Captured (43 page)

He lay absolutely still, a pool of crimson blood seeping from his body. She touched his face, then brought her fingers down to his chest. The shirt, which only an hour ago had been a cool white linen, was now soaked with blood. She lifted her hands. Cole’s blood dripped from her fingers.

“No… No… No!” It started as a whisper and escalated into a scream. She rocked back and forth over his body. Cole couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t be dead. The vision she’d had in Wilmington clouded her brain like a red, hazy hell: the gun, the blood, Cole was there… but not there. “No!” she screamed, willing it not to be true, refusing to accept it. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She was still screaming as Sharpe’s men grabbed her by the arms and pulled her away from Cole’s body. “No! No! Let me stay with him. Please, let me stay with him! He needs me! I have to help him—”

The men dragged her away. Monty’s face swam into focus before her. “My girl,” he said, “it’ll be all right. I promise, it’ll be all right.”

“No! No! Cole needs me—”

“For God’s sake, someone shut her up!” Jonas Sharpe growled.

A crewman stepped forward and slapped her hard across the face. Devon was knocked backward, remaining standing only by virtue of the two crewmen who grabbed her upper arms. She felt a sharp stinging sensation in her cheek and heard a roar in her ears, but she was strangely removed from it, as if she was very far away. The world was no longer anything but echoes and shadows. She felt no pain, no horror, nothing at all. A numbing, freezing fog settled over her. She welcomed it, embraced it.

Dimly she was aware of her Uncle Monty surging forward, his face crimson with fury as he lunged for the man who’d hit her. But Monty was no match for the four crewmen who leaped to restrain him. The pistol he’d used to shoot Cole fell from his grasp. It skid across the deck and flew overboard.

“Pity,” said Jonas Sharpe, “that was a fine piece. And I rather liked the thought of killing you with the same gun you used to kill McRae.”

Monty struggled furiously against the men who held him. “We had a deal, Sharpe!”

“The deal’s off,” Sharpe bit out. He turned and motioned to his crewmen. “Start the engines and bring them all to the bow. I want to be further out to sea before we throw them overboard. We can’t have their bodies washing ashore too soon, now can we?”

Devon watched indifferently as Monty and John put up a vicious struggle as the crewmen dragged them behind Sharpe. She followed without resistance, neither fighting nor helping, simply letting the crewmen pull her along. She realized with a sharp tug that they were leaving Cole behind, then just as quickly realized that it no longer mattered. He lay just a few feet away, motionless in a pool of blood. Her thoughts faded once again into blank nothingness.

The wind whipped her sodden skirts around her legs as the engine rumbled to life. They finally reached the bow. Heated words about money and honor were tossed back and forth between Monty and Sharpe, but Devon paid them no attention. She stared at the sky instead. It was twilight, that glorious time of day when dusky shadows of lavender and sapphire filled the sky, when the clouds were edged with gold and the sun sank crimson into the sea. Cole’s favorite time of day. She nodded approvingly. It was a good time to die.

The roar of an explosion suddenly shook them all. Devon stumbled as the ship lurched sideways, then a second explosion threw her forward. Released by the crewmen who’d been knocked off-balance as well, she stumbled onto her hands and knees. Jonas Sharpe grabbed her by the arm and yanked her roughly back up. “Go see what the hell that was,” he yelled to the crewmen who’d held her. “It sounded like it came from the engine room.” The crewmen raced off to obey.

Sharpe turned to Monty. “Looks like your precious niece won’t get to marry that duke after all. Because you were so helpful, Persons, I’m going to let you watch her die.”

Devon didn’t flinch as the cold steel of his gun pressed into her neck. She was ready, but she had one final request to make. She closed her eyes and muttered a brief prayer.

“Drop the gun, Sharpe, or I’ll blow your brains all over this deck.”

Cole.

Devon’s eyes flew open in disbelief. He stood just off to her left, his gun pressed against Jonas Sharpe’s skull. His shirt was still caked with blood, his expression was grim, but he was alive. Absolutely, stunningly alive. More than that, he looked healthy‌—‌and more utterly furious than she’d ever seen a human being in her life.

Cole cocked back his gun. “Now, God dammit.” Devon felt the steel pressure ease off her neck as Sharpe slowly pulled back. Cole reached for the man’s pistol and removed it from his grasp. “Devon, are you all right?”

