Читать книгу The Pirate Bride - Shannon Drake - Страница 11

RED KNEW SHE was being followed, and she listened carefully.

It was exactly what she had expected. No, hoped for.

But as she pretended to saunter along, weaving a bit, as if she had drunk heavily, she listened hard and damned the weather. The rain had started. The sky had threatened that it would come down in buckets, but as yet, it was just an annoying and continual fall, darkening the world and making it hard for her to listen. She couldn’t tell how many were following. She had assumed it would be just one man. Maybe two. But there were more than that behind her, she knew.

Blair Colm did not know who she was. He knew only that the pirate Red Robert had a reputation for horrible ferocity.

And that Red Robert was looking for him.

And she knew that despite his cruelty, Blair Colm had always been a coward.

When she left Teach, she had seen Sonya taking a coin from a man. She’d tested it, but Sonya was a businesswoman—she knew real gold when she saw it. Red didn’t even hate Sonya for the betrayal. The woman’s life was hard. She hated most men. She’d crawled her way to the top of the heap by lifting her skirts for sex in dark corners, turning her face from the putrid breath of unwashed men. Red couldn’t hate her.

Maybe she had grown too complacent in her own skills, Red thought now. A sad miscalculation, since she had lost to Logan Haggerty. But he had been different. There was—or usually was—little to fear from other pirates. They passed at sea and saluted one another. They shared dens of iniquity, like the one she had just left. They brawled and wenched and drank, but they seldom picked battles with one another. They shared one bond, the ever-present image of the hangman’s noose. No need to battle one another.

But Red had wanted to be followed, for there could have been only one reason for it. And now she knew. Blair Colm had spent a great deal of money to send men out to murder Captain Red Robert.

But now she began to count the footsteps and lament her own reckless determination to see Blair Colm dead. There were at least six men behind her. They would have to be the most drunken, poorest swordsmen in the world to fall victim to her alone. She damned her own stupidity and confidence—her belief that she could best her pursuers in any duel and demand to know from them where Colm was headed now, where he might be found.

She hadn’t asked Brendan or any of the men to go with her, for a coward who had taken money to kill would not have followed her if she had been accompanied.

She simply hadn’t believed there would be so many.

Ahead, a white sheet billowed as the alley widened, and she hurried beyond it, knowing she had to pick a place to make her stand.

And so she did, checking the line that held the laundry as she held her position, barely daring to breathe, and waited.

She heard the footsteps, coming closer now, moving faster.

“Where’s he gone?” came a whisper, just audible in the night.

A flash of lightning illuminated the sky for a split second.

From her vantage point atop a step just beyond the line, Red saw the men. Eight. Two were leaning upon one another, and one of those two carried a bottle of rum. They weren’t there to fight; they were just waiting for the kill.

None of them was well-armed. They were debris, she determined. Refuse that had found its way to the island. There was only one—a tall, muscular man, wearing a brace of pistols, his cutlass at the ready—who appeared to offer any real danger. He was bald beneath his sweeping hat, and one of his eyes was made of glass. Though the alley was dark, she could see that; slivers of moonlight caught on it, casting a glint of reflection. That was good. She would attack from the left.

Full darkness seemed to fall when the lightning dimmed. It was time.

With a violent thrust, she set the line of sheets flying. Several of the fellows were toppled immediately. She leapt from the step, her cutlass waving as she strode through the confusion. Easiest first to wind the men into the sheet. More of them fell. But then she discovered a man at her back, ready to skewer her, and when she turned to parry his attack, she saw the bald fellow moving toward her, as well.

From a window above, there was the sound of life at last.

“Glory, what be happening down there?” a woman called out shrilly.

“Battle in the alley! Close the shutters, woman,” came a masculine reply.

Lights flickered from above, and were quickly doused. She could hear the slamming of shutters on both sides of the alley now. Apparently none of the residents of this sorry place meant to become embroiled.

She would not be receiving any assistance from them.

She leapt over the tangle of men seeking to free themselves from the sheets just as a third man came at her, followed by a fourth.

