‘I’ve had better,’ she managed to utter.
‘I also trust you are feeling well enough to be accommodating.’
‘To you? Never!’ His stare seemed to burn through her linen shirt and bindings as he sauntered closer, having to bend his head slightly to stop it hitting the roof.
‘You’ve changed,’ he said flatly.
‘It’s hardly surprising—in four years.’ Brawny, towering, threatening, he stopped inches in front of her. ‘Why have you done this?’
‘To lure Searle—and I have a score to settle with you. The two of you have become—close. When Searle finds out where you are, he’ll come after you. Then I’ll have him.’
Fear licked like a flame around Rowena’s heart. ‘You mean to kill him?’
‘He’s become a nuisance. The man’s been on my tail for too long and he’s beginning to annoy me.’ He chuckled low. ‘I go a-roving for plunder and slaves. Searle goes a-roving for justice and duty. He needs to be taken care of. And then when he’s out of the way, you and I have some unfinished business to take care of, darlin’,’ he murmured.
Tracing his finger along the soft curve of her defiant chin, he laughed nastily when she backed away. He had long craved to fondle her soft skin while she trembled before him, to look at her nakedness and see the proud, complacent smile turn to a grimace of fear.
‘I haven’t finished with you yet—but I’ll have you out of that ridiculous garb, Rowena Golding.’ Reaching out he placed his big, dirty hand on her breast.
Scared of what he might do, Rowena hid her fear and held her ground, biting back the protest that flew into her mouth when he squeezed the tender flesh beneath the bindings until he hurt her. Making no attempt to be gentle, he watched for her reaction, almost as if he wanted to hear her beg for him to stop, but she would not give him the satisfaction of crying out. She merely stared at him, emotionless and defiant.
Smiling thinly, with his other hand Mason clutched her hair and dragged her head back, his foul-smelling breath fanning her face. ‘You might have fooled Searle, but I knew who you were when I saw you in Sale.’
Rowena’s glaring hatred was there for him to see. ‘So—that was you?’
‘Aye, Rowena,’ he said, dropping his hands, ‘with my latest batch of captives—fifty in all.’
‘I saw them.’
‘I seized them from a merchantman I came upon when I was sailing to Madeira. Aye, well, they’ll know slavery—beneath the heavy whip of a less than humane master. The sultan will be delighted with the haul—’ his brows lifted and he smiled ‘—though they were not as delectable as your sister Jane. I saw you got her back.’ He shrugged, unconcerned. ‘It doesn’t matter to me. I got a good price for her.’
Seeing red, Rowena took the lantern and swung it at his head. He ducked and a grip of iron seized her wrist before she could dash the lamp at him again. Wresting it from her, he gave her a violent push. She fell back and stumbled, clutching the bulwark to save herself from hitting the floor.
‘You’re fast, if not quite so fast as me.’ He placed the lamp back on the barrel. ‘That’s better,’ he jeered when she backed away from him, watching him warily. ‘Not so haughty, are you—when you fear?’
A cold, terrifying dread of what really lay in store for her began to make itself known. Rowena had no illusions about the fiendish intentions behind the loathsome façade. No one would come if she called. She was all alone, as if she stood exposed on the scaffold. The swaggering brute could hardly have made himself more sickening in her eyes. He was odious, and given her choice between throwing herself overboard and submitting to him, she would choose the former without hesitation.
‘I am not afraid of you.’
‘You will be,’ he mocked. ‘I vowed to finish what I started, before you attacked me so viciously for trying to be—’ he cocked a mocking brow ‘—friendly. Yes, I vowed to have my revenge.’
‘How could you do that? I was just fifteen years old.’
‘Old enough to know what to have a man feels like.’
The colour drained from Rowena’s face as his words brought back the memory of that day and what he had tried to do to her. ‘You had your revenge, Jack Mason, when you shot my father in the back and left him for dead.’
‘Pity he wasn’t. So, you know about that.’
‘I now know it wasn’t Tobias who did that cowardly deed. He has too much honour to do something as despicable as that. I know you used my father to serve your own interests.’
