Microsoft Word - Sherwood, Valerie - Nightsong

by kps

  Carolina ignored the implication. "It is too bad there are no fashion dolls for men,"

  she said gaily. "I can rarely persuade my husband here to buy himself a new suit. But those cuffs are a miracle! Perhaps you will be good enough to let me borrow your coat so that my husband's tailor may copy those cuffs in gray and silver while my husband is gone?"

  "Ah, I was not aware the gentleman was leaving?" Deauville glanced speculatively at Kells.

  "My plans are uncertain," murmured Kells, looking down on Carolina's bright head with obvious displeasure. Around them their drunken followers stood about, shifting their feet and mumbling to each other.

  Louis Deauville smiled ingratiatingly upon Carolina. "My entire wardrobe is at your disposal at any time," he said with a slight bow that rippled the golden curls of his periwig. "As am I!"

  "I shall see that you make good that remark, Monsieur Deanville," Carolina said recklessly.

  "And your lady will need an escort to the governor's ball while you are gone." Louis Deauville turned again to Kells. "I understand another one is planned while his visiting cousin is here."

  Kells's teeth ground slightly. "If my lady attends the governor's next ball in my absence, she will attend it alone, Deauville. Consider it sufficient if she does you the honor of a dance."

  "Oh, I should hope for somewhat more than that. . . ."The Frenchman's caressing gaze passed over Carolina.

  "Indeed you shall come to dinner next Wednesday merely for having so handsomely offered to escort me," declared Carolina.

  Kells frowned down at her. This obvious coquetry-and with a man he did not trust-infuriated him. "Deauville," he said, "my lady is overtired. She does not wish me to leave her-you understand?"

  "Indeed, I understand very well," purred the Frenchman. "Mon Dieu, a beautiful lady must have an airing from time to time. I will be the good neighbor while you are gone, Capitaine, and keep your lady from getting lonesome."

  Carolina was laughing inwardly. It was going better than she had hoped. She could almost feel Kells's irritation boiling up in him. If only she could make him jealous enough....

  "We will talk about it all next week, Monsieur Deauville," she said with a slanted look.

  The Frenchman looked delighted-too delighted, Kells thought. "You will understand, Deauville, that my lady implies much more than she means," he said sternly. "It is a bad habit of hers," he added with a frown at Carolina.

  Deauville returned him a catlike smile. "What a lady means is alwaysopen to interpretation," he responded suavely.

  "She invites you to dinner as thanks for sending her the fashion doll from Paris-it was very good of you." "Oh, I will be much more good," chuckled Deauville. "I will keep your wife entertained while you are gone!"

  It was too much. Kells had a sudden instinct to seize Deauville by the lace at his throat and shake some decorum into him and then to turn this wild wench at his side over his knee and pound some sense into her as well.

  "You will not entertain my wife while I am gone," he said evenly.

  "Indeed?" The Frenchman did not lack for valor. "But while the cat is away, Capitaine, what may not the little mice do?" His tone was insolent, for he liked not the way this tall fellow was scowling at him. He had sent men to their graves for less! For in France Deauville was accounted a swordsman and a dangerous one. His lace-cuffed hand was creeping toward his rapier even as he spoke.

  Carolina did not catch the gesture.

  "While those two fight," came a chilling mutter from someone who had joined the drunken group behind her-a mutter that sent sudden shivers down Carolina's spine as she heard it, "we could spirit the girl away."

  But Kells had caught that remark, too.

  "Deauville," he said between his teeth, "you and I may have our differences and I will give you satisfaction at any time you may desire-but this is neither the time nor the place."

  "Indeed, I see what you mean," the Frenchman declared amicably, flashing a set of white teeth in Carolina's direction.

  And now, thought Carolina, this wicked-looking Frenchman would blandly agree that they must not leave a lady unattended in the wilds of the Port Royal night, they would all stroll home together and on the way he and Kells would become the best of friends-and all her plans to make Kells jealous would have come to naught!

  She spoke quickly. Before she had time to think, her voice rang out. "I accept your invitation to squire me to the governor's ball, Monsieur Deauville."

  Kells swung around. "You will not!"

