She wondered if Will's ship had survived and why, if she had, the crew hadn't returned to search for him. Did they believe him drowned, or hadn't anyone missed him? How had he been so clumsy as to tumble overboard?
She had so many questions that they were near to bursting out of her skin. The trouble was, if he came to a dreadful end under Dyce's blade, she would never find the answers to any of them.
Chapter 3
Angel followed a twisting path through the dunes to the far side of the island, which the locals called Kidd's Retreat, emerging at Haunt's Cove. She hesitated while she was still hidden from view by the vegetation and looked cautiously around her before stepping out onto the narrow beach.
To her right, three small boats belonging to the Brethren were drawn up on the sand. Directly ahead, open water stretched between Kidd's Retreat and a larger isle, Sanctuary, too far for her to see with the naked eye. The mainland lay miles west of Sanctuary.
She shielded her eyes from the sun's rays, searching for sight of a sail, but saw nothing except choppy blue-green waves and a cloudless sky. Satisfied that Will Falcon's ship hadn't circled Kidd's Retreat hunting for him, she stepped farther out into the open.
What had possessed her to offer to take him to husband? What Bett had said was true. So far, Angel had wanted no man. None to dally with and none to accept as protector or as mate. Since she had sprouted from child to maiden, she had distanced herself from all males but Cap'n. He was more father to her than friend.
So different was she from other young women that many of the Brethren called her mermaid, wave witch, or moonling. She suspected some feared her for her odd behavior, and she was content to have it so. Yet she who had never been kissed by a man had offered her bed to one she knew nothing about.
Perhaps she was sick. She might have taken a chill in the cold water, or she could be coming down with some ague. Even now, it seemed her thoughts eddied and churned like a storm tide. Her breath came ragged, and her blood ran hot. She touched her forehead, seeking some hint of fevers but found none. "Truly, I am the one bewitched," she murmured. "Beguiled by a pair of devil-blue eyes and a mouth that would tempt a saint."
Abruptly, Bett noticed her and waved. "There you are, Angel. Best ye have some of these vittles before they're gone. I've got clam fritters here, and ye know how the cap'n loves them."
"She ain't lookin' fer food," Tamsey remarked. "It's him she's got a hunger fer." Several members of the group laughed as the pregnant girl motioned toward the prisoner.
Angel's heart gave an odd little flutter as she caught sight of Will Falcon bound hand and foot, sitting with legs outstretched, his back to a scraggy pine tree. She had told herself that she had spun him out of mist, that no flesh-and-blood man could be the way she remembered him.
From here, she saw that one of his eyes was swollen. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, and a purple bruise marred his left cheekbone. None of these injuries had been obvious when she'd pulled him from the water, and none took away a measure of the enchantment he'd cast on her.
"Yer wastin' yer time with that'n," Tom jeered. "He's shark bait." Dyce, sprawled beside him, said nothing, but Angel saw him ogling her as he crammed a hunk of corn bread into his mouth and chewed greedily.
God rot your stinkin' bowels, Dyce Towser, Angel thought as a knot twisted in the pit of her stomach. 'Twas you who struck the outlander once he was tied and helpless. I'd bet my soul on it.
Without answering or showing any hint of her seething anger, Angel strolled to one of the boats, dipped water from a small ironbound keg in the stern, and drank. The liquid was warm and tasted faintly of vinegar, but there was no fresh water on this key. Every drop had to be brought in from the main settlement. It was drink this or go without.
Once she had satisfied her thirst, she filled the gourd to the brim and carried it to Will. "Thirsty?" she asked him.
He nodded, and she raised the gourd to his cracked lips. The bird-wing sensation in her chest had intensified, and it seemed to her that the air had become as thick as molasses. Try as she might, she couldn't hold the dipper steady, and some of the liquid spilled down Will's chin. "Had enough?" she asked.
"Thanks." His fierce gaze met hers, holding her spellbound for long seconds.
He was a clean-shaven man with a single day's growth of dark beard, and thick, silky hair. And well named, she thought as a chill rippled down her spine in spite of the growing heat of the morning sun.
"You're kind," he said.
