by Kruger, Mary
“Or one can retreat to fight another day,” Brendan said.
There was a pause. “That sounds like a challenge, sir.”
“No, lass. Just pointin’ out the folly of resisting.”
Another pause. “Are you alone?”
He glanced at Smithers. “Aye.”
“Very well.” There was a click as a key turned in the lock. “You may come in.”
“Thank you.” He set his hand on the door handle, distrustful of this sudden acquiescence. Miss Talbot had shown herself to be capable of surprises before. ‘Twould be wise for him to be prepared now.
He opened the door and stepped into the stateroom. The portholes were covered, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. The younger girl crouched in a corner, her eyes wide with fear and what he suspected might also be excitement. A lovely lass, he thought detachedly, but it was not on her that his gaze stayed. For, there before him, hunched over as if prepared to fight, was Rebecca, and in her hand was a knife.
Chapter Four
Brendan’s first reaction was to laugh. Reprehensible, since she was obviously frightened, but there it was. She looked like nothing so much as an angry kitten, puffed up and spitting at an opponent too large for her. Aye, an angry, tawny kitten, with hair like fur that would be soft to the touch…
But that was not what he was here for. “Is it that you don’t trust me, leannan? he said, stepping forward.
“Keep away.” The knife slashed through the air, bringing him to an abrupt stop. He doubted she knew how to use a knife, and that made her dangerous.
He took a cautious step. “You’ll not be needing that, leannan.”
“Keep away, I said!” The knife slashed through the air again. “And don’t call me that ridiculous name.”
“Ridiculous, is it?” Arms crossed, he leaned against the wall, giving the impression of relaxed amusement. In reality his muscles were coiled and his eyes were alert, searching for any faltering in her movements. If he acted hastily or wrongly, she could be hurt. For himself he had no fear. “Ah, lass, d’ye think you’re a match for me with that?”
“No.” A lock of her hair had fallen over her shoulder, and she brushed it back impatiently. “But I will use it, I assure you.”
“Maybe if I talk with her,” Smithers said, and Brendan motioned him to silence with a sharp wave of his hand.
“I’ve no doubt ye do, but there’s no need.”
“No need? When you’ve come to take us captive and do God knows what with us? No, thank you. I will, as you warned me, watch out for pirates.”
“Ah, so ye remember that, do ye?” Never taking his eyes from the knife, from her, he slipped quietly to the side.
“Much to my sorrow.”
“Then ye’ll remember how I disarmed a man who was more of a threat than ye’ll ever be, leannan.”
“I told you not to call me that.”
“No? Suits ye, it does.” He took another sideways step, and another, until he faced her directly. “D’ye know of my land, Rebecca? D’ye know of the green, green hills, and the soft mist that always falls? D’ye know the poetry, and the sorrow? Ye’d like it there, lass. ‘Twould suit your soul.”
“Leave my soul out of this,” she said, so tartly that he chuckled.
“And the temper, aye, ye’ve that, too. A poor land, my country.” He slid forward, so silently and slowly it was almost imperceptible. “Rocky and barren in too many places, but rich in so many ways.” Another careful, cautious step forward, his gaze never leaving hers. Keep talking, keep her listening, distracted, and in a moment he could reach out and grab the knife from her. “Ye need a temper to survive, but ye need the poetry, too. Have ye heard it, leannan? ‘Rom-lin muich i n-ignais Eirenn.’”
She looked interested in spite of herself. “I—what does that mean?”
“It is ‘Colum Cille’s Lament.’ ‘I ever long for the land of Ireland.’” And while he spoke he took advantage of her distraction, closed the gap between them, and clamped his fingers on her wrist.
Instantly she went wild, bucking and fighting against him. “No! Let me go!”
“Drop the knife, Rebecca.” It was softly spoken, but a command, nevertheless.
“Never. I’ll—ah!” She gasped as he abruptly tightened his grip. Her fingers relaxed, as if suddenly nerveless, and the knife clattered to the floor. With one smooth movement he bent to retrieve it, and then caught her against him. Her eyes were huge and luminous with pain and frustration and defeat. She held herself rigid, and yet he was aware of her, of the surprising softness of a figure he’d thought was angular, of a scent in her hair he couldn’t define. Danger. “A lesson for ye, lass,” he said. “When I give an order, ‘tis wise to obey.”
