Kelt's voice pierced her terror and she froze, turning toward the source. "Kelt! Where are you?" she cried.
"Here!"
"Kelt! I—" Something grabbed her by the hair and yanked her back. A man's hand closed around her throat, followed by the cold edge of a steel blade.
"Move a muscle," Gavin whispered harshly, "and I'll cut your throat from ear to ear!"
"Ashley? What—" Kelt lunged toward them, then stopped short when he saw that Gavin held her captive. "Let her go," he ordered.
"Drop your weapons. Order your men to retreat, or I'll kill her," Gavin shouted.
"No. Don't trust him," Ashley said. "He'll—" Her breath was cut off as Gavin tightened his fingers on her throat.
"You've got five seconds," Gavin threatened. "After that, she's fish bait. One... two... three..."
Chapter 23
Kelt peered through the driving rain at the shadowy forms of Ashley and the pirate who held her prisoner. He gauged the distance between them to be twice a man's height, too far to rush him. Slowly he raised his pistol, extending his right arm to its full length. "Let her go," he ordered. Blind rage warred with fear within him. The man would kill her, no matter what. He knew it as surely as if it had been written in her blood. If he could just get a shot off before...
"Four," Gavin said. "I mean it. I'll cut her like a Christmas goose. Fi—"
A muffled explosion checked Kelt's fire. He lunged forward as the corsair's hand holding the knife slowly fell away from Ashley's throat. Ashley let out a scream and tore free, throwing herself out of the line of fire. Gavin stared wide-eyed at Kelt, his face a mask of surprise. He clutched the front of his belly. His mouth moved, but his sounds were incomprehensible. Then his knees folded under him and he pitched forward onto the deck, twitched, and lay still.
A second figure stood behind Gavin, leaning against the double doors leading below deck, a smoking pistol clutched in his hand. Kelt dropped to one knee and raised his own weapon.
"No!" Ashley screamed, blocking his aim. "Don't shoot! It's my father." She turned and caught the sagging man in her arms. "Quincy! Quincy," she cried.
"Are there any of the crew left below?" Kelt demanded.
Quincy shook his head, unable to speak.
Kelt thrust his loaded pistol into her hand. "I'll deal wi' ye later, woman. Get ye below and lock yourself in the master's cabin. Shoot any son of a bitch who tries to get in! Quick!" He gave her a shove as two men crashed to the deck beside him, locked in mortal combat. Seizing Gavin's cutlass, Kelt made short work of the pirate on top, dragged the fallen sailor to his feet, and threw himself back into the fray.
Ashley put her arm under Quincy's shoulder and together they retreated back down the ladder. "You're bleeding again," she said, as the swinging ship's lantern showed the gush of red down his shirt and breeches. "Where'd you get the pistol?"
Quincy took a deep breath and motioned to the bearded man sprawled ahead of them in the passageway. The ivory handle of a knife protruded from the middle of his back. "His," Quincy gasped. "He had no need... of it."
* * *
It was nearly an hour before Ashley heard Kelt's deep voice demanding entry to the cabin. Her father lay on the bunk once more, his face as deathly white as a shroud. Quincy's eyes were shut and his breathing uneven and shallow. He hadn't spoken a single word since they had reached the comparative safety of the master's cabin.
"The ship is secure," Kelt assured her. "Unbar the door."
Ashley crossed the room to stand by the door, pistol primed and ready. "How do I know someone isn't making you say that?" she called. True, the screams and clash of battle had faded minutes before, but he had told her to open for no one. Past fear, Ashley was acting on instinct alone, knowing that if she allowed herself the slightest bit of hysteria, she would go completely to pieces.
The flood of obscenities that poured through the heavy wooden door were proof enough. With nervous fingers, she fumbled with the bolt, then stood back as the big Scotsman crashed into the room.
Gray eyes scanned the area, taking in Quincy's still form on the bunk and the blanket-swathed bundle on the deck. Nothing could hide the wash of drying blood that stained the white oak planks beneath his feet. Kelt lowered his cutlass and glared at her. "What ha' ye to say for yourself, woman? Shall we bind you along wi' the rest for delivery to the governor at Williamsburg? There's a reward on the head of every freebooter, dead or alive."
