“W-what are you doing?” she finally managed to choke out.
“I am helping you, sahib.”
“But … why?”
He straightened from his task and held out his wrists; the metal bands gleaming around them were almost as bright as his smile. “I have much to gain by your success, sahib.”
Lucy watched with apprehensive eyes as Tully took a hesitant sip of the brownish liquid.
They all sat around the table, a parody of a dinner party. Beth sat to her left, the duke across from her. Tully hunched over in his chair like an old crone directly opposite Lucy.
The knob of the pirate’s throat bobbed up and down as he swallowed. A ghostly trace of steam cycloned up from the bowl and toward the skull archway above, almost as if pulled by invisible, evil forces.
Lucy had to blink, she stared at the pirate captain so hard, then clenched her hands in her lap in an effort to contain her nervousness. Forcing her expression to be blank as possible, she watched Tully take another slurping sip. Her own throat swallowed reflexively along with him.
Tully looked up, catching her staring at him intently. “It’ll do,” he announced in a gravely voice.
That was the cue for Mousad to begin serving. The duke, who sat at Tully’s left, was the first, his presence the only thing in the room that didn’t clash with the elegance of the table setting Tully had managed to unearth from God knows where. Mousad served her next, then Beth, who looked as if she were about to expire on the spot; her black hair had escaped in long hanks from her chignon, and her blue eyes were filled with fear.
Lucy gave her a tentative smile before glancing down at her food. When she looked back up at Tully, he smacked his lips together.
She tried not to gag as she made a great pretense of eating.
“Pour some wine, Mousad,” Tully ordered, startling Lucy into dropping her spoon. It clattered into her bowl, sending a shower of brown spots onto her dress.
“Excuse me,” she mumbled.
“Quite all right, Miss Hartford,” the duke announced. Lucy looked up, surprised at the reassuring smile the duke sent her. “The stew is excellent.”
Her mouth dropped open, no sound escaping until she mustered the courage to say, “Thank you,” in a small voice. For the first time she wondered if perhaps he wasn’t such a villain. Indeed, he’d saved her bird, too, though she had no idea where her pet had gone. But at least he wasn’t floating belly-up in a cauldron of stew, she thought.
They continued to eat in silence, or in Lucy and Beth’s case, pretend to eat, but much to Lucy’s frustration there was no sign the root was working. Tully still looked as healthy as a horse on its way to Newmarket. When he was done, all he did was lean back in his chair in an attitude of extreme relaxation, pat his over-large belly, then open his mouth to release a great gale of a belch. Lucy concealed her revulsion only with the grimmest restraint.
“Well, Yer Grace,” he said, “now that we’ve had our evenin’ victuals, I fancy watching Wolf hang from the gallows fer entertainment. Whadda ya say?”
Lucy gasped.
Tully darted her a glance, then smirked. “Don’t ya like me idea, me lady?”
No, she did not. Furious, she stiffened in her chair, knowing she should probably keep control of her temper, but she was tired of feeling helpless, of Tully’s taunts, and of trying to ignore his lecherous stares. “I’ll kill you first.”
Tully merely opened his nightmare of a mouth and guffawed. “Will ya now?” he chortled, spit and chunks ofsoup flying out like a miniature hailstorm. “I’d thought ya’d be glad ta be rid o’ him. I’d wager a little mite like you fair gets crushed every time ‘e pumps ya.” He looked at the duke, paused for a moment, then let out another burst of cackling laughter, slapping the table for added effect.
Lucy watched his evil, complacent face for half a second before something inside her snapped. Everything converged on her at once: their capture, Garrick’s beating, the fear of what was to become of them. Enraged, she picked up her soup bowl and flung it at his stupid, crater-filled face.
She had the satisfaction of seeing his expression change to one of surprise just before the soup connected with a satisfying splat, the bowl clattering to the floor.
For seconds the pirate just sat there, bits of potatoes, carrots, and beef clinging to his face like mud. But then he gave an earsplitting bellow of rage, swiped one grubby paw over his face, and charged to his feet.
Lucy froze, torn between throwing something else at him and darting for the door. She glanced at the room’s other two occupants. Beth stared at her in horror, the duke looked amused.
