Читать книгу The Pirate Bride - Shannon Drake - Страница 9

THE SOUND WAS haunting, would always be haunting…

There were hoofbeats coming like thunder. A slow rumble at first, like a tremor pulsing beneath the earth. With the first vibration, it seemed as if the birds screamed, followed by the rushing of the wind. The sound of the hoofbeats grew louder, the quivering of the earth, deeper. Then, a mere heartbeat later, the pounding hooves came ripping through grass and dirt, striking sparks off rock, shaking the world.

By the time the horses raced into view, there was screaming everywhere. People were running, desperate.

The thunder was upon them. As loud as if a bolt of lightning had struck the ground and blasted a hole through the globe.

Then…

A sword, glittering in the sun.

The blood, a cascade of it, gushing, flying…turning the blue day to red.

And the bodies…

Red awoke gasping, stunned and frightened, but aware that someone was there, someone with strong hands, and a frantic and yet somehow reassuring whisper.

“Stop. Don’t scream.”

Red let out a shaky sigh, gulping for air, but remained silent.

“You haven’t had the nightmare in a long time.”

Red nodded.

“It was the fight,” Brendan said.

“I don’t know what it was,” Red said curtly.

“I do,” Brendan said. “It was the duel.”

Red was silent.

“Do you think he knows?” Brendan asked anxiously.

Red straightened and rose, escaping Brendan’s touch, to pace the confines of the master’s cabin.

“I don’t know.”

“You scared me to death, you know,” Brendan said, getting to his feet, as well. He caught Red by the shoulders and looked into those striking blue eyes. “You could have been killed.”

“I could have been killed a dozen times over the past few years,” Red said.

That was true enough.

Brendan released Red and began pacing himself. “The fellow is clever, too clever. I mean, what fool transporting such treasure would dare such a brazen ploy? God knows, most pirates would not have bowed to such a bargain.”

Red sank down on the elaborate sofa that flanked the handsome mahogany desk. “No?” The reply was dry. “I seem to recall successfully using a similar ploy against the great Blackbeard himself.”

Brendan paused and stared at Red. “Blackbeard told me he was amazed when he met you, fascinated, and that he thought you such a pretty boy it amused him not to kill you. He seemed quite baffled by his own response.”

“I beat even the great Edward Teach fairly,” Red told him indignantly.

Brendan shook his head. “Only because at first he was laughing so hard that he underestimated you. He knew you were a woman, Bobbie. He admired you tremendously.”

“A good thing, since he is still a friend and has kept my secret,” she said sharply. “And that is the thing, Brendan. Most the fellows we run into are vermin-ridden and desperate men, keen on making their fortunes—yet easily swayed by a bottle of rum and a whore. But even those filthy, rotten-toothed knaves usually have a certain honor. Honor among thieves, if you will. But they have shown more honor than most of the supposedly respectable noblemen with whom we’ve come in contact. They adhere to the pirate’s code of ethics. We did nothing less today.”

“I fear he knows,” Brendan said darkly.

“So what? Our whole crew knows,” she pointed out.

“The whole crew worships you. You saved them from certain death,” he reminded her. “An act you might have found yourself hanged for, by law.”

She shrugged. At the time, there had been nothing else to do. That had been her first act as a pirate. She had done exceptionally well, taking everything into consideration. “We might have died, as well. There was no guarantee for the future when we began. We were already impersonating others, even then.”

A quick smile curled Brendan’s lips. “You did go from being Lady Cuthbert to Red Robert with amazing speed. You could have done remarkably well on the stage.”

Red had been smiling, as well, but now her smile faded. “Aye, and what good would a life on the stage do me? I’d be considered no more than a harlot at that, either.”

“You would live to a grand old age, perhaps,” Brendan said.

“That wouldn’t be living. Brendan, I cannot forget…”

“That’s evident. Your screams are terrible. I thank God I was able to transform that closet around the corner into a first-mate’s chamber. If you scream so and I cannot stop you before you are heard, we will be in serious trouble.”

“The nightmare hasn’t come in almost a year,” she said.

Brendan went to his knees at her feet, touching her cheek tenderly. “We are living a dangerous lie. A very dangerous lie.”

She touched his face in return. “I’m all right. I swear it. I will not dream again.”