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

Cole flicked his gaze toward her, his eyes dark with worry. “Devon?”

She swallowed hard. “Yes,” she finally managed.

Cole nodded tightly. “Tell your men to let them go,” he said to Sharpe, gesturing toward Monty and John. Sharpe obeyed and his men backed off. Devon watched with stunned amazement as he passed Sharpe’s weapon to Monty. “Watch them,” he said curtly.

“You’ll never get away with this,” Sharpe hissed. “You try to make a run to sea without the proper signal from the port, and there’ll be four Confederate warships roaring after you.”

“I’m going to give you the same choice I’ll give your men,” Cole said, ignoring the threat. “You can surrender and I’ll take you to prison alive, or you can drown in the wreck.”

Sharpe seethed with fury. “You wouldn’t wreck this ship, she’s too valuable‌—‌even to the North.”

“Wouldn’t I?” Cole asked darkly. “Can’t you feel it‌—‌we’re drifting, Sharpe. When you failed to leave a guard to watch a dead man, I had enough time to get below and blow up your engines. In five minutes the hull is going to be sliced open by the coral reef.”

Behind Cole, silhouetted in the fading twilight glow, Devon watched as the Ghost entered the narrow channel of the bay and sailed cleanly toward them. A dull roar filled her ears once again, making her distinctly light-headed. Strange, but not at all unpleasant She took a few steps backward, away from the group of men, suddenly needing more air than she was getting.

“You two had this planned all along, didn’t you?” she asked, looking from Cole to Monty,

Her Uncle Monty grinned broadly. “Brilliant, wasn’t it?”

“You never shot Cole.”

Monty waved that away. “Fired way over his head.”

She looked at Cole, who was staring back at her with the most peculiar expression on his face. “You really are alive then, aren’t you,” she said.

“Devon—”

“How lovely.” She gave him a wobbly smile. Her stomach flipped over, her knees turned to liquid, and the faces of the men spun around before her. Fortunately she didn’t have far to fall. The rough wooden deck obligingly rushed up to meet her.

Aboard the Ghost, the lights in the captain’s cabin burned softly. Cole stared down at Devon, his eyes dark with worry. She was still and unmoving, her face deathly pale except for the ugly bluish-green swelling on her cheek. He reached for a cool, damp cloth and pressed it gently against the bruise. “She should be awake by now,” he muttered, fighting back a rising sense of panic.

“Easy, my boy,” Monty said from behind him, placing his hand lightly on Cole’s shoulder. “She’s had a bit of a shock, that’s all. Give her a little more time.”

A bit of a shock, Cole thought in disgust. According to John, Devon had risked her life sailing over a treacherous coral reef, only to have been betrayed by her uncle, slapped senseless by a hotheaded crewman, and had a gun held to her throat by Jonas Sharpe. She’d watched her husband die, then miraculously seen him come back to life. That qualified in Cole’s book as more than “a bit of a shock.”

She lay absolutely still, a posture that was completely unlike Devon. Even in sleep, she moved constantly, tossing and turning, cuddling against him one minute, rolling atop him the next‌—‌a pattern Cole had not only become adjusted to, but thoroughly enjoyed. Devon was a bundle of vibrant feminine energy, of life, of love, of everything he could have wished for in the world.

Cole studied her in grim silence. He could see that she was breathing, but that was about it. He wet the cloth and returned it to her cheek, reviewing in his mind what had happened, wishing there’d been some way for him to stop it. He’d seen Devon only a fraction of a second before Monty had fired the shot. At that point, there’d been no way for him to stop their plan, or to react differently. Having been forced to lie there immobile while Devon touched him, to hear the naked anguish in her voice and not be able to reach for her, to comfort her, had been sheer torture. But had he done anything else, it likely would have cost them all their lives.

Still it had taken every ounce of strength he possessed not to move as the crewmen dragged her away from him. After that, from where he lay on deck, he’d been able to make out nothing but a muffled flurry of shouts and footsteps, all indistinct. The noise was buffered by the group of men who stood between him and Sharpe. It wasn’t until Cole had seen the nasty swelling on her cheek and Monty informed him that she’d been struck by one of the crewmen that he was aware of what had transpired. Had he seen it happen, there wouldn’t have been a force on earth that would have kept him from leaping up and ripping the man apart.

