by Angel Payne
“And I!”
“Gentlemen!” Braziliano had to shout again. He stretched his hands to solidify the silence that finally fell again, He looked to Golden and the giant at his left, and Mast at his right.
“We have a small problema, my friends. Two men and one wench.”
The richly-accented voice slid over the crowd with no more effort than honey on a biscuit. Mast hated honey. And distrusted Roche Braziliano even more. The lunatic was infamous for his treachery. What kind of depravity did the bastard have in his bag of tricks this time?
Mast didn’t seem to be the only one pondering such a question. “We know all about the problem, Braz,” someone yelled. “But what’re you going to do about it?”
“Aye! What, indeed!”
“Stop piddlin’ about up there!”
Braziliano waited out some other catcalls before stepping to the lip of the platform with a convincing, thoughtful finger on his chin. “That is an interesting question, amigo. But I am not certain how to answer it. The Brotherhood of the Coast has passed down many laws and agreements by which we live here, but even I, as one of the last original Brethren, cannot recall a mandate for such as this. Then again…” He glanced back at Mast, the thinning ends of his mustache lifting smugly. “I do not think the Brotherhood anticipated the day Mast Stafford would ride to the rescue of a female.”
The implication of the slur opened a cloudburst of laughter. It was clearly more than Golden could bear. “Hell,” Mast muttered, just in time to watch her lurch against the giant’s hold. The hulk laughed and crunched her tighter. Golden growled and bit his forearm. Mast would have let up a whoop of approval, but her dash from the man was cut short by two of Roche’s henchmen. They ensnared her with brutal force, seeming to have experience with the task. The crowd roared their approval of the unfolding drama.
“My friends!” Braz shouted, playing the scene for all the excitement it was worth. “I see no other solution for this untoward predicament but the dueling log!”
“Hell,” Mast spat again.
Only a single heartbeat of consideration passed before the verdict was rendered.
“Yes!”
“The log, of course!”
“Take ’em to da log!”
Within minutes, the frantic, primeval chant shook the rafters of Braziliano’s mansion.
“The duel-ing log, the duel-ing log, the duel-ing log!”
Bloodthirsty voices raised to the sky, perspiring bodies bobbed to the rhythm. The mob was no longer a collection of faces and colors and personalities, but one savage, insatiable beast. Golden stared at the monster, hardly bearing to fathom what “the dueling log” could possibly be.
She looked to Mast. His expression gave no answers, either, though she’d expected that. The hard planes of his jaw were as tight and unrevealing as she’d ever seen, his lips set in a strong and serious line.
He was beautiful.
As if he’d opened up that special window he always had to her thoughts, his head came up. Their gazes met and mated. For a wonderful moment, the din around her died. The world was nothing but the midnight-blue velvet of him, holding her softly, safely; replacing all the hate inside her with patience and strength and—
What?
Love?
Did she love him? Could she?
As the throng parted and the henchmen began to lead them outside, a horrid thought rooted in her mind. She might never receive a chance to find out.
They were forced out into the night, down a twisting dirt path. The journey was defined by the light of the mob’s torches. Weeping moss trees filled with sorrow-eyed creatures mourned their passing into this muggy hell, though the eyes appeared fewer and fewer as the moist stench of swamp water became stronger and stronger.
The tree tunnel broadened after two hundred yards. As the crowd moved in around the circular area, Golden sucked in her breath. The massing of all the torches allowed her first look at this thing they called the dueling log.
She expelled the breath as puzzlement took over. It really was just a log. The giant tree had likely been slain by lightning and fallen here, across the sides of a narrow, murky lagoon. The resulting platform was so wide and appeared so sturdy it could nearly be designated a bridge. Golden looked harder at the log, still seeing nothing in the least bit unordinary about the scene.
A glimmer of relief found an opening inside. Could the dueling log be just that, a basic pace-off before a turn-and-shoot? She called up the memory of that first night in Saint Kitts, when Mast drew his pistol on the French soldiers. An eye’s blink and the shot had been shaking Papa’s Gainsborough’s on the walls.
