by ML Guida
Hot blazing pain bore into his neck and he screamed.
Palmer grabbed his hair. “Listen boy and listen good, you won’t cast a spell unless I order you to. Not unless you want the yari to kill you.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Only I can order you to cast a spell.” He laughed, sending chills scurrying down Lark’s spine, all the way to his clenched toes. “Welcome aboard the Fiery Damsel.”
Chapter Nine
Kane clamped his jaw tight. Hannah had been acting peculiar earlier and he prayed to God, ’twas delirium. What if he was wrong? What if Zuto’s powers had grown and were no longer limited to the island? Shite, maybe he should have stayed with the lass rather than sending Doc.
Standing up on deck, Kane clasped his spyglass and aimed it at Tortuga’s busy port. Sailors carried barrels and wooden crates on their shoulders as they loaded and unloaded boats. Prostitutes, swaying their hips and revealing cleavage, tried to entice the sailors with their goods.
Kane sighted in on a man with curly brown hair, the wind blowing strands free of his neatly tied queue, pacing the busy docks. He held his head high and clasped his hands behind his rigid back. Blood dripped down his chin. Kane’s stomach dropped.
He recognized his brother, despite the fat swollen lip, grubby white shirt and green breeches.
William never wore his shirt unbuttoned, and was emphatic about having a shine to his boots. He always dressed like an officer. Something was off. Why was William alone? Where the hell was Ronan Macmillan?
Damn it!
Kane had sent Ronan and William last week to investigate the whereabouts of the Fiery Damsel. Palmer and his crew had been attacking the islands and Kane wanted to know why. At first, Kane had refused William’s demand to go, since he was human and not cursed. But his brother would not be left behind. Ronan had volunteered to keep William safe, his brother’s chagrin at being treated less than capable.
Where was Ronan? The man must be dead. He’d never abandon William. Kane tightened his grip on the spyglass. Another one of his decisions had gone astray. He should have never allowed William to go and locked him in the brig instead.
Sean clapped him on his back and his other hand squeezed his shoulder. “Hey, Captain, you got us here.”
Kane stiffened. “You doubted my ability?”
“Nay, Capt’n, cutting it close, too close. Tonight’s the full moon.”
Kane gripped the spyglass tighter and gritted his teeth. “I’m well aware of the curse, Mallory.”
Sean cleared his throat. “`Tis only William on the dock.”
“Aye,” Kane muttered. "Ronan would never have left him. Something’s a miss."
“Orders Capt’n,” Sean asked.
“Go and fetch my brother, ” Kane said. He lowered the spyglass.
“Aye, aye, Captain.” Sean strutted away. “Lower the longboat mates,” he hollered.
The full moon was indeed approaching. Kane’s tongue rolled over his sharpened incisors and his blood slowed. Kane tilted his head from side to side, stretching out the kinks in his neck. Bloody hell. He slammed the spyglass back into his belt. Tonight, he’d be no better than Palmer—a vampire.
He chewed on his cheek. His fondness for Hannah was growing and he didn’t need a distraction. He had to protect his men and find a cure to the curse. But every time he was around her, he acted as thick as a stone. What would she think if she found out he was a monster? He had to get the lass off his ship. He wanted her to remember him as a man, not a bloody monster.
He closed his eyes and hung his head. Even now the moon called to him. His throat ached. His stomach growled. Damn, the bloodlust was upon him again, deeper than any human food could satisfy. He didn’t want Hannah to discover the truth, to see the fear in her eyes, to see the loathing, to see the hate.
William strolled up next to him. He opened his arms. “Brother.”
Kane returned the bear hug and held him tight. His tension lessened. He released William and slapped his back. “Grand to have you on board, brother.”
“We need to talk.”
“Aye,” Kane agreed. “Macmillan?”
William shook his head. “We had just left Shark’s Tavern when Palmer’s men ambushed us. Ronan and I fought, but they took him.”
“And?”
“They said if you want him, come and get him.”
Kane clenched his fist. “Fine. I’ll kill the bloody bastard. Wha…”
“Capt’n,” the topman cried from the crow’s nest. “On the starboard side. ’Tis the Fiery Damsel.”