Ashley's stomach churned. "Speak not to me of heads!" she snapped. The image of Cato's horrible death lingered in her mind. By the King's gout! She had witnessed enough of blood and gore to last a lifetime. She'd not now be badgered over trifles by the man she loved.
"Will ye say nothing in your own defense?" Kelt roared. His clothes were shredded and bloodstained, and one arm dripped blood, but from the way he moved, she could tell he had taken no serious hurt.
"Why should I have to?" The Morgan chin firmed as Ashley's eyes took on a gleam of pure defiance. "I was hit over the head, kidnapped, nearly raped, and almost had my throat cut! What kind of man comes to rescue a woman and tries to blame her for being a victim?" Her balled fists rested lightly on her hips as she advanced on him. "If you are captain here, do as you will! Hand me over to the Virginians. Hang me, if it gives you pleasure. But you'll not have him!" She motioned toward the man on the bed. "He's dying, and I shall see him given decent Christian burial. Do what you will with me, but... but..."
Ashley drew in a shuddering breath and then another as a cascade of tears tumbled down her scratched and swollen cheeks. "Oh, Kelt," she wailed. "Please... don't let them take him. He saved... he saved my life and maybe yours. Don't let them make a mock of his corpse, or of his friends." She pointed to the blanket covering Cato. "They've earned better. Let God in his mercy judge them."
"It doesn't matter," Quincy rasped. "Cato might like... the idea of being worth something... dead. Crows or worms—what difference does it make?"
Kelt and Ashley moved close to the bed and Ashley caught her father's cold hand. "It matters to me," Ashley said. "I won't let them."
Quincy forced a laugh that became a hacking cough. He fell back against the pillow and Ashley brought him a sip of brandy.
"I'm afraid I used the rum," she said, indicating the broken green shards on the floor. "But then, I never was much for housekeeping."
Quincy's lips moved and he beckoned Kelt closer. "She's innocent of... the game... Scot," Quincy murmured. "On her immortal soul... I... swear. Gavin... Gavin took her. I knew... nothing of it."
"I did go to warn Quincy," Ashley admitted. "So if you'll hang me for that, you're welcome. I couldn't let them take him if I could help it." She looked up at Kelt with frightened eyes. "He's my father, no matter what."
"And it didn't mean anything to you that Thomas could have killed me?" Kelt asked.
Ashley looked sheepish. "Thomas is always threatening someone with that old wheel lock. So much so that my grandfather altered the firing mechanism years ago. He could hardly kill you with that gun unless he beat you over the head with it. It won't fire."
"You bedeviled kelpie! By all that's holy, I should strangle ye wi' my own hands!"
"Would you rather I had shot you? Or hit you over the head with a rum bottle like I did Gavin?"
Quincy laughed weakly. "'Twas a mistake not to finish the job once he was down, girl. You would have..." He began to cough again. "...saved me the trouble of coming topside to kill him myself." His eyes met Kelt's. "But I suppose one can expect such poor logic... from a woman."
"Enough." Ashley's brow furrowed. "Must you taunt me on your deathbed? You must be serious. Prepare to meet your maker." She lifted his fingers to her lips and kissed them. "Is there anything you want?"
"Only that you give this to Cicely." Quincy dug the necklace from his inside breeches' pocket. The green stone caught the light from the swaying lantern. "It shimmers like the sea off Cape Henlopen on a summer day," he said softly. "I promised her an eme
rald and I've never kept that promise."
Ashley accepted the golden chain and closed her fist around it. "You'll give it to her yourself, Quincy," she said. Her eyes flew to Kelt's. "Please. Rosewood is near to Williamsburg. If he lives that long, can't we—"
"Aye," Kelt agreed. "If he breathes, we will stop long enough for him to gi' his goodbyes to your mother. If she will see him."
Quincy nodded his thanks, letting his eyes flutter shut then snap open. "How did you find us?" he demanded fiercely. "In this storm, 'twould be like searching for a shilling on the beach."
"A sailor aboard the Merry Kate, John Voshel, told us where you might shelter from the storm. He said he used to sail wi' you under the skull and crossbones." Kelt turned away from the bed. "A mon will do almost anything for money—even betray his friends."
Footsteps came down the passageway and Kelt turned to face two men. "Aye, what is it?"
