A Distant Magic (7 page)

The anger and rage were real, no matter what the actual facts of what happened. Trying to get a clearer picture, she asked,
"Why is all your anger for my father? Did Jasper Polmarric try to help you?"

"It was not Polmarric who made the promises." His expression was brooding.
"I think Polmarric died that day, but if he survived and lives still, I shall
find him when I sail to London."

"You saw Sir Jasper shot?" Jean asked, startled.

"Yes. You seem to know him. Did he survive?"

"Yes, but he took a musket ball in his back that day. Though my
father managed to save his life, Sir Jasper never walked again. He is confined
to a wheelchair."

There was satisfaction in seeing Gregorio's shock, but Jean realized uneasily that this might be the answer. She had heard the story of how Sir Jasper was shot during a pirate attack, literally falling at her father's feet.
"Perhaps my father was forced to choose between you and the life of one of his oldest friends," she said slowly.
"The safety of the whole ship might have been on his shoulders—he was a natural
leader and a fine swordsman as well as a mage."

Gregorio moved forward another half step. "Do you think that
knowing he made such a choice would make me feel better about it?"

She refused to drop her gaze. "No. But I also know that in battle, events happen with shattering swiftness. Life-or-death decisions must be made with no time to think. Regret is a luxury that comes later, if you survive." And it haunted dreams forever.

"For a pampered girl, you speak of war with great authority," he said drily.

Though she knew it was best if he underestimated her, she could not let his comment pass.
"Am I wrong?"

"No," he admitted. "In the heat of battle, strange things happen.
Small details can be magnified; great events can take place a glance away and be
missed entirely. You have listened to soldiers, I think."

"Scotland suffered a bloody civil war a few years ago. I knew many men who participated in it." Changing the subject, she continued,
"Even if my father deliberately abandoned you, which is still hard to believe, you have not done badly." Her gesture included the ship.
"How did you escape slavery and become a pirate captain?"

"I led a slave rising on a galley," he said coolly. "We killed the
officers and crew, and the ship was ours."

She thought of the chains that locked galley slaves to their benches and shuddered.
"That was surely more difficult than it sounds."

His eyes narrowed. "I didn't say it was easy."

She had another vision, this time of blood and steel as unarmed men tackled their captors in a desperate bid for freedom. That they succeeded, she guessed, was because of the man before her. With his intelligence, ruthlessness, and power, he was a born leader.
"Once more I ask your intentions toward me. I don't suppose you want to kill me,
or I would be dead already."

"You are correct. Death is far too easy." There was a flash of teeth that could never be called a smile.
"I have not yet decided. Ransom, perhaps?"

She shrugged. "You may try, but my family is not wealthy by the
standards of the aristocracy. Scotland is a poor country, and whatever the
chieftain of the Macraes possesses is at the service of his people."

He moved closer still, his energy pressing against hers with the force of a physical shove.
"Perhaps, but taken together, the Guardians control great wealth. Would they
allow one of their own to languish in vile captivity?"

She shrugged again. "A spinster of no great magic has little value to the community. My own family will care, but they cannot afford to beggar themselves to bring me home. You will not be able to extract a ransom large enough to satisfy your anger." Her statement was less than the whole truth, for the Guardians took care of their own, and as a group they had great resources.
"However, the council might send searchers to find me, and they are not people
you would wish to meet unless you have a dozen powerful mages standing beside
you."

"Ransom was never my first choice." He reached out and trailed a fingernail around her throat.
"Selling you into slavery is better justice."

She shivered at his touch, which held both threat and dark promise. This was a man who could destroy her, body and soul, without drawing a deep breath. But his touch made it easier to read him.
"You will sell no one into slavery," she said flatly. "You hate slavery so much
that you would not condemn even your worst enemy to that."

His hand clamped around her throat so tightly she could scarcely breathe.
"Perhaps you are right," he breathed. "Perhaps it would be better to keep you as my prisoner here on the
Justice
so I can rape you whenever I wish."

He wanted to do exactly that; she could feel his desire and the rage that demanded vengeance for what he'd suffered. But he prided himself on being a strong man, one who would not yield to raw emotion.
"You will not ravish me, I think. Not today."

