at the immobile guards. "Take him! Damn you don't just stand there. I order you to take him!"

  "They won't be taking any more orders from you, Ran," Justin said.

  Ranulf turned, disbelieving, and faced the circle of men, amongst them the servants from Braydon Hall who had ridden with him this evening and the thugs he had hired months ago for the specific purpose of hunting down Jason Savage. The wild, fiery hatred in his eyes found the explanation for their behavior as, one by one, muskets and cutlasses emerged from behind the backs of the seemingly docile, defeated crew of the Reunion. Ranulf's men continued to stare blankly at him and now he saw for the first time the sullen flush on their cheeks was from humiliation, not victory.

  It was a ruse. It had all been a ruse!

  "Where is Chambers?"

  "Long gone, I should imagine," Justin said. "With his pockets weighted down with gold. Men like that don't stand around waiting for the axe to fall."

  "Then where is your proof?" Ranulf demanded. "With Chambers gone you have no proof to back up your witless accusations."

  "You are not in a court of law now. These men are the only jury you need to worry about and I am the only judge."

  Ranulf sneered arrogantly. "You have an odd way of seeking justice. All of these righteous answers you have been seeking, the blame you are trying so desperately to fasten onto someone else--is this your solution? A puppet court and a quick hanging?"

  "Hanging? I said nothing about a hanging."

  "What is the alternative? A knife in the back? Chains around my ankles and a watery grave?"

  "Admittedly tempting," Justin mused. "As is the thought of you taking my place on board the Freedom. It would be a shame to see your clever arrangements go to waste, and Captain Meech has a pair of shackles that need filling. I am thinking it would be poetic justice for you to feel the bite of iron around your ankles."

  "You wouldn't dare."

  "Wouldn't I?" Justin's gaze went to China's pale, bruised face. The gash on her cheek was an angry red, her ankle was swollen twice its size. "No, you are right. I wouldn't."

  He stared coldly at his brother again and reached out a hand to one of his men. The hilt of a sword was fit into his palm, a weapon of tempered steel and razor sharpness.

  "You said you would have been willing to meet me one on one," Justin reminded him. "Do you still feel that way?"

  Ranulf returned the cold, hard stare and tried to contain the surge of renewed triumph that coursed through his veins. He was an expert swordsman, trained by one of Europe's finest masters, and practiced long hours each week to keep his body toned and his skills sharp.

  The sword moved suddenly in Justin's hands, shearing through the air to come to a quivering halt at Ranulf's feet, the point stuck neatly into the deck planking.

  "Well?" Justin's eyes were still locked on Ranulf's face as he reached out and accepted a second sword from his men. It seemed to be an unspoken signal and, like the ring formed on the surface of water after a pebble has been thrown, the men all moved back, clearing a huge circular space on the deck.

  Ranulf's eyes glittered in the torchlight. "Even if I succeed in defeating you, your men no doubt have orders to avenge you."

  "My men will not touch you," Justin assured him. "You have my word on it. And your wife to bear witness."

  China's breath caught in her throat. She looked at Justin and her heart felt lodged somewhere in her throat. His hair was tangled and windblown, stringy with sweat and grime. The bright red bandana that was bound around his forehead resembled a wide slash of blood. She felt herself actually take a step in his direction but a restraining hand was placed on her arm.

  It was Ted Bates. He said nothing but his grip was firm and meaningful.

  Ranulf's response was almost nonchalant as he unbuttoned and stripped off his coat to free his sword arm. He plucked the sword out of the planking and sliced the air for two, three blindingly quick strokes to test the weight and balance of the blade. Satisfied, he circled once, noting obstacles and potential hazards, then took up a stance, his left hand on his waist, his body straight and strong, his gaze as steely as the gleaming length of the sword.

  "On your guard, Captain."

  He barely gave Justin time to acknowledge the challenge as he led out on his right foot, thrusting into a full extension of his arm and shoulder, putting his entire body's momentum behind him. Justin dove to the left, swinging his blade with a clumsy backhand that raked the air and had the darkness singing from the clash of steel on steel. As sparks flew, Justin recovered enough to block a second, twirling slash that came close enough for him to feel the dry sting of air hissing past his throat. Defending against it left his hip exposed and Ranulf lunged for the opening, but Justin saw the danger just in time and spun out of reach.

  Ranulf laughed. Two relatively basic strokes had revealed Justin's weakness: he fought with the inelegance of a man accustomed to slashing and cutting, not with the refined footwork and gracefully deadly ripostes of a true swordsman. He had swiftness and remarkably sharp instincts, but not the art to use either to clear advantage. Nor the strength to prolong the fight, Ranulf decided, remembering the severity of the knife wound on his forearm. He went in on a short stroke and again tested the resilience of Justin's butcher-like parry, one that put undue strain on the injured arm and brought an audible grunt of pain.