Lucy glanced back in time to see Tully’s hand whip out to capture her chin in a hard, punishing grip, forcing her gaze upward.
“Let her go,” Beth cried.
Tully leaned toward Lucy. His black eye gleamed evilly as he brought his nose within inches of hers. His rank-smelling breath filled the air in a putrid cloud and made her gag.
“Ya’ll pay fer that,” he said softly.
Lucy’s heart beat so loudly, she almost missed his words. “I … I think not.”
His grip tightened. He pushed his mashed nose closer to hers. “I’ll enjoy tamin’ ya in bed.”
“Never,” she squeaked.
He released a bark of laughter.
Lucy jerked her chin out of Tully’s grasp and turned her head away, trying hard not to breathe. “Too much onion,” she wheezed.
Abruptly, Tully’s laughter faded; his hand streaked out to capture her chin again, jerking her face toward his. “I’m lookin’ forward to tamin’ that tongue o’ yers, too.” As if in anticipation, his tongue snaked out to wet his lips.
Lucy decided, nothing ventured nothing gained. “And I’m looking forward to cutting yours from your head. And … and other body parts, too,” she added before she lost her nerve.
He chuckled nastily and straightened, releasing her chin with a painful flick. “Think ya could hack off somethin’ that big?”
Lucy slowly looked toward his crotch and said, “I’ve seen splinters that were bigger.”
She started as the duke let out a shout of laughter. Tully didn’t look amused at all. He leaned toward her, his breath touching her with its foulness. “That tongue o’ yers is sharp, but we’ll see ‘ow much fight ya have left in ya after watchin’ yer lover hang from a rope.”
“You’d think they’d feed us more’n that little scrap o’ bread. Me dinner pail’s still rattlin’.”
“I’d be thankful they remembered to feed us at all, Tom, though I’d wager it was you they were concerned with most.”
“Well, if they was tryin’ ta impress me with their hospi-toe-tality, they gots a long ways ta go.”
Garrick smiled grimly in the dark hold where he and Tom and the rest of the Swan’s crew were being held. Dankness surrounded them—it was in the air, on the floor beneath them, and seeping into Garrick’s soul. He could still see Lucy’s face and the terrified look in her eyes as she was dragged off to Tully’s cabin.
He thought back to the time they’d shared, of her smiles, her laughter, and from that came the notion that perhaps if he hadn’t been so enchanted by that smile, none of this would have happened.
He frowned. Once there, the idea haunted him and teased his conscience, making him vow to escape and save her.
“I think I ‘ear footsteps again,” Calico said.
The rest of the Swan’s crew, all twelve of them, broke into murmurings which quickly grew silent when the door rattled, then was shoved open; a torch momentarily blinded them all. When Garrick held his hands out before him, the chains which bound his wrists rattled and the movement sent a spasm of pain through his wounded knee.
“Which one is ‘e?” asked a small-framed man with the evil grin of a felon.
“The big one,” answered his companion, a wrinkle-faced brute with a red scarf tied around his head and a gold hoop hanging from his left nostril.
“Saay, ain’t that
painful?” Tom asked, spying the adornment.
The brute’s response was to glare down at him. The smaller pirate came forward, a pistol held out in front of him. “I’ve orders ta bring ya above,” he said to Garrick. “If ya give us any trouble, I’m ta kill one o’ your crew, starting with that one.” He pointed his long-barreled pistol at Calico.
Garrick didn’t say a word as the pirate unlocked the chains around his wrists, tied his wrists, then motioned with his pistol for him to get to his feet.
“Garrick!” cried a desperate voice when they reached the main deck.
Garrick turned, blinking against the brightness of the deck. Lucy streaked toward him, one of the crew at her heels. Her hair streamed out behind her like a ruby standard. He winced as she slammed into his bruised chest. When she tilted her head back, there was fear in her eyes, more fear than he’d ever thought possible for such a brave and courageous woman.
“Garrick,” she cried as she was pulled away. “Oh, Garrick, I thought you dead.”
“Now ain’t that touchin’,” Tully said, using her hair to jerk her against him.
