A Pirate's Possession (28 page)

She took a musket, tucked another pistol into the back of her pants, and gathered with the men. When the weapons were unloaded, the boat was sent back again. Yet this time it wouldn't be returning. It would be lifted onto the ship, which, it was decided, was going to the other beach. There were enough men on board to defend her should the other ship attack, and if the fire signaled others, they didn't want to leave evidence that there were men about.

“What's in there?” she asked Vincent. He had a bag slung over his shoulder and he was holding it as delicately as if it were a babe.

“Stinkpots. I make the worst. I only had four ready, so they'll have to do. A bit of warning, Claire, you don't want to be anywhere near them when they explode.”

 

 

Dawn cast its soft light over the treasure. The fire was burning down, or at least the glow of orange wasn't as bright as it had been. Had he misjudged? Should he have spent the last two hours loading the treasure instead of waiting here for what might not be coming? James slapped the bug that was determined to fray the last of his nerves. There was a slight satisfaction in feeling it squish against his cheek.

He wished the men who'd been sent as lookouts would return with news. Just then the leaves burst open and they stumbled into the open without warning. James's fingers itched to pull the trigger despite the fact that they were his own men. Stupidity deserved to be punished.

“We almost shot you,” Horace grumbled.

“You'd better have news,” James warned.

“A ship, Captain, and at least a dozen men already ashore.”

So it was a signal, and not a trap. Dammit, had he known, he would have begun to load the treasure.

“Are we to haul it out, sir?” Horace asked.

James shook his head. “This changes nothing. The men are already ashore. They'll be here soon enough. Have your weapons ready; we're in for a fight.”

Twenty-one

As far as strategies went, it was a damn solid one. But that didn't mean Nate had to like it. He wanted Claire beside him. He didn't care that it wasn't rational thinking; he simply hated that he couldn't see her. She had a task and he didn't doubt she'd accomplish it, but what if something went wrong? He couldn't protect her if he was too far away.

“Be safe,” he whispered as he crouched in the bushes.

With the early morning light bathing the cemetery, Nate could see the treasure spread out on the ground. It was even bigger than he'd imagined. Casks, chests, satchels stretched to their limit. And judging from where the expansive hole was, he and Claire had been right about its location as well.

Claire. Nate closed his eyes for a moment. When this treasure was finally behind them, he was going to talk to her once and for all. A shrill whistle split the silence. Nate immediately began to pay attention. That was Vincent's signal.

From his position in the trees behind the graveyard, Aidan let the first stinkpot fly. It exploded, and gray and black fingers of smoke rose from the open pit where the treasure had been. Nate had figured there would be men hiding in there, and he was proved right when they began screaming and struggling to get out of the pit. They shoved each other in their haste to escape the burning in their eyes and the scorching in their throats. Before they had made it out, Aidan sent another pot sailing.

That one burst with a nasty green-looking vapor. Nate winced in understanding as the men around it screamed and clawed at their eyes. Those who had been hiding behind the low wall of the graveyard leapt up and began firing weapons blindly into the forest.

Bullets burst through the trees, ripped through leaves, and pierced tree trunks with muffled whacks. Nate ducked his head and grabbed his pistol. Lying low on his belly, he aimed and fired. As he reached for another pistol, an arrow whizzed through the graveyard. It pierced a man through the wrist. He immediately dropped his weapon and howled in horror.

Nate arched an appreciative brow. Apparently Aidan had been taught well. He didn't see James, but that was fine. He'd get to him, taking his crew down one at a time if necessary. Focusing his aim, Nate fired again.

The smell of burnt gunpowder filled the air. Nate's crew was coming through the trees now, pistols and muskets in hand. Their battle cries made the hair on the back of Claire's neck rise to attention.

Nate had a musket to his shoulder. The barrel caught the rays of the ascending sun. He cocked his head, took his aim, and squeezed the trigger. Before smoke had cleared the barrel, he was running.

She'd been stationed at the other edge of the clearing, where James would go if he decided to head to his ship. It wasn't James, but three of his men were coming straight for where she hid. Claire shoved branches and leaves out of her way, aimed for the ground before them, and threw with all her might.

