In a Pirate's Arms

by Kruger, Mary

  “Ah.” Ezra turned to the window. “Cannon fire, Rebecca,” he said, with great satisfaction. “The battle has begun.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The battle had indeed begun. As the afternoon progressed, the sound of guns continued almost without stopping. From her window Rebecca looked out, straining to see any other signs of battle and seeing only the peaceful, if busy, streets, and the broad river beyond. Below her people congregated, and once she caught the name “Bladensburg.” Was that where the battle was? If so, it was very near, not five miles away. She longed to call down to the people for information, for help, but she didn’t dare. A different kind of battle was being waged within this house.

  She turned at a knock on her open door to see one of the soldiers. “Lieutenant Dee said as how I’m to escort you to visit the prisoner,” he said.

  Rebecca nodded. Even though the man was only doing what he considered to be his duty, she was not about to speak to him. Head held high, she accompanied him to the cellar. Her silence must have been daunting, for he said little on the way. “May I see him alone?” she asked as they approached the room.

  “Afraid not, miss.” The soldier sounded genuinely apologetic. “We can’t leave the prisoner unguarded.”

  “Oh, for mercy’s sake! What can I possibly do? I haven’t a key to get him out.”

  “Sorry, miss.” He shrugged, stopping in front of the door.

  “Will you at least move away, so we can have some privacy?”

  The two men looked at each other, and then Swift nodded. “We’ll be over there,” he said, indicating the other side of the cellar with a jerk of his shoulder. “But mind you don’t pass anything to him, or we’ll be over like a shot. Hey, Raven! You’ve got a visitor.” He turned. “All yours, miss.”

  “Thank you.” Forcing herself to patience, she waited until he had moved away before turning to the door. “Marcus?” she called softly, peering through the bars.

  “Rebecca?” He sounded incredulous. “What in the world—oof.”

  “What is it?” She could just see him, leaning against the wall. “Are you all right?”

  He pushed himself away from the wall. “Aye, lass.”

  But he wasn’t, she could see that as he hobbled towards her. “Marcus, you’re hurt!”

  “Nothing to signify, leannan.” He grinned at her, puffy lip and all, as he at last reached the door. “Ah, lass, but you’re a sight for sore eyes. Come to get me out, have you?”

  “Oh, how can you be so cheerful?” She searched his face, seeing the swollen eye, the bruises. “When you are in such a fix?”

  “I’ve been in worse, lass.”

  “Marcus. We promised to be honest with each other.”

  “Aye. And I tell you, I’m not done yet.” His smile faded. “I’ll get you out of this, Rebecca, I promise,” he said, his voice low.

  “You’ll get me—! Marcus, how in the world can you? When you’re—”

  “I said I’d protect you, and I will.”

  Rebecca’s lips tightened. “My life has been nothing but upheaval since I met you.”

  Surprisingly, he laughed, his hand going to his ribs. “Oof. I shouldn’t have done that. But that’s the Rebecca I love.”

  “You’ll laugh yourself to the grave.”

  “Aye, perhaps I shall. Tell me what is going on.” His face sobered. “The guns?”

  “A battle. Near Bladensburg, I think.”

  “Any news?”

  “No.”

  “Devil take it,” he swore, catching hold of the bars. “I came here to get you out of danger and instead I’ve landed you in it.”

  “Marcus, it wasn’t your fault—”

  “Wasn’t it? I should have known better than to trust your father.”

  “How could you have known he knew—”

  “I should have realized something was wrong when he agreed to our marriage. He’ll never let you go.”

  She raised her chin. “He has no say in the matter.”

  “I’ve put us in the devil of a fix. Devil take it, all the years of being careful, of watching my back, and I walk into a trap like a green lad.”

  “You couldn’t have known—”

  “And if anything happens to you because of it I won’t forgive myself. Devil take it, Rebecca.” He shook the bars. “If I could just get out of here—”

  “Marcus.” She leaned forward, her voice a whisper. “Do you trust me?”

  “Aye.” He frowned. “With my life, lass, but—”

  “Then listen. I’ve a plan to get you out of here—”

  “How touching,” a voice came from behind them, and she whirled to see Dee. “Swift, Kelly, I thought I told you not to leave them alone.”

