Heather Graham - [Camerons Saga - North American Woman 02] (29 page)

Skye scrambled for the sword and held it tight. She coughed, and her eyes started to water, and she realized that smoke was entering her cabin through the doorway.

She screamed, and hurled herself toward the door. It was not yet hot. She could still escape.

The door flew open. Young Davey stood there, his freckled face pale. “There’s fire below, milady. They’re fighting it, but I’ll take you closer topside—”

Skye brushed past him. “Closer topside! I’d rather die by the sword than burn to death any day!” she assured him, starting along the narrow hallway.

“Milady, wait!” Davey wailed, scurrying to get before her. “All is under control, the rogues are just about bested! The ship is captured, she is!”

Skye ignored him and hurried up the steps, rushing up atop the deck. The air was not much better here, for it was thick with black powder from the cannons. She blinked, trying to get her bearings in the smoky shadows. She could hear no clash of steel; the day had gone silent, quickly, completely.

“Welcome, milady!”

Hands were upon her so suddenly and completely that she screamed, her wrist nearly crushed as a giant hairy paw fell upon it, shaking Lord Cameron’s sword from her hand. She was jerked back against a burly, unwashed body and held tightly. A touch of sharp steel came against her throat and she gasped, then barely dared to breath. A long knife lay against her neck, and the slighted movement might well sever her very life.

“Lord Cameron, sir!” The man’s laughter rang out. “Lookee what I’ve got here, sir! Perhaps this changes things just a bit, mee-lord! Now listen up, and listen real good! You want the girl back? Well, if you want her, you pay heed to my words. My men and I will nonchalantly return to our ship. I take her with me. When we’re free of you, I’ll send her back in a longboat with one of your own mates. What do ye think about that?”

There was no answer. Skye stood dead still as the powder began to clear.

Lord Cameron was perhaps twenty feet away. The deck was, indeed, filled with men in various positions. Bodies lay upon the deck, but mostly they seemed to be the pirates who had gotten the worst of it. Lord Cameron’s men knew how to fight.
The rogues had not surprised them; they had surprised the rogues.

She didn’t allow her gaze to linger about the ship; it fell upon Cameron. He was coatless now; he had fought in fawn breeches and a white shirt. There was a small nick upon his cheek where a sword had touched him briefly, but other than that, he did not even seem to be breathing heavily. His one foot rested upon a coil of rope, a cutlass dangled from his right hand, and a pistol was gripped idly in his left. He smiled as he faced the pirate.

“Mr. Stikes,” he said in answer to the pirate. “You are a rank amateur, sir!”

“Your pardon!” the pirate roared. He jerked upon Skye. “Amateur, indeed!” He started to laugh. “Drop your weapons, man, or she’s mine, dead or alive, your choice!”

Roc Cameron shrugged casually. “She’s a great deal of trouble.”

“I’m what!” Skye cried out, gasping in amazement.

“What?” the pirates exploded in unison.

“You heard me!” Lord Cameron called out, ignoring Skye and addressing the pirate. “She’s a great deal of trouble.”

“Rumor has it that she’s your wife!”

“Aye, my wife, and my headache!” Roc complained, adjusting his weight. “Go ahead! Take her. She’s yours.”

“Dear God!” Skye cried out in amazement. The scurvy coward! He meant to let her be taken by the likes of this man.

“Take her! If she was worth a halfpenny, she’d not have come topside in the midst of this! Take her!”

“Take her!” the pirate cried.

Cameron sighed. “All right. If you must, let her go.”

“You’re mad! You are absolutely mad!” the pirate said. “Back off! Just back off, I’m taking her with me!”

Skye felt that the grip upon her had been released just the slightest bit. He started to drag her forward. She came closer and closer to Petroc Cameron with his clean-shaven, hard aristocrat’s features and smoldering silver eyes. Stikes drew by him.

Skye spat at Stikes. He flinched, startled. His eyes narrowed further as he wiped his face. They were straight before Cameron
then, two feet away. The pirate Stikes began to speak. “Now listen to me, your lordship, one move—”

Roc Cameron moved. Skye stared aghast with horror as he drew his pistol upward with a startling speed, aimed, and fired.

