Kaelan blushed to the tips of his toes.
Occultus moved to the foot of the bunk and untied Kaelan's ankles. “If you would like me to..."
“No!” Kaelan barked, trying to push himself up on the cot, but too weak to do so.
A rare, thoroughly pleased smiled fell over Occultus’ thin lips. “...mend your thigh, I will be happy to finish what I started.” He cocked a thick black brow. “What else would you like me to do, then?"
Kaelan did not miss the amusement in the other man's voice. He had heard tales of the powers these men could wield and he knew it was not outside the realm of possibility that a High Priest of the Brotherhood of the Domination could heal his crippled leg.
“What's it to be?” Occultus said, placing his long, thin hands on the footboard of the bunk. “Do I heal you or do you remain in agony every time the weather changes?"
The thought of the man's hands near so private a portion of his body still brought uneasiness to Kaelan's stomach, but he didn't dare let his pride and modesty stand in the way of being made whole for Gilly once more.
“For Gilly,” Occultus answered. “A most brave and resourceful woman, your wife."
Fear of a new kind stung Kaelan and he struggled up in the bed, barely wincing at the pain in his left thigh. “Where is she?” he asked, his eyes pleading for good news.
“On her way here,” Occultus answered.
Kaelan looked around the cabin. “Where is here?"
“Oh, you are on the Revenant, Lord Cree's ship,” Occultus replied, “but we are at anchor in Montyne Cay, awaiting your lady-wife's arrival."
“Montyne Cay?” Kaelan gasped. “How the gods-be-damned hell did I get to Montyne Cay?” The tall man's words registered. “Lord Cree's ship?"
“It's a long story,” Occultus laughed. He pointed to Kaelan's thigh. “Shall I continue?” The man's thin lips twitched. “For Gilly?"
* * * *
“SAIL HO!"
Nick turned away from helping Thècion thoroughly tromp Diarmuid and Traer at whist and looked up at the crow's nest. “WHERE AWAY?” he called back.
Tyler Dixon leaned over the rim of the crow's nest. “THIRTY DEGREES OFF TO STARBOARD, CAP'N!"
“She's a prison transport,” Lumley Tarnes snapped, coming to his feet. He might be a might long in the tooth, but there was nothing wrong with his eyesight.
“How the blazes can you tell?” Taylor Dixon, the new boatswain of the Revenant, queried.
“Know the Captain,” Lumley informed him. “Know the ship."
Nick swung his head toward the elderly man he had made his first mate. “Friend or enemy?"
Lumley took off his hat and scratched his balding pate. “Reckon both.” He slapped the cap back on his head snugly, tugged the brim down and turned his head to spit a stream of tobacco juice over rail. “Took a woman away from him once. Don't know why he'd be this far south, though."
“Coming after us,” Riordan A'Lex breathed.
“Don't figure,” Lumley disagreed.
“Then why's she here?” Nick demanded.
“Don't know,” Lumley answered. “Could have been a mutiny, though that don't seem likely with Mallory. He's a toughun, he is.” The old tar shook his head. “Don't make no sense to me. Tribunal ships know better than to sail into this harbor."
“Unless?” Thècion stood up, laid his cards down on the barrel top that had served as a table for the four of them.
“Unless what?” Diarmuid snapped.
“He's here to bring Kaelan's lady to him,” Thècion answered.
“I don't think my sister would hitch a ride on a prison ship full of men,” Nick scoffed.
“Put nothing past a woman who's after being reunited with her man, Cap'n,” Lumley chuckled. “And I'm thinking that especially true of your little sister!"
“We'll ready the guns anyway,” Nick said. He looked to the six fifty pound cannons lined up on the bluff overlooking the harbor. There was more than ample shot to blow any ship to sawdust.
“Send a signal, Taylor, then gather us up a bordering party."
“Aye, Cap'n!"