  “We are hardly alone, sir,” Rebecca said icily, as the two soldiers jumped forward, stammering excuses. “What do you expect me to do? After all”—her eyes lowered—“I am only a woman.”

  Marcus snorted. Fortunately Dee didn’t appear to hear. “That is true. But I do not trust your lover. Well, cousin?” He stalked towards the cell. “Does it please you to know that Miss Talbot will soon be mine?”

  “Over my dead body,” Marcus said, pleasantly.

  “It will be, cousin. It will be.”

  Marcus gazed meditatively at the scar on Dee’s cheek. “Do you know, I should have marked the other one while I was at it.”

  Dee’s face darkened. “You’ll regret that, Raven. I’ll—”

  “See you hanged. I know.” Marcus yawned, and only Rebecca, watching anxiously, saw his eyelids twitch, as if in pain. “‘Tis getting a bit monotonous, boyo.”

  “But true, boyo,” Dee said, laying ironic stress on the last word. “You forget who holds the upper hand here.”

  “You?” Marcus’s face was calm. “I wouldn’t be so certain.”

  “Sir,” Swift gasped from the stairs. “I just went out to take a—to use the necessary, and I heard talking.”

  “Yes, so?”

  “They’re saying the Americans are in retreat.” Dee and Rebecca both swung to stare at him. “They fought at Bladensburg and our army scattered them, sir! They’ll be in the city this night.”

  Dee turned back to Marcus. “Hear that, Raven? The British are coming.” He laughed. “Isn’t that what one of your famous patriots said? Only this time, the warning is too late. Tonight, Raven, tomorrow at the latest, I shall turn you over to them.”

  Marcus’s gaze was steady. “We shall see.”

  “Indeed, we shall. Swift! Take Miss Talbot from here.”

  “But,” Rebecca protested, as Swift took her arm and pulled her away.

  “Say your goodbyes, Rebecca. You’ll not see him again.”

  Rebecca bit her lips against sudden tears. “I love you, Marcus,” she called, though from her position near the stairs she could see only his strong, brown hands on the iron bars.

  “And I you, lass, always. And remember what I told you.”

  “What?”

  “Watch out for pirates.”

  Dee swung around. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Marcus shrugged. “Whatever you think it means.”

  Dee stared at him for a long moment. “You’ll not escape me, Raven. One way or another, I shall have my revenge.”

  “Mayhaps.”

  “Lieutenant,” Kelly said, standing to attention. “Permission to rejoin our regiment.”

  Dee looked up at him, startled. “Excuse me?”

  “The battle’s not over, sir, not if the Americans rally. Our side needs every man.”

  Dee hesitated. “So it does. Very well, go on. Talbot and I can guard the prisoner.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Kelly said, and ran up the stairs.

  “Letting them go? Brave of you,” Marcus said, and Dee swung back towards him. “What will you do without them? You let them do the dirty work of capturing me, didn’t come near me yourself until you were certain I couldn’t strike back—”

  “I hold the upp
er hand now!” Dee hissed, grabbing the iron bars and glaring at Marcus. “And don’t you forget it.”

  Marcus stared at him a moment, and then, quite deliberately, yawned. “Mayhaps,” he said, turning away.

  “We’ll see,” Dee said, very quietly, after a moment. “We’ll see.”

  Marcus stood still as Dee walked away. Only when he was certain that Dee was no longer watching him did he allow his shoulders to sag, his head to droop. It had cost him all the strength he had to present a cheerful front to Rebecca; a defiant one to Dee. And though he thought he’d put some heart into Rebecca, what, when it came to it, could he actually do to help her? He kicked at the straw that made his bed, scowling. What he had said to her, and to Dee—bravado, all of it. That was all it could be. Because, the truth was, he hadn’t the strength to overpower Dee. Devil take it, how was he going to get out of this fix?

