by Mary Martin
"It appears someone has been watching us closely to have known all of our haunts."
Rayne's lips curled slightly at Ely's words. "Or, doing a bit more talking than they should."
"Of course!" Ely growled, his expression bleak. "Benton."
"He can't resist the bottle, and Wells knows it. I should never have allowed him to know of my decision to send Starlin to Antare. There was the chance of his drinking too much... and talking more than he should."
Ely swore angrily. "Damn him! I knew his drinking was going to lead to trouble. Wells has undoubtedly been plying him with drink in order to get what he wants out of him—information."
Rayne nodded at Ely's words. "Yes, I think so. And you see why I cannot take risks. The warehouse is but an hour's ride from here. If I am not back by noon, sail on without me. The Tempest is a much faster ship than the Princess. The few hours delay in our departure won't hurt us. We should be able to catch her by nightfall."
"I don't like it," Ely retorted. "What if he doesn't have Starlin? You could be walking right into an ambush?'
"And what if, by a slim possibility, he does?'
Ely rammed his closed fist into his open palm. "Damnation!" He frowned, watching Rayne sheath his broadsword. "I'll go with you. The men can handle everything, including Wells's pirates."
"No! I don't want to have to worry about anyone else while I'm there. I can slip in and, if all goes well, get out. And remember—if I'm not back in time—go on."
Rayne scanned the swampy terrain behind the sandy shoreline. Nothing moved that appeared unnatural. He breathed a relieved sigh. That was good. It seemed that Wells had not discovered their hideaway ... and perhaps was only bluffing about holding Starlin captive. Rayne knew he was in a precarious position. And he was certain it was Benton Cambridge who had put him there. Once again, he felt searing anger and a need to strike back at the name Cambridge.
Rayne glanced about him as he rode down the narrow street and turned his horse into an alleyway. Listening carefully to every movement, every creak and sigh of the wind, he halted his mount in back of the dark, silent building and tied off his horse. Only the shadows were waiting for him when he slipped inside the back door. He stepped quickly behind several stacked crates and waited for his eyes to adjust to the murky light. The interior of the warehouse was huge and deathly quiet, like being inside a mausoleum. There was no one about. Where, he thought, should I look first? He was just making his way toward a dark stairway that he assumed might lead to a basement when he heard someone walking up behind him. He whirled, and they stood there for a long, tense moment staring at each other.
"You're Wells' man?" he asked, jaw set rigidly.
"That's right."
"Where is she?'
"They're . . . waiting for you downstairs," he said. He had a pistol at Rayne's chest.
"Who?" Rayne had to force himself to keep his hands off the man.
Foster grinned. "You'll find out soon enough." He waved a hand toward the stairs. "We're wasting time. Get going, unless, of course, you don't give a damn whether that sweet little wife of yours stays so pretty anymore."
A coldness settled over Rayne. Foster's voice came from behind him.
"Don't turn around—just keep moving, Morgan."
He felt a gun at the back of his head. "Drop the sword ... easy like."
Rayne swore softly, but knew he had to comply.
"You made it real easy for us," Foster said in a gloating voice. "I thought you would be tougher. I heard everyone talking about what a deadly foe you are. Well, you aren't so big and dangerous now, are you?' He grew braver and rammed the gun harder into Rayne's neck. "Well, just you wait and see what's in store for you, mister."
There was one lantern hanging overhead to light the dingy stairway. Rayne took his time, his brain racing, searching for a plan.
At the bottom of the stairs they made a sharp turn to the right and walked down a long tunnel carved into the ground. It was damp and dripping water, rats scurrying to escape booted feet.
As if he could hear his thoughts, Foster said, "You're wondering where I'm taking you, aren't you, Morgan?' and then proceeded to answer his own question. "To
the pit of hell, that's where!"
The back of Foster's hand came down on Rayne's neck. He stumbled forward, Foster's shrill laugh echoing in the tunnel.
"You're ruining my fun, Morgan, and I don't like it when I can't have a little fun on the job."
