“What is this, Pulleine?” Jack demanded, rising slowly to his full height, taking care not to startle the man holding the pistol. “We have a deal.”
“No, we had deal.” Pulleine’s lips curled with undisguised derision, and Jack fisted his hands impotent fury pulsing through him with each heartbeat. “And you are no longer useful to me.” Pulleine dismissed him and turned his attention to one of his men. “Search the ship. Make sure you’ve got all of them. The slightest resistance, shoot them.”
His crew be rounded up and, true to Pulleine’s word, the merest hint of resistance and they received a ball between the eyes.
Jack tensed. Marie! He took a step forward, but the bayonet pricking his chest coerced him to stillness. He glared, praying silently that Marie had the good sense to hide. His prayers were in vain. Sounds of a scuffle came from the direction of his cabin, and fear and anxiety clawed at him. Would they put a bullet in her? A bead of sweat slid from his hairline and down his temple.
“We’ve got a duck in drake’s clothing ’ere, Governor!” a shout went up.
Jack willed his face to be made of stone, acid burning the back of his throat as interest lit Pulleine’s blue gaze.
“Indeed,” Pulleine drawled, carefully watching Jack and gauging his reaction. “Bring her here.”
There was nothing Jack could do to protect his wife with a musket pressed against his side. He would be blown away before he could even twitch his little finger. He ground his teeth; he didn’t want this sick fuck breathing the same air as his Marie. He swore if he lived through this, he would make them all wish they had never heard of the Black Scot.
The redcoat’s fingers cut into Marie’s arm. He forced her through the crowd, her gaze constantly scanning for Jack. Where was he? She spied him, and the weight on her chest lifted, and the air rushed back into her lungs. But what in the Almighty’s name was happening? A rough hand ripped away a bandanna, and her coiled braid unfurled, tearing her attention from Jack. Recoiling, she confronted the man who haunted her nightmares.
“Madame Hunter,” Pulleine oozed, and Marie fought a shiver of revulsion. “Returned from the dead.”
Pulleine captured the end of her braid and, wrapping it around his fist, yanked her head back. His finger grazed the skin of her cheek, and she tried to jerk her head away. Fiery fingers of pain burned her scalp.
Oh, sweet Mary, Jesus, and Joseph. Fear uncoiled in her belly, and she clenched her jaw and glared straight back. It was either that or cower, and this man would not see her afraid.
“As enchanting as ever.” He grinned, revealing black holes and dark stumps with missing teeth.
Her stomach churned. She flitted her eyes to Jack. His hands were bound behind him, and his jaw clenched. She was powerless to stop him.
Pulleine released her hair, and Marie choked down a whimper of relief. “Take her back to the cabin.”
“No!” Jack shouted, lunging forward, only to be restrained by two giants either side of him. “Your quarrel is with me, Pulleine, leave my wife out of this.”
“I’m afraid your wife and I have unfinished business, Hunter.”
“She has nothing to do this this.” Jack growled, “leave her alone.”
“Madame Hunter has everything to do with this.”
Marie closed her eyes, that sick feeling in her stomach growing. This was a bad dream, this wasn’t happening. It wasn’t happening.
“Have you been keeping secrets from your husband again?” The unbridled delight in Pulleine’s voice was a punch to Marie’s gut. “Does he even know what happened that night?”
“What are you talking about, Pulleine?” Jack snapped, his gaze shifting between Marie and Pulleine.
Pulleine’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment the jovial mask of a gentleman dropped away. “I mean that your little whore thought to start a small shipping business and cut me out!” He hissed. “After my more than generous arrangement, she needed to learn that nothing happens on Bermuda without my seal of approval. Do you know, she put up a hell of a fight? Though with child, she still managed to evade capture. Where is the brat?”
Marie trembled, and a familiar coldness sank into her limbs, and the world faded around her. This was not happening.
Jack’s face leeched of colour. “With…with child?” he choked out, his shocked gaze resting on Marie’s midsection.
Pulleine laughed lightly, the tinkling sound belonging in a London drawing room. “You didn’t know, Hunter?”