  Washington City was in chaos. Even in Georgetown, some miles from the government buildings, the panic was felt as soldiers streamed in on the Bladensburg road. They told of a determined British assault and disorganized American troops, of the Congreve rockets the British fired, and the effects they had on the weary, demoralized Americans. It wasn’t a defeat, it was a rout; and the retreat continued throughout the afternoon. With it came wild rumors, that President Madison, who had been on the field of battle, had been captured; that Mrs. Madison had given orders to blow up the President’s House; that the British intended to imprison any and every government official they could find. People evacuated the city, to the relative safety of the heights above Georgetown, or beyond, to the countryside. The British army was on the move, and there were few not frightened by the prospect.

  From his study window, Ezra looked past his garden, a little smile on his face. He could see the river from here, and, beyond, the capital. His, all his. The British would soon arrive, and when they did, they would quickly recognize that in Ezra they had an able leader. Who knew what that might lead to?

  The study door opened, and he turned to see Dee, walking in without knocking. Ezra frowned, but forbore to say anything. They were, after all, partners in this splendid exercise. “Are Swift and Kelly away?” he asked.

  “Yes, some time ago.” Dee stood stiffly, militarily, and Ezra’s frown faded. “Your daughter is out of the way?”

  “Locked in her room.” Ezra went to stand behind his desk, reasserting his authority. This was his house, and he was the leader in this venture. “When do you anticipate turning the prisoner over?”

  “Tomorrow at the earliest. They’ll need to subdue any revolt.” From his pocket he took a folded piece of paper. “As will I.”

  “Pardon?”

  Dee unfolded the paper and held it up. “In the name of His Majesty, King George the Third,” he read in a sonorous voice, “I requisition these premises for use by his Majesty’s army.”

  Ezra leaned forward, bracing himself on his hands. “What the devil does that mean?”

  “It means, dear sir”—Dee folded the paper with exquisite care—“that I have taken over this house and all within for the use of our army.”

  “You can’t do that!” Ezra roared.

  “I can, and I have.”

  “If you think I’ll let you get away with this—”

  “You’ve no choice. Swift carries a message to General Ross, offering the house to them. It’s no good fighting it, Talbot,” Dee said, calmly and competently raising his pistol as Ezra charged around the desk. “The deed is done. This house is now British property.”

  Ezra stopped at the sight of the pistol. Enraged though he was, he knew he stood no chance against Dee at the moment. In a contest of strength he would win every time, of that he was confident. The pistol, however, changed the odds. “A good move,” he said, mildly, and had the satisfaction of seeing Dee blink with surprise. “I should have thought of it myself. It accords well with my plan.”

  “Your plan.” Dee snorted. “Do you think anyone will take your plan seriously? Even if we wanted to take over your country again—and God knows why we would—no one would make you the leader. They’ll pick someone younger, someone from their own ranks. Someone they can trust.”

  Ezra held onto his temper by a great effort. “You are wrong, sir. They will need someone who knows the country.”

  “Then who better than someone who has spent most of his career here? Who better than”—his chest puffed out—“me?”

  “You!”

  “Yes, why not me?” Dee gestured broadly with the pistol, and Ezra shied back. “Do I not know this country? Have I not lived here in hiding for two years, listening to the people and their concerns? And have I not proven the value of my services, time and again? Oh, yes, when I bring the Raven to General Ross tomorrow, my value will be recognized. I must thank you for giving me the idea. I myself would not have thought of so daring a plot. But now that I have, who knows where it might lead? Governor Jeremiah Dee. Perhaps”—he smirked—“President Dee.”

  “You go too far,” Ezra said, his voice gravelly.

  “Do I? Do you really intend to tell me that you haven’t entertained similar ideas? King Ezra. Oh, yes, I read that,” he mocked, as Ezra started. “A most ridiculous idea.”

  “Damn you,” Ezra said, advancing upon him.

  “Watch it.” Dee raised the pistol, his eyes wild. “I’ll use this if I have to.”

  Ezra stopped, hatred and rage boiling impotently within him. With a weapon held on him there was little he could do. But if Dee thought he could get away with this, then, by gad, he had better think again! “I’ll not stop fighting you.”

  Dee laughed. “You’ll lose, old man. Now. Get your daughter down here. I’m hungry.” He gestured with the pistol towards the door. “Go, go on.”

