She hadn’t been barefoot long when Rourke tensed and motioned her toward the cliffs. “Riders.”
Brenna turned to see a tiny cloud of dust on the horizon behind them. Together, they ran for the cliff side, edging their way far enough down the rocky slope that they wouldn’t be seen.
As the vibration of galloping horses’ hooves drew closer, Rourke gripped her shoulder. They huddled in tense silence as the horses pounded past, swirling dust into the air. She longed to take a peek, but the pirate’s firm hand held her still, his touch at once protective and restraining.
As the pounding receded, he released her and took a look. Brenna eased up beside him to peer over the ledge at the retreating backs of a band of mounted bluecoats heading north, away from Stour. Nearly two dozen of them, best she could tell.
When the riders were well past, Rourke helped her back onto the level ground and they continued in silence. Several hours later, they rounded a sharp bend in the coast to come upon a harbor encircled by a small town.
“Dunhaven,” the pirate murmured, then came to a hard stop, his body going rigid. “Bloody hell.”
Brenna followed his gaze to the three ships sitting at anchor in the harbor. One looked disturbingly familiar.
“That’s not your ship, is it?” It better not be, she thought. Because instead of ragged-clothed pirates, blue-coated soldiers scurried across the decks like ants.
“Aye.” The word was little more than a sharp exhale. “It’s the Lady Marie.”
Brenna grimaced with dismay. Where was Hegarty? “I’m guessing that’s not a welcoming committee.”
“Nay, ’tis not,” he replied stonily. “The bloody Earl of Slains has seized my ship.”
FIVE
A dog barked in the distance, a discordant sound against the rhythmic lapping of the sea at the harbor’s edge. A woman’s laughter tinkled on the evening breeze, floating from an open window high above, in sharp counterpoint to a rough argument escaping from another window, closer by. With the sun setting on this long, long day, the people of Dunhaven were retiring to the comfort and welcome of their homes.
Would that he had such a home to go back to.
Rourke silently ground his teeth as he stood in the shadowed alley watching the last of the fishermen trudge toward supper and bed. He had come so close. So close. The Goodhope Plantation was all but his. Or it had been. It might be still, if his gold had not been confiscated along with his ship.
Anger blazed through him anew. His ship. His life. Stolen. Thanks to a green-eyed sea witch.
The rich smell of roast duck slipped through the town’s less savory scents, making his stomach rumble, reminding him he’d eaten naught since last eve’s supper.
He glanced at the witch resting at his feet, her arms wrapped tight around her updrawn legs, her cheek against her knees. He felt a stab of grim satisfaction at the certainty that she, too, was miserable with hunger. It was her fault. All of it.
As she dozed, he’d watched, fists clenched at his sides, as the earl’s soldiers stripped the Lady Marie of the last of her cargo, the last of her supplies, right down to her sails. His ship was stolen. He had no means with which to take her back. His crew was lost to the winds for all he knew.
He could buy other clothes, other weapons. He could sail another man’s ship, captain another man’s crew. But without his gold, the Goodhope Plantation was lost. His last hope for the future gone.
All he could do was pray they’d not found his life’s savings hidden beneath the floor of his cabin. And when the harbor was asleep for the night, he would find out.
The woman murmured in her sleep, drawing his attention. Bitterness simmered deep in his gut. He’d known from the start she would be his undoing. He had sensed the danger she posed to his peace of mind the moment he’d seen her. But even he could not have guessed the havoc she would wreak in a mere two days. Worse, he knew with instinct borne of bitter experience, it was just the beginning unless he disentangled himself from her with utmost haste.
The need to escape vibrated through his very bones, a need bordering on desperation. His chest felt tight, as if he’d become tangled in the riggings and the ropes had cut off his air. Only far from this land would the tight band of pressure across his chest be released. Only then would he be free again.
Voices continued to carry on the night air from windows open to the cooling breeze, but the docks and bay were slowly becoming deserted as the earlier bustle of the harbor gave way to the night’s calm. Above the night sounds, Rourke heard the achingly familiar creak and clank of his pillaged lady’s bare riggings echoing across the moonlit water.
