The Rogue Pirate’s Bride Page 19

  Then Jourdain attacked.

  ***

  Raeven struggled with Percy’s weight. He had always seemed so thin and scrawny, but now that she’d half carried and dragged him to the infirmary, she would have sworn he weighed as much as two men.

  As expected, the men of the Shadow packed the infirmary. The companionway outside was already lined with sand to minimize slips from all the blood. Raeven tried not to look at the blood or the wounded men. She dragged Percy past the men lying in the companionway, and when her way was blocked and she could go no farther, she called for Gaston.

  “Mr. Leveque!”

  No answer, and she wasn’t even certain he’d heard her over the moans and cries of the men, not to mention the sounds of battle above them.

  “Mr. Leveque! Please help me!” She had Percy under the arms, and she slumped now, resting her forehead on top of his white-blond hair.

  “Mademoiselle?”

  She looked up and said a prayer of thanks.

  “Are you injured?”

  “No.”

  He gave her a look that said otherwise, but she shook her head. She had no time for her injuries. “It’s my friend Percy. He’s been shot. Can you help?”

  She could see him take in the throngs of waiting men, but he said, “Oui, of course. Here, I will help you bring him in.”

  Together they managed to lift Percy onto a table, and the doctor tore open his shirt. It was then Raeven saw the true extent of the damage. Percy had been shot in the chest, and she saw blood. Too much blood. It oozed and bubbled from the wound, making a dark crimson river down his chest. His chest still rose and fell, but his breathing labored. She felt weak and faint, but she gripped the table tightly and said through gritted teeth, “What can I do to help?”

  She looked up and met the gaze of the doctor. His eyes told her all.

  There was no help for Percy.

  “Please,” she whispered. “Please. You have to do something.”

  Leveque nodded and brought her a canteen of rum. “Here. Give him this. He is thirsty, no? And the rum will dull some of the pain.” She reached under Percy’s neck, supporting his head, and eased the canteen to his lips. His eyes fluttered for a moment, but he did not drink. The rum sluiced over his chin to pool around his neck.

  “Percy,” she leaned close and whispered. “Please drink, Percy. Please.” She held the canteen to his mouth again, but he didn’t open his lips.

  “Percy.” She was sobbing now. “Percy, you have to drink. Please, please.” She laid her head on his shoulder, feeling the tears wet her cheeks and tumble down her chin. And she didn’t care if anyone saw. If she looked weak.

  This was her fault. If Percy died—no, she knew he would die—and it was her fault. She had brought him here. She had done this to him.

  “Percy, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” She wept, and her whole body shook with sobs. She lifted her head when she felt something brush against the hair at her neck. She thought it might be Leveque, but he was tending another man. She looked up and saw Percy’s eyes half open.

  “Grand adventure,” he wheezed. She could hear the fluid in his lungs. Could hear the rattle of the blood in his throat.

  “Oh, Percy.” She gripped his hand then remembered the canteen. “Here, drink.”

  But he shook his head. “Not your fault. I made my own ch-choices.” He closed his eyes.

  “Percy.” She gripped his hand and shook it firmly. “You have to fight. You can’t give up. I still have to buy you that dinner and those two bottles of wine.”

  “Three bottles,” he murmured.

  She almost laughed. “Yes—as many as you want. Hold on, please. I need you, Percy.”

  His eyes fluttered open then closed again. “You don’t n-need me.” His breathing hitched, stopped, and after a long moment his chest rose once more. “Him.” He looked heavenward, and she knew he meant Bastien.

  “Percy.” She gripped his hand, held it tightly. She didn’t know what to say, what to do. If she could have willed him to live, she would have done so. “I do need you. I do.”

  He smiled, but it was sad and wistful. “Lo… you.” He breathed out, and she pressed his hand to her lips, kissed it, waited for his chest to rise again.

  It never did.

  Fourteen

  Bastien ducked, barely avoiding the slash of Jourdain’s cutlass. He felt the blade cut the air near his neck, and his skin tingled in response. Bastien risked a glance at the deck and his sword. It had caught on a bulwark. Two men were fighting nearby, but Bastien thought he could snatch it. He backed toward the sword as Jourdain closed in. The Barbary pirate grinned. “You will never reach it. I’ll have your head on a platter.”