  Ezra crossed the room, glaring at Dee. “This isn’t over.”

  Dee merely laughed. “Oh, yes, it is, old man. Now.” He sobered, eyes cold and yet still wild. “Do as I say, or it will go ill with you.”

  Ezra glared at him one last time, and then went out to the hall. Dee thought he had won? No, he hadn’t, not while Ezra Talbot drew breath. Old man, was he? Ha. With that derogatory phrase, Dee had made his final mistake. They’d see, he thought, trudging up the stairs. Oh, yes. Lieutenant Dee would see.

  Night again, and Rebecca paced her room, wishing for surcease from the heat, the tension, the terror. Wishing desperately that she could turn back the clock two days and run out to warn Marcus away from this house; that she would awaken to find this had all been a dream. She knew, though, that the real horror lay ahead. Lieutenant Dee intended to turn Marcus over to the conquering army tomorrow, and there was not a thing she could do about it. After she had cooked supper, Father had returned her to her room, again locking her in. Her plan to free Marcus was useless now.

  Something nudged at her memory. Father had locked her in, hadn’t he? She didn’t remember hearing the lock click, but at the time she’d been too distraught to notice. Of course he’d locked the door, she chided herself, even as she sprinted across the room to try the handle. He wouldn’t want her roaming free, and—mercy! The handle turned under her fingers, and the door opened. She was not, after all, a prisoner.

  The lassitude of despair fell from her, and she was suddenly imbued with new energy. She could do it. She could put her plan into effect. Flying about the room, making her preparations, she knew she had no choice. The plan was risky, dangerous, but if it worked, Marcus would be free. She had to take the chance.

  A short while later, Rebecca trod elegantly down the cellar stairs, an upraised candle in one hand and the skirts of her forest green silk gown in the other. She had purchased the gown for Marcus, and now she would use it for him, though in a far different way than she had planned. In her own way, she was going to battle.

  Dee was sitting on a straight chair outside the strongroom, a lamp on the floor beside him, but he rose slowly when he saw her. “Well,” he said, eyes gleaming as they raked over her, “I thought you were ab
ed. Come to see the prisoner, have you?”

  “No.” Rebecca blew out the candle and bent to place it on the floor, deliberately allowing Dee a long look at her breasts before she rose. “I came to see you.”

  “An honor, ma’am.” His voice was ironic, but already she could see the effect of her appearance on him. Inwardly she quailed, though she knew she had no choice. She had to go through with this. “May I say you look fetching in that gown.”

  “Rebecca?” Marcus’s voice came from the strongroom, sounding incredulous. “What the devil are you doing here?”

  Rebecca ignored him, keeping her gaze trained on Dee. “Thank you, sir.” She swayed towards him, her hips sinuous, the silk whispering, as she called up all the arts of seduction she had learned from Marcus. “Is there a place, sir, where we can be private?”

  “Rebecca, for God’s sake—”

  “Be quiet!” Dee snapped, never taking his eyes off Rebecca. “Why do you wish to be private with me, ma’am?”

  “I wish”—her tongue came out and moistened her lips—“to talk with you, sir.”

  “We can talk here.”

  Rebecca cast a glance at the strongroom and then turned back. “No, sir.” She leaned forward, to whisper in his ear. “What I must say to you is private.”

  “Say it.” His hands gripped her suddenly, hard, cruel. “Say it here, and now.”

  Her eyebrows rose in imitation of Marcus’s gesture. “Oh, I do like a masterful man!” she exclaimed. “Very well, sir, if you must know. Father has said that you wish to wed me.”

  “Rebecca,” Marcus growled, and for a moment her nerve failed her.

  “Yes, so?” Dee said.

  “So”—she moistened her lips again—“I have been thinking. And what I have decided, sir, is that I agree. In fact, I have come here to become your wife.”

  Dee looked down at her, his gaze unreadable, and then, unexpectedly, put his head back and laughed. “Did you hear that, Raven? She wishes to be my wife.”

  “Damn you, Jeremiah, let go of her!” Marcus shouted.