A musket ball sliced through the sleeve of Kelt's shirt, turning the dirty white to red. Ashley bit back a cry of terror, covering her mouth with her hand. Kelt circled to the left, deflecting blows from a pirate's cutlass and dodging the jabs of a wicked-looking knife. Suddenly his foot slipped in a pool of blood and he fell to one knee. Ashley raised her pistol, but before she could fire, Kelt whipped a sgian-dubh from his right boot. The blade flashed silver in the rain and the pirate fell, clutching his chest.
"Ashley!" he shouted and she threw him her pistol. He fired above her head and a body tumbled down almost on top of her.
The stench of blood and unwashed flesh struck her full force as Ashley instinctively wrenched the wounded man's cutlass from his hand, then scrambled across the deck to retrieve Kelt's fallen pistol. Kelt backed toward the doorway as two buccaneers closed in on him.
"Behind me," Kelt yelled.
Ashley didn't need a second warning. The fight was clearly going against the crew of the Snow Princess. All around them, men were throwing down their weapons and crying for quarter.
For agonizing minutes, Kelt kept his two antagonists at bay, blocking first one slashing blow and then another. His smoke-blackened face showed the strain of near-exhaustion. When an opening came, Ashley leveled her pistol at one of the pirates, only to be stopped by Kelt's imperative command. "No! Hold your fire!"
Her eyes streamed water as clouds of thick smoke billowed around them and she struggled to breathe.
The clash of steel filled her brain and she shuddered with each recurring blow. Her mind reeled as the misshapen form of a hunchbacked dwarf wielding a boarding ax materialized from the smoke. "Stop!" she cried, raising the pistol. "Move another step and I'll blow you to hell!"
The dwarf froze, slowly lowered the bloodstained ax to the deck, and began to laugh in high, inhuman shrieks. Spinning around, he vanished off into the smoke as peals of laughter echoed across the bloody deck.
Ashley found her voice. "Kelt!" she cried. "I—" Her words were lost in the scream of the one-eyed buccaneer as Kelt's cutlass slashed through his thigh to the bone. Moaning, the pirate dropped his weapon and clutched at the wounded leg. A second man leaped out of range of Kelt's flashing blade. Trembling with fatigue, Kelt sucked in great gulps of air, holding back the pressing crowd for seconds with the sheer power of his fierce gaze.
Then, with a foul curse, a man pushed through the onlookers and aimed an ancient blunderbuss directly at Kelt's chest.
Ashley screamed and threw herself in front of the Scotsman. "No! Don't shoot!" she begged. "He's—"
"Enough!" The cultured tones of an English gentleman cut through Ashley's plea.
"What the hell?" Kelt's arms closed around her as he moved to shield her with his body, raising the cutlass in a final act of defiance.
"Enough," the man repeated. Twin flintlocks in his hands reinforced his quiet authority. Grumbling, the pirates moved aside to let him pass. "Gavin." The man in the red military jacket slowly lowered the blunderbuss.
Kelt stared in disbelief at the pirate captain. The man wore an elegant cocked hat trimmed with gold braid over a snowy white bag wig. His azure satin waistcoat was ornamented with embroidered flowers and his matching vest and breeches were of the finest cloth and tailoring. Other than a three-cornered tear in the sleeve of his coat, and a smudge of black on his chin, the captain might have stepped directly from an audience with His Majesty, King George II.
Pulling a silk handkerchief from his vest pocket, the gentleman patted his powdered forehead and smiled apologetically. "I didn't expect to find you aboard, my dear." The brown eyes twinkled. "And I suppose I might say the same of you." The heels of his black Spanish boots clicked together and he bowed slightly to Kelt. "Sir." He chuckled. "Aren't you going to introduce us?" he demanded of Ashley, then laughed again at her stunned silence. "Then you must permit me to introduce myself. Captain Quincy James McCade of the Scarlet Witch. Gentleman Jim McCade, at your service, sir. It seems Ashley hasn't seen fit to inform you of our prior connection. I am her father."
Chapter 13
"What madness is this?" Kelt demanded. "Ashley?" He glanced down at her, reading the truth in her eyes. "Nay," he denied. "It canna be."
