Rogue Pirates Bride

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Rogue Pirates Bride Page 9

by Shana Galen


  I believe that man with the pistol means to block

  our passage.”

  Bastien closed his eyes. Merde.

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  Five

  Raeven stared at the broad-shouldered man

  sighting his pistol on her. She was beginning to think

  she should have left Cutlass to his own devices, but

  when she’d seen him again, so unexpectedly, her

  pulse had kicked, and she hadn’t been able to leave

  well enough alone. One look at his too-handsome

  face, one word from his too-charming mouth, and

  she didn’t know if she wanted to kiss him or kill him.

  But she knew she had to follow him.

  Now, here she stood, on the wrong end of a pistol.

  Killing or kissing Cutlass would have to wait.

  She didn’t like the look on the thug’s face or the

  way his finger wavered over the flintlock’s hammer.

  She wasn’t going to allow him to put a lead ball in her

  head. She caressed the smooth hilt of her dagger. No

  pretty jeweled showpiece, the dagger was ugly and

  functional. She’d worn the hilt down over the years

  with hours of practice, but the blade was still deadly

  sharp. Given half a chance, she could take out the

  thug’s eye.

  But first she needed Cutlass to get out of her way.

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  The ridiculous man was trying to shield her with his

  body. Hadn’t she told him she didn’t need his assistance?

  “El Santo,” Cutlass said, after turning to face the

  man—and pushing her farther behind him.

  “Get out of my way,” she said through clenched

  teeth. “I can’t aim with you standing there.”

  His response was to take her wrist and force the

  dagger down at her waist, using her skirts to cover

  it up. She hadn’t been about to show the man the

  dagger, but she had to raise it in order to throw it.

  “Captain Cutlass,” the man called El Santo said with

  a sneer. As Raeven would have said his name with the

  same sneer, she raised her brows with interest. The man

  wore boots, tight breeches, and white shirt open at the

  throat to display several gold chains. His ears were simi-

  larly adorned with three or four gold hoops each. His

  close-cropped beard was a dark smudge on his face, and

  his hair was thinning, leaving a tall dome of a forehead.

  His gaze drifted over her quickly, and she noted his eyes

  were two-toned, one brown, the other green.

  He quickly dismissed her and returned his glare to

  Cutlass. Apparently, this El Santo had no more love

  for Cutlass than she did. Still, Cutlass was hers to

  kill—if she so chose. She didn’t want to hurt El Santo,

  but she wasn’t about to allow him to fire a shot at

  her… or her pirate.

  “Trying to follow me?” El Santo said with a smile.

  His teeth were large and bright white against his

  olive-toned skin. Two of them were gold. “It seems as

  though I’ve turned the tables on you. Again.”

  Cutlass ran a hand through hair that had escaped

  the thong holding it back. She could tell he was still a

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  bit shaken by how close he’d come to having his head

  blown off. She didn’t fault him for being shaken. She’d

  seen other men dissolve into hysterics over less.

  “I assume those are Jourdain’s men outside.”

  El Santo smiled again. “A small surprise for you.

  One of many we can spring, señor. ”

  “Traps? Is that the way your captain operates now?

  I thought Jourdain was a man of courage.”

  Raeven watched as El Santo’s jaw worked. Cutlass

  was making him angry. It wasn’t the tactic she would

  have chosen, considering the man was pointing a pistol

  at them, but she had little choice but to trust Cutlass.

  For the moment.

  He was still holding her wrist, and she could feel

  him pressing into her skin with strong fingers, telling

  her not to move. To wait.

  “Jourdain has more courage in his little finger than

  you have in your entire body, señor.”

  Cutlass gave him a dubious look. “Then why does

  he hide?”

  El Santo straightened and raised the pistol. “We are

  not hiding now, señor.”

  “Good point.” Cutlass raised his own pistol. “It

  seems we are at an impasse.”

  “I am not afraid to die, señor.”

  “Neither am I, especially because I doubt your aim

  is much better than that of your men. They missed

  me by a foot.”

  Raeven did take a small step back now. El Santo’s

  face flushed purple, and he sputtered a Spanish

  obscenity. The pistol wavered for a moment as he

  strove to contain his rage, and Raeven held her breath.

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  She didn’t like having a flintlock pointed at her, but

  she especially did not like it when the man holding

  said flintlock was incensed.

  She hoped her father had believed her when she’d

  said she was going to the ladies’ retiring room. The

  last thing she needed was the admiral stumbling into

  this powder keg. But even if the ladies’ retiring room

  bought her some time, the clock was ticking.

