Gallant Rogue (Reluctant Heroes Book 3)

by Lily Silver

  “Uncle—I mean—my lord del Amico.” She faltered, as she struggled to move to the back of the wagon and help him be settled into a more comfortable position. “Let me help you.”

  “I am fine.” The almond eyes of her uncle matched those of her father, perfectly. He was an exact image of her dear papa, an older variation. “Your girl needs your attention.” His hand rose from his wounded leg and pointed toward Marta.

  The last thing Chloe wanted to do at the moment was attend to Marta. The girl had ruined any chance for happiness she might have had with her uncle or with Jack. The wagon started, and Chloe sat down near her uncle and ignored Marta. At least the girl wasn’t crying—that was a relief. The nervous chit cried and whined continually.

  “Hold on to something,” Jack shouted. Chloe looked at the road and saw him standing in the middle of it watching the wagon race away from the square. “Get down, Chloe! Put your head down and hold on.”

  She glanced with incomprehension to her uncle. He leaned forward, an awkward move with his injured leg, and his hand pulled her head down. He tucked her head under his arm and pulled the blanket on his shoulders over both their heads as the horses sped away.

  They waited. Nothing happened. All she heard was the echo of horse’s hooves on the cobblestones as they made their escape.

  And then the sound of thunder shook the wagon box. A mighty whoosh of hot wind surrounded them. She was jostled about in the wagon, but her uncle kept a firm arm about her, keeping her close to him. She gasped for air and scrabbled to be free of the blanket.

  As she gazed up at the sky above them, she saw a roiling cloud of orange flame and black smoke rolling up into the heavens. The world seemed to be on fire, at least the world she left behind, her uncle’s home and the village church nearby. Flaming debris was falling from the skies. The thick black smoke made it hard to breathe. Her uncle’s hand shoved her head down onto his shoulder as he covered their heads once more with the blanket.

  The wagon ride was rough as they moved through the steep, cobbled streets. Chloe was relieved when the heat and smoke seemed to disappear, making it easier to breathe. She removed the blanket again and looked behind them, wondering where Jack and the men were.

  “Chloe.” Jack’s rough voice could be heard shouting from ahead of her. He was dismounting from his horse and had tossed the reins to a man she didn’t recognize.

  They were at the sea, but there was no harbor there, only sand. She looked up on the hill, where her uncle’s home had been, and saw rushing flames where the tall church towers should be. The men had blown up the marquis’ home, and the church as well.

  “They destroyed your home?” she whispered, looking at her uncle.

  He looked blandly up at the furious orange plume on the hill. “One of many.” He said, shrugging. “It was necessary to destroy the French column who made my home into a secret camp in order to free us all from those wretched barbarians. They killed all the women in my home, the serving girls, four of them, after they forced themselves on them.”

  “What of the townspeople?” she asked. “What of their homes …”

  “Buildings can be rebuilt, my child. I have money to help them. Lives cannot be returned once taken by the tides of war. The sea does not give up her dead, nor does a devouring army.”

  “Chloe!” Jack was at the wagon, reaching for her, trying to pull her out from behind. His arm circled her waist and he lifted her easily from the box. “Come, you’ll ride with me. I’m not letting you out of my sight again until we safe aboard the Pegasus.”

  She was on the ground, standing before Jack. He was gazing down at her with a strange expression she couldn’t fathom. His eyes were so hard; his smoke streaked face was carved of stone. He had ashes in his hair. His hands remained on her waist after lifting her down.

  “Where is the boat?” she asked, searching at the shallow shoreline and seeing nothing but water for miles and miles. She couldn’t bear to meet his determined gaze.

  He didn’t answer. His hand slipped beneath her chin and tilted her head so she was forced to look up at him. He just kept staring down at her with that stony sapphire determination. “I thought I failed you—” He whispered. “I feared I’d lost—”

  “Rawlings, we must get away quickly.” A man Chloe did not recognize came running up and slapped Jack on the arm. He was wearing a French uniform, like Jack was, but appeared to be Spanish. He was a handsome man with a bit of swagger about him. He smiled at Chloe and then at Jack. “Your precious cargo, Captain?”