"Cap'n Fraser's askin' fer ye, sir. He sent us to find ye." The sailor snatched off his cap as he noticed the presence of a woman. "Be ye all right, sir?"
The second man wound a bit of cloth around his left forearm and used his teeth to pull the knot tight. "Thirty-two dead, Master Saxon. Four knocking at the gates o' hell and the rest in irons."
Kelt reached out and picked up Ashley's pistol. "I've business topside," he said gruffly. "Consider yourself under my protection, both of ye. I'll leave these men to be certain no one tries to harm ye. Like as not, we'll lie low until the storm passes, but if Quincy lives, I'll do my best to see him to Rosewood."
"And me?" Ashley asked.
"I canna deal wi' ye now, woman. There's much I must sort oot in my brain. I dinna ken if you be a victim, but 'tis plain you are no ootright pirate. No mon will hand ye o'er to the courts." Kelt compressed his lips into a thin line. "If we go to Rosewood, there may be danger for you. Your stepfather may try to do away wi' ye again. Ha' ye thought o' it?"
"Yes, but it's not Nicholas's way to do things in the open. He's a coward and a sneak. I should be safe enough."
"Will ye tell your mother that he hired a mon to murder ye?"
She shook her head sadly. "What use would there be? She wouldn't believe me any more than the authorities would. Short John is dead, and there is my word and that of an Indian that he was hired by Nicholas."
"Your brother might back you up. You said he warned ye before."
"He told me he wouldn't." Ashley rubbed her aching eyes. "Henry will stick by his father out of fear of being disowned. It's useless."
"Nay, 'tis not useless. I intend to present the matter to the court when I hand over the pirates. Even if nothing can be proved, it may prevent your stepfather from ever trying such a thing again."
"Do what you will, but I think it's a waste of time."
"My time is my own. And I am a mon who believes in the law, whatever others may think."
Ashley turned back to her father, wincing at the pain that cut through her with bittersweet reality. There was a real chance that Kelt would never forgive what she had done to him. If he left her, she knew she would spend a lifetime regretting what might have been between them.
* * *
The following hours blurred one into another as Ashley ate and slept and tried to do what she could for Quincy. Captain Fraser ordered warm water for her to wash and she did so gratefully. She was totally exhausted, hardly able to keep her eyes open or to pull on the clean women's clothing from her father's wardrobe.
When the rain finally slackened, Kelt came to inform them that they would be transferred to the Merry Kate. "The little man has been given a burial on the beach," he added. "I said a prayer o'er him, if it means anything to ye." He raised one dark eyebrow. "Such a wee pirate wouldna bring much in the way o' reward."
Ashley looked around the cabin of the Scarlet Witch one final time as she prepared to follow Quincy's litter, wondering if the deck could ever be scrubbed clean of blood. "What will happen to the ship?" she asked wearily. "Will the courts claim her?"
"Nae likely," Kelt proclaimed. "'Twas a toss-up as to whether Philip Fraser or I should ha' her as prize. Being gentlemen, we decided to roll dice to see who should ha' the master's share."
"And?" Ashley curbed her impatience. Kelt had promised to take Quincy to Rosewood, something few men would have done. She owed him respect and good manners in return. If only she weren't so tired. If she let her eyelids drop, she would fall asleep here on her feet.
"I won." Kelt grinned. "Am I too old to take up the sea as a trade, do ye suppose?"
She shook her head. "No. Go and be a privateer, if it please you. Just take me to Rosewood first."
"Philip will stay here with some of his men to watch over the Witch while I take the pirate crew to Williamsburg." He hesitated. "Philip's men have cut the ears from the dead men and dropped them into a barrel of pickles. They would be certain of collecting all their reward."
Ashley waited. There was more he was not saying; she could read it in his eyes. "Yes?"
"Except for Gavin. The master of the Cazadora is well known on the Chesapeake. They have taken his head as indisputable proof of his passing."
She blinked, taking hold of the door frame for support. "And am I supposed to be horrified?"
"You are a most unwomanly female," Kelt declared loudly. "Have you no bit of gentleness? No proper softness?"
"'Tis a mother's touch compared to what I would have done to Gavin, had I the chance," she said flatly. "He murdered that family on the Eastern Shore last fall. When I am done praying for that helpless infant, perhaps I will have tears for such scum as Gavin."
