To Save a Fallen Angel (The Fallen Angels series Book 2)

by Julianna Hughes

  “Lord Kiterman?” Luc asked.

  The man’s eyes narrowed, and he turned to one of the tribesmen and spoke in rapid Arabic. The man nodded and moved to pull Luc to his feet.

  “Come,” the tribesman said in heavily accented English. Luc was dragged between two the men as they quickly faded back into the night, leaving the carnage they had caused in their wake.

  Once they were clear of the tents, they crested a hill and just beyond it Luc saw a dozen or more horses waiting with more of the desert tribesmen. He was shoved up onto one of the mounts, and his hands tied to the saddle.

  Together they rode swiftly through the night into the desert and hills. Luc estimated that they had been riding for more than an hour when a light appeared in the darkness. A campfire from the looks of it. As they drew closer, the fire turned into a half dozen campfires and as many colorful tents like the caravans used.

  When they entered the encampment, they were greeted by a number of heavily armed men, who eyed Luc suspiciously. They eventually stopped in front of the largest of the tents, and Luc was pulled from his mount and ushered into inside.

  Once inside, one of the guards pulled a short, curved dagger from his waist band and sliced through the ropes on Luc’s hands.

  “Sit, eat,” the man snapped then turned and left without waiting to see if Luc was going to obey or not.

  Luc could hear men and horses moving about just beyond the tent, but no one seemed to be coming to check on him. Cautiously, he walked over to the tent’s flap and peered outside. There were no guards. In fact, several of the men glanced his way but otherwise paid him no attention. They didn’t seem to care if he watched them or not.

  So he took a step outside and stood watching the camp settle down for the night. His presence drew a number of curious looks, but no one seemed to be concerned that he had left the confines of the tent. Slowly, he took a step and then another waiting for somebody, anybody, to order him back inside. But nobody did. Several of the men touched their head in the manner he had seen quite often in town in greeting and spoke to him in Arabic. Despite how he had arrived, the people in the encampment treated him as if he was a guest and not their prisoner.

  “I wouldn’t suggest you wander too far, Captain Stoughton,” a cultured English voice said from behind him. “It’s rather easy to get lost out here in the desert if you are unfamiliar with it.”

  Turning around, he saw the man from earlier. Or Luc thought it was the same man, as he had the same light blue eyes, but his face was still concealed by a scarf and his head covered by a turban.

  “I wasn’t planning on it,” Luc replied.

  “Good. Then would you like to join me in my tent for a spot of tea?” the man asked.

  Luc nodded. He was sure he had just found the Earl of Kiterman.

  Chapter 35

  “I’m tellin’ you, they are in trouble, Joc. They should have been back hours ago. Luc would have sent word if he was goin’ to be delayed,” Peggy insisted.

  It wasn’t just that Luc and Jenkins hadn’t returned before dawn as scheduled, it was a sinking feeling that had nagged her all night long. And not just because of the argument they’d had yesterday. It was now noon, and they still hadn’t heard anything from either Luc or Jenkins.

  “I’m not arguing with ye, girl,” he snapped. “But what do ye think we’re goin’ do about it? Those gun boats have us pinned in good.”

  She glanced toward the bow and glared at the two small gun boats now anchored in front of them. Peggy didn’t need to look aft because she knew two more were also anchored there as well. There was no question about them being able to blast their way out of the blockade. They had done it on more than one occasion. But she wasn’t leaving Tripoli without Luc and Jenkins. Not as long as there was a chance they were still alive.

  “Longfort and Edgar are searching the city now. As soon as dark falls, we’ll go ashore and help with the search,” Joc assured her.

  “That may be too late,” she hollered.

  “Fine then,” he snapped back. “Man the forward guns and I’ll man the aft. At the sound of the next bell, we’ll open fire. Aye?”

  Peggy was breathing heavily. So heavily she couldn’t catch her breath. “We can’t do that,” she cried, becoming completely desperate and despondent. “The Pasha will never allow us into the city if we blow his gun boats out of the water.”

  “Aye,” Joc replied and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I know that, ma fille bien aimé.”

