Of Noble Birth (18 page)

Tiny did likewise, nearly
making the small boat keel over.

“Take it easy,” Nathaniel
muttered crossly.

“Sorry, Cap’n.”

“Garth, you too,”
Nathaniel directed.

Garth was smart in a fight
and loyal to a fault. Nathaniel watched as he lowered his short,
muscular frame into the boat, then the rowers hopped in behind
him.

The boat moved across the
chasm between the two ships in short, jerky strokes until the vast
hull of the
Eastern Horizon
loomed before them, straight up. A rope ladder
dangled to the water.

Nathaniel paused for a
moment to listen. He had to be ready for anything. He had no idea
what he might find, but there was only one way to find
out.

Hoisting himself up, he
climbed aboard.

The men of the
Eastern Horizon
stepped
back, their weapons still in their belts. They remained docile but
speculative as they cleared an open path to their
captain.

“So we meet again.”
Nathaniel bowed after crossing the deck to Montague. “I’ll not take
much of your time. My demands have not changed since the last time
we met.”

“You obviously care little
for your own neck,” Montague ground out, his black mustache
twitching as he spoke. “Eventually His Grace will win this little
war you have started, and then I wouldn’t give three pence for your
hide.”

“It is I who have won this
day,” Nathaniel returned, eyeing the short, dark Frenchman. “And I
have no desire to spar with you. If you and your crew will kindly
step aside, we’ll take what we want and leave your ship intact.
Otherwise, I’m afraid my jittery first mate will fear for my safety
and begin firing at will.”

“Then let him fire.” A
short, stocky man fought his way to the forefront, a boy who was
barely a man, judging by his lack of facial hair. “If we go down,
you go with us.”

The boy had removed his
shirt, revealing a hairless, muscular chest. He clasped a knife
tightly in his right hand. “I’ll not let you take this ship while
I’m alive to protect it.”

Nathaniel laughed with
calculated insult. “It would seem a bit late for that.”

The crew began to gather
into an expectant circle, murmuring amongst themselves.

“‘
E’s got but one arm,”
Nathaniel heard a gruff voice announce as they began to place
wagers. “An’ Jake’s the best among us,” someone else
agreed.

“Jake is young and
reckless. Ignore his childish bravado,” Montague said, waving for
the men to quiet down.

“And you are a fool,” Jake
hissed. “You are playing right into the hands of these
thieves.”

“You, young man, are a
danger to all those present,” Nathaniel told him, letting his voice
drop to a menacing level. “You would do well to take lessons from
an older and wiser sort, like your good captain, before you lose
something you value. Like your life.”

“He is a coward! And you
are a pig!” Jake made a lightning jab for the heart. His blade
grazed Nathaniel’s shirt, leaving a tear that exposed the skin over
his ribs as he whirled away.

Dropping to one knee,
Nathaniel retrieved the knife from his boot, and the men who
surrounded them hooted in gratification as the fight
erupted.

Jake lunged again, and
Nathaniel sprang to his feet. The boy was not so inexperienced as
Nathaniel had expected. He fought with practiced skill, but he was
overly aggressive. Nathaniel had seen eagerness cause a man’s
downfall too many times. He dodged and jabbed and dodged again, but
remained mostly on the defensive, patiently conserving his energy
until Jake began to tire.

The cool wind reached
inside Nathaniel’s shirt like fingers, pulling the fabric away from
his perspiring torso as he began his own series of thrusts and
jabs. His knife caught Jake’s forearm, opening a small cut that
spurted blood, but Jake’s eyes barely glanced at the nick.
Red-faced with fury, the boy lost all discipline and began a
feverish onslaught, repeatedly aiming at Nathaniel’s
heart.

Nathaniel managed to avoid
the point of Jake’s knife, pressing his advantage when the momentum
of the boy’s own blows knocked him off-balance. Making a stab at
Jake’s chest, he quickly changed direction, aiming instead for the
hand that held the weapon.

A split second later,
Nathaniel’s blade sliced deep into his opponent’s wrist.

The crew hissed as Jake’s
knife clattered to the deck when he could no longer grasp it. The
boy’s fingers dangled limply, the tendons in his wrist severed, as
blood washed over his hand and dripped onto the wood
planking.

Nathaniel lowered his
knife, but the noise and motion of those around them acted like a
douse of cold water to Jake. With a wild growl, he launched himself
at Nathaniel’s feet.

Taken by surprise,
Nathaniel felt himself hefted into the air, then slammed into the
deck. The jolt forced the air from his lungs as Jake’s good hand
landed a blow to his stomach.

Twisting away and gasping
for breath, Nathaniel pushed Jake off. His own knife skittered
across the deck toward Garth as he tossed it away, then sprang to
his feet to deliver a punishing blow to Jake’s nose.

The boy’s head snapped
back as blood spattered those closest to the fight, but Jake only
shook his head as if to clear his vision. Then, with a curse, he
threw a swift kick to Nathaniel’s groin.

Nathaniel intercepted the
blow with his hand, toppling Jake to the ground. “Bloody hell,
Montague, call this cockfighter off. Are you trying to get him
killed?” he shouted.

The crew had been silent
for several seconds. They were no doubt waiting for someone, likely
Montague, to intercede. It was obvious that Nathaniel had won the
fight. But the captain of the
Horizon
said nothing, only watched
with hooded eyes as Jake staggered to his feet.

