In a Pirate's Arms

by Kruger, Mary

  “My wife. No,” Dee said, and bore Rebecca back. “You little fool. Did you really think I’d wed you, when I am destined for better things? When you have lain with any man available? Oh, no,” and he pushed her, hard, against the wall, his body pressing against her. “I’ll not marry you.”

  “Then let go of me.” She glared at him, frightened, but determined not to show it. This was not how she had planned this moment.

  “I think not.” He hauled her up against him with a hand on her hips, forcing her against his arousal. “And I’ll take what’s offered. Right here, right now.”

  “Damn you, Jeremiah,” Marcus yelled.

  “And your lover can watch.”

  “No,” Rebecca protested, fighting, struggling, but to no avail. His mouth came down on hers hard, grinding, cutting off her breath and making her want to gag. Oh, it wasn’t supposed to be like this! she thought, despairingly, twisting against arms that felt like the iron bars of Marcus’s cell. She’d planned it so carefully—

  With one quick motion Dee bent, caught her behind the knees with his arm, and pulled her feet out from under her, depositing her on the floor. It was her chance, and she took it, scrambling away and twisting to pull up her skirt. Before she could reach her goal, however, Dee was atop her, his mouth pressing on hers again, his thighs forcing her legs open, his hands everywhere, squeezing her breasts, pinching her bottom. His hips ground against her as his hand swept down her thigh, and then he suddenly went very still.

  “Well, what’s this?” he said, conversationally.

  “No.” She struggled as his fingers fumbled with the garter that fastened her stocking.

  “A knife.” He pulled it from her garter and held it up, the blade glittering in the lamplight. “And just what were you planning to do with this?”

  “To stick it in your back!” If he had cooperated. If he had agreed to do this in a more civilized manner, so that she could get him off his guard.

  “You were planning to kill me? How resourceful, my dear. I suppose then you would have freed your lover.”

  “I should have used the cleaver this morning,” she spat, and he let out a laugh.

  “Bloodthirsty wench, aren’t you? Well, this will be of no use to you.” He raised his arm, and the knife flew, useless, across the room. “And now you will pay.”

  “No!” Marcus roared, shaking the bars of his cell so hard that the door rattled. “It’s not her you want to pay, Jeremiah, it’s me. Prove you’re a man. Come after me.”

  Dee twisted his head, his weight still holding her prisoner, though she struggled. “You’ll have your chance,” he said, and abruptly grabbed Rebecca’s arms, holding them above her head with one hand. “Later.”

  “No,” Rebecca moaned, whether for herself or for Marcus, she didn’t know. She was going to be raped by this monster, and there wasn’t a thing she could do to stop it.

  “Yes.” His eyes glittered, gleamed, and at that moment a shadow loomed up behind him. A long, thin object hurtled down, crashing onto Dee’s head. Rebecca cried out as he went rigid, his eyes wide and startled, and then collapsed upon her, a dead weight.

  “Get up, girl,” a voice growled, and she looked in dazed surprise from Dee’s face, next to hers, up to the man standing above her. “Get up,” Ezra said again, and in his upraised hand was a poker.

  Chapter Thirty

  “Father!” Rebecca gasped, stunned. “What—”

  “I told you to get up,” he said, harshly. “Good gad, must you continue to lie there like a wanton?”

  “Help me get him off me—oof.” She grunted as she pushed at Dee’s inert body. He rolled off her to land with a satisfying thud on his back, eyes closed, arm outflung, as she scrambled to her feet. “Father, why on earth—”

  “He requisitioned our house.”

  “So?”

  “He betrayed me. He laughed at my plans.”

  Rebecca stared at him in astonishment as he took a ring of keys from his pocket. “And for that you did—this?”

  He grunted. “Of course,” he said, frowning, as he sorted through the keys.

  Marcus thrust his hand through the bars, and Rebecca clutched at it. “Because he laughed at your plans, and not because your daughter was in danger.”

