The Siren's Song

by Jennifer Bray-Weber

  Gilly threw her hands over her ears. It was all happening so fast. Screaming, she wanted to run, wanted to shield herself from the flying bullets. Yet she couldn’t move. Like the saintly statues of the church bearing witness to the gun fight unfolding, she stood frozen in place. Run! For God’s sake, run!

  Mather, unfazed by Machete’s deflection, hit him, buying time to draw his small saber. Metal clashed against metal.

  Joelle slid across the floor and snatched at Turk’s gun, but it hung up in his waistband. Machete’s man pulled another weapon from his brace, taking aim at Joelle. She wrested with the pistol, yanking on the dead man’s trousers. Determination, not panic, not fear, blazed in her eyes like a dare against the man who would take her life.

  Something inside Gilly snapped. If she didn’t act now, Joelle would surely die. Joelle’s fierce courage dislodged Gilly from her paralysis. She lunged for Machete’s scoundrel. In a moment of hindsight, Gilly might have rethought attempting to pounce on his back. Her long dress made it impossible for her to get a good hold and she slid right off. Holding on to his neck, she pummeled him on his hard head. He reared back, writhing, blocking her slaps until he smashed her against the wall. The force surprised her and she lost her grip. Shoving her to the ground, he fired off his shot.

  Behind the darkness of her eyes shut tight, echoes of the pistol blast crashed like violent waves within her ears. She refused to look upon Joelle’s dying body, afraid to witness that which might be her own demise.

  Don’t open your eyes. Don’t.

  She did anyway.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Drake had been trying the church’s locked door when he heard the first gunshot. His chest tightened. Gilly was on the other side. He must reach her. The door wouldn’t budge but he yanked the handle again. “Curse it!” He slammed his palm against the thick wood.

  Valeryn and Sancho stood by whilst he paced the cobblestones. “Mather’s deal with Machete has soured. Everyone inside is in danger. Machete will kill them all.”

  Drake tried to recall where another entrance to the church was located, but Giana’s dying sobs tormented him, blocking his reckoning. Thoughts were muddled by visions of his sister holding her belly, blood pouring from her wound. Blast! Where do I go? Where’s the damn door? Giana cried out to him, reaching for him.

  A woman screamed. ’Twas louder than Giana’s cry, and yet far away. No, not far. Muffled. Gillian!

  “This way!”

  Startled pigeons took flight once Drake rounded the corner, leading the men into a garden behind the building. Fragrant flowers had been tended with careful hands in the peaceful court. Wild honeysuckle crawled across hedges. Benches nestled under citrus trees presented solitude for those wishing to reflect. Reflecting was something Drake had come to loathe. He felt nothing but shame and guilt. And anger. A whole lot of anger. His anger bloomed until his heart beat for vengeance. Nay, reflecting brought pain and questions of faith.

  Beyond the garden tranquility and through the door left ajar lay violence. He would be in the midst of the onslaught soon enough.

  “Quiet now,” Drake whispered.

  Darkness blinded him as he stepped across the threshold. His hand tightened on the grip of his pistol while his vision adjusted. Two corridors stretched before him. Down the right passage, private rooms. A door slammed followed by the faint click of a lock. Ahead, the hallway led to the church’s main body. Shadows clung to the walls and crevices like silken spider webs. A draught wafted scents of must and polished wood. Voices carried Drake to the nave’s entrance. No one was visible. Whoever spoke was not in the aisle on his side of the church. He darted to the first column and cast a glance into the nave. Still, he could not see the group, but their tones grew intense. Steel struck steel. Drake motioned to his right and Valeryn and Sancho skulked into a position on the far side of the apse.

  Uneasiness crept up his spine. Someone watched him. Slowly, he lifted his gaze. Jesus upon the crucifix, with his bent neck and head encircled with a crown of thorns, stared upon him. Eyes of solemnity. Eyes of criticism.

  Pass your judgment. I’m hell bound anyway.

  But Gilly was not. Drake made the sign of the cross for her.

  He sprinted across the apse and planted himself against a column. Valeryn pointed two fingers into the aisle, his face drawn with urgency. Drake eased around for a quick assessment.

