“Gag ’er, and put ’er in the galley,” Dobbin ordered. “That should keep the baggage out o’ trouble for a time.”
“You gag ’er, Dobbin! I’ve had me fill o’ bein’ her dinner, thank you very much,” Murry said. “The little bitch can take a bite out o’ you.”
“Hold ’er hands then, and I’ll gag ’er.”
The men roughly turned Isobel around, and Murray pulled her arms back painfully as Dobbin approached.
Isobel glared at the man, saying, “Fever symptoms can be hideous. It won’t be long now.”
She saw a flicker of fear in the pirate’s eyes and felt a small thrill of victory.
Dobbin bent down and ripped off a piece of her skirt, then stood, twisting it into a coil. Slowly, he brought the gag to her face.
Isobel shook her head like a terrier, but he managed to get it between her teeth and tied it tightly around her head in a secure knot.
She heard another tear of her skirt and soon her hands were bound behind her back, as well. At least Dobbin hadn’t seen the porcelain knife in her boot when he’d ripped her dress.
Roughly, the men dragged Isobel down the narrow passageway and into the galley. Pots and pans hung from the low ceiling, along with various ladles and other cooking utensils, which all clanged together as the ship rocked.
A galley with no cook?
So, the mutiny had begun.
The pirates dragged her over to the table, pushed her down into a sitting position on the floor, then bound her hands to the table leg. Of course, being on a ship, the table legs were nailed to the floor. She wasn’t going anywhere.
Isobel glared up at the pirates, truly wishing that looks could kill. Strangely, the overwhelming emotion she felt was anger, not fear. But that would most likely change when the reality and hopelessness of the situation set in.
What would happen to her—to Beckett? She hoped that Sir Harry Lennox would be consigned to eternal Hell for this.
“She should stay out of harm’s way in ’ere,” Dobbin pronounced. “If a pot doesn’t fall on ’er head!”
“Per’aps we should take a pot to ’er noggin and knock ’er out now,” Murray said, nursing his wounded hand. “I don’t trust ’er.”
Isobel tried to calm her fears as she pictured Murray taking a skillet to her head.
“I don’t think so,” Dobbin answered. “Might make her go daft, see? It would lower ’er price in Kingston.”
“And she’s not daft already?” Murray asked, looking unconvinced. “Said she ’ad parrot fever after all. Her an’ me both, now.”
“Ah, quit yer cryin’,” Dobbin said. “Our job’s done ’ere. McGregor will be wantin’ us, up on deck. Come on.”
The two men took a last look at Isobel and closed the door behind them.
Isobel struggled against her bonds but it was of no use.
Frustration made her want to scream. But the sound she made came out like a muffled mewling and that made her fume in aggravation even more.
Hearing an odd squeaking noise, she twisted her head but could not see anything.
Then she saw it.
A little gray mouse scuttled straight toward her across the rough plank floor.
After fighting bloodthirsty pirates, Isobel wouldn’t have thought she could still be frightened by a mouse.
Not so.
And now she would spend her last moments being terrorized by one. How fitting.
She recoiled as the tiny rodent scurried in front of her. It began to sniff around the edge of her skirt, which was soiled with spilled food and drink from the floor of the galley.
Then, with an other-worldly growl, a cat sprang from the shadows.
Captain Black!
He truly was her knight in furry armor.
The mouse squeaked and scuttled across the floor in a blur of grey fur. Captain Black darted after the poor creature, and though it had surely been about to nibble her to death, Isobel feared for the rodent’s life.
Just as Captain Black was about to pounce, the mouse disappeared through an opening in the planked flooring. The cat meowed and batted at the mouse-hole with his paws, unwilling to give up the chase.
Reluctantly, it seemed, Captain Black abandoned his hunt and returned to her side.
Oh, I wish you could help me, she thought, looking at the cat in desperation.
The cat meowed at her loudly, as if saying, What are you waiting for, a cat to set you free? Get on with it.
