An unwanted image of Billy Crab, his head almost severed from his body, caused her eyes to flood and she closed them, not wanting the Spaniard to see her terror.
The ferret-like eyes roved over her face, staring at the blood that ran down from her split lip. They moved on, glittering with interest when they touched upon a tiny rip at the top of her shirt.
"Tell me where the Wolf’s cub is, puta. Tell me the location of his camp." He leaned close enough she could taste his breath, redolent with tooth decay. "Tell me and it will go easier on you, this I promise.”
“I told you, I don’t know. I w-was left behind and I don’t know where they have gone.”
"Left behind?" A thoughtful frown brought the point of the knife dragging along the top of her shoulder to the rent in the garment. "You continue to lie, puta, and that disappoints me very much.”
A deft twist of his wrist sent the steel sliding into the frayed seam on the collar of her shirt, slicing it open all the way down her back. As the cloth parted, the whispers and murmurings from the onlookers ended abruptly, leaving only the soft ssssssssssssss of the blade slicing through cloth to fill the silence.
Eva drew a slow breath to calm the pounding in her breast. The blood was flowing hot and fast through her veins, flushing her skin a mottled pink even though the air was chilled where it touched her exposed flesh.
"Because I am in a generous mood, puta," his lips scraped across her ear, "I will give you one more chance to tell me what I want to know."
She steeled herself to keep from flinching. "I cannot tell you what I do not know."
There was the faintest hint of appreciation for the defiance he saw in the taut lines of her body, but it was not enough to keep the tip of the knife from sliding down to the waist of her breeches. It slivered through the cloth with a quick flick of his wrist then tore downward, following the slender curve of her hip to her thigh, then down to her ankle, leaving the moleskin split wide open.
She tried to twist and pull against the ropes, but there was no slack. Splayed and vulnerable, she could do little more than writhe and thrash her head, scattering her long blonde hair wildly over her shoulders.
Muertraigo smiled and with another downward slicing of the knife, cut through the other leg of her breeches until it too hung open over her parted legs. He slid a hand between her thighs and stroked back and forth, watching the disgust, humiliation, and anger alter the expressions on her face as his fingers probed and explored the sensitive flesh.
"So. You refuse to make this easier on yourself?"
She made a sound in her throat then spat the words free. "I told you, I don’t know anything."
Muertraigo’s eyes crinkled at the edges. "We all know something, my dear. And I can promise with some certainty that you will be begging to tell me everything you know before the sands fall through the hour glass."
"Then do your worst, capitan," she whispered, lowering her eyes and squeezing out a tear. “For you will never hear me beg.”
The Spaniard chuckled low in his throat and addressed his rapt audience. "They all say that. In the beginning.”
He withdrew his hand and gazed at his fingers a moment, then lifted them to his nose and breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of her fear. Three quick slashes saw the rest of her clothes lying in a heap at her feet, causing the watchers in the shadows to offer up a collective murmur of appreciation.
Muertraigo walked another full, slow circle around her, his eyes lingering here and there. The bold inspection caused an involuntary reaction in her flesh, the revulsion making her skin feel as if it was shrinking everywhere on her body.
The knife came up again and was used like a hand to caress her. It skimmed down the side of her neck and onto her chest following the stretched curve of her breast to push aside the tangled waves of her hair. A speculative grunt saw the point rest against the raised peak of one puckered nipple and, with a slight tilt of his head, he pressed the steel inward, dimpling the flesh until there was no more give.
Despite her resolve, a faint sound escaped her lips as the tip of the knife pressed again and the skin gave with a small pop. Almost instantly a small bead of blood welled and parted in twin rivulets to trickle down either side of the knife point.
"A pity to damage such perfection," he murmured. "Are you certain you have nothing you wish to tell me?"
Muertraigo’s voice was smooth as silk, almost paternal in its concern, while hers came out a dry, scratchy whisper. "I know nothing more than what I have already told you. No matter how many times you ask, I cannot tell you what I do not know."
He smiled and leaned close, hissing softly against her ear. "How I wish I believed you, puta, for it will be a shame to destroy something so... magnificent."