  Machete and Mather dallied in swordplay, Turk was down and Quint worked to retrieve his gun. Gilly, the crazy lass, hung pickaback onto Machete’s ruffian, whacking him on his filthy head until he smashed her into the wall. It took all Drake’s strength to bridle the urge to rush to her aid and snap the bastard’s neck. The ruffian raised his pistol at Quint and fired.

  Sancho careened down the aisle screaming.

  “No!” Quint yelled.

  Flogging careless! Drake rolled off the column into the nave, crouched and running to avoid being seen too soon, with Valeryn on his heels. Another shot pealed through the cavernous church.

  “Sancho!” Quint cried out.

  Quint’s first mate fell to his knees, his expression twisted in agony staring at his captain, and then he fell facedown.

  Valeryn plowed into Machete’s man, bringing him to the floor, striking him over and over.

  Drake rushed to Gilly and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Are you all right?” She nodded. Tears welled in her eyes. A scared mouse, she couldn’t seem to focus on any one thing. “It’s all right, sweetheart. It’s all right.” He pulled her into a hug. “Quint,” he called out. “Are you hit?”

  The fiery captain freed the gun from Turk’s belt. “He missed,” she said.

  “Get Gilly out of here.”

  “No!” Gilly shook her head wildly. “I’m staying here. With you.”

  “No time to argue, Gilly.” He slipped his pistol into his brace. “Quint! See that she’s safe.”

  The hilt of his cutlass molded perfectly in Drake’s hand. Its weight was as much a part of him as an extension of his arm. He left the women and strode to the two buggers battling with their swords. In a fluid sweep, he lodged his blade in with theirs.

  “May I join you?”

  Hate emanated from the men and it only made Drake want to fight more.

  “I’m seized with joy at seeing you again, mi amigo.”

  “The pleasure is all yours, Machete, you can be sure.

  “Mather.” Drake nodded to his other rival. “You were right. You did get Miss McCoy. ’Twas due to my mistake. But now I’ve come to make good on my promise. You remember.”

  Drake nearly laughed as Mather’s tongue did that twitch thing.

  Their blades trembled under the strain for purchase. Drake let his gaze travel between his foes. He smirked, provoking one of them to make an unwise move.

  Finally, Machete withdrew his blade and swung for Drake’s throat. Drake pushed Mather’s blade aside and raised his cutlass above his head, deflecting Machete’s blow. Machete swung their blades up and swiped down at Drake’s side, but Drake parried the move. Mather, looking to join Machete in killing Drake, swung his sword in at that moment. Drake backhanded upward with his blade and pulled out his long dagger as a secondary weapon in a two-handed parry. Steel scraped clean across deadly sharp edges with each contact. ’Twas music to Drake’s ears and his heart pumped in unison with his excitement.

  Mather made wide steps in and out with his advances. A common mistake among those who fight without discipline. The offscouring was tiring. Machete opposite was a worthy opponent. The commander thrust and parried as if he were participating in his daily fencing routine. That was no substitution for real battle, and it had been too long since the overbearing fop had seen any real action, preferring to let his cronies do the fighting. Drake would remedy his smugness and make him work harder to save his life
. For surely Drake meant to take it.

  Gilly wrung at the folds of her gown. Drake was going to get himself killed sword fighting with two enemies at once who wanted his blood. Though he moved with undeniable grace blocking their every blow, he hardly made his own strikes. Was he toying with them? Or was he merely trying to defend himself? She felt entirely helpless.

  Valeryn came crashing past them into the alcove of the wall. Machete’s man grabbed his collar and yanked him away for another hit. A statue, smooth and flawless, of a woman gripping a sword and holding a scale to her bosom toppled from its pedestal. Chunks of the stone smacked into Gilly’s ankle and she flinched from the shot of pain. Justice. Was this an omen?

  Machete’s scoundrel slammed into the same alcove, stumbling on bits of the broken statue. Valeryn snatched him up and planted his fist into the man’s jaw.

