His to Hold (Regency Scoundrels Book 1)

by Mathews, Marly

  Smiling craftily, she pushed Seamus, and knocked him off balance, since he was rocking back on his chair. Another shudder rang through the ship, causing Elizabeth to nearly lose her own equilibrium.

  Seamus let out a holler, and she was out the door. She sped up the staircase to the deck, and stood stock still at the sight that awaited her. Her blood curdled with fear, and her palms began to sweat. She looked around for a possible weapon, hoping to find one soon.

  The Spanish bastard’s ship that had drawn up alongside The Valiant made her nearly tremble with fear. Never had she known such dread. For The Destroyer was flying the Red Jolly Roger.

  *****

  Mallory pulled out one of his pistols, and quickly shot an advancing pirate. The man slipped from the rope he had himself curled around, and splashed into the water. Several other pirates were still trying to swing across onto The Valiant.

  Damn it all, he still didn’t know how they had managed to gain this much speed on them, let alone draw up alongside their ship. He punched another pirate as he landed on the deck, and sent the man hurtling backward. They never should have been able to gain the upper hand, not with the escort they sailed with.

  In the blink of an eye, he drew his cutlass, and drove it through another advancing pirate. He watched as the man staggered back and fell onto the deck, dead. He still couldn’t see Antonio anywhere. Shouts of battle rang through his head, and he stepped aside quickly as yet another one of Antonio’s men lunged at him.

  Antonio’s men swarmed The Valiant, and though Mallory had several other ships under his command, Antonio’s other ships were engaging them. It was a heated battle, and Mallory was not assured of victory. He could see that now. But he was praying that the wind of success would blow toward them.

  “So we meet again, my friend.”

  Mallory whirled around at the sound of Antonio’s clearly defined speech. Antonio prided himself on being able to speak the English language, with nearly no discernable Spanish accent. Mallory advanced on Antonio and rid himself of the several combatants that were lunging around him. Fortunately, Antonio had no sharpshooters for them to worry about. He dodged to the side, to allow one of his men access to one of Antonio’s men.

  Antonio tried to drill the edge of fear into his opponents, by what he wore. His black hair was tied back with a black scarf, and his entire outfit was black, save for the red cravat he had tied around his neck. The man wasn’t just a bastard, he was a vain bastard.

  Antonio’s eyes were a steely black, and glittered like dangerously. Mallory had never cared for the man, and knew that his actions were never justified when it came to piracy. Antonio was the terror of the High Seas, and wore the title well.

  “I am trying to decide on whether or not to have a discussion of world events with you, or run you straight through right now.” Antonio was also an arrogant and pompous prick.

  “You may be my guest to try, Antonio, but you have never succeeded before, and I shan’t suppose that today will be any different.” Mallory smiled cockily, and held his cutlass steady. He was ready to engage Antonio in battle. The best sword masters in all of England had taught him, and he was more than a formidable match for Antonio.

  “Everyone calls me Captain Blood. How many times must I remind you of that, Morgan?”

  Mallory smiled, and nearly laughed. He supposed that he would have laughed, had the situation on his ship not grown so grim.

  “Ah, but Antonio, you and I share a relationship that calls for a first-name basis of familiarity.”

  “The only relationship we share is the connection to a certain treasure that we’ve both had in our possession. You stole my loot from me, Morgan, and I’m fixing to have it back right now.”

  “My apologies, Antonio,” Mallory said, dropping into a mock bow. “But I do not have it.” He gave Antonio a cocky smile. Antonio stalked toward him, with an expression of disbelief plastered across his features.

  “You are in jest,” Antonio said darkly, holding his Spanish Cutlass so that the sunlight would shimmer off of the bloody blade.

  “I assure you, Antonio. I am not in jest.”

  “I shall reclaim my treasure whether or not I have to storm this entire ship to find it.”

  “I have already told you, there is no treasure onboard this ship.”

  “Indeed,” Antonio rubbed his chin, and smiled at Mallory when a woman’s shriek broke through the grunts and gasps of battling men.

  Damnation. Mallory groaned. Did she never listen?