Rebecca gaped at him. He had disarmed her so easily, and not just with the knife. With his teasing smile, his lilting voice, he’d gotten past all her defenses, making her forget for a moment that he was the enemy. Defeat rose bitter in her mouth, and she twisted away. She would not show weakness before this man. “It is easy to overcome someone weaker than you.”
“Smaller, perhaps,” he said. She looked back in surprise. Surely that wasn’t admiration she’d heard in his voice? Before she could ponder that, however, he was speaking again. “Ye’ll be transferred to the Raven, ye and your sister, and ye’ll be ransomed.” His glance flicked over to Amelia. “Come out, lass. There’s no danger to ye.”
Rebecca studied his face. He seemed sincere, but how could she know? Amelia, though, would be safer with her. “Melia,” she said, holding out her arm.
Amelia didn’t move. “I—I’m scared.”
Rebecca turned towards her sister, but stayed in place; no telling what the unpredictable man behind her might do should she move too fast, and she didn’t want Amelia scared even more. “I’ll be with you, Melia. Papa trusted me to take care of you, didn’t he?”
Amelia stirred. “Yes,” she said, and at last rose to her knees from her huddled position. Keeping as far from Brendan as possible, she scuttled across the stateroom to Rebecca’s sheltering arm.
Brendan made an ironic bow. “After you, ladies.” He gestured towards the door and followed behind the two girls as they stepped out into the saloon. Amelia clung to her sister; Rebecca held her head high. He felt reluctant admiration for her. He doubted he would have been so brave in such circumstances.
As he stepped into the saloon, his gaze met Sam’s. Sam shook his head, his grip on Neville’s arm tight. So. Sam’s search hadn’t been successful. Brendan nodded in return, and he saw Sam’s gaze shift to Rebecca. Sam’s eyes grew reproachful, a look which Brendan ignored. In spite of his muteness Sam communicated his feelings remarkably well, but Brendan was not about to apologize for what he had done. Some things were necessary.
“Miss Talbot.” He made his voice abrupt. “Sam will see you safely to the Raven.”
Rebecca glanced back at him, and her hold tightened on her sister. In no other way, however, did she show any fear, and his respect for her grew. “Very well,” she said, her voice as brisk as his.
“B-but, Becky,” Amelia protested.
“Hush. ‘Twill be all right, Melia,” Rebecca said, and, head high, climbed the companionway to the deck.
Neville made as if to follow. “No, Neville, not you,” Brendan’s voice cracked out, and the other man glanced quickly around, his features sharpened by fear and cunning. “We’ve things to discuss, boyo.”
For the second time in—could it possibly be just a few minutes? Rebecca looked out onto the deck, this time stepping out. So much had happened, so much had changed, that it felt as if many lifetimes had passed. All about her, in the very air, lay the carnage and detritus of battle: the ruined mast; the coppery smell of blood; the groans and cries of the injured men. Yet at some point a strange calm had descended upon her, adding brilliant unreality to all she saw. This couldn’t be real. She couldn’t really be standing on the deck of a ship taken captive by a pirate, wasn’t really b
eing guarded by a mute, frightening giant of a man, didn’t really have to cross that narrow plank from one ship to the other. For the first time, fear for herself assailed her, fear of heights, fear of what lay below. The plank that stretched from the Curlew’s bulwark to the Raven’s railing dipped and swayed with the movement of the sea, not at all a secure foothold, so much like the gangplank from which she’d fallen as a child. She hunched her shoulders. Surely it would slip if she stepped on it, surely it would sag and fall, and—
A hand touched her arm, and she looked up to see Sam regarding her. He had nice eyes, she thought irrelevantly, strange in a pirate. Liquid brown eyes that regarded her with what surely couldn’t be concern. “The—the plank,” she said, swallowing hard. “Must we cross on that?”
Sam inclined his head gravely. “Is it—are you sure ‘tis safe?”
“Oh, Becky!” Amelia wailed, burrowing closer. “I don’t want to go on it, I’ll fall, I know I will.”
