“I ‘aven’t got enough men yet,” a gruff voice replied. “I needs a few more days, still.”
“In a few more days it’ll be past the turn. I told Brinkman we’d be in Jamaica to pick up the cargo next week, see? If we don’t move now we’ll not make it in time!”
“Styles, ‘ave ye gone daft in the knob? If we move without enough men, neither of us will make it to Jamaica!” McGregor hissed. “Now, d’ye want the ship, or don’t ye?”
“Of course I do, ye dung-head!”
“Then ye’ll have to trust me, old nodder! In a few more days, I tell ye. We’ll ‘ave most o’ the men on our side then, and it’ll be much easier to slit the cap’n’s throat if ‘is lackeys are with us.”
“Alright, then,” Styles said. “But don’t disappoint me. I want Worthington’s ‘ead on a platter. And that little miss ‘e’s been protectin’ will fetch a nice price in Kingston market… after we’ve all had a few turns between ‘er legs, o’ course.”
Isobel’s blood turned icy cold, and she stared helplessly at the rough, damp rope in front of her. Was there no end to her woes?
“I’ll do what I can tonight,” McGregor said. “Meet me in the galley after grub n’grog. I’ll know more then.”
“The sooner, the better. Shite, someone’s comin’!”
Isobel heard their footsteps scramble away, but could only sit numbly behind the coil of rope as she contemplated her bleak future. The situation was going from bad to worse, rather quickly.
There was only one thing to do.
She had to reach Beckett. He might know how to turn this situation to their advantage. And if he didn’t, it might be the last time she would ever see his face.
Isobel peeked over the crate and, seeing that it was safe to move, quickly grabbed her pencils and stood.
Purposefully, she walked across the deck toward the doorway that led down to the sleeping quarters.
“I’ll be going to my cabin, now,” she said to no one in particular. The pirates there ignored her as she walked past.
She searched the deck for sight of Captain Worthington, but didn’t see him. The red-bearded first mate seemed to be in command at the moment. That meant Worthington was in his quarters, working on charts, or counting gold coins… or doing whatever pirate captains did.
“Yes, I am tired,” Isobel continued saying to the air. “I think I shall have a long nap.”
She reached the doorway and yawned loudly before she went through. As she’d become used to the steep stairway, she descended it as quickly as a monkey. There was no one about in the companionway.
She went to her cabin and left her papers and pencils on the small table, then peeked out the door. It was still clear.
Quickly and silently, Isobel scuttled down the companionway. She went in the opposite direction she’d tried before, hoping that this was the way to the brig. Her heart thumped hard in her breast as she went deeper and deeper into the bowels of the ship.
As she came around one corner she saw a big, burly man fiddling with some keys near a door. Ducking back, she waited and listened.
“Damn. I needs me pipe,” the pirate said to himself. “Been too long without a smoke. Oh, bugger.”
Isobel heard him shifting around on his feet, snorting and clearing his throat.
Go. Go and have your pipe.
“Devil take it,” he said, as if to her, “I needs me pipe! Now, ye be a good chap and behave yerself while ol’ Williams is gone. A man has to have his pipe now and again, or like as go mad, eh?”
Chap? Could he see her?
“So right, Mr. Williams. Be a good fellow and fetch me back a cigar, won’t you?”
It sounded like Beckett’s voice!
Williams laughed. “Yer a right funny one, ye is, m’lord. Tell ye what. I’ll have an extra smoke in yer honor. ‘Ow’s that, eh?”
“Take your time, my good man. Take your time.”
The man chuckled. “I shall, sir. And not a word o’ this to the cap’n, now. Wouldn’t look good if he thought we was becomin’ friends, eh? Might toss me overboard, he might. An’ I needs this job.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Williams. If the captain comes by, I shall do my best to quake in fear if your name is mentioned.”
“Right good of ye, sir. I’ll be off then.” Williams turned with a snort, and headed towards where Isobel stood at the end of the passage.