  Merciful Heaven, her dizzy head could not keep up with her racing pulse. Gilly reached into her pouch, her fingers landing on the cool curvature of the bottle. She didn’t care if anyone saw. She needed her laudanum. No. No, she needed Drake.

  “Come. We must leave,” Quint said.

  “No. I’m not leaving without him.”

  Quint cast a glance at the melee. “These lads have fought in more dire circumstance. They’ll be fine.”

  “You can’t be sure.”

  “I can.”

  “No. You can’t.” Machete thrust his blade into Drake, tearing his tunic. She gasped, but Drake fought on unharmed.

  “Hark me,” Joelle said, “if they did get hurt, what do you think you can do about it? Either one of these motherless bastards will kill you. Then what?”

  Gilly, shocked to hear the offensive language coming from Joelle, tore her gaze away from Drake. “I…”

  “You stay here, you become a burden.” Joelle stressed. “He will have to worry with protecting you. That alone will weaken him.”

  Joelle might be right. If she stood by and did nothing. She wouldn’t do that, even as Drake’s earlier declaration rang in her head. She was not to protect her man. But he wasn’t her man, was he? What would he have to say about that?

  Her sight fell upon the pistol in Sancho’s palm. Yes, she would help. Gilly raced to the dead man. Plucking up the weapon, she cringed as his lifeless hand fell away.

  “Don’t be foolish!” Joelle called.

  “I can help!”

  “Glory be! You’re holding it wrong!”

  Gilly twisted from Joelle’s reach. Instead of grabbing the gun, Joelle latched on to the bag dangling from Gilly’s wrist.

  “Let go!” Gilly pulled, but Joelle had a tight grip on the bottom of the bag.

  “Watch where you are pointing that thing!”

  “Please let go.” Gilly flipped her wrist, wrapping the drawing strings around her hand. With the pistol still in her grasp, she clutched the top of her bag. Joelle pulled one way, Gilly pulled the other. The fabric strained and the seams of the patchwork stretched. Her horror intensified with the pop of each thread. “Joelle, I beg of you, let go!”

  A strip of patchwork frayed. Gilly’s heart stuttered. Her bag, her cherished gift from Hyde, tore a little more at the seams. The hole matched in size the one bursting in her sanity. This couldn’t be happening. Papa’s watch was gone. The bag was damaged. And Drake was outnumbered. Her life had been turned upside down. In the end, would she have anything left of herself?

  Joelle tugged hard and one of the velvet rosettes ruptured. The sound caused Gilly to slacken her pull to stop the rip. But it was too late. Quite by surprise, a shiny object fell from the rosette, clinking to the floor and spinning, catching the light. Gilly froze, unable to make sense of what she saw. Could that be…a diamond?

  Dear Lord. She had Mather’s profits all along, but not in the form either imagined. Oh Hyde. She couldn’t process what it all meant.

  Joelle easily snatched the pistol from Gilly’s hand. Her foot kicked the diamond across the floor, stopping short of the battling trio. Its facets sparkled in the shifting light and shadows beneath the moving men. Gilly nabbed her bag and followed the gem.

  “Are you daft?” Joelle called after her. “Come back here!”

  Gilly crouched down on all fours. Careful not to get close enough to have her head lopped off, she reached for the diamond. Drake’s boot kicked it away.

  “Snoggers!” Gilly scampered after it, avoiding Valeryn and his sparring partner.

  “Is that…?” Joelle made a grab for the diamond just as Valeryn took a step back. He stumbled over her, squashing her underneath him. The pistol popped from Joelle’s grip.

  Gilly paused. The gun or the gem? The gem! She shuffled around the pile of limbs. Almost got it. Another boot kicked the diamond, sliding it across the floor once again. Frustrated, she cursed.

  Without fully understanding how, Gilly was on her feet. She couldn’t hold in her scream, the searing sting of her scalp was too great. Machete’s man traded the handful of her hair for wrapping the crook of his arm around her neck. The cool metal of a pistol’s barrel pressed against her temple. Terror seized control of her breathing.

  “Machete!”