  “Are there platters at the bottom of the sea? Your ship is sinking.”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps it can be repaired.” He thrust, and Bastien skirted left. He almost tangled feet with one of his own men fighting the pirates. The two exchanged a look, and Bastien moved back, closer to his sword.

  “But your ship will be nothing but splinters when El Santo is finished.”

  What the hell was Jourdain talking about now? Bastien was almost within reach of his sword. The ship was tilting, and he could see the sword balanced precariously. One more lurch of the vessel, and it would slide far, far out of reach.

  He reached for the sword, and Jourdain attacked. Bastien raised an arm to ward off the blow and was rewarded with cutting pain as the cutlass sliced through skin. The ship had moved, and Jourdain had managed only a surface cut. But Bastien’s fingers closed on his sword just as it slid loose of the bulwark. In one motion, Bastien unsheathed the sword, swung around, and connected with Jourdain’s cutlass.

  Jourdain still had the advantage. The cutlass was short and better suited for fighting in close quarters, but Bastien could make adjustments.

  “You won’t be smiling long, my friend,” Jourdain said as their swords connected.

  “Once I slit your throat, I’ll never stop smiling.” But Bastien felt a prickle on his neck. Jourdain knew something. What had he said? Something about splinters?

  He skirted around two men fighting near them and connected with Jourdain’s cutlass again. “What are you babbling about, Jourdain? My ship isn’t the one sinking.”

  Jourdain only smiled. “Boom.”

  Merde. Bastien glanced at the Shadow. Jourdain’s men weren’t swarming over the sides. The decks were clear but for the reserves he had left on board. And on La Sirena, his own men seemed to be winning the battle.

  But it took only one. One man to light a fuse near the powder magazines, and the whole ship would blow.

  El Santo. Where the hell was El Santo?

  And Raeven. Was she still on the Shadow? He had to get her off. He had to stop El Santo.

  Jourdain thrust again, and Bastien parried. He doubled his efforts, meeting Jourdain blow for blow, but he couldn’t get a clear opening at the Barbary pirate. In frustration, he struck again—and made no progress.

  ***

  Raeven stood at the bottom of the ladderway and tried to compose herself. She had to stop weeping. Tears wouldn’t save Percy, and they wouldn’t save Bastien.

  Maine was dead. The traitor gone. But she could hear the battle raging above. Who was winning?

  She still had Bastien’s pistol and her sword. Percy had said Bastien was boarding La Sirena. Perhaps she could help the boarding party. She started up the ladderway just as a set of boots started down. She moved aside, prepared to allow the crewman to go about his work. Until she saw the man’s face.

  He hadn’t seen her there. She stood in shadow to hide her teary face, and El Santo didn’t see her when he glanced down. He smiled, jumped down the last few steps and started down the ladderway to the hold.

  Raeven stood in the darkness and watched him go, momentarily confused. What was he doing on the Shadow? Percy had said Bastien boarded La Sirena. Shouldn’t Jourdain’s second-in-command be fighting at his side?

  Of course
. Unless… unless he had another mission.

  With a gasp, she raced after the Spaniard. He was headed aft and toward the powder magazines in the hold. It didn’t take much thought to piece together his orders. “El Santo!” she cried.

  She saw the shock course through his body at the sound of his name. Slowly, he turned, pistol raised. But she was ready. She ducked behind a bulkhead and winced when the wood splintered beside her cheek.

  She fumbled with Bastien’s pistol, but it was dark, and her hands were shaking. She glanced up and saw El Santo bearing down on her just as the pistol slipped from her fingers.

  ***

  Bastien had almost killed Jourdain half a dozen times, but the pirate had the luck of the devil. He had the feeling Jourdain was biding his time, stalling Bastien until El Santo could complete his task.

  Bastien attacked again, and Jourdain spun out of reach. Merde! He didn’t have time to play with the pirate. He spotted Castro and yelled, “Get back to the Shadow! Get to the powder before El Santo can blow us to heaven.”

