Deep Harbor (40 page)

He eyed her over the edge of his goblet. “You and your husband have caused me much grief, Elsa.” He spoke with the tone of a pained parent.

“Nothing you didn’t bring on yourself, Dutton. It is only a matter of time before some navy corners you and blows you to smithereens.”

“You had better hope it is not soon,” he said, grinning. “Then your children would be left without a mother and a father. Orphans.”

She stared back into his eyes. “I knew you were evil, Mason. I did not know you were cruel.”

He strode over to her and caressed her cheek. She forced herself not to pull away. “I don’t have to be cruel. I can be very, very kind to you, Elsa. I admire you, the Heroine of the Horn. Think of what would happen if we joined forces. Think of the new twist in your column for the
Times!
The public would go mad for you.”

Elsa snorted and shook her head. “You are the one who is mad.”

He pushed her back on the bed and closed tight fingers around her neck. She had not seen it coming. “Your life is in my hands, darling,” he said softly. She writhed, trying to pry his fingers from her larynx before she suffocated. He bent closer to her ear and whispered, “I’d be more careful in choosing your words.”

Mason eased away from Elsa then, observing her. She gasped for breath as she sat up again, unable to hide her fear. He stood beside her and moved his hands to her hair. His touch made her want to scream, but she knew she had to bide her time, gain some semblance of Dutton’s trust. Slowly, he took the combs from her hair and pulled the knot loose. With agonizing tenderness he pulled out one thick section of hair and laid it over her shoulder. Then he took the other half and fanned it over her back.

“Lovely,” he whispered. “Welcome to the lion’s den, Elsa. You chose the wrong cat to cross.”

The
Tempest
moved under sail only, not wanting to make any sound that might alert the pirate that trouble was afoot. Karl winced as he
checked the time. Eight hours Elsa had been gone! It had taken four for Riley to make it past the palace guards and seek help. It had taken the remaining four to garner the Emperor’s forces and pay enough sources to discover where Mason’s ship was harbored. He was but fifteen miles up the coast! The plan was for Karl and his men to attack, and if the pirates fled, eight navy ships would keep him at bay. One way or another, Mason had backed himself into an inescapable corner.

At the edge of the tiny cove, Karl motioned for all sails to be furled and their momentum halted. Silently, as had been discussed with his crew earlier, three skiffs were launched, each holding eight men. Working as quietly as natives on the warpath, they entered the cove and sought a place to land their skiffs. From there, they sank into the water, swimming toward Dutton’s ship as the pirates themselves had attacked Peder’s ship in the West Indies. Karl had wrapped two pistols in oilskin and strapped them to his chest. In his teeth he clenched a bowie knife.

They swam the last fifty feet underwater, keeping the guards on duty from mounting any intruder alert. Karl was proud of his men. None of them had been spotted! In minutes they were next to Dutton’s ship, clinging to the ratlines that dragged in the water. Their only chance was to take some of the pirates out quietly before the rest were alerted. Slowly, eight of his best men climbed the lines to begin the process as half of their group trod water around the ship to the port side.

God was smiling upon them. The pirates had obviously grown lackadaisical and overly cocky with their success.

Elsa rose and looked pointedly at the chess board. “You like games, do you not?” she asked, one eyebrow raised.

Mason came over to her side of the table and lifted one lock of hair. He inhaled deeply, and Elsa struggled not to turn and slap him away. “I do,” he said softly. He traced one finger across the bare skin of her neck. “I think it is time you leave your mourning black and wear colors that befit your beauty again.”

Elsa ignored his comment. “I see you have taken to chess.”

“It is not a new pursuit,” he said, his eyes still roaming her uncomfortably. “All my life, I have studied the art of it. It has served me well in my current vocation.”

“Ahh,” Elsa said, pretending to appreciate his supposed mastery of the game. “Why don’t we play?” She walked a few steps away as if to idly peruse his shelf of leather-bound books.

“A game?”

“Yes. If you win I shall join you at your side, as you suggested. I’ll wear colorful dresses again, when I am not in a blouse and dungarees.” She turned back to him. “But if I win, I shall go free.”

Mason pursed his lips, studying her. “Those are high stakes. I’ve spent years waiting to cross paths with you again.”

“They are high stakes for me as well.”

“So they are,” Mason said with a nod. “Very well. I am attracted to the idea of a willing woman at my side rather than a captive bride.” Her heart pounded at his words. He actually expected her to marry him?

“Bride?” she spat out in utter surprise.

“Of course!” Mason said with a sly smile. “I assumed you would expect nothing else. After all, how would it look if we were to travel together, in one cabin?”

Elsa turned away, trying to gather her thoughts. “You expect me to abandon my children? My ship?”

“I have no place for children here. Surely you’d agree that my men are not the finest of influences. You do not have someone in the States who could care for them?”

It took her breath away, even thinking of such a preposterous option. Yet he had to trust her for a game such as this to work. To stall for time. To give her a chance at escape. Were she to lose the game …
no, I cannot think of such an option. I will win. And he will let me walk away
.

“Elsa, I assume you are a woman of honor and not gambling idly. I expect you to live up to your end of the bargain.”

She met his eyes, not allowing them to waver. “As do I. I shall win this game, Dutton, and walk off your ship and turn you over to the authorities.”

“Very well,” he said with a chuckle, pulling out a chair for her in front of the elegant, white-carved game pieces. He reached down and slit the bonds that held her wrists. “White moves first, Elsa. Are you certain about this?”

“Are you certain about giving me the white side of the board?” She locked her eyes on the figures set before her, already planning her strategy.

Mason snorted and sat down. “Of course,” he said, leaning forward over the black rows of chesspieces. “I am, after all, a gentleman.”

“That,” Elsa said, making the first move, “I seriously doubt.”