Garrick growled, rage such as he’d never felt before filling his soul. “If you touch her, Tully, you’re a dead man.”
“Oooh, I’m frightened, yer lordship. ‘Specially seein’ as how yer ‘ands be tied.”
“I’ll use more than my hands by the time I’m through with you.”
“Like ta see ya try, Wolf.”
Garrick wanted to try. Now. The fear in Lucy’s eyes was doing strange things to his insides. But he knew if he were to vent to his rage, Tully wouldn’t hesitate to use the pistol aimed at his heart. The feeling of helplessness enraged him even further.
Tully, the bloody bastard, knew he had the upper hand. The expression on his face was one of a man who intended to enjoy every minute of his revenge. “What’s the matter, Wolf? Afraid ta fight?” he taunted.
Lucy squirmed, swiped hair from her face and exposed aqua eyes filled with as much animosity as Garrick felt. “He’s not afraid of you … you … you … walking soup bowl!”
Tully’s complacent expression vanished, replaced by one of pure nastiness. “Gonna let you lick it off a me ta’night, lovey.”
Lucy screeched, her hands clenched into fists. Tully’s grip on her hair tightened, holding her immobile.
“Don’t provoke him, Lucy.”
“But, Garrick, I—”
Tully jerked her again. “Listen to ‘im, woman, afore I fetch yer friend Beth an’ string ‘er up, too.”
“If you harm either of them, Tully …” Garrick warned.
“Eh?” Tully asked, darting him a glance. “What’re ya goin’ ta do, Wolf, haunt me from the grave?” He chuckled. The sound turned into a gasp when Lucy’s elbow slammed into his gut.
“Ill haunt you from the grave, you worm.”
Tully, apparently, had had enough. He turned to the man who stood by his side. “Where’s Scabbs?”
The man looked as if he was standing on shards of glass as he answered, “He’s, ahh, he’s sick, cap’n.”
“Sick!” Tully boomed.
“Aye, cap’n. There’s a few o’ us here who don’t feel too well.”
“Argh, well, pussies be the lot o’ ya. You there,” he called to one of his men. “Get over here an’ hold the wench.” He thrust Lucy at the man, then turned toward Garrick.
“Well, Wolf, say good-bye to yer woman.” He motioned for Garrick to be guided to the rope by two burly looking men.
Garrick waited until they were an arm’s length away before he sprung into action. In a move which he’d perfected over the years, he ignored the pain in his leg and spun on one heel, kicking the pistol from Tully’s hand. Lucy yelped, then pulled free from Tully’s grasp. The pistol fired harmlessly into the air.
Arms encircled him from behind, but Garrick thrust an elbow into his assailant’s gut. A whoosh of air was released, and the arms around him slackened. Garrick spun around, using one of his legs to kick the legs out from beneath his enemy. The man cursed as he fell to the deck with a grunt. Garrick’s booted heel silenced him. Another man came out of the darkness to take up where his crewmate had left off. A quick, sharp kick to the man’s gut left him gasping for air.
“Garrick!” Lucy screamed.
Garrick whirled.
Tully and Lucy were engaged in a battle over a pistol Tully had had tucked in his belt. Lucy’s hands wereclasped around his wrist as she tried to ward him off from aiming the weapon at his head.
Garrick charged. Hands reached out and grabbed him. Pain sent sharp spasms of fire through his insides and his knee as his assailant knocked him off balance and threw him to the deck. The pirate landed on top of him. For a second he couldn’t breathe, his enemy’s leering face grinned evilly from atop him, a pistol aimed at his head.
And then he was gone.
His assailant was jerked off of him and sent careening into a mast. The pirate’s head connected with a thud, then his body collapsed into a heap.
Stunned, Garrick looked up and into the face of a man so black, his teeth were the only thing visible against the backdrop of stars. He bent down and helped him to his feet.
“Help your woman, sahib. I will go help her friend.”
Garrick didn’t waste a second. He charged at Tully, his hands reaching for his throat. Tully shot him a look of surprise which turned to shock when Garrick jerked the pistol from his grasp.
“Step away, Lucy.”
