The Reaper (Pirates of the Coast Book 8)

by Barbara Devlin

  “Aye.” Her less than gallant rescuer, his hair still wet and matted from his impromptu swim, downed his rum in a single swallow. “And I want to know who attacked you and why, because he may discover he failed to kill you and try again.”

  “I had not thought of that.” She was not sure if it was the injury to her head or the rum that clouded her perception, but an invisible haze enveloped her in a fog of uncertainty mixed with fear. “Whatever am I going to do?”

  “I have a friend who maintains a home on the island. He is here, with his wife, and you will be safe with them, until we learn who tried to send you to Davy Jones’ Locker.” Blade snatched the rum from her grasp, drained the last of the horrendous drink, and set the glass on the desk. “I sent one of my men to secure a hack, and once you are dressed in dry clothes we will make the journey.”

  A knock at the door snared her attention, and Dempsey entered the cabin.

  “Cap’n, I have a shirt, breeches, and boots for the lady.” Dempsey peered at her and dipped his chin. “Ma’am.”

  “Hello.” She responded in kind. “And I am much obliged, sir.”

  “Prepare the jolly boat, and let me know when Doyle returns with the hack.” When Dempsey saluted and made for the door, Blade turned to her. “All right, Miss Charitye. Do you require my assistance, or can you dress yourself?”

  “If you will loosen my laces, I think I can manage on my own, Mr. Reyson.” She extended a hand, and he took hers in his, as he helped her from the bunk. Once again, the room spun, and she stumbled, but he caught her.

  Tucked in his embrace, she stared into his blue eyes and found reassurance and comfort in his expression, and he frowned. Despite his disheveled appearance and intimidating stature, he did not frighten her.

  Oh, no.

  She was not sure why she did it, but she relaxed in his hold and rested her head to his chest. Perhaps, it was because she needed his kindness just then, and he did not disappoint her. Immediately, his grip tightened about her.

  “You are safe, Miss Charitye.” Shifting, he cupped her cheek and grazed her flesh with his thumb. “I promise, I will let no one hurt you.”

  “I believe you, Mr. Reyson, and I am grateful for your support.” After he tugged on the gown, the heavy fabric sank to her waist, and she fought to cover herself but almost fell to the floor. “Oh, dear.”

  “Bloody hell.” Moving swift and sure, he yanked the gown to her ankles. “This is no time for modesty, Miss Charitye, and I will avert my gaze, if it makes you feel better, but I must get you out of those wet clothes.”

  Stunned into silence by his bold behavior, she abided his unspoken commands, as he stared at the floor and held up the shirt. Stripped free of her chemise, she bent and pulled the stained garment made of lawn over her shoulders. Standing, he pushed her back to the bunk, grabbed the breeches, knelt, and steadied her, as she donned the stiff leather, which fit her like a glove—an indecent glove.

  “Now, slip your feet into these boots.” She did as he directed, and then he stretched upright. From a locker, he pulled a greatcoat, which he drew about himself. Then he retrieved a wool cloak and returned to her. “This should keep you warm for the trip to Fair Winds.”

  “Cap’n, the hack is at the docks,” Dempsey called from the corridor.

  “We will be right there.” Clutching her hand, Blade steadied her as she stood, but the boots were too big and threw her off balance. When she swayed, he cursed under his breath, bent, and swept her into his arms.

  As they navigated the lower deck, Charitye noted the dirty boards and untidy accommodations. In that moment, a contrasting image of a neat and clean ship flashed in her mind, and she winced.

  “What is it?” Blade inquired, as they stepped into the cold night air. “Is something wrong?”

  “I know not.” She blinked and buried her face in the curve of his neck, as the wind sliced through her humble garb, and she shuddered. “You were right to insist I change clothes, because I am chilled to the marrow.”

  To her surprise, he said nothing, as he passed her to a sailor. Blade climbed down a ladder and then reached for her. In the jolly boat, he settled her in his lap, and she would have protested if not for the gale that threatened to capsize the small vessel. Instead, she clung to her savior, steadfast in the belief that he would not let her drown, and he voiced no complaints.