K
arl held on to the ratlines with gritted teeth, shivering as the Pacific waters washed him and his men against the ship’s starboard side and then sucked them out again. They had been in the water for more than an hour. He grimaced, not from the cold, but from the sight of a dead pirate’s lifeless eyes, floating just before him.

The eight soldiers above him—six a part of the Emperor’s elite guard—waited for what seemed hours, looking for just the right opportunity to snatch yet another sailor from the pirate ship. Already, twelve men had been slain and lowered to the water’s edge without raising an alarm. It was imperative that many more be taken care of before Karl and his men attacked. He hoped their forces on the port side were faring as well. Certainly it was only a matter of minutes before someone above noticed that fewer and fewer sailors roamed the decks.

It was a moonless night, and for that Karl was thankful. But every inch of him itched to climb the net and charge Mason Dutton’s door. It was eerily quiet above, except for the drunken singing of a group at the bow. Where was Elsa? Was she in imminent danger? He knew he had no choice but to swallow his anger and remain where he was, but the fury burned. If Dutton harmed Elsa at all …

“Martensen!” whispered a sailor to his left.
One from the port side
, his mind registered. “We’ve taken care of ten of them,” he went on, treading water until he could grab hold beside Karl.

Karl nodded once. “Have you been able to account for the others?”

“Most are belowdecks. There’s a group at the bow.”

“Aye. I hear.” His mind whirled, trying to think of the best plan. He turned back to the messenger. “Tell your men that the first aboard are to silence the rowdy sailors at the bow. The second group aboard shall join ours and stave off any that might climb up, as well as see to Captain Ramstad and Dutton. As soon as Captain Ramstad is safely off, we are to abandon ship and swim back to the skiffs. We are severely outnumbered. No one is to stay and fight unless the bilge rats swarm us before we can retreat. You understand?”

“Aye, Cap’n.”

“Good. We move in five minutes. Begin counting on my mark.”

The man nodded again, his profile a mere shadow.

“Mark.”

With that, the man slipped back into the water and moved around the bow of the ship, directly under the group singing a rowdy song with lyrics that would have made his mother blush. It mattered little, Karl thought grimly. Soon, they would never sing again.

“Your move, Elsa,” Mason said, her name slipping from his lips like a treasured memory. He set the captured knight next to his wineglass.

Elsa said nothing, merely stared at the board before her. Mason had mounted a chaotic and aggressive offensive, but Elsa knew that behind the chaos could lie a fatal trap designed to draw out her choice pieces … He was either very good at the game or he knew virtually nothing. He seemed to be employing a variation of the Delphi attack, but it was impossible to be sure. Perhaps the board and polished ivory pieces were merely for show, raided from the ship of a better man. Elsa did not want to be there long enough to find out. She pushed down
her fear and focused her attention on a large pocket of open squares near the far left corner of the board. Mason had quickly moved several pawns, both knights, his rooks, and one bishop into a lopsided battalion bearing down on the smattering of pawns standing before Elsa’s king. In his rush to confront her minor pieces, he had left a huge gap along his rear flank.

She moved her queen quickly, hoping he would mistake speed for recklessness. He ignored the move, took one of her pawns, and sat back, gazing across the table at her. She hoped she looked puzzled, concentrating on the board, and inched her queen forward a few more spaces into the gap.

As Mason studied the board again, she reached down to pull the tiny ivory-handled pistol from her skirts. He looked up at her, and Elsa stilled her hand and smiled, even while her heart felt as if it had taken up residence in her throat. He looked from one eye to the other for a moment, returned her smile, and then looked back at the board. “Of what are you thinking?” he asked, not looking up at her again.

“Of winning the game, of course,” she said lightly.

“Not of finding your way out of here?”

“This game is my way out.”

Mason drew his lead rook back four spaces and looked up at her. Had he seen her slipping into the unprotected area or was he moving to make a final run at her king? Her hand was on the pistol, but she had not yet extricated it from her hidden skirt pocket. “If you win,” he said. “It is more likely that you will lose. I’m afraid we’ll have to ship out at dawn. No doubt there will be some sort of alarm sent up since the Emperor’s guest has disappeared.”

“You are not overly concerned about that,” she commented. “Would it not be prudent for you to depart right away?”

Mason sat back in his chair and sipped his wine, staring at her. Slowly, Elsa released the pistol. There was no way to get it from the folds of fabric without gaining his attention. “You seem concerned about my welfare, Elsa. I am touched.”

“Touched in the head,” Elsa snapped, bringing her hands to the table and reviewing the chessboard again.

Mason laughed. “I love your spirit.” He stood and clapped, suddenly galvanized by the confidence that he would win the game. “I cannot wait to sail these seas with you. It will be a new adventure!”

“I do not intend to sail with you. I intend to win this game.”

He returned to her side and fingered her hair, his voice growing husky and low. “You will not win, Elsa. Not this time. At least in the way you might think. Eventually, you will come to see the beauty of what we can have together.”

Elsa watched the pieces on the board, then laughed aloud as the solution presented itself to her like a horse emerging from a foggy field. Slowly, delicately, she reached out and moved her queen into the corner. “You seem to ‘see’ much, Mason, but you do not understand any of it. Checkmate.”

Mason’s rook was now wedged in front of his king, and two dark pawns stood at attention next to the rook. The king sat pinned behind his own men. Elsa’s queen gazed down the long empty corridor of space between them. There was no move to block. All of Mason’s key pieces were out of range. The king could move one space in either direction, but it would not be enough.

Mason let go of her hair and went around to the other side of the board. “Impossible,” he muttered, staring at his side of the board. Just then, the door opened behind him, and Mason glanced over his shoulder. “I told you we were not to be disturbed—”