Heather Graham - [Camerons Saga - North American Woman 02] (17 page)

A hand clamped upon her shoulder of a sudden. She choked upon a scream as she was dragged to her feet.

She looked into the eyes of a man with thick dark hair, a stocky build, a sharp, cunning gaze, and the faint sign of pockmarks beneath the heavy growth of his beard. He wore a scarlet frockcoat with golden epaulets and fine soft mustard breeches. He hauled her up against him. She struggled fiercely, seeking to bite him. “Hold, lassie!” he warned her. “I’m not your enemy!” Swinging her before him, he called out to the fighting men. “Gents of the brotherhood! Cease this ghastly foray and listen! This fight is no longer over Jack, nor, I daresay, was it ever! Logan, you would have him dead. Hawk, you would have the woman. Let’s put a price on her head. That’s our business, is it not? Gaining riches? So what is she worth, gentlemen? In gold?”

“Here, here!” someone else cried, laughing. “Is it open bidding, then? I’ll give a hundred pieces o’ eight, Spanish gold, the best o’ the lot!”

“One-fifty!”

“Two hundred!”

“A thousand gold doubloons!”

“A thousand!” It was the Hawk. He stared down the length of her, then looked to her captor. “Nothing that lies ’twixt a maiden’s thighs could come so dear!”

“Dear me, and not hers!” chortled one of the whores, who waltzed by Skye, tweaking her cheek. Skye kicked her furiously. The woman screamed out, lunging toward her.

“Cease!” the Hawk yelled, catching the whore. She turned to him with huge dark eyes and her painted features, a pretty thing despite her paint, young and buxom.

“She kicked me, Hawk! Why, I’ll claw her eyes out, I will!”

“She’s not that easy, Mary, trust me. And she is to be ransomed, so keep clear of her, eh?” Gently, he thrust the whore far from himself, and far away from Skye.

“Is the bidding open again?” someone called.

“Aye, and think on this. She’s a feisty piece of baggage!” the dark pirate called out.

Skye stared about herself in dismay. The Hawk was lost to a clang of steel once again while the others were all having a rollicking good time discussing her life in terms of the highest sum. The pirate holding her had a cutlass at his waist. She eyed it as another bid rang out. She itched to get her fingers upon it!

“A thousand! I’ve said a thousand! Someone top that, me friends!”

Skye heard something like the roar of a furious lion, and she saw that the Silver Hawk had come to the center of the room again, staring at her and her new captor, Teach, as Hawk had called him. “She is not public property, Teach! I took the prize, the prize is mine, and I will slay every man jack here who attempts to tell me otherwise!”

“What?” the pirate Teach said in dismay. “Why, I’d had in mind to bid upon this morsel meself! Can she be worth so very much then, Captain Hawk?”

The Hawk’s eyes raked her with a careful disdain. Even there, before all others, the gaze seemed to strip her of her clothing, to lay her bare and naked before them all. A sizzle of mockery touched his eyes. “No woman is worth so much,” he said, “and this one screams like a banshee and lies like a log. The equipment is there, but alas, she lacks the talent to use it.”

She gasped out loud, despising him, despising the way that he had made her feel. She hated the cold steel in his eyes, and she hated the humiliation he caused her. Snickers of laughter rose up softly at his suggestion of their intimacy. “The point, sir,” Hawk continued, “is that the prize is mine! What is mine, I shall keep!”

“But if she is of little use—”

“She will draw a good ransom.”

“I would pay that ransom.”

“Neverless, sir, I have begun a certain … er, contact with the lady, and I would continue where I have left off.”

“You said—”

“Aye, Blackbeard, but I believe I could train her and tame her, and for the very measures, I would keep her now in my possession until I have chosen to make other arrangements.”

Blackbeard! Skye shivered, aware then that she was being
touched by another of the most notorious pirates in the Caribbean.

“Perhaps this could be settled with Captain Logan if you were to pay him the ransom,” Blackbeard suggested.

“I’ll not take money!” Logan cried.

“And I’ll not buy back what is already mine!” the Hawk claimed.

Watching him in fury and amazement, Skye suddenly screamed. Logan had wasted little time, but had come up behind him, his sword raised and ready to swing in a wide arc. The Hawk ducked just in time, else the arc would have severed his neck and sent his head flying. The Hawk swirled about, striking out.