  At the docks, he carried her with him as he stood and ascended to the boards. He remained noticeably silent when he lifted her into the small equipage, and she eased to the squabs. To her chagrin, he took a position opposite her, and she longed for his warmth, as the wind whistled and thrummed through the tiny enclosure.

  “Drive on,” he shouted, as he pounded his fist to the ceiling, and the hack lurched forward. “Fair Winds is on the leeward side of the island, and the roads are clear, so we should arrive before my friend retires for the night.”

  “How do you know him?” Another gust blew through the open window, and she hugged herself, but her teeth chattered. “Is he a l-lifelong a-acquaintance?”

  “By all what’s holy and unholy, may someone burn and sink me.” In that instant, he lunged, grabbed her by the waist, and yanked her none too gently into his lap. Shuffling her, he spread wide the opening of his greatcoat and draped the folds about her. “Better?”

  “Much.” She sniffed. “But I take it from your shocking oath that you regret assisting me. If you prefer, you make convey me to town, and I will seek relief from the governor’s office.”

  “No,” he replied in a clipped tone. “And I do not regret saving you. I just realized that something my friend once told me bears a remarkable resemblance to our current situation, and he will never let me forget it.”

  “How so?” She shifted closer and sighed, as Blade warmed her.

  “Will you sit still?” He groaned, when she wiggled her hips.

  “I apologize, but I am a tad out of sorts, as it has been an unusual night, to say the least.” The tears she kept at bay at last fell, and she clutched fistfuls of his shirt. “What is going to become of me, if I cannot remember my past, Mr. Reyson?”

  “Shh.” He cradled her head. “By fire and flame, I will keep you safe.”

  Chapter Two

  It was late when the hack passed through the stone gates of the Fair Winds, and they progress along a long and sandy drive, lined with palm trees. A light shone from a single window on the second floor of the large, two-story house with six massive columns spanning the front, a balcony rimmed by wrought iron railing at top center, and black shutters framing each window.

  A flash of light illuminated the earth, and heavy rain fell, as the driver drew the team to a halt. Resting, soft and feminine in Blade’s arms, Charitye did not stir; as he turned the latch and kicked open the door. Careful, so as not to disturb her, he lifted her and stepped to the ground. As he approached the entry stairs, the front door flung open, and Jean Marc appeared at the threshold.

  “Reyson, what are you doing here?” Holding a candlestick, Jean Marc glanced over Blade’s shoulder. “Is Dr. Sampson with you?” Then he noted Charitye. “Blast your deadlights, but you cannot bring your whore into my home.”

  “Hold your miserable tongue, Cavalier, because she is no whore.” Blade swept into the foyer, just as an angelic creature, bedecked in some sort of frilly robe, descended a grand staircase. “Er, Jean Marc. I think you are summoned.”

  “What?” Jean Marc turned, spied what Blade assumed was Mrs. Cavalier, and stiffened. “Merde. Merde. Merde. Mon Chou, what are you doing out of bed?”

  “Do not take that tone with me, Jean Marc Cavalier, and you know I do not like it when you swear.” The brown-haired goddess glided to Jean Marc’s side and smiled. “Will you not introduce me to your friends?”

  “No, because they were just leaving.” Jean Mark eased his arm about her waist and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “And you need rest, love.”

  “Ah, I adore it when you dote on me, but you cannot summon that
poor doctor every time I sneeze.” Madalene studied Charitye and then met Blade’s stare. “I gather you are Mr. Reyson, but who is with you, and how was she injured?”

  “Mrs. Cavalier, I mean no disrespect, but this young lady was attacked at the docks, and she requires care I am unprepared to give.” At that moment, Charitye woke and wrinkled her cute little nose. “Do not be afraid, Miss Charitye, because these are my friends.”

  “Good heavens, Jean Marc, would you cast them into the storm?” Madalene snapped her fingers. “Wake Miss Hannah, and order a hot bath, while I show our guests to my old room.”

  “You are going to drive me to an early grave.” Jean Marc grumbled, as he continued down a dark hall.

  “Stop swearing, else you may sleep on the chaise in the sitting room.” Madalene humphed and peered at Blade. “Do not let him fool you, because he is a loving, charitable man. Now, follow me.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Cavalier.” Blade remained in her wake, as they ascended to the second floor.