Occultus had come on deck and was standing at the rail, watching the advancing sails of the Serenian Star. For a long moment, he stared at the ship, his insides boiling with rage and hurt and abject despair. He was having trouble breathing and reached up to push at the air, as though he were trying to push away a lid that had been placed over his face, shutting out the oxygen. He snatched his hands back, groaning despite his best effort not to. He looked down into his palms, seeing them blistered and raw, oozing. Another groan rippled through him and he stumbled, twisting against a great agony which ripped down his back.
“Your Worship, are you all right?” Jess Patrick put out a hand to steady the priest.
“Do not touch me!” Occultus whimpered, moving away.
Patrick jumped back. He turned to look at Nick, shaking his head at the priest's odd behavior.
Nick and the others watched as Occultus stumbled back from the rail and made his way unsteadily to the hatchway, still refusing help from those who offered.
“What's wrong with him?” Diarmuid inquired.
Raine Jale, who'd had more truck with sorcerers and magi than the rest of them put together, turned his attention out to sea. “He was sensing something evil from the ship,” he answered. “Something yet to come, I think."
Nick followed Jale's gaze and thought the man might be right. He, too, felt a weird electricity in the air, shimmering around the ship.
“There's a man on board that ship,” the men heard Occultus call from the hatchway where he had paused, holding onto the wood. “I want you to free him.” He risked another glance at the ship, then quickly away. “Get them all off that hellspawned ship, but bring that man to me! One of his will be very precious to the McGregor family!"
Thècion nodded as though he understood perfectly. He put a hand on Nick's arm. “I've a mind to go aspirating with you, Nicky.” He grinned. “In the name of the McGregor family."
Nick shook his head adamantly. “Oh, no, you don't!” he protested. “We'll get that ransom we're gonna ask from your father, then you can go get D'Lyn; but I'm not going to put my neck through a Serenian noose so you can ease your boredom!"
“'Tis not boredom,” Diarmuid disagreed. “'Tis high adventure we're after, Cree!"
“You can get your bloody adventure elsewhere, Brell!” Nick suggested.
“If I go get D'Lyn,” Thècion reminded his new friend, “I can't go home again."
“And I've no real desire to,” Diarmuid put in. “The crown belongs to Sean and I've no itch to wear it.” He looked out over the waves. “But I do have a mind to fleece the Diabolusians and try my hand at pirating!"
“No!” Nick stated firmly. But one look at the two young noblemen and he knew they would pay him no heed.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Four
Gilly held the lantern as high as the low ceiling would allow. The stench below decks grew stronger the closer she got to the brig. Now and again, she had to stop and readjust the handkerchief she had plastered over her nose. Even her eyes were watering from the horrible smell coming from the prisoner's cells.
The crew was on deck, readying their arrival in the harbor at Montyne Cay. No one had noticed her when she left the captain's cabin, the first time since being ensconced there as Mallory's ‘prisoner'. Since the Serenian Star and her crew were so close to their destination, the captain had seen no reason to keep such a close watch on his stowaway.
“Just behave yourself, lass,” he had admonished before going on deck. “And stay put!"
The plight of the prisoners had been weighing on Gilly for days now. She knew the men weren't being mistreated, but neither were they being seen to with all that much care. Jeremy had told her that he helped take food down to the caged men once a day and that they were, for the most part, healthy and as comfortable as leg irons and manacles could make them. But suffering was someth
ing Gilly had long taken to heart and she knew, there but by the grace of the gods, might Kaelan be.
“You can help, Gillian,” the voice had whispered to her. “You must help."
Making up her mind to set the men free, she had taken the lantern and made her way down the companionway to the hatch leading down to the brig. The breeches she had stolen from the jail lent her the freedom to climb down the ladder and she was of a mind to continue wearing them as often as she could, although she was fairly sure both Nick and Kaelan would have something to say about that decision.
The smell got much, much worse and the damp chill cut all the way through her clothing. So miserable was she, she almost missed the ring which held two keys which hung on the bulkhead wall and swung gently to the rhythm of the ship's roll.
“Help me,” she heard someone whimper and she stopped beside a thick iron door inset with a high grate. She had to stand on tiptoes to peer inside the cell.