  Ezra grunted, and Rebecca gave Marcus a warning look. As unpredictable as Ezra was, there was no telling what he’d do. “Is he dead?” she asked.

  “I doubt it,” Ezra said. “If you’re concerned, check for yourself.”

  Rebecca shuddered as she glanced back at Dee, though it was with relief that she saw his chest rise and fall. “No, he’s alive.”

  “Good,” Marcus said, with quiet relish. “I don’t want him to die before I make him pay.”

  “That, sir, will be my privilege,” Ezra said. “Move away from the door, girl.”

  “But, Father—”

  “Stand away, I say.” He stepped forward as Rebecca reluctantly released Marcus’s hand, fitting a key into the strongroom lock. “What?” he said, as Rebecca stared at him. “You thought Dee had the only key?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m not that foolish, girl. And I will not be made mock of.” He turned the key in the lock. “Dee will pay for that.”

  The strongroom door swung open. Instantly Marcus jumped out, eyes wary, fists upraised. With a glad cry Rebecca ran forward, only to be stopped by the quick gesture of his hand. “Marcus—”

  “Keep away,” he said, his eyes on Ezra, who had gone to stand over Dee’s body.

  She bent for a moment, and then rose. “But—”

  “This isn’t over.” He advanced a pace toward Ezra. “Well, sir? I tell you, that if you plan to turn me over to the British yourself, I won’t go easily.”

  “I won’t let him take you,” Rebecca said.

  “As if you could stop me, girl,” Ezra said, though his attention was on Dee, rather than her.

  “I will. All these years, Father. All these years.”

  That made him look at her. “What are you going on about? You’ll do as I say.”

  “Not this time.” She stood calmly, head held high, and in her hand was the knife.

  “Do you dare turn against me, girl?”

  “Yes.” She faced him squarely. All the years lost, all the time wasted, and it came to this. “I don’t want to use this, Father, but I’ll not let you take Marcus.”

  “Give me the knife, Rebecca,” Marcus said from behind her, his voice quiet.

  “No.” She didn’t spare him a glance. “Well, Father? Do you let us go?”

  “This is my fight, lass.”

  “’Tis mine, too. We’re leaving, Father. I’ll not let you stop me this time.”

  “Do you think I care what happens to you?” Ezra roared.

  “No,” Rebecca whispered, flinching in spite of herself. “Not anymore.”

  “How do you think Dee’s superiors will react when they learn he let the Raven fly away?” he went on, as if Rebecca hadn’t spoken. “You”—he looked sternly at Marcus—“were the main reason he took up spying. Oh, yes, he was a spy. But instead of doing what he was told, he decided to try to capture you.” He nodded at Marcus. “Bringing you in was meant to be his triumph. Now,” he nudged Dee’s leg with the toe of his boot, “it will be his downfall.”

  “I warn you, sir, I will fight you.”

  Ezra’s gaze flicked over him, almost bored. “I care not what you do. Leave my house, and take my worthless daughter with you. Well?” he demanded, glaring at Rebecca. “‘Tis what you want, isn’t it? You told me so yourself.”

  She bit her lips. It shouldn’t still hurt, that he thought so little of her, but it did. “Yes, but—”

  “Why, lass,” Marcus said, turning to her. He was smiling, the wretch. “Have ye not the courage for it?”

  “It’s not that,” she said, flatly, “and you know it.”

  “Aye, I do, leannan.” His voice had gentled. “But you know you’ll never get what you’ve been seek
ing all these years.”

  Rebecca bit her lips. Her father’s love. Marcus was right. It was lost to her now. “Father?”

  “Go with him. Go on, get out.” He looked up at last, and in his eyes she saw something she hadn’t seen in years, something she had never really expected to see again. At least, not for her. “I don’t want you in my house.”

  “Father?” She took a tentative step towards him, though he drew himself up. “I love you, you know.”