  “Please, do not stand on formality with me, if you are to sign the pact and take employment with my family business.” With one arm, Madalene hugged her huge belly and at the landing veered to the right. “My friends call me Maddie, and I should be honored to claim you as such. But Jean Marc didn’t tell me you were married.”

  “Oh, Miss Charitye is not my wife.” Blade shuddered at the mere suggestion. “I just happened to witness her attack and saved her.”

  “So she owes you her life.” In a well-appointed chamber, Madalene lit a candelabrum. “You know, that is how I met Jean Marc. He sailed into my world, at my darkest hour, and rescued me from certain death. It is strange how one seemingly insignificant twist of fate can change your entire future, is it not?”

  “Indeed, Maddie.” At a large four-poster, Blade deposited Charitye on the bed. When he tried to withdraw, she grabbed his hand. “It is all right. As I told you, I will protect you.” To Maddie, he said, “She was struck on the head, and the injury has affected her memory.”

  “How awful.” Maddie came to sit beside Charitye. “I know how it feels to have everything familiar turned asunder, and you are welcome to stay here, as long as you need. And my worrisome husband summoned a doctor, so help is on the way, Miss Charitye.”

  “Thank you, Maddie.” A single tear slid down Charitye’s cheek. “And please, it is Charitye, or so we believe, although I cannot say.”

  “Miss Hannah has rallied the troops,” Jean Marc stated, as he entered the room. “The boys are carrying up a tub.”

  “You are wonderful.” Maddie canted her head, and Jean Marc arched a brow. “Now, why don’t you take Blade downstairs and enjoy a brandy, while I tend Charitye?”

  “I would argue that you need tending, but I know it is pointless.” Jean Marc rolled his eyes and smacked Blade on the shoulder. “Come. Let us adjourn to my study.”

  “But—you are not leaving.” Charitye stood and swayed, and he just barely caught her. Immediately, she wrapped her arms about him so tight he could scarcely draw breath. “At least, not without saying goodbye.”

  “I will be downstairs.” He lifted her to the mattress and pried free of her embrace. “If you need me, send for me.” With that, he trailed Jean Marc through the expansive home, with its posh décor and expensive furnishings. “My friend, you live the good life.”

  “Thanks to Maddie.” At a side table, Jean Marc poured brandy from a crystal decanter, into two shimmering balloons. “Because I would have none of this without her.”

  “You are a fortunate man, and your wife is beautiful.” Blade doffed his great coat and sat in a high back chair near the hearth, as Jean Marc stoked a blaze. “I understand why you were willing to give up the life, for her.”

  “I imagine you do, given you have found your own special lady.” That was it. That was the barb for which Blade had been waiting. “Despite the sailor togs and the nasty bump on her head, Charitye is a prime piece.”

  “She is not my special lady.”

  “Of course, not.”

  “I am merely helping her.”

  “Of course, you are.”

  “I have no intentions of marrying her.”

  “Of course, you don’t.”

  “And once I discover who tried to kill her, I will leave her.”

  “Of course, you will.”

  “Bone-rot you, Jean Marc, stop agreeing with me.” Blade scowled and stretched his booted feet. “Although I am going to sign the pact with the English, I remain a wanted man, and I cannot, in good conscience bring an innocent woman into the situation—not that such lunacy ever crossed my mind.”

  “Who do you think you are fooling?” Slapping his thighs, Jean Marc burst into laughter. “Do you think me blind? I saw how you looked at her and how you handled her. Mon Ami, whether or not you realize or admit it, you have been had.”

  “I have not.” Blade gritted his teeth against further denials, because he doubted his ability to deliver them in a convincing fashion. “As I said, I just want to help her.”

  “Why?” Jean Marc had to ask the one question Blade could not answer. “You are a pirate. You have left others in worse predicaments. Why do you wish to help this woman? What do you know of her?”

  “In truth, I know very little about her, except that someone wants her dead.” Blade recounted the ugly scene at the docks, sparing no detail. “I thought robbery the motive behind the attack, but the bastard left behind her purse.” He drew the small velvet pouch from his coat pocket and emptied the contents on a small table, and Jean Marc whistled at the sight of the pile of gold coins. “It makes no sense.”