“You can’t know that! We need to—”

“Turn back?”

“Aye, Bobbie, we must turn back.”

Roberta stood again. “I will never turn back.”

“But, Bobbie…”

She stared at him, minus the dark wig, minus the boots and knives and pistols, the coat and the plumed hat. Her real hair was red, and it streamed down her back in soft glistening curls in the glow of the lamplight. She knew that, minus her trappings, she appeared almost frail and ethereal. She knew and loved her own crew, especially Hagar, who had been their friend before. They would never harm her, and they would die before they saw her harmed. But her facade was a strong one, because it was necessary. And no matter how she appeared in the dead of night, in truth, the ruthlessness she showed in pursuit of her cause, the strength and determination, were now the reality of who she was.

“There are no buts, Brendan. Now, beloved cousin, we both need to get some sleep.”

“I still fear he knows,” Brendan said dourly.

She smiled at him sweetly. “Then he’ll have to die.”

“I STILL SAY YOU take too many risks.”

Logan was startled, in his prison below the deck, by the words he heard so clearly. He’d spent the last two days in a small hold, walled away from the cargo. At some point it might have been private quarters for a ship’s officer, but now it was barren of anything—anything at all. It was a ten-by-ten wooden space, but there were two small horizontal windows, perhaps ten inches long and three inches high, and he had listened at them constantly, hearing whatever he could of the crew’s conversations.

They hadn’t said much. But after two days of solitude broken only by the arrival of a tray of food three times a day, along with fresh water and a small portion of rum, any conversation was, if not elucidating, at least momentarily entertaining.

He’d wondered frequently just how long his imprisonment would last. It was certainly not the worst punishment he might have received. No whips had been brought against his back, he hadn’t been starved, or threatened with death or mutilation…but the monotony, after only two days, was numbing. He’d spent his first hours seeking a means of escape, then sought for one again, even when he realized there was but one door and it was kept closed by a massive lock. The crew were diligent and took no chances. Several armed men came to the door each time food was delivered.

He spent hours mock-dueling with himself with no sword, hours pacing the small confines, and hours thinking. The thinking he tried to stop. It led him nowhere.

This time, though, it was very late in the night, and the ship had been quiet for hours. And the voices he heard now belonged to Red Robert and his first mate, Brendan.

Red let out a soft chuckle. “Ah, but what is life but risk?”

“Yes, but up until now you’ve had a plan, and now…now you’re risking your life.”

“Brendan, stop this obsession. We risk our lives every morning when we awake and take a breath.”

Brendan let out a sigh of aggravation.

“You shouldn’t have kept the prisoner.”

“I should have killed them all?”

“No.” There was a silence. “Damned good ship, though, and you let it sail away.”

“We don’t need another ship.”

“We didn’t need a prisoner.”

“What difference does his presence make? We may find someone willing to pay for his release.”

“Right. He was out on the seas stealing from the ancients when we came upon him,” Brendan said dryly.

“A man has to make his own fortune, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t someone out there willing to pay for his release.”

Brendan grunted. “He’ll go mad by the time you let him out.”

“No harm has been done to him.”

“Imprisonment can destroy the mind. You’ve left him with nothing. Not a book…not a thing. He can’t even practice tying knots.”

“Give a man a rope, he may hang himself,” the captain pointed out.

“He’s able-bodied.”

“Too able-bodied,” Red snapped.

“He could work.”

“And he could escape. Kill someone and escape.”

“He wouldn’t,” Brendan said.

I wouldn’t?

“Oh?” Red asked.

“He’s a man of his word.”

“And he’s given his word not to escape?”

“You haven’t asked him for it.”

“He isn’t being tortured,” Red said impatiently.

“He could be useful on deck.”

“We don’t need a deckhand.”

Brendan sniffed. “We’re not a large group, you know.”

“Nor can we be.”

“So we can use another deckhand.”

Red groaned and fell silent.

“Look, when this began…I understood. But now…what exactly are you looking for?” Brendan’s voice sounded both sad and serious.

There was silence, then a soft reply. “Revenge. It’s what keeps me going. It’s my only reason to stay alive.”

He heard footsteps; then the captain called to one of the men, checking on the ship’s heading. They were going in a southwesterly direction, and Logan couldn’t help wondering why.