They reached a small cavernlike room. Rayne saw a woman with tangled black hair sitting in a chair with her back to him. There was only a single candle lending light to the chamber. The woman wasn't moving or talking. He assumed Wells had planned it just that way. His blood boiled. Several rats were scratching around her feet, and he could see her body shaking beneath the dark cloak. Damn them to hell! He'd kill Wells and Foster for this!
A hand clamped down on his shoulder. "That's close enough. Halt right where you are."
Rayne tried hard" not to show his surprise upon seeing Malcolm Wells step out from the shadows. He really hadn't expected him to be here.
"I requested your presence here tonight, because I have decided it was time that we understood each other. I am the only one who shall call the shots, and you'd better listen well to what I have to say. I have a manifest here that I think might sound familiar to you," he stated with a leering smile. "After I read the list to you, I want your signature on it. Then, we'll see that your wife is released."
With slow deliberation Wells listed off cargoes that had been pirated from area ships in recent months. Wells smiled coolly. "The mayor has been informed of this list, though not yet where this merchandise can be found. I strongly suspect that we can convince you to confess having smuggled it out of Key West. You sign this manifest stating that you pirated the goods and come peaceful like to jail, and I'll see that your wife and your entire crew are left alone." His smile faded. "Oh— and one other detail. If you choose not to reveal yourself as Scorpio and sign this, then I will kill your wife before your very eyes."
"You knew just what to put on that list, didn't you?" Rayne shot back.
"Well. . . you might say that," Malcolm gloated.
"Aye, I thought as much," Rayne snorted. "Since you are the one who pirated all of it—not I."
The woman made a sudden movement, drawing his attention. In that split second, Rayne disregarded Foster and made a lunge for Malcolm, a snarl of fury reverberating throughout the room. Foster brought the butt of the gun down on his head. He doubled up and stumbled, but he refused to fall.
"You have nowhere to turn, Morgan," Malcolm crowed. "There is nothing left for you to do but sign, and rot in jail for smuggling. Benton's drunken ramblings have come in very handy. You really shouldn't have married into that family, you know." He shook his head slowly, mockingly. "A woman like Starlin is enough to tempt any man, but a brother-in-law like Benton no one should be stuck with. He's weak, the joker in your winning hand."
"He'll pay," Rayne growled, "just as you will."
Malcolm laughed and placed a quill in Rayne's hand. "Sign this . . . and then Foster and some of the boys will take you off my hands." He inclined his head toward the woman. "I'll untie her before I leave to rejoin the Ice Princess and Benton. I left him with some of my boys. They know just how to handle his sort so that he'll be more than ready to take me to the location of the Devil's Treasures." He shoved the paper beneath the quill Rayne was holding and wiped the back of his hand across his moist brow.
"Sweating a bit, Wells?" Rayne drawled, making no move to sign his name to the manifest. "What's got you so nervous?" His eyes were hard and unyielding as they held Malcolm's shifty gaze.
"Sign, you bastard!" Wells growled, suddenly becoming edgy and more than impatient. "You have no choice." He barely had the words out of his mouth when he knew it was a mistake to have uttered them. He was already cringing when he saw Morgan's fist snake out with lightning speed toward his face and his foot struck o
ut back-kick Foster in the belly.
"I don't take to well to scum like you telling me what I've got to do," Rayne snarled. "And I don't like toughs manhandling my wife." The side of his hand chopped Foster in the throat. Foster fell like a stone and lay doubled up on the ground.
Wells was cringing against a wall, his hands protecting his bloodied face. "Stay away from me, Morgan!"
Rayne was before the huddled figure in the chair within moments. He grasped the woman's chin between his fingers and tilted her face forward.
Blue eyes, wide with fright, stared up at him.
"Who are you?" Rayne demanded with a sarcastic twisting of his lips, realizing what he had suspected all along. Starlin was not here. He could only hope that it meant Wells had not gotten to her after all.
"Please don't hurt me, mister!" the terrified young woman screamed, a jumble of words pouring forth. "Malcolm told me it would be easy .. . and he'd buy me some ruby ear bobs if n I did as he said. I thought it might be fun ... I didn't know he would do this to me." She hung her head in shame.
Rayne unbound the girl and whirled about, only to find that Malcolm was gone. Only Foster still lay groaning upon the earthen floor.
