by Regan Walker
She had persisted in acting as one of his crew, defying him at every turn, but with a subtle difference. Since their time in Bermuda and the kisses he’d pressed upon her, there was something new between them, though aside from a greater desire to have the woman in his bed, he could not have said what it was. He knew he could seduce her if he persisted. His crew likely expected it of their captain.
His thoughts were interrupted as his attention was drawn aloft to the top of the new foremast. Some of the attachments set in Bermuda had been jury-rigged and Jake Johansson, fastidious as always, intended to re-led and re-splice the rigging before they sailed to Baltimore. He made a mental reminder to ask Jake if the job had been completed.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nate coming over the side, his agile movements belying his years as he walked toward Nick, mumbling under his breath.
“Any news?” Nick asked, anxious for information on the pirate and his ship.
“None, Cap’n. But the way the hair on the back of me neck is standin’ on end, I’d swear we’re being watched. When I left the tavern yesterday, a man followed me. I lost him in the crowd in the market, but I begin to wonder. I hope yer not planning on stayin’ long.”
“No, but I’d like to have a chance to cripple the pirate’s ship when he is otherwise occupied. Tonight, I think, we must seek the Retribución in earnest. There will be no moon.”
* * *
Tara looked away from the setting sun, past the blue waters of the bay glistening with the last rays of light, toward the shore and the palm-strewn hills above the long stretch of beach. The gray cat brushed against her skirts, having adopted the habit of following Tara up on deck in the early evening. Reaching down to scratch Samantha’s ears, Tara chided herself for wearing a gown, the change she had made in her apparel since Bermuda.
It was for him she had begun dressing the lady and the realization caused her to frown. Somewhere on the voyage she had become uncomfortable with her boyish behavior and she liked the way the captain looked at her when she wore the frippery. Though she still wore her breeches in the morning while helping the crew with their chores, by the afternoon she would be wearing a gown, albeit the modified ones with her breeches underneath. Still, from her outward appearance she was dressed in the feminine attire that would have been welcomed in any parlour in London. All for the sake of a captain who paid her little attention except to steal kisses whenever the fancy took him. But their time in Bermuda had told her that beneath the rogue there was a man of intelligence, mirth and honor.
With days rocking at anchor in the bay, she had become bored with the ship, which surprised her, but then there was less to do when not at sea. In the time Joshua had been with them, she’d often helped the second cabin boy with his knowledge of the ship when Peter was occupied. But even that was not enough. And she was most anxious to know why the Wind Raven was now decked out like a Spanish merchant ship. Her questions posed to the first mate had produced only vague answers, something about avoiding issues with the local officials. Still, she thought it odd.
From what she had seen from the deck as they’d sailed along the island’s coast, Porto Rico was lush with greenery and dense stands of palm trees. But Cabo Rojo on the west coast was drier, with ragged cliffs rising above blue waters. The bay where they were anchored seemed an exception with its sandy beach running the full length of its long shore and green vegetation beyond. Small villages dotted the coast, the last rays of the sun making their brightly painted cottages glow.
Her attention was drawn to Nate, who had just come aboard and was striding toward the captain. As the two men talked, the captain’s dark brows drew together. With a concerned look, he gave instructions to Nate that she could not hear from where she was standing. The old sailor nodded and went below. It was time for the evening meal and Tara strolled toward the captain as he watched her.
“Will you dine with me this evening, Miss McConnell?” the captain said, disclosing nothing of his conversation with Nate. Lately she had taken to eating in her cabin so the invitation was unexpected, though not unwelcome.
“If you wish, Captain.”
“I do. I will be going ashore later with a few of the crew and want your agreement to remain aboard the ship.”
Seeing his dark brows draw together, she took his request as an order. He was concerned about something. They walked toward the hatch as Tara considered her position. She was a passenger not a prisoner, but they were in foreign waters and, as the captain he’d be concerned for a passenger getting lost, or worse.
“Captain, I grow tired of this confinement while we are anchored. I would very much like to go ashore with you tonight.”