He leaned back against the wall thoughtfully. The captain was indeed young. But for one so young, there was something ageless in his outlook. Revenge, not life, was not the most worthy prize. How had one so young come to hate so much?

Maybe it wasn’t all that difficult. Such was the wretchedness of life that many were born to endure. Some rose above it. Some barely survived it.

Some died.

And some became cutthroats, thieves and pirates.

But Red Robert…something about him was different. He was so small and almost…effete, extremely adept of course, but hardly…manly.

Logan leaned back in deeper thought, and in a few minutes he knew he had to be right about the conclusion he had come to.

But…why?

And just what revenge could drive someone to such desperate measures?

Logan was cuffed when he was taken from his cubicle in the cargo hold. Brendan apologized, as two men took care of the actual shackling. “Sorry, my friend. But we respect your talents, and thus…well, I’m sure you understand.”

Logan nodded gravely. “Thank you, my friend. I will take that as a compliment.”

Brendan shrugged. He led the way past the first hold, with its guns, powder, crates of cargo and supplies, and crew hammocks, and then topside. Ah, topside. Fresh air. It was clean and clear, and the breeze was soft and beautiful. No rain was on the horizon, and no storm clouds threatened the heavens. He was glad for a minute just to stand there, to feel the embrace of the sun.

But then a hand was clamped on his shoulder, and he was led toward the aft cabin. Brendan knocked on the door and received a crisp “Aye” from Captain Robert.

Brendan nodded to Logan, indicating that he should enter. As the door closed behind him, Logan found the captain, fully dressed in breeches, shirt, vest, coat, boots and hat, seated at a large mahogany desk and writing with a quill pen. He did not look up at Logan’s entry, nor when he spoke.

“It’s been brought to my attention that although your welfare certainly means little enough, you might be of use on deck, though I confess I do not trust you. That being said, my mate seems to believe you would be willing to give your oath that you would make no foolish attempts at escape, were we to set you to work topside.” The quill was set into the inkpot. The captain looked up at last. “Quite frankly, if you did try to escape, we would have to kill you. Not a great loss to us, I’m afraid, but as you are certainly adept with weapons, I would be loathe to lose a loyal crew member over you. The choice is yours.”

Crisp words, hard spoken, no humor on the face, the facade quite effective.

“I don’t even know where we are. I’m not at all sure where I could escape to. The waters of the Caribbean are warm, but vast,” he replied.

“That’s not exactly an oath. Try to escape now, and yes, you would die, one way or the other. And, as I said, it means little to us, since there’s no guarantee we can gain any reward whatsoever for your life.” The pirate was staring at him intently. Those eyes were…

Deep blue. And haunting.

“I give you my word, Captain, that I will not try to escape while working topside,” Logan said, his tone as level and emotionless as the captain’s.

The captain assessed him with a direct and emotionless stare. And then…just the slightest hint of a smile. “Good. It’s laundry day.”

“Laundry?” Logan said incredulously.

“Aye, laundry.”

“But…we’re at sea.”

“Aye, that we are.”

“But you’d be wasting good water!”

“What I waste is my concern. There is a Bible on the edge of my desk. Place your hand upon it and swear you will not try to escape.” Again, a subtle smile upon the captain’s lips. The young face could be gamine-like, delicate…beautiful, beneath the attempt at ruggedness. “And that you will do laundry.” Red picked up the quill again and began to write. “And bathe.”

“Bathe?” Logan inquired politely.

“There’s a breeze today, you may have noticed. Otherwise, the Caribbean is quite hot. What many of my associates upon these seas have not noticed is that we seem to avoid the dangers of disease with greater success than others because we make every attempt to keep this vessel free from vermin, such as rats, and the lice that are prone to so enjoy the human scalp and body. When we are at anchor, by the islands, my men are quite fond of swimming. They have discovered that saltwater is excellent for whatever may be plaguing their skin. So, you will serve—and bathe—as one of us. Or you may rot back in the cargo hold.”

“Captain, bathing does not at all dissuade me.”

“And laundry?”

“It will be a new…adventure,” he admitted.

“Adventure,” Red mused. “Well, then. Swear. On the Bible.”

“Do most of your captives believe in God, Captain?”