  Justin felt the sweat forming on his chest and between his shoulder blades. He was all too aware of his inadequacies and knew he would have to go on the attack and not give Ranulf the opportunity to use his superior fencing skills to advantage. He slashed at an explosive riposte, setting his teeth against another screech of metal and bracing his straining muscles to take the brunt of Ranulf's attack as they came together, hilts briefly locking in another shower of sparks.


  Ranulf's gaze was murderous as their eyes bored into one another over the crossed blades.

  "You've acquired some skill, I see," Ranulf snarled. "One must suppose a life of piracy has its advantages."

  Before he could answer, the swords came apart and Justin was flung out and away to one side. He scrambled to gain his balance as the blades shrilled again and this time a seemingly effortless rotation of Ranulf's wrist had his sword cutting around Justin's in an attempt to twist the hilt out of his grasp. He almost succeeded. Justin's fingers slipped and his blade turned down. Ranulf saw the flash of alarm in his brother's eyes and with the smug confidence of a man scenting victory, he took a single, precise step back, aimed the point of his blade mid-chest, and lunged for the full-blooded killing stroke.

  Justin had calculated the feint almost to the inch but was a shade too slow to entirely avoid the point of the sword. He felt the sickening punch and skid as the steel found entry between two lower ribs. At the same time, he slashed upward with all his might, catching Ranulf's now-exposed elbow, shattering it like kindling, cutting through flesh and nerves, causing the muscles to spasm even as the bloodied length of the sword was withdrawn. The blade fell with a loud clang to the deck and Ranulf staggered back, screaming as his left hand clutched at the all but severed halves of his right arm.

  The point of Justin's sword came up swift and sharp, finding its mark on the soft underside of Ranulf's chin. He stood perfectly still, the tip of the blade driven half an inch into the arched throat, halted by the ribbed cartilage of Ranulf's windpipe. A fraction more pressure, the briefest push, and the lifeline would be severed, bringing the trial to its just conclusion.

  A thin trickle of blood seeped from the wound, spreading as it met the fine linen of Ranulf's shirt.

  "Quarter," Ranulf gasped. "Quarter for God's sake."

  Justin blinked as a surge of rage blurred his vision. Quarter? What was he talking about? Quarter for a man who was responsible for the cold-blooded murders of eighteen good men?

  Sir Ranulf Cross saw the verdict in the fierce gray eyes and closed his own. "Do it. Finish it, you bastard!"

  Justin heard a shallow gasp and his gaze flicked to China. It was only when he saw the horror in her eyes that the madness left him. The blade still caressed Ranulf's throat, but the tension was slowly easing away. He drew two deep breaths and lowered the sword completely.

  Ranulf opened his eyes and released the lungful of air he had been holding. He could feel the blood trickling down his neck and fumbled for a kerchief to press against it and staunch the flow. His face was still mottled with hatred, the fury heightened now by the added sting of humiliation.

  "Mr. Bates!" Justin called.

  Bates stepped forward, easing his hand away from his pistol, for agreement or not, he would have dealt summarily with Ranulf Cross had the fight ended any other way. "Aye Cap'n?"

  "How do we stand?"

  "Some of the rigging has been cut. A reef or two of sail was lost to fire. Belowdecks is a mess thanks to the bloody swine who have raped her, but it's nothing we can't set to rights quick enough."

  "Good. Load the longboats and get this vermin ashore before I think too long on it and make them swim for it."

  "Aye!" Bates strode away and started shouting orders to the Reunion's crew.

  Justin turned to Ranulf again. "You always were a survivor, Ran. A pity I could not have had your total lack of conscience for a few moments longer." He paused and winced, then touched his side and glanced down at the blood slicking his fingers. Oddly enough, he did not feel any pain from the new wound in his ribs, but the one on his forearm was burning like the fires of Hades.

  The wind chose that moment to make its presence felt, and as it swirled across the deck of his ship, Justin drank it in, noting instinctively that it was a fair wind in which to clear the harbor and head out into the Channel. His gaze wandered to the dark horizon, to the stars that lay across it like a blanket of diamonds.

  "I've left a letter behind," he said wearily. "I've set down everything as I know it: everything about the Orion, who and what she carried, my suspicions as to the fate of the Scorpio's eighteen crewmen."

  "You fool." Ranulf shook his head. "You bloody fool."

  "Perhaps. But you had to be stopped somehow. It all had to be stopped somehow. Now get off my ship. Take with you my heartfelt wishes for a short and unfulfilled life."