“Hush, Amelia!” Her own fear made her voice harsh. To her surprise, Amelia quieted, making her feel momentary regret for her harshness. Of course Amelia was frightened. Her own paltry fear of heights was nothing next to Amelia’s terror. “I’ll cross first.”
“Oh, no, don’t leave me—”
“Stop being a ninny!” she said, impatient again. “One of us must go, and would you rather go on the Raven first?”
From under the safety of Rebecca’s arm, Amelia peered towards the other ship, and saw what Rebecca herself was all too aware of: a crowd of dirty, leering men, making a mockery of all Brendan Fitzpatrick’s assurances of safety. “N-no. But I don’t want you to leave me, Becky.”
“You’ll be right behind me, and then we’ll be together. I promise. Don’t cling.” She freed herself from Amelia’s clutching fingers. “I trust our belongings will be brought over?” she said, looking up at Sam, and again he inclined his head. “Thank you. Very well. I am ready.”
There was a sudden sharp, piercing whistle, making her jump. Looking up, she saw Sam holding two fingers to his lower lip. It must have been some sort of command; instantly men on both ships leaped to the plank, holding it steady on either side. Small comfort; they were dirty and disreputable and would probably try to look up her skirts. But at least it was an attempt to make the crossing easier. Squaring her shoulders, she let Sam hoist her onto the plank.
Her stomach lurched. Don’t be silly, she scolded herself. She wasn’t really that high up. Take a step. Don’t look down. But if I fall—no, don’t think of it. The plank rose with the motion of the ships, so that she was going uphill one moment, down the next. She concentrated on keeping her footing. If she looked down, she’d be lost. If she allowed herself to remember how narrow the plank was, how slight the margin between her and disaster—No! Stop thinking that way, or you will fall. And then who will take care of Amelia?
The thought strengthened her, gave her something to cling to. She adored her sister, always had, from the moment of her birth. When Amelia’s mother, Rebecca’s stepmother, had died when Amelia was just a small girl, Rebecca had taken over her care, though she was still a child herself. Amelia depended on her. More importantly, her father depended on her. She could not let him down. She could not—
Strong hands grasped her elbows and swung her into the air. She gave a small cry, but then there was a solid surface beneath her feet again. It moved with the sea, true, but at least it was broad and substantial. There was also a hand on her posterior. Without thinking, she glared at the sailor who stood behind her, and, grinning, he moved away. It was unsettling. It made her fear for her safety, and her sister’s.
Looking up, she saw Amelia, face deadly pale, on the plank, and her heart flew into her throat. If she fell—but Amelia made the crossing safely, to be swung down to the deck by the same two men who had caught Rebecca. She moved swiftly to Amelia, glaring again at the sailor who had accosted her. They were together again. They were also, dear God protect them, aboard an infamous pirate ship.
She hadn’t heard Sam cross the plank, but suddenly he was there beside her, taking her and Amelia by the arms and leading them across the deck. The crew parted for them and yet pressed close, making Rebecca uncomfortably aware of how alone she and Amelia were, and how far from help. She caught glimpses of soot-darkened faces and gap-toothed grins, and earrings worn barbarically in one ear, or, in one astonishing case, in the nose, of men of all shapes and sizes and colors. Their odors pressed upon her as, head down, teeth clamped together, she passed through the gauntlet, hearing whistles and catcalls and muttered comments about her attributes that made her face turn a fiery red. Worse was the feeling of being stared at, an almost tactile sensation that made her skin crawl. Much as she wanted to see how her sister was faring, on Sam’s other side, she didn’t dare look up. To do so was to face madness.
Before her yawned an open hatch. Before she could quite comprehend what was happening, Sam pushed her into it, down a ladder steeper even than the companionway aboard the Curlew. Amelia stumbled down behind her, and in the dim light they looked around, finding themselves in a dark, narrow passageway. Amelia clung to her, but was mercifully silent. Sam came last, and, lighting a lantern that hung suspended to the ceiling, led them down the passageway, stopping at a door. Inside, Rebecca could see a tiny room, with two pallets on the floor and little else. The porthole was heavily glazed and barred and let in little light, and another lantern swung from the ceiling above. If the room had been cleaned recently, it certainly didn’t look it; it smelled of sweat and human despair.