The Lady Marie. His home for so many years.
Desolation and frustration washed over him in equal measure. How could he leave her? Yet he must. She was his no more. And he could not stay.
On the morrow he must find Hegarty. The annoying dwarf would not have gone far, not with the lass’s well-being uncertain. Nay, he was near, of that Rourke was certain. And Rourke was all too ready to shove Brenna back into the little blighter’s keeping.
Once rid of her, he would sail on the first vessel leaving the harbor even if he had to earn his keep as a deck-hand.
Beside him, the lass stirred and raised her head to look up at him sleepily. Even in the faint moonlight he could see the relief etched clearly on her bruised face. Without a sound, she lowered her head back to her knees.
His jaw clenched against the quiet warmth that tried to worm its way into his chest. She’d been seeking him, reassuring herself of his presence.
The woman called forth too many conflicting emotions within him. Frustration and anger at the fates for entangling him with her in the first place. But protectiveness, too.
And admiration. Indeed, she’d thought herself in danger upon his vessel and promptly escaped. But she’d not been where she thought she was.
Chill bumps rose on his forearms.
And where did she think she was? From where on Earth had Hegarty pulled her? Part of him longed to ask her, longed to know. A very small part.
She was not his concern. The woman was trouble in ways too numerous to count.
The breeze picked up. A thick swath of clouds obscured the moon, casting the water into darkness.
Now was the time.
He shook the lass’s shoulder, waking her. “I have an errand to tend to. Wait here.”
He felt her tense and watched as she awkwardly rose to her feet to stand beside him. “What kind of errand?”
“I’m going to retrieve . . . something . . . from my ship.”
“Don’t leave me.” She flinched, as if the words slipped out before she could stop them. “I’ll go with you.”
She was like a new sailor without sea legs, unsteady and unsure in this world of his. She clung to him as if she feared she might drown without his strength supporting her. He remembered the way she’d drawn off the soldiers rather than run as he’d bade her. Blood pooled in his groin as the memory of those small, perfect breasts flashed in his mind’s eye.
She was without shame and, he’d thought, without fear.
He realized now she’d been terrified. So terrified of being alone she’d risked her life and virtue to save him when she thought him in peril. He was her anchor.
For now.
He took her arm and hustled her to where a small fishing boat lay upended upon the shore. Rolling it over, he pushed it into the water, then helped her in.
“We’re rowing out to your ship?”
“Aye.” He shoved off, then climbed in and grabbed the oars. His careful strokes made nary a splash as they neared the Lady Marie.
“Since you’re here, ye can aid me. I need another distraction, if ye be willing, lass.”
“What kind of distraction?” she asked warily.
He wished he could see her face. “Once I’ve boarded, dive in and swim to the port side of the ship, then begin to sing. They’ll think ye a mermaid.”
Her laugh was low and
without humor. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
She may not have sea legs, but she was still a wildcat. “You needn’t sing. Screaming will work as well.”
“Pirate, there’s no way I’m going back into that freezing water. It took me most of the day to warm up from my morning swim. No way.”
The touch of disdain in her voice annoyed him. “Ye owe me a debt, Wildcat. If not for you, I’d still be captain of my ship.”
“If not for me, you’d have been on that ship when they took it. You’d probably be in jail right now.”
Perhaps. But unless he found one of his crew, he might never know what happened. He tried another tack with the lass. “There’s coin on my ship. Coin that will buy us a hot meal and a warm room for the night.”
“Sounds lovely, but I’m not going swimming. How many men do you think are on board?”
Stubborn wench. “Four that I’ve seen. One on deck, the others apt to be playing cards in my cabin.”
“Okay, so what if you knock out the one on deck? I can call to the others and you can knock them out when they come up.”
“Three to one, lass. They’ll be armed. The only way I’ll get past them is to kill them.”
“Oh.”