  “Your lady is a woman of means, and money is a powerful inducement.” Jean Marc gazed into the flames. “When I met Maddie, there was a bounty on her head. Her worthless English father wanted her estate, which she inherited from her mother’s family. As an American, Maddie could hold property, and everything was left to her, much to her sire’s chagrin, so he conspired to murder his own daughter and claim her fortune. I shudder to think of what would have happened to her, had he succeeded, and all that I have now would not exist without her.”

  “When you saved her, did you feel—”

  “Invincible?” Jean Marc cast a side-glance at Blade. “There is nothing like it, is there?”

  “I swear, when I pulled Charitye from the water, it was as though I had conquered the world.” And when he dressed her, he fought an overwhelming desire unlike any he had ever tasted, and he wanted her, but he would not tell Jean Marc that. “She clings to me. In all my years, never has anyone embraced me with such intensity. She believes in me.”

  “And you crave it, already.” Jean Marc chuckled. “Do not lie.”

  “We come from two different backgrounds, and I have no plans to take a wife.” Leaning forward, Blade rested elbows to knees. “And she is the marrying sort, if I ever saw one.”

  “So you do not deny that you want her.” Jean Marc eased back in his chair. “And you think it impossible to find common interests, when Maddie and I stand before you to prove otherwise.”

  “Not that I am interested, but how did you negotiate your relationship with your wife, because now that I have seen her I am even more baffled.” Blade exhaled in frustration. “I mean, you no longer wear your patch, and she issued orders, which you obeyed without protest. How did that happen, and are you truly happy?”

  “As I told you earlier this evening, I am in love with my wife, and the singular emotion makes you do things you never imagined doing.” Jean Marc grinned. “It is a compromise, Mon Ami. There are tradeoffs, which make those moments of capitulation well worthwhile.”

  “So you are content?” Blade rubbed his chin. “You never miss the days of running a ship to heave-to and seizing booty?”

  “I never miss any part of it, and you could say I seize a priceless booty, now.” Jean Marc’s sly expression gave rise to so many questions. “But to elaborate would be ungentlemanly, and I try to be a gentleman, at least in
public, for my bride.”

  In that moment, an aged servant entered the study. “Mr. Cavalier, Dr. Sampson just arrived.”

  “Thank you, Miss Hannah.” Jean Marc stood, emptied his glass of brandy, and set it on his desk. “Come, Reyson. Let us tend our ladies.”

  Another jab at Blade’s expensive.

  In the foyer, a bespectacled man with white hair carried a telltale black bag.

  “Mr. Cavalier, I came as soon as I got your note, but the roads are treacherous with all this rain.” The doctor nodded once. “How is Mrs. Cavalier?”

  “She insists she if fine, but I would prefer you examine her.” Jean Marc ushered the Dr. Sampson to the stairs. “And we have an injured guest in need of immediate care.”

  In haste, Jean Marc relayed the details of Charitye’s condition, as well as the resulting symptoms.

  “So she cannot remember her name?” Dr. Sampson furrowed his brow. “And she has no idea from where she hails?”

  “No,” Blade replied. “We discovered her name written on a piece of paper, in her purse. There was a receipt for a room at the Port Royal Inn, and I will question the innkeeper about her identity.”

  “Such memory loss is not unheard of, and often it is temporary, as the patient improves.” At the door to Charitye’s chamber, Jean Marc knocked once and entered, and the doctor followed. “I should like to examine the lady, with Mrs. Cavalier as chaperone.”

  “Then I should go.” Blade neared the bed, to bid farewell to his charge. Garbed in a satin nightgown, with her brown hair draped about her shoulders, Charitye presented a powerful temptation, so he resolved not to kiss her hand. “You look much improved, and I am sure a good night’s rest will do much to help you heal.”

  “You are leaving me?” Her bottom lip quivered, and tears welled in her brown eyes, and Blade clenched his jaw. “No. You must stay. I cannot be without you. Did you not promise to protect me?”

  “Charitye, you will be fine—”