A ball whizzed past his ear, so close that its wind stirred his hair, but he never stopped in his mad rush toward the cabin. Another shot rang out. White-hot pain lanced up his leg. He stumbled, fell. And then, with a savage curse, he picked himself up, raised his cutlass, and turned to face the enemy as the first grappling hooks came snaking across the bulwarks and a swarm of British seamen leaped onto Nefarious’s bloodstained decks.
Chapter 27
Yet I strode on austere;
No hope could have no fear.
—Thomson
Maria, clutching the tiny dolphin in one hand and a dagger in the other, sat huddled deep in the hold, terrified. She’d been thrown off her feet with the deafening impact of the ship hitting something beneath them, heard water pouring in from somewhere, and knew that if she stayed down here, she was doomed.
She ran for the hatch.
A cloud of smoke engulfed her as she charged up the ladder and topside. The deck was pure carnage, the sloop tethered to another, larger ship and the frigate now coming up from astern. She stood there blinking in the hazy sunlight, unable to believe what she was seeing. The deck looked like it had been smashed by the fist of an angry god. Corpses lay everywhere, some crushed beneath overturned cannon, others so torn and mutilated they were beyond recognition. One man dangled by his foot from the shrouds, blood dripping from his lifeless fingers and fizzing upon the hot, smoking barrel of an upended four-pounder. Blood raced across deck planking, frothed in the scuppers, poured like wine into the sea. The tinny stench of it mingled with gunpowder, and Maria clutched her throat, swallowing hard to quell the nausea.
Was no one left alive? The decks were silent. Maria pressed the little dolphin to her heart, too numbed, too dazed, to feel the pain of its wooden flukes against her skin. The frigate was upon them now, dropping anchor, its towering masts climbing through the smoke that drifted in the wind.
And then she heard the clang of steel against steel.
She knew it was Sam before her feet were even in motion. Leaping debris and skirting bodies, she raced past toppled guns and forward, toward the ring of laughing, whooping British seamen. She shoved through them, ignoring the exclamations of surprise and yes, it was him, fighting for his life with a desperate intensity that stole the breath from her lungs.
He battled a tall officer in blue and white, chopping, hacking, lashing out here, swinging there, and wielding the heavy cutlass with savage purpose as sailors, laughing, broke from the group and tried to rush him. This was no gentleman’s art; this was survival. His brow was beaded with sweat; the huge muscles stood out on his arms. Parry, thrust, slash. A seaman rushed in from behind and Sam’s bare foot flashed out, catching the man in the gut; he went sprawling and Sam spun to find the tall naval officer renewing his attack. Sam’s cutlass came up, hit the man’s sword hard, broke it and left the lieutenant defenseless; the officer froze, and a young midshipman jerked up his pistol.
“Don’t shoot him!” barked a voice, and turning, Maria saw that the men in the frigate’s boat had come up over the side. “I want him taken alive! Plead quarter, pirate! Damn you, plead quarter!”
Sam’s eyes were glittering, proudly defiant. “Never! I’ll taste the fires of hell before I strike to you, tyrant!” And then his cutlass flashed toward the lieutenant’s neck.
The midshipman’s pistol went off, the lieutenant threw himself to the deck, and the ball plowed a groove in the railing three feet behind Sam’s shoulder. Maria’s scream rent the air and alarmed, Sam turned and saw her, his eyes widening.
She saw the briefest flicker of despair in them, a split second of hesitation, and then the cutlass was singing with renewed, savage fervor as he fought not only for his life, but hers. Screaming, Maria lunged toward the midshipman as he reloaded. Hands grabbed her, restrained her, and she fought to get free. Steel glinted above in the sunlight and blood spilled from Sam’s forearm. Sailors moved in to overwhelm him. And then rough hands were dragging her kicking, fighting, and screaming, away from him.
The dagger. Blindly, she swung it with all of her strength. Soft resistance as it entered flesh. A man’s howl of pain, a warm flood over her fingers. And then a hand cracked hard against her jaw, rocking her vision and hurling her to her knees.