She slashed her blade at him, then caught hold of what remained of the laundry line and used it to swing to the far side of the alley to face the remaining three.

She sheathed her cutlass, drew her pistols and fired both simultaneously. She caught one man in the leg and winged the other in the shoulder. But as they fell, two others at last dislodged themselves from the sheets and joined the fray.

Without time to reload, she went for her cutlass again and crouched, finding the knife lodged in the sheath of her left boot. Her aim was swift and sure, and one attacker went down with the blade caught in his shoulder.

Still another fought free of the sheets. It was the sot who had been holding the rum bottle, and he looked sober now. And lethal.

She was dead, she decided, overcome with bitterness and regret. She had expected so little from life. Even so, she had not thought it would end in a filthy alley on a dead man’s isle.

“Take the flanks!” the bald man called to his companions.

They planned to back her against the wall, she realized, then come at her from three sides.

She would do as much damage as she could before going down, she resolved.

Would God forgive her for the life she had led? she wondered vaguely.

Was God even there? Where had He been when her family was slain?

But as the bald man walked toward her, taking his time, grinning, she was stunned to hear the loud volley of a gun.

And suddenly the overconfident bald attacker was no longer walking toward her. His one good eye was wide, and then blood burst from his chest, like red tears, for the rain was growing harder, and it mingled with the blood.

The two coming at her from the side froze as the night came alive with shouting and the thunder of footfalls. Brendan was there, Hagar, Peg-leg—and their prisoner.

Her other attackers finally fought free from the sheets, and the wounded men staggered up, desperate to survive. She was left alone at the wall as her attackers and her crew went to battle, deadly and swift. One man tried to run, but Peg-leg was not a man who was prone to mercy. He went after the coward, and the swordplay that ensued was swift. In moments her would-be murderer fell dead in the rush of blood that spewed from his throat.

And then her crew was standing still in the dark alley, looking around, seeking new combatants.

But there were none. They were all on the ground, unmoving.

“Red!” Brendan cried and rushed forward. She saw the terrible inner battle he fought, trying not to reach for her, longing to draw her against him in relief.

“I’m well, good fellows, and I give you my deepest thanks,” she said, as Peg-leg clapped her on the shoulder.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, realizing how much force he had used. “Aye, but, Cap’n, you were holding your own so fine.”

“So fine,” Logan Haggerty repeated. She looked at him and could see the contempt in his eyes. She would have died if they hadn’t come, no matter how fine she might have been doing. And he…He was a prisoner. But he had come with the others, and had fought well and…loyally?

“Captain Red, what the bloody hell…?” Hagar asked, shaking his head and breaking into her thoughts.

“Let’s hope someone is alive to tell the tale,” she said, and realized she was shaking. How strange. She hadn’t feared death—she really hadn’t—though she had hated the fact that she would die before accomplishing her goal. But now…

Now she suddenly knew how badly she wanted to live. Not for vengeance. She wanted to see the sun again, taste the rain, know the feel of the waves beneath her, plunge into a warm sea, read more books…

Feel a human touch that was gentle and tender…

Change that look of contempt upon Logan Haggerty’s face.

She gritted her teeth and willed the shaking to stop. She had not come so far to be diminished by the look of a man who had unjustly condemned her as a fool.

“Find someone living in this scramble,” she commanded sharply.

As her men moved about the alley, checking the downed men for signs of life, the shutters above them began to open. Lamplight flickered again, making the mist in the air shimmer mysteriously.

“Dead,” Hagar announced, rolling over a body.

“This one, too,” Peg-leg said.

“Not this one,” Logan announced, dragging a man to his feet.

The survivor was skinny, and wore only a shirt, breeches, worn boots and a sword belt that barely clung around his narrow hips. His sword was still sheathed. There wasn’t a mark on him.

“Please,” he whimpered. “I caused no injury to any of you. I was…I was caught. I was tangled in the sheets.”

“You played dead, you mean,” Logan said bluntly.

“I…I…”

“Who sent you?” Red demanded.

