by ML Guida
In the next moment, he, too, exploded, spilling his seed inside her. He panted and kissed her. “You’re killing me love.”
They lay entangled with each other, Hannah inhaling sandalwood, now mixed with musk. Kane kissed her shoulder and slowly pulled out of her. He braced his forearms on either side of Hannah and kissed her. “As much as I want to stay here, I’ve got to get back to on deck.”
She cupped his face. “I know.”
He kissed her one last time, his tongue dancing with hers, his beating heart matched hers. Groaning, he pulled away from her and sat, raking his hand through his hair. “I wish I could stay here all day, but…”
“You’re the captain.” She leaned up and ran her fingers down his backside. “I understand, Kane.”
He glanced over at her. “Minx.”
Standing, he stretched, his muscles rippling. She wanted to run her fingers over his firm buttocks again.
“Are you going to get up? Or d’ye want me to send breakfast and a bath to you?”
“I want to eat and practice my cutlass.”
He laughed. “That’s my fiery lass.”
He hugged her close to him, nibbling on her ear. “Now, get dressed or we’ll never make it out of this cabin.
Hannah sighed and escaped from him. He leaned against the door watching her get dressed. “You make me nervous.”
“Just want to watch your luscious body one more time.”
She slid the cutlass into its sheath. A rapid knock hit the door and she jumped.
“Capt’n,” Sean called. “We’ve spotted white sails on the horizon.”
Hannah and Kane stared at each other. Her heart pounding dread pooled in her stomach. This was it, the final battle between Kane and Palmer.
“’Tis Palmer?”
“No,” Sean answered. “On the portside. ’Tis D’Aubigne’s.”
Kane ran to his side with Hannah trailing behind him. Bile rose in her mouth about facing Jacques.
“Why is he here?” The memory of Jacques’ cold breath, his tiny sharp teeth on her breast, his nails scratching her skin gripped her. She swallowed back the bile threatening to slide up her throat. What if Jacques’ ship overtook the Soaring Phoenix? Could she face him? What if Kane was killed and she was captured?
With grim determination, Hannah gripped the cutlass handle and headed on deck. They joined William and Sean portside. William handed Kane a spyglass and Kane sighed in on the ship upon the horizon. He didn’t take his eyes from the approaching threat. “You best be below deck, love, when we engage in battle.”
She stiffened. “Why? You just said…”
He put the spyglass down. His expression was a mask of stone. “Hannah, you’ve only just learned your skills. Practicing with a cutlass for a couple of days does not make you an expert. I want you below deck when D’Aubigne attacks or I’ll have you locked in the brig. Savvy?”
A thin chill hung on the barb of his words and his dark scowl left little doubt he meant what he said. Not wanting to argue, she changed the subject. “So, ’tis Jacques?”
“Aye. ’Tis Sorcière de Mer.” He narrowed his eyes. “D’ye understand?”
“You’ve been listening to him.” She stuck her thumb out at William.
William snorted.
Kane grabbed her arm. “Hannah, there’s no argument with this. I want you below deck. If they get below and I can’t get to you, do what you have to do to survive But I refuse to put you in harm’s way. I won’t lose you.”
His protectiveness touched her. He did care about her. She nodded and turned her gaze to the horizon. He released her and wrapped his arm around her, holding her close. She shielded her eyes. “How far away are they?”
Sean squinted. “Due west. She’s about nine leagues away from us. ’Tis a ketch,” Sean said. “They’ve hoisted their sails and spread them against the wind to increase their speed. They mean to overtake us.”
Jacques. She shuddered and bit her lip. Control your fear. Control your anger. Control your hate.
Kane released her. “Turn her about and fall off. Helm a-port side for the ketch.”
The ketch’s cannons aimed at their portside. Hannah braced herself.
“Make ready the guys,” Kane ordered.
“Ready the cannons,” Amadi yelled.
Men followed his orders and with precision prepared the cannons and the swivel gun.
“Kane,” William shook his head. “She’s got the advantage of being at the windward side.”
“Aye. We’re going to have to out maneuver her.”
Fearful assaulted her—the Fiery Damsel, the dungeon, Simone, and the ball.
