“You…you are so beautiful and brave and—”
“Thank you,” she interrupted, flushing. “But the point is, whatever it is that must lie between a man and woman for a true lifetime of passion…it doesn’t exist between us, though I hope and pray I shall find such passion one day.”
Brendan didn’t know what to say. He felt awkward and uneasy. They were so close. She was touching him.
She was beyond beautiful, and though he knew she was afraid, she spoke and acted with nothing but courage, courage that was all the more amazing because she was afraid.
He stood quickly, almost knocking his head on the low ceiling. “I should leave you to your rest.”
“Wait, please.”
He looked at her quizzically, once again at an uncharacteristic loss for words.
She straightened her shoulders. “I would be eternally grateful if you would teach me something about self-defense. I doubt if I could learn to master a sword in a matter of hours, but perhaps…I don’t even know the mechanism of a pistol.”
“It will be my pleasure,” he assured her, grateful for something useful to do. And it might well prove useful indeed, for as much as he longed to, he could not promise her that she would never need to know the workings of a firearm.
He pulled one of the pistols from his belt. “The sad truth is that pistols must be reloaded—even those with several barrels. This one will allow you five shots, but you must take care and count as you fire, for you don’t want to be wondering how many are left. But here…” He paused and drew a dagger. “Here is a weapon that you should keep upon your person. A pistol is best at a distance. When a man is rushing you, a dagger is what you need. If it comes to a hand-to-hand combat—if a man were to come through that door, for example—you would shoot first, then discard your gun, and be ready with a blade. If a man doesn’t know you’ve got a dagger, you can allow him to come close, pretending fear, and then…strike. You must aim below the rib cage, and be hard, fast and certain.”
Her hand curled around the dagger, and she frowned. “Like…this?”
She demonstrated a hard thrust into the air.
He slipped his hand over hers. “Aye, but see…” He used his body to show her where to strike. “You must bring him down quickly and completely.”
His hand was still on hers when she looked up and nodded. And then he stared down into her eyes and was lost.
RED STOOD face-to-face again with the man who had turned the beauty of life into a sea of death for her, with years of hell to follow. She could throw the stool, but she knew he would barely notice, and it would only serve to make him angrier, which would not bode well for her future health—or life.
She set the stool down.
She needed a better weapon. She desperately needed to get her hands on a knife. She had to play for time so she could find…something.
“Wise move, my dear,” he said, then walked toward his desk, keeping his distance from her, which surprised her. Then, with a small jolt of pleasure, she realized he was wary of her.
There was a half-full rum bottle sitting on the desk; he picked it up, his eyes on her, and took a long swig. She didn’t move.
“You killed one of my men,” he said at last. “Well, you killed several, since I imagine those who drowned can be credited to you, as well.”
“I killed men who should have been hanged. You killed men who only wanted to live in peace.”
“I killed vermin who opposed their rightful king,” he said pleasantly.
“Do you really believe that?” she asked.
He pointed a finger at her. “You have found a way to influence this wretched Red Robert.”
“I have,” she agreed.
He set the rum bottle down. “The question is, what shall I do with you now?”
“There is no question,” she said.
“Oh?”
“Red Robert’s ship is bearing down upon you even now. One way or the other, his crew will sink you.”
“You haven’t studied ships, my dear. If you had done so, you would know that my hull is thick and can ward off cannon fire.”
“And the sloop following you can sail circles around you.”
His face darkened with anger. “Even as a child, you were ill-tempered and stubborn, and you did not know your place.”
“I knew my place very well. I watched as you murdered my parents, and delighted in killing small babes and wee children. I watched you set fire to my place. I watched it burn down. I smelled the roasting of human flesh.”
“’Tis a pity you are such a pleasing package—in shape and from a distance. On the one hand, I think I should deal with you quickly—hang you from the yardarm. On the other hand, I think I should have you hog-tied, and then delight in cutting strip after strip of flesh from your body, adding salt as I slice. Then again…I am a greedy man. And you are worth a great deal alive. I know men—in Morocco, for instance. Men of the most…intriguing tastes. They do manage to get full use out of a young woman before she ages…or dies. So…what shall I do?”
She almost shrank back when he lifted his hand.
“See this scar?” he asked, indicating the angry red marks across his hand. “Do you remember how I got that?”
“No.”
“Your teeth, my dear. I almost bashed your head into a rock then and there. But…revenge was so much sweeter. Selling you to Lady Fotherington as I did, knowing she would extend your indenture over and over again…Then, that dear gentleman in France, with all his diseases, which you certainly would have come to share…He paid me such a handsome sum to see you brought to him. So no doubt you see my dilemma now. Hang you quick—or perhaps not so quickly, I believe I would want to watch you strangle to death—or delight in sentencing you to years of total humiliation and servitude. And where I would sell you now…they don’t endure obstinacy from any woman. You would learn that quickly. Minus a hand, an ear, an eye…oh, when they tire of you, they simply use you as slave labor.”