Kelt shrugged. "At least no one's eating the pickles."
Ashley paled and swayed. She would have fallen if he hadn't caught her, sweeping her up against his chest and carrying her swiftly topside. "Are you ill?" he asked as he put her down.
She shook her head. "No. Just weary unto death." She paused and looked around her at the hidden creek. It was daylight and the rain had dwindled to a slow, steady rhythm. Gray clouds swirled overhead and Ashley glimpsed a brighter light that might be the sun trying to break through. The thickly wooded shoreline curved around them, strange surroundings for two seagoing ships. Even knowing the secret, she couldn't see where the ships had entered. The wide part of the creek was scarce larger than the farmyard at Morgan's Fancy. To the south, reeds grew down to the water's edge and several ducks had just pitched down to shelter there.
"Shall I carry you onto the Merry Kate?"
Kelt's voice was strained. He's weary, too, Ashley thought. "No," she answered. "I'll be all right." Oh, to be home again, to ride the green fields of her plantation and have the last days be a nightmare.
Already order was being made of the schooner's deck. Crewmen from the smaller sloop were sawing through fallen spars and cutting free tangled canvas sails. There was no sign of the prisoners and Ashley supposed they were tied up in the hold of the Merry Kate. A plank had been stretched across the water between the two vessels. Kelt's big hand steadied her as she walked gingerly over the narrow bridge.
"I'll not forget your kindness," she said to him when he left her at the door of the master's cabin.
"Aye, ye willna forget," he agreed. "For our business isna yet settled."
On seeing that Quincy had been made as comfortable as possible on a pallet, Ashley lay down on the captain's bunk and fell instantly asleep.
* * *
Cicely stood up and dropped her napkin onto the dining table, her blue eyes sparkling with pleasure at the unexpected sight of her daughter. "Ashley!" she cried. "Why didn't you tell us you were coming? And where did you find that gown? It's hopelessly out of date." Ignoring Nicholas's scowl, she ran to Ashley and hugged her.
"You're looking wonderful, as usual," Ashley murmured. She glanced about the elegant dining room. Except for the servants, they were alone with Nicholas and her brother.
"Henry, don't you have a word of welcome for your sister? You missed her last time she was at Rosewood. W
here are your manners?" Cicely took hold of Ashley's arm and pulled her toward the table. "Have you eaten? Of course not. Gabby, set another place for Mistress Ashley."
Cicely's wig was arranged in elaborate curls that hung over one shoulder. Her satin gown was a deep rose with a tiny waist and plunging neckline that showed off her flawless figure. Around her slender neck she wore a simple string of pearls, the last gift Ash Morgan had given his daughter before he died. Ashley had never favored pearls, not since Captain Fraser had told her that young men and women often lost their lives diving for them in the far-off South Seas. But she had to admit they suited her mother. Would the raw beauty of Quincy's emerald necklace look as well? she wondered.
"I need to talk to you in private," Ashley said hesitantly. "It's urgent."
"Nonsense," Cicely said. "We're family. You can speak freely in front of Nicholas and your brother." She motioned to a chair beside hers. "Come, eat with us. We have a delicious veal pie and—"
"There's no time. A friend of yours is on the Merry Kate. He's been badly hurt and he's asking to see you."
Henry kept his eyes on his plate and continued chewing his buttered biscuit as though he were alone in the room.
Nicholas's face flushed angry red as he got to his feet and exchanged a few whispered words with his manservant. "What friend?" he demanded. "What's all this about? Really, Ashley, this habit of descending on us without warning has gotten out of hand." He folded his arms across his chest. "You will kindly explain why two common seamen armed with muskets and cutlasses are standing in my hall."
"They're my escort," Ashley replied smoothly. "To make certain nothing happens to me while I'm here. I've been prone to accidents lately."
"An accident? You've had an accident? Oh, dear," Cicely fussed. "You are all right, aren't you? I've asked you time and time again to stop careening about the countryside on that terrible horse."
"Pity," Henry said, taking a sip of white wine. "Now that someone's finally asked for her hand in holy matrimony." He glanced at Ashley through heavy-lidded eyes. "And they do say—" He cleared his throat and began to cough. The hacking became a spasm and he struggled for breath.
Bold Surrender Page 28