"Can't?" Captain Quincy McCade shrugged. "Find your tongue, girl, or I'll be forced to send your able protector to his final reward. It seems there'll be a few of my good men waiting in hell to give him a hearty reception." He indicated the scattered bodies with a disdainful sweep of his hand. "I find your silence unnatural, Ashley. You usually have no trouble finding words."
Kelt swore under his breath as Ashley stiffened and stepped free. "Ye be in league with this... this murdering pirate?"
She shrugged. "He's my father, that's true enough, but I take no responsibility for his devilment. Believe what you will." She glanced at her father. "This is my overseer. His name is Kelt Saxon and I'll thank you to stop pointing that pistol at him."
McCade laughed. "That's my girl. Drop the cutlass, Saxon. Gently. I won't ask you twice."
"Do it, Kelt," Ashley urged. "He'll kill you if you don't."
"And if I do?"
"Do you have an option?" McCade's finger tightened on the trigger of the flintlock.
With a curse, Kelt tossed down the cutlass.
"Now your pistols, Ashley," McCade insisted. She handed them over, butt first. "Good." He motioned to the muscular man in the red coat. "Gavin, see them safely aboard the Scarlet Witch. Put the gentleman in irons until he's had time to cool that Gaelic temper." Folding his arms across his chest, McCade turned fiercely on his crew. "Well, what are you waiting for? Will you stand here like dumb oxen while the sloop sinks under you? Transfer the valuables!"
Two burly seamen seized Kelt's arms and twisted them behind him. The dwarf shuffled forward to clamp handcuffs on the Scot's wrists. Kelt's gray eyes locked with Ashley's accusingly. His features were immobile. Shamed, she looked away, unable to watch as Kelt was shoved toward the gunnel.
"You, too, Mistress Morgan," Gavin ordered. "You heard him. Any trouble from you and I'll slap you in irons myself."
"Well, Gavin." Ashley smiled sweetly at the handsome blond giant. "I heard you were hanged in Lewes on the Delaware."
"And did you shed any tears for me?" he asked caustically.
"I did." Gavin laid a bloodstained hand on her arm and she flung it contemptuously aside. "I was desolate," she continued softly. "I feared Lucifer had come to collect your black soul and I'd not been there to see it."
* * *
Kelt shifted his weight, trying to relieve the cramping in his arms, and peered into the Stygian blackness of the hold. The acrid stench of sour bilgewater, sulphur, and tar was thick enough to choke a man. He wiggled his fingers, sending excruciating pain through his hands and elbows.
He had lost all track of them. The sounds that filtered down from the deck above were muffled in the slosh of water and the creaking of wood. Only the boatswain's shrill pipe and the heavy shifting of cargo were audible above the squeak and rustle of the rats and mice that shared his prison.
I've done it again, he thought. I've trusted a woman and she's betrayed me. He'd never have been captured by King George's soldiers in Edinburgh if it wasn't for a lying little whore with the face of an angel. He'd spent the night in her arms, and then she'd laughed when the soldiers captured him still in her bed. The whore had betrayed him for English gold; he wondered what excuse Ashley would give.
An animal ran across his leg and Kelt cursed, kicking at it. Thank God they hadn't chained his ankles. The thoughts of vermin walking over him... or worse... made the hair rise on his neck.
He was still in a state of shock. No wonder Ashley's tobacco shipments always got through to England. Her father was a swivin' pirate! And not just any pirate, but the infamous Gentleman Jim McCade. Anger rose in his throat so thick that it gagged him. Ashley Morgan an accomplice to piracy? It was beyond belief. How could a man be as intimate with a woman as he had been
with Ashley without suspecting?
Kelt had known smugglers—hell, his friend Fraser was a smuggler—but piracy? Despite Gentleman Jim's reputation for his refined manner with the ladies, he was still nothing more than a thief and a murderer. How many men had he killed in the attack on the Snow Princess alone?
He closed his eyes and forcibly slowed his breathing. Nothing would be gained by raging like an impotent bull. If they meant to kill him, it was likely they would have done so immediately, he reasoned. That he was a prisoner was a point in his favor. Was he being impressed as a crewman? He'd not be the first man to sail under a skull and crossbones against his will.