“Most men claim not to give a damn if the devil takes them, but I don’t believe you’re the average man. Then again, at the point of death, a man’s beliefs have a tendency to change. I’ve seen many a supposed disbeliever cry out to heaven when he knows his death is imminent. So, swear or return to the brig.”

He picked up the Bible and gave his oath.

When he set it down he said, “Laundry…and bathing. I can only assume then, given that I have correctly ascertained our direction, we’re heading for Nassau.”

“Nassau, New Providence. You know it?” Red asked politely. “You don’t appear to be the type of man who spends much time there.”

“I’ve been there,” Logan said.

“Well?” Red demanded, when Logan continued to stand there.

“Will I be allowed to go ashore?”

“Yes.”

“How magnanimous of you.”

Red turned those striking eyes full on him. “Pirates do have honor, as you keep pointing out to me. I will see to it that everyone is made aware that you are a captive and where you belong. Should you attempt to escape, any one of them would happily kill you, because we’ll have a bounty on your head, a fair sum for your return—dead or alive,” Red said pleasantly.

“That won’t be necessary,” Logan said.

“Really?”

“I have given my word. And, Captain, if you’re curious, I do believe in God, in the hereafter and in purgatory. I prefer to spend my full share of years upon this earth, but I am not afraid to die.”

“Bravo,” Red said dryly.

“You are obviously not afraid to die,” Logan said.

Red once again set down the quill. “You said it so well, Lord Haggerty. I would prefer to spend my time upon the earth, rather than beneath it—or as fish food, as might well be my fate. But I am not afraid of death. You may go now.”

“I am handcuffed.”

“So you are.”

“It’s difficult to do laundry in handcuffs.”

“That matter will be rectified.”

“Captain Red Robert…” Logan said musingly.

“What now?”

“You, too, do not seem to be the type of…man to spend time in New Providence.”

“And why is that?”

“I’ve not seen all that many well-bathed gentlemen upon the island.”

“I have certainly never claimed to be a gentleman, much less do I claim the title of ‘lord.’”

“I definitely do claim it—it just doesn’t mean a great deal.”

“Many a man buys his bath on New Providence,” Red said impatiently.

“Yes, and many other things.” Logan grinned knowingly, as one man to another.

“Are you talking just to annoy me, or to avoid doing laundry?”

Logan smiled. “Well, it is in the articles of piracy that there should be no women aboard a ship. Bad luck, you know and brawls between the men.”

“If you’re asking me if you can buy a whore on the island, Lord Haggerty, you might want to recall that you are a captive, and as such, you have no coin.”

Logan was still grinning. “That would be ‘no,’ then?”

“Do you wish to return to the brig?” Red demanded.

“Not at all. I am quite intrigued by the concept of laundry.”

“Aye, I don’t imagine a lord knows much about it.”

“I pronounce it ‘laird,’” Logan said, surprised by his own sudden irritability.

“A Scotsman, then?” Red said politely. “I had noticed the accent.”

“Indeed.”

Red stared at him. “No better than an Englishman, I’m afraid.” Red’s voice rose. “Brendan!”

The door opened; Brendan was waiting.

Logan cleared his throat and lifted his hands. “You have my word,” he said seriously.

“Captain, seeing as the man has sworn, may I remove the shackles?”

Red Robert had returned to the quill and paper but gave a slight nod.

Brendan grinned. Logan realized the captain’s right-hand man liked him, or at least respected him. He realized, as well, that Brendan bore a resemblance to the captain, or vice versa. They were both far too young for this life.

Then again, few grew old in it.

“Laundry, I’m afraid,” Brendan said.

Logan shrugged. “Lead me to it.”

SHE HEARD LAUGHTER on deck.

Laughter!

Red stood and walked to the cabin windows. Shifting the drape slightly aside, she stared at the improbable sight on deck. The men were teaching their prisoner the art of laundry.

He had already found himself a comfortable niche within the group, which told her that he was either a fearless idiot or very brave indeed. Either way, he was dangerous.

There was a knock at the door, which opened before Red could find out who was there or ask him to enter. It was Brendan.

“Aha!” he said. “You’re spying on our captive.”

“I’m the captain,” Red said irritably. “I can spy on anyone I want.”

“The captain.” Brendan laughed, then sat, placing his feet up on her desk, at ease and amused. “He’s quite a man, is he not?”