“Dinna mistake me,” he continued. “I am willing enough to kill. I have no love for Slains’s soldiers. But the sounds of a fight will carry over the open water. I had thought ye might offer a distraction at a safe distance. But if you cannot abide another swim, I’ll have no choice. Wait for me in the boat. If one of the guards escapes my knife, untie the rope and shove off.”
She exhaled loudly, part sigh, part growl. “Oh, all right. I’ll be your distraction, but I’m not getting into the water until the last minute. You are so going to owe me a hot meal tonight. And some dry clothes. And a warm fire.”
Rourke smiled to himself.
As he reached the ship and tied the small boat, Brenna took off her boots and the shirt she’d borrowed from him and stashed them in the prow, reminding him of the last time she lifted her shirt.
He swore silently at the surge of heat to his loins and pulled himself up the rope hanging from the rail. He heard the sound of distant footsteps and knew the guard to be atop the poop deck. Moving silently to the base of the stairs, he positioned himself for attack. Pressed into the shadows, his pulse pounding a hard, steady beat, he waited, listening. Finally, he heard the guard return and descend to the main deck. Rourke slid behind him and knocked him out with the hilt of his knife, then lowered him silently.
“Did you kill him?”
With a start, he swung around. “I thought ye’d agreed to swim.”
“I don’t have to be in the water the whole time.” She motioned toward the man at their feet. “Is he dead?”
“Nay. He sleeps. The others are in my cabin.”
Brenna nodded. “I’ll start my mermaid’s song from up here. How will I know when you’re through?”
He marveled at her grit. He’d coerced her into another frigid swim—one he’d not care to join her in—yet she acted as if the prospect disturbed her not at all. She was either a fool or possessed of more courage than he cared to admit.
He touched her arm, watching her in the lantern’s light. “When I have retrieved what I came for, I’ll return to the boat and make a seagull’s call. Swim toward me and I’ll pick ye up.”
A moment went by before she replied. “If you hear me yell that I’m drowning, don’t come.”
He felt a smile pull at his lips. “Nay. I’ll not come if you’re drowning.”
She laughed, the sound low and delightful. “I’m serious.”
“Aye, and I know it. Now go.”
While Rourke pressed himself into the darkest shadows, she sprinted for the port side and climbed upon the flat rail. But instead of diving as he’d expected, she began to sing in a clear, strong voice, moving her hands to the words.
“I’m a little teapot, short and stout. Here is my handle, here is my spout. When I get all steamed up—”
Rourke tensed at the sudden pounding of booted feet. He heard one man burst out of his cabin and clamber onto the deck.
“Get down from there!”
“I will shout. Just tip me over and pour me out!”
“Get down from there, I say!”
Rourke noted the guard kept his distance, as if not quite sure what kind of creature had landed on the ship.
More booted feet on the stairs. Two pairs. The second and third guards. “What’s going on?”
Still the wildcat sang, her clear, pleasant voice ringing over the harbor. “The eensy-weensy spider climbed up the waterspout.”
The moon slid from beneath the clouds, fully illuminating the nymph upon the rail. All three men advanced on her slowly.
“How did you get aboard, missy?”
Brenna acknowledged them for the first time. “The Earl of Slains sent me to entertain you.”
“Did he, now?”
Rourke clenched his fist at the carnal delight in the man’s voice.
“Why do ye not come down and entertain us in the cabin, eh?”
Rourke’s hand went to the knife at his waist. What game was she playing?
Suddenly, she let out a scream and fell backward. Or more accurately, threw herself backward, though Rourke was certain only he realized it. Even before she hit the water, all three were running for the rail.
Rourke slammed his knife into his scabbard and slipped down the stairs into his cabin as he heard her calling from the water.
“I can’t swim! Help me!”
He was glad she’d warned him. Even knowing she pretended, he had to steel himself against her piteous plea.