‘I needed a vessel and the Dolphin would serve until something better came along.’
‘Until you could steal one, more like.’
He shrugged. ‘If you like. And the crew were in favour.’
‘So, you plotted together—to mutiny and overcome my father.’
He nodded. ‘And any man loyal to him.’
‘Who you no doubt threw overboard before sailing off to God knows where to embark on an orgy of plunder,’ she flared scathingly.
‘No harm would have come to your father, had he not interfered with my plans and decided to sail with the Dolphin at the last minute.’
‘He didn’t trust you, that’s why.’
‘He was right not to.’
‘Why did you shoot him?’
‘He was in the way. When Searle caught up with us, he held your father, as owner of the Dolphin, responsible for what had happened to his own ship in Kingston harbour. After confronting him, Searle went in search of the harbour master to have him arrested.’
‘And you crept up behind him and shot him in the back before he could accuse you to the authorities, making off with the Dolphin and leaving Tobias to take the blame.’
‘I may have been a trifle hasty—I accept that, but I have no regrets.’
‘You ruined my father in every way, did you know that?’
‘He’s lucky,’ he sneered. ‘I thought I’d killed him, until your delightful sister told me otherwise.’
‘You are a spineless coward, Jack Mason.’
‘Hassan Kasem. I converted to Islam.’
‘A pathetic renegade.’
‘Absolutely,’ he confirmed without shame. ‘When the Dolphin was captured by corsairs, it was expedient for me to do so at the time.’ He shrugged lazily. ‘What does it matter? Either way, I have no opinion on religious matters. One God or prophet is as much like another. It’s
Jack Mason I care about. I only do what suits me.’
‘You are contemptible and a coward.’
‘What I did doesn’t trouble my conscience. I sleep easy. As for you—’ his fleshy lips curved in salacious smile as his eyes travelled over her ‘—you have courage. I admire you for that. And you are desirable—at least you will be when you look more like a lady and don’t stink so much. As yet I haven’t made up my mind what to do with you. Whether I keep you for myself—to while away the time in pleasurable companionship when I am at sea—or sell you at the first slave market we arrive at, resign yourself to your fate,’ he told her with brutal frankness. ‘In fact, you might be worth being carefully preserved intact to bring me a rich price in the slave market in Algiers.’
His face twisted into a malevolent grin as his eyes bored into her. ‘No one will come to rescue you.’ He laughed wickedly under his breath before he turned and hauled himself up the ladder. Rowena shivered at the sound. ‘Don’t think I’ve done with you yet. I’ll be back.’
Overcome at the fearful position in which she found herself, Rowena stood there, frozen in space, before sliding to the floor. Her dread was that before help could reach her, this beast, who was dead to propriety, might overpower her. A violent shaking possessed her. She wanted to cry, but knew what greater disaster awaited her if she weakened. She was so thirsty and tired and the evil red rat eyes watched her from the darkness, ready to come closer the second she closed her eyes.
‘Oh, God,’ she whispered. ‘I shall go mad.’ In that stinking, suffocating, airless prison, claustrophobia began to set
in. ‘Help me. Someone help me. Please, Tobias…’
* * *
The Cymbeline cruised swiftly along the coast while the sun dropped like a blood-red rose in the sky, and with the cooler air of the evening she turned and followed the corsair vessel into the deeper waters of the Atlantic.
* * *
The following morning, with the Cymbeline crowding on more sail and gathering pace on her prey, they were suddenly presented with another menace. There was a light mist coming down behind them and a great bank of it was rolling in from the sea—a ghostly sight that made one’s flesh crawl and one’s blood run cold. The sea was dead calm.
Standing at the helm, where he had stood for most of the night, Tobias turned his head this way and that, straining his eyes and ears, cursing the fog that would enable the corsair vessel to slip away. His jaw and mouth were set like stone and like a black shadow came the thought that that bestial savage had Rowena at his mercy—even now might be ravishing her—and that she might be suffering unmentionable agonies.
