The Rogue Pirate’s Bride Page 18

  But a tiny part of her heart wanted his love too. Even though they could never be together, she wanted to hear him say the words: I love you, Raeven.

  She heard the sound of alarm bells across the water, the call to beat to quarters, and knew they’d been spotted. Knew, too, her silly reverie was over. She hurried toward the bow and almost toppled over when Maine all but jumped on top of her.

  “I’m sorry!” Maine grabbed her arm and steadied her. He carried a lantern, and it bumped hard against her arm.

  “I didn’t see you there, Miss Russell,” Maine said.

  She stared at the lantern, stared at Maine, and then looked across the water.

  “That’s quite all right,” she stuttered. She had her balance back now, and she withdrew her arm from his hand. The air around them shattered as the first volley of cannon fire exploded from La Sirena. They were too far out of range, and Jourdain was wasting ammunition, but the sound of it was terrifying.

  “I need to get to my station.”

  She nodded as he hurried away, but she didn’t load her pistol. Instead, she watched Maine. What was the quartermaster doing with a lantern when the ship had been ordered to maintain silence and darkness? And why was the man on the bow? Even on a pirate ship, where positions and duties varied from those on a naval vessel, she could see no reason for the second-in-command to stand uselessly on the bow. And where was the watch?

  She stared up the foremast as a foretopman scurried across the deck and, brushing past her, began to climb aloft. She frowned at him. She had no authority, but it didn’t stop her. “You there!”

  He looked down at her. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Why are you just now reporting to your station? Where are the other foretopmen?”

  She thought he might ignore her, tell her to be about her own duties—perhaps adding some surly remark about how her duties were on her back—but she must have sounded dictatorial enough that he answered.

  “Mr. Maine sent us to Mr. Castro to help the gunners. Captain’s orders. I’ve never fired a cannon before, and Mr. Castro sent me back. I think the other boys are coming back, as well.”

  Another boom from Jourdain’s cannons, and she saw the youth jump. La Sirena was out of range, but the Shadow was closing the gap. Mr. Castro, no fool, was standing fast until his guns could hit the target.

  “Get aloft,” she ordered the boy, “and check those sails. Make sure all is ready.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She considered going up with him to supervise, but she saw the other foretopmen stream back on deck and scamper up the rigging. Now she should ready her pistol and get in position, but she couldn’t get Mr. Maine out of her head.

  Her head had screamed a warning this morning when Bastien had given the quartermaster orders. Something on his face hadn’t looked… right. She’d watched him go, and the unbidden thought had been: He’s the traitor.

  She had no proof. She had no reason other than intuition to suspect him. But she trusted her intuition. It was when she didn’t listen to it she found herself in trouble. And so instead of preparing to fire on La Sirena, she stared at the bow then up the foremast.

  With no one on watch, Maine had been alone. Free to do as he would. Free to open the lantern, briefly shine a light, and give the Shadow’s position away. “Bloody traitor,” she hissed.

  The cannons boomed again—this time the shot coming from the Shadow—and the whole vessel shook. Everyone paused to observe the damage to La Sirena. One cannonball crashed into the deck, causing minimal damage, while another tore through a sail.

  The battle was on now.

  La Sirena returned fire, grazing the Shadow’s bow and causing Raeven to stumble. The two ships were turning, coming alongside one another, moving into firing position. It would be several more moments before the most effective shots would be fired, and she could do the most good by taking out some of La Sirena’s crew. She started toward the rail only to find herself grabbed from behind and thrust hard on deck.

  For a moment, she wondered if the ship had been struck again, but she hadn’t heard the boom or smelled the gunpowder. She looked up and saw Maine staring down at her.

  “You couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you?” he yelled over the sounds of the coming battle. “You couldn’t stay in his cabin—where you belong.”

  She rose up on her elbows and was alarmed when her head swam. Maine seemed to shimmer in front of her. “And I know what you did. You’re the traitor.”

  “No one will ever believe that.” He reached for her, but she had her dagger in her hand and ready to throw. She’d end Bastien’s problem right here and now. But before she could loose the weapon, she heard someone yell, and a boot came down on her wrist.

