Authors: Connie Mason
Morgan staggered and grit his teeth against the stabbing pain of his lacerated flesh. One eye was swollen shut, but his good eye was focused and steady. He nodded grimly. “I can walk.”
“Let’s go then.” Stan took the lead. Morgan followed close behind. The passageway was quiet. When they reached the guardroom, Morgan’s lips twisted into a parody of a smile when he saw that his crewmen had the situation well in hand. Stan, Morgan, and the crewmen slipped out the door and were joined by the two men who had stood guard outside.
Crawford moved purposefully toward the waterfront where their longboat waited. He urged Morgan forward, but Morgan balked, refusing to accompany Crawford to safety.
“Bloody Hell, Morgan, what is it? Do you need help?”
‘There is something I need to do first,” Morgan said in a voice so filled with venom Crawford was glad he wasn’t the recipient of Morgan’s anger.
“Shit, Morgan, you can’t get to del Fugo. Forget the bastard, he isn’t worth your life.”
Morgan’s eyes grew flinty; his face was stark with an emotion Crawford had never seen in him before. “It isn’t del Fugo I want.”
“Not del Fugo? Who?” Suddenly it dawned on him. “No, Forget her. Leave her to her lover.”
“Luca is my wife, Stan. I cannot leave Havana without my ‘loving’ bride.” He laughed harshly when he saw the stunned look on Crawford’s face. “Prepare the
Avenger.
If I don’t return by dawn, sail without me.”
“When did Luca become your wife? Rumor has it she’s del Fugo’s…”
“… Mistress. I know. Nevertheless, she’s my wife. We were married by a priest aboard her brothers’ ship. I’ll tell you all about it when I return from my ‘rescue’ mission.”
“Those beatings must have addled your brain, Morgan. The governor-general’s mansion is well guarded, you couldn’t possibly get inside without being seen or heard. You are in no condition to rescue anyone but yourself.”
Morgan’s lips thinned in determination. “I’m still captain, Mr. Crawford. Are you going to obey orders?”
Crawford stared at Morgan in consternation. The longer they stood there arguing, the greater their risk of being caught. But he could see that Morgan was determined, and that was putting it mildly.
“Very well, Captain, I suppose there is no stopping you. But I’m going with you.”
“I’m going alone, Mr. Crawford, is that clear?”
“Perfectly,” Crawford grit out from between clenched teeth.
“Remember, if I’m not back by dawn, you’re to sail without me. Give me a sword.” Someone thrust a sword and scabbard into his hand, and he strapped it around his waist.
“Not bloody likely,” Crawford muttered beneath his breath as he watched Morgan disappear around a building. When Morgan was out of sight, he spoke briefly to his men and took off after his captain. He never considered the consequences for disobeying orders, for he thought Morgan had lost his sense of reason. A man in Morgan’s weakened condition had to be out of his mind to storm an enemy stronghold single-handedly. And Crawford was crazier still to think he could save his misguided captain from self-destruction.
Luca spent the entire evening in prayer. If God performed a miracle and spared Morgan’s life, she would never ask another thing for herself again. She would accept whatever fate dealt her and be grateful that Morgan’s life had been spared. On the other hand, if God allowed Morgan’s death, she prayed for the courage to end her own life and join him in eternity.
After she had returned from the calaboose, Don Diego had left her to her own devices. He coolly informed Luca that he had decided to restrain his lust for her until after her husband had been put to death. A weeping woman would spoil his pleasure.
Luca was grateful for that small reprieve and had spent the rest of the evening at her devotions. If prayer alone could save Morgan, she reasoned, his salvation was assured. Unfortunately God worked in mysterious ways, ways she didn’t pretend to understand. God had made her love the pirate, hadn’t He?
Ignoring the tray of food sent to her room after she failed to appear at dinner, Luca remained on her knees far into the night. When exhaustion left her swaying dizzily and in danger of toppling over, she left her prayer bench and staggered through the open door to the gallery overlooking the garden. How peaceful it looked, she thought stretching her weary muscles. Her insides were coiled as tight as a corkscrew; not even prayer had dispelled the tension gripping her. But the crushing thought of Morgan’s impending death sent her back to her prayer bench.