She looked behind her frantically for a place to hide, but there was none. She backed up all the way into a set of stairs. There was no place to go!
She looked again. There was a small crevice next to the stairs she thought she could squeeze through. It was a risk, though. If she got stuck, Mr. Williams would find her, and what explanation would she have for being wedged between the stairs and the bulkhead?
She heard the man’s heavy footsteps approaching, and knew it was now or never. She squeezed herself sideways against the narrow opening and wiggled an arm through. It was going to be tight.
He was getting closer. She could hear him coughing only feet away around the corner. She closed her eyes—though what good that would do she didn’t know—sucked her stomach in, and shoved.
Like a pearl through a button-hole, she popped through the opening. Isobel crouched down in the shadows just as Williams’s foot touched the first step. He clomped up the stairs with heavy feet, and soon disappeared out of sight.
Isobel breathed a sigh of relief and quickly went about squeezing back out of the opening. There was no time to lose.
She peeked around the corner again and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the passageway was still empty. Beckett was here, just a few feet away. Isobel crept closer as silently as a cat. She reached the sturdy oak door and saw a small square opening near the top. It was blocked with sturdy iron bars.
“Beckett!” she whispered. “Beckett, it’s me… Isobel.”
His head popped up in the opening like a Jack-in-the-box, and Isobel felt tears come to her eyes.
“Isobel?” She saw the disbelief in his eyes as he looked down at her.
Her hands flew up to the bars and Beckett’s fingers threaded through to twine with hers. The touch of his skin sent a jolt through her body. She was laughing and crying all at once.
“I didn’t know if you were still alive. Oh, Beckett!”
“Are you alright, Isobel? Lennox, has he—”
“Sir Harry has a terrible case of seasickness. He’s been in his cabin for most of the time, and other than that, he hasn’t had the strength to do much more than scowl. I’m quite well.”
Beckett closed his eyes in relief, then looked back at her with that fiery gaze that made her heart skip.
“I’ve been going mad with worry.”
“As I have.” She squeezed his hand through the bars. “Are you alright?”
“I had some broken ribs, but they’re on the mend. It’s too bad Williams didn’t leave his key. Don’t suppose you feel like breaking down the door, do you my dear?” He chuckled.
“Don’t try anything foolish, Beckett. You must promise me.”
“I will try anything if it will get us out of here.”
“Well, that is the least of our problems now, it seems.”
“What do you mean?”
Isobel took a deep breath. “I overheard two men talking just now about a mutiny that is going to take place very soon. They plan to kill Captain Worthington, and I can only imagine what they mean to do to us.”
“Damn!” Beckett cursed. “Where is the captain?”
“I haven’t seen him about. I assume he’s in his quarters.”
“You must go and warn him. It’s too risky to hope we could escape in the midst of a mutiny. Though I’d most likely be safe in here, you would be in great danger. No, you must warn the captain. I’ll give odds that he won’t believe you at first. He’ll think you’re trying to help me or yourself escape. But you must find some way to convince him. Do you think you can do that, Isobel?”
“
I can if it means our lives. Your life. Oh, Beckett, I am so sorry you’ve been mixed up in this. If only you hadn’t taken me home that night. If only—”
“If only you’d stop saying ‘if only.’ I wouldn’t change it for the world. All of London will be terribly jealous when they find out we have sailed on a real pirate ship, and survived. I imagine Prinny will have us to dinner just to hear the tale.”
Isobel laughed, though tears dampened her eyes again.
Beckett squeezed her fingers, his eyes glowing with their intensity. “It will be alright, Isobel. I promise.
Now find Worthington.”
He pulled her fingers to his lips and kissed them tenderly through the bars, his gaze burning with emotion.
Isobel reluctantly pulled away, unwilling to give up even one moment of feeling his touch. She finally turned to go down the companionway, but stopped. This could be the last moment they ever saw each other alive….