“Logan, you backstabbing refuse!” the Hawk roared.

“This is a fight!” Logan snarled back. “Not a bloody mincing court of civil law!”

The Hawk caught Logan’s cutlass with his blade; the sword flew and clattered. The Hawk stepped back, but one of Logan’s men leapt into the fray, charging for the Hawk.

“The plate!” A heavy-jowled man behind Skye and Blackbeard called out. “Save the plate!”

Skye quickly understood why. The fight was no longer one-on-one, but a melee. Men leaped about to join in with roars and cheers, and steel was soon clashing about the room.

“Look at this, at what you have caused!” Blackbeard hissed in her ear. “Alas, the law does not catch men, but mere women send them to their dooms. Perhaps I should let them all battle it out, mam’selle, and spirit you away myself.”

She did not know if he taunted her or spoke the truth. The room had become terribly warm. Now screams arose, and injured men fell from the fray, crashing upon tables, falling to the floor.

Blood ran, mingling with the wine upon the sand and dirt.

Very likely, they would all long to slit her throat when it was over.

Skye acted on desperate impulse, reaching swiftly for the man’s cutlass and jerking it from his hold. She wagged the sword beneath his nose. “Leave me be, sir, and I will leave you be!” she cried out.

“Why, a fighting maiden. Girl, give me back that sword!”

She shook her head. Blackbeard yelled out. “Mr. Clifford! Toss me a sword!”

A sword flew his way. He grinned at Skye. “Now give me that weapon, girl!”

She refused and he thrust toward her blade. She parried him with swift skill, but knew that his strength would be great.

“Blimey!” he cried. “She knows how to use it!”

Skye wanted no more of the man known as Blackbeard. She counted on her speed to bring her through the crowd of rioting men. At first, no one thought to strike her, only to stop her wild flight. Then, as more and more of the sailors came away from a brief encounter with pricks of blood upon their persons, cries of warning went up.

Three men came toward her.

There was a stack of wine barrels by the door. Skye instinctively tossed them over. They cracked and spilled, and it seemed that the earth was soaked with it.

“Dear God, dear God, I am ruined!” called out the proprietor. A straw-haired harlot in totally disreputable undress shook a fist toward Skye. “You’ve cost us all, girl!”

Skye ignored her, looking to greater danger. She was backed against a wall then, and more and more men were coming her way. They laughed no more. Their faces were grim.

“Get behind me!” she heard. White-faced, she dared to look around.

The Hawk was coming her way, fiercely challenging every man who sought to approach her. She was amazed again at the deftness of his swordplay. He leaped upon a bench and soared forward, taking with him three of her attackers. He spun about and caught one man at the knees, leaving him screaming, slicing a second man through the arm, and catching a third at the throat.

She nearly missed an opponent, watching him. She came to attention just soon enough and ducked a blow that struck the wall. Hawk was beside her then. His weapon, she saw, had taken a beating. The steel had cracked.

“Give me the sword!” he commanded her.

She stared at him, her eyes growing very wide. Did it matter? She had caused this fray. She had brought him to arms against his comrades. He had claimed that she wasn’t worth any fortune in gold, that he would keep her just because he already had her. He was surely furious with her, and might very well plan to torture her near to death once he had his hands upon her.

She could not give her sword away.

Men were approaching them quickly.

“Give me the sword!” he roared once more.

Of course, if she didn’t hand him the sword, they might very well perish at that very moment.

He lunged for it. She gasped, but released the steel to his grasp. He stared at her with a promise of fury, then turned to the sailors now ready to assault. He raised the weapon against them, and steel began to clang again.

He moved forward, maneuvering himself and Skye away from their disadvantaged position against the wall. Skye saw that they were slowly joined by the Hawk’s men. She didn’t know them all, but she suddenly realized that she was being shielded behind the Hawk and Robert Arrowsmith. They were fighting their way to the door.

Slowly, the attackers began to fall away. Only a few remained when they reached the entryway.

The Hawk paused, reaching into a pocket within his frockcoat. He drew out a number of gold coins.

“Mr. Ferguson! For the damage done, sir!” he shouted. Then he said to Robert, “Watch my back, Mr. Arrowsmith!”

“Aye, aye, sir!”