* * *
The fog lost them considerable time, but by mid-morning, to everyone’s relief, a stiff breeze rose, thinning the mist. It was good to hear the lines and hawsers singing in the wind once more, the timber creaking with each rise and fall.
Having expected the corsair vessel to have slipped away, they were proved wrong. There could be no mistaking the strangely coloured ship some two miles distant, heading east towards the straits. Knowing that Mason would be hoping to disappear into one of the hundreds of hidden coves along the north African coast, Tobias ordered all sails to be set and heeled far over into the wind under every inch of canvas.
* * *
Mason scrutinised the approaching ship. He had hoped to throw off his pursuer when the fog had descended. He was surprised at the speed with which the Cymbeline had left Sale. On finding Rowena missing and recognising the Seadog in the bay, its captain known to him, Tobias Searle wouldn’t have taken long to work out what had happened to her and set off with a sail full of vengeance.
* * *
As the morning advanced and the sun blazed down on them, it became evident that the gap was closing. By midafternoon the Cymbeline was within range of the Seadog.
‘With Rowena on board, I daren’t risk firing on her—unless it’s to demast her,’ Tobias said to Mark. ‘I’ve seen the carnage a broadside can wreak aboard a ship and know it has no favourites. We must aim at the rigging to spare Rowena. We’ll try to halt her by firing the forward gun.’
There was a bright flash of light followed by a puff of white smoke and the timbers shuddered. The shot fell short, but as the day wore on the crew continued to prime and fire their guns at fifteen-minute intervals—indeed, they appeared to be energised by the intensity of the battle and being able to bring the hated, murdering Jack Mason to his knees at last, and fought with gritty determination. The Seadog returned fire with deranged fury in a continual wave of assaults, their shots falling wide, but now she had shown her intention to resist.
Hour after hour the Cymbeline pressed home her attack, causing such havoc among the masts and sailing gear and tearing rents in the canvas that eventually the corsairs would have no alternative but to hove to and become vulnerable to boarding.
Hard put to maintain its course, in a last desperate attempt the damaged Seadog retaliated with a broadside, which Mason had loaded with swan shot—nails, glass and pieces of iron garlanded with lighted fuses. The effect on the crew of the Cymbeline was catastrophic—but not as catastrophic as Mason had intended. Two men were killed outright, ten were injured.
Angered but keeping a cool head, Tobias pressed on, ordering the injured to be taken below to be dealt with, and all except four of his men to hide out of sight below decks with their weapons at the ready while the Cymbeline made its final approach.
Despite being told to stay below, Jane came on deck, greatly distressed at the scene she came upon, of wounded men being carried below. Thinking of nothing other than helping to relieve their suffering, she went with them.
* * *
When the smoke from the blast had cleared, Mason noticed that the Cymbeline’s decks were almost empty and assumed most of her crew had been killed or injured. He’d put up a stout resistance, but it had become apparent that with two masts shattered and without rigging, the crippled Seadog was unable to repel the enemy. But with the Cymbeline’s crew having suffered many casualties and been severely weakened, Mason did not believe that all was lost.
As he sat and waited for the enemy to draw close, Mason hoped to overcome by sheer force, and when the battle was won and Searle and his crew cut to pieces, take off on the Cymbeline, which, despite his bombardment, had remained intact. It was a fine vessel, and it would be a prize indeed to steal Searle’s flagship.
Down in the hold Rowena listened to the confused sounds on deck, awash in a despondency and a misery so complete she had never known such feelings could exist. When the ship shuddered under the weight of the cannonade, in her terror her thoughts turned to Tobias and Jane. Each time she heard a shot hit the ship, she became convinced it would be holed and sunk at any moment. She was going to die, she knew it, and they would never know.
* * *
The lookout on the Cymbeline shouted that a ship had appeared on the horizon. Looking through the spy glass and studying the approaching vessel, Tobias didn’t take long to recognise a Royal Navy man-of-war flying the British ensign bearing down on them under her full spread of canvas.
When the two vessels were close enough to manoeuvre and the Seadog was fastened to the other vessel with grappling irons and ropes, Mason and his fellow pirates vaulted aboard the Cymbeline. As they did so, the men he had thought wounded emerged from hiding, fit and ready. To his dismay, Mason immediately realised that he was outnumbered. It was too late to turn back, so he and his men had to stay and fight to the end.