He grasped Foster by the back of the shirt and hauled him to his feet, his fist doubled up threateningly before the man's frightened eyes.
"Tell me where he went, or I swear you'll be feeling a whole lot worse."
"To ... to the wharf," Foster babbled freely. "He found out Benton is going with your wife to Antare. He was just waiting to make certain you were out of the way before he attacked their ship. He'll catch them in no time ... he has the fastest ship in these waters."
Rayne flung Foster in the chair and tied him securely.
"You can't just leave me here like this!" Foster screamed. "I'll die ... I'll starve to death!"
Green, merciless eyes viewed the terrified thug without compassion. "I imagine I can do just about anything I want... I don't see a soul around who's going to stop me."
Rayne strode away without one shred of conscience. He paid no heed to Foster's screams. He figured the girl would blurt the entire incident to Lucy just as soon as she got back, and someone would undoubtedly come to investigate. And if not? Well.. . he really didn't give a damn. He had only one thought right at the moment—to find Starlin.
Starlin heard the shout of "Sail ho!" from atop the mast, and her heart skipped a beat thinking that it might be Rayne. She hurried to the starboard and watched the vessel approaching. Benton joined her.
"Can you make out their colors?" he asked nervously.
Starlin placed a hand above her eyes to block the glare of the setting sun. She felt a prickle of fear at the unease she detected in Benton's voice. "No, it's too far away as yet." She glanced over at him. "Is there something wrong?"
"I hope not," he said, his expression bleak.
Starlin knew immediately that he was fearful of something ... of that ship fast approaching them.
"Who do you think is out there, Benton?'
"No one. Why ask me?'
"Because you appear very nervous."
He shrugged quickly and attempted a reassuring smile. "I'm not. What do I have to be nervous about?' He spun on his heel and hurried off in the direction of his cabin.
Starlin wasted no time in heading for the quarterdeck. She climbed the stairs and saw Riley at the wheel. "Mr. Riley, how soon do you think that ship will be upon us?'
"I expect about an hour."
"Do you know who they are?"
He did not turn around. "We know it is not the captain, missus. Perhaps you might wish to wait in your cabin. I'll send the cabin boy to youjust as soon as I have any news."
The cabin was warm. Starlin had only been sitting there for a few minutes, but it seemed like hours to her.
The ship was unusually hushed. Everyone was waiting. But for what? she wondered, twisting her hands in her lap.
Sometime later, an excited yell from above echoed across the water and through the open porthole.
"Pirates! They're looking to overtake the ship!"
Starlin jumped to her feet and ran to the porthole to peer out She caught a fleeting glimpse of the approaching vessel, and saw that it flew the black flag. Her pulse raced rapidly. Should she stay here as Riley had told her, and possibly risk capture? Or should she put to use the skills that Rayne had taught her and fight to protect her life and that of her unborn child? There really was no choice, she knew that. She could not stay here waiting, she had to do something!
The cabin boy was pounding on the door, Benton's excited voice mingling with the lad's.
"Pirates are approaching. Hide Milady," Matthew blurted upon entering the cabin.
Benton hurried over to her, a cutlass in one hand. "Do as he says, Starlin. I'll. .. just help you find a safe place."
Starlin viewed him through narrowed eyes. "Why do I get the feeling that you are behind this somehow?" She noticed his shaking hands, his sickly pallor, and thought that at least he hadn't been drinking—as yet, anyway.
"I tried to warn you about me." He slid his arm around her waist and propelled her toward a large closet that was beneath the outside stairway. "I'm afraid I might have said a bit too much to the wrong people about our journey. I'm truly sorry ... I was drunk."
Opening the closet door, they both jumped when a chilling boom reverberated throughout the cabin.
"Oh, Benton, how could you? Pirates yet! And they're opening fire on us." She tried to pull away from him. "I'm not about to hide in that closet—you can if you want to!"
A resounding blast came from the Ice Princess. The men would not allow the pirates to board without a good fight, but everyone knew that the smaller Princess could not withstand the full blast of a larger ship's guns and stay afloat.