“I, um…that fellow. The bald man over there. He paid us all. He found us back at Ha’penny Hattie’s, and he paid us to follow him down the alley. That’s all.” He slipped to his knees, looking up beseechingly, his hands folded in desperate prayer. “I was just drinking me rotgut there, I swear it, and the money…as you can see, I’m not a prosperous man.”

Red was about to turn away in disgust.

“But you are a lying one,” Logan said, catching the fellow by his shirt collar and dragging him relentlessly to his feet. “Who paid the bald man?”

“I don’t know!” the skinny man screeched.

“You do,” Logan said flatly.

“He’ll kill me!” their captive implored.

“He’s dead,” Brendan pointed out.

“No, no, not the bald man…”

“It’s all right,” Red said. “I know who sent him.”

Their captive’s eyes were all but bulged out of their skeletal sockets. “I didn’t tell you. I didn’t tell you!”

“He may kill you. I definitely will,” Logan threatened softly.

Red shook her head. “Don’t bother. It was Blair Colm.”

Logan stared at her sharply, and she had no idea what was going on in his mind as he watched her. It seemed for a moment as if time had stopped.

“Oh, God!” the skinny man screamed, going limp.

“Is he here? Is he somewhere near here?” Red demanded.

The man slumped down again, but Logan dragged him back up. “Answer the captain,” he said.

The fellow just shook his head, moaning.

“Answer,” Logan persisted menacingly.

“I—I…no. He’s headed north. He’s heading up to the Carolinas.” He looked up at them at last. “He’s…he’s no pirate, you know. They welcome him at fancy tables. He’s free to sail wherever he chooses and…kill and loot at will. Because he does so for the governors and the Crown, and he’s somehow…” He shook his head. He was no longer hoping to hide anything from them. Maybe he wasn’t even hoping to survive anymore. “I have never known another man so utterly ruthless and brutal. He’s invincible, and you might as well kill me now, and I can only pray you will do so mercifully.”

“How will he know you were hired by the bald man?” Red asked.

“He’ll know,” the terrified man whispered. “There is talk. There is always talk. Tomorrow they will be talking about the fight tonight.”

“How did he hire you? Was he here recently?” Brendan demanded.

“No…months ago, he paid the bald man. One-eyed Joe. That’s what I heard. And he promised a great reward. That’s all I know. I swear it.”

“Fight?” Hagar snorted. “Intended execution, more like.”

“No one thought Red Robert would go down without taking a few men with him,” the fellow said mournfully. “That’s why there were so many of us. This island is hell, my friends, and in hell, people always talk, and there is nowhere to run.”

Hagar looked at Red. “We can’t take him with us. The man is a coward.”

“I was caught in the sheets!” the fellow implored.

“Can’t trust him,” Peg-leg said.

“We have to kill him,” Hagar said.

The man began to moan softly again.

“Oh, shut up,” Brendan snapped.

A door opened somewhere nearby. People were beginning to venture out.

“Pick up the good weapons,” Red said quietly, and Peg-leg and Hagar hurried to do so, before those who had cowered in their rooms above could come down and, like vultures, prey upon the dead.

Red turned. A man was working at one of the fallen assailant’s boots.

“I don’t have shoes,” he said simply.

Red nodded. “Aye, then, take what you need—except the weapons. The weapons are ours. And see to the bodies.”

She started walking slowly away.

“What about him?” Brendan called after her.

She turned, not sure what to say. She couldn’t order the man’s death. He was right; he was probably a dead man anyway. He was hardly trustworthy. But he couldn’t really hurt them in any way.

Before she could open her mouth, he cried out, “Wait! I can cook. I’m a good cook. Meals are wretched at sea, but I can keep meat fresh longer than any man alive, I can mix grog, and I know a recipe that keeps away the scurvy, too.”

“Any man can make grog,” Hagar said. “Rum, lemon and water.”

“But mine is the right combination. Keeps the growth from the water, makes it good and sweet for drinking. And I know spices and herbs. Take me on as a cook. Please,” he begged.

“He’ll hide in any battle,” Hagar warned.

“He can hide down by the guns, then,” Red said. “Are you capable of priming and loading a cannon.”

“I am.”