She tried very hard to keep her eyes fixed on his, trying hard not to betray any weakness. She needed to keep quiet.
She had hope, didn’t she?
What hope? Her heart sank.
Brendan wouldn’t sink the ship with her on it. And surely he knew that if he attempted to board her, Blair Colm would slit her throat before entering the fray himself.
He suddenly started walking toward her. “What I think would be most amusing is to see you so totally humiliated that all pride within you is killed first. Now, this is something you probably don’t know. I can inflict tremendous pain without leaving any evidence. I can hurt you…” He smiled cruelly. “And I think I will.”
She backed away from him.
For so long she had hoped this moment would come—but not like this. In her mind’s eye, she had not been at the mercy of a shipload of murderers. In her fantasies she had simply faced him and killed him—and she hadn’t cared that she would no doubt be killed in the next moment.
Now, though she indeed faced him, it was without weapons.
And now she longed to live.
How had she managed to find such a desperate desire to live after all this time, when now…
She circled around the desk, and her eye was caught by the bottle from which he had just taken that long swig.
Unaware of her intent, he followed her slowly, in no hurry to capture his trapped prey.
She reached for the bottle and smashed it against the edge of the desk, then brandished the jagged edge.
He laughed. “Oh, Roberta. If you draw so much as a drop of my blood, you will be sorry. You will simply increase my rage.”
“I’m not certain anything I can do will increase the horrors of what you intend for me,” she replied.
“Put it down.”
“Are you daft?”
A vein pulsed at his throat.
“I am fond of this coat. You had best take care.”
They could circle each other for a very long time, she
thought. He seemed unhurried in his efforts to torment her.
Good. She, too, longed for time.
Then, subtly, he increased his pace, and she knew he was about to lunge.
Time had run out—and long before she was ready. Still, she had no choice.
She made the first move, spinning and swiftly leaping toward him.
Desperation was her ally. Her lunge was true, and she aimed for his throat. She was certain that she hit him, hit him hard, but he was strong and cunning. He wasn’t quick enough to deflect her blow entirely, but he threw up an arm in time to save his jugular and send her flying across the cabin with the speed of a cannonball to smash against the rear wall.
He clasped a hand to his neck, staring at her with pure venom.
“You bitch.” He breathed slowly.
She scrambled up, bracing herself against the wall for strength as he came straight toward her.
His hand shot out, pinning her to the wall, his fingers lacing around her throat. Her air was instantly cut off.
She clawed at him, raking his face, feeling his blood beneath her fingers.
Then, just when she was losing consciousness, something thundered in the night, the ship shuddered with the force of the explosion, and they both went flying across the cabin.
LOGAN HAD WAITED. He’d watched.
At first the decks were busy with men everywhere trying to capture the wind and increase the ship’s speed. Then, once the sails were set, most of the activity had died down and the crew had dispersed to other tasks.
He’d peeked out from his cover and had seen men repairing canvas, while others replaced broken decking. Others went below, presumably to clean and prepare the cannons.
He’d seen at least two dozen men.
But he hadn’t seen Blair Colm.
And he hadn’t seen Red.
He had a sick feeling that both of them were in the captain’s cabin. There would be far too much activity below for the captain to be able to enjoy his vengeance there.
But the helm was near the captain’s cabin, with a huge man at the wheel, and it would be impossible to get by him unnoticed.
There were still barrels of gunpowder topside, and he decided to try to buy himself entry to the cabin with a diversion.
He watched for his moment and seized it, slipping from cover and racing to grab a length of match cord near a rear swivel gun. As soon as he had it, he hurried to a barrel of gunpowder, set and lit the fuse, and returned to his hideout.
In seconds, the barrel exploded. Flames shot everywhere, inciting chaos.
“COLM’S AFIRE!” Jimmy O’Hara shouted down from the crow’s nest.
Brendan heard him from the master’s cabin. With Cassandra following, he burst out on the deck to see that Colm’s ship was indeed on fire. They could see the flames shooting higher and higher, until the sails, too, were ablaze.
“More sail!” Brendan ordered. “Man the guns!”
“We’ve not seen the flare!” Peg-leg cried out.
“I don’t give a damn,” Brendan responded. “Close in on her. Hard!”
STUNNED, GASPING for breath, Red blinked furiously and tried to clear her head. She saw that she had landed next to the desk.
She didn’t see Blair Colm at first, and then she watched in shock as he leapt to his feet and rushed to the door, heedless of her presence.
He didn’t even think to shut it as he raced out.
She flew after him, hesitating at the doorway. There was a man down right outside the cabin—and he was burning. She reached down quickly for the knife at his waist, then looked around to see men everywhere, many of them screaming with pain. She heard a noise and looked up to see the mainmast crack and start to fall.
She quickly leapt away from the cabin just in time to save herself.
Fires were burning everywhere.
More men were screaming.
“Bobbie!”
She heard her name and was sure she was dreaming….
But she wasn’t.
She shouted his name in return.