The rasp of a hatch cover being pulled aside gave warning seconds before a shaft of light illuminated Kelt's prison. "Captain wants to see ye," a harsh voice called. "Step lively, farmer, and gi' me no trouble or I'll be sendin' ye to the bottom o' Davy Jones's locker wi'out yer head."
Kelt struggled up the ladder to the deck, blinking in the light. Strong hands and cold steel pressed against the back of his neck. It was still raining, but a heavy mist surrounded the schooner. There was no sign of the Snow Princess or of any other prisoners and only the fresh gouge made by a cannonball across the deck to show there had been a battle.
Angry murmurs followed Kelt's progress to the stern of the ship. He counted over thirty pirates on deck, some patching injuries and cleaning weapons, others hoisting a sail under the direction of a hard-eyed boatswain. He was shoved through another hatch and down a ladder. At the end of a narrow passageway, the hatch to the captain's cabin stood open. Kelt ducked his head to enter.
The small room was lit by an elegant brass lantern and a stained glass porthole. Ashley was seated at a round mahogany table across from McCade, and the blond-haired man, Gavin, stood by the far wall examining a chart.
"Kelt!" Ashley rose to her feet. "Are you all right?"
"I told you he would be," McCade said. "Have a little faith in your father." He motioned to the seaman. "Remove the cuffs." The man did as he was told, and the captain indicated the empty chair beside him. "Have a seat, Saxon. As soon as we finish this game, we can decide what to do about you."
Kelt moved to the chair, rubbing his wrists to bring back the feeling. For an instant his gaze met Ashley's. There was no mistaking the warning in her eyes. Her face was pale, but she had bathed and arranged her hair and was wearing an elegant blue gown trimmed with thread of silver.
A chessboard lay upon the table, the pieces intricately carved in ivory and jade. McCade rolled an ivory knight between the fingers of his left hand. His right hand remained hidden beneath the table. Kelt would bet a year's wages that it held a loaded pistol.
"Do you play, Scot?" McCade asked. He had traded his torn azure coat for a rich purple one. His white silk stock was knotted and pinned at the throat with a gold filigree brooch, and the lace cuffs of his shirt were starched, pressed, and spotless. "Gavin is an abominable chess player," he declared, smiling at Kelt engagingly. "It would almost be worth your life if you could give me a decent game."
Seeing McCade and Ashley together, Kelt was struck by the resemblance. A stranger meeting them on the streets of Chestertown would take them as father and daughter, if not brother and sister. McCade's features were strong and well defined, his mouth shaped similar to Ashley's, but it was the eyes that gave them away. Ashley Morgan's compelling rust-gold eyes were the mirror image of McCade's.
Kelt had seen laughing men like Quincy McCade before. A dandy he might be, but he was dangerous nevertheless. The man was lean and sleek, and he moved with grace and purpose. Yes, Kelt was certain the captain held a pistol in his lap, and even more certain that a wrong word or sudden motion would bring an instant and irrevocable response.
"What happened to the Snow Princess and her crew?" Kelt asked. "Did you sink her?"
McCade studied the white knight thoughtfully, then reached out to topple a jade bishop. "How many times have I told you, Ashley? You have to plan ahead."
"She was still afloat when we left her," Ashley said. "The fires were out and Captain Webb on his feet. She'll make it to shore."
"Do you take us for barbarians?" McCade asked. "I don't take a man's life without cause. We have the cargo. Why should I sink the sloop?"
"To silence witnesses."
"Ah, Gavin, a man after your own heart!" McCade glanced at his lieutenant. "Did you hear that? He might have the makings of a corsair after all."
Ashley moved her remaining bishop in a diagonal course across the board to capture the ivory castle. "You're slipping, Quincy."
"You think so?" He swept aside her victorious bishop with the white queen. "You play well for a woman. Thank God you inherited my brains instead of your mother's. But women don't have the intellect for chess. Don't you agree, Saxon?"
Kelt gave a grudging assent. "I've never met one who did." Ashley shot him a look of cold disdain. "Chess is a mon's game," Kelt continued, "and few of them ha' the mind for it."
"You have the sound of my grandfather's homeland," McCade said. "But whoever heard of a Scot with such an outlandish name as Kelt Saxon?" He smiled lazily. "But perhaps 'tis not your given name, sir. Have you, like many in our brotherhood, adopted another name?"