The explosion of the bullet rent the air, and Skye was temporarily deaf. She screamed with horror, and she could not hear her own scream, but she felt the blood that sprayed from the pirate and onto her person, and then she was dragged down by the weight of the falling pirate. He fell, stone dead, atop her. She glanced at his face, and saw that it mostly gone, and she started to scream again, hysteria rising within her. She felt the body torn away from her, and she kept screaming.

Suddenly and rudely she was wrenched to her feet. She faced Cameron. His shook her fiercely and she gasped, ceasing to scream at last.

“Why, he’s killed him! ’E’s bloody killed Stikes!” someone shouted. Cameron continued to stare at her, and she stared back. Someone moved behind them and he swung around just in time to raise his cutlass and slay the cutthroat who had leaped toward him at Stikes’s death.

There was movement again all about them. Skye dove for the sword that Stikes had knocked from her hand. Rising swiftly, she looked about herself, but she was safe. Cameron had her behind his back, and he was warily watching the men before him. His own crew had things in hand once again. There was silence. Slowly Cameron lowered his sword. “Mr. Blair! Take ten men. Put the rogues into the hold on the pirate ship. You’ll take them straight to Williamsburg.”

“Yes, sir!”

The danger, it seemed, was over.

Or else it was just beginning.

Skye stood braced against the mainmast as Cameron turned her way again, looking her up and down with a sweeping distaste. “You were told to stay below.”

“There was a fire—”

“Davey was sent to bring you forward, not topside.”

“I did not care to burn—”

“And how will you care, madame, when the lad receives a dozen lashes for failure to obey orders?”

“You wouldn’t!” she gasped. But he would, she thought. A cold fury burned in his eyes. She stiffened, feeling the blood of the pirate upon her and longing for nothing more than to strip away her stained clothing and scrub the terror from her flesh. She raised her chin, frightened now for Davey, who was so ready to defend her always, no matter what punishment it brought upon him. She spoke as coldly as she could and with all the scathing dignity she could muster, hoping to shame him. “If you must mete out lashes, Lord Cameron, don’t hurt an innocent boy. It was my fault, not his. Bring your whips against me.”

“As you wish.”

“What?”

“I said, as you wish. You or Davey. Someone must take the blame.”

He turned from her as the body of the dead pirate was dragged away. They both stared as it was hoisted overboard. Then she stared at him again in amazement and shock.

“You wouldn’t! You wouldn’t dare tie me to the mast and bring a lash against me!”

He smiled very slowly. “With the greatest pleasure, milady.”

Amazed, she gasped.

“Sir!” His attention was distracted as a seaman came to him, saluting sharply. “The fire is out, and it did no damage except within the hold. It is safe below.”

“Very good,” Lord Cameron said.

“Mr. Blair is prepared to toss the grappling hooks.”

“Fine. Call the order, and we’ll break away. I shall be at the wheel with all haste.”

He turned back to Skye, but she had already intended to push past him. He stopped her, bringing his sword tip to her throat. She stood still, her chin raised, her temper soaring, and the whole of her quivering with outrage. His sword remained within her hand. She did not lift it. She intended to keep it within her own possession.

“This matter will wait,” he said softly. His sword fell and she flinched anew, for his fingers came to her cheek, touching
a spot where the blood of the pirate marred her pale flesh. “I’ll see that you are brought water to bathe.”

“You needn’t bother—”

“Yes, I need bother,” he said simply. “Do you need an escort, madame? Or can you manage on your own? I am afraid that I am growing shorthanded, so I would prefer—”

She swung away from him. At that moment, she was only too eager to reach the haven of her own cabin.

She hurried beneath the deck. The smell of smoke had faded away, and gunpowder no longer turned the air to gray. She heard commands shouted, and the heavy footsteps of men as they ran about. At the foot of the steps she paused, clutching her heart. She closed her eyes and listened. A mast had been hit and sailors hacked away at the wood and the canvas sail to cast the damaged pieces overboard. Other men raced about to raise the mainsail higher and catch the wind as they shoved away from the pirate vessel.

She made her way down the hall and hurried to her own cabin. She slammed the door. Once inside, she keenly felt the blood upon her. She started to tremble anew. Cameron! He had been so cold and cool and so damned competent! He had mocked and taunted, and she had been certain that he had meant to send her merrily upon her way with Stikes. But that had never been his intent. He had saved her with a swift and deadly cunning.