  “Yes, Captain!” Castro moved to obey, but his way was blocked by a burly pirate, and he was forced to raise his cutlass and defend himself. Bastien swore again and slashed ineffectively at Jourdain. Jourdain smiled and mouthed, “Boom.”

  Bastien knew he had two choices: stay and fight Jourdain or return and save his ship. He glanced at Jourdain, imagined how much he wanted to destroy the man, avenge Vargas. But La Sirena was sinking. That was vengeance enough.

  With a yell, he made his decision. He slashed and cut, forcing Jourdain back, then turned and ran for the railing. He sheathed his sword and grabbed one of the ropes attached to a grappling hook. He swung one-handed across both ships, landed a little unsteadily, and yanked the rope free. Dropping it on deck, he unsheathed his sword and raced for the lower decks.

  He almost tumbled down the first ladderway then regained his balance and proceeded more carefully down the second. He could hear the clash of metal before he saw the adversaries.

  And for some reason, it didn’t surprise him to see Raeven Russell outside the powder room, sword raised against El Santo.

  He almost breathed a sigh of relief. Then he saw El Santo stoop and lift something—Bastien’s other Samuel Brunn pistol.

  “Devil take it!” Raeven swore and attacked. But El Santo parried, throwing her off balance. She stumbled and fell, and El Santo cocked the hammer. Too late he saw Bastien.

  “This is for Gibraltar,” Bastien said and fired.

  El Santo stared at him with a shocked expression then crumpled to the ground, a hole in the center of his forehead.

  Bastien glanced at Raeven, saw her scowling. “I could have taken him.”

  With a laugh, he gathered her into his arms. “Of course you could.” He rotated his sore shoulder. “But I owed him that.”

  She frowned. “I suppose.”

  She swiped at the tears on her face. “What is it?” If he’d been holding any other woman, he would have assumed the stress of the battle caused the tears, but he knew Raeven. Battle would not shake her.

  “I found your traitor,” she said.

  He stiffened. “Who? Maine?” He wanted her to deny it, to name someone else.

  “How did you know?”

  Bastien closed his eyes briefly. “I didn’t see him during the battle. He’s usually right beside me.”

  She nodded. “He gave away our position just before dawn. Shone a light.”

  “On the bow? That’s why the topmen weren’t at their stations.”

  “I caught him, and he blamed me, had me chained in the hold.”

  “And yet somehow you’re not in chains.”

  “Percy came for me.” Her voice hitched, and he pulled her close. He didn’t need her to go on now. He knew Williams was dead.

  Her voice was thick as she continued. “We were hurrying up the ladderway, and Maine was waiting. He shot Percy. He thought…” She swallowed and took a shuddering breath. “He thought Percy was me.”

  “I’m sorry.” Bastien resisted the urge to pull her closer, hold her tighter. He’d almost lost her.

  “Me too.” She swiped at her nose. “Not that sorry will fix anything. Make anything right.”

  “Where’s Maine now?”

  “Dead. On the lower deck. I put my sword through his side. He said he did it for money. You were too obsessed with finding Jourdain, passed up too many opportunities for profit.”

  “Fils de salope.” Bastien felt rage bubble inside him, rage and a nausea that reminded him of the seasickness he’d felt the first time he’d sailed. He’d trusted Maine, liked the man. Why hadn’t Alan come to him? How could he have gone to Jourdain? The betrayal cut deeply. Bastien thought he could have forgiven Alan anything but betraying him to Jourdain. “Bastard,” he said now. “If he wasn’t dead, I’d kill him myself.”

  “What about Jourdain?”

  Bastien gritted his teeth. “I had to leave him. But his ship is done.” He pulled her to her feet. “Let’s go watch La Sirena sink.”

  On the main deck, his crew was streaming back across. Someone—Ridley, Bastien thought as he glanced around—had ordered everyone back. La Sirena listed badly, and the crew of the Shadow was working to separate the two vessels. On board La Sirena, Jourdain shouted orders, and men scrambled to make repairs. But Bastien could see it would not be enough.

  The ship was doomed.