They descended to the lower deck as he responded. “That will not be possible, Miss McConnell.”
Something was amiss, of that Tara was certain. Something Nate and he had discussed. Something the good captain did not want to tell her. It made her worry, too. Still, he could not hold her captive forever.
“Tomorrow perhaps I will go ashore, Captain, whether you approve or not.”
“Tomorrow, Miss McConnell, we will sail.”
* * *
Later that night, Nick crouched behind a small rise on a hill above the cove where the pirate ship rested at anchor a few miles down the coast. At his side were Russ, Jake Johansson, Charlie Wilson and a half dozen other members of his crew, all dressed in dark clothing. They had walked in so they could approach by land. Stealth had been their plan and it seemed as if fate was with them. Based upon their intelligence, he expected to find only a skeleton crew.
He peered over the top of the rise to see the small schooner looming like a dark specter in the moonless night, its deck lit only by a single lantern. Midnight had come and gone as they waited for any activity aboard the pirate ship. Nick had seen only a few shadows moving about earlier, but now, other than a single man on watch, all was quiet. It was time.
Slowly Nick and his men wound their way down the hill, pausing behind rocks to be certain they were not being observed. Finally they reached the longboat the pirates had hauled on shore to afford them access to their ship. Nick’s men slipped the boat from the sand and, without a sound, scrambled over the side and quietly rowed across the dark water. In addition to his saber and pistol, lying next to him in the boat was his Baker rifle, which he could use to take out the pirate watch if they were spotted from afar.
Nick cocked his pistol. “Keep your weapons ready as you board,” he whispered. “They’ll soon be needed.”
They arrived at the pirate ship without incident, the waters of the bay smooth as glass, and climbed up the side using the manrope. Nick was the first to drop onto the deck, landing in a crouch; his men followed. The snoring sentry amidships suddenly woke.
“Sangre de Dios!” he shouted, drawing a machete from his waist, but before he could wield the weapon, Russ fired his pistol and the pirate dropped to the deck, dispatched to the next world.
Four pirates emerged from the main hatch at a run, machetes raised. Nick drew his saber and a skirmish ensued, but it was clear from the start the pirates were not prepared for the attack. Nick’s saber quickly drew blood from the swarthy pirate who’d lunged at him. Seeing he and his companions were greatly outnumbered, the pirate surrendered, dropping his machete and raising his hands in the air. His companions soon followed suit.
Nick summoned Charlie Wilson. “It seems most of the pirates have gone ashore. Have these three said anything about Cofresí’s whereabouts?”
Charlie, who understood Spanish, had been listening to the pirates speaking among themselves. “No, Cap’n. Each is blaming the other for failing to see us before we were upon them.”
Hearing Charlie’s words, Russ said, “These men are as loyal as yours, Nick. They’ll not be speaking of their captain, not even under penalty of death.”
“Well, based on the description we have, Cofresí isn’t one of these,” he replied. “Spike the guns and take what powder they have. At least we�
�ll remove his claws for a time.”
When the job was done, Jake reported the hold contained no cargo, save for food supplies and the gunpowder the crew of the Wind Raven would take with them. Nick ordered the balls thrown over the side.
“Tie up the pirate’s men and leave them in the hold for their captain to find.” Nick ordered, glancing at the one who was dead and the one who was wounded in the shoulder.
“We could sink her, Nick,” offered Russ, “but then we’d have these bilge rats to deal with.”
“An intriguing idea. I suppose the Prince Regent would prefer that, though I expect the pirate would soon procure another ship with his wealth.”
“More likely he’d seize one,” said Russ.
As Nick was considering whether to take the time to sink the Retribución, he suddenly had a sense of foreboding, the urge to return to his ship nearly overwhelming. “I don’t want to blow up the ship with the powder we ourselves can use, and to do more would take time I’m unwilling to allow. We’ve lingered overlong.”