"'Tis nothin'." She tore free from her breathless trance and covered her unease with practicality. "Have you hunger?" she asked, trying to keep her gaze from straying to the width of his shoulders or the bulge of hard muscle in his upper arms.
He shook his head. "No, I'm not hungry."
She watched, fascinated, as the last beads of water dripped from his square chin onto his cream-colored linen shirt and wondered what it was about him that drew her so. "I'll wager you've felt better," she replied in a breathy rush. "Ye were as near to drownin' as I've seen and yet live."
"More thanks to you."
"Nay." She felt her cheeks grow warm and knew she was blushing. "You're a strong swimmer. Few men could last long in that riptide and not be swept under." A thought came to her. "We are much apart here. I... I know not the ways of gentlefolk. Does it trouble your pride to be pulled from the sea by a wench?"
The slightest hint of a smile tugged at his mouth. "Hardly. But, mistress, I—"
"No," she admonished, listening closely to his strangely accented English. "Do not mock me with fripperies. I am no one's mistress, and I have no titles. I am just Angel."
"Simply Angel? No surname?"
"Why would I need another? There are no other angels among the Brethren that we would need a nickname to tell us apart." She flashed him a shy smile as she gave him more water. "Some say it is unlucky to save a drowning man. Some think the sea will take revenge on both the saved and the rescuer."
"I've heard that."
"But I put little stock in such superstitions," he concluded.
"Aye. You would think that," she agreed, "being the one with nothin' to lose and all to gain."
He gave her a wicked grin. "I give you the field, mistress. You have wit as well as nerve."
"There's many here who would argue that," she answered, but she wasn't able to resist smiling back at him. "You should eat," she advised. "Ye will need your strength to—"
"You're not like the others," he said. "Not willing to see blood shed—"
"Don't waste your breath with honey-coated words. You must enter the circle, and you must fight." She swallowed, trying to dissolve the lump in her throat. "And if... when," she corrected, "...when you best Dyce, you must take me to wife. There is no other way."
He muttered a half oath, but bit it back. "I'm the last man you'd want for a husband. Couldn't you—"
Angel shook her head. "You dinna understand, outlander. It's not me who's in need of a husband, 'tis you who must accept a partner from among us. We have our own law here. Those who do not follow it are put to death."
"So be it. If I must fight him, I will. But my muscles will cramp and stiffen if I remain tied like this. Can you loosen the ropes?"
She made a small sound of wry amusement. "Ye take me for a fool."
"No, I don't. But truth is, your Dyce looks a formidable foe. If they want fair combat, I need—"
She took a step back and shrugged. "Have you forgotten what I told you? In the circle, there are no rules."
* * *
No rules. Angel's words came back to haunt her as Dyce and Will faced each other under the glare of the noon sun. Within seconds of the start of the ordeal, Dyce launched his first attack. Moving faster than Angel would have imagined the brute was capable of, Dyce bent, scooped up a fistful of sand, and hurled it into Will Falcon's face. Temporarily blinded, Will clutched his eyes and twisted sideways, barely evading a wicked thrust of Dyce's blade.
"Mind t
he circle!" Angel shouted when Will's bare foot came dangerously close to the boundary line Cap'n had drawn on the cleared earth. No more than nine feet from edge to edge, the faint mark was all that stood between either opponent and the yawning gates of hell.
Will moved as quick and light as spray dancing on waves, wordlessly taunting Dyce, keeping just out of arm's range. Angel noted with approval that the foreigner seemed to know how to hold the weapon she had lent him, and that he was fast. No trace of fear showed on his handsome face.
Both men had stripped to their breeches, shedding garments, boots, and stockings, before the challenge began. What little protection a shirt or waistcoat would give the wearer would be naught compared to the ease of movement without. Leather soles might give poor footing on sand, and a man who lost his balance and fell was doomed.
Angel squeezed her fingers into knots as alternate waves of heat and ice flashed under her skin. Raw fear was an emotion she seldom experienced, but she was afraid now. Will's sleek muscles and narrow waist seemed dwarfed by Dyce's massive frame and barrel neck. It seemed impossible that he would be the one left standing when the contest was over.
And he had to be....