Logan suddenly burst through a wall of fire and smoke, racing toward her. A man, his face so blackened with smoke that he was unrecognizable, stepped between them and drew a sword.
Logan drew a pistol and shot him dead, then stepped over the body to reach her. “We have to get to the stern and jump. It’s dangerous, but it’s the only way,” he told her.
She stared at him, still fighting off disbelief that he had come for her.
She had been dying, literally dying, with her enemy’s hands closing around her throat, and then…
“Blair Colm,” she said.
“Forget him! We have to get off this ship. Now!”
He drew her back into the smoke, which helped to camouflage their escape. Logan had a sword, and he slashed their way through anyone who accosted them. When someone grabbed her from behind, she remembered her own weapon and broke his hold with a wild cut.
At last they reached the stern. She was stunned when Logan set off a flare. He had just lifted her to the rail when she cried out a warning. A man was looming behind him, a boarding ax raised high to strike. Logan ducked, and the ax thudded against the rail. Red let out a long scream as she lost her balance and went flying overboard.
She hit the water, which was like breaking through a hard floor from that height, and plunged into the depths. Then the survival instinct took over, and she kicked with all her strength, her lungs burning as she fought toward the firelight that marked the surface.
She made it, gasping, and heard the roar of a cannon. Treading water, she saw that a cannonball had struck hard and true, toppling the mainmast of Blair Colm’s ship.
Another struck, and another….
And then Blair Colm’s ship fired back.
She swam hard, knowing she had to get out from between the ships or risk being crushed. As she swam, she looked desperately around, praying with each rise and fall of the waves that she would see Logan’s face.
But she did not.
THE MAN WHO had wielded the ax stepped back, seeking another weapon. He grinned, hoisted a spar and flew at Logan.
Logan danced away, calculating his opponent’s reach and weapon. He didn’t think he could shatter the spar with his sword, so he kept dancing, allowing his opponent to tire himself out following. Then he lunged, ducking beneath the spar to skewer the man through the middle. With shock in his eyes, the attacker fell back, clutching his gut, and sank down to the deck. Logan turned quickly and raced for the aft rail. Then a knife hurtled past him from behind, so close that he felt it brush by.
He turned.
Blair Colm stood mere feet away across the deck.
He stared at Logan and slowly unsheathed his sword.
The man’s ship was afire, his crew running about in a panic…
But the man looked completely calm. Heedless of the insanity around him.
“And who might you be?” he asked Logan.
“Logan Haggerty. Laird Logan Haggerty.”
“I know that name,” Blair said. “A young pup—grown older now, but I’d recognize you anywhere, Haggerty, you’re the spittin’ image of your father!—who thinks he’s quite the man. Well then, Laird Haggerty, come die like a man.”
“I won’t be the one dying,” Logan warned.
“You’ll die, just as all the little rats who oppose me die. You had it all, you ungrateful whelp. A man who raised you well. An inheritance you never deserved. I gave you all that.”
He was circling as he spoke, taunting Logan.
“You gave me all that?” Logan echoed. “No, what you gave me is the memory of my mother murdered, my land betrayed.”
“I gave you the will to fight!”
“My father, who defended his land and his people, gave me the will and the strength to fight. My mother, who had courage against all odds, showed me that a man is lost only when he has lost his soul.”
“Your father was a fool who could not see the truth of
what was. And your mother…Ah, what a poor, defenseless little wretch she was. She died so easily, and so quickly. I can still remember the feel of my blade in her flesh.”
Rage soared within Logan.
He fought it.
They were both playing games of the mind now, trying to make each other forget that a duel to the death had to be fought with a clear head.
Blair strode forward, and Logan quickly parried the man’s first thrust, jumping over a pile of rigging. Then he caught his balance and attacked.
Their swords clashed hard, then clashed again. As they disengaged to strike again, Logan saw that the other man was bleeding. His coat was ripped, and a bloodstain had appeared on his arm, matching the red rivulets that had trickled down his face and neck to his collar. Logan pressed his advantage and came on hard.
Again, steel met steel, and again both men backed away.
“So she’s your whore now,” Colm taunted. “I shall finish her off as soon as I’ve dispatched you—or perhaps you’d like to kill her yourself? You’ve been sharing her, you know—with that…bloody pirate, the wretched Red Robert.”
Blair Colm slashed down hard at him as he spoke, but Logan merely smiled and easily parried the blow.
“She does sleep with Red Robert. Every night,” he said.
His amusement seemed to touch off something in the other man.
Blair Colm strode forward, swinging hard.
Logan caught the blow with his own weapon.
They were locked together, both straining to shove the other off, to seize the advantage. Then, out of the corner of his eye, Logan saw that Blair Colm’s men were regrouping.
They should have been saving the ship.
But it was as if hatred was contagious. Blackened with soot, bleeding, limping, they were coming forward with swords to join their master in battle.
Logan gave a mighty shove, forcing Blair Colm to stumble several feet back, then leapt to the rail, knowing it was his only chance.
The Pirate Bride Page 25
