Christine Dorsey - [Sea 01] (7 page)

“She and her Spanish friend, aye,” Jack said indignantly.

Henry cleared his throat, trying to hide a chuckle. “Well, we shall simply have to keep sharp objects out of her hands.”

Jerking down, his sleeves, Jack made to rise. “ ‘Tis no ‘we’ in this, Henry. She’s your daughter. You take care of her.”

“I was hoping I wouldn’t have to remind you of this.”

Jack took a step toward the tavern door and, though he hated himself for doing it, stopped. “Remind me of what?”

“Our friendship.” Henry cocked his head. “The times I’ve helped you. My organizing men to go after you and your sister... to take vengeance on the Spaniards who killed your parents.”

Jack crossed his arms. Everything Henry said was true. When Jack had finally escaped the Spaniards and returned to Charles Town, he’d learned an expedition had been formed to attack St. Augustine in retaliation for the Spanish assault on the Scottish settlement at Port Royal.

The retaliatory attack had never been made because a new governor, James Colleton, had arrived in Charles Town and forbidden it. But Henry Chadwick had fought the decision and since then he’d done everything he could to help Jack find de Segovia, the Spaniard responsible for killing Jack’s parents and capturing his sister and himself.

Knowing this and accepting what Henry wanted as payment for the old debt were two entirely different things. But with a grunt of resignation, Jack fell back into his chair. “What do you want me to do?”

“I knew you’d think my plan a good one. I just —”

“Let’s get one thing straight, Henry. I think you’re crazy to even suggest such a thing. I have no doubt the whole thing will explode in our faces. And—” Jack pointed his finger at Henry’s chest — “I still think as her father, it’s your duty to have a stern talk with Miranda, then lock the chit in her room if she doesn’t agree. I know, I know.” Jack held up his palm. “You don’t like me referring to this paragon of womanhood as a chit. From this moment on I shall hold her in the highest esteem. Guard her ladyship with my worthless life. Treat her as I would my own sister.”

With that pledge Jack leaned forward. “Now quickly, before I have a change of heart, tell me the details of this idiotic plan of yours.”

Miranda couldn’t sleep.

She tried to tell herself it was the heat, though a sea breeze fluttered the mosquito netting draping her tester bed.

“The bed’s too soft,” she mumbled. Though she’d found the feather-filled mattress quite comfortable until tonight.

Finally, because she knew the best way to solve a problem was to first identify it, Miranda admitted the truth to herself. Her mind was too active for sleep to come. Too engrossed in thoughts about the pirate captain.

How did he have the effrontery to walk into her father’s house and pretend to be a respectable citizen? It was simply beyond Miranda’s understanding. But then someone who would pirate would undoubtedly do anything. Steal, maim, kill.

She had been very lucky during their encounter on the ship.

Miranda scooted up against the walnut headboard and drew her night rail covered knees under her chin. Tomorrow she would go to the royal collector of revenues—her father had promised to take her— and have the pirate arrested. It was too bad her father couldn’t contact the constable or any of his deputies today, but she’d sent a servant down to the docks to check. And the pirate’s ship was still in the harbor.

Yes, tomorrow he’d be captured. Then he’d be tried—found guilty, of course, and then... Miranda sat up straighter.

She may never have seen a pirate before this one but she did recall a discussion with her grandfather when a notorious pirate was caught and tried.

He was hanged.

In chains.

And his body was left swinging in the harbor as a warning.

Miranda braided her fingers and bit on her thumbnail. Was that going to happen to her pirate? She simply couldn’t imagine his large body wrapped in chains. Or his sea-colored eyes bulging from the strain of the rope. Or birds plucking out his beautiful golden hair.

A noise, part gasp, part sob, escaped Miranda as the grotesque mental picture took form. How could she do it?

Swiping aside the gossamer netting, Miranda slid off the bed. She’d go right now and tell her father to forget the entire thing. She couldn’t be responsible for another man’s death.

Not even taking time to light the bedside candle, Miranda hurried to the door. But when she reached for the high brass knob, a new thought occurred. She was not the one responsible for the pirate’s plight. He was. Certainly he knew the consequences of his actions. And he chose to ignore them. Thus, if he was hanged, it was his own fault.

Besides, maybe they wouldn’t hang him. Maybe in the Carolinas the punishment for piracy was something else, something less—Miranda rubbed her neck—permanent.

With her decision to seek out the customs collector on the morrow reaffirmed, Miranda decided to retrieve her copy of the
Principia
from below stairs and read. That usually brought about sleep.

“Is ye sure ye don’t want no help, Cap’n.”

Jack leaned against the stucco wall and tried to make out his quartermaster in the darkness. There was only the tiniest slice of moon shining tonight, and Jack thought the lack of light matched his mood.

“Nay I need no assistance bagging the chit.” Jack remembered his vow to treat Henry’s daughter with respect and scowled. “I can handle the lady,” he corrected. “You just wait down here at the foot of the ladder.” Grabbing hold of the splintery wood, Jack stepped onto the first rung.

“I’d feel a mite better if you’d let me go with ye.”

Jack shut his eyes in frustration. “No, I said. I can handle this myself.”

“But the wench cut you up pretty good aboard that English ship.”

“God’s blood, she came at me from behind with a sword. And it was no more than a scratch. Besides, this time she’ll be asleep that is unless someone’s arguing wakes her up.”