Morgan climbed the garden wall and dropped heavily on the ground below. Pain splintered through him; his body felt as if it was being torn apart. Setting his teeth, he forced himself to his feet and tried to gather his scattered wits. Glancing upward, he saw a flank of dark windows facing a gallery on the second floor. He assumed most of those rooms were bedrooms, and wondered how in Hell he was going to find Luca’s room. If she was in bed with del Fugo he’d take great pleasure in killing the bastard. He prayed for strength.
He was still staring intently at the second-floor windows when a small figure appeared on the gallery. The breath slammed against Morgan’s ribs and he blinked repeatedly, fearing his eyes were playing tricks on him. Luca! Mesmerized, he watched as she stretched, stared into the garden for a brief moment, then turned and disappeared into the room directly behind her. If Morgan had ever doubted there was a God, he no longer did.
Morgan crept toward the house with grim purpose, noting with satisfaction the thick vines clinging to the walls of the brick mansion. They appeared stout enough and strong enough to support his body. He neither hesitated nor considered the consequences as he grasped a handful of vines and climbed painfully upward, unaware that Crawford was close on his heels, having scaled the garden wall in time to see Morgan cautiously ascend the vines to the second-floor gallery. Crawford crept through the dark garden, watching with bated breath as Morgan reached the top safely.
Morgan stepped lightly over the rail onto the gallery. He could see directly into the room where Luca had disappeared. A votive light flickered dimly before a statue of the Blessed Virgin, illuminating Luca’s kneeling form. Her eyes were closed, her head bent piously. If Morgan didn’t know better, he’d think she was the most holy of women. She had fooled him once, but it wasn’t going to happen again, he vowed. Nun, indeed! She was a hot little witch who couldn’t wait to get another man between her thighs once she had been relieved of her virginity. She had fallen into del Fugo’s bed like a ripe plum while awaiting her husband’s death. Hatred shimmered through him, alive and pulsating. He was tempted to wring her lovely little neck. But an emotion he preferred not to confront prevented him from throttling his own wife.
Morgan stepped into the room. Despite his exhaustion, regardless of his weakened state and brutally abused body, his footsteps were light and noiseless as he approached Luca. He was so close now he could smell the sweet scent of her flesh, feel her heat radiating outward to engulf him. Lust slammed through him, and he suppressed a groan This was the woman who wanted his death, he reminded himself. This was the woman who fell eagerly into del Fugo’s arms.
“Luca.” He bent low, whispering her name.
Luca heard and turned her head. Shock shuddered through her. She exhaled sharply, her face suffused with incredible joy when she saw Morgan standing behind her. When she realized she wasn’t fantasizing, that Morgan was indeed flesh and bone, she reached out to him. “Morgan, how…”
Morgan acted swiftly, before Luca could cry out and alert del Fugo. He clipped her on the jaw, and she went out like a light. He regretted resorting to physical violence, but he had no choice. If Luca hated him as she’d indicated during her visit to the calaboose, she wouldn’t have hesitated to scream for help. He would have had no chance at all against del Fugo’s guards.
Morgan let out a grunt of pain as he tossed Luca over his shoulder. Despite his weakness, adrenalin flowed through his veins now, suffusing him with desperately needed strength. He realized belatedly that carrying Luca down the vine-covered wall in his condition was going to drain what was left of his vigor.
Poised on the gallery, Morgan stared down into the dark garden, wondering if he had the fortitude to make it to the bottom with his burden. One foot was already over the rail when a man stepped out from the shadows beneath the gallery. Morgan knew a moment of panic Then he recognized Crawford and dared to breathe again. So much for his men following his orders, he thought—not that he wasn’t damn glad to see his first mate.
“Pass her down to me,” Crawford hissed, indicating that Morgan should drop Luca into his arms.
Morgan hesitated but a moment before lowering Luca’s inert form over the railing and dropping her handily into Crawford’s arms. Morgan followed swiftly, lowering himself over the rail and clambering down the vines.
“Go ahead, I’ll carry Luca,” Crawford whispered, alarmed by Morgan’s pallor. It surprised him that Morgan had accomplished so much after the brutal beatings he had endured. It must have taken enormous will and fortitude.