“Interesting, at least.”

“And a good swordsman.”

“Yes, I noticed.” A finger rose to her cheek, as if on its own.

“It’s a nick. It won’t scar.”

“I am scarred to the quick as it is, Brendan.”

“Ah, but that’s your soul, not your flesh.”

Red shooed him away from the desk and sat herself. “We’re heading for New Providence.”

“Aye, that’s been your course. But—”

“We can sell this new cargo there.”

“We can get more for it in the colonies.”

“I don’t want to travel so far with this much treasure. Word of what we have will get out, and we’ll be under attack by every untrustworthy sailor out there. It may be considered ill luck to attack a fellow pirate, but most of the time our peers are greedier than they are superstitious.”

Brendan was silent for a while before changing the subject. “I know I have been tormenting you lately, but you must know this life we lead can’t go on forever. How long do you plan to carry on this charade?”

“As long as it takes.”

He leaned forward. “It grows more dangerous every day. And I don’t like going into Nassau. It’s a lair of the worst filth known to humanity. The fellow sharing your rum bottle one moment will gladly share his dagger the next.”

“That’s why the entire crew is careful and ever watchful of one another’s backs,” Red said.

Brendan shook his head. “You want to go to Nassau to see if you can’t find out where he’s heading.”

“Of course.”

Brendan fell silent again.

“Will you please stop fretting?” Red finally demanded, aggravated.

“Lately…lately I’ve been afraid, I admit. Look, we’ve done well…we could find some place, assume new identities…we could live decent lives. Real lives. There are places in America where we could disappear.”

“It isn’t about money, Brendan.”

Brendan shook his head. “Bobbie, you know the kind of man he is. He’s going to be killed by someone, somewhere.”

“Oh, really? He’s managed to spend nearly two decades making his fortune off the terror and tragedy of others. Besides, I would prefer to kill him myself,” Red said sharply. “And stop calling me Bobbie, please. I’m Captain Red.”

Brendan looked aggravated. “You’re Roberta, Bobbie to me, no matter what charade we’re playing. We’ve survived this far together, but we used to be…you used to listen to me. I have a terrible feeling we’ve taken things too far.”

The set of Red’s features was stubborn. “Brendan,” she said, and there was steel in her voice, as well as a certain compassion, “if you wish to quit, you may do so. I can set you ashore at a safe harbor of your choosing, and you can take passage on a ship to the colonies. You can claim to have been the victim of a kidnapping for all the time we’ve been at sea, God knows, it will not have been the first such time that has happened.”

“Bobbie, God knows I have fought, and fought hard, at your side. I have risked my life, just as you have risked yours.”

“No one has fought harder,” she agreed.

“But I can’t help but admit to this strange desire to survive.”

“I want to survive, too. Instinct, I suppose.”

“There is a life out there for you…somewhere.”

“Brendan, what, in all the time that we have shared together, have I known that might be construed as an actual life?”

She saw the pain in his eyes. Brendan had shared so much with her from the beginning. Terror. Poverty. Servitude, threats, abuse, and an elite governing body that had turned its collective back upon them. She had finally discovered the only true kinship she had ever known among the pirate brethren.

Brendan rose suddenly. “Who knows? Maybe if our wretched old mistress had sent you off to a decent and compassionate—albeit old and disease-riddled—man, things would have been different.”

She cast him a furious stare.

“What a wonderful suggestion, Brendan. I could have lived a wretched life as a syphilitic whore and then died a wretched death. I’ll take a sword,” she added softly.

“Bobbie—”

“Stop calling me Bobbie!”

“The men know your name.”

“Our prisoner does not.”

“The prisoner you’ve been spying on. If you’re so intrigued, come out and join your men, Captain Red Robert.”

“If you wish to be nothing but a pest, you should leave and enjoy the company of the prisoner and the men,” Red said irritably.

“I’ll do so,” Brendan said, and grinned.

When he was gone, Red stared at the door, wondering why she felt so ridiculously annoyed. And worried. Brendan’s certainty that they had taken their act-turned-real-life too far was beginning to make her uneasy despite herself. She gritted her teeth, looking at the lists she was preparing regarding the division of their take. The words seemed to swim before her. She was getting cabin fever. She had stayed locked up in her small realm on the ship for too long. She needed air.