  Peggy stared at him as her heart broke into a thousand pieces. She had to find a way to look for Luc. Every instinct in her told her he was in trouble. But Joc was right. There was nothing they could do until darkness.

  “I want every man we can spare searching the city as soon as night falls,” she ordered.

  “Aye,” Joc replied. “We’ll find yer husband, even if we have to tear the city apart.”

  “Merci beaucoup, Papa,” she said and folded into his embrace. “Merci.”

  Try as she might, Peggy couldn’t stop searching the shoreline for either Luc or Jenkins. At half past one in the afternoon, her spyglass spotted a very fat Arabian man dressed all in white; white turban, white coat, white baggy pants, and even white pointed shoes that glittered in the sunlight, making Peggy think they were covered in precious stones. He was being assisted into a regally decked out single mast boat by at least a dozen equally ostentatiously dressed men. And each one was armed with one of the long scimitars the soldiers and guards tended to carry.

  “Papa,” Peggy called out.

  “Oui,” he hollowed back belligerently.

  She lowered her spyglass and turned and glared at him. He probably thought she was going to start another argument about leaving the ship before sunset. “I think we are about to have a visitor.”

  “Who?” He demanded.

  Peggy turned back towards the shoreline and affixed her spyglass on the proceedings onboard the large boat. “I believe that the Pasha is about to pay us a visit.”

  She didn’t need to look to know what Joc was doing, he was probably watching the circus on shore as she was. “Enculer!” Joc snarled.

  She replied without lowering her glass. “You knew they would eventually want to board. I’m jist surprised it has taken them so long to do so.”

  “I am too,” he replied. “Which makes me wonder why ‘e doin’ so now.”

  She lowered her glass and looked over at him. “So am I.” The heaviness that had settled in her chest last night grew. “And I don’t think it is a coincidence that he’s coming the same day Luc and Mr. Jenkins has disappeared.

  “Aye,” Joc said. He then turned to Edgar. “Beat to quarters, Mr. Morton.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain Malveaux,” Edgar replied and started to turn around, but was stopped by Joc.

  “And Mr. Morton.”

  Edgar stopped and turned back around.

  “Prime the forward and aft guns. If this turns into a shooting match, I’ll want to lay low those blockade boats and be under sail as soon as they are cleared out of the way.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Edgar called as he took off running again.

  He looked at Peggy, and she saw the determination in his eyes. “If it comes to it, girl, we’ll set to sea and then land up the coast and work our way back.”

  She nodded. They had discussed that strategy the day the gunboats had taken up a position, boxing them in. It was one that Luc was familiar with and would know to look for them further down the coast near Zanzur.

  The wait became endless as it seemed to take forever for the fat man and his entourage to get ready to sail the short distance out to the Coral Sea. And Peggy was still betting that the man was Tripoli’s ruler, and that he was headed for them. And sure enough, forty-five minutes after they had begun boarding the large boat, they set sail directly towards the Coral Sea.

  “Captain,” Edgar yelled from the fo’c’sle.

  “Aye, Mr. Morton,” Joc yelled back.

&
nbsp; “One of them gun boats is tacking to meet that one headed toward us,” Edgar reported. “Looks like they is goin’ intercept them off our port.”

  Cole yelled up the back of the quarter deck, “Same thing ‘ere, Captain. One of them boats that’s done had us penned in is movin’ toward the one approachin’ off the port.”

  Peggy looked at the seaman then turned and contemplated Joc. “I’m beginning to get the idea that those boats do not belong to the Pasha.”

  “Aye,” Joc replied. He watched the two gunboats maneuver in a way to put the large boat with the Pasha on it directly in the sights of the guns. “I think we been cursing the wrong mon, girl. I believe these boats belong to Guerrant and not the Tripoli’s Pasha. And I don’t think Guerrant wants the Pasha comin’ on board the Coral Sea.”

  Peggy gazed back then nodded. “Not without him, at least. And I didn’t see anyone that looked European board the boat. Did you?”

  He shook his head. “This ought to be interestin’.”

  The boat maneuvered into a position off their port side and dropped anchor. The very large Arabian man was seated on a dais in the middle of the boat on what suspiciously looked like a throne.