They reached the garden wall, and Crawford handed the still unconscious Luca to Morgan while he scaled the rough stone edifice. He had checked the gate earlier and found it securely locked against intruders, forcing them to leave the same way they had arrived. Crawford reached the top, let out a low curse, and scrambled down again. “A patrol,” he hissed, urging caution as the sound of footsteps grew louder.
They crouched at the foot of the wall until the patrol passed. Then Crawford rose cautiously and lifted himself atop the wall. indicating that all was clear, he held out his arms for Luca. Morgan passed his fragile burden to Crawford, who waited for Morgan to join him. Morgan reached the top and dropped to the ground on the other side, holding his sides as pain jolted through him. Then Crawford transferred Luca into Morgan’s arms and lowered himself to the ground. Safely out of the walled garden now, both men moved stealthily among the shadows toward the quay. They had one close call and were forced to take cover when the night watch passed so close they had to hold their breath until he was out of sight.
They reached the quay just as Luca stirred in Morgan’s arms. She moaned softly, and he placed a warning hand over her mouth. “If you cry out, I’ll wring your bloodthirsty little neck.”
The longboat was waiting where Crawford had left it. All hands had arrived back safely and were anxious to return to the
Avenger.
The moment Crawford, Morgan, and Luca were aboard, the men shoved off. All hands knew it would be only a matter of minutes before Morgan’s escape was discovered and the alarm given. With cannons from shore aimed at them, the
Avenger
would be a sitting duck in the water.
Once they were a good distance from the shore, Morgan removed his hand from Luca’s mouth. She rubbed her jaw and glared at him. “You didn’t have to hit me.”
“I had to make certain you wouldn’t cry out for your lover. If I had found you in del Fugo’s bed, I would have killed him.”
“Dios!
Why would I warn Diego? I would have come with you willingly had you the courtesy to ask.” Her eyes softened when she looked at him. “I prayed for a miracle but didn’t expect one.”
“If I didn’t know you for a lying little witch, I would be inclined to believe you. The miracle you spoke of was no miracle at all. I don’t know yet how Stan knew where to find me, but I’m grateful he arrived when he did.”
“If you think so little of me, why didn’t you leave me instead of risking your life to return for me?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already that you are my wife? My faithless wife,” he clarified. “You wasted little time welcoming del Fugo into your bed. Did your brothers know the bastard had no intention of marrying you?”
“They never would have left if they had known Diego’s intentions. The man is deceitful and utterly without scruples.”
“He must have had something you liked,” Morgan hinted crudely.
“I lied, Morgan, to save you from further beatings. Diego forced me to admit to things that aren’t true in order to save you from torture. Everything I said was a lie.”
“Including what you’re telling me now.” His face was hard, implacable, his voice cold and unrelenting.
Abruptly the longboat bumped into the hull of the
Avenger.
Several men began scurrying up the rope netting while others attached the boat to lines being lowered from above. When no one but Morgan and Luca remained in the boat, it was winched aboard the
Avenger.
in a very short time the sails were unfurled to catch the breeze, and the
Avenger
scudded before the wind, away from Havana and danger. The faintest of mauve streaks colored the eastern sky, heralding a flew day.
Morgan clung to the rail and stared at the shore receding in the distance. He recalled vividly his brief sojourn on the hostile island. If not for Stan, today would have been his last on earth. His bruised and battered body would have turned to dust and ashes on foreign soil. But the memory of Luca’s words hurt far worse than the torture he had endured. She had told him she hated him, that she wished for his death. She had become del Fugo’s willing mistress. She had taken great pleasure in his suffering. Releasing the rail, he rounded on Luca, his eyes blazing with fury.
As the
Avenger’s
sails filled with air, Luca tried to remain calm, hoping that once Morgan’s temper cooled he would see things more clearly. How could he not know that she never meant those hurtful things she said? Didn’t he realize she would do and say anything to save him from torture? But when he swung around to face her, the fires of Hell burned in the depths of his blue gray eyes. Her heart thumped wildly. What was he going to do to her?