The feline was right, Isobel thought. She had to find a way out if this. No one was going to come to her rescue, and Beckett’s life depended on her.
She wriggled around and tried to reach the makeshift weapon she’d hidden in her boot. But she couldn’t touch it.
Captain Black meowed at her again, encouraging her.
I can do this, she thought. I just need to think.
The galley table was nailed to the floor, so she couldn’t drag it or flip it over. But a thought took hold. If only she could change her position so that she could reach the weapon in her boot….
She tried to move, but her bonds were tight. However, the pirates had ripped them from her underskirt—which was made of cotton. And cotton could stretch.
Isobel winced in pain as she pulled against the bonds. Heavens but they had tied them tightly! Yet she refused to give up. She stretched and pulled against them as hard as she could.
Captain Black meowed at her again, as if to say, Now you’ve got it!
It was tiring work, especially in such an awkward position, but Isobel kept on. Soon, she felt the cotton bonds loosening, just a little.
It was enough.
She maneuvered into a kneeling position and slowly slid her bound wrists up the leg of the table. With a little more wriggling, she was able to reach down and grab the jagged piece of porcelain stowed in the side of her boot.
“Meow!” Captain Black intoned.
Even with the gag still in her mouth, Isobel grinned.
Captain Black was right, she was almost there. Don’t give up now!
She squirmed and stretched, turning the weapon in her fingers until it rested against the cotton strips. Slowly, so she didn’t lose her grip on the jagged porcelain blade, Isobel pushed it back and forth against her bonds, like a saw against a sapling. It seemed fruitless at first, but then she felt one of the strips weakening, then the fibers began to pull apart.
Isobel felt a thrilling surge of victory as she finally freed herself from her bonds. She reached behind her head to untie her gag, and turned to thank her valiant friend.
“Thank you for helping me, Captain Black,” she said. “I shall have to give you a very large fish for this. Captain Mayfield was right—you are watching out for me, aren’t you?”
The cat meowed as to confirm the idea.
Grabbing a skillet, Isobel scrambled to the door.
There was not a moment to waste.
Both hers and Beckett’s lives depended on it.
Chapter 23
The ship held an eerie silence as Isobel walked quietly towards the captain’s quarters. Captain Black bolted down the companionway and disappeared from sight.
Isobel had no idea where Sir Harry would be in all this, but with any luck he would be mortally wounded during the melee. She only hoped Beckett was still safe in his cell.
As Isobel approached the door to Captain Worthington’s cabin, she heard snarling voices from within. Taking a deep breath for courage, she crouched down in front of the door and peeped through the keyhole.
What she saw made her gasp.
Captain Worthington sat tied to a chair. The pirate she knew as Styles held the tip of his saber dangerously close to Worthington’s throat.
Oh, he couldn’t be killed now. Worthington’s death would make things much worse for her and Beckett.
She had to do something…anything!
Isobel knocked on the door, then wondered what exactly she was going to do when it opened.
She heard footsteps
approaching and stood back.
“Who is it?” a raspy voice asked.
Isobel used the gruffest voice that she could muster. “Message for Styles,” she croaked.
She heard a grunt from behind the door. Taking a deep breath, she crouched and held her skillet ready.
The door opened and a large, ugly head popped out.
With all her strength, Isobel swung the skillet, smashing it into the pirate’s face.
Perhaps she should have used her makeshift knife, but the truth of the matter was that she hadn’t felt quite up to stabbing someone. The skillet produced the desired effect, however, as the large pirate crumpled in a heap across the door’s threshold.
Isobel peeked around the door and saw Styles pause for a split-second.
It gave Worthington the chance he needed. His boot flew up and connected with Styles’s crotch. The man let out a bellow and dropped his saber, his hands covering his injured privates. Worthington kicked the saber into a corner as Isobel dashed in. There was no one else in the room.
“Hurry up and untie me!” Worthington commanded.