Kane aimed his spyglass at the Fiery Damsel, Palmer’s colors of a red skeleton on a black background flapping in the wind framed up in the glass. The Fiery Damsel sailed straight toward them, cannons ready, but at the last minute, they changed course and came up behind them.
Ronan was aboard the bloody ship, locked in the damn brig. Palmer would enjoy torturing him, listening to him scream. With Ronan being immortal, Palmer could indulge his every fantasy and wait for Ronan to heal, only to hurt him all over again. Kane refused to abandon him.
“Weigh anchor. Clap on the sails.”
Men scrambled to loosen and spread more sail in order to get the Phoenix on her way and increase her speed.
Kane narrowed his eyes. “Fall off, Mallory. The bastard’s coming behind the stern.”
The Soaring Phoenix turned to sail with the wind and pick up speed to engage the Fiery Damsel, but even as Mallory spun the wheel, the Phoenix failed to maneuver fast enough.
The Fiery Damsel fired, smoke flowing around her hull. Cannonballs splashed into the water, spraying droplets onto the Phoenix’s deck.
The helmsman grabbed the wheel, turning to the ship to a hard port. “She’s coming about.” He struggled with the stubborn wheel while the rudder slowly turned.
A loud blast shook the ship. A cannonball slammed into the chaser, the cannon at the stern. Bits of shot fell, tearing away wood, sails and flesh. Two of Kane’s men screamed and toppled into the water.
Fire broke out on the stern. Black smoke swirled around the Phoenix’s hull.
“Man the guns,” Kane cried. He ran to the bow and pulled out his spyglass. Ronan was nowhere to be seen. Damn it!
The Fiery Damsel closed the distance and fired. Another cannonball hit the Soaring Phoenix’s hull and the ship rocked. Kane’s crew ran to the guns and manned their stations. Men poured gunpowder into a parchment and placed it in the hole while other crewmen took a rammer and shoved it down. The cannonball was placed inside the gun followed by another wad stuffed into the hole to keep the cannonball from rolling out. The front of the gun carriage was placed on the ship’s bulwark and Kane clenched his fist. Too long. Too long.
“Fire,” he cried.
The cannons fired and missed the Fiery Damsel’s hull. She still outmaneuvered them.
Another cannonball hit the Phoenix and she rocked in the water. Kane's men were hit and fell screaming into the water. A fire broke out on the deck, the oily black smoke snaking around the ship and obscuring the action.
Kane coughed and his eyes watered. He spun around and turned still as stone. Through the haze of the smoke, Hannah walked across the deck. His heart slammed into his chest, blood thumping through him. She needed to be safe. He would not lose her.
He ran towards her, his heart thumping in his chest, pushing man after man out his way. Smoke blurred his vision and he skidded on a piece of hemp rope. He wobbled and went down on one knee but got back up and ran as he saw her too close to the rail, facing the Fiery Damsel, as if she were ready to engage in battle.
Hannah stared at the Fiery Damsel and squared her shoulders back. Grim determination flickered over her face. The blood drained from his face and he grew dizzy. For Jaaysus sake, what was she doing?
Kane dodged running crewmen and shards of wood, and wounded men. All that mattered was Hannah and getting her below deck. At another cannon blast from the Fiery Damsel, he shouted, “Shite, Hanna
h, get below deck!”
Hannah held up her palms, facing the Fiery Damsel. She yelled over the thundering cannons. “Stay back. I know what I’m doing.”
Despite the clear blue sky and a calm sea, her brown hair churned around her face, her shirt and trousers rippled over her slender form.
She raised her arms into the air and a wall of water rose out of the sea. She pointed to the burning stern and a stream of water splashed dousing the flames on the Soaring Phoenix’s stern.
Droplets of water sprinkled onto Kane’s body. He gaped at steam rising from the stern. Had she just commanded water to move?
Hannah bent her body, and as she slowly stood, she moved her hands back towards her shoulders. Another wet wall formed, this one higher than the last, the roar hurting Kane’s ears. She lunged her hands forward, and the wet wall followed the direction of her arms and thundered towards the Fiery Damsel.