* * *
Nick and his men arrived on the beach where they’d left their longboat, but it was gone. A sinking feeling came over him as he gazed across the gray water toward his ship. Small currents of the bay lapped at his boots as the light of the early dawn allowed him to see two longboats rowing toward the Wind Raven. Together they carried at least a dozen men.
Cofresí had discovered their presence.
Tara.
“The freebooters are headin’ toward the ship, Cap’n!” one of his men said in a raspy whisper.
“I am aware,” he said, his voice cold as he examined his options. Nick was certain his watch would see the pirates advancing through the waters, but taking no chances, he took out his muzzle-loaded rifle and fired a shot. He could not reach the pirates before they arrived at his ship, but he could be certain his men were warned.
“Quickly,” he urged Jake and the others, “bring one of the boats from there under the palms.” He gestured to where he’d earlier seen the boats overturned under the canopy of trees. The bos’n ran to the boats with the others following to do their captain’s bidding.
Russ and Nick helped put the boat in the water and the men leaped in, save for Jake, who waited for Nick. Nick climbed over the side and Jake shoved the boat from shore and vaulted over the side.
“Have you a plan when we get to the ship?” Russ asked while the men pulled oars and they skimmed over the water.
“Only to kill as many of the pirates as I can,” said Nick. And to save Tara. “Pistols first while we have them.”
Nick heard the sound of pistols being fired on board the Raven as they rowed toward the ship. Not all of his men had pistols. In the early light of dawn, the white smoke from those that had been fired could be seen billowing above the deck.
Most of the Raven’s crew would be fighting with their long-knifed cutlasses, the sailors’ weapon of choice. Though well matched with machetes, few of his crew could wield them well. They were merchantmen, only some former privateers, and of those, only a few had engaged in hand-to-hand fighting.
They were too late to prevent the pirates from boarding, as Nick knew they would be.
Arriving just after the clash of blades began, Nick climbed over the rail and into the lingering cloud of smoke. He breathed in the sharp odor of spent powder and sulfur as he unsheathed his saber and pulled his cocked pistol from waist, searching for a place to dive into the fray. His crew was waging a desperate attempt to fend off the fierce, machete-wielding pirates, but some had already fallen. The deck was awash in blood.
Pirates were cutting down his men, one after the other; the clash of metal and the grunts of men filled his ears. In front of him, Jake stood like a tower of strength, a long knife in each hand, as he protected the boy Joshua huddled behind him. Nick slashed his saber across the back of the pirate facing Jake, and the tall bos’n leaped in to cut the pirate’s throat.
“Joshua! Up the mast and quickly!” shouted Nick, swiveling to meet a pirate rushing toward him. Sidestepping the downward thrust of the machete, he avoided all but a superficial graze of his left arm. Catching the pirate in the side as he turned, Nick braced himself for the sickening feel of his blade sliding through flesh.
Mayhem was all around him as he paused to take in the battle.
Standing amidships he saw the profile of a tall pirate, a machete in one hand and an axe dripping blood in the other. Blood ran down his bare chest and dripped from loose strands of his long blond hair. Surrounded by his dark crew, the pirate stood out like a beacon drawing Nick’s gaze.
Cofresí.
The pirate captain advanced toward old Nate, who was holding his own near the aft hatch on the quarterdeck. Diving into the fray, Nick fired his pistol with one hand while cutting down an approaching pirate with his saber. The ball exploded into the air, hitting the left arm of the blond pirate. Cofresí’s machete fell to the deck with a thud, and the pirate captain turned, his face a mask of seething rage, his glare aimed at Nick as he raised his axe.
All sound ceased for Nick as a huge hulking beast of a pirate stepped through the aft hatch, dragging Tara with him. She was fighting him tooth and nail.
The blond pirate turned his gaze to follow Nick’s and the men fighting nearby stepped back and looked toward the beautiful girl in the white muslin gown held in the grasp of the hulking pirate.