  She cried out in pain as it ground down, forcing her to release the dagger. She looked up, saw one of the foretopmen had come to Maine’s aid. She exchanged a quick glance with the quartermaster, who gave her a victorious smile. He looked at the foretopman, concern in his features. “She attacked me for no reason. I think we have a traitor in our midst, Cooper. Take her to the hold and chain her there until after the battle.”

  “Yes, sir!” He grabbed her under the arms and pulled her to her feet. She stumbled and was pushed toward the ladderway.

  “No!” She fought, tried to reach Maine, but Cooper grabbed her injured wrist, and she buckled from the pain. She was shoved down the ladderway. “Wait. Cooper, is that your name? Wait. It’s Maine. He’s the traitor. He gave our position away. I was trying to help.”

  “We don’t need yer kind of help. Now shut yer hole, or I’ll shut it fer you.”

  She knew when she’d lost. She shut her mouth and cradled her wrist close until he chained her in the hold and left her. Above, she could hear the sounds of men’s feet on the boards, the scrape of the cannons moving into position, the sound of orders. Cooper could follow orders, but he didn’t think for himself. She was still armed with her sword and Bastien’s pistol. Of course, with her injured wrist, neither was very useful to her, but they were better than nothing.

  And she had still had her hairpins. She wasn’t going to spend the battle locked down here.

  ***

  Bastien stood on deck as the two ships slid alongside one another. Across the space dividing them, he spotted El Santo, and beside him, Jourdain.

  Jourdain had not changed. He stood tall in his brightly colored clothing. Bastien remembered that about the man—he preferred bright colors. Now he wore lose brown pants of some sort, a vivid green tunic, and a red vest. His head was bald, and the rising sun glinted off the oiled skin. Bastien couldn’t see the earrings glinting from his lobes or the rings adorning his fingers, but he knew they were there.

  The two men locked eyes, and Jourdain raised his hand in a salute. Bastien saluted back then stood tall as the brig’s cannons fired, and his ship shook under his feet. Wood flew around him, and he heard the tearing of canvas as the grapeshot tore through his sails.

  One for Jourdain.

  “Mr. Jackson, damage report!” he ordered.

  And then his cannons fired. Mr. Castro was deadly as hell, and Bastien watched as men and wood scattered and shattered on the decks of La Sirena. A few of their guns took a hit, as did a portion of their hull. The sails had barely been touched, and there were still far too many topmen handling them. Where was Raeven and her sharpshooting?

  Jackson charged up to him. “The ship’s holding, sir, but we were missing men on the foremast. They’re climbing back up now.”

  Bastien stared at him. Why the hell weren’t his men in position? “Where is Maine? I want this ship running smoothly. I need maneuverability, Mr. Jackson.”

  “You’ll have it, sir!” And he was gone again.

  His cannons fired again, and he saw a large chunk of La Sirena’s main mast torn away. “Get grappling hooks and”—La Sirena’s cannons answered back, and he lifted a hand to shield his face from the spray of what he hoped was wood—“weapons!” he continued.
“And prepare to board!”

  ***

  Raeven swore as she dropped another hairpin. It was bad enough trying to pick a lock with the ship shaking beneath her feet, but doing so with her left hand was all but impossible.

  She fumbled in her hair for another, knowing she’d never find any of those she’d lost in the darkness. But she was running out of hairpins. She’d used only a few this morning to keep the hair out of her face. For a moment, she couldn’t find one at all, and her belly clenched, but finally she touched glorious metal and pulled the last one out.

  “Raeven?” a tenuous voice called.

  “Percy? Percy!” she all but screamed it. “I’m here.”

  He had a lantern with him, and she welcomed the light as he stepped into view. A rat scurried away, and Raeven tried not to shudder. “Here. Shine that over here,” she ordered as she fumbled with the lock on her manacled wrist again. Now that she could see, she’d make quick work of it, even with her left hand.

  “What’s going on? Why are you chained here?”