The Neanderthal would fall before he’d ever found his weapon.
A small smile tugged her lips. They edged up another notch as Mast entered the clearing behind Braziliano. Square-shouldered and steel-composed, he stood out like a Zeus among mortals. Her heart overflowed with pride. And admiration. And yes…complete trust.
A happy gasp erupted. Oh yes, she trusted this man. If she’d been honest with herself instead of running off at those first ugly suspicions in Mast’s hold, she’d have realized she did all along. Whatever reason he had for possessing the flag, she’d listen to it—to him—in full.
Just as soon as he showed Braziliano what he could do with his bloody dueling log.
Wait. Why were Mast and the giant turning their pistols over to Braziliano? And why were they starting to remove their shirts? She’d never been to a duel before, but she was fairly certain it wasn’t done this way!
“The rules be the same,” a pudgy henchman bellowed. “Neither man will turn before the count of three be tolled. Neither man will employ any weapon in the contest but his own two hands and legs. Neither man will leave the log until Captain Braziliano as thus declared it. Do the contestants understand these dictates and agree to abide by them?”
The Neanderthal grunted. Mast nodded. Golden swallowed back a fresh surge of panic. She should have known it was too good to be true. ’Twas to be a hand-to-hand clash on the log, not a simple duel! She should have remembered just what kind of monster ruled this mob. It was just like Roche Braziliano to take this insanity to its limits, dragging the fight out as each man undoubtedly fell into the swamp, then had to pull himself out and do battle with the added weight of water and moss—
No. That was not all there was to the duel, either.
Golden studied the swamp more intently. There was something bizarre about the pattern of the bubbles along the water’s surface…and the irregular directions of the currents…as if the bog were breathing somehow. As if it were living.
Her gasp burned a horrified path up her throat as the first pair of eyes broke the water’s surface. Round, unblinking yellow eyes gleamed at her across a long dragon-like snout.
Alligators.
Chapter Eighteen
She had to do something. The Neanderthal was already eyeing Mast like an elephant about to crush a mouse. A single sweep of either battering-ram arm, and Mast would be toppled from the limb without a chance. Without a hope.
Gone forever.
“No!”
Terror ripped the sound from her lips as Golden began to run. She couldn’t let it happen. She wouldn’t! The henchmen grabbed at her but a powerful, unseen force took over her body, propelling her across the log. Then all that mattered was Mast at the other side; Mast, strong and tall, his eyes fixed darkly on her as he stepped from the others. She collided into him at a full run.
“Hellion.” His voice was a low, but gentle chastisement as he cupped a hand around her shoulder. “What are you doing?”
“No.” It seemed to be all she could say. All she could feel. Terrible fear. Wrenching denial. “No. No. Please.” The start of a sob burned up her throat. She gulped against it. Good little sailors didn’t cry.
“Sweet.” He lifted her chin. The sting behind Golden’s eyes intensified as she took in the deep exhaustion lines bordering his face. “This isn’t the Athena. I
have no choice about this.” A pulse thumped erratically beneath his scar. “So I need you to obey me. Do you hear me? Golden, listen to me. Go back to your place and—”
“No!”
“Yes.”
“But—” She drew in a sharp gasp. “But I love you.”
She reached trembling fingers to his jaw, his cheek, his hair. She explored him, memorized him, absorbed the scent, the strength, the feel of him. Hating the torture of it. “Oh God, I do. I love you, Mast.”
He swallowed deeply. Then again. Golden gazed into his eyes and saw the turmoil raging there. The battle he waged not only against the situation, but himself. His lips parted as if to say something, but he forced his mouth tight again.
Like a curtain drawn across a window, his expression hardened to the unforgiving scowl Golden hadn’t seen since her first tumultuous days aboard the ship. “I said to stay back, wench,” he ordered as imperiously. “And damn it, I said now.”
She nodded before lowering her arms and quietly stepping back. “I love you, you bloody stubborn ox,” she whispered. “I love you.”