  “Yes, my precious cargo.” Jack smiled down at her. His arms tightened about Chloe. He was holding on to her as if he thought she might slip away from him. His eyes closed, his head dipped, and his lips captured hers with a passion that made her forget their circumstances and all the worries about her quest.

  Chloe surrendered to his embrace. She wrapped her arms about his neck and kissed him with all of her being. He knew her secret shame and he was willing to kiss her?

  The frantic shouts around them brought Jack up short.

  He let go of Chloe and pushed her behind him. The French captain was not dead, as they’d assumed. There was blood on the man’s head, so Jack knew someone had knocked him out and Mortier’s clothing was singed and steaming. He was furious as he rushed toward Jack with his sword aloft. “American swine, you think you can take what is mine? I will kill you for this.”

  “You can try,” Jack returned, unsheathing his sword and blocking the blow of his opponent. Jinx and Morgan were similarly engaged by soldiers, as were Rodrigo and Marcos.

  The ringing of steel was all Jack knew as he kept Mortier at bay and kept Chloe behind him. They parried and circled, clashed and retreated, again and again. His sword sliced through Mortier’s burnt, soot-soiled jacket, cutting a wide trail in the fabric at his side. If not for the heavy uniform coat the Mortier’s side would have been opened.

  “I will ravish your low born whore and then kill her slowly. I will strangle her as she lies beneath me!” Mortier railed. “I will make her pay for your insolence a thousand time—”

  Jack moved without thinking. Gut instinct ruled his actions. He lunged at the brief opening in his opponent’s guard and thrust hard, plunging his sword into the Frenchman’s chest. “Not while I’m still holding a breath and a weapon.” He yanked the sword back, pulling it cleanly from his victim’s body.

  There was a satisfying sound of suction as the penetrating steel released from flesh.

  The ivory vest bloomed with crimson as blood flowed from the deep wound.

  Surprise filled the vile Frenchman’s features. The sword dropped from his grip, clattering to the pavement in a decisive clang. Mortier stood perfectly still, his arms out at his sides, his face quickly registering pain in place of shock as the deep wound continued to bleed.

  Jack had pierced his chest, dead center above the ribs, a strategic move Donovan had taught him long ago. “If you want your opponent to suffer long, pierce the lower abdomen and he’ll die a slow, painful death over several weeks. If you want the fight over quickly, pierce the pericardium and your victim will be dead in minutes.” Donovan had shared a wealthy of knowledge gleaned from his grisly anatomy studies during their pirating days, a knowledge Jack never thought he would need until this moment.

  While the sot bragged of his cruel intentions for Chloe, Jack used that split second of distraction to gut the vulgar beast who obviously took delight in ravishing females. He did it for Chloe—for Amelia—and girls like Marta who suffered violence at the hands of such men.

  Not finished with his vengeance, Jack moved quickly to quell the threat to the woman behind him. He raised the tip of his sword and sliced the man’s throat. “Now, go to hell, you sick, twisted son-of-a-bitch.”

  The rush of blood ran over Mortier’s chest in a dark waterfall. The man sank to his knees, clutching his throat as gurgling sounds were his last noises on earth. Mortier’s body dropped to the quay as Jack clutched his sword in both ha
nds and looked about them for further attack.

  With the loss of their leader, the men who followed Captain Mortier to the quay lost their nerve. One bolted, leaving Jinx standing with his sword drawn on the empty air. Morgan made to chase the fleeing stragglers, his body surging with that sweet euphoria and strength of battle.

  Marcos called after him, warning him to stop. The slender Portuguese marksman lifted his rifle and took down the one farthest from them. He took up another rifle to draw on the next fleeing French soldier, and then a third. That was the end of their would-be pursuers. The rest of the soldiers would have died in the explosion when Morgan and Rodrigo lit the powder kegs hidden in the marquis’s home, along with enough weapons to make Marbella a French stronghold.

  Jack relaxed his sword arm and turned to Chloe behind him. She appeared to be on the edge of hysteria. She was a gentle lady, unaccustomed to the terrors of battle or the quick spilling of blood. “Chloe, my sweet. You’re safe. No one will harm you, ever again. I swear it.”