  Deauville chuckled and swept Carolina a magnificent bow-so deep his golden curls almost brushed the sandy street. "I stand in readiness to escort you, ma beaute!"

  "Back off, Deauville." Kells's voice had gone crisp. "I have already told you that my wife will not accompany you."

  Deauville was determined not to appear irresolute in the lady's eyes. He frowned upon the buccaneer. "Capitaine, that decision is madame's alone," was his insolent reply, and with the words he stepped backward and slid his long rapier from its scabbard.

  Carolina realized she had carried the game too far. She had never intended to provoke a fight-she had only wanted to arouse flaming jealousy in her lean buccaneer. Panic surged over her.

  "Kells," she cried. "I-"

  But her voice was lost in Deauville's fierce, "Engarde!" and Kells's swift, "Get behind me, Christabel," as he drew his own basket-hilted blade from its scabbard.

  There was a roar from the drunken sailors of "Give the lads room to fight!" Men shoved each other back to form a rough circle around the combatants. The pack who had been following Carolina had by now forgotten all about her, for they were faced with the new and enjoyable spectacle of a fight between Kells and this insolent Frenchman, who looked wiry enough to be a swordsman himself.

  Ordinarily, Carolina knew, men about to duel removed their constricting coats and their boots and fought barefoot and shirted on the sand. But this affray had blown up suddenly and neither man was in a mood to pause and doff his boots. In England, in such a case, a challenger would have flung down his glove before his opponent or lightly slapped his face to begin hostilities; in England an appointed hour would have been set, preferably dawn; in England there would have been seconds and rules and decorum. Here in Port Royal there were no rules. Here two lean and formidable men circled each other warily in the fast-falling tropical night. They moved catlike, seeking opportunity, their long swords snaking out restively, each man testing his opponent's will.

  Then the Frenchman lunged, the blades clashed, both men sprang back-and Carolina quivered. She had been a fool to provoke this-it could end in tragedy.

  It was darker now. Torches had been brought, and the long blades glimmered gold by their light. Lunge and parry, lunge and parry-though their fighting styles differed, they seemed evenly matched. The Frenchman had flair-his sword flashed dramatically and he cried "Voila!" with each thrust. Kells had a deadly accuracy-he fought silently, moving with tireless grace. The torchlight gleamed on their sweating faces. Carolina could see how intent they were, how neither gaze wavered from the other.

  By now, running feet were coming from all directions as word spread that Captain Kells was fighting a Frenchman over the Wench. Men were of no mind to miss the battle, for Kells's fame as the best blade in the Caribbean was legendary. There was jostling all around, and Carolina felt herself being thrust back against a door.

  To her dismay she saw that they were attracting a large crowd, and as the eager onlookers from the rear surged forward against those in the front, one tipsy sailor lost his footing and fell toward the combatants, lurching awkwardly against Kells's back.

  He was immediately seized by his friends and roughly whisked away, but Kells's slight stagger when the fellow catapulted into him had cost him something. In that moment Deauville's sharp blade had pierced his sleeve and grazed the flesh beneath.

  "Oh-ho, I have pinked you!" crowed the dancing Frenchman, drawing back a blade that was red on the tip, and Carolin
a moaned.

  "Not deep enough," growled his opponent, ignoring the little trickle of blood that dripped down his sleeve to stain the basket hilt of his sword. "You will have to do better."

  Carolina was near to fainting. "Oh, stop, stop!" The words burst from her. "I promise I will not go to the ball with anyone!"

  "Ah, but you will," caroled the Frenchman, delighted that he had managed to draw first blood. "You will go with me. I, Louis Deauville, insist upon it!"

  The words were not out of his mouth before Kells lunged forward in silent fury.

  carolina's hands were clenched as the two male bodies almost crashed together. The swords clashed with a ringing sound that brought a hoarse roar from the throats of the rapt onlookers. Carolina wanted to cover her eyes with her hands but she could not. Her terrified gaze was riveted on the fighting pair. She saw them stagger apart-she could not tell if either was hurt. And now they were lunging again, they were dancing to the side, the pace of the battle had become lightning-fast-they were here, there, everywhere, so that the crowd was giving way before them. Oh, God, one of the sailors, intent on the spectacle before him, had let a bottle drop from his careless fingers. It was rolling forward under Kells's feet. Kells had slipped on it, he was falling, Deauville was rushing in-indeed he had a mind to kill his man and make all Port Royal echo to his name. A single thrust would do it!