Stunned, she heard Sam’s enraged bellow as he broke loose from those who sought to restrain him and lunged at her captor with cutlass raised. A pistol was jabbed against her temple and from above her head she heard a voice, calm and controlled with subdued triumph.
Sam stopped short, chest heaving, eyes wild, the cutlass, by a supreme effort of control and skill on his part, slamming up against empty air.
“Go ahead,” the voice taunted. “Do it and she’s a dead woman.”
A hundred emotions flickered in his dark eyes before defeat finally brought to them an agony that physical pain could never have achieved. Maria saw his chest rise and fall in a deep, steadying breath as he waged an inner battle for control. And then, slowly, he lowered his arm.
It was over.
Maria was shoved away. She put her hand to her mouth, trying to stifle her sobs, and bitter tears seared her eyes. She tried to speak but her voice stuck in her throat like sand. Someone seized her arm and she struggled against cruel fingers, the tears spilling down her cheeks. “Sam—” she whispered. “Oh, Sam.”
His gaze caressed her face as though memorizing its every detail. A slight smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “Ah, princess… I love ye,” he said softly. He took a step forward; then another. Someone made a grab for him, moving too fast, and with lightning speed, Sam’s elbow came back to slam brutally into the man’s ribs even as he lunged for the frigate captain, sweeping up Maria’s knife at the same time he yanked the officer’s head back and locked an arm around his throat, the knife held to the point of his chin.
“Let the lady go, and I’ll spare this miserable dog you call a captain,” he snarled.
Nobody moved, most still reeling from the speed with which the pirate captain had turned the tables on them.
“Do it!” gasped their commander.
Maria was released.
“Now ready a boat. She and I will be allowed to leave here in peace or I’ll sever this blathering scoundrel’s head as neatly as a knife through butter.” His dark eyes raked them. “Now, damn you all!”
There was movement behind Sam, and Maria cried out in warning, too late. The lieutenant was there, his pistol held against the back of Sam’s head.
“Release Captain Ingols,” he said coldly. “Or you and your whore both die.”
With a snarl of rage, Sam whipped around and all hell broke loose.
“Stop him!”
Amid frantic shouts and through her own screams, Maria saw it all. The blur of movement, the flash of sunlight against the pistol as the lieutenant slammed its brass butt-cap against the side of Sam’s head. The pirate captain staggered, reeling; the lieutenant’s fist slammed into his jaw, hard and Sam’s legs folded beneath him, the cutlass sliding from his hand and clattering to the deck an instant before he fell sprawling atop it.
For a moment Maria could only stare in horror; then she was screaming, shoving aside hands that tried to grab her and falling to her knees beside the man she loved. She bent down, sobbing as she shielded him with her arms, pressing her cheek to his and burying her face in his hair. The red silk of his queue fluttered against her lips. His arm was limp as seaweed, the heavy muscles lying flaccid, and where that arm pressed against her ribs she felt the warm flow of his lifeblood.
She looked up, her eyes cold with malice as they fastened upon the lieutenant. Slowly, she rose, and every man went still.
An iron hand closed about her wrist. Her head snapped around and she found herself facing the frigate’s captain, restored once more to his dignity.
“You must be Maria Hallett,” the man said pleasantly. “Allow me to introduce myself.” The fingers tightened, biting cruelly into her wrist as he bowed over it. “Captain James
Ingols, of His Majesty’s ship Majestic.” And then, mockingly: “At your service.”
* * *
Portsmouth, New Hampshire, may have had its attractions but Maria, who’d been led to the home of a prominent merchant and there held under guard by several sailors from Majestic, would have been hard pressed to remember anything about the seaport town after she’d been taken off the frigate.
And now she had a visitor.
The last person in the world she wished to see.
They were in the home’s dining room and Captain James Ingols leaned forward in his chair, made a tent of his hands, and rested his chin upon them, studying her. His gaze was amused. “Eat your supper, Maria,” he said, his mild, urbane voice grating on her nerves. “It will loose its appeal if you allow it to go cold.”