From somewhere, Rebecca found courage. “Surely this can’t be right,” she said, facing Sam. In return he grunted, and indicated the room. “But—oh, very well. I suppose if we don’t go in ourselves you’ll push us in.”
“B-Becky.” Amelia’s teeth chattered. “I don’t like this.”
“I’ll see what I can do about it later, Amelia,” she said, soothingly. “At least if the door’s locked we’ll be safe. You will lock the door?”
Sam inclined his head, and for some reason Rebecca felt oddly reassured. Grasping Amelia’s hand, she stepped into the room, the darkness overwhelming her. The last thing she saw, before the door closed behind him, was Sam’s eyes. Odd. She could have sworn they held regret.
The key turned in the lock, and Sam’s footsteps echoed as he trod away. Rebecca and Amelia looked at each other and then fell into each other’s embrace, shaking. They were alone, and, for the moment, safe. But for how long? For they were, against Rebecca’s worst fears, captives on a pirate ship.
A scraping noise jolted Rebecca from sleep. Sitting bolt upright, she rubbed at her eyes, dizzy and disoriented as the pallet beneath her rocked back and forth. Where was she—oh. On the Raven. Dread settled deep in the pit of her stomach. Mercy, how could she ever have fallen asleep?
Beside her, Amelia stirred sleepily. “Becky?” she murmured.
“Shh.” Rebecca laid a hand on her shoulder, sensing danger. It must be evening. The light had faded since they had been thrust into this room. Against the darkness a small, square space showed high in the wall opposite. It took her a moment to realize she was staring at the door, which evidently had a window set in it. The scraping noises she had heard had probably been the cover being pulled back.
“They in there?” a gruff masculine voice said from the other side of the door, and she jumped.
“Can’t see them.” A man’s face peered in, making both Rebecca and Amelia shrink back. It was an evil-looking face, bristling with beard, with a wall-eye and a grin that displayed rotted stumps of teeth. “Sam brought ‘em here, though. Saw that myself.”
“Cap’n don’t usually take prisoners,” the other voice said. “Least, not women. Wonder what he’s got in mind?”
His companion laughed, as evil a sound as his face. “What do you think? ‘Bout time we had a bit of sport on this ship.”
Amelia whimpered, and Rebecca squeezed her shoulder. Somehow it was imperative that the men not kno
w she could hear them.
“He won’t share.” That was the first speaker. “Cap’n keeps to himself. Stands to reason he’ll keep these two to himself, too.”
“Yeah, but if he doesn’t.” He leaned into the room. “Can’t see ‘em now, but did you get a look at ‘em when they came aboard? That tall one, she’s a little too long in the tooth for me, but the other one.” He muttered something too low for Rebecca to catch, but the other man’s coarse laughter told her it hadn’t been pleasant.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Fact, if we could get the door open right now—”
There was no sound, but all of a sudden the little window in the door was filled by a dark, menacing shape. Amelia let out a little cry, and Rebecca hugged her harder, biting her lips to stifle her own exclamation of fear. Dimly from outside she heard the two men talking, almost babbling, and she opened her eyes again. “Becky?” Amelia whispered.
“Shh.” Rebecca cocked her head towards the door, listening intently.
“We weren’t doin’ nothin’,” one of the men said, in something close to a whine.
“We was just looking,” the other man chimed in. “Nothing wrong with that, is there, Sam?”
For a moment there was an ominous silence. Then the first man spoke, nervously respectful. “Didn’t mean no harm, Sam.”
“Yeah,” the other man echoed. “We’ll get back on deck, Sam. Leave ‘em to the Cap’n.”
“C’mon,” the first man muttered, and the sound of hasty footsteps told of their departure. Rebecca let out her breath. The menace was gone. She held her head high as Sam looked in. He was their enemy, but for now he was also their protector. From somewhere she found the courage to meet his eyes, until he looked away.
“Sam,” she called on impulse, and he turned. “My sister and I are hungry. May we have something to eat? And please tell the captain I’d like to see him.”
Sam studied them for a moment, and then nodded. Rebecca sagged in relief as he closed the window on the door. They weren’t safe, not by a long measure, but for now no one would accost them. Sam would see to that.