They knew what it was, but before they could do more than scramble for a change of direction, poisonous smoke had them coughing and falling to their knees. Some of Nate's crew stepped out from behind her and ensured those men never made it to their ship.

James's men howled, and suddenly split into two groups. One of them stayed in the graveyard and the other charged Claire and her group. Her blood pumped with nerves and a healthy dose of fear. She drew her pistols and dropped to the ground when one man took a shot at her. The bullet zinged by. She rolled, brought up her weapon, and fired. Tossing the loaded one from her left hand to her right, she pushed off from the ground.

A man was nearly upon her. Claire pulled back the hammer, but before she could fire, there was a shot. The man staggered, then swayed. Blood bubbled out of his chest and dripped from the corner of his mouth. His eyes rolled even as he stepped toward her. He died at her feet. Claire looked round. Blake nodded, tossed his spent pistol, and grabbed another.

Within moments after that, it was too late for pistols or muskets as the crew of the
Revenge
and that of James's ship intertwined, and to risk a shot would put their own in harm's way. Claire searched through the bedlam of movement, saw Nate swipe his sword, and breathed in relief.

Swords sparked and the clashing sounds of blade on blade rang over the trees. Drawing her sword from its scabbard, Claire jumped into the chaos. A blur of movement had her swirling about, sword raised. A man's blade clashed against hers, sending a hard jolt down her arm. Claire pushed back with a snarl and the blades shoved apart. Moving quickly, she thrust at her enemy and succeeded in ripping a gash into his shoulder.

Curses spewed from his lips as he lunged for Claire. Anticipating, she jumped aside, brought her sword down hard on his, and knocked it out of his hands. She moved in, prepared to deliver the final blow, but Luke beat her to it, with a rap from the butt of his pistol to her opponent's head. Luke didn't blink, but simply spun to another opponent. He wasn't even sweating, Claire thought, as she herself had to wipe the moisture from her brow.

An arrow whistled past her ear. Heart in her throat, Claire spun. Aidan was on the fringe of the madness, and even as she watched, he notched another arrow, closed one eye, and released his fingers. The arrow sailed straight and true and pierced a man in the neck. Any that tried to attack Aidan were dead before they could reach him. It was a good thing there wasn't time for pistols to be reloaded.

Claire swung, parried, and lunged until her arm trembled and her breath was rasping through her lungs. The sword felt as though it outweighed her, and each time she brought it up, it didn't go quite as high as it had the time before. There was no chance to look around, to see where they stood. There was only attack or be attacked instead. Grinding her teeth against exhaustion, Claire brought down her blade.

Nate wasn't sure, but he thought they were making progress. He'd taken down a few already, had the blood on his sword to prove it. He'd seen many fall, by his hand or that of his crew's, but he couldn't help wondering how much longer they'd have to keep this up. Sweat poured down his back and his shirt clung to the dampness.

“Holy hell!” Vincent sputtered. His round face was pale and his eyes were wide. His little chest was heaving. “Where are they all coming from?”

Before Nate could answer, he caught sight of Claire bringing down her sword, only to have her attacker swing his own in a hard circle that ripped Claire's weapon from her hand. Nate's heart took a hard jolt.

“Run!” he yelled to her, but his words were lost in the din of battle.

Shoving men aside, he fought his way forward.

He was suddenly knocked aside when the dead weight of a man fell on him. Nate lost his footing and roared in helplessness as he fell to the ground. He'd barely hit dirt before he was rearing up again.

“Are you deliberately trying to get yourself killed?” Blake asked, grabbing Nate by the back of the shirt.

“Let me go! She's in trouble.”

“She's handling it,” Blake argued and jerked a hand toward Claire.

Through the haze of his fear he saw her kick out, land a hard blow to her attacker's knee. Nate flinched when the joint bent unnaturally and the man toppled over. As he howled in pain, Claire grabbed her sword from the ground.

Aidan ran up. “I'm out of arrows.”