She did not want him to know her true identity. The crimes that pirate Captain Sam Bellamy had amassed against the Crown were far more damaging, infamous, and staggering in their magnitude than those of “Sam Black,” and she did not want this man to connect the two. Let the fearsome Black Sam Bellamy remain dead in the minds and imaginations of the world; the crimes of Sam Black were piddling in comparison.
She glared at him. “I’ve told you time and again that I am not Maria Hallett, and I’m not acquainted with anyone of that name,” she said firmly.
He just looked at her, one side of his mouth lifting in doubt and contempt, and made a little sniffing noise through his nose. “Yes, as you’ve said. Mary Orcutt from Boston. I don’t believe you for one moment.”
She kept her eyes level, unwilling to back down. “You are free, Captain, to believe whatever you wish.”
She returned her attention to the plate that a servant of the house had set before her, but the rich roast of venison held no appeal. She poked at it with her fork. How could she eat? How could she, when Sam was locked in the cellar of some gloating town official while this monster forced her to eat a meal fit for….
A princess.
“I said eat!” he thundered, losing patience with her, for this was the second time in as many days that he’d come here and tried to force her to talk to him, to tell him all she knew about the pirates. Ingols had netted some big fish in his net, but he wasn’t finished. He wanted more. The whereabouts of Ned Teach, for one.
“I am not hungry.”
“You’ll eat if I have to force it down your throat.”
Maria raised her head. Her eyes were colder than winter starlight, glittering with sparks of blue-green flame. “And you, Captain Ingols, can go to hell.”
Wordlessly, he reached out and slapped her, rocking her head back and leaving the print of his hand on her cheek.
Just as wordlessly Maria picked up her plate and flung it in his face.
Cursing, he crashed out of the chair like an enraged bull, one hand clawing at his eyes, the other groping blindly for a napkin. “You little bitch, you’ll pay for this!” he shrieked, scrubbing at the gravy and bits of food streaming down his cheek. “Nay, your lover will pay for it!”
He caught her before she could reach the door, yanking her around until her breasts slammed up against his satin waistcoat. She kicked. She screamed. She raked at his wet face with her nails, but was no match for him. He caught her wrist and twisted her arm behind her back.
“Let me go, you murderous snake!” The toe of her shoe struck his shin, and he yelped in pain but didn’t release her. Like a tigress she fought him, writhing, struggling, long hair whipping about her beautiful, flushed face and eyes wild with fury.
“Damn you for a hellcat!” he cried, thrusting her away from him when her nails caught the side of his cheek. Her slight body hit the wall but undeterred, she was up again and running, her hand flashing out to grab the knife that still rested beside her fork and untouched goblet of wine.
Cursing, Ingols lunged forward, tore it from her grasp and, yanking her against him, pinned her to his chest with an arm locked around her throat. Maria struggled, the feel of his arousal against her buttocks making her nauseous.
“By all accounts,” he ground out, his harsh breath stirring the hair at the top of her head, “you were once a sweet young maid. I see you must’ve learned a few things aboard that pirate ship. Namely, how to defend yourself like a seaman. Such an appalling lack of manners. I’m sure your teacher would be proud. Too bad he won’t be around long enough to see the fruit of his efforts.”
Maria went wild. The pressure on her throat tightened. Specks blurred her vision, and she clawed frantically at his arm, his hands. He loosened his grip just enough to let her cough.
“Tell me, madam, what else has he taught you?”
Her elbow slammed back against his ribs. This time he only laughed, carelessly shoving her away as though tired of her games, and retrieving his handkerchief, dabbed uselessly at his ruined necktie. “Ah, Maria. Such a fiery temper you have. No doubt you got that from the…what was it they called him? Ah, yes. The free prince.” His cold laugh sent needles up her spine. “Such a pity, though. Your temper, I mean. All that energy could be used in other, more pleasurable pursuits.”
“It’s Mary, damn you, and I demand to know what you’ve done with the captain!!”