  “Maine,” she said through teeth clenched in concentration. The lock was being difficult, and she couldn’t finesse her movements as she would have liked. “He’s the traitor. He had me brought in here. Will probably be back later to finish me off. Damn!” She felt hot tears sting her eyes as she dropped the hairpin. “Can you shine that light down here?” She dropped to her knees and felt for the hairpin. “I need to get out. Warn Bastien.”

  She heard a clank and looked up. Percy was holding a set of keys, selected one, and coming forward, inserted it into her manacles. “I came prepared.”

  “Oh, Percy!” She stumbled out. “I could kiss you.”

  “I’ll settle for your pistol. I don’t have a weapon, and we’re about to board La Sirena.”

  “We’re boarding?” She handed him the pistol and started for the ladderway. “Is it going that well?”

  He pushed in front of her. “Let me go first.”

  She wanted to roll her eyes. Percy was always the gentleman. “Cutlass is a genius. He’s all but put a hole through the brig. Now it’s just the down and dirty part.”

  The chaotic part, he should have said. And what better time for Maine to kill Bastien, if that was his plan, than in the midst of the madness? Regardless, she had to warn him. She had to—

  Just as Percy reached the lower deck’s ladderway, Maine stepped out. Raeven saw his pistol even before she saw his face. “No!”

  The blast of sound filled the cramped space, and Percy flew backward, his blood spattering her shirt and neck. She didn’t have time to go to him before she saw Maine look to his weapon again. Ignoring the pain in her wrist, she drew her sword and slashed at him. He jumped back, fumbled, and dropped the pistol. When he looked up at her, his eyes burned with hatred. He gestured to Percy. “That should have been you.” He drew his own sword.

  “You’ll wish it were you,” she said, circling him. “I’m going to carve you up.”

  He laughed. “You can hardly hold that thing.”

  “I don’t need to hold it.” Their blades clashed, and she could feel the burn in her wrist as she held steady. “I just need to stab it through you.”

  He thrust and she parried, almost losing her footing on something slippery.

  Blood. Percy’s blood. The bile rose in her throat, and she wanted to look, needed to look at her friend, but she didn’t allow her eyes to stray from Maine. She could tell from his movements and his thrusts he was no match for her, but she was not at her best. He would take any opening she gave him.

  “Why did you do it?” she asked, ducking when he slashed at her. She spun and thrust, cutting his arm and drawing blood.

  He swore and came at her. But he was angry, and she easily evaded.

  “Money? Power?”

  “Money, if you must know.” He struck, and she sidestepped, feeling the whoosh of the blade tickle the skin of her throat. He grinned at her. “I told you. I have a wife. A son.”

  “And Cutlass doesn’t give you your share of the profits?” She feigned left, moved right, and sliced across his midsection, opening a gash. She couldn’t tell how bad it was, but his face paled visibly, and his movements slowed.

  She risked a glance at Percy. He was lying on his side, one leg drawn up and his hand clutched to his abdomen. His eyes were open and filled with pain.

  There was blood. Everywhere blood.

  She pulled her gaze away, tried to plan her next move, not act out of anger and fear for her friend.

  “Cutlass is obsessed with finding Jourdain. Passed up too many opportunities for profit.” He thrust, and she easily parried, though her wrist twinged in protest. “I thought, he wants Jourdain, I’ll give him the corsair!”

  He thrust again, but it was weak. Still, her wrist was aching and she knew she couldn’t last much longer. “I’m sorry to ruin your plans.”

  “Oh, you haven’t ruined them, sweetheart. This is far from over.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.” She thrust, ducked right, and brought her sword up, stabbing him in the side. She felt the blade go through flesh and hit bone, saw Maine’s look of shock before he crumpled, and she pulled out her sword, allowing his blood to drip on the wooden deck planks.

  She kicked Maine’s sword out of his reach, sheathed her own, and turned.

  “Oh, Percy. No…”

  ***

  Bastien stood on the port side of Shadow and threw his grappling hook. Much of his crew followed while others fired pistols at Jourdain’s men to give the boarding party cover. Bastien wondered if Raeven had hit any of Jourdain’s crew. He hadn’t seen her since early morning, and though he knew he shouldn’t concern himself with her, she was constantly in the back of his mind.