  “Go on with you.” He stepped back, face stern and forbidding, making her wonder if she had imagined the look in his eyes. “You’re becoming a nuisance. Best plan would be to cross the Potomac to the Virginia side,” Ezra said, addressing Marcus. “You’ll avoid the troops that way.”

  “Yes, sir, I’d thought of that.” Marcus’s face was inscrutable as he held out his hand. “Rebecca.”

  Rebecca hesitated. This was it, then, the final choice, between the man who had given her life, and the man who had helped her to be reborn. It may have been love she’d seen in her father’s eyes; it may not have been. It didn’t really matter anymore. “Yes,” she said, softly, and placed her hand in Marcus’s. His fingers closed over hers, and she felt more truly his, their love more truly sealed, than ever she had before.

  “Go, now,” Ezra said gruffly, “before the British come. You don’t want to be involved in this.”

  “No, sir.” Marcus glanced down at Rebecca, and his eyes softened. “Come, leannan,” he said, and led her out of the cellar. The last glimpse she had of her father was of him standing over Dee, as if he had already forgotten her.

  It was the work of a few moments to toss some of her belongings into a valise. Then they were out on the street, Marcus fidgeting beside her. “Come, lass, we must be away.”

  “I know.” Rebecca looked up at her home one last time. There was nothing here for her, nothing she was leaving behind. Only her old life. “Marcus. That can’t be the dawn, can it?” she asked, glancing towards the east and seeing a red glow.

  “Not yet time for it—good God.”

  “What is it? Oh, mercy, it’s—”

  “Fire.”

  “Oh, mercy!” She stood beside him, staring, both stunned. “They’ve set fire to the city!”

  “The bastards.” From their vantage point high on the hill, they could see across to Washington City. From river’s edge to Capitol Hill were fires, and as they watched yet another flame leaped into the sky. “The Navy Yard, there, on the river,” Marcus said, grimly. “But the others?”

  “Oh, Marcus,” Rebecca said, appalled. “All of Capitol Hill is in flames. And,” she turned to him, tears in her eyes, “they just fired the President’s House.”

  “Damn them.” In the reflected glow Marcus’s jaw was set, but his eyes when he looked down at her were soft. “Time for us to go, lass.”

  She nodded, stunned by the night’s events, and yet knowing that there was little she could do. She had made the right choice. “Yes,” she said, and placed her hand in his, giving into his keeping her life, her heart, her trust. They walked away, and not once did she look back.

  Epilogue

  “Red sky at morning, sailors take warning,” a voice rumbled in Rebecca’s ear, and she stirred, rubbing at her eyes. Mercy, she’d fallen asleep, though she didn’t know how, perched as she was upon a horse in front of Marcus. But then, the last few days had been trying, and she was worn out. “Good morning, lass.”

  “Morning.” She yawned and then stiffened. They were at the top of a hill leading down onto cobbled city streets, with neat brick and stone dwellings on either side, their doors painted bright colors. “Oh, Marcus! Not another fire.”

  “Nay, lass.” Marcus handled the reins with the same assurance as he handled a ship, expertly guiding the horse down the hill. “‘Tis the dawn. But with the looks of that sky, likely we’ll get a storm soon.”

  “Another one?” she said, dismayed, for their flight from Washington City last evening had been anything but comfortable. With the Long Bridge across the Potomac burned by the British, and the ferries long since stopped, the only way for them to cross had been for Marcus to commandeer someone’s boat. “Once a pirate, always a pirate,” he’d said, cheerfully. He hadn’t been quite so cheerful, however, when the storm, presaged by the day’s sultriness, broke while they were still in the middle of the river. Wet and bedraggled, they had taken shelter in a crowded inn on the Virginia shore, and spent a miserable night sitting on the floor, backs propped against the wall, because there wasn’t a room to be had. Finally, Marcus had made a bargain for the sway-backed horse they now rode, and they’d set off by land for Alexandria. It was a relief to have Marcus away from the city, and danger, but she would not completely relax until they were far distant from the British forces.