He dragged her back to the table, and shoved her down into her chair before returning to his own, trying to maintain an air of polished dignity despite the fact that his wig was dripping gravy, his necktie and waistcoat stained with it, and he smelled like a Sunday dinner.
“You, madam, are not in a position to demand anything, and it is only by my own charity that you yourself will be spared the noose. As for Bellamy—”
“He is Captain Black!”
He snorted in amusement. “No matter what name he goes by, by week’s end he’ll be gull’s food. That is, if we allow him to live that long.”
“He must have a trial! No man can be condemned and executed without a trial!”
He laughed again, a high, awful sound that sent apprehension crawling beneath her skin and leaving it cold and clammy. “Ah, but there you stand to be corrected, Maria. The Royal Navy can—and will—do as it pleases when it comes to pirates. After all, they are the worst of criminals; murderers, thieves, and godless wretches all wrapped up in one dirty, stinking package. Wastes of humanity, parasites upon mankind. If they get a trial, it’s a courtesy on our part. We can do with them whatever we like. In fact, if I’d wanted to, I could’ve hung your dear captain from my mainyard—we sometimes do that with the ones who are particularly, shall I say…nefarious.”
The color drained from Maria’s lips.
“But have no fear, that is not my intent. ’Twould be a pitiful waste, don’t you think? No, I have a better idea. Making a spectacle of his execution, on land, would be a far more effective deterrent to others of his ilk than a private hanging aboard my ship. A warning, if you will, to the scum he’ll leave behind. Men like Williams, Teach, Lebous.” He picked up his goblet, studied the dusky liquid, and sipped it with slow, obvious relish. “You see, madam, we’ll leave the body up long after it rots, and every damned pirate who sails past those gallows will see that grim reminder—”
She clapped her hands over her ears. “Stop it!”
“Do you find the thought distressing? Why, just think, you can go and visit him as often as you like, then!” He burst into renewed laughter at the stricken horror in her eyes.
She turned away, her gaze moving about the room, her mind trying desperately to block the terrible visions his words sought to breed.
“Don’t get any ideas, Maria. There’s absolutely nothing you can do to save his worthless skin, I can assure you. You are well guarded and I have no intention of letting you out of my sight. Except, perhaps, on hanging day.” He tapped a finger against his chin, pretending to consider the matter. “’Twould be rather nice, I think, to personally escort you to that gala event.”
“What?”
“Did you think I’d let you miss it? God forbid! We wouldn’t want your lover to depart this earth witho
ut a last look at his pretty little whore now, would we? Especially since I’ll be escorting her. You’ll be doing him a favor, actually. Just think how much more he’ll welcome death when he realizes that your favors—and your attentions—are now mine.”
“Never!” she cried, snatching up her fork. “I’ll never do your bidding, do you understand? Never! I’ll have no part of you, and the captain won’t go to his grave thinking I betrayed his love!”
The fork plunged toward his hand and Ingols jerked back, the lethal tines missing him by an inch. He caught her fist and yanked her toward him over the table, cruelly twisting the skin of her wrist until she cried out in pain.
“Now, you listen to me, you little viper,” he ground out. “Like it or not—”
A knock sounded on the door, interrupting them, and Ingols quickly released her.
“Enter, damn you!”
“Captain Ingols?”
Ingols didn’t care that he was a guest, not master, of this house, and his tone of voice toward a servant who wasn’t his own reflected it. “What is it?”
“There’s a gentleman here to see you, sir. A representative sent by His Excellency, the governor. Shall I show him in?”
“By all means,” he snapped. The servant fled the room without waiting to be dismissed. Ingols reached up and tore off his wig, his contemptuous gaze raking Maria’s disheveled hair and wrinkled gown, still stained with the pirate captain’s blood. The rust-colored patches looked strangely out of place on the delicate flowered fabric. “I wish I could get you out of those rags and into something presentable,” he muttered, disgusted. “It’s an insult to this man that you’re sitting here soiled by the blood of that thieving, murderous blackguard.”
Pirate In My Arms Page 36