  Suddenly, El Santo’s eyes met hers. He smiled,

  the gold teeth glinting in the gloom. “I see you keep

  better company these days, señor. Who is la mujer?”

  Cutlass gave her a cursory glance. “No one. A

  whore I found in the city.” The casualness of his

  words was belied by his punishing grip on her wrist.

  She thought she might have bruises later. She would

  have to check… if she lived.

  El Santo shook his head. “This one is no whore.”

  He looked back at Cutlass. “I shoot you, and you

  shoot me. We are even.”

  “If your aim is any good.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about my aim, señor.” Without

  warning, his hand snaked out and captured Raeven’s

  free wrist. With a jerk, he yanked her to him.

  For a moment, Cutlass held on to her opposite

  wrist, and she felt like a rope in tug-of-war. But she

  was no simpering miss, and she wrenched her hand

  free of Cutlass’s and allowed herself to be pulled flush

  against El Santo’s broad chest. She could feel his wiry

  chest hair on the back of her neck, and she stifled a

  shudder of revulsion.

  “Would you like me to demonstrate my aim now?”

  El Santo said, and Raeven felt the barrel of the pistol dig

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  painfully into her temple. Devil take it! First her wrist,

  now her temple. She was going to be black and blue.

  Cutlass shrugged. “Go ahead. As I said, she’s only a

  whor
e. She means nothing to me.”

  Raeven knew he was trying to help her. She was

  almost certain El Santo was a Barbary pirate. The

  waters of the Mediterranean all but choked with the

  vermin right now. And the Barbary corsairs liked

  nothing better than captives to ransom. As the daughter

  of a British admiral, she’d be a fine prize.

  Still, she thought Cutlass might have managed to

  look a tad bit concerned.

  El Santo cocked the pistol, and Raeven decided

  she would have to be the one to end this stalemate.

  In a single move, she loosed the dagger from her

  skirts, slipped free of El Santo’s hold, and plunged it

  into his thigh. She caught a glimpse of pure surprise

  and shock on his face. He truly hadn’t expected her

  to be any danger. But then she wrenched the dagger

  deeper and the shock faded, replaced by pain and

  anger. He howled and grabbed for her. She side-

  stepped, bent, yanked the dagger back out, and dove

  for the exterior door.

  “No!” Cutlass yelled. “We’ll be shot.”

  She glanced back, saw El Santo fumbling with his

  pistol. “I’ll take my chances!” She pushed the door

  open, ducked and rolled, raising her head long enough

  to spot a small wagon laden with produce. The silence

  of the night was shattered by the echo of pistol fire,

  but she was counting on the encroaching darkness to

  obscure the sniper’s shot. She sprinted for the wagon

  and landed in a heap behind one blessedly large wheel.

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  A moment later, Cutlass landed beside her, kicking

  up sand and gravel so she had to close her eyes to keep

  them clear. When she opened them again, she saw

  Cutlass peering around the wagon. “I think he’s over

  in that cluster of buildings.”

  Raeven crawled beside him and peered over his

  shoulder. The pasha’s kitchen area was located here,

  as evidenced by the fires and smells of food coming

  from across the small courtyard where they hid. But

  the area was void of servants—not surprising, given

  shots had been fired.

  “I think you’re right,” she said, judging the angle

  of the buildings and where the first shot hit. “By now

  one of the kitchen staff must have alerted the pasha. If

  we wait, his men should come to our aid.”

  “And if the kitchen staff is huddled in a corner with

  a pistol trained on them?”

  She shrugged. “My father must be wondering how

  long I can spend in the ladies’ retiring room.”

  Cutlass ducked his head behind the cart again and

  rested his back against the large wheel. Raeven dared

  not relax and remained on her haunches. She felt sand

  and gravel in her slippers and could imagine the state

  of her gown. She’d ruined another one now, and her

  father would never let her hear the end of it.

  “You should have gone back to your father when

  I told you,” Cutlass said. In the darkness, she could

  make out the frown on his face and see the hard glitter

  of his eyes.

  “You’re right,” she conceded.

  He blinked at her, obviously surprised.

  “But if I’d done that, I wouldn’t have been able

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  to save you from El Santo. You’d probably be dead

  by now.”

  He arched a brow. “Unlikely. Besides, I thought

  you wanted me dead.”

  She brushed at the sleeve of her dress, dismayed to

  find it was ripped. Her father was going to lecture her

  for hours! “I do want you dead.” She leaned close.

  “But I want to be the one to do it.”

  He chuckled. “Well, you might yet get your chance.”

  “Oh, you can be certain I will.”

  “But not if I sit here waiting. The pasha or your

  father may or may not come this way. In the mean-

  time, El Santo’s men are making plans.”