* * *
“Let go of me, you scurvy beast!” Tara yelled, kicking the shin of the beefy pirate who held her. But the man’s muscled arms were like bands of steel. Seizing upon the one action left to her, she bent her head and sank her teeth into his fleshy forearm. It only made him grip her more tightly to his wide chest, forcing the air from her lungs.
“So it’s to be like that, is it, sirenita?” the corpulent pirate expelled his foul breath into her ear and moved his hand to cover her breast.
Incensed, Tara shoved her elbow into his paunch, hoping to hit his ribs buried beneath. He grunted, then laughed and turned to one of the other pirates. “Look what I found, Capitán—a spitting mermaid!”
Suddenly a knife flew past Tara’s head, embedding itself in the neck of the pirate who held her. Blood spurted over Tara and she wrenched away. The pirate slumped to the deck as he reached for the knife in his neck. But his hand slipped away, his head hitting the deck, his dark eyes vacant and staring into space. Tara wiped the blood from her face with her arm and looked around for her knife-wielding savior—and into the eyes of the Wind Raven’s captain.
That he had thrown the knife became clear when one of the pirates, seeing his dead companion, threw his fist into Captain Powell’s face, causing the captain’s head to whip to one side. The pirate followed it up with a sharp blow to the captain’s ribs and he sank to his knees. Two pirates grabbed the Wind Raven’s captain and stretched him between them even as the captain struggled to gain his freedom. To Tara’s horror, blood dripped from the captain’s lip and his left arm as he moaned. With great effort he rose to stand, glaring his disgust at the two pirates holding him.
At that moment, Tara had never been more proud of the captain—his courage, the strength he imparted to his men. Never had she felt more love for him.
Tara’s eyes were drawn to the blond pirate whose presence dominated the deck; his piercing blue was gaze fixed upon her. Silence replaced the sound of clashing steel as the pirates, who she could see were prevailing, looked toward the blond giant as if awaiting an order. Powerfully built, his shoulders broad, the pirate wore a black scarf around his neck, but his bronze chest, splattered with blood, was bare. Down his left arm ran blood from a wound, and in his right hand he wielded an axe with a blood-smeared blade. He was terrifying.
Fear gripped her as she stared at his eyes and then at his axe. Would she be next?
“You will die for slaying my man, Captain Powell,” the blond pirate said in perfect English, his voice harsh, all the while never taking his eyes off Tara. His gaze was devouring, making Tara
feel as exposed as if he’d stripped her of her clothes. To the other pirates, he ordered, “Round up the English crew and put them in the hold, the captain and the first officer in chains. And, Portalatin, send some of the crew to bring the Retribución into the bay so we can transfer the cargo.”
In rapid movements, so fast she barely took them in, the pirates disarmed the rest of the Wind Raven’s crew and began shoving them toward the cargo hatch.
The pirate captain turned his gaze on Captain Powell, who was still straining against the two pirates holding him fast. With a cynical grin, he said, “Did you think I was unaware you had come to my waters, Englishman? I am not so ignorant as you might believe. I know well the stories of the Wind Raven and her captain, no matter the language in which you choose to cloak your ship or the flag you choose to fly. You are a living legend in the West Indies. And soon, Captain Powell, you will be a dead one.”
Stunned, Tara could only stare. Nicholas Powell could not die! God, please keep him safe.
She cast her gaze over the bodies strewn about the deck, nearly vomiting when she saw one of the Raven’s crew with a deep gash across his neck, his head almost severed. A few of the dead were pirates bearing pistol wounds in their chests, their bodies tangled with those of the Raven’s crew. Smitty was sitting against the main mast, his eyes closed. She could not tell if he was dead. Some of Captain Powell’s crew lay wounded. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the familiar faces of Russell Ainsworth and Jake, both being shoved toward the hatch. Nate was being dragged to join them. She knew Peter had been below decks with her and hoped the lad was unharmed.
Lastly, following his crew, Captain Powell was prodded with a machete toward the hatch. He looked back at Tara. The fire in his eyes gave her courage. He had not surrendered; neither would she.