  Chapter 9

  A wild scream was welling up from Carolina's throat-but it was never uttered. It was choked off by a huge hand that snaked around her and slammed down over most of her face, quenching all sound. The door behind her opened, she was jerked through it and it closed again-almost in a single motion.

  So abruptly did it happen that it took Carolina's breath away. Her mind was awhirl. . .

  . The blood pounded in her head. In that moment she did not know whether Kells was alive or dead. All she could hear was the wild roaring of the crowd outside, the rattle of cutlasses. But she herself was helpless in the grip of a huge arm that dragged her inside and kept her pinioned with her back forced against the barrel chest of the man who had seized her.

  Over his rough hand, she could see that they were in a small low-ceilinged room.

  She guessed she must have been pulled into one of the small houses occupied by prostitutes that dotted this part of the street. The room itself was dingy and sparsely furnished, containing a wooden table, two benches, a cupboard and an untidy bed from which the room's only other occupant, a florid-faced woman with brightly hennaed hair, clad only in a black laced corset, fancy red satin garters and high-heeled shoes, now leaped to her feet.

  "God!" she cried. "What's this, Trott?"

  The man Trott, who had dragged Carolina inside and was having some difficulty holding onto his wildly struggling burden, answered her with a growl. "This here's our fortune, Emmy."

  Peering closer at Carolina, Emmy shrank back. " 'Tis the Silver Wench! Captain Kells'll kill us!" Beneath the red ochre smeared upon her cheeks her face paled, and even her big white thighs began to shake, sending the ribands on her red garters dancing.

  "No, he won't!" snapped Trott. "Kells is outside fightin' with a Frenchie, and the Frenchie just downed him. Nary a soul saw me pull the Wench in, they's all watchin'

  the fight. And when they do miss her, they'll think she's run away somewheres. Now where can we hide her, Emmy? Think quick, woman!"

  But Emmy had no need to think quick-no opportunity even. Behind them the door burst open, propelled by a booted foot, and Kells himself, blade out and flashing at the end of a long arm, leaped into the room. He looked disheveled and a little trickle of blood ran down his sword arm to soak in red the lace at his wrist, but he seemed otherwise unhurt. The burning gaze of his gray eyes made them look like hot embers in his dark face as he advanced menacingly upon Trott.

  He was not dead! He was here, come to her rescue. Relief flooded over Carolina, making her weak. She had never been so glad to see anyone in her life.

  "Let her go!" roared Kells.

  Trott thrust Carolina away from him as if she were hot, and she caught at the wooden table to keep from falling. "I was only tryin' to save the Wench from them ruffians out there what had her backed up against the door!" whined Trott, eyeing in terror not only the long sword that flicked at him but the four or five angry-looking buccaneers who had crowded in behind Kells.

  "Is that true?" Kells demanded of Carolina.

  "No," she gasped, straightening up. "He lies!"

  "Let us have 'im, Cap'n," urged one of the buccaneers who had come in behind Kells.

  "You get your lady home."

  Kells's drawl had a rough edge to it. "I think not," he said with deliberation. "This fool has dared to lay hands on my lady, so he is mine. Indeed"-his voice rose so ferociously that it reached outside clearly enough to strike fear into those who might plan to do likewise-"anyone who touches this lady-whether I am here to defend her or not-had best make his will before he does so, for I will assuredly seek him out!"

  Trott blanched and fell into a crouch, his sweating hand clutching his cutlass.

  "But you can take my lady outside, lads," Kells said in a lower but no less deadly tone. He brushed Carolina toward them with a long arm as he spoke. "I'll deal with this fellow in a language he can understand."

  With an honor guard formidable enough to have done justice to a queen, Carolina found herself escorted from the room. Outside, the street was lit now with many torches. The wavering light gleamed on curious faces but she could see no sign of Louis Deauville among them. She marveled that his body did not lie sprawled upon the coral sand of the street.

  She might have asked but her attention was distracted by the sudden clash of steel from the room she had just quitted, punctuated by a woman's high-pierced frightened shrieks.