She turned back and pressed herself against the heavy door, wishing it was Beckett’s body she clung to instead of the barrier that separated them. “I have to tell you. I can’t leave you here, not knowing if I’ll ever have the chance again. And I know you don’t want to hear it, but I must.”
Beckett’s fingers came through the bars and reached for her. She stretched up on tiptoe as high as she could, and she felt him stroke her hair. The look in his eyes threatened to melt her where she stood.
“No, Isobel.” He kissed her through the bars, so tenderly it almost broke her heart. “This won’t be the last time we have together. I promise. You must believe me.”
“I’m afraid of losing you!” She kissed him back fervently. She felt as if she were drowning, and Beckett was the very air that her body—her entire being—thirsted for.
“You won’t lose me, Isobel. And I won’t lose you—not to Sir Harry Lennox. As long as there is breath in my body, I won’t.”
Beckett’s words sent a chill through Isobel’s heart. As long as there is breath in my body….
“Beckett, I love you.” Her voice was no more than a whisper. “Even though you don’t want it to be true.
Even though I don’t want it to be true. And I don’t care if you don’t want to hear it. I love you more than life itself. So you better take care, do you hear? Don’t take any foolish chances with my husband’s life. I want him in one piece when this is over.”
His expression was strained—his blue eyes dark as a dusky sky. He kissed her fingers, then abruptly released her hand. “You must go now, Isobel. We’re running out of time.”
She nodded. A numbing coldness washed through her heart.
Isobel stepped back. She didn’t know what else to say. And she couldn’t will herself to smile as she looked upon her husband’s face for what could be the last time.
Finally, Isobel turned away, and slipped around the corner. She paused for a moment and stood with her back against the bulkhead before she continued. Hidden from Beckett’s sight, she felt her heart aching, as if the love and pain inside would overflow and burst it open like the banks of a swollen river.
He still didn’t love her.
Even now, when their lives were in such danger, when they might never see each other again, he’d said nothing.
It shouldn’t matter. Not now. But it did.
She swallowed and steeled herself against the tears that threatened to fall. She had no time for them now.
She had a mutiny to stop.
Chapter Twenty-two
Isobel walked purposefully down the companionway, taking deep breaths and trying to calm herself. But she didn’t know if it was from the danger she was facing or from the scene with Beckett.
How she had wanted to believe that he loved her! And she had foolishly thought he would answer her declaration of love with one of his own.
She had to clear her head of such notions. Now was not the time to lament her unrequited passion.
Beckett had made his feelings plain on the beach. And if they did get out of this together, she could not expect anything more from him.
She came around the corner and saw the dark, sturdy door to the captain’s quarters and stopped. As usual, there was a fearsome looking brute standing guard outside. Apparently, Worthington’s trust went only so far—and rightly so.
“I need to see the captain, if you please,” Isobel said firmly.
The big man looked at her, unimpressed. ” ‘E’s not to be disturbed.”
“It is of the utmost importance,” she insisted.
The man moved his face close to hers, and the strong smell of his unwashed body penetrated her nostrils.
The stubble on his face almost scraped her cheek as he spoke again, slowly and quietly. “I said, ‘e’s not to be disturbed… didn’t I?”
Isobel tried not to look at the rotten, jagged teeth that sparsely filled his mouth. “Good sir, I must see the captain. If you will not knock on the door, then I shall.”
The big man blocked Isobel’s approach and grabbed her outstretched arm, pulling a wicked-looking dagger up just inches in front of her eyes.
“Ye see this, Miss?”
Isobel nodded mutely.
“Well, the cap’n, see, ‘e tol’ me to put it through the heart of anyone who come near that door, there. An’
I would hate to dirty yer lovely dress.” He pushed her away but held the dagger up threateningly. “Now, ye be a good lass, and shag off, before me and me dagger poke holes in ye.”
Oh, bother! This was not going at all well.
“I shall return, then.” Isobel’s eyes flashed with as much haughtiness as she could muster. “And if the captain emerges, please tell him that I must speak to him right away.”