He straightened and nodded to someone in the gloom. An iron rod had been placed in the fire, the tip glowing red. As the man lifted the rod from the flames and walked slowly forward, the silence became so ominous she could hear the tiny grains of sand beneath his boots cracking and grinding.
Muertraigo took the rod and brought the tip close enough to her cheek that the fine blonde hairs at her temple sizzled and melted.
“I am told your father only has one eye. Is it the left?” He moved the glowing rod to the other cheek. “Or is it the right?”
“No,” she whispered, her voice shaking as badly as her body.
Muertraigo smiled… and brought the iron closer. Eva leaned back as far as the ropes would permit and gasped again when she caught a glimpse of the man who had handed Muertraigo the heated iron.
“Lawrence!”
“Hello Eva.” He moved around in front, pressing his thin lips into an even thinner smile. “You are looking fetching, my dear, as always.”
“How—? Why—?”
“The how is anchored in a small inlet a few miles from here. The why… I am sure you are clever enough to have figured that out already. I would recommend you save the few breaths you have remaining to answer Captain Muertraigo’s questions.”
“Father trusted you. I trusted you.”
“My dear mother trusted me too but she’s locked away in an attic somewhere in the north of Ireland. Now do be a good girl and tell us what we want to know. Where is the Nuestro Santisimo Victorio?”
“Where you will never find it,” she said, her eyes flaring with hatred.
“Mmm. And your father?”
She answered Ross with a mouthful of spittle, landing it squarely on the bridge of his nose.
Ross cursed and wiped the oozing wetness off his face. He grabbed the still-glowing iron out of Muertraigo’s hand and thrust it close enough to her breast that the pink skin of her nipple began to bubble and blister.
“Where is your lover, whore? Where is Gabriel Dante?”
Eva had just enough courage left to smile her widest, most dazzling smile as she whispered, “He is standing right behind you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
Ross and Muertraigo whirled around. Gabriel Dante, a cocked pistol in each hand, emerged from the shadows, flanked by a dozen armed crewmen. The pirates who had become more interested in the pale, nude body of Eva Chandler, paid for their distraction now as each found themselves with the cold barrel of a gun pressed to the backs of their necks. The few who stood closer to the fire reached for their weapons but an iron crossbow bolt hissed swiftly out of the darkness and struck the first man squarely between the eyes, the force splitting his skull open like a ripe melon.
The sight unnerved Muertraigo’s men enough to send their hands reaching, empty, up in the air.
“Nice shooting,” Dante murmured.
Eduardo stepped forward holding Billy Crab’s formidable weapon. “I was aiming for his heart, sir.”
“Nonetheless Billy would have been proud.”
“Yes, sir.” There was a quiver in Eduardo’s voice for he had become close friends with the giant baker’s son over the past two weeks.
Dante had not taken his eyes, or the aim of his pistols
, off Muertraigo. “And so we meet again, Capitan.”
“You have lived up to your reputation, Gabriel Dante, as someone not to be underestimated.”
Dante’s gaze touched briefly on Lawrence Ross, who was still holding the iron rod dangerously close to Eva’s eye. “You must be Ross. I will give you two seconds to step aside and drop the iron.”
Ross’s lips started to curl in a sneer and his hand wavered toward, not away from Eva’s cheek. A roared curse, followed by the distinctive snick and pooffft of a hammer striking sparks off flint was followed instantly by an explosion of powder. The lead ball struck Ross’s wrist, shattering the bone into fragments that tore through the skin. The iron rod jerked back and struck him in the face before it fell to the ground. Howling in pain, he staggered back, clutching the bleeding shreds of his wrist against his chest.
William Chandler strode forward, his pistol smoking. “I never was good at counting.”
With the swiftness of a cobra, Muertraigo moved behind Eva and grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back to bare the arch of her throat to his knife.
“Stand back! Stand back or she dies!”
William stopped in his tracks. Gabriel’s fingers tensed on the triggers of his pistols, as did those of every one of his crewmen.