  “Probably,” Marcus said, and she realized he was answering her question about the storm. “Best we’re away before it breaks. We’ll handle it better at sea.”

  She looked up at him, questioningly. “At sea? I thought we were making for Baltimore.”

  “Aye, lass, and how do you think we’ll get there?” They were at the bottom of the hill now, the waterfront stretching before them, the Potomac glassy in the early morning calm.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t think—oh!” She turned to him, eyes startled, as they neared a ship. “Marcus! Is it—but it can’t be—”

  “Aye, lass.” He grinned down at her. “‘Tis the Raven.”

  “But I thought she’d been sunk.”

  “Now, lass, did you really think I’d let go of such a beauty?” he said, swinging down from the horse. It wasn’t at the ship he looked, however, but at her. “I had to rename her, of course, but she’s the Raven.” His face softened. “Do you know what her name is?”

  “No.”

  “Leannan.”

  “Oh.” A lump rose in Rebecca’s throat as she stared up at the ship’s tall masts. The sails were tightly-furled, and taut lines bound her to the dock, and yet still she seemed to fly, to soar. “Oh, she’s beautiful.”

  “Aye, lass.” Marcus gazed down at her, his eyes soft. “Welcome home,” he said, and caught her up in his arms, bringing his lips down onto hers. In spite of their surroundings and the people who, even so early in the morning, were about their business, Rebecca threw her arms about his neck and gave herself up to his kiss. Home for the three of them, she thought, and smiled inwardly. And wouldn’t he be surprised when she told him that?

  “You offer me only a ship for a home?” she said, with mock indignation, and his eyes flared with alarm, before he saw the sparkle in her eyes.

  “Witch,” he said, and kissed her again, hard, stealing the breath from her. “Ye know who I am.”

  “Yes. A pirate. And if you don’t abduct me this minute, I am going to be very annoyed.”

  His eyes gleamed. “Is that so?” he said, and without warning swept her up into his arms and carried her across the wharf, to the narrow board that served as a gangplank.

  “I object to being handled this way, sir,” she said, relaxing against him after the momentary shock of finding herself airborne.

  He stopped on the swaying plank. “Oh, ye do, do ye?”

  “Yes.”

  “And how do ye wish to be treated?”

  “Like this,” she said, and reached up to kiss him. It was all behind her now, the pain of the past, the loss of her father’s love, the prim, timid spinster she had once been. This was where she belonged, in her pirate’s arms, and she knew at last who she was. She was the Raven’s woman, now and forever.

  The End

  Mary Kingsley is the author of Regency and historical romances, including the RITA nominated The Rake’s Reward, and the Regency novella, “The Runaway Duchess,” winner of the New Jersey Romance Writers’ Golden Leaf Award. As Mary Kruger she is also the author of the Gilded Age mystery series, and two knitting mysteries.

  Mary has, alas, never danced with a dashing duke or dared the seas with a dangerous
pirate, but she hopes that you, the reader, can have those experiences through her books. A librarian, she lives in Massachusetts with her daughter. She enjoys reading, crafts, walking, and, of course, chocolate. She is currently at work on her next book.

  Please email Mary at marykruger@verizon.net.

  Books by Mary Kingsley

  Sabrina

  An Unsuitable Wife

  (originally published as A Gentleman’s Desire)

  The Rake’s Reward

  A Maddening Minx

  A Summer Folly

  An Intriguing Affair

  Scandal’s Lady

  In a Pirate’s Arms

  Masquerade

  Beyond the Sea

  An Angel’s Wish

  Marrying Miss Bumblebroth

  The Reluctant Hero

  Gifts of the Heart

  The Crystal Heart

  Books by Mary Kruger

  The Gilded Age Mystery Series

  Death on the Cliff Walk

  No Honeymoon for Death

  Masterpiece of Murder

  The Knitting Mysteries

  Died in the Wool

  Knit Fast, Die Young