  “What do you propose?”

  “I’ll make a run for it, through that gate”—he

  pointed to a large wooden gate where wagons made

  deliveries in and out—“and draw them after me. Then

  you’ll be safe to go inside.”

  “What about El Santo?”

  “Find another door. There must be more than

  one way in and out. If nothing else, go around the

  front again.”

  Raeven could picture the startled looks on the

  faces of the pasha’s guests as she made a second grand

  entrance: her hair disheveled, her dress torn, and

  her face smudged with dirt. The reactions might be

  amusing… if she couldn’t imagine her father’s enraged

  face among them. Perhaps she could send him a note

  to meet her outside…

  In any case, she and Cutlass needed to act. They

  had been sitting in one spot too long. “All right, go

  ahead and make your diversion.”

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  He rose to a crouch, but before he could spring

  away, she grabbed his arm. The muscles underneath

  his coat were sleek and hard, and she immediately

  released him. But it was too late to staunch the flow of

  heat shooting through her belly. He looked at her, and

  she remembered another time, remembered his cobalt

  eyes warm with passion.

  She shut her own eyes and blocked out the image.

  “Just don’t get yourself killed.”

  “I would thank you for your concern,” he whis-

  pered, his breath feathering against her cheek. He

  smelled faintly of tobacco and champagne. Thinking

  of their kiss of a few moments before—what seemed

  hours after the events of the past few minutes—she

  recalled he had tasted of champagne. His mouth had

  been cool and sweet. “But I know you want me to

  live only so you can kill me later.”

  She smiled. She did want to kill him. But she

  wouldn’t mind kissing him once or twice first.

  “Wish me luck, ma belle.” And as though reading

  her mind, he leaned forward and brushed her cheek

  with his lips. She shivered involuntarily, and when he

  pulled back, she could have sworn his expression was

  smug and knowing.

  She clenched her fists. “Good luck,” she said. “I

  think you’ll need it.”

  She watched as he moved, catlike, from the protec-

  tion of one wheel to that of the other, closer to the

  gate. She could feel him tense, prepare to move, and

  then the door to the palace burst open, and the court-

  yard shone in the torchlight. Raeven turned in alarm

  and expectation of seeing her father or the pasha, but

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  El Santo stood in the doorway. He had a tourniquet

  around his leg, blood on the hand holding the torch,

  and three
armed men with him.

  “Merde,” Cutlass said beside her.

  “Exactly,” she breathed. “Any other suggestions?”

  One of the men pointed to the cart, and Raeven’s eyes

  locked with El Santo’s. With a roar, he charged them.

  “Run!” Cutlass yelled, and taking her hand, pulled

  her toward the gate. A shot burst out, then another,

  and she felt the heat of one near her shoulder. She

  tried to run in a zigzag, but running at all was difficult

  in the cumbersome skirts, and she could barely keep

  up with Cutlass. Despite his earlier threats of leaving

  her behind, he pulled her forward, all but yanking her

  arm from her socket. When they reached the gate, he

  paused and kicked it hard.

  Raeven gasped in horror when it didn’t budge.

  Cutlass let forth a stream of French epithets and

  rammed the gate with his shoulder. Raeven didn’t

  want to look behind them, but she was compelled.

  El Santo and his men were advancing, the men

  loading their half-cocked guns. “Come here, little

  girl,” El Santo called, his voice echoing against the

  walls of the courtyard. “You like to play with sharp

  objects. I have something for you to play with!” He

  gestured grotesquely to his groin, and Raeven had to

  swallow the bile in her throat.

  “Hurry up,” she hissed at Cutlass.

  He rammed the gate again, but it didn’t move.

  “Let’s climb it,” he said.

  “There’s no time.” Not to mention, she’d never be

  able to scale the gate in these skirts. She glanced back

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  over her shoulder and saw El Santo’s men taking aim.

  “Get out of my way.” She pushed Cutlass aside and

  made a quick study of the gate. A wide beam of wood

  rested over the double doors, barring outsiders from

  entering. It was far too thick to snap when kicked or

  rammed, but she lifted it quickly, thrust it over, and

  pushed the gate open.

  She dove through just as fresh shots rang out.

  Her skirts wound around her ankles, and she had a

  moment of panic when she tripped and went down,

  but strong hands lifted her and all but carried her into

  the alley and behind a heap of trash. He practically

  dumped her on her bottom, and Raeven knew the

  dress was beyond salvageable now. She coughed at the

  stench of rotting fruits and meat, tried not to think

  about their close call, and gave Cutlass a long glare.

  “You didn’t think to simply lift the gate’s bar?” Men

 

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