“Hannah,” Kane rubbed her back. “We won’t let him hurt you again. I promise.”
She nodded, but her hand flickered over her cutlass and slowly unsheathed it. She molded her hand around it. This time, she’d be ready.
Kane looked at his crew. “We fight.”
The crew cheered. Men raised their cutlasses, swords and pistols.
She gave him a grim smile. “Don’t lose.”
He stared down at her. “I don’t intend to. I want you below deck. Understand?”
She folded her arms across her chest. “They are not even here yet, Kane.”
Kane motioned to William. “William, escort Hannah to my cabin and make sure she stays there.”
“Aye, Kane, I‘ll make sure she stays.” William clutched her arm and dragged her to the cabin. He treated her like a little girl banished to her room.
When he opened the door, she turned on him. “Are you happy you got your way and I’m being treated like a prisoner?”
His mouth was tight and grim. “At least, you’ll be safe, Hannah. Now, stay here,” he warned. “Otherwise, I’ll haul you down into the ship’s belly.” He slammed the door.
She pressed her ear to the hard wood and listened. His footsteps faded away. She creaked open the door and poked her head outside. Her heart thumped hard as she inched her foot over the threshold. She smiled. William was gone. She softly shut the door and rushed to the stairs. She forced her trembling leg to move and climbed the stair.
Kane’s voice boomed. “She’s fighting on the bowline. He’ll aim for our rigging and sails, mates.”
Cannons fired. The ship rocked. Hannah slammed into a wall, nearly losing her footing. Pain throbbed in her right arm. She took another step and waited.
“Helm a starboard,” Kane yelled, “She’s coming about.”
She swallowed. Jacques was determined. His sneering face flashed in front of her. She sucked in her gut, not wanting to feel his hands on her again.
“Reload the cannons,” Amadi ordered. “Aim for her hull, mates.” As the Sorcière de Mer got closer, he raised his clenched fist in the air and yelled. “Fire.”
Sean echoed his command. “Aim for the hull. Fire.”
Cannons rumbled. “Prepare to be boarded men,” Kane yelled.
She closed her eyes. The ship swayed and bumped into something hard. Jacques was coming. She opened her eyes.
Metal clanged and pistols popped. Two men clashed blades and danced with their swords at the opening of the stairs, but disappeared. Could she possibly wield a sword like them?
Taking another step, she crept up the stairs, her shaking hand clutching the cutlass.
Cannons fired. She wrinkled her nose at the strong smell of sulfur and smoke. Another blast of cannon fire droned in her ears. Her heart pounded. Sweat trickled down her back. Her eyes watered. She could do this.
Two shadows passed over the open door. She plastered herself against the ladder, her heart beating wildly.
“Drop it or your dead.” She recognized Sean’s deep voice.
She peered outside just as Sean aimed his pistol and fired, hitting a charging man square in the chest. The man collapsed onto the deck. Maybe she should run down the stairs and hide, but despite her fear, she stepped through the doorway.
The Sorcière de Mer rode the waves parallel to the S
oaring Phoenix, grappling hooks clinging to the railing that had pulled the ships together. Black smoke filled the deck. Scowling men engaged in hand-to-hand sword fighting. Swords clashed and slashed through flesh. Pistol shots rang out, ripping through meat. Sailors screamed in pain as they fell. Blood drenched the deck floor. Her heart quickened, her teeth chattered. Where was her courage? She gritted her teeth. Remember. Control your fear.
She closed her eyes. Just like on the Dolphin. She opened her eyes and took a steady breath. Opening her eyes, she spotted Jacques and gripped her cutlass tighter.
The wretch sliced the throat of one of Kane’s men, blood dripping down the man’s shirt. Her stomach twirled. Jacques fired his pistol hitting the man in the chest. The man fell to his knees and Jacques kicked him in the face, knocking him to the ground. He had the same smug look when he had Simone burned. His icy eyes reflected no mercy.
Another crewman charged Jacques prompting him to draw his sword. Jacques was a magnificent sword fighter, his skills rivaling Kane’s. His lunges graceful and precise, his moves smooth. He disarmed the man and beheaded him.