She sank down upon her bunk, but then she could not bear the clothes she wore. With a cry she rose and tore her gown in her haste to strip it away. She stood in her shift only, shivering, when there came a knock upon the door.

She grasped the coverlet from her bunk and wrapped it around herself, then threw the door open. It was not Davey who stood there or any man she knew. It was a graying and brawny seaman who carried a heavy brass tub of water. “Lady Cameron, may I?” He indicated the cabin, where he would set down his heavy load.

“Don’t call me that!” she charged him.

He shrugged and came through the doorway, setting down the brass pot. There was a sponge within it and steam rose high. It was a small bath, but she could just stand within it and
sponge water over herself, and she could not help but long to do so.

“There you be, Lady Cam—” He hesitated with another shrug. “There you be, milady.”

“Thank you,” she told him. He left her. She stripped off her shift and found the sponge and soap within the water. She scrubbed herself as if she were covered in mud, and still she could feel the blood. She did so again, and again, until the water grew so cold that she stood there shivering.

There was another knock upon her door. She hastily dried and slipped into her shift and dragged the coverlet about herself again, then drew open her door. The graying seaman was back with a fine fluted glass dangling from his sausage-sized fingers and a bottle in his hand.

“Dark Caribbean rum, milady. His lordship thought as how you might need a swallow.”

“His lordship is so right,” Skye muttered. She heard the closing of a cabin door just down the hall. His lordship! She trembled, thinking of the man. Her temper burned, and her pride.

“Aye, and he’ll see you soon, he says.”

“Will he?” she muttered, and the shivering seized her again. Why was this man here? Why was he serving her? “Where is—where is young Davey?” she demanded.

The brawny man shook his head most sorrowfully. “Preparing to repent his ways, milady, if you know what I mean.”

“No!” she gasped. He couldn’t have! Cameron couldn’t have taken that poor boy and lashed him for her appearance on the deck!

But he could have. She remembered the cool way that he had goaded Stikes and wrested her from the pirate, and she was convinced that the man calling himself her husband could do anything at all.

She forgot her state of undress and pushed past the seaman, heading down the hallway. She didn’t knock, but shoved open Cameron’s door and strode inside.

He was seated behind his desk. His legs were lifted upon it and he rubbed a sore muscle in his calf, wincing as he did so. Startled, he turned her way. His eyes quickly narrowed.

“You bastard!” she hissed.

The seaman came up behind her. “Sir, she slipped by me! I’m sorry, milord—”

“It’s all right, Mr. Whitehead. My wife is invited to join me in my cabin whenever she wishes.” He smiled pleasantly, lifting his legs down to the floor.

“I am not visiting you in your cabin,” Skye announced.

He arched a brow pleasantly, and stood. “That will be all, Mr. Whitehead.”

“Yes, milord.”

The burly seaman left them. The door closed sharply behind him. Skye realized that she was standing there barefoot and in her damp shift, with her bedcover upon her shoulders. She suddenly regretted the fury and impulse that had brought her here. Still, Davey had risked much for her. She would not allow him to be hurt.

“Where is Davey?” she demanded.

“Davey,” he murmured. He came around his desk and sat upon its edge, watching her as he calmly crossed his arms over his chest. “Davey?”

“Davey! My man! He was a sailor aboard the
Silver Messenger
, and came into your service that way. You know exactly who I am talking about! And if you have offered him any harm—”

“Ah, yes, the lad! The one who deserves the stripes upon his back.”

“He deserves nothing of the sort! I told you that it was my fault, my choice to come topside—”

“And did you realize, madame, that in coming topside you risked the lives of every man aboard this ship, not to mention your own?”

“You were quick enough to cast me to the wolves, milord!”

“Never, milady. There was not a single second when I did not prepare to slay the rogue.”

“Then—”

“You endangered us all. Stikes was an amateur, madame. His crew was small, his vessel was faulty. We had bested him from the time that he raised his pirate colors over the flag of England.”

“Then—”

“But you, madame,” he interrupted again, his voice low and soft and still full of menace, “you could well have risked it all. To a man my crew would lay down their lives on your behalf. To see so much blood spilled unnecessarily would be a sorry crime before God. Discipline is mandatory upon a ship, especially in these waters. Davey must learn not to be conned by the wiles of a woman.”