  The brawl came to an abrupt halt. Thayer pursed his mouth but he showed no other signs of reaction. He was angry, this she knew. She didn’t do as she was told. ’Twas easy for him to keep his emotions in check. He wasn’t the one about to die. Fighting against tears, she directed her stare at the diamond between them.

  A thought occurred to her all too late. Everyone in the room gawked down at the gem.

  “Well, sink and burn me,” Valeryn muttered.

  Mather lit up.

  Thayer took a deep breath, shaking his head. He must think she betrayed him. She would never do such a thing. She cared for him too much. But she might not get the chance to explain. Nothing would be more terrible than dying without him knowing the truth.

  “What’s this?” Keeping an eye on Thayer, Machete gingerly collected the diamond the size of a child’s marble. It glittered under his inspection. “Mather, you did not mention the girl came with a jewel.”

  “She stole it from me,” Mather growled. “The diamond is mine, Diaz.”

  “It appears that determination has changed, no?” Machete chuckled. “This has been an unexpected windfall, a diamond and Captain Drake’s woman.”

  “She’s not mine,” Thayer said.

  He sounded positively adamant. A piece of Gilly wilted.

  “Amusing. She claims to be yours.” He closed the gap between them. The foul stench of his breath sickened her.

  “Come now, Machete. You shouldn’t believe the chit. She would say anything to save her skin.”

  “Hmm. I think you would, too, to spare her. I see how she looks at you, Drake. I’ll take her word as true. You’ve bedded her. That’s what will make this so sweet.”

  Machete pressed the point of his sword to Gilly’s chest. Pressure from the arm crooked at her neck made it hard to swallow the growing lump in her throat. She shut her eyes and tears tumbled down her cheeks. Anticipating the plunge of the blade would kill her before he pierced her heart.

  “Aye, I have bedded the wench, but without proper accord. Isn’t that what men like us do? Wield our swords and our cocks upon the weak?”

  Gilly opened her eyes, appalled as much for his confessions as for his cruel indifference concerning her. And how dare he share their intimacy among all in the room. Now she was going to die a liar and a whore.

  Drake stalked around to the outer edge of the aisle, never lowering his cutlass and keeping both his enemies within striking distance. “You are mistaken if you believe she looks upon me with kindness. She merely chooses to try her luck with the man of lesser evil.”

  “Evil? Oh no, Capitán. I serve my country. I do what is necessary to keep order and I reward
myself for my success.” Mirth crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Sí, I suppose there is very little difference between you and I.” Machete lifted the diamond for another look and withdrew his blade.

  Gilly hugged her bag to her chest, an instinctual reaction to protecting herself. ’Twas the first time she noticed the remaining rosettes felt solid clutched against the exposed flesh of her bosom. Strange how the softness of velvet and the hardness of diamonds contrasted definitively and yet complemented one another so perfectly. Mercy me! The other rosettes! There are three more diamonds!

  “I earn my arrogance,” Drake said.

  “And yet I am more powerful,” Machete countered. “Oh, but wait. There is a significant difference between us.” Machete pocketed the gemstone. His lips coiled into a wicked taunt. “I still have my family.”

  Drake sneered and took a menacing step forward. He stopped short as Machete snatched Gilly’s arm, tugging her from his crony. With the pistol no longer aimed at her head, Gilly’s fear loosened a tiny notch.

  “Careful, pirata. My sword may slip and gut su mujer. You wouldn’t want the pretty little thing to become another casualty of your foolish irresponsibility, do you?”

  Had Gilly not known better, she might have thought the guttural sound came from a stampede of bulls in the street rather than from Thayer. Never in her life had she witnessed a man’s rage harnessed so that the very air around him shifted. His fingers stretched and gripped, stretched and gripped, the hilt of his sword.

  “I’m going to kill you, Machete. I won’t be merciful. You won’t die in your sleep like Governor Don Francisco de Barca.”

  Machete’s smile faltered and his nostrils flared. “Perhaps. But not today. Not while I hold your woman.”

  Gilly’s skin reddened where his fingers dug into her forearm. But she felt no pain. The villainous bastard sawed at the corded strings of her bag looped around her wrist. No! Not my bag, not the other diamonds! She grimaced as the blade caught on her tender flesh.