  “Mr. Malveaux,” the man hollered across at them in a heavy Arabian accent. His tone was cordial. Almost jovial, as if he was arriving at a fancy ball and not a pirate ship being guarded by four gun boats.

  “Yes,” Joc yelled back. “I’m the first mate of the Coral Sea.”

  “Yes, I know,” the man said and a tremor of trepidation shook Peggy.

  The man turned and looked directly at Peggy, making her feel as if she was standing on the quarter deck naked.

  “Your captain is a prisoner of Mr. Guerrant. As is the English earl you are here to free, a prisoner of mine.” He was replying to Joc, but his eyes never left Peggy, devouring her like a hungry lion.

  Peggy moved closer to Joc, and the man tracked her every step. “Papa,” she said under her breath, “do you think Guerrant has Luc?”

  “I don’t know, little one. But I do not trust this man. I think he eez lying. But I don’t know about what.”

  Her first instinct was to lash out. But something didn’t feel right about what the man was saying. “I agree, there is something amiss here.”

  “Aye,” he said. “And I fear I know what it is. He is not ‘ere to talk about either votre père or yer husband. He is ‘ere to look at you.”

  Another tremor wafted down her back. “I was thinking the same thing, Papa.”

  She saw Joc glance to the left and then the right. He then scowled at the obese Arabian man across from them. She followed his glances then glared at the man across from them.

  “And I think this mon, he is not bothered by Guerrant’s show of force.”

  “Nor do I think he is here to board us. He did not bring enough men for that,” Peggy said as she watched the activities onboard the smaller boat.

  “I think you are correct, little one. He is ‘ere to appraise his prize. And I also think, ye are the prize this one is after,” he said under his breath then called over to the Pasha. “What do ye be wantin’?”

  The man licked his lips while staring straight at Peggy, and she felt sick to her stomach. She had long heard about men like this one. And she had heard horrible stories about this one in particular.

  “A trade, Mr. Malveaux. The fifty thousand pounds in gold you have in your hold.” The man’s eyes finally moved back to Joc, but Peggy still felt violated for the way he had been looking at her. “And to ask you and your lovely companion there to join me for dinner tonight. I have been most distressed that you have not accepted any of my other invitations.”

  They were both quiet as they thought about what to say. Had the Pasha recaptured her father? And was Guerrant now holding Luc prisoner?

  “We’ll want to see the both of them afore we’ll deal with either of ye,” Joc demanded.

  The Pasha shook his head. “I am no fool, Mr. Malveaux. It would not be wise of me to bring my prisoner here for you to see.” He rubbed his bearded chin. “I believe you would try to take him back rather than pay for him, as you and the English government have agreed to do. So it is wiser for both of us if you come to my palace to see him.”

  “He’s lying,” Peggy hissed.

  “Hush, little one,” Joc hissed back.

  She turned her back on the Pasha and glared up at Joc. “No, I will not. He would let us see him if he had my father.”

  “Do you think I do not know this? I am not stupid,” Joc shot back.

  “I did not say that. But I will not give this man anything until I see Luc,” Peggy insisted.

  He gave her a searching look as he narrowed his eyes. “And your father? Or do you no longer care if we find and kill your father?”

  “I want them both back,” she snapped. But in truth she no longer cared if they got her father free. Or if she got her revenge. She wanted Luc back, alive.

  “I will have my revenge,” she said, but even to her own ears, it was a weak protest. “And I will have my husband back. Otherwise, I will not give this man or Guerrant anything but a broadside from our guns.”

  Joc glared at her, and she knew he could see her wavering on her vow of revenge. But she didn’t care. Peggy wanted Luc safe. She would worry about her revenge after he was back on board the Coral Sea.

  Eventually, Joc nodded and turned to the Pasha. He yelled over, “And I think it would be unwise of me to give you zee money until I have seen that these men are alive.”

  “I do not hold your captain, Mr. Malveaux. And the money in your hold was not for two men. It was just for one. The English earl I now hold.”

  Joc shook his head. “Guerrant is a friend of yours, your Majesty. And he eez in your country. I think he will bring our captain ‘ere, if you ask ‘im to.”