  “As to the treasure,” Antonio began, just as a ragtag pirate appeared, with Elizabeth in his grimy clutches. The Spaniard turned to stare at Elizabeth, and Mallory watched with growing dread as Antonio’s features split into a grin. “I would have thought that this pretty little piece would constitute as one, though I daresay I might be mistaken. Shall I take this treasure, as you took my jewels, gold and other cargo?” With this, Antonio looked at a few members of Mallory’s crew.

  Antonio beckoned for his man to give Elizabeth to him. The pirate threw Elizabeth into his arms, and he pulled her roughly against him. “Perhaps I should sample her wares here and now, on board this very deck, and you may have a front row seat, Morgan.”

  Mallory felt the life drain out from him. The very thing that he had feared the most of happening, had come to fruition, and he was at a bloody loss as to how to rectify the matter, without endangering Elizabeth. All she had to do was listen to him, and stay out of harm’s way, and now, now, she was right in the bloody middle of it all!

  Rape was not against Antonio’s principles. A dry prickly sensation entered Mallory’s throat and he coughed. As soon as he got Elizabeth away from the bloody mad Spaniard he was going to wring her ruddy neck, or better yet, give her the spanking of a lifetime!

  *****

  Elizabeth stared at the maddened visage of Rafe and tried to smile sheepishly, but her heart just wasn’t in it. For once in her life, she wanted to kick herself in the behind, for not heeding Rafe’s advice. She should have stayed down below. The air smelt of battle, and she wanted to retch. That, coupled with the fact that her nausea had returned, wasn’t making life easy for her. And now, to top everything off, she’d managed to go from one kidnapper to another.

  And she hadn’t traded up! Captain Blood’s hand was precariously close to her breast, and she was sure that her fate was gruesome indeed. He sounded as if he had the upper hand over Rafe, and she didn’t like what he was threatening to do to her one bit. Rafe was an angel sent from Heaven, compared to Captain Blood.

  Captain Blood had rammed her up alongside his front, and she could feel a rather revolting bulge in the area of his crotch. Now, she wanted to throw up more than ever. She heard him slide his cutlass back into its scabbard, and draw something that sounded much smaller, but no less deadly. He held the Spanish dagger to her throat, thereby curtailing her frenzied struggling. She became as still as she could possibly be, and her eyes dropped to the glinting blade, and then roved over to Rafe.

  There was unmistakable fear in his eyes. And by judging by what she had seen of his fighting prowess, she was quite certain that he was not afraid of Captain Blood, but afraid for her. She had told Rafe earlier that she would not be afraid, but she wasn’t so sure now.

  Captain Blood could slit her throat open with the flick of his wrist, or worst yet, the slip of his wrist. She swallowed thickly, and felt the cool blade nearly dig into her sensitive skin.

  “If you harm her, I shall make sure that you die a most horrible death, Antonio.”

  “To be sure, Morgan, I’ve had many threats similar to the one you just made against me. But you see, Morgan, I do not care one rat’s ass. You have stolen something that belonged to me, and since I can no longer reclaim it, I shall steal something that belonged to you. You will tell your men to halt their fighting, and you shall allow me safe passage off this ship, or else you may say goodbye to this pretty little piece of muslin.”

  “Fine,” Mallory said through
gritted teeth. “So long as you leave the girl behind.”

  Captain Blood’s hollow chuckle made Elizabeth’s stomach lurch, and she tried to drag in a deep calming breath. “Your woman no longer belongs to you. She is mine now.”

  Had Elizabeth not been so scared of accidentally moving the wrong way and causing Captain Blood’s dagger to draw her own blood, she would have given both men a what for. As it was, she had to keep her mouth firmly clamped shut.

  Captain Blood’s cold, malicious laughter rippled across the deck, and made everyone stop in mid-motion. All eyes, rested on her, as several grunts of alarm rang through The Valiant. Obviously Rafe’s men were concerned about her. And if they were afraid, then she definitely should be afraid.

  “Damn you straight to hell!” Rafe spat out, his eyes darkening to that mystifying cobalt colour.