He looked around his cabin, glowing in the light of two lanterns. His sea chest was gone, as he’d feared it would be. As were the ship’s logs and journals he’d kept in his desk. Everything he’d owned had been removed. Even the small birds he’d spent painstaking hours carving by hand.
Pulling his knife, he dove for the plank under the bunk, beneath which he’d stashed his gold. But the board was already loose.
His heart sank to the pit of his stomach as he reached into the space beneath.
Empty. Whoever had found it knew it was there, for no other board was loose. Only one man knew about his hiding place.
Hegarty.
He heard a heavy splash hit the water.
Shouted voices carried from the deck. “She can swim. Stop her!”
Rourke shoved his knife back into his belt and hurried from the cabin, sticking to the shadows. As he reached the deck, he saw only two men silhouetted against the ship’s rail now. One had apparently decided to capture the mermaid.
Rourke silently crossed to where they’d left the boat and swung himself over the side. But as he slid down the rope, no rough-hewn planks met his feet. Only cold water.
A quick scan revealed no sign of the rowboat.
“God’s blood.”
He was going to kill her. First he had to find her. With a silent curse, he let go of the rope and dropped into the freezing water, gun and all. The cold knocked the wind out of him, but he forced his arms to stroke, moving silently away from the ship.
“Rourke!”
He could hear the paddles coming nearer.
“Wheesht!” He swallowed a mouthful of salty water. As he swam toward her voice, she materialized out of the darkness. The hard wood of an oar brushed his hand and he grabbed it. Brenna pulled him to the boat, then helped him inside. He took the oars from her, icy water dripping from his nose and fingertips. “I’m going to strangle you.”
“Oh, that makes me so glad I rescued you.” Her voice was tight with cold and sarcasm.
He started rowing, sending the blood flowing through his frozen limbs. “Why did ye leave?”
“My leg cramped. I couldn’t swim, and he was going to catch me. The rate he was going, he’d have drowned us both.”
“Did it occur to you to board the rowboat, then await me?”
The crack of gunfire rent the air. A pair of shots exploded in the water on either side of them.
Brenna gasped and ducked. She grabbed his arm. “Get down! They’ll kill you.”
“They each had a single gun. By the time they reload, we’ll be well out of range.”
“I didn’t realize it took that long to reload one of those things.”
“Aye. Takes even longer to dry one out.”
He rowed the rest of the way in silence, soaked for the second time today, thanks to the woman at his side. When they reached the shore, he pulled her out, then yanked the boat to shore and left it where he’d found it.
“Did you get your gold?” Brenna asked as they started for the alleyway. Her teeth were beginning to chatter.
He clenched his jaw. “Nay. ’Twould have drowned me if I had . . . or sunk to the bottom of the sea since there was no boat awaiting me to catch the weight of it.”
“Oh.” The word was small and tight. “Whoops.”
Anger fueled his steps. “I’ve no coin, no food. No weapons except my knife and a gun that will likely never fire again. I have no ship. No crew. No cursed future. The day’s been a disaster, thanks to you. The whole of my life’s been a disaster, thanks to you.”
He stalked into the darkened alley, his empty stomach growling his frustration. Hegarty had best have his gold. And where was the blighter?
When he stopped, the lass leaned against the wall, then sank into a huddle at his feet.
“Rourke?” The word was little more than a whisper.
He glared down at her. “Aye?”
“I’m . . . r-really cold. Is there anyplace we can go to warm up?”
“Without coin? Looking like a pair of drowned kittens? Who would take us in? Nay, we’ll pass the night here. ’Tis summer.” But the breeze had kicked up, and he was beginning to feel chilled himself, though not unduly so. He was often wet aboard ship and was quite used to it.
He crossed the narrow alley and sat, the anger in his belly too raw to settle for her nearness. But even from this small distance he could hear her teeth clattering like shutters in a gale. For the span of a heartbeat he rejoiced in her suffering, for she’d brought all this upon herself by diving from his ship in the first place. But his sense of fairness snatched the pleasure away.
Sapphire Dream (Berkley Sensation) Page 7