The boy tried to land a
blow with his injured right hand, then looked about himself in
obvious confusion, and finally Captain Montague stepped in. Turning
to two men hovering just on the edge of the circle, he said, “Take
him below and clean him up. And see about that hand.”

Nathaniel watched Jake
struggle against those who would help him, and came to a decision.
“Wait, I’ll take the boy Jake with me.”

Silence fell over those
who heard his words. Even Tiny and Garth gaped at him.

Montague’s eyes nearly
bulged from their sockets. “
Mon
Dieu!
I could never
allow it. It is simply out of the question.”

“Nothing is out of the
question,” Nathaniel replied. “You are hardly in a position to
refuse.”

Captain Montague
stubbornly protested, but Nathaniel was in no mood to mince words.
He turned to Garth, who handed him his knife, and the circle around
them instantly widened.

“Would a taste of my blade
convince you more readily? You were eager enough for Jake to try
it.”

The Frenchman paused, his
tongue continually wetting his lips. “No. I am no fighter. He is
yours.”

Nathaniel bowed stiffly,
his blood still pounding in his ears. “I am glad you are a man of
reason,” he said, forcing back the desire to challenge the cocky
Frenchman anyway.

A few minutes later,
several men hoisted a bound but struggling Jake over the side. They
lowered him into the boat beside Garth, who immediately began
pulling for the
Vengeance.
Nathaniel and Tiny stayed to oversee the exchange
of cargo.

As the first crates
appeared on deck, brought up from the hold below, Nathaniel halted
the procession, too eager to discover what had drawn his father’s
attention to the Black Sea to wait any longer. The boxes were long
and flat, yet curiously heavy—certainly not sugar or tobacco.
Neither were they typical of opium.

Using his knife to pry one
of the boards away, Nathaniel dug through the packing to reveal six
clean, shiny rifles—the newly invented Minie rifle currently being
issued to the English infantry.

“Bloody hell!” he
exclaimed. “Why on earth would my father be shipping rifles to
Russia?” His eyes sought Montague’s, but even as he asked, he knew,
and the answer turned his stomach. In war, what commanded a better
price than arms?

“It’s treason,” Nathaniel
said, disgust sticking like tar to his voice. “And you are as
guilty as he.”

“I had no idea what we
carried. His Grace chose not to reveal that to me.” Montague’s
voice was strained. He glanced worriedly toward his crew. “None of
us knew.”

“Guns!” The word rippled
through the men like a wave. They appeared as startled as
Nathaniel. More than a few became angry. “We were told we carried
provisions for the poor Turks,” they shouted.

Instinct told Nathaniel
that the
Horizon’s
captain, at the very least, knew exactly what lay inside the
boxes of his hold, which was why he had fought so tenaciously to
keep them. “If I were you, I’d be worried about my own hide,”
Nathaniel told Montague. “Treason can play havoc with one’s
neck.”

“You will test the rope
long before I do,” Montague hissed. “You are making a big mistake
taking that boy. You have enemies in very high places.”

“It is you who has cause
to worry—because you consider them your friends.” Though Nathaniel
affected a calm demeanor, the discovery of his father’s treachery
had sent him reeling. Why would the duke betray his own country?
Why would he risk his life, his good name, his fortune, and his
title? It didn’t make sense. But then, there was much about his
father that Nathaniel had never understood. He was only grateful
that he had something, at last, that would make the Duke of
Greystone sit up and take notice. And if it wasn’t too late,
release Richard.

Turning his back on
Montague, Nathaniel said, “Tiny, you oversee the transfer of the
rest of the cargo. I’m going back.”

“Who is he? What’s wrong
with him?” Alexandra stood at Nathaniel’s elbow, watching as Garth
and Trenton entered the cabin carrying a wounded young
man.

“Lay him on the bed,”
Nathaniel instructed, ignoring her. “Get Nanchu.”

Alexandra couldn’t miss
the blood that ran from the stranger’s wrist down his flat stomach
like sheets of rain against glass. The sight made her own blood
curdle in her veins. “He’s bleeding,” she gasped.

Nathaniel stared down at
the man, his face a mask. “‘Twould seem that way.”

“But why?”

“I had to convince him to
give up the cargo he carried.”

“You did this?” The
morning’s battle had frightened Alexandra, but the uneasiness she
had felt since the pirate captain and his small party had departed
for the conquered
Horizon
had been worse. The silence had seemed unnatural,
as though the ears of the entire crew strained to catch the
slightest sound.

“I asked him nicely
first.”

The sarcasm in Nathaniel’s
voice made Alexandra’s stomach knot with renewed anxiety. How could
he injure a man so badly—and that man an innocent, like herself, a
mere sailor on one of his father’s ships? She shrank from Rat, but
who was to say which man was more dangerous, he or
Nathaniel?

She crossed numbly to the
bed. The long days at sea had somehow dulled Alexandra’s fear of
the pirate captain. He had treated her decently, if not kindly. But
now she witnessed, firsthand, the fate of anyone who stood in his
way, and it was a rude awakening.

The injured man writhed in
pain. He looked young, not much older than her own nineteen years.
With blood smeared across one cheek and a small trickle still
running from a rather large Roman nose, he shook with reaction.
Perspiration rolled off his wide forehead into sandy-colored hair,
wetting his temples as he hugged a wounded wrist close to his
chest.

A commotion behind
Alexandra made her turn. Garth, Trenton, and the small Oriental
doctor she had seen once or twice about the ship hurried into the
room.