Marie lifted her chin and froze her emotionless expression in place.
“Your woman killed two of my men and ran into the jungle. Damn wish my men had even half her skill. The miserable bastards’ shots missed her.”
Marie’s eyes flared, and fury buoyed her, yanking her out of the beckoning abyss that would take her to a place where she couldn’t feel the pain. She had to fight. “They didn’t miss,” she snarled. “Give me a pistol or a knife, and I will be more than happy to demonstrate my skill again!”
“All in good time, my dear. You and I have unfinished business. After all, how does the daughter of pirate and a whore have the gall to reject me?”
“The same way I shoot vermin in a barrel—with ease,” she said drily.
A stuttered laugh rippled through the men, but it was short-lived.
Pulleine roughly seized her chin, harsh fingers digging into the hinge of her jaw and forcing her mouth open. “I’m going to enjoy breaking you, you know. The first thing I’m going to do is either cut that tongue out or put it to better use.”
Marie’s nose wrinkled in disgust, and she spat in his face. A glob of saliva slid down his ruddy cheek, and Pulleine’s eyes burned into her. He wiped it away with the back of his hand and then swung it at her. Pain exploding across her left cheek, Marie staggered under the blow, stunned, the metallic taste of blood rolling over her tongue. She was vaguely aware of Jack’s roar and the commotion going on deck. Despite her throbbing face, she shot him a watery smile that turned into a grimace with a confidence she did not feel, hoping to calm him.
“It’s…” Her voice failed her, and she swallowed hard against the ball lodged in her throat. “It’s all right, mon grand, I-I’m well.”
Jack’s jaw clenched, his dark eyes on fire.
“Leave her alone, Pulleine! Let her go.” Jack shouted.
One or two others of the crew shifted, clearly wanting a piece of the man.
Pulleine leered. “Don’t worry, Hunter, I’ll take good care of her.” His hand reached round, and through her loose shirt, he pinched her nipple and twisted, hard.
Sharp white pain shot through her breast, and she couldn’t hold back her cry. Jack’s eyes darkened, his nostrils flaring with impotent fury. Murderous was the only way to describe his expression when men led Marie away. “You harm a hair on her head, and I’ll cut out your heart and eat it.” Jack growled.
Marie shivered instinctively, recognising that tone. It wasn’t an empty threat, but a dark promise that he would put all his power behind.
Chapter 6
Marie paced, wearing a path in the floor, and she now knew the cabin was exactly fourteen paces from wall to wall. She had counted them over and over and still could see no way out. They were all going to die. She was stuck in this cabin, and the crew were rotting in the hull. She sank down on the edge of the narrow bed, the mattress giving under her weight, and stared at the door, unseeing. She had sacked every corner of the cabin and had found nothing but a single knife. It appeared Jack had taken precautions since the affair with the pistols. She rotated the blade in her hand; it was small and thin. She doubted she could do any real damage with it, and it had most likely been forgotten because it was useless. It would be like a bee stinging a bull, and then she would be left to face the horns. Nevertheless, she had wrapped her hair into a tight bun and secured in with the blade, the only place she could think to conceal it. What to do, what to do? Closing her eyes, Marie buried her head in her hands, letting darkness encase he
r and hoping that blocking out all other distractions would help her think. She had to do something! If she had her pistols, she’d shoot him between the eyes and put him down. What was she supposed to do, lie back and let him rape her while her husband waited for God knew what fate?
A ball lodged in her throat, and the door rattled. Marie lifted her head, blinking at the bright light stabbing at her eyes. Pulleine walked in with the proud strut of a victorious peacock, a man carrying a tray heavy with food following in his wake. Watching them with the wariness of a caged animal, she stood and backed up to the far side of the cabin, her being fairly humming with readiness. The nondescript man deposited the tray on the table, and Pulleine dismissed him with a lazy flick of his hand, his other clutching a bright-red garment. Scrunched up, she couldn’t make out what it was.
“Leave us. I don’t want to be disturbed. I will personally keel haul the first man who comes through that door before the sun has risen.”