“Use yer sword, lad, and don't miss,” Joe spit as he screamed and charged yet another man.

Aidan hadn't needed to be told. He already had it in his hands and he used it now to deflect and parry. Then he scurried back, lowering his weapon. The man he'd been fighting growled and attacked. Aidan raced forward, slid on his hip, and kicked the man's legs out from under him. Jumping to his feet, Aidan disarmed the scoundrel, then, for extra measure, sliced the man's hand so he couldn't hold a weapon.

Blake shoved Nate's arm. “Vincent.”

Nate spun. Vincent was surrounded. Four against one, not good odds when the one being circled was a dwarf. Vincent looked particularly small all of a sudden and a cold ball of fear dropped into Nate's stomach. He ran to help.

Blake was beside him and they hit the attackers with a series of hard strikes that left no room for counterattack. Vincent moved, using his smallness as an advantage. His sword rang out as he blocked a shot. He dipped, scooped up soil from the recently dug up earth, and threw it in a man's eye. The man cursed and shook his head to dislodge the dirt. Vincent charged him and sent him flying into the open cavity.

Nate swung hard at his new opponent but the man was equally strong and he blocked Nate's attack. He grinned and began hacking in return. Nate cut a quick glance, all he could manage and not get himself cut into pieces. That's when he saw James, who was almost upon Vincent.

“Vincent!” Nate yelled.

Vincent spun, but it was too late. In horror, Nate watched James's sword pierce Vincent's right side. “No!” Nate roared when Vincent staggered and fell, his sword sliding from his hand.

Suddenly Claire was there and she charged James.

Air brushed Nate's face, forcing him to pay attention. But it was hard. In his mind he saw Vincent falling, over and over, and he felt both fear and helplessness. Driven by that fear, Nate blocked, ducked, and evaded. He hammered at the man's sword until his heart felt stretched from the effort and the grip of his weapon was slick in his hand. But he'd have revenge. Nobody hurt the people he cared about.

Blake came from behind then and knocked Nate's attacker down with a blow to the back of the head. Nate staggered and wiped his mouth.

“Vincent.” He ran for his friend, Blake at his heels.

Nate dropped to his knees, was sure his heart was right there on the ground next to them. Vincent's eyes were closed and his face was still. A stain of blood, the size of a small fist, had already soaked through his shirt.

Nate ripped open the garment to better see the wound, touched his fingers to the skin near the gash.

“Holy hell,” Vincent cursed, his eyes opening.

For a moment Nate had been afraid he'd never see those eyes again. His hands were unsteady as he peered at the wound.

“You're supposed to avoid the pointy end,” Blake teased, but Nate heard the emotion that rocked his voice.

Vincent winced. “I'll remember that . . . next time.” He sucked in a breath. “Goddamn, Nate, quit poking at it.”

The bleeding was minimal. Nate breathed a sigh of relief and balanced on his heels.

“You scream like a girl,” he teased, using the exact words Vincent had used on him when he'd gotten a piece of mast stuck in the back of his thigh.

Blake laughed.

“Very funny,” Vincent said, already trying to get up. “Did Claire at least get the bastard?”

Claire!
Nate spun round just in time to see Claire's sword get knocked from her hand. She was done, Nate could see. Her face was running with perspiration. Her shoulders drooped. Renewed energy pumped through his veins as he saw her facing James, unarmed and exhausted. Nate jumped to his feet, reaching for the sword he'd dropped.

“Claire!”

James laughed. “Claire, is it?” he asked with a lecherous grin. Then he dropped his sword and ran forward.

And sent both himself and Claire tumbling into the open hole.

Tangled up with one scoundrel, Claire fell hard on another. Pain bright as a lightning strike rocked her body as she was pressed between them. Though they were a jumble of limbs snarled together like vines, Claire didn't attempt to reach for her knife. She couldn't, not when simply drawing a breath equaled jabbing her chest with a thousand needles.

“Get off me!” the one beneath her raged. His breath was hot and sticky in her ear and his hands were anything but gentle as he shoved at her. Each jolt brought a gasp to her lips. Her eyes watered with pain.