Kane’s crew yelled, but he couldn’t make out their words due to the thundering wave. It crashed into the Fiery Damsel, nearly tipping over the ship. The water rolled up and down, tossing the Fiery Damsel, further and further and further out to sea. Her sails were tattered and flapped, helpless against the mast.
“Mother of God,” he murmured.
Kane wanted to hunt the Fiery Damsel down and finish her, kill Palmer, but tonight was the full moon. His men needed to feed.
His attention ripped back to Hannah as the disabled ship limped away. Her arms dropped to her side and she fell to her knees, her hair hanging in her face. She sank to her knees, her hand shaking as she swiped her limp hair out of her face. Blood trickled down her nose, but a smile spread across her face.
She panted, “I can’t believe I did it.”
Kane glanced at the disappearing Fiery Damsel and Hannah. He narrowed his eyes and marched over to her. He grabbed her arm. “Bloody hell, you’re a witch.”
Hannah’s eyes widened and struggled against him. “Don’t hurt me.”
Kane yanked her across the deck. His men stepped back, giving them a wide birth. Some stood slack-jawed, some wide-eyed, still others scowled and grimaced. The brave put their hands on their scabbards, ready to draw their weapons and slice her to ribbons.
“Let.” She slapped his hand. “Go.” Another slap. “Of.” Slap, slap. “Me.” Slap, slap.
She kicked his shins, but Kane could care less. He wanted her alone.
He dragged her past a glowering William. “Kane,” William warned. He folded his arms across his chest and tapped his foot. Even in his tattered wet clothes, he would have made a grand bishop with his stiff stance and condescending scowl.
“Stay here, William,” Kane glared. “That’s an order.”
“I don’t—”
“I am the bloody captain. You’ll do my bidding brother or be locked in the brig.”
“Where are you taking me?” Hannah demanded.
“To my cabin.”
“What? Why?” She jammed her heel onto his boot. “I demand you release me at once.”
He pulled her against his chest and peered into her stormy brown eyes. Her intoxicating smell of jasmine rushed over him, enslaving him in a pool of conflicting emotions. Her squirming body pressed against him teased his growing passion. He gazed at her frowning soft lips and an urge to kiss her, to silence her protests, swept over him. Was the little minx casting a spell? Or had she already cast one? One of desire, lust and need.
“Release me.”
“You lied to me.” He narrowed his eyes, forcing back his passion. “Witch.”
“What? I am….”
Before she could finish, he hauled her down to his cabin and tossed her inside. She stumbled and whirled around. Her stormy eyes declared war on him. He slammed the door shut behind them.
“How dare you! You bastard.”
He put his hands on his hips. “You’re not leaving this cabin.”
“Why not?”
“Why not? You’re a witch and put my men at risk.”
“Excuse me?” She put her hands on her hips. “Unless I am completely daft, the Fiery Damsel was about to tear this ship apart.”
He stuck out his chin. “You’re mistaken.” He took a step towards her.
Hannah glared. Blood trickling out of her right nostril.
“You’ve got a bloody nose.” Even with a bleeding nose and a battered face, she was beautiful, a vision of beauty, but was she from heaven or hell?
“Yes.” She ran her sleeve over her nose, smearing the blood on her shirt. “I can see that.” She stomped over to the bed and sat. “So, if you are going to beat me, get it over with.”
“Beat you?” He stilled. “Is that…”
She tilted her chin. “Yes, if you must know. Father beats me when I use my power.”
“The lashes?”
“Yes, damn it.”
He blinked. Her chest heaved up and down. What kind of a man was her father?
“I’m finally able to save someone with my powers, and I’m punished for it. You are no different than my father. Your crew would have been dead without me. I’m not a witch and I don’t cast spells.” She flopped on her stomach and lifted the back of her shirt. “So, get it over with. I don’t care. Your crew would have been dead without me.”
Slowly unfolding his arms, he edged over to the bed. She jerked her head away, her shoulders shaking. Was she crying? Her back was stiff. Her hair covered her shoulders and her upper back, but failed to hide the faded angry red lashes and scarring her back.