Apparently the jibe was too subtle for Phin because instead of quieting he proposed another question. “What if Henry or one of them servants comes by?”

“I told you, the servants were sent away for the evening, and Henry is locked in his room until the dastardly deed is done. Now, may I continue?”

“Aye... but, Cap’n, ye ain’t goin’ to hurt her none, is ye?”

“No.” Not waiting for another word, Jack deftly climbed up the ladder to the window of Miranda’s room. Henry had assured him it would be open. “Miranda fears not the night air,” he’d said with what Jack thought foolish fatherly pride.

“Who cares what the chit fears,” Jack mumbled under his breath as, he carefully lifted the sash higher. Even then he had to squeeze his large frame through the opening.

Jack took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darker inside. He could just make out a large, ornately framed bed. His smile wicked, Jack stealthily crept toward it, yanking the burlap bag from under his belt. He’d throw it over her head, heave her over his shoulder and be aboard the
Sea Hawk
in time to sail with the morning tide.

He looked down at the bed. He knew she was small, but she couldn’t have disappeared beneath the coverlet. Jack looked again, finally using his hand to pat the bed. She wasn’t there.

“Damnation.”

Whirling about, Jack peered around the room, trying to spot his prey in some shadowed corner. Could she have heard him coming and hidden? In exasperation he struck the flint and lit the bedside candle.

No Miranda.

He was close to deciding to forget the entire ridiculous plan when he heard a noise in the hallway; then he saw the doorknob turning. Quickly he pinched out the flame, flattening himself against the wall and unsheathing his sword in a single movement.

If this was some sort of betrayal he’d have Henry’s gizzard, friend or no. Jack held his breath, poised to leap out and defend himself against the constable and his deputies as the door opened.

But no horde swarmed into the room. Instead he recognized Miranda’s voice as she entered singing softly. She wore something white and flowing, and because of her garb he could easily follow her path as she walked toward the bed.

Resheathing his sword as quietly as he could, Jack watched while she appeared to fumble around on the bedside table. “Now, where did that candle go?” he heard her ask herself before he began moving toward her. This wasn’t as good as surprising her while asleep, but it didn’t appear that anything concerning Miranda Chadwick would go as planned.

Miranda stiffened. There was someone else in her room. And whoever it was, was creeping up behind her. She could hear his breathing, feel his heat. Her mouth went dry. Miranda sucked in a breath to scream and realized no sound came out.

What could she do? The floorboard creaked, and she knew her assailant was ready to pounce. Miranda’s hands tightened on the volume of Newton’s
Principia
. Then she turned and swung the heavy book as hard as she could. It hit something equally hard with a satisfying thump, and Miranda heard a groan of pain before she dropped the book and raced for the door.

Jack grabbed himself and doubled over. For an instant everything went black; then the shadow of his boots came into focus, and splinters of nauseating pain slivered out from his groin. He moaned. And with the sound came realization. The chit had hit him, flattened him, right in the family jewels.

He twisted around to see her form swing open the door to the hallway. Lunging Jack grabbed hold of her gown. He heard fabric tear, and then her scream spilled through the night air.

Balling the cotton in his fist, Jack managed to straighten enough to seize her arm. Her screeches grew louder, and she batted at him with her free hand.

“Would you be still?” he said through clenched teeth. She wasn’t really hurting him—now—but it was damned annoying. For a moment Jack thought she was following his order. She went stock still.

Miranda knew that voice. And suddenly a dire situation seemed even worse. Why would the pirate be here except to kill her? And why wasn’t her father responding to her screams? Unless he, too, was a victim of the pirate’s wrath?

She started hitting the pirate with renewed energy. He may kill her in the end, but she wouldn’t make it easy for him.

Damn the wench, damn, damn. She was twisting all around so he couldn’t get the bag over her head. And that screaming. He’d suffered through booming cannon battles that didn’t rattle his ears as much.

And his groin still hurt. Damn, if she’d done him any real harm... ! Jack couldn’t even finish that thought.

The worst of it was he could silence her and stop her struggles with one good cuff. But his mother had taught him not to strike women. Henry’s daughter raked her nails across his arm, and Jack gritted his teeth. Damn, if there ever was a woman he was tempted to throttle, it was this one.

Miranda knocked into the pirate, then jerked her arm, as hard as she could, and for the second time in their brief but tempestuous acquaintance, she and the pirate tumbled to the floor.

He landed on top her—again. And again air whooshed from her lungs. This time he lifted himself more quickly, straddling her, and filling her mind with another awful possibility. “I won’t let you...” she wheezed and jackknifed her knee to make good her threat.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Jack jerked to the side. “Not again.” He grabbed both her hands in one of his and stretched them over her head. “And I’m not going to rape you, for God’s sake.”

He had her now. Beneath his weight and with both her hands bound in his, there was nothing she could do. Her throat ached from screaming, and she squinted her eyes shut as tears welled in them. She didn’t want to die a coward.

Muscles and bone and blood and tissue... Miranda tried to tell herself that scientifically that’s all a human being was, but she didn’t want to die. And to her shame, as she felt the pirate yanking something over her hair, the words slipped out. “I don’t want to die,” she croaked.

As he covered her face and the world went black, Miranda thought she heard the pirate claim he wasn’t going to kill her. But who could trust a pirate?