  "Neat, the way the cap'n came up on one arm and got the Frenchie, warn't it?"

  Carolina heard one of her escorts say. "Aye, he's a swordsman," agreed another admiringly. "The best. 'Tis proud I am to serve under 'im."

  There was a general murmur of assent among the buccaneers surrounding Carolina, followed by another violent clash of swords inside and a burst of shrieks that curdled her blood-and then the captain himself came out, wiping his blade upon a kerchief.

  He looked thunderous.

  Curtly, he took Carolina's arm, nodded his thanks to those who had escorted her outside, and turned his face toward home. Confused and upset by the evening's swift-moving events, which had gone frighteningly far beyond anything she had envisioned, Carolina allowed herself to be swept along home. Beside her strode a silent Kells, who stared straight ahead and did not choose to look at her.

  She felt forlorn. "Your arm is bleeding," she said helplessly. "Are you badly hurt?" He snorted. "Hardly! Else I would not have been able to swing this blade--'tis a scratch only."

  Carolina swallowed. "And-and Monsieur Deauville? Did you-T' She could not bring herself to say "kill him?"

  He turned about to look at her then, and she thought his expression murderous. "You need worry no further about Deauville," he told her in a bitter voice. "I only speared him in the leg. Had I thought there was anything between you I'd have aimed a little higher. As it is he'll enjoy a long convalescence before he goes dancing again!"

  Carolina closed her eyes for a moment in silent thanks that she had not been the cause of Deauville's death. It had been a close call.

  When she opened her again Kells was still regarding her. It irritated him that she should look so riotously pretty, with her big penitent gray eyes luminous as she looked up at him. So innocent, as if she had not been the cause of so much trouble!

  "Kells, I-" she began. "Be silent," he snapped. "I will have something to say to you laterl"

  She cast a look back at the little knot of buccaneers who followed them, guessing they had come along to make sure Kells got her home without further trouble.

  Once inside the house Kells propelled Carolina upstairs before him with a none too gentle h
and placed at the small of her back. On the way they passed a startled Hawks, who stared first at the blood dripping from his captain's wrist, then at the torn sleeve and torn lace at his captain's throat, and finally at the dark anger mirrored on his captain's dark countenance, and abruptly went outside to confer in the street with the buccaneers who had followed, and learn the circumstances of this odd return.

  Upstairs Kells flung open the door of her bedchamber and thrust Carolina inside, then closed the door after him with his boot and stood glaring at her.

  Carolina swallowed. At the moment she felt to blame for all the ills of the world. "For a horrible moment I thought you were dead. I saw you slip and go down. . . ." Her voice trailed off with a shudder. "And then suddenly I was snatched from behind and dragged into that awful room by that man-what happened to him?"

  "What do you think happened to him?" Kells asked imperturbably. "I killed him."

  "And the woman?"

  "I left her in a fit of hysterics. By now she'll be over that and be picking his pockets and checking his shoes to see if he carried coins in them." Carolina shuddered again.

  "He had told the woman to hide me somewhere-I think he planned to hold me for ransom."

  "Ransom ..." he murmured. It was on the tip of his tongue to say, "More like he would have sold you to the Barbary pirates," but he forbore. This was the dark side of life in Port Royal-that world from which he had

  tried so hard to shield her. Bawds disappeared-who knew where they went? Spirited aboard slave ships to Africa? White slaves in exchange for black? A blonde beauty such as Carolina would bring a fortune from some sheik or sultan. She would disappear behind harem walls and never be seen again.... Best not to tell her of the Barbary pirates-such tales would only give her nightmares. "For ransom-very possibly," he agreed coolly.

  "And you would not have had the price to ransom me," she murmured wistfully. "For we are back to buccaneering again."

  "I would have found the price," he growled, trying to sound indifferent. Not ransom her? To get her back he would have done anything: He would have sold this house for the first offer, forced his IOU's at gunpoint upon the moneyed traders who frequented this buccaneer port! And if that were not enough, he would have seized the governor himself and held him for ransom! The very thought of the lengths to which he would have gone to bring this maddening wench back to his side made him dizzy. He passed a hand over his face as if to brush away his thoughts. "But you were not held for ransom," he said steadily.