  She stood, just staring at him, obviously dazed and uncertain.

  He didn’t wait for a sign from her. Jack moved forward and swept her up in a crushing embrace. He didn’t speak; he just hugged her and let her feel the strength of his arms.

  “Captain, let’s go!” Rodrigo shouted as he came striding toward Jack. “Before soldiers in the hills see the smoke and choose to investigate. Come, we must away.”

  Chloe withdrew from his embrace, seeming to come to herself at Rodrigo’s intrusion.

  “You should ride in the wagon.” Jack said, placing a light hand on Chloe’s arm as he guided her to the waiting vehicle. “Marta was roughed up by the soldiers. She needs you.”

  Chloe wanted to protest. She was frightened by the violence she had just witnessed. She had never witnessed a man dying before. Jack killed the man who had promised to beat her and ravish her. Jack killed that terrible man who would torture and humiliate her.

  She wanted to stay near him, not go near her treacherous maid.

  “Roughed up by the soldiers.” Jack’s words slowly penetrated her fractured mind.

  Chloe blinked, brushed at her eyes and looked closer at the occupants of the wagon. She noted Marta’s bent form and the rough condition of her uncle. Their nightmare was far from over. Jack was right, these people needed her to be strong for them. They needed her healing touch.

  She nodded and allowed Jack to lift her into the wagon again.

  “Marta, dearest?” Chloe crept forward and sat by the girl. “Are you well, sweetheart?”

  Marta lifted her bowed head. Her eyes were liquid, her lips were quivering. The bruising on her throat told the awful tale.

  Chloe sat down beside her and put an arm about the girl. She blinked hard, took a deep breath and let her finger slip to trace the strangulation marks about the girl’s neck. She wrapped her arms about Marta and held her close. “My poor lamb.” Any anger she might have had over Marta revealing her past was buried in a thousand regrets. Marta was little more than a child. She couldn’t stand up against hardened and the ruthless soldier’s vicious interrogation methods.

  “Let’s get moving.” Jack mounted his horse. The wagon began to move across the quay.

  The light was almost gone. The reflection of the fading sunlight on the sea lit their way an illuminated the pale white road ahead. Chloe looked back up at the hill.

  Her uncles’ villa had become a plume of roaring flames illuminating the night sky.

  So went her dreams, her hopes, her aspirations of starting anew; devoured by flames.

  *

  Jack kept scanning the road and the low trees bathed in shadow as they progressed. It seemed to take a lifetime to get to the hidden cove where Rodrigo said the boat was secured, although it could hardly be more than half an hour. They turned off the main road and went north on a narrow dirt path for a mile. The path followed the meandering river bank. The river turned and they rounded a copse of trees. The stars were out, but it was still twilight, barely.

  Jack was relieved as he caught sight of a white sail. A small fishing sloop was anchored there, hidden from view of the sea. It was a beautiful silhouette in the dark night, a perfect craft for getting away undetected. The single mast with fore and aft rig would get them silently past any French patrols. They could reach the British blockade by morning.

  Rodrigo, Marcos, Jinx and Morgan helped him get their charges settled in the boat. Jack took the tiller in his hand and they shoved off, gliding away silently in the night.

  *

  As dawn chased away the darkness and the terrors therein, they were welcomed aboard the Mercury, a ship of the line commanded by Captain Maxwell south of Cadiz.

  Chloe and Marta were given a berth in one of the officer’s cabins. Chloe managed to clean Marta up and ascertain the extent of her injuries. The girl had bruises on her throat, and her shoulders and back. She’d been beaten, and strangled, it seemed. And raped, Chloe feared, judging by the girl’s edgy, startled behavior. When Chloe asked her if she’d been harmed by the soldiers in that way, the girl’s lip quivered as she shook her head vehemently in denial. Chloe doubted that furious denial. She knew from experience that an innocent girl’s mind would only recoil and refuse to admit such a horror took place, even to herself, as a means of survival.