“Enough! Let’s get on with it!” Braziliano shoved her aside. Two henchmen pulled her back again, locking her on both sides so she caused no further “disruptions.”
The Neanderthal bounded out first. The entire log shook with his weight. He laughed at that, pointing out his achievement to his friends on the shore like a tot discovering his shadow. They cheered him, though switched their shouts into jeers upon Mast’s arrival.
The bellows that boomed out in Mast’s favor did little to fill in the trench Golden teethed into her bottom lip. The agony went on as the two men approached each other then locked stares for a long minute. She could see the muscles tense in Mast’s shoulders as the giant bared a hungry leer. On Mast’s face, there was nothing but the rock-hard Stafford reserve.
The two men turned back to back for the final count-off.
Golden squeezed her eyes shut.
“One!” Braziliano called.
Her heart skipped.
“Two!”
Her heart froze.
“Three! Let the contest begin!”
The roar of the mob was deafening around her. A horrible force pried her eyes back open again, compelling them to the battle unfolding on the log.
Mast and the pirate squared off in catlike crouches, testing the limits of the limb and each other. Several minutes passed like that. The crowd grew restless and so did the giant. He growled at Mast, emphasizing his point with a wide swing of his arm. Mast easily ducked the punch. The pirate roared his disapproval. Mast didn’t flinch from his position.
“Yes.” Despite herself, Golden murmured a favorite encouragement Guypa often gave her when they hunted. “Play him against himself, Mast. Make him come to you.”
And come the giant did, though he moved so suddenly and so furiously, Golden wished she’d never even thought the advice. Mast braced for the impact, but the pirate smashed him down like a reed in the way of a boulder. The Neanderthal chortled and raised a fist to his cheering cohorts.
His victory was brief. Mast raised a shaking, but well-placed knee to the small of the giant’s back. Sharkmouth yowled in pain and fell back. Mast pushed free from the man’s weight. He stumbled to his feet, wiping the sweat from his face with his elbow.
“Yer better’n I thought, fancy britches.” The pirate’s tone was much too calm for Golden’s comfort. “Much better. Too bad. I liked playing this game like a civilized pair o’ blokes fer once.”
To her dread, her instinct didn’t prove wrong. As the hissed his final word, he swiped a meaty hand around Mast’s ankle. Golden gasped as he yanked mercilessly. Mast went down again, his spine hitting the log with a loud whack.
She screamed. The crowd cheered. The giant chortled as he rose on one knee, Mast’s leg still in tow. He scooped up Mast’s other ankle, now turning Mast upside down in order to dangle him over the side of the log. Mast fought him like a wild horse, head bucking, arms flailing. The pirate let one of his legs go long enough to punch him across the face. Golden shrieked again as Mast’s neck snapped back. Torchlight glinted on the blue streaks through his hair before it all draped over, skimming over the water.
The swamp started breathing again.
Golden’s scream dwindled to a terrified choke. The water’s surface snaked and slithered. The mob went berserk as an alligator snout appeared, heading straight for the easy target Mast presented.
“Bastard!” Golden lunged against the henchmen holding her but their clutches were like a human form of the stocks. “You bastard! Let him go!”
The Neanderthal flashed her a silly grin. “My love! Are ye callin’ to me?” He puckered his lips and smacked a kiss her way.
Golden looked away in revulsion and desperation. She spun toward Braziliano.
“Damn you! That thing is going to eat him alive!”
“Ahhh. Temper, querida. What would your big, important father think about such unladylike behavior?”
“You insipid, heartless—”
Horror annihilated the rest of it. She gasped, along with everyone else, as the gator surged beneath Mast’s head. The huge mouth opened, baring gleaming teeth and a slimy pink throat.
Her muscles became ice blocks. Her stare was frozen on the water. On the beast—and Mast. Tears broke free from her eyes. Forget being a brave sailor. She wasn’t brave. He was. He was brave and bold, strong and noble—and he was about to be ripped apart by that starving beast.