“Sir?” she called out.
“It's bitten through my arm,” came the cry.
Rats, Gilly knew, were all over the ship. Confined as they were, the prisoners had to be prime targets for the rodents. As much as she disliked the sly beasts, she knew the prisoners had to hate them more.
“I am going to get you out,” Gilly told the unseen man.
“Who are you, milady?” someone called from behind her and Gilly turned to see another cell door, though she could not see the cell's occupant.
“Someone sent to help,” Gilly responded.
“Gods-sent,” another man declared from further down the row of locked doors. “The gods be blessed that you have come none too late, milady."
It didn't take Gilly long to find the key that would unlock the cell door. She had prepared herself for the sight that would greet her, but nothing could have prepared her for the man who fell at her feet, kissing her boots, when she unlocked his manacles.
“Thank you, milady,” the man sobbed, his hands gripping her ankles. “Thank you."
The prisoner's arms were bloody from bites; his legs, too. His bare feet were filthy and covered with scratches.
“You must hurry,” she told him. “Get up now and make for the hatchway. We are at Montyne Cay and there will be men to help you.” The voice had told her there would be help and she knew there would be.
“Thank you,” the prisoner said again and again.
Gilly unlocked the leg irons of the other three men in the cell with him and cautioned them all, with a finger to her lip, that they were to make their way quietly to the hatchway.
When the men had done as she asked, after thanking her as profusely as the first man, she moved across to the other door and unlocked it.
“You must hurry, milady,” the man who had spoken to her before insisted. “You must help him."
“I will,” Gilly said, moving on to the second man in the cell. There were five men in all crowded in the cramped quarters.
“They nearly beat him to death when they caught him,” the man continued as he stood there, rubbing his wrists. “We've heard nothing from him for the last day."
“I will see to him,” Gilly stressed, “now go. We've not that much time."
“Thank you, milady,” the man said. He helped the other four men to exit the cell, but stayed where he was.
“Go,” Gilly insisted.
The man shook his head. “You'll need help with him, milady."
There was probably truth in that, Gilly thought. She flung out her hand. “Where is he?”
There were several cells left, but only one prisoner unaccounted for.
“I'll show you.” The man moved out of the cell and went further down the row. He reached the farthest cell and stopped. “He's in here."
Gilly handed the keys to her helper and he unlocked the door, stooping down to get inside the smaller cell.
“Why did they put him by himself?” she asked.
“To punish him the more,” came the answer.
If Gilly had been unprepared for the unrestrained thankfulness of the men she released, she was doubly unprepared for the sight of the pathetic wretch who was interned in the Serenian Star's solitary confinement cell.
“Sweet Merciful Alel!” Gillian whispered, her hand going to her mouth.
“Help me,” the man with her ordered, trying not to give the woman time to dwell long on the gruesome sight which had greeted her.
Gilly shuddered hard, but she swallowed down the nausea that had leapt up her throat and moved over to her helper who was kneeling down in the filthy straw on which the prisoner lay.
“Son, can you hear me?” she heard the man ask.
There was a groan from the man who lay on his stomach in the rustling straw.
“We're going to get you out of here, Quinn,” the man said.
Tears had formed in Gilly's eyes. “What can I do?” she asked.
“Help me turn him over so I can pick him up,"
“No,” came the weak denial from the prone man.
“I've got to, Quinn. I'm not going to leave you here!"
With stern purpose, Gilly's helper eased his hands under the other man's left side and motioned with his head for Gilly to go to his right side. “Turn him toward me until I can get my arms under his back and legs."
“God, don't!” was the tortured plea.
“Quinn,” Gilly's helper said patiently, “it's got to be done."
A bright light flooded the cell and both Gilly and her helper gasped, turning toward it.
“What the gods-be-damned hell are you doing down here, Gillian Cree?!” came the infuriated demand.
* * * *
Mercifully, the prisoner had lost consciousness long before Riordan A'Lex, the strongest man in Nick's boarding party, could settle the unconscious one's abused body in his arms. The first movement as the men made to lift the prisoner had brought with it an agonized scream and unintelligent mumbles that tapered off into whimpers.