Isobel dropped the skillet and ran over to cut the captain’s bonds with her little knife.
Styles quickly recovered. Like a wounded bull, the pain seemed to fuel his anger.
Isobel cut as fast as she could, but the ropes were thick and her silly piece of porcelain was not very sharp.
Styles approached slowly, his eyes blazing like a madman’s as he pulled out a long thin dagger from his boot. He fingered it idly.
“Per’aps I won’t sell ye, little whore,” he said. “I shall carve ye up and feed ye to the sharks…after I’ve done with him.”
Isobel worked frantically on the last rope, and as Styles neared, she finally cut through it.
Worthington sprang up like a panther. He easily dodged Styles’s lunge and landed a few well-placed punches in his opponent’s ribs.
Then the captain’s leg shot up and he kicked the dagger out of Styles’s hand. Worthington swung his boot around to land in the mutineer’s stomach.
But Styles was far from beaten, and in hand-to-hand combat, he did some damage to Worthington, as well. Both men stared at each other, out of breath, waiting for their opponent’s next move.
Isobel glanced down and saw Styles’s dagger by the wall. She scurried to retrieve it. As the men locked in a deadly embrace, Isobel jumped out of the way, crouching behind a leather wing back chair. The men crashed backwards onto a table, sending books and papers flying in all directions. The two rolled over it and onto the floor.
There was a shattering of glass and Isobel peeked from around the chair. Worthington lay pinned to the floor, and Styles hovered over him with a broken bottle, poised above the captain’s face.
Isobel sent the dagger sliding towards the captain, and prayed that Worthington would be able to reach it in time. It bounced off the captain’s thigh and he struggled mightily to make a grab for it, but with Styles above him it was near to impossible.
A heavy barometer rolled across the floor. Isobel picked it up, took aim, and launched it at the back of Styles’s head.
It was just the advantage Worthington needed. In an instant, Styles was not only stunned by the hastily thrown projectile, he was on his back with Worthington hovering over him, a dagger pressed dangerously against his throat.
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you that mutiny can be very bad for your health?” Worthington growled.
Isobel shuddered as the captain pushed the blade home.
She turned around, shutting her eyes, and covering her ears. Death was not something she wanted to witness again, even that of an enemy. She heard muffled groans and gurgles, and in a moment Worthington grabbed Isobel’s arm and lifted her to her feet.
He wiped the blade against his pant leg and said, “My, my—you are truly full of surprises, Lady Ravenwood. And how did you know to come here, may I ask?”
Isobel gulped, feeling a new uneasiness spreading through her gut. Would Worthington think she’d a hand in this?
“I heard some men plotting against you,” she explained. “When I tried to warn you, they tied me up and left me in the galley. I escaped and came here—just in time, it seems.”
“It was very brave of you to attempt such a thing,” Captain Worthington said, seriously.
“Bravery had nothing to do with it, sir,” Isobel replied. “I heard them saying they were going to sell me in the Kingston market—after getting to know my acquaintance better, of course. If you were killed, my fate would have been sealed.”
Worthington folded his arms across his chest, saying, “Quite so. What else did you hear? Did Styles have any accomplices you could name?”
“Yes—a man named McGregor was recruiting the men against you,” Isobel answered. “He wanted to wait. He said he needed time to get more men on their side, but Styles insisted they move now. And the men who tied me up in the galley were named Dobbin and Murray. That’s all I know for certain.”
Worthington nodded grimly, saying, “McGregor—I should have known he would be involved.” He studied her for a moment, and asked, “Is that blood on your chin, my lady?”
“I bit Mr. Murray,” she said.
To her surprise, he laughed. “Good for you! Though I’m sure he tasted terrible.”
“He did, at that,” she agreed.
“Now, we must leave,” the captain said. “I must gather my men and stop this mutiny before it starts.”
Worthington led her to the door, and they quickly entered the narrow passageway.
They stopped in front of Isobel’s cabin, and Worthington opened the door.