The damn door was again bolted, and Marie ground her teeth. She was really beginning to hate that sound. Alone, Pulleine turned his attention to her for the first time, though she a prayed to remain invisible.
“I’ve brought you something, my dear.” He held up the red garment. A dress. A gaudy thing that was barely decent and belonged in a whorehouse. Where the hell had he got it from?
He flung it in Marie’s direction, and she caught it out of the air on instinct.
“Strip,” he growled, lounging in the chair, his eyes beaming into her, his mouth a lecherous grin.
Marie clutched the dress tighter to her chest, never had there been a more pitiful shield. Pulleine’s gaze trailed over her, lingering at her breasts and the tops of her thighs. Marie shuddered. A tonne of lead shot in her stomach at Pulleine’s obvious enjoyment. This was all about power. When her father had died, Pulleine offered to set her up, the understanding clear that she would be his mistress. She’d rather starve. Thankfully, it hadn’t come to that. Jack had proposed a marriage of convenience, and over time it had blossomed into love. She had rejected Pulleine, and now he wanted to make her feel powerless and insignificant. But she could play him, let him think she was beaten, and then when she saw her chance, she would strike.
Cool numbness flooded her body, and time slowed to that of molasses on a December morning. Marie turned her back to him and peeled the shirt over her head. Her fingers trembling badly, she struggled to don the dress, but at last she tugged the ribbons to close the front of the bodice. Air stroked her shoulders and the tops of her breasts that even now were threatening the burst from the bodice’s confines. Reaching underneath the skirt, she tugged, and her trousers slithered down her legs to the floor, and she kicked them away and proudly raised her chin. She would not give the bastard the satisfaction of seeing her afraid, masking it with fury.
He gestured to the table. “Please, sit.”
Her spine stiff and unyielding, Marie had no choice but to comply and carry on with this charade. The feel of skirts brushing against her bare legs foreign after all this time in trousers, she reluctantly took her seat, and a plate of food was thrust under her nose. Her stomach roiled.
“I suggest you eat something. I can’t have you fading away.”
Pulleine took a swig of his wine, droplets clinging to his thin mouth, and she shuddered, watching those pale, weak lips smack around each mouthful of food.
Pulleine chuckled. “At least not until after my fun? You’ve always been a touch high and mighty with me, for a daughter of a pirate and a whore.”
Marie lifted her chin and with a bravery she didn’t feel said, “My father was a nobleman, monsieur.”
Pulleine didn’t even acknowledge that she had spoken, ploughing on with a grand speech that he must have planned for some time now. “This is what I could have offered you: silks, fine clothes, and good food. Luxury you could have ill afforded. Instead, you chose that scum!” His hand bashed the tabletop, the candle and utensils jumping.
Marie fought to remain relaxed, to not shrink away and press her shoulders into the back of the chair. Play the game. Too many lives depended on it. She tried to appear contrite and rearranged her features in a mask.
She gracefully inclined her head, channelling the epitome of relaxed elegance. “I agree, this is more fitting for a granddaughter of the Vicomte de Castillon.”
His nostrils flared. “Precisely.”
Marie blinked, finally realising he liked the idea of a lady and a whore rolled into one, and thought to press her luck. “Exactly. I was schooled to have fine manners by my father, despite him being a pirate, while my mother…” Marie let that thought trail off and hang heavy in the air between them. Pulleine’s breathing hitched. She had him—now he was wondering what a whore could have taught her. She smiled pleasantly and steeling herself to sip from her goblet. It burned like lye on her tongue.
“Why betray Jack? It is not like a man of your intelligence to destroy a lucrative arrangement needlessly.”
He appeared pleased that she had asked a question and sank back into his seat. She studied him over the rim of her glass. He was swallowing the bait, and now she just has to reel him in.
“Piracy is the pox of the Caribbean, and the loss of commerce has gained the attention of the king. If I deliver them the Black Scot’s head on a platter, the rogue of the Caribbean will be sent for trial in London. I will gain favour and finally be recalled to London, perhaps even be given a title for my loyal service. I will not be left to rot in this infested place.”