  Half a dozen times, he’d wanted to leave what he was doing and search for her. But he was the captain. He couldn’t leave his command to chase after his paramour. Besides, she’d more than proven she could take care of herself. She had probably fared better in the battle than he, as he now had several cuts Gaston would need to stitch later.

  She was fine, he told himself as his grappling hook caught La Sirena’s rigging. But he had a niggling feeling something wasn’t right. As soon as the battle was won, he would find her, hold her, see for himself she was well. Right now, he had little choice but to swing from the Shadow to La Sirena. He landed with a thud and immediately drew his sword as several of Jourdain’s men charged him.

  He cut one down and turned to the second when he saw Jourdain step onto the deck. “Wait! He’s mine.”

  Good, Bastien thought. He would finally have his revenge. The two crews moved aside to give them space, but the fighting continued around them. Bastien caught sight of Jolivette, Castro, Jackson, and Ridley cutting a swath through the Barbary corsairs with cutlasses and pistols.

  He had a moment to wonder at Maine’s absence and a moment to look for El Santo, but he saw neither. No sign of Raeven either. He wasn’t sure if her absence was good or bad.

  Jourdain lifted his cutlass then tossed it aside. Bastien raised a brow. He still held his sword.

  “You want to kill me, Cutlass?” Jourdain asked, his English heavily accented. “You want to avenge the death of Vargas? Then fight me like a real man. With these.” He held up his fists in a challenge.

  Bastien was no fool. Jourdain had a good fifty pounds on him. Bastien was strong and knew how to throw a punch, but he was better at evading fists than using his own. Still, the challenge had been given, and he could hardly resist bloodying Vargas’s killer with his own hands.

  Bastien sheathed his sword and raised his fists. The two men circled each other, and Bastien looked for weaknesses. He didn’t see any. He moved in, only to watch Jourdain block access. They circled again, and Jourdain smiled. “One of us will have to move first.”

  “You’re right—” And without warning, he struck Jourdain square in the face.

  Jourdain turned his head at the last moment, making it only a glancing blow, a
nd when he turned back, he had murder in his eyes. Bastien took a step back and didn’t see the hard left jab.

  But he felt it. His neck snapped back, and his jaw exploded with pain. He doubled over and charged Jourdain, ramming him in the abdomen. Even when Bastien used the full force of his weight, Jourdain barely moved. He rained blows down on Bastien’s head and shoulders, and Bastien endured the pain while continuing to push Jourdain back. Together they crashed into a mast. Bastien felt the thud reverberate through Jourdain’s thick body, and he skirted away. Jourdain went after him, and a quick jab of his foot had the Barbary pirate sprawled across the deck.

  Bastien got in a kick and would have got in another except he’d pressed his luck. Jourdain grabbed his ankle, and Bastien lost his balance, landing hard on his injured shoulder. He lay still for a moment, willing the black swimming before his eyes to fade, and then Jourdain’s leering grin came into focus a moment before his fist connected with Bastien’s eye.

  “Merde.” Bastien tried to roll away, but Jourdain had him straddled. He punched him again, and Bastien tasted blood. Jourdain was still leering when Bastien wrapped his hands around the pirate’s neck and squeezed. Jourdain locked his hands over Bastien’s and the two were at stalemate until Bastien managed to roll over and push Jourdain away.

  He rose shakily to his feet, keeping an eye on the equally shaky Jourdain. The two circled each other, hurt now and weary. Around them, the battle between the two ships’ crews continued. Bastien couldn’t tell which side was winning, but he could feel La Sirena listing to starboard. The ship was sinking.

  He hoped to hell Maine was preparing to separate the two vessels. He didn’t want the Shadow dragged down with La Sirena.

  Jourdain must have felt the change in his ship, known it was sinking. Known he was doomed. He reached into his boot and pulled out a dagger. Without blinking, Bastien reached for his sword—and found his side bare.

  He looked down to see his sword and sheath were missing. He had a moment to scan the deck and locate it sliding away from him.