  Elizabeth’s heart ached for him. She wanted to throw herself in his arms, despite all of his platitudes about how she belonged to him. If she had to belong to a man, she’d far rather it be Rafe, than Captain Blood.

  A line from Captain Blood’s ship was flung across, and thumped against The Valliant’s rail.

  Gulping down her trepidation, she let out a little indignant squeak, as Captain Blood reached for the rope. Internally, she screamed for Rafe to help her, but she knew that his hands were tied.

  It was all her fault. Why had she been so reckless? So foolish?

  But then, on the other hand, if Rafe had not kidnapped her in the first place, she would not have been placed in this situation.

  Captain Blood removed the dagger from her neck, and placed it back in its leather scabbard. He grasped hold of her in a viselike grip, and nearly pinched the air straight out of her.

  He wrapped his fingers around the line, and jumped up to the rail. He held her as if she weighed no more than a sack of flour. He swung across to The Destroyer and landed on the deck with an awful thud. She closed her eyes, and then opened them again when she felt him reach for something.

  She gasped, when his hand enclosed around a Spanish pistol. Her mind raced. She looked to where Rafe was trying to fight his way to a line. He had just wrapped his hand around a rope when Captain Blood took aim.

  “Rafe, look out!” she screamed, but it was all happening too fast. She could not stop Captain Blood.

  At the last possible moment, she heaved with all of her might, and knocked the bloody bastard off balance. His arm swerved, altering his aim. But the gunshot still pierced through her hazy brain, and made her drop to her knees in agony. She watched as the shot connected with Rafe’s chest, and threw him catapulting backwards. He slammed onto the deck with such a resounding thud, that even she heard it.

  A keening wail escaped her, at the sight of Rafe’s still, expressionless face. She didn’t have much time, for Captain Blood wrenched her to her feet, and began dragging her across the deck.

  “Get us away from here,” he shouted out. His men began to drop back onto The Destroyer.

  Screaming, she struggled against Captain Blood. He would not take her. If she made a run for it…she could throw herself overboard. Rafe was dead, and her heart had died with him.

  *****

  Mallory groaned, and rolled over onto his stomach. The Valiant swayed beneath him. He could hear his men rushing to him, and he looked up to catch Ethan skidding toward him. Ethan clutched his right arm up against his chest and blood trickled down his arm, slithering across his hand, to splatter onto the deck.

  Mallory winced, and breathed against the smarting pain that exploded in his left shoulder. He placed his right hand up to it, expecting to feel warm gushy blood. But instead, his hand was dry when he pulled it back.

  “What the…” he muttered, believing that he had been granted a miracle. And in a way, it was a miracle that had saved his life, for his brother’s gold cross he wore around his neck had saved his life, though it was dented quite horribly now.

  Rolling his eyes heavenward, he muttered a silent prayer, thanking his foresight on deciding to carry on the St. Martin tradition of wearing the cross, despite the fact that he wasn’t the firstborn son.

  Legend said that the fancy cross dated back to the time of King Richard, when an ancestor of theirs went to the crusades with the warrior king.

  It was said that John St. Martin returned from the Holy Land unharmed, and many believed that the cross had become a talisman of sorts, and had protected him during his time there. If only his brother had been wearing the cross on the day he’d been killed.

  Ethan drew up short, and snorted. “Good God, Rafe, I thought you were a goner for sure.”

  “As did I,” Mallory admitted, pushing himself to his feet. “You should have your injury attended to.” Mallory nodded at the blood that still dripped onto the deck. He scanned his eyes across the deck, and found to his chagrin that most of his men looked as if they had met hell straight on.

  Their ship’s doctor was making the rounds, trying to assess who needed his care first. Since he seemed to be one of the only ones in good condition, he walked unsteadily over toward the wheel, and gripped it sternly.

  He signaled to the other ships that seemed quite battle worn, as well. He cast his eyes to the heavens, and sighed with relief when he found that their masts and rigging hadn’t been damaged. Yet another blessing that would work to his advantage.

  Ethan came to stand beside him, as Mallory stared out at the sea. “We’ll catch up with them, and we’ll have her back in no time flat.”