She glanced at the doorway leading down the stairs to the corridor to Kane’s cabin. She could lock herself inside and barricade the door, hiding away from Jacques. But ’twas too late now.
A familiar male voice cried out. She turned. Her heart stopped. Her insides knotted. A meaty sailor towered over Doc, his right foot pinned Doc’s arm and his other foot stood on his chest. Doc’s left arm bleed profusely and was bent at an odd angle. The man held a machete. With hesitation and fear forgotten, she raced over towards them. “No!”
She dropped her cutlass and calling upon her power, she braced her palms toward the brute. The machete flew out of his hands and hurtled through the air, over the portside and embedding into the Sorcière de Mer’s main mast. Eyes wide, the man stared at his empty hands.
Doc tried to get up, but the man grounded his heel into his chest and yanked out a pistol, aiming it at Doc’s head. Her hands shaking, Hannah concentrated on the man and he rose into the air, his legs kicking and his arms flailing. He screamed and fired the pistol, missing Doc’s head by inches. She moved her hands and the man slammed into the Soaring Phoenix’s mast, knocking him unconscious.
She grabbed her cutlass and sprinted to Doc, dodging fighting men. “Doc? Can you walk?”
Doc gasped, “What are you doin’, lass?”
“Saving your life. Now can you walk?”
“My leg’s busted, Hannah. Get out of here.”
“No,” she said. She stuck her cutlass back into its sheath and put her hands underneath his arm. Taking a deep breath, she crept backwards. Doc weighed as much as an anchor. Her back screamed and she only inched along. Men bumped into her and she winced, but she refused to let go of Doc. Blood poured down his left arm and seeped from his chest.
“Hannah,” he yelled. “Leave me, I can’t be killed, but you can. Now get below deck.”
“But you could be decapitated, you fool.” She stopped and gasped for breath. Drawing on her power, she concentrated on Doc’s form. Move, just, move.
The weight lightened and she could move him with ease across the deck, as if someone else was caring him.
By the time she reached the stairs, poor Doc had lost consciousness.
Wetness trickled down her nose. She touched her upper lip. Blood. Her power was spent. She turned. Her breath stilled and her legs weakened. Jacques D’Aubigne charged her with his sword over his head. His hair hung in front of his face. Blood and gunpowder marred his clothes. She tilted her chin and gripped her cutlass. She fought back her fear. Doc’s life depended on it.
Hannah nodded. She spread her legs at an angle and evenly distributed her weight. Bending her right knee, she pointed her cutlass at Jacques.
Jacques halted in front of her. “Mademoiselle, what the hell did the bastard teach you?” He glanced at her cutlass. “Fool, you actually think you can defeat me.”
He lunged and their weapons clashed. “Tell me, ma chere, has he finished with you yet? O’Brien never stays with a woman more than a couple of weeks. You’re nothing, but a passing fancy to him.”
She scowled, but refused to rise to the bait.
“Oui, so I am right, no? Don’t worry, mademoiselle, you’ll not be a passing fancy with me.”
She gritted her teeth, “I’d rather die.”
Jacques stepped his right foot forward and lunged. He beat her blade hard. She winced with the pain shooting through her arm.
Jacques forced her to move backwards. Paring with Kane’s men had been easier than she thought. Fighting a mad man was far more deadly. Kane had been right. What did she expect after only a couple of days of learning the sword? Any moment, she’d be at Jacques’ mercy.
Jacques lunged again, moving his sword back along her cutlass in a split second. He feigned an attack and when Hannah parried, he pressed his blade and the force caused her to stumble. She cried out. He raised his sword to cut her with his blade. A shot rang out. He gripped his shoulder. Another shot him in the thigh and he collapsed onto the deck.
“Bloody hell, Hannah,” Kane yelled. “What part of staying below deck, d’ye not understand?”
Kane stormed across the deck with his pistol in hand and his cutlass in the other. He lifted Jacques’s chin with his cutlass and kicked his sword away. “You’re dead.”
“Palmer told me where to find you, O’Brien.”