  And he would be certain of its demise. But the victory gave him little pleasure that moment. He wanted Maine by his side as much as he imagined Raeven wanted her Percy. Bastien had sailed on La Sirena years ago. It was fine ship, proud and elegant as it dipped, kissing the rising water.

  Bastien turned away and clenched his jaw, clenched his resolve. “Mr. Ridley!”

  The bosun grinned at him. “Cap’n! Looks like we done it.”

  “Yes, sir. You’re quartermaster now—at least until we have a vote. Get this ship out of here. Mr. Khan!” The sailing master had just swung back across. “I want to be in firing position. We’ll put a few more holes in her.” He nodded to La Sirena. “Help her along to hell. Castro, gun crews to their stations!”

  “Yes, Captain!”

  He stood and watched as Ridley ordered the topmen to their work, watched as lines were cut, men scrambled up ratlines, and sails were furled or loosed to catch the wind. He watched it all with Raeven by his side.

  And when his cannons blasted another round at the floundering La Sirena, he saluted Jourdain, smiled as the corsair stood on the poop deck while his ship sank around him.

  ***

  “How does revenge taste?” Raeven asked several hours later. She was pleasantly naked and wrapped in Bastien’s arms. Well, she wasn’t completely naked. Both of them wore bandages, and she had strict orders from Gaston to keep her bound wrist still. Both had orders to rest. And they were resting.

  Now.

  “Sweet.” He kissed her neck. “Mmm. A little like cherries.”

  She laughed. “Was it what you hoped? I’ll have to live vicariously, as it doesn’t appear I’ll ever have my revenge.”

  He grinned. “You don’t have to kill me. What if you made me miserable every day for the rest of my life? That would be a kind of revenge, no?”

  She felt her heart hitch for a moment. What was he saying? He wanted her with him every day of his life?

  No. He was just being charming again. Pretty words with no substance behind them. She pretended to consider his offer. “It’s an idea. Do I make you miserable?”

  He nuzzled her breast. “Extremely.”

  But as much as she enjoyed the way he was touching her, she moved away. “I think I made Percy miserable,” she said, sitting and pulling one of his shirts over her head. “He didn’t want to go on my adventures—as he called them. He wanted to do his duty on the Regal.” She pushed back the tears threatening to spill over. “And now he’ll never do his duty again.”

  Bastien put his arms around her and pulled her against his chest.
“I’m sorry. But it’s not your fault.”

  She shook her head. “It is. He wouldn’t have even been here—”

  “He was a man, and he made his own choices, Raeven.” He murmured the words into her hair, and she closed her eyes.

  “I know, but—he said he loved me. Those were his last words. I never even knew.” She disentangled herself and stood, pacing. “Or did I? Maybe I knew all along and used his love to get what I wanted from him.”

  Bastien shook his head, and she paused in her pacing.

  “I’ve known women like that, Raeven. You’re not like that. You may have used him, yes, but it was unintentional.”

  “Still.” She shook her head. “His death is my fault. He was always telling me to think of others, not only myself. But I never listened. I was so selfish. I am so selfish.”

  Bastien cocked a brow. “You weren’t acting very selfish a few moments ago. When you—”

  She waved a hand. “That’s not what I mean. I put others in danger. Even you. Right now, you’re in danger.”

  “And I do fear for my life, ma belle.”

  She sighed. “Will you be serious? I’m speaking of my father. He must be searching for you now. And when he finds you—”

  “If he finds me, I’ll return his daughter and sail away. I have no quarrel with the Regal.”

  Her chest felt tight. Would he really send her back so easily? Did not even a small part of him wish her to stay? She cleared her throat, not trusting her voice. “Do you think it will be so simple? Do you think he will thank you and allow you to go?”

  “I’ve outrun a man-of-war before. I’ll do it again. But”—he stood, walked to a chair, and lifted his breeches. She couldn’t help but admire his nakedness. His legs were long and lean. His body muscled and hard from life onboard ship. He pulled on the breeches, turned to her, and she averted her eyes—“I don’t intend to sit about waiting for your father to come at us with guns blazing.”

  She nodded. “What do you intend?”

  “I thought I might put you ashore. Somewhere you can contact your father. Perhaps England.”

  She blinked. “England?”