  Ranulf shook off the grasp of the two seamen who stepped up to escort him to the gangway. He strode toward it, pausing briefly beside China to glare down at her.

  "You should think carefully about your choices, madam."

  China drew back, moving wordlessly to stand by Justin.

  Ranulf laughed. "You are both fools who deserve each other." He looked hard at Justin. "And you should have killed me when you had the chance."

  Justin's arm slipped around China and she leaned into him gratefully. The feeling did not last long as she felt the weight on her shoulders increase as he swayed slightly forward.

  "Justin--?"

  She was hardly a match for his size and weight and her damaged ankle rendered her even more useless as he tipped forward and staggered to the deck. Bates, watching Ranulf descend the ladderway, heard China's muffled cry and hastened back just as Justin rolled over, unconscious, on the planking. He knelt and lifted the blood soaked shirt away from his captain's ribs.

  "Oh my God..."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  China turned from the gallery windows at the first sound of stirring. She went immediately to the berth and laid a hand on Justin's brow, breathing a huge sigh of relief when she felt his skin was almost cool to the touch. The fever had finally broken. Out of habit, she picked up the wet cloth floating in the basin of water, twisted out the excess, and patted the damp linen across his forehead and neck.

  The gray eyes opened slowly, taking a few moments to bring the room into focus.

  "Good morning, Captain," China said with a smile.

  His gaze flicked over to her face and he stared at her so long, she felt a blush rise up in her cheeks. He looked past her shoulder to the gentle sway of the brass lantern, then to the bright blue of the sky showing through the lead-paned windows.

  "Yes, Captain," she said. "We are at sea. We left Portsmouth while the ship's sailmaker was still sewing up the hole in your ribs. We made good time to Falmouth, where Mr. Bates took on supplies, then set a course due south for the coast of France. He estimates we should arrive in Grand Canaria in four or five days, if the wind holds."

  Justin narrowed his eyes. "How long...?"

  "You've been fevered and unconscious for six days."

  "Six damned days?"

  "Mr. Bates has handled everything quite capably, as I am sure you knew he would. It was a...a smooth weighing and a clean run so far."

  The smallest of frowns creased his brow. "A smooth weighing, eh? I suppose you fancy yourself a sailor now?"

  She laughed. "Well, I have not lost my stomach once, if that counts. And I never claimed to be a total stranger to ships. My father had several, if you will recall, and spent many years at sea himself."

  Justin took a deep breath and tested the movement of his arms and legs. They seemed to function well enough and he braced himself for the effort required to sit up.

  China saw him struggling, dropped the cloth back into the basin of water, and took hold of his shoulders, pressing him flat again.

  "You are not supposed to move around yet. Mr. Bates left me quite specific orders to see that you did nothing to reopen your wounds."

  "You take your orders from Mr. Bates now, do you?"

  "If they are sound and reasonable, yes. He says you should be dead by rights. He says you've enough thread holding you together to stitch a sail. Don't do that!"

  Justin had swung his legs over the side of the berth and pushed past her feeble effort to keep him flat on his back. He grunted the air from his lungs as he hauled himself upright, his head spinning wildly for several
moments before he could steady himself against the bolts of pain.

  "My clothes," he gasped. "Will you get them for me?"

  "I will not. And you will not get out of that bed, Justin Cross."

  "Your level of obedience we will discuss shortly," he snarled softly. "But I shall get out of this bed, madam, and I shall go relieve myself...unless you would rather hold out your hands and catch it?"

  China blushed crimson. She said nothing more as he slung an arm around her shoulder and used her as a crutch. He walked naked to the door that led out onto the narrow balcony that jutted out one side of the gallery, leaving China inside the cabin as he stood at the rail and gave an audible sigh of relief.

  When he returned inside, China was standing by the berth, a clean white shirt folded over her arm, trying hard not to stare at his naked body as he came closer. His muscles stood out like those of a sculpture, hard and well formed, each sinew defined. His forearm bore the stark whiteness of a bandage, as did his midsection, where strips of linen had been wrapped around his wound. Above the bandaging, his chest was dark with smooth, thick hair. Lower down, another swarm of reddish brown hairs crowned the junction of his thighs where, it seemed, other aspects of his wellbeing appeared remarkably recovered.

  China's blush deepened and she shook out the folds of the shirt, hoping to cover her embarrassment.

  He chuckled softly. "Come here."

  She glanced up and saw that he had extended his hand. She took a halting step forward and held out the shirt, but he ignored it and went for a fistful of her hair instead. Closing his fingers firmly around the thick, glossy mane, he used it to pull her into his arms for a deep, long, hot, purposeful kiss.