"Don't argue, Milady, please!" Matthew shouted behind her. "Riley says he will protect you with his life, but at least help him by trying to stay out of those filthy beggars' sight."
'Give me that," Starlin hissed at Benton, grabbing the cutlass from his hand before he could stop her. "I doubt that you even know how to use it."
He lunged for her, but she stepped lithely aside and was out the aft hatch before he could stop her. Benton stared dumbly after her. He knew what a spitfire she was, but against these men? He didn't like to think what they might do to her.
The air was thick with smoke and reeked from the smell of gunpowder. Riley was trying his best to outrun the bigger ship, but Starlin could see that it was useless. Side by side now, the larger vessel sent a shooting, black missile into the Princess's mainmast and wood splintered into the air. Chevaz, a knife between his teeth and long, gleaming rapier in his big hand, came hurtling toward her and grabbed her up under one arm to race out of the way of a fiery sail spiraling downward. Starlin watched it all through a haze of disbelief, the cutlass still within her grip.
There was no doubt in her mind that, if accosted, she would fight to the death anyone who threatened her.
"Go below!" Riley shouted to her after Chevaz deposited her safely beside the helm and raced back to the maindeck.
"No!" she screamed over the din of noise. "I'll not be trapped like a trembling mouse in a hole, Mr. Riley!"
Riley gnashed his teeth together, but a spark of admiration shone in his eyes. "The captain was right about you, you know. You never could do what you're told!"
Starlin lost some of her bravado seeing the first grappling hooks and iron sail through the air to ensnare the Princess and hold her prisoner. The ship shuddered from the force of the other craft's impact.
Clinging to a dangling ratline, Starlin did her best to remain on her feet. Riley was determined not to give up the wheel.
He was one of the first wounded in the ensuing foray of swords and gunfire. He slumped over the wheel, his knees buckling. Starlin hurried to stop the flow of blood streaming from his wounded shoulder. The sound of gunshots filled the air, but she would not flee. Laying the cutlass aside, she tore o
ff a piece of her petticoat and applied it to Riley's wound. She was so intent on keeping pressure against his injury that she did not notice Malcolm Wells until it was too late.
With a shout of triumph, he yanked her roughly to him, his eyes gleaming wildly, a smoking pistol gripped in his hand. "Where's that drunken sot, Benton? He's the one I came to talk to. You I came to collect as a trophy."
"Leave me alone!" she railed. "Can't you see I must tend to this man or he will die from loss of blood!"
"What do I care if he dies or not?" Malcolm snapped, shoving her to the deck. "You'd better tell me where Benton is, my grand lady, or you just might join your friend here."
Starlin knew her hand lay inches fr.om the cutlass she had previously laid on the deck, and her fingers stretched forward trying to touch the hilt. She kept talking in an effort to divert Malcolm's attention from her movements.
"Rayne will never let you get by with this. He'll find you no matter where you are .. . and you'll pay with your life."
"Not likely!" Malcolm sneered. "Where he is right now, I'd be willing to wager that he won't see blue sky for a long time."
Her stomach lurched. "What... are you saying?"
"I believe his good friend the mayor will probably have him arrested, and jailed by now. For smuggling, of course."
Just as her fingers curled around the hilt of the cutlass, Malcolm's heel ground down on the blade.
"No, you don't, sweet. I've no mind to give you the chance to skewer me. I know you would in a minute."
Blind anger chased away fear and Starlin came up from her knees to lunge for his eyes, sharp nails managing to rake a bloody gouge along the side of his cheek before he subdued her by grabbing her wrists in his hands. There was cold, killing fury in his eyes. Slowly, almost gleefully, he raised the pistol to place it between her breasts.
"Any last words for dear Benton?"
Dusk was settling over the ocean. Rayne's nostrils flared slightly, sniffing the tangy salt air, cursing the sluggish breeze and wishing the miles away. He held the wheel steady, willing the sails to catch more wind, the Tempest to fly across the water if it were possible. Nothing appeared in his favor. There was little wind. And to make matters worse, he was short of good men. With a dozen of his best crewmen manning the Ice Princess, Rayne was working the skeleton crew hard. None complained, though, there was no time. Every minute, every second, was precious—everyone knew it.