She felt a flicker of surprise, though his expression didn't change.
"What an innocent you are," he snapped. "Why should I not take you right now? If
I'm not going to sell you in Tangier, lost virginity won't affect your value,
and I would find great satisfaction in ruining James Macrae's daughter."

The same mental link that had told her how he felt about slavery produced more information.
"Because of Ulindi, ravishing helpless women is not to your taste." As she said the name, horrific images surged through her mind. A lithe young woman with cinnamon skin attacked by a hoard of drunken men. The brutal, repeated assaults as she screamed desperately. The kicks and blows that ended the girl's life.

Gregorio jerked away as if she was poisonous. "You bloody witch!" he snarled.
"You are your father's daughter—innocence disguising evil. Be damned to you, Jean Macrae!" He whirled and slammed his way out of the cabin.

So Jean was a prisoner on a ship named
Justice,
and the captain wanted her to pay for the perceived sins of her father. She folded, shaking, onto her bunk.

May God have mercy on her soul.

Chapter
NINE

N
ikolai's heart pounded as he locked the cabin door and stalked away. The damned female had the ability to drive him mad. He should have realized that a Guardian would not be an ordinary British girl, no matter how prim she looked. Perhaps he should have confronted her the day of her capture, before she'd had a chance to gather that intimidating cloak of self-possession around her. And before she'd had time to rummage through his mind and memories.

He climbed the ladder to the main deck, hoping the stiff breeze would clear his thoughts. What was he to do with her? As she had recognized, he wouldn't sell her into slavery even though that would be perfect justice. Perhaps he could have condemned James Macrae to such a fate, but the daughter had not harmed him directly, even though she carried her family's blood guilt.

How much had the Scottish witch known about Ulindi? Too much, since she'd realized that because of Ulindi, he could not assault a defenseless woman.

Swearing again, he raised his spyglass and scanned the horizon. Instinct said that somewhere out there was a ship ripe for his taking, and by God, he would find it.

After the captain stormed out, Jean locked her arms around herself and rocked back and forth, shaking. She was in the hands of the most dangerous and unpredictable man she'd ever met, and he despised her. Today, at least, he hadn't released his violence, but there were no guarantees for tomorrow. Anger might overcome his distaste for rape.

Given time, the Guardians could find her, but she didn't have time and her family was a thousand miles away. If she was to survive and return home, it must be through her own wits and resourcefulness.

She jumped like a nervous hare when a key grated in the lock, but this time it was only the crewman carrying her supper, along with his usual guard. Since she'd had no luck getting information on previous days, today she asked for hot water to wash herself. She asked in French and repeated the request in English, but again, the sailors ignored her. They withdrew, locking the door firmly behind them.

As she finished eating, the door opened again and a sailor she hadn't seen before delivered a large bucket of water. He was carefully guarded, of course.

"Merci,"
she said politely as she handed over the tray with her empty bowl and spoon. She hadn't finished the wine, so she kept that. She added the smile that had been called charming in some of London's best ballrooms.

At her thanks, the sailor dropped his eyes bashfully as he left. He was just a boy, probably under twenty. Young enough to be embarrassed by the mere presence of a woman. Possibly he might become an ally.

Under the circumstances, she was reluctant to disrobe for a really thorough bath, but with a corner of one of the towels she'd found below the washbasin, she could clean herself well enough. Then she washed her hair, getting as much powder out as possible. If she was to face the unknown, she'd do it looking like herself.

Like a damned redheaded Scot.

She woke from a sound sleep when an almighty boom shuddered through the ship, knocking her from her bunk. Swearing, she scrambled to her feet. Had the ship struck a reef or rock? No, she heard shouts, then another ragged volley of explosions that rocked the vessel. They were being fired on by cannon.

More cannon shots, this time deafeningly close as the
Justice
fired back. Her blood ran cold. If the ship was damaged badly enough to sink, she could die here, trapped like a rat in a cage.

Hell, no!
She slid into her lightweight shoes, then set to work on the door lock with a hairpin, creating a small mage light so she could see what she was doing. She hadn't the magical ability to move the tumblers by pure thought, but she did have a knack for puzzles and locks, and this one took only moments to pick.

Knife in hand, she dowsed the mage light and opened the door. The narrow corridor was dark and silent, though overhead cacophony ruled. There had been no more cannon volleys. Shouts and pistol shots suggested that one ship had tried to board the other, and the crews were fighting hand to hand. In the confusion, there might be an opportunity to escape.