  “I know. I just worry about what kind of condition I’ll find her in. It was my responsibility to keep her safe. I failed her, Ethan.”

  Ethan thumped him on the back with his good arm, and Mallory stared over at him. His first mate had ripped a length of his jacket off and had tied a strip of it around his arm, though by the looks of things, he still bled rather profusely.

  “I think, Ethan, you should go and have the Doc or one of his men stitch that up for you. I don’t think you’ll be able to staunch the flow of blood otherwise.”

  “We shall have to take great care to keep the morale of the men up,” Ethan said thoughtfully. He gave him a wink, and ambled away.

  Mallory sighed, and wondered who would keep his morale up. He’d never been so distraught in all of his life. He felt like slamming doors, and breaking something priceless, but he couldn’t indulge in such reckless behavior. It was his duty to rescue Elizabeth, and rescue her, he would.

  *****

  Elizabeth stared around in revulsion at the opulent cabin she had been flung into. Her heartbeat still hadn’t stopped its racing against her chest, and she doubled over as another wave of nausea assailed her.

  Red velvet draped the cabin, and made it look like a Sultan’s harem instead of a Captain’s cabin. She swallowed against the sour bile rising in her throat. She stood up and walked unsteadily over to the water decanter that sat on Captain Blood’s mahogany dinner table.

  Pouring it, she spilt some onto the table surface, and grimaced. Shakily, she brought it up to her lips, and sighed when she drank in a few mouthfuls. Once she’d done that, she reached for a cut lime and drizzled the juice into her water. She was tired and heartbroken. She didn’t know why she drank the juice when she knew that a horrible fate at the hands of a madman awaited her.

  It wouldn’t matter if she got sick with scurvy...no one would come for her now that Rafe was dead. She was alone. She’d never truly felt threatened by Rafe...but Captain Blood frightened her right down to the bone. No one would be coming to rescue her. After all, who would miss her?

  No one.

  Rafe might have missed her, and he might have pursued her, but he was dead, so he could no longer come to her rescue like a knight out of Chaucer’s tales.

  She had just wandered over to a map that was hanging on Captain Blood’s wall when she heard the cabin door being wrenched open. Closing her eyes, and muttering a prayer, she steeled herself for what was to come. She slowly turned around, and gasped instead of screaming. Her
eyes trailed up the full length of Captain Blood. She hadn’t gotten a good look at him before, but she could inspect him now, even in the flickering candlelight.

  “Greetings. I am sure you’re quite happy to be away from that Limey bastard,” he purred. He smiled, revealing a row of crooked and yellowed teeth. “I think we might have gotten off on the wrong foot earlier. My name is Antonio. I do believe you’re known to some as Evan Beaumont, isn’t that right?”

  And then she gasped and went careening back toward the bed. Falling onto it, she stared up at him in stupefied horror. How in God’s name could he know her secret identity?

  Chapter Eight

  Elizabeth watched open-mouthed with horror, as Captain Blood strode toward her.

  “Phillip?” she asked, narrowing her eyes, and perusing him closer. She envisioned him wearing the suit of a proper English gentleman, and she knew she was right, before he even confirmed her suspicion.

  “Aye. One and the same,” he said gruffly, moving over to pour himself a full glass of what was probably rum.

  “How did you know who I was, and where I was?” her question hung in the air as he gracefully turned back to her.

  “Did you suppose that you could fool me that easily? I understand your need for anonymity, Miss Elizabeth. After all, entering a club to gamble, with your cousin as your only companion, dressed as a frilly dandy, is far preferable to entering such a place, dressed as a prudent young woman, especially when you would have been denied admittance as a woman.”

  He raised thick black eyebrows, and held her gaze with his own penetrating one.

  “Why did you kill Captain Morgan?” She intended to ask the question in a calm and collected voice, but instead, it came out ragged, and tense.

  “Because I didn’t feel inclined to compete for you.” His devilish smile sent a chill racing down her spine, and it was far different from the shivers that Rafe gave her. She found herself reaching down, and clutching handfuls of the silk bedcovers in her fists. She tried swallowing, and nearly choked.