“How can anyone do something so brutal to another human being?” Thècion had demanded as he helped Riordan lay the prisoner in the bunk Kaelan had been able to vacate.
“Do you know him, Thècion?” Diarmuid asked.
“Never seen him before,” the Serenian prince replied.
The men washed the prisoner as best they could, stripped the filthy, tattered breeches from his body, then laid him on his belly as Riordan set to work on the carnage that had once been a human back.
In the corner of the captain's cabin, Kaelan sat watching, his own flesh tingling where the lash had once been laid to it. He could sympathize with the unconscious man even though he, himself, had never known the excess of the cat-'o-nine that this poor fellow had.
“His name is Quinn Arbra,” Raine informed them as he came in with fresh water for the prisoner to drink. “I heard Nick questioning the Star's captain about him."
“Arbra?” Thècion asked. “I've never heard that name before, either.” He scratched his head. “It ain't a Serenian name. Is it Viragonian, Kaelan?"
“Most likely Ionarian,” Kaelan replied, then sneezed hard. His nose was stopped up and he had a wicked headache, not to mention the constriction which still plagued his lungs. He blew his nose on the kerchief that was never far away. “He made somebody very, very angry to have that much damage done to him."
Thècion's jaw clenched. “I'd like to get my hands on the bastard who did it!"
“The Tribunal did it, Your Grace,” Raine reminded him. “They are responsible for everything like this."
“Raine's right,” Kaelan said. “And that's why we've got to do what we can to stop this from happening again.” He started to cough, waving away Raine's offer of water.
The Serenian prince glanced around. “Why aren't you up with your bride, Hesar?"
Kaelan shrugged. “Nick ain't through with her, yet,” he answered. “When he's blunted his tongue on her thick hide, it'll be my turn.” He laid his head back against the cabin's wall and rubbed at his aching temples. “Ju
st the thought of her being on board that ship with thirty men makes my blood run cold.” He drew in a long, wheezing breath. “If Nick don't tan her hind end, I will."
Thècion exchanged a grin with Raine. Both men knew neither brother nor husband would lay a hand to the brazen little chit they had taken an instant liking to the moment they met her.
There was a low moan from the bunk and Thècion hunkered down beside it. He ran his hand over the prisoner's hair, the freshly-washed blond curls still damp to the touch. “Easy, fellow,” the prince cautioned softly. “You're with friends."
“Where..is ... s..she?” was the labored question from the prisoner who had opened glazed blue eyes the color of a summer sky.
“Who?” Thècion inquired.
“T ... the ... l ... lady."
“I think he means my lady,” Kaelan said, not all that pleased to have a strange man seeking his wife's whereabouts.
“Do you want me to get her for you?” Thècion asked.
“P ... please.” The blue eyes closed tiredly, then opened again, bright with fever and unspeakable pain.
Kaelan shrugged his indifference to Thècion when the prince looked over at him; but he was experiencing a mild case of jealousy that kept him right where he was.
Thècion got up. He was gone only a few minutes, Gilly in tow. Gilly glanced at her husband, her face lighting with happiness, but she resolutely looked away from him and headed for the bunk, unknowingly adding fuel to both Kaelan's feelings of jealousy and unease.
“I am glad to hear you are awake, Milord Quinn,” Gilly said, kneeling down beside the still man.
Quinn Arbra shifted his gaze from the distant stare which he had held to the beautiful face of the young woman who had saved his life. “Who are you, Angel?” he forced out.
Gilly smiled and put a hand to his damp cheek. “Gillian Hesar, milord."
“Gillian,” Quinn repeated. With effort, he turned his head so that his lips were pressed against her palm and he kissed her there softly.
Gilly felt a tingle in her palm and her smile widened. No one but Kaelan had ever been able to elicit such a feeling before. When Quinn locked his eyes with hers, she felt another feeling-more profound and more intense-spiral through her belly.
WindFall Page 33