“Now then, senor Dante,” Muertraigo’s voice quivered with triumph. “I would suggest you and your men lower your weapons… unless you wish to see your whore die before your eyes.”
“With her would die any hope you and your men might have of walking away alive,” Dante countered quietly. “Or winning a share of the treasure.”
Thus far they had spoken in Spanish but as some of Muertraigo’s men looked around and murmured, he switched to English.
“Do not try any of your tricks, senor. They hear your words but they know them to be lies.”
Dante’s guns did not waver by a hair’s breadth. Nothing in his expression changed apart from the fine white lines that appeared around the rims of his nostrils as he continued to address Muertraigo’s men in loud, clear Spanish. “We have the treasure from the Nuestro Santisimo Victorio. There is enough gold and silver and jewels to make every man on this island richer than he could ever dream of being. Barrels full of pearls, and emeralds, bars of bullion stacked higher than the tallest man here. You can lay down your weapons now and return to your ship with your pockets bulging with gold… or you can die where you stand fighting for the greed of men who will reward your loyalty and blood with a handful of tarnished silver ducats. The choice is yours. Make it now or we will make it for you.”
“He lies,” Muertraigo spat. “The only thing you will share is the same fate as your shipmates who were slaughtered on the beach! He has no proof he has even found La Fantasma!”
Rowly stepped forward with a smirk and tossed a canvas sack across the clearing. It tipped in mid-air, spilling a shower of gold coins onto the dirt. “There’s ye’re proof, ye hoary arsed bastard. An’ we’ve a thousand more sacks just like it.”
The Spanish pirates were all former soldiers, accustomed to obeying and not questioning, but their eyes all followed the golden glitter. There were some Englishmen among them from the crew of the Cormorant, most of whom did not understand Spanish, but they all spoke the language of gold. Murmurs were exchanged and they began to unbuckle belts and bandoliers and cast their weapons to the ground.
Enraged, Muertraigo pressed the edge of the blade deeper into Eva’s throat, splitting the skin enough to send a ribbon of blood sliding down her neck. “You care so little for the whore that you would watch her die?”
Dante saw the blood and felt such a rush of rage and fear he thought his heart would burst out of his chest.
“I care enough,” he said, his voice a cold, dry rasp, “to offer you a chance to save your own life. Let her go. This is between you and me. We can settle this right now, right here, one on one. You win, you walk away with your life, my word on it. Not only that but you walk away with my full share of the gold.”
It was Dante’s men who began to murmur this time, for they could scarcely believe he would be willing to let Muertraigo walk away alive. One cold glance around the circle silenced them. “He has my word on it, gentlemen. He wins, he lives. Master Rowlandson?”
The quartermaster took a long moment before he could snarl and spit his assent. “Aye, Captain. Though I’ll not give my word we won’t pursue him to the gates of hell if need be.”
“Fair enough. Chandler?”
William’s gaze had not left his daughter’s stricken face. “Aye. My word. And my share of the gold as well.”
“Gabriel… Father… please… no.” Eva’s neck was held in such a taut arch she could barely speak. Her eyes flooded with tears and she knew the only way she could remove any need for Gabriel to put his life at risk to save her… again!... was to plunge her head forward.
Muertraigo, sensing the sacrifice she was prepared to make, lowered the blade and stepped aside. “I have heard that the word of a Dante is his sacred bond. Before witnesses then, I accept your terms.”
Eduardo and William both rushed forward to loosen the ropes around Eva’s wrists and ankles. Doc Podd stripped out of his leather jerkin and wrapped it around her shoulders as she was hustled out of Muertraigo’s reach.
To a man, every one of Dante’s crew aimed their guns at the Spaniard and waited for the word to fire.
The Spaniard’s dark eyes drilled into Gabriel’s even as his lips curled into a sneer. “Is your word worth so little, senor?”
Gabriel lowered his pistols and uncocked them.
Eva tried to touch his arm as she was shuffled past. “Gabriel… no! Shoot him! Just shoot him! He doesn’t deserve to be treated with honor.”