Marie ached to keep from sneering. So, greed and personal ambition—she and Jack were just pawns on a chessboard, Pulleine was happy to move them to where they would be of the greatest advantage. And now Jack’s death benefitted Pulleine more than the money he could bring in. This was it—she brought her courage to the sticking point.
“I have a proposition for you, sir,” Marie said, leaning forward on her arm, plumping her breasts up further.
He shifted in his chair, his gaze locked on the pale mounds. “Oh?”
She’d hooked him.
Concentrating on keeping her hand steady, she placed the goblet back on the table before she overset it. “Spare Jack, he has served you loyally, and I will come to you willingly.” She pushed the words out on a rush, but they were just as unsavoury to her now as they had been unsaid. She wasn’t wholly successful in smothering a grimace—well, as willingly as she could.
He let loose a bark of laughter, standing with his glass in hand. The legs of the chair scraped against the floor. “You are not in a position to bargain. Even if I wanted to spare the braggart, which I don’t, it is now out of my hands.”
Pulleine rounded the table, and every muscle in Marie’s body drew as tight as a bow string, and she forced herself to remain seated when he closed the distance.
“Besides, a Navy ship will be here by dawn to take him. Jack is now at the king’s mercy.”
She stared down at her hands in her lap, breathing through her nose, her whole focus concentrated on the task of remaining motionless.
Pulleine’s lips twisted with derision, and he tossed back the rest of his claret in one well-practiced movement. “Even if I did as you requested, your husband would gut me. Nobody crosses the Black Scot and hopes to live.”
His thumb and forefinger pinching her chin, cold and clammy against her skin, Marie struggled to smother the shiver of revulsion.
His grip painful, Pulleine snatched her head up. “I am your only hope, Marie. Please me, and I might even find you a position in my household. Who knows, after I’ve broken you in, you may find some pleasure the act.”
His words, his touch, battered at Marie’s restraint, her true feelings leaking through.
“Doubtful,” she snapped, jerking her head free. Instantly, she knew she had erred.
Pulleine’s face flushed puce, and with both hands, he gripped her upper arms, dragging her from her seat like a rag doll, holding her inches from his mottled face. Marie winced, his fingers cut
ting into her flesh.
“I hold all the cards, Marie,” he snarled, “and I will have you. How pleasant it is for you is your choice.”
His lips latched on hers, and Marie’s eyes snapped wide, shock holding her immobile. His tongue thrust into her mouth, and she gagged, shattering the spell. One hand was down the front of her bodice, painfully squeezing her breast, and she battled to free herself from his grasping hands. Marie locked her teeth on to her lower lip. Pulleine ceased his assault and, she drew blissful sweet air into her lungs, but the moment was short-lived. Pulleine drew back his arm, and the left side of her face exploded. Marie staggered; the edge of the table hit the backs of her thighs. She lost her balance and crashed onto the table’s surface, the air bursting from her lungs in an anguished gasp. He’d hit her? Marie blinked to clear her watering eyes and then narrowed them into slits. That bastard had hit her, again! Marie turned into a hissing, spitting wildcat. If he managed to immobilise her then…then…he just couldn’t pin her down!
She raked her nails at every piece of exposed flesh, while with the other hand she fumbled to grip the hilt buried in her hair. Pulleine clenched the edge of her bodice, and it tore all the way down to her waist. Her breasts spilling free, she screamed in rage and fear, her nails leaving angry red marks across his face. She curled her fingers around the hilt, yanked the knife free, and lunged blindly at his eyes. It met a giving surface, and Pulleine’s deafening howl hurt her ears. With a strength born of desperation and fear, she drove against the resistance, and it gave. Pulleine stopped moving, his weight pressing her into the unforgiving table.
She squirmed out from beneath the body. It rolled off her and thumped upon the floor, and she stared. Her blade was pressed through the bloody pulp that used to be his left eye. Bloodied scratches curved over his cheeks and down his neck from where she had clawed him, and the unruined eye was open, unblinking. Marie clutched her stomach and cast up her accounts.
Pirates, Passion and Plunder Page 92