Lucy nodded, her chest heaving from her struggles. She stepped back, but a hand materialized out of the darkness and pulled her against him. A gleaming knife was held to her throat.
“Let the cap’n go,” a man said. He jerked Lucy up against him, moving the knife up her neck further. Lucy tilted her chin to avoid contact with the blade.
“Scabbs! Bless yer eyes. A promotion fer you, it is.” Tully chuckled nastily, his face filled with smugness as he turned to Garrick. “Drop the pistol or yer woman dies.”
Hope seeped out of Garrick like water through a sieve.
“I think not, Tully.”
Every head swiveled in the direction of the feminine voice.
“Beth!” cried Lucy.
Beth stepped from the darkness, the pistol she held out in front of her shaking like tree leaves in a gale as she pointed it at Lucy’s captor.
18
“Let go of her, you cur!” Beth ordered.
“Beth, oh, Beth,” cried Lucy in delight. “I do believe I could kiss you.”
“Release her,” Beth ordered again when Lucy’s captor failed to comply. She even went so far as to take a threatening step toward him. “If you don’t release her, I warn you I shall blow a hole in your stomach.”
“No,” the man gasped, and his face seemed to turn green in the lantern light. “Not me stomach.”
“Scabbs!” Tully took a step. “Damn yer eyes, Scabbs,” Tully yelled, “if ya let ‘er go I’ll rip yer bloody throat out.”
“Sorry, cap’n,” Scabbs gasped just before he dropped to the deck, knife and all. Within seconds he was writhing on the ground, his arms wrapped around his abdomen, moaning in pain.
“Good heavens.” Lucy cried.
“It’s working,” said Beth in equal astonishment.
“What’s working!” Tully roared.
“We poisoned your soup,” Lucy said primly. “You should all be dead by morning.”
Beth stifled a laugh; Lucy heard it and began her own soft chuckles. It was a lie, but she wasn’t about to tell Tully that. Let the worm wallow in fear. By the time he realized she’d not told him the truth, he’d be wallowing in something else.
“You poisoned the soup?” Garrick asked.
They both nodded.
“How?”
“Tully made the mistake of asking Lucy to cook,” Beth answered.
“Bloody whores!” Tully announced. “Is that where all me men are?” He stomped his feet in childish frustration. “I should’a known better t
han ta let a red ‘aired witch like ya onta me ship.” He turned to Beth. “An’ you! No better than her, ya are. A curse on ya. Ya hear! A curse on ya—”
“Silence!” Garrick roared, stepping forward and poking the nose of the pistol into Tully’s ribs. He turned to Lucy. “What kind of poison did you use?”
Her grin turned into a full-fledged smile. “Dandelion root.”
Garrick nodded, obviously familiar with the herb. “Lucy, hand me that line over there.”
“Here, sahib.”
Lucy whirled toward the voice. “Mousad!” she cried, “where have you been?”
“Detaining the crew, sahib.” He held up the rope he had clutched in his left hand.
“Mousad! Damn yer black hide! Was it you what showed ‘em ‘ow to poison that soup?”
Mousad smiled. “It was, sahib.” He bowed low and when he straightened, amusement filled his chocolate-colored eyes.
The words seemed to be Tully’s undoing. His face grew positively blotchy. His eye patch looked as if it were about to pop from his head.
“Ya bloody whoremongers. Ya bloody buggerin’ whoremongers! I’ll get even with ya. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll get even with ya … with all o’ ya!”
Lucy didn’t even see Mousad draw his fist back, but she heard it connect with a satisfying splat. Tully slumped to the deck.
Mousad’s startling white smile grew. “I have been longing to do that for a great while,” he observed.
Lucy smiled, feeling her heart bloom with happiness. She had done it. By God, for the first time in her life, one of her plans had gone flawlessly. She rushed forward, straight into Garrick’s arms.
She felt him tense and thought he might have patted her back, but in the next instant he pushed her away. Lucy felt confusion stampede through her.
“Garrick, what—”
“Find me Ravenwood,” he called to Mousad, turning away from her without a backward glance. Her last sight of him was of his white-clad back as it disappeared into the darkness.
My Fallen Angel Page 16