The pirates, wielding muskets, pistols and cutlasses, swarmed across the Cymbeline’s decks. They were a fearsome-looking bunch—their faces and tattooed arms were burnt and weathered nut brown. They wore a variety of clothes—canvas trousers, garish-coloured waistcoats and shirts and some with scarves tied round their heads. Others had long hair twisted with ribbons in small tails, and had daggers shoved into their trousers and pistols hanging in holsters.
All on deck waded furiously into the fray. It was a vicious mêlée of swinging cutlasses, hacking and slashing and shooting, but the pirates were outnumbered and dwindling fast as they fell wounded or dead. All the while Tobias had Jack Mason within his sights, and when he saw him leap on to the gunwale and vault across to the Seadog, sword in hand, he was hard on his heels, cutting down two pirates who barred his way.
Laughing scathingly into the face of his pursuer, Mason flung back the hatch and pulled his pathetic captive, who was banging on the closed hatch, out. Blinded by the sudden light, Rowena fell to her knees at the pirate captain’s feet.
Tobias’s manner was almost calm as he paused and watched Mason’s eyes covetously peruse and savour and grab the arm of that which he considered belonged to him. A more observant man than the pirate might have noticed the distinct hardening of Tobias’s lean features and the coldness in his gaze—and taken warning.
Rowena fought like a wildcat to get free of the vicious hold, clawing with her nails and kicking her captor with all the strength she could muster, but, weakened as she was by hunger and thirst, she was no match for his brute strength. In a rage Mason cruelly twisted her arm behind her back until she cried out in pain and fell to her knees before him. Drawing a dagger from his boot, he held the blade close to her throat. Her eyes now betrayed her fear.
Suddenly the pirate captain felt a sword’s blade at his own throat and he stiffened.
‘Drop it, Mason, if you value your life.’
Mason found his wrist seized in a grip of iron. Slowly, against his will, the blade was raised away from Rowena’s throat and he stared into Tobias Searle’s softly smiling face. He
released his hold on Rowena and she dropped to the deck and rolled away, her arm on fire.
‘I knew you were rash, Mason, by your murderous actions in Kingston harbour—but not foolishly so.’
Mason’s hand dropped to the pistol in his belt, but Tobias caught his arm. Mason struggled and managed to get free, drawing his sword. His eyes sought out his opponent’s face and saw in it a strength and will he had never doubted existed, and that in his mind he would not rest until he was made to feed the fishes.
‘So, Mason—face to face at last,’ Tobias hissed.
‘So we are,’ he replied, his teeth bared in a snarl.
‘You are an outlaw, Mason, and debarred from all communication with the civilised world. When you fired my ship and killed some of my crew, I swore to hunt you down like the dog you are. You dared to strike at me, so now I claim the forfeit. We’ll see what the authorities at the naval base in Gibraltar have to say. There is no mercy for pirates.’
Mason’s laugh was fiendish and rent the air. ‘Ah, my friend, I have a great love for my neck and would not see it stretched on Gibraltar. Never. I will be damned and in hell before I let myself be taken by the British.’
‘Then if I can’t see you hang, I shall at least be afforded the pleasure of laughing when we feed your foul carcass to the sharks.’
‘Then goddamn you,’ Mason yelled, leaping towards him, swinging his curved sword.
Tobias laughed and circled his opponent, then lunged towards his chest.
From where she crouched, Rowena watched Tobias fight Jack Mason, who was a nimble, sure-footed opponent, but hampered by his long robe. Tobias seemed like a stranger to her, a man she had never known, darting, thrusting with his sword, his dark hair falling over his brow. As she watched her heart silently wept for him, for she could not bear to consider the almost unimaginable consequences of this fight, but mercifully, as the two men danced and leaped about the deck, avoiding ropes and casks that got in their way, it was apparent that command of the combat was in Tobias’s hands.
Mistress Below Deck Page 20