He had half inclination to march down to the brig and whip the flesh from her father’s bulbous body. How many times had he beaten her? Was it for using her powers or failing to use them?
Gazing at her naked back, his fingers itched to run over her silky skin and make her forget the pain, to let her know her body was to be worshiped, to be kissed. He gritted his teeth. Damn, he was losing control.
He sat on the bed and Hannah sucked in her breath. “How long have you possessed this power?”
“Why do you care?”
“Tell me lass.” He lifted his hand to move the hair out of her face, but she turned her head.
“I was born with it. My ancestor was a gypsy queen who possessed magical powers and could move objects with her mind. I told you we don’t cast spells.” She sighed. “Just get it over with Kane.”
He clasped her shoulder and gently turned her around. Her wet doe eyes studied him warily. He wanted to erase her pain, get her to trust him. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her to the edge of the bed. “Your father despises your powers?”
“Yes.” Her voice choked. “For not being able to use them properly. Because of me, my mother died.”
“Your father blames you?”
Tears misted in her eyes. Her nod was almost imperceptible.
“But why?”
“I…I…” She stammered, looked away. Her jasmine scent drifted over him, weeding away at his control.
She was in pain. Bloody hell, why was he pushing her to talk about this? ’Twas cruel, but he had to know for the safety of his crew. “What did you do?”
“Carriages,” she whispered.
“Carriages?”
“Runaway horses.” She knotted her fingers together in her lap.
He frowned. “Runaway horses were pulling a carriage?”
“Lightning struck a tree. The horses spooked and took off running. The carriages came barreling down—” Her voice faded. She closed her eyes.
Kane’s heart wrenched. Poor lass, she must feel so responsible. Hell, he would.
“We had been shopping. I had gone with my father to the sweet shop, while my mother went across the street to the millinery. She wanted a new hat to wear to my aunt’s ball.”
A sick feeling settled low in Kane’s stomach. “Ah, Hannah.”
“Kane,” she whimpered. “I was eating a licorice whip when my mother spied us. She was wearing a jaunty green hat decorated with white ribbon. She waved to us, started across the street�
�”
“Then came the carriages.”
She gulped visibly. Closed her eyes. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps. “The horses were upon her.”
Kane put up a hand to smooth down her hair. She leaned against his shoulder and opened her eyes. “My father yelled, “Do not just stand there. Do something with those abominable powers of yours! Save your mother!”
“I tried to make the carriages turn in a different direction. But they were coming so fast. So very fast. And I was so slow.”
“Shhh,” he soothed. “You don’t need to say anything more.”
She stared blankly ahead as if she were back in the moment. “The one thing that sticks with me is that silly green hat with the white ribbon lying smashed in the road.”
He heard a muffled sob. He frowned. “How old were you when she died?”
“Seven,” she murmured.
The bloody Sassenach. The bastard had been abusing her since she was seven. He gave into temptation and moved her hair. “Is that what you want me to do? Beat you?”
“That’s what father always does. Why would you be any different?”
“Because I’m not him.” He clasped her shirt and pulled it down, covering her marks. She tensed beneath his touch. “I promise I won’t hurt you, lass.”
She flicked her hair and rolled onto her back and stared up at him. Confusion clouded her eyes. “Why not? I could see by your face and your crew’s that you hate witches. Witches cast spells. I don’t. I’m descended from a gypsy queen.”
“Aye, so you’re not a witch. You’re a gypsy. A beautiful one.”
Her eyes widened, but not with fear. Gratitude filled them. They were alive with so much emotion, alive with a need, a hunger and an intensity that scorched the last of his resolve. She moistened her lips. “Kiss me.”
His iron will crumbled. She wanted him. He groaned. He wanted to devour her mouth and then slowly remove her clothes, licking and tasting her naked flesh. But for now, he would have to be satisfied with a kiss. He stared at her pliable lips. Closing his eyes, he captured her lips and pushed them apart, wanting to taste her.
Her hands slid up his chest and she pulled him closer to her. His kiss became harder, passionate, demanding. He wanted to remember what she tasted like, savor this moment. Bloody hell, what had the lass done to him? Where was the man with the all the answers, the man with the perfect plan?
