Surrender the Dawn (3 page)

A sudden chill struck Cassandra. She hugged herself. In her musings, nighttime had spread a cloak of darkness over the city. With the exception of a sailor sitting on the deck of his ship by the dock, an old man ambling down the street, and a couple disappearing in the distance, no one was in sight. Facing forward, she hurried along.

Footsteps sounded behind her.

Her chest tightened. She quickened her pace.

More shuffling. The crunch of gravel. A man coughed.

She glanced over her shoulder. Two bulky shadows followed her.

Air seized in her throat. She hurried her pace and nearly tripped on the uneven pavement. The footfalls grew louder. Grabbing her skirts, she started to run. Where were the night watchmen? Why, oh why, had she been foolish enough to bring all of her money with her?
Lord, please …
her prayer fell limp from her lips. God had never answered her petitions before. Why would He now?

She crossed Light Street. A cat meowed.

A man jumped out of an alleyway in front of her. Cassandra screamed and spun around. The two men approached her. Shadows swirled over their faces, masking their features. “What do you want?” Her voice came out as a squeak.

“We wants what’s in yer purse there, miss.”

Luke took another swig of rum and squinted into the shadows where Biron had disappeared. Across the street, a lady walked alone. Two, maybe three men crept behind her. Foolish girl. From her attire, he could tell she wasn’t one of the tavern wenches. What was she doing wandering about the docks so late? Luke flipped the hair from his face and slowly set his bottle down. The ship eased over a ripple and the bottle shifted, scraping over the oak planks. The men continued their pursuit. Luke shook his head. The last thing he needed was more trouble. He shouldn’t get involved. He should stay on his ship. But the rum soured in his stomach.
Oh, lud.
With that, Luke shot to his feet. Searching the deck for his sword, he sheathed it and leaped onto the dock. The woman started to run. Another man leapt out in front of her. They had her surrounded.

Cassandra’s pulse roared in her ears. Her legs wobbled. She would not allow these ruffians to steal all that kept her and her family from starvation. Her terror quickly turned to anger. She jutted out her chin. “Well, you cannot have it, sir!”

“If you give us the purse, there’ll be no trouble.”

“Oh, I assure you gentlemen, if you do not leave this instant, there’ll be more trouble than you can handle.”

The men exchanged mirthful glances then broke into fits of laughter.

Cassandra ground her teeth together. She grew tired of being laughed at. Tired of being told what she could and couldn’t do.

One of the men, a short, greasy-looking fellow, approached, hand extended. She recognized him as one of the men at the coffeehouse. “Give it up, miss.”

“You’ll have to pry it out of my dead hands.”

The slimy man grabbed her arm. Pain shot into her shoulder. “If ye insist.”

  CHAPTER 2  

C
assandra struggled against the man’s grip. “How dare you!” She pounded her reticule atop his head. Tossing up his other arm to fend off her blows, he ducked and spewed obscenities, while his companions held their stomachs in laughter.

Fury pinched every nerve into action. She would not lose this money. She could not lose this money. Her life and the lives of her family depended on it.

The man’s grip tightened. Pain spiked through her arm and into her fingers. They grew cold and numb. Raising her leg, she thrust her shoe into his groin. He released her and doubled over with a groan. The other men stopped laughing. Thick fingers grabbed her arms on both sides. She screeched in pain.

“That’s enough out o’ you, miss. Now hand over that purse!” The man to her right—who looked more like a toad than a man—shouted, sending a spray of spittle and foul breath over her. Strands of hair hung in his bloated face as his venomous eyes stabbed her with hatred. He reached for her reticule.

Cassandra thrashed her legs. Her thrusts met nothing but air. The men on either side of her tightened their grips. She cried out in pain. Her palms grew moist. Toad-man released her and yanked the purse from her hands.

Somewhere a bell rang, chiming her doom.

“Give that back to me at once!” Cassandra grasped for her reticule, but the man jumped out of her reach and gave her a yellowed grin in return.

All hope spilled from Cassandra, leaving her numb. This couldn’t be happening. “Please,” she begged. “It’s all I have.”

“Not anymore.” The bald man on her left lifted his beak-like nose and chortled.

She kicked him in the shin. He cursed and leaned over, pinching her arm even tighter and dragging her down with him.

The toad chuckled.

When Cassandra righted herself, she saw the tip of a cutlass slice through the darkness, cutting off toad-man’s laughter at his neck. The sharp point pierced his skin. A trickle of blood dripped onto his grimy shirt. He froze. His eyes widened. Cassandra’s gaze traced the length of the blade to a tall, dark-haired man at the hilt end, his face hidden in the shadows. “Return the lady’s reticule, if you please, sir,” a deep, yet oddly familiar voice demanded.

Cassandra released her breath. Her thrashing heart slowed its pace. Dare she hope for rescue?

“And you.” The dark man nodded toward the beak-nosed ruffian still clutching her left arm. “Release her and back away, or your friend will forfeit his head.”