Invoking a don't-look spell, she ran down the corridor and climbed the ladder, emerging onto the deck warily. Dawn was a slash of orange along the eastern horizon, and there was just enough light to outline the men fighting with swords and sometimes pistols. She took shelter in the shadow of the wheelhouse and tried to make sense of the action. To her surprise, Gregorio's ship was a European trading vessel not dissimilar to the
Mercury.
She'd expected a pirate ship to look different.

But the slim, narrow vessel lying alongside was unquestionably a corsair galley. Low and sleek, it had dozens of slaves chained to oars. Sections of the oars that extended beyond the ship were broken where the hulls banged together. So which ship was the attacker and which the victim? Had one pirate accidentally attacked another?

The battle spilled across both ships, with the corsairs wearing light-colored turbans. They outnumbered the crew of the
Justice,
but Gregorio's men, a very mixed lot, fought very, very well. In fact, they were gradually prevailing, killing some of the corsairs and pushing the others back onto the galley. Gregorio was right in the middle of the action, moving with lithe ruthlessness as he struck down pirate after pirate.

She had considered crossing to the other ship until she saw that it was a corsair. Joining them was unlikely to be an improvement. Perhaps she could escape from the
Justice
when its crew was looking the other way.

She slipped around the wheelhouse and studied the starboard side of the ship, opposite the fighting. The
Justice
carried several dinghies, with the smallest secured a little forward of her position. She moved closer. After a quick survey, she decided she could cut the vessel loose with her knife. It was small enough that she could push it over the railing into the water. The sea was fairly calm, and if the boat stayed upright she could dive in next to it, then board and row away.

But would such an escape improve her situation? When the
Justice
won its current battle, she'd be missed. Once they realized she wasn't aboard the ship, it probably wouldn't take them long to spot her, and rowing wasn't a fast way to travel. Even if she managed to escape, she might well be sentencing herself to death from thirst or starvation.

She consulted her intuition. She didn't have the sense that she was likely to die escaping on a dinghy, so it was worth the risk. Of course, intuition might just be saying that she wouldn't manage to get away, but she was willing to try.

She was sawing on a line that secured the bow of the dinghy when she heard Gregorio bellow with a fury that curdled the air. Curious, she moved back to the wheelhouse and saw that he and his men had advanced onto the galley.

Gregorio was engaged in a shouting match with the corsair captain in a language she didn't recognize. The sky had lightened enough to reveal Gregorio's expression, and the blood on his curved sword. Most of the corsairs were wounded or captive. Very soon the fighting would be over.

Sneering, the corsair captain—a
reis,
that's what they were called—jumped to the raised aisle that ran between the seats where the rowers were chained. He raised his sword to chop at the nearest slave. The slave screamed and cowered away, desperately trying to avoid the blow.

With a roar, Gregorio leaped after the
reis
and smashed the other man's blade aside with his sword. Jean stared. It looked as if he was defending the slaves! Probably because they were valuable. She was about to return to the dinghy when three of the remaining corsair fighters joined their captain, all of them hacking at Gregorio.

Damnation, the
reis
was pulling a pistol out from under his flowing robe and aiming it point-blank at Gregorio! She shouldn't care, but every fiber of her being screamed that she couldn't let him die.

She darted to the railing, knife in hand. The action of the battle seemed to slow, giving her all the time she needed to skid to a halt, take aim, and hurl her knife into the
reis
's throat.

The
reis
crumbled, his pistol discharging harmlessly into the air. By the time his body hit the deck, three of Gregorio's sailors had reached their captain's side. Fighting in the narrow aisle between the rows of oars, they cut down the remaining corsairs.

With his back protected, Gregorio spun around to look at the source of the knife. His gaze moved right to her, but that didn't mean he'd recognized her. She strengthened her don't-see spell and dropped to the deck of the
Justice,
out of the captain's sight. If she was to have any chance of escaping, she would have to move fast.

With her knife gone, she would need some sort of a weapon. She passed a dead pirate and appropriated his sword. Slim and curving, it was light enough for her to handle. Not as good as her throwing knife, but a great deal better than nothing.

Grimly she began hacking at the ropes that secured the dinghy.