“You must stay here while my men and I sort out this business, my lady,” he said. “I will lock you in so no harm will come to you.”
“But my husband,” Isobel said, “will he be safe in the brig?”
“He will be, for the time being,” he said, opening the door and pushing Isobel inside. “Until we meet again, madam.”
“Wait—” Isobel protested, but the door slammed in her face. She heard the key turn in the lock and she pounded at the door with her hand. “Oh!”
Frustration boiled inside her, though she knew the captain was right. This was probably the safest place for her at them moment.
She sat on her bunk and in a futile gesture, covered her heart with her hands, trying to keep it from bursting with pain.
Oh, Beckett…will I ever see you again?
She heard shouts and bodies crashing on deck above her head and ducked instinctively, as if they might fall through on top of her. The clanging steel of sabers rang through the ceiling planks, along with the sounds of death.
Fear clutched at her heart with its cold, icy fingers. She curled her knees up to her chest and prayed.
* * *
Beckett paced around in his cell. He was finding it more and more difficult to keep his mind occupied. And more and more difficult to keep his hopes up.
Isobel.
He had failed her.
Not knowing what was happening to her was its own form of torture.
So far he’d been unable to swipe the key from his guard’s belt. And there had been more than one guard, lately. That meant trying to overtake one or both of them would be virtually impossible. He wanted to avoid physical combat—not only would his chances of victory be slim without a weapon, the noise of a fight would undoubtedly bring reinforcements.
During the war, he’d learned that timing was everything. He had to wait for the right time to strike. But each day that passed meant one more that Isobel might be suffering at the hands of Sir Harry Lennox.
Still, bad odds usually guaranteed failure. If he made a premature attempt and got himself killed before he could rescue Isobel, they’d both be as good as dead.
And he’d discovered something important while locked up in this cell.
He wanted to spend the rest of his life with Isobel.
It had never been any use denying the truth.
/> He loved her.
There it was.
Earlier, when Isobel had come to his cell, he’d been so close to saying it then, but he hadn’t. He hadn’t known how.
Those three little words had held him prisoner far better than this cell ever would. But he had escaped them. He was no longer in their power. Now, they were in his power. The most important words in the English language were no longer a thing of fear, but of freedom.
And now, looking back, he wondered what he had been so afraid of. Losing himself? Believing in something that could not possibly be true? But the alternative had been closing his heart to the most powerful gift of all.
He thought of Cordelia then. Of how he’d thought himself in love with her. But that hadn’t been love. It had been a feeling that masqueraded as love, which had been quite convincing—like drinking cheap wine and being told it was champagne. You could only know the difference when you’d tasted the real thing.
And Beckett had tasted the real thing. Now that he knew the difference, he’d never go back to shoddy imitations. Like cheap wine, imitation love left one feeling quite sick and empty inside.
His thoughts went to Isobel, of their confrontation on the beach just before Sir Harry had snatched them. The things she’d said about her heart being full of him, about not being able to remove him from there—he understood, now.
She was inside his heart as surely as the blood that pumped there and gave him life.
He wanted to see Isobel, to tell her of his discovery. He grabbed the bars in the window and though he knew it was no use, he shook them, as if that would have any effect. He peered out and tried to see down the passageway. His guard was absent, and there was no one else about.
The ship seemed unusually quiet. He hoped that meant the mutiny hadn’t yet started. He stretched up again and tried to see if his guard was asleep on the floor, but no one was there.
Then Beckett heard the familiar sound of Williams’s heavy footsteps coming down the passageway. He heard the man whistling a jaunty tune as he approached.
Williams’s large round face appeared in the window.
“Brought ye some dinner, m’lord,” the man said.
Beckett heard the sound of the key in the lock and was about to thank the man, when Williams made a strange gasp. A look of surprise came over his face and he fell forward against the door, regarding Beckett in confusion. Then he slid down out of sight.
Seducing The Bride (Brides of Mayfair 1) Page 18