"Nay." Kelt laid both hands flat on the table and leaned back to ease the cramped muscles in his spine. "'Tis the name I was christened with. There were Saxons in Scotland before William the Bastard came from Normandy with his armies."
"Check." McCade's smile widened.
Kelt glanced down at the board and frowned. He pointed to the remaining jade knight. "Move that back and across to defend your king," he suggested.
Ashley's lower lip tightened. She leaned forward and nibbled at a knuckle. "She's sick, Quincy. Maybe dying." She looked up into his eyes. "I want to see her."
"And you think I don't?" he answered softly.
"She's my mother, damn it."
"Ah, yes. Cicely, the loving mother. She's good at holding the affections of those closest to her. It's her intense devotion—her loyalty, don't you think?"
Ashley colored. "Look, I don't like her very much—I don't even know if I love her. But, damn it, Quincy, I've got to go to her, can't you see that? I don't have time for your stupid games." Her hand trembled as she moved a green pawn.
"Temper, Ashley." McCade chuckled as he scooped up her pawn. "You always get careless when you're angry."
"What am I going to say when Captain Webb reports that we were captured by pirates?" She gripped the edge of the table. "I won't have you destroying my life again."
"Again, is it?" McCade shook his head with mock regret. "You'll think of something. Perhaps your loving stepfather ransomed you." He looked meaningfully from her to Kelt and back again. "Your story would be easier believed if I kept him."
"Give him to me," Gavin said.
"Keep out of this," Ashley snapped. "Kelt's none of your affair. "
"No? He killed one of my best men yesterday. A friend."
"You don't have any friends, Gavin."
"Enough," McCade said. "Must you two always squabble like lovers?"
"If you're talking about Home, I shot the bastard," Ashley boasted. "A pity you didn't cross my sights."
"Check."
"You promised to put me ashore," she reminded her father as she moved another piece to defend her king.
"When have I ever lied to you? I've told Gavin to set a course for the James." He sighed. "I wouldn't hurt you, Ashley. You should know that."
"If you won't hurt me, then keep your hands off what's mine. He's a good overseer. Morgan's Fancy needs him."
"That's the first I've heard o' it," Kelt said.
Ashley glared at him.
"The question is whether this Scot's more a danger to you alive... to us all." McCade moved an ivory bishop.
Ashley moved her queen. "Checkmate." She chuckled softly. "My game, Quincy."
* * *
Kelt and Ashley stood motionless on the muddy riverbank as the fa
int splash of oars signaled the departure of the small boat. The rain had stopped, but the overcast sky permitted no moonlight to filter through. The night was so black, it was impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. The pirate vessel was not even a shadow against the James.
Ashley broke their self-imposed silence. "It should be dawn in a few hours. We're not far from a place I know where we can get out of the cold. Rosewood is upriver, that way." She pointed. "We can walk there easily once it's light."
"We're to just continue on to your mother's house, then, as though nothing has happened? Damn you, woman! You deceived me."
"You empty-pated jackass!" she lashed back. "How dare you stand there and accuse me? I got you out of that mess with a whole skin, didn't I?" Ignoring him, Ashley began to walk swiftly past the shadowy outlines of the trees.
"You got me oot of it? 'Twas your father who set me free, nae ye!" Kelt protested as he picked up the small wooden sea chest and followed her. "I dinna ken why he did it, but they do say Gentleman Jim is known for his twisted sense of honor."
Ashley walked faster as she felt the ground dip and her feet found the hard-packed trail. She ducked under a low-hanging branch, secretly glad when she heard Kelt stop and curse it.
"Wait for me, damn you," he called.
A solid shape loomed in the blackness ahead. Ashley put out her hand, feeling the weathered siding of the barn, and groped her way around the corner to a door. Her fingers found the wooden latch. It turned easily and she opened the door. The scent of fresh hay and horses filled her nostrils. "Hello," she called. "Anyone here?" A snort and a nervous stamping were the only answer.
"Ashley?" Kelt's voice came faintly through the walls.
"Inside! Watch for the low—" There was a soft thud and an incomprehensible profanity from the doorway. Chuckling, Ashley felt along the wall for a lantern and the tinderbox in the niche below. A few fumbled attempts produced a spark and she was able to light the candle and replace it in the lantern.
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