If Will didn't survive the battle, she'd have to deal with Dyce alone. Cap'n might be able to protect her for a while, but soon he, too, would fall victim to Dyce's relentless greed. She had seen the evil in Dyce's little pig eyes. He wanted to be leader of the Brethren and he was determined to have her. Neither she nor Cap'n could sleep with both eyes shut until Dyce was dead.
She had never taken a human life. But if Will Falcon didn't kill Dyce, she was fearful she would have to do it herself.
The big wrecker charged again. Will dodged right, then left. Dyce's knife flashed in the sunlight, and Will uttered a grunt of pain before retreating with sweat and blood glistening on his bare chest.
"Get'm!" Tom howled. "Cleave off his root, if ye can find it!"
Tamsey shrieked with excited laughter.
It seemed to Angel that everything outside the circle lost its importance. The seabirds' cries faded. The Brethren ceased to shout. She no longer felt the shell-littered beach beneath her feet, smelled the tang of salt in the air, or felt the breeze on her face. For that moment, nothing mattered but Will Falcon and his fate.
Then Dyce snarled an oath and bore down upon Will with scarlet-stained steel and clenched fist. This time the stranger didn't feint. He spun on one foot and slammed the bare sole of the other into Dyce's hairy chest.
The air burst from Dyce like a punctured bladder. He toppled backward and crashed to the earth, with Will on top of him. And somehow, in the blink of an eye, the battle had turned. Angel's knife, the one that she had lent Will, pinned Dyce's hand to the ground, while his own was pressed against Dyce's throat.
"Kill him!" Bett urged. "Kill the bastard!"
"Yield," Will ordered. "Yield or die."
"I... I give up," Dyce blubbered. "Don't cut me..."
Will looked at the captain. "Must I finish him?"
"No! Please!" Dyce begged.
Abruptly, Angel became aware of an acrid stench and saw the dark stain spreading across the front of Dyce's breeches.
"Dyce's pissed himself!" Tamsey pointed, and began to giggle.
"Kill him," Angel whispered. "If you don't..."
But Cap'n had already intervened, shaking his head and gesturing for Will to let Dyce up. "You've proved yer worth. Angel's yours, if she'll still claim ye."
In one swift motion, Will yanked the blade from Dyce's mutilated hand, got to his feet, and moved far enough away so Dyce couldn't grab him.
Cap'n held out his hand for the knives. "I'll take those," he said. "We'll let ye join our company, but you'll not carry steel until we're sure of you."
Will glanced at the other men who closed in around him, expressions hard, hands reaching for their own weapons.
"Do as Cap'n says," Angel said. "It's our way."
"How do I know I'm not signing my own death warrant by trusting you?" Will asked the captain.
Cap'n chuckled. "Ye don't, laddie. An' that's gospel."
"His word's been good enough fer us since before the war," Watt Cook exclaimed. "Damn yer eyes if ye think to question our cap'n. We've hemp enough to string ye to—"
Angel stepped between Will and the captain. "Give them to me," she said, placing her hand over Will's. "It's all right. You have my word on it."
Reluctantly, he surrendered the knives to her keeping. Trying to keep from trembling, Angel handed Dyce's to Bett and bent to clean hers in the dry sand. Behind Will, she saw Dyce sitting up and cradling his injured hand against his chest. No one but Tom seemed the slightest bit interested.
"You're certain ye want to go through with this?" Bett asked. "Tom's right. We can still silence him another way."
"No, he's mine, and I'll have him," Angel said. She reached out and clasped Will's hand. "I take this man to husband," she cried. "He has passed the test of courage."
"Do it now, then, do ye mean to," Cap'n said, "but I believe it as foolish as any act I've seen. Nehemiah? Can ye remember the words?"
Will's fingers tightened on Angel's. "Him? How can he—"
"Nehemiah was a man of God in his old life," she explained. "He speaks over the dead, marries us, and christens the babes."
Will scowled down at her and hissed, "This is a farce, woman. I've no wish to wed you, and I'll take my leave at first chance."
"Mayhap you will, and mayhap you won't," she replied. "But if ye do not say the words with me, you'll not live to see the sun go down."
"That's certain," Bett agreed, shoving a bouquet of pine boughs into Angel's hands. "'Tis no gaysome marriage, but Angel has the right to demand it."