And with that, the Hawk grabbed hold of Skye’s arm. He dragged her along the primitive road with him in a raw fury. They were not far from the sea. She could smell the salt and feel the breeze. The Hawk’s men now raced behind them, like a giant wave, seeming to pitch them ever forward. She could still hear shouts of rage and fury from behind them. What had happened to Logan? She didn’t know.

She stumbled.

“Move!” the Hawk shouted to her. Grasping his arm, she tried to do so. She apparently did not move fast enough for he
swept her up into his arms. She struggled briefly. “I can walk—”

“By God, I should let them have you!” he thundered out. Caught by moonlight, his eyes glittered with a striking, chilling silver. She caught her lower lip between her teeth and went silent. He wasn’t looking at her anymore, he was running with her held taut in his arms. “The longboats!” someone cried. “We’re there! All men to the oars, and quickly.”

Their boots fell heavy against the dock as they raced down to the longboats. Skye was tossed heavily within the first. The Hawk quickly landed by her side. He dropped his borrowed sword while his men crawled in with them and picked up the oars. Reaching to his waist he drew out a long flintlock pistol. Staring at him, Skye had not seen the shirtless man with the knife between his teeth reaching up to her from the water. The pistol flared. The man cried out, and the knife fell from his teeth as he crashed into the water.

The Hawk cast her a chilling stare. Her eyes fell upon the sword as the longboat shot away from the dock. Fear made her think to lunge for the sword. His booted foot fell upon her fingers before they could wind around the steel. She cried out and her eyes met his again, and this time the hostility in them ran deep, and far colder than she could have ever imagined.

“Aye, mistress! I should have left you to them!” he hissed, sinking down beside her.

Shouts were arising from the dock. The contingent from the tavern had followed them down to the sea.

“Are they coming, Mr. Arrowsmith?” the Hawk called to his man.

“I’m not sure, Captain. They seem to be hovering at the moment, sir, and nothing more.”

The Hawk’s eyes were upon her again. Skye felt them boring into her. She shivered with a dreadful cold. She looked to the shouting rogues upon the dock, and to the man beside her, and then to the water. The dark depths seemed absurdly inviting that evening.

His hand clamped hard upon hers and she started, meeting his fiery gaze. “No, milady, I think not! I did not haul you from that menacing crowd to lose you to the sea!”

She sat still and tried not to shiver. His eyes remained upon her. “What happened?” he demanded curtly. “What has come of Jacques DuBray and the men left with you.”

She started to shake her head, unable to speak. His fingers dug into her damp hair, wrenching her head back. “What happened?”

“Jacques—the Frenchman is dead.”

He swore violently, staring at her with a greater hatred. “A good man, and dead, on your behalf, milady! You still have not told me what happened!”

His hold upon her was fierce. His men, setting their oars upon the sea, also stared at her. In the darkness she could feel their eyes condemning her as the longboat skimmed the water, bringing them ever closer to his ship.

“Tell me!”

“Logan came! He came from the shore and snuck up on the ship. The man in the crow’s nest saw him, but Logan shot him before he could cry out an alarm. Then he came topside and shot the Frenchman.”

The Hawk swore violently. His hand fell from her hair and he looked toward his ship.

None of the men on the docks seemed to be coming in pursuit, Skye saw. She shivered, feeling very, very cold. The sea breeze seemed to glue her wet clothing to her and the little discomforts made her ever more wretched as she wondered about her fate.

The figurehead of his ship loomed into view. Skye had never noted it before. It was the proud figure of a woman, one of the Greek goddesses, she imagined. The breasts were bared, and a crown rode the head. Soft carved curls fell over the woman’s shoulders and her face was strong and beautiful.

It was a fine and artistic piece of work, Skye thought. Of course. The ship had surely been seized.

Her teeth were chattering. Her mind was wandering to all sorts of avenues, because she was afraid.

The longboat came shipside. The ladder awaited them, hanging there in the darkness of the night.

“I shall go first,” the Hawk told his men. He rose, clutching the rope, shimmying quickly upon it. He paused, pulling a
knife from inside his boot, looking to Robert. “Mr. Arrowsmith, see to Lady Kinsdale.”

“Aye, aye, sir!”

Skye sat in silence while the Hawk disappeared over the portside hull of his ship. She heard the water lapping against the longboat and felt the eyes of his men upon her. She had endangered them all.