He heard a gentle moan and returned his gaze immediately to her face, watching her thick, sooty lashes flicker open. Her beautiful eyes were cloudy and dull, her brows drawn together in silent confusion. He lifted her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Devon,” he said softly. “Devon, you’re safe now, everything’s all right.” She studied him blankly, as though his words were nothing but gibberish uttered in a foreign tongue. Her gaze moved past him, fixing on a spot just over his shoulder.

“Welcome back, my girl,” Cole heard Monty say. “You’re aboard the Ghost now, and we’re here with you. It’s all over.”

Devon’s gaze moved slowly around the room as comprehension slowly dawned on her features. Her eyes snapped back to Cole, no longer blank and frightened, but full of hope and disbelief. “Cole?” she said.

He smiled softly and lifted her hand to touch his face. “I’m right here, love. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Oh, Cole…” Her voice came out a choked whisper that tore through his soul. She reached for him and he leaned down, gathering her into his embrace. He felt her shudder, then her tears trickled down and soaked his shoulder through his shirt. He cradled her against him and softly stroked her back, doing everything he could to ease away her fear, her pain.

“That’s enough of that,” Monty interrupted gruffly. “It’s my turn, Captain.”

Cole reluctantly let go and turned her into her uncle’s embrace. Monty hugged her solidly. “Didn’t I tell you to trust your old uncle?”

Devon pulled back. She sniffed and wiped away her tears. “Trust you? Never. You’re horrible, horrible men, and I hate you both,” she declared weakly, a shaky smile on her face. “I’m never going to forgive either one of you.”

She struggled to sit up. Cole immediately reached to assist her, but she slapped away his hands. “Don’t you dare try to act all tender and concerned, Cole McRae. You put me through hell and you know it.”

“Now, now, my girl,” interjected Monty, “it wasn’t your captain’s fault. You weren’t supposed to be there, remember?” He frowned. “By the way, what tipped you off and made you come after us?”

Guilt flashed across her face as she met her uncle’s eyes. “I found that piece of wire in your pocket, and your coat reeked of Jonas Sharpe’s cigarettes. The only explanation I could find was that you were double-crossing Cole. I’m so sorry, Uncle Monty, I should have known better.”

“No, my girl, I’m quite proud of you,” Monty soothed. “It just goes to prove that I didn’t raise a fool. There’s no pulling the wool over your eyes.” He stroked his beard, a thoughtful frown on his face. “But you actually believed I’d work with Jonas Sharpe? Come now, my girl, you know me better than that. I wouldn’t let that man lick the soles of my boots clean even if he paid for the honor.”

Devon drew her brows together. “I don’t understand—”

“We had to come up with a plan fast,” Cole explained, “one that would give us both Sharpe and the frigate. Sharpe was right in saying there was no way we could smuggle the vessel out to sea, not from this port. Our only hope was to wreck it with Sharpe aboard. But up until that point, Sharpe had been staying as far away from his ship as possible, letting men like Finch do all his dirty work.”

“There was also the risk of Sharpe finding out that Cole was actually working for the Union,” Monty continued, “particularly here in Nassau where so many people know him. So we set up a double-cross to make him feel totally in control. Knowing the man’s taste for blood, we knew there was no chance he’d stay away.”

“Why did you trick us with your horse?” Devon asked.

“I only fooled you, my girl, and not for very long. Your captain was fully aware of what I was planning. Finch was standing nearby, and I needed a witness to report back to Sharpe that I truly was betraying you both.”

Devon absorbed that, then her gaze moved back to Cole. “Where did you go last night?”

“Down to the docks,” he answered. “You’d already told me how Sharpe handled his crew. I figured it wouldn’t take much to bribe the ones I could find into not reporting back to the ship, and I was right. His men detest him almost as much as we do. That’s why the vessel was so nearly deserted today.”

He watched her eyes as they traced back over his chest, painfully aware of what she was remembering. He’d stripped out of the clothing he’d worn earlier and washed all traces of blood from his body, wanting to spare her the shock of seeing him that way again. He now wore a light blue shirt and tan trousers that were neat and clean. He’d removed Devon’s gown as well, for it too had been soaked in blood. Since her uncle was in the room, he’d left her in her slim cotton shift and tucked the blankets around her.

“There was so much blood…” she said softly.