Kane grabbed his hair and yanked. “What the bloody hell are you talking about?”
Jacques gritted his teeth. “After you left me strapped to the damn wheel, Palmer came to my plantation. He freed me and sent me ahead. The witch aboard his ship. He told me where you were. Palmer’s coming for you.” He glanced at Hannah, a glint of evil glittering in his cold eyes. “He’s coming for you both.”
His icy words chilled Hannah to her bones.
“Amadi, take ’im and along with the others to the brig,” Kane growled.
Hannah rubbed her hands over her shaking arms and glanced around the deck. The fighting had ceased. Amadi and Michael rounded the survivors and led them below deck.
Kane towered over her. He put his pistol in his breeches and his sword in its sheath. He gripped her shoulders. “The next time I give you an order I expect you to follow it. Don’t ever disobey me again, not in battle.”
Despite the fear threatening to send her screaming to his cabin, Hannah refused to cower beneath his glowering face. “I wasn’t going to let Doc die.”
Sliding his arms around her waist, he kissed the top of her head. “You foolish lass, you could have been killed.” He kissed her savagely, devouring her mouth, leaving her dazed, forgetting her fear and faint, blocking out the grisly battle. Burying her hands in his hair, she clung to him tight.
“Doc’s hurt pretty bad,” Sean’s concern broke through their embrace.
Kane ended their kiss and she clung to his shirt. Her heart ached at Doc’s mangled form.
“Take him to my cabin. We’ll attend him there.”
“Aye, aye, Capt’n,” Sean replied. He lifted Doc’s large unconscious form off the deck, groaning as he carried him down the steps. Kane and Hannah followed behind. Amadi opened the door and Sean gently laid Doc out on the bed. Hannah smoothed Doc’s hair back as Kane cut away his bloodied shirt. She gasped at the large gash in the middle of chest. How could a man survive such a wound?
She rushed to Kane’s dresser and whipped out a shirt. She sat on the bed and gingerly wiped the blood off Doc’s chest. “You’re going to be fine,” she whispered.
Michael came in with Doc’s bag and Cook came down with boiling water. Kane sat on the bed as he dipped the needle into the boiling water. He sewed tiny stitches into Doc’s chest and his left arm. “He’s lost a lot of blood and will have to stay in bed for a few days.” His brows crushed together in a frown. He glanced at Michael. “How many dead?”
Michael folded his arms. “Jacques had three dozen men total aboard his
ship and now, two dozen are in the brig.”
“Tend to their wounds,” he ordered. “We dock and repair the Phoenix before we set sail to pursue the Fiery Damsel.”
Sean tilted his head. “What about the Sorcière de Mer?”
“Will blast her to the bottom of the sea,” Kane said.
“Aye, aye, Captain,” Sean said.
She gulped. “How long before we can repair the Soaring Phoenix?”
“Three days to make repairs,” William answered as he stood in the doorway. Behind him stood the crew all staring at their fallen friend. “She saved his life, Captain,” William said. “I saw the bloody bastard raise his sword to chop Doc’s head off when she blew him into the mast. If it weren’t for her, Doc’d be dead.”
William gazed at Hannah with admiration. She gave him a grateful smile. He slightly bowed to her.
Kane glanced at her. “Better not ever put yourself in harm’s way again,” Kane warned.
“Oh, so next time, you want me to let someone die?”
He gritted his teeth. “You’re a stubborn wench.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Hannah stood on the bow, a full moon rising high in the clear midnight sky, her hands gripping the smooth polished wood railing. She had become accustomed to the sights and sounds of the sailing ship. The wind whipped the sleeves of her shirt, blowing her hair back over her shoulders. The sails flapped, a soft popping sound, and the rhythmic jangle of the rigging slapped gently against the mast. Ocean spray misted her cheeks and she tasted salt. The air smelled of the tar used to protect the ropes from the elements. The ship rolled beneath her feet, but her stomach didn’t.
Kane wrapped his arms around her waist pulling her against him and Hannah leaned her head back. “Did you feed?”
“My men did.”
She whirled around. His face was drawn, his red eyes tired. “What do you mean your men did? You didn’t?”