Dante looked away from Muertraigo long enough to see that the cut on her neck was not deep. He reached out and touched her cheek and for the first time she saw every emotion she had ever hoped to see in his eyes. His smile, as his finger brushed across her lips, was warm and gentle and special, for her alone.
“Go with your father, Mermaid,” he said softly.
“No! No… please! Don’t do this! He doesn’t deserve to be treated with honor.”
“Get her away from here,” he commanded Chandler. “And keep her away.”
William looked as torn as his daughter but in the end he nodded. “God be with you,lad.” In a lower tone he thought to add, “Have a mind, he favors the left.”
But as he took Eva by the arm and forced her away from the sudden roar of voices he could not be sure the younger man had even heard him.
~~
Before her father had dragged her a hundred yards Eva shook off his grip on her arm and stopped, nearly causing Eduardo and Podd to run up her heels.
“Daughter,” William warned. “You’re neither wanted nor needed back there. The captain has enough on his mind without you sobbing and wailing to break his focus.”
“You can’t expect me to just walk away!”
“That is exactly what I expect you to do. And so does he, or he would not have ordered it. If there was ever a time you needed to obey him, this is it. Show him, if nothing else, that you have faith and trust in him.”
“I do have faith and trust. I love him, Father! I love him! But I can no more walk away now, than I could believe it and walk away when Ross told me you were dead.”
William muttered a stream of inaudible oaths and shoved both hands into the twisted mane of his hair. Podd and Eduardo both looked at him expectantly until he expelled one final curse and took her by the arm again.
This time he led her to the deepest, darkest shadows he could find where the four could watch through the trees. As insurance he kept his hand firmly at her elbow but he need not have worried. At the first flash of steel, she was too frozen by fear to move.
~~
Blinded by the blood he had seen flowing down Eva’s neck, Gabriel had not noticed that Muertraigo had been holding the knife in his left hand. It was an error that co
uld have proved costly… and fatal in the uncertain light. It also explained why the Spaniard looked so smug and confident as he removed his heavy doublet and unsheathed his sword. Left handed men fought with the Devil in their corner. It was likened to fighting against one’s own reflection in a mirror, with none of the usual moves or counter-moves applying to attack and parry.
Thanks to William’s warning, Gabriel anticipated the direction of Muertraigo’s initial attack. It came out of the darkness as the Spaniard launched a series of blinding cuts and slashes. Each stroke was fuelled by the arrogance of a master swordsman and Gabriel was forced to go on the defensive from the outset. He narrowly missed a thrust to his hip and another across his chest before he settled his balance and adapted to the stunning swiftness of Muertraigo’s sword.
Steel clashed on steel, with sparks flying off both blades as the two opponents searched for any opening to strike. Muertraigo challenged and feinted, testing Dante’s skill as well as his nerve, and grudgingly admired his ability to anticipate and block thrusts that would have sent a lesser swordsman reeling.
They circled like birds of prey, striking hot and fast, their blades moving in a blur, only to fall back and catch a breath, blink the sweat out of their eyes, and circle again. Both men scored cuts, both had slashes, nicks, and blood spattering their clothes. They grunted through the effort it took to drive an attack forward and cover the entire wide clearing, sending the circle of men scattering farther back into the trees each time.
Gabriel saw a wink of silver in the dirt and the fraction of an instant it took him to recognize Eva’s discarded locket cost him dearly. Muertraigo’s blade hacked across his ribs, cutting the flesh to the bone.
He spun away, groaning with the pain, and the Spaniard, hearing him, was relentless in pursuing his advantage. He slashed and sliced in a flurry of brilliant strokes that were too fast to block or turn away and Dante was forced back into a shallow furrow in the ground. He lost his footing and skidded sideways, but his balance was broken and he had no chance to recover. He saw the flash of steel lunging toward him and he saw the triumphant look in Muertraigo’s eyes. He braced his arm to take the blow but at the last possible second, angled his sword so that the tip slid along the oncoming steel. He twisted his arm with every ounce of strength he had remaining, and in a move he had only seen executed successfully once before, snapped the tension in Muertraigo’s wrist, causing his fingers to spring open and the hilt of the sword to fly out of his hand.
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