  Marta didn’t speak for most of the day. She answered questions in monosyllables. Chloe blamed herself. She had dragged the girl across the wild terrain in search of her uncle, in search of a man who would likely cast her off once they reached civilization. If only she’d listened to Jack. If only she had been content to wait in Cadiz for her uncle’s return.

  The sun was setting quickly. They would be surrounded by darkness again soon, but this time they were surrounded by British soldiers, marines and naval officers. They were away from the French troops stealing silently across Spain. Chloe felt safe at last. She knew Jack would get her back to London, and when she arrived there, she intended to rent a small house and live quietly in the vibrant city where no one knew her origins or her secrets. She had money from Gareth’s inheritance as her widow’s portion. Count Rochembeau took steps to ensure Chloe would have a living from the plantation profits for the rest of her days. She could make new friends, start over, and forget Spain and the family there who could only scorn her now.

  Having made up her mind, Chloe rose from the bunk in the small cabin, smoothed her hair and her skirt, and decided to take action. Yes, she would see to it her uncle was cared for as a guest of the British, as his wound was serious. He would likely wish to return to Cadiz. He had servants in his home who could care for him. She would head north, to London.

  “Marta, will you come with me? I need to check on my uncle. The surgeon was to remove the bullet in his leg. Come dearest, we’ll go together.” She tugged at Marta’s hand.

  “I don’t think I should be your maid any longer.”

  “We can discuss that later, when we reach London. The Pegasus will meet us soon and bring us back to London.” Jack was having them signal his ship with his secret salute to bring it close, or so he had told her. Jack promised they could be on his ship by nightfall.

  “Do you wish to go home to your father?” Chloe pulled her from the bunk and led the girl to the door. She thought that if she could get the girl talking, she’d eventually be all right.

  “I want to go back to that convent.” Marta said. “The sisters were kind to me there.”

  Chloe nodded as she led the girl down the hall. Good, that was two whole sentences strung together. The most the child had said in the past day since their escape from Spain.

  “Spain is not safe right now,” Chloe countered. “We’ll go to London for a while. I intend to rent a house for us there. When you feel better, you can make up your mind about where you would like to live. We can send word to your father. Perhaps he’ll come to take you home.”

  “I don’t think I should be your maid any longer,” the girl repeated, clutching at Chloe’s han
d like a frightened child. “I was never any good at it.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Chloe continued, trying to keep the girl talking. “You are young, and you did the best you knew how. That is all anyone can do in this situation, isn’t it?”

  She knocked on the door to the surgeon’s cabin. The balding man with spectacles opened the door. “May I speak with you about my uncle’s injury? Were you able to remove the bullet? He won’t lose his leg, will he?”

  “Come in, Mrs. O’Donovan.” The surgeon gestured for her to enter his small, crowded cabin. “He’ll need expert care for the next several weeks. He will need a doctor’s supervision and much rest. The leg is still infected. It may not heal properly. He may walk with a limp. His spirits are good, however, and he’s been asking for you.”

  “He has?” Chloe was shocked. She didn’t think he would wish to see her again. She intended to just slink away to London once she knew he was going to be taken care of.

  “Yes. I’ve sedated him, but you may go see him.” He smiled at the girl. “May I look at your injuries?”

  “No.” Marta clutched Chloe’s hand like a lifeline. “Don’t touch me.”

  “Thank you, sir. We are both fine. Could you lead me to my uncle?”

  The doctor exited his cabin and led them down the hall to the room that was given to her uncle. She was surprised to find Jack sitting beside the man’s bunk while he slept.

  He stood at her entrance and backed away. “Sit. He’s been asking for you.” Jack slapped the wooden stool that was next to the low bunk.

  She let go of Marta’s hand. The girl didn’t protest, but she moved away from the doctor and stood in the corner near the small porthole window, behind Jack.

  Chloe sat down and studied her uncle. He was quiet, but his eyes opened from time to time. The doctor filled her in on his condition. They found him in time. Another few days, and the leg would have had to have come off for certain. As it was, there was still the chance of that, but time would tell. Now, they had time on their side, the doctor said as he finished his report and then left them.