A salty breeze swirled around them like a tempest, as if some unknown force were examining the proceedings. Despite the chill of the evening, a trickle of sweat slid down the toad’s forehead. Beak-nose released her arm. Cassandra rubbed it, feeling her blood return.

The third man, whom Cassandra had kicked, slowly rose from the ground and slid a hand inside his coat.

Cassandra opened her mouth to warn her rescuer, but with lightning speed, he plucked a pistol from his coat, cocked it, and pointed it at the villain. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

The third man raised his hands in the air.

Her rescuer turned back to Toad-man. “I
said
return the lady’s reticule.” He pressed the tip further into the man’s skin. He yelped. More blood spilled.

“Whatever you say. Whatever you say.” With a trembling arm, he held Cassandra’s purse out to her. Snatching it, she pressed it against her bosom and took a step back, her heart slowing its pace.

“What are you doin’, George?” Beak-nose whined. “There’s three o’ us and only one o’ him.”

“Ye aren’t the one wit’ a sword in yer neck, are ye, now?”

Her rescuer faced Beak-nose. A sheen of moonlight drifted over his face, over his firm stubbled jaw, strong nose, high forehead, and raven hair. Cassandra’s mouth fell open.
Luke Heaton.
Her friend Noah Brenin’s roguish first mate—the man he had tossed from his privateer for drunkenness and cheating at cards.

“I told you to unhand her,” he demanded.

Beak-nose gave a cynical laugh that sent a tremble of fear through Cassandra. “As you wish.” In one fluid motion, he released her arm and drew a sword from his belt, leveling it upon Mr. Heaton.

“What … ye goin’ to do … now, hero?” Toad-man’s voice came out broken beneath the tip of Luke’s sword.

Beak-nose thrust his sword at Mr. Heaton. Leaping back, Luke blocked the slash with his blade. The chime of steel on steel vibrated a chill down Cassandra’s back. The toad rubbed his neck and gazed at the blood on his hand as if he could not conceive from whence it had come.

With his gun still cocked and pointed at the third man, Luke met each thrust of Beak-nose’s sword blow for blow. The chime of their blades rang through the night like the warning bells of Christ’s Church. Cassandra gripped her throat. She should take her money and run. No man could fight such odds and win.

But how could she leave? Rogue or not, Mr. Heaton risked his life for her. She must do something to help. Frantic, Cassandra scanned the surroundings. A stack of bricks lay on the side of the building, no doubt for repairs. She grabbed one. The rough stone snagged her silk gloves as she crept toward Toad-man.

Beak-nose brought his blade down once again on Mr. Heaton. Moonlight glinted off the metal as grunts filled the air. Leaping out of its path, Heaton swung about and drove the man back with a rapid parry. The
whoosh whoosh whoosh
of his blade filled the air. His last swipe sent Beak-nose’s sword clanging to the ground. He quickly snatched it up. But before he could recover, Mr. Heaton lunged toward him with a ferocious assault that sent the man reeling.

Taking advantage of the moment, the toad drew his sword. Cassandra gasped. She raised her hands to strike him with the brick. He swung around, growling, and shoved her aside. Arms failing, she dropped the
brick and tumbled to the dirt. Pain shot up her back.

With blade extended, Toad-man advanced toward Luke. Still holding his pistol in one hand, Mr. Heaton fired at him. He missed. The crack pierced the night air as the smell of gunpowder bit Cassandra’s nose. The toad emitted a vile chuckle. Tossing the weapon down, Mr. Heaton swung his cutlass in his direction. He ducked beneath Toad-man’s clumsy slash then met his advance with such force, it spun the man around. Sweeping his sword back to the left, Mr. Heaton countered Beak-nose’s next attack.

Cassandra’s head grew light. She glanced down the street for anyone who could help. No one was in sight. Yet Mr. Heaton seemed more than capable of handling these two men. But not capable of keeping his eye on the third man, who finally managed to extract his pistol from his coat and aim it at Mr. Heaton.

Grabbing her skirts, she jumped to her feet and retrieved the brick. Raising it above her head, she closed her eyes and brought it down on the man’s head. A sharp crack made her wince. Followed by a moan. She peered through her lashes to see him topple to the ground in a heap. Her gaze locked upon Mr. Heaton’s. A slight grin crossed his lips before he turned to meet Toad-man’s next charge.

In fact, Mr. Heaton continued to fight both men off with more skill and finesse than Cassandra had ever witnessed. Where the ruffians groaned and heaved and dripped in sweat, Mr. Heaton carried himself with a calm, urbane confidence. Finally his blade met the toad’s left shoulder, eliciting a scream from the man that quite resembled a woman’s. Clutching his arm, the villain sped into the night, leaving his partner gaping at Luke, his chest heaving. He backed away, dropped his blade, and uttered, “It’s not worth this,” before bolting down the street.