"I do," Angel said. "Nehemiah?"
The one-armed man strode forward, red-cheeked and stiff with importance. "Have ye a wife already?" he demanded of Will. "Do ye, have sense enough to deny it or it will be the death of ye. I'll marry no man what has a wench and bairns at home."
Will glared back at him, mouth thin with anger and eyes narrowed. "I have no wife," he said between clenched teeth. "Have none and want none not of my own choosing."
"Angel be a proper maid," Bett said. "Get on with the words, Nehemiah."
"Aye." He shifted from one foot to the other before glancing at the captain. "This don't seem—"
"I, Angel, take you, Will Falcon, to be my lawful husband under God and under the law of the Brethren," she said. "Now you must ask him the same, Nehemiah."
"Do ye, Will Fallon—" Nehemiah began. "Falcon," Will snapped. "William Randolph Falcon, of Charleston, South Carolina."
"Aye." Nehemiah cleared his throat. "Do ye, Will'm Randolph Falcon, of—"
"Stand aside, bitch, or I'll blow ye to hell with him!" Dyce shouted.
Angel whirled to see Dyce standing right behind them with a sawed-off musket. "Get down!" Bett cried.
"Too late!" Dyce said. Grinning, he pulled the trigger.
Chapter 4
Will threw himself over Angel as the musket roared. He felt the lead ball slam into his back. And then he was falling, tumbling over and over in a white-hot blaze of pain, until after what seemed an eternity, he felt nothing more at all. Blackness... Rough jostling...
"Will. Wake up."
The soft, feminine voice tugged at his consciousness with a nagging urgency. "Will."
He drew in a long, ragged breath. His bones ached. Every muscle in his body protested his attempts to move. His eyelids were as heavy as iron deck-cleats. He couldn't open them... couldn't...
Cold water splashed in his face. He gasped. "What the—"
"Hist, hist, sweeting. Take a little water."
Will sputtered and swore. "Are you trying to drown me?" He opened his eyes to find Angel smiling down at him. It was dark, and the room was fire-lit. He tried to sit up, but she pushed him back on the pallet with strong arms.
"Nay, nay. Ye vexed me sore, Will Falcon. I feared you had a mind to die."
He hurt all over. "How bad is it?" he rasped.
"Not so bad. That lout Dyce tried to murder you. Bett feared he might, so she asked Watt Cook to foul Dyce's musket. Watt will do anything to get into Bett's bed. But our Watt is not as bright as he could be. He poured sand down the barrel. Dyce's gun blew up, and you were struck by pieces of metal instead of the musket ball."
"But..." Will struggled to push the fog from his mind. Firelight framed Angel's face and hair so that she was once again a heavenly vision. "I... I heard the—"
She shook her head, cutting off his statement. "What you heard was Cap'n's pistol, not Dyce's musket. Cap'n knew nothing of what Watt had done, so he tried to shoot the musket out of Dyce's hands. Why he didn't kill the villain, I don't know, but—"
"You're a bloodthirsty wench for one of God's messengers," he said, sinking back onto the pillow.
"Nay, I am not. And you must not blaspheme." She crossed herself before continuing. "Dyce is the devil's panderer, and you have hurt his hellish pride sore. Better you had slain him than his bile fester and he live on to cause the death of better men than he."
"Where am I?"
"My home." She laid a cool, damp cloth on his forehead. "I have washed the cuts in warm seawater, but I fear two need stitching up. T'will nay be pleasant for ye. Would you take rum?"
"No." It was becoming easier to understand her antiquated English. Under less dangerous circumstances, he might have found her speech charming. She was a beauty and a temptress with a lush and curving body and come-hither eyes that a man could drown in. But at the moment her sensual charms were the farthest thing from his mind. What was important was getting off this island alive. "No rum," he said. "I'd keep my wits about me."
He already felt as though he'd drunk a tavern dry. His head was pounding. He was nauseated, and his mouth tasted like bilge water. Gritting his teeth, he pushed up on one elbow to ease the fire in his back, and found his left foot tangled in something hard. "What the hell?" he protested. Throwing off the cover, he found a rusty manacle encircling his ankle. Will's oath seared the rafters.
Falcon's Angel Page 3