Brendan’s accusations were true. She was obsessed. But he was out there. And she meant to find him, to kill him, or die in the trying.

Blair Colm.

So many years had passed. But if she closed her eyes…

When she slept too sweetly…

She could see it all again as if it had happened just yesterday. They’d been but children then.

There were men who fought because they fought for a cause. Others sought riches, titles, to better themselves in life.

And some were simply cruel. Some enjoyed watching the pain they caused others. They considered it only a bonus that slicing men, women and children to death often came with a reward, as well. Blair Colm was one of those men.

It was amazing that she and Brendan had survived….

But there had been so many others to kill.

And so they had been sold into indentured servitude in the colonies instead.

She had hated Lady Fotherington almost as much as she had hated Blair Colm. Prim, bony, iron-haired, iron-willed, she had thought that indentured servants did best when beaten at least once a week. To her way of thinking, certain nationalities created beings of lesser value, and Roberta and Brendan were certainly that.

Red looked at her hands, and sniffed. It had not been difficult to play the part of a man as far as the delicacy of her hands went. She had spent her days scrubbing…anything from the hearth in the kitchen to Ellen Fotherington’s hideous feet. The only kindness she had ever known had come from Ellen’s spinster daughter, Lygia. As tall and thin and bony as her mother, she rarely spoke in front of anyone. Red had finished with her tasks late one night and slipped into the office that had belonged to the late Lord Fotherington, and had found Lygia there, reading. Red had been terrified, certain she would receive an extra beating, but the great rows of books had beckoned to her forever. Stammering, she had tried to think up an excuse, but Lygia had actually smiled, and the smile had made her, if not beautiful, compelling. “Shh. I’m not supposed to be here, either. I am supposed to follow other arts, such as music and dance, but I do so love my father’s room. If only he had lived….”

He hadn’t lived, however. He had died of a flux. And so Ellen Fotherington had come to rule the mansion in Charleston, where she entertained statesmen, lords, ladies, artists and the gentry. She ordered the finest merchandise from England and France, and tea all the way from China. She ruled her house like a despot, and her only regret in life was that her daughter resembled her, and not her dashing husband.

The promise of a fortune should have seen Lygia well married, but she had read too many books over the years. She refused. She refused the young swains who were not old and ugly, but were only after her money. She refused the fellows who were so old they did not deem her ugly. Her mother had forced misery upon her, just as she did her servants, indentured, most of them, and little better than slaves. But Ellen had never been able to whip or bully Lygia into marriage.

So Red had been blessed with one friend. One who virtually gave her the world, because they shared a passion for books.

Ellen had a way of truly making slaves of her servants. If their time of servitude should come to completion, they were accused of taking something, using something…doing something. And so they owed her more time.

Red had seen many die in her service.

They had died because they had no hope. Their eyes had died long before their bodies had given out. Their spirits had perished. Mortal flesh could do nothing more than follow.

Ellen Fotherington did not hack people to pieces. She did not steal their birthrights. She took what made life most precious: freedom, and their very souls.

In Red’s case, she had determined to curry favor by shipping her to France and giving her to a hideous little count with gout and a dozen other wretched diseases to use as he wished. Under lock and key, Red was sent back across the Atlantic.

It was then that Red Robert, the most deadly pirate on the high seas, had been born.

Red lowered her head, inhaling deeply. She steadied herself, and then almost smiled. The captain of a merchantman they had once seized off Savannah had told her that Ellen had died. Slowly. Painfully.

She did believe in God.

And it might have been the only time she had ever believed that God also believed in her, no matter how un Christian such a thought might be. Ellen, who had paraded her entire household to church every Sunday, deserved to be in hell. God could afford to be forgiving; she could not.

Still, Blair Colm, the man who had slain infants in front of her for the sake of expediency, was still alive, a fact that desperately needed to be rectified. God had allowed him to live far too long. God had allowed him to commit far too many atrocities.

God needed her help.

God had helped her create Red Robert, and so Red Robert would now help God rid the world of Blair Colm.

That was one way to look at things, anyway. It was a way of seeing the world that helped her to stay sane and committed to her path.

And now that she had started upon her path, there was no going back.

She would not give up this life—could not give up this life—until he was dead.

And so…

On to New Providence.