She sobbed harder, silently pleading with her captors. Let me go, please…so I can throw myself in there with him.
The alligator snapped its snout down.
Mast was still alive.
It took everyone, Golden included, to comprehend what the Neanderthal had done. With shocking grace, the brute had jerked Mast back up, just high enough so all the animal got was an unappetizing snippet of black hair clogging its nostrils and snagging its teeth.
The contest was still on.
The audience went giddy. The giant preened, posing with Mast like a hunter displaying his kill. Laughter and cheers surrounded Golden as she struggled wildly once more.
“You’re all barbarians,” she shrieked. “You can’t do this!”
“Dios. Shut that virago up!”
Braziliano motioned two more henchmen her direction. The thugs started toward her with happy leers on their faces—before stopping and switching to stunned stares. As the crowd sent up a matching gasp, Golden raced her own gaze toward the log. An amazed cry burst off her own lips.
While his tormenter had basked in the mob’s adulation, Mast started to swing back and forth over the water, using Sharkmouth’s hold to maneuver closer to the log. At the moment Golden and the others noticed that much, he got near enough to twist in midair and get a hold around one of the log’s outcroppings.
The next moment, he bettered the feat. Using the Neanderthal’s bulk against him, Mast let the brute fall beneath the log while rolling himself again to the top.
The pirate’s screech shook the treetops. He dangled wildly over the water, clutching one of Mast’s boots now. With a single shake of his foot, Mast would be able to end the battle.
A ripple of amazement fanned through the crowd when he didn’t.
Instead, he strained his thigh muscles to try pulling the sizable man back onto the log. When the giant rose high enough, Mast stretched his hand to help. The brute’s eyes flared in disbelief.
“Take it,” Mast gritted.
“Y-You’re barmy!”
“Damn it, don’t you get it? I don’t want this. Let me take the woman and we’ll both walk away. Don’t let Braziliano win. Don’t let that shit have the satisfaction.”
There was a shaking moment of silence. The reptilian yellow eyes below slithered close again.
Mast’s boot gave in to the inch it was threatening to slip. Another. The giant shrieked. Mast lunged.
Too late.
Golden cringed as the air
filled with tortured human screams, hungry reptile thrashings, and the crowd’s bloodthirsty howls. When she lifted her head again, she went straight into a glare at the henchmen who still held her.
“Get your hands off me now, gentlemen, or I’ll make certain Stafford throws your breech meat in for the monster’s dessert.”
“Golden.”
The call was silken yet strong—and one of the most magnificent sounds in the world to her. She turned and sobbed again with the sight of him. Dust clung to his hair, turning it gray instead of black. Some more stuck straight off the back of his head with the serrations of alligator teeth to its ends. His torso was sweaty and covered in bloody nicks and bruises.
She’d never seen anyone more perfect in her life.
He took a step toward her on his one booted foot then lifted a shaky hand toward her. Golden walked past it, smashing herself straight against his body.
She lifted joyous hands to his face, kissing him, lifting the hair from his eyes, though the blue-black depths weren’t much for clearing at this moment. A wine-dark welt swelled under one of them, deep scratches surrounded the other.
But beyond the blood and the bruises, the core of his stare was powerful as ever, drawing her in, holding her close, blanketing her with his strength and life.
His life.
“I love you,” she said again. Mast didn’t answer her. She tried a tender smile, but the only thing that crossed his face was a wince as he shrugged into his shirt again.
“Let me help you.”
“No.” He stiffened. In a more gentle tone, he repeated, “No.” His glance at her was brief, even furtive. “Let’s just get out of here, hellion.”
The silence tormented her. The water was so calm beneath the ship, Golden would have thought herself on a bed on solid ground, instead of Mast’s bunk. The decks and rigging were so quiet, she thought Mast had dismissed even the watch crews. They’d certainly deserve it. They’d all worked hard for these two days of shore leave on the small island just beyond New Providence. But she knew Mast was a more responsible captain than that, so she tried to occupy herself listening for the footsteps of the men who stayed to guard the nothingness.