The man grinned at her as if she had just asked him to perform Hamlet in its entirety.
” ‘Course, Miss. I’ll do that.”
Frowning at her failure to talk her way past the guard, Isobel turned on her heel and made her way down the narrow passageway. Not knowing what else to do, she headed back to her quarters.
She would wait for a little while before insisting on seeing the captain once more. And if the man wouldn’t let her past, which he probably would not, what would she do then?
Fighting the urge to return to Beckett’s cell, Isobel forced herself back to her room. She would wait a quarter of an hour or so, then try again. Feeling terribly powerless, she sat on a chair and looked around the room, as if the answer to her troubles might be lurking somewhere.
Her eyes came to rest on the tray that held her luncheon dishes. Usually, it was removed right away, but someone had neglected his duties and hadn’t picked it up.
Isobel looked at the plate. It was made of cracked porcelain, and looked quite old and dingy. But perhaps it could be more than that. She wanted to laugh at herself for not thinking of it before.
She picked it up and hit it against the side of the table. The plate broke into a few pieces that fell to the floor, and consequently broke into more. Reaching down, Isobel picked up one that was long and sharp, like an oddly shaped knife. She ripped some of her underskirt and wrapped it around the end, making a handle to grip. At any rate, the cloth would protect her hand from the jagged edge.
Lifting her skirt, she tucked the makeshift weapon into the laces that wrapped around the top of her boot.
She arranged it as best she could, and hoped she wouldn’t inadvertently stab herself in the foot.
She picked up the rest of the broken plate and hid the pieces under the lumpy straw mattress of her bunk. As the services she received consisted only of having food brought twice a day, she didn’t think the pirates would be changing her bedding anytime soon. Hopefully, her crime would be well-hidden there.
She waited for more time to elapse, and when she was wringing her hands in frustration, decided she could wait no longer. Armed as well as she could be, Isobel set out on her mission once again.
Walking down the passageway, Isobel tried to look as carefree as possible. She didn’t wan
t to raise any suspicions. The knife she carried made her feel self-conscious, as if it were visible to all, though hidden beneath her skirts.
As she neared the captain’s quarters, she noticed that the man who had previously stood guard outside was nowhere to be seen. Instead of reassuring her about any chance of seeing Captain Worthington, instinct told her this would be worse.
Isobel slowed her pace, listening for any sound beyond the door, when a big dirty hand clamped over her mouth and yanked her around the corner.
“And where d’ye think yer goin’, Missy?” a voice rasped in her ear. Isobel grimaced at the stench of the man’s breath. Strong, beefy arms held her easily and pressed her back against a solid chest. The man’s forearm mashed her breast, and from the way he rubbed his arm against her there, Isobel guessed that the pirate was enjoying it.
Infuriated, Isobel kicked and thrashed about in the man’s iron-hard arms. The pirate only laughed and squeezed her tighter.
This couldn’t be happening. Not now—when Beckett’s life depended on her reaching Captain Worthington!
Using all the willpower she could muster, Isobel sank her teeth into the meaty hand that covered her mouth and bit as hard as she could.
The pirate bellowed and tried to pry her mouth open with his other hand, but Isobel’s jaws held tight. She tasted blood in her mouth, but refused to let the revolting hand go.
The pirate’s hand curled around her neck, and she felt his fingers dig into her flesh.
“Let go, ye bloody bitch!” the man hissed.
“Leave off, Murray!” another voice said. “No marks on ‘er skin, remember? Styles will have yer tongue cut out if ye bruise ‘er.”
“To ‘ell with Styles! Help me get ‘er off,” Murray groaned.
The two men struggled to pry Isobel’s jaws apart. When they finally succeeded, both regarded her with shock. Isobel could feel the warm wet blood running down her chin, and knew she must look quite a sight indeed.
“Me ‘and—look what she done to it, Dobbin!” Murray held his wounded hand as gore dripped from it onto the floor.
The Marriage Bargain Page 19