  “Perhaps,” the Pasha agreed. “But I think I will not do that, Mr. Malveaux. His business with your captain is none of my affair.”

  “It eez if you want what is in my hold,” Joc shot back.

  “You think I cannot take what is mine if I want to?” the Pasha said and laughed.

  Joc shook his head then pointed to the two boats shadowing his. “I think ye partner will not like that, your Majesty. Nor do I think ‘e knows that ye is ‘ere tryin’ to make a trade without him.”

  “Ohhh,” the man called back and then laughed again. “I am not concerned about Mr. Guerrant. I am Pasha of Tripoli, and in control of a vast army and many war ships. Mr. Guerrant, he fights against the desert wind if he chooses to challenge me. He is of no concern of mine. Or of yours, Mr. Malveaux.” He flicked his hand toward the boats bracketing him. “These, these are nothing, I assure you. If I wanted to take your ship, they would not stop me. I let Mr. Guerrant play his games because they amuse me. But I have grown bored with the game. So,” his eyes flickered to Peggy again, “I will put an end to it. Dine with me tonight, Mr. Malveaux.” He turned back to Peggy and nodded his head. “And bring your lovely companion.” His voice lost all of the friendliness it had had. “And Mr. Malveaux, I fear,” he turned back to Joc, “I must insist.”

  With that he began issuing a number of orders in Arabic. Men on the bow of the boat immediately began hauling up the anchor. The two gunboats did as well, and the one in front began moving out of the way. Peggy and Joc remained rooted to the quarterdeck until the Pasha’s boat had sailed off. But it didn’t turn back toward the city, it headed west along the coast. So the two of them followed its progress until it disappeared from sight.

  “Do you think Guerrant has Luc?” Peggy asked.

  “I don’t know. But I think he might.” He turned and looked at her. “I think it is why this Pasha has paid us a visit today. He must know that Guerrant will make his move soon. And I fear, little one, that you are what both of them now want.”

  They had talked about this possibility. She had been told Chevalier had demanded she bring the gold because she was the earl’s daughter and could be trusted to c
ome back with the money. Neither of them had believed that from the beginning. But until Chevalier had confirmed their fears, they had not known for sure. That it was Guerrant and not Chevalier who had had the ulterior motives still did not answer what exactly they wanted with her.

  She thought about it, then nodded. “Aye. I don’t need a crystal ball to figure out what the Pasha intends with me. And from what Chevalier told us, I don’t imagine that Guerrant wants to invite me to have dinner with him.”

  “So what do you want to do?” Joc asked.

  She turned and looked at the shoreline and the city of Tripoli. “Luc was going to check the trade routes to the east of here last night.” Peggy looked back up at Joc. “So I say, as soon as Longfort and Edgar are back on board, we blast our way past Guerrant’s boats, sail over toward Zanzur, and start our search for him and Matthew from there.”

  Joc solemnly nodded. “Aye, little one. That is what I am thinkin’ too.”

  Chapter 36

  Luc followed the man he was sure was the Earl of Kiterman back to the tent he had been left in. When they entered, he looked around and realized it was an opulently appointed tent, with dozens of large pillows scattered about the perimeter and silk curtains blowing gently in the breeze. A large fire pit was dug out in the center with a circle of blackened rocks encircling the pit. A large table was to one side of the tent, while situated at the back was a one foot raised dais with pillows and two small short tables.

  “The tea is not very good, I fear,” the man said. “But these fellows are much better at coffee than tea.”

  “Coffee would be fine with me. Lord Kiterman?” Luc said and saw the man flinch ever so slightly.

  The man turned and regarded Luc for an eternity. “Have you had the coffee they serve here, mister?” the man asked.

  Luc noticed the man hadn’t acknowledged the address. “I have, milord. It is quite good. And it is Captain Lord Lucien Stoughton, of His Majesty’s Army.”

  “Ah, that explains a few things,” the man said. He then called out in Arabic and one of the Bedouin tribesmen entered from the back of the tent through an opening Luc had not seen before. A short, quick conversation occurred in Arabic and then the tribesman turned and left quickly.