“What’s your name?”

“O’Hara. Jimmy O’Hara. Once an Irishman, never an Orangeman. No country of my own.”

She lowered her eyes for a moment. Time had passed, years, and this was a different world….

“Take him on,” she said.

When she started walking quickly toward the wharf, unwilling to stay ashore and determined to take the tender back to the ship, she found Brendan by her side.

And Logan Haggerty on the other.

Hagar and Peg-leg brought up the rear, Jimmy O’Hara between them.

And now, even as the rain fell harder, the alley came alive. All those who had cowered in their rooms above were down in the street.

The bodies of the fallen would be picked clean of whatever coins and trinkets, pipes and tobacco, they might have been carrying in their pockets. Boots and clothes, if in any kind of repair, would be stripped. She could only hope the bodies would be buried, as well.

Most probably they would be, she told herself. The residents wouldn’t want to live with the smell once the sun rose in the morning and the stench of decay set in.

“Where are you going?” Brendan asked softly. “I thought you had taken rooms.”

“The men may enjoy their shore leave, as promised. I’m returning to the ship. Tomorrow we’ll take on supplies. Then we’ll head north.”

“And what about O’Hara?” Brendan asked.

She shrugged. “We’ll see if he can cook.”

“But he tried to kill you,” Brendan reminded her.

“No. He came along because he needed money.”

“What if he plans on poisoning us all?” Brendan asked quietly.

She smiled. “Well, we have Lord Haggerty, don’t we?”

“Ship’s taster,” Logan said, not glancing her way.

“Red…” Brendan began.

“Don’t worry. I don’t believe he’s a poisoner. Neither does our good captain,” Logan said, then looked at Red at last. “I strive to please.”

She stared back at him for a long while. She liked the man, and she hated that she did. Pirates’ honor, indeed. Logan had his own code. He could have escaped tonight. Instead, he had fought for her, and fought well and hard.

“Ransom or no, we will set Laird Haggerty free in the Carolinas,” she said.

He was still staring at her.

“You have earned your freedom,” she said simply.

He smiled slowly. “Have I?” he asked softly. “Perhaps I played this game tonight because I knew the other side would lose.”

“We’d not have found you without Laird Haggerty,” Brendan said. “He threatened Sonya, and then a drunk, to find out where you’d gone. And he was the marksman who killed their leader.”

“You might have missed—and gotten me,” Red said.

“I don’t miss,” he assured her.

“Too bad he isn’t a pirate, eh?” Brendan said, and stepped between them, slipping an arm around both their shoulders.

“Too bad,” she mused dryly.

And too bad that she was.

Better than her other options, she thought, then wished she had never set eyes on Laird Logan Haggerty and his ship.

LOGAN SAT ON DECK, idly tossing bits of dried fish to one of the ship’s cats, a tabby he’d grown quite fond of. The animal was called Rat because he was so efficient at ridding the hold of the creatures who would otherwise ravage their food stores. Rat had a harem of females who did his work with him. He was a huge beast, never afraid, and most of the crew steered clear of him. Rat had an affinity for the captain, though, and Red could pick up the cat and he would purr. The animal was as loyal to their captain as the best hound could ever be.

As were her men.

Those who appeared to have come from some kind of finer life, and those who seemed to have been born swabbies.

Peg-leg was in the captain’s cabin. Logan had just finished repairing a tear in the mainsail and was about to tar a gap in the hold, but even prisoners were given a luncheon break.

Especially prisoners who had been offered further shore leave but had chosen to return. In fact, being quite fond of his health, he had resisted the entertainments offered by Sonya and her fellows, and had been pleased to return to the ship. Their supplies were being loaded even now, and he had to admit that their new cook, Jimmy O’Hara, seemed to have a good idea of how to buy salt and store meat and the rest of their provisions. He’d tasted the fellow’s grog, and it was damned good and even left a fellow with a stable mind. Such a man could be a valuable asset, for he’d heard of far more pirate attacks for simple necessities than he had for gold. Pirates could not put into any port. Meat went bad easily. Weevils tore apart wheat, bread and rice.