Claire Delacroix (128 page)

But Baldassare was not a man of honor and Rowan knew it well. Neither was Rowan, at least by his own claims, but that seemed of less import in this moment. The ship rolled beneath his feet, but he gritted his teeth and fought back a wave of nausea, knowing only that he had to keep Bronwyn from doing something foolish.

Again.

Rowan stepped into her path and seized her shoulders in his grip, forcing her to meet his gaze. The determination he found in her eyes stunned him. “You cannot go to him! You know he is not a man of merit.”

“I thought you were a man of merit, though now I know better.” She shrugged. “It seems my perceptions go awry. And what does it matter in the end? I have naught to lose by coupling with as many men as I might desire.” Bronwyn smiled up at him. “Is pleasure not the only thing that can be relied upon?”

“You cannot believe that!”

“Can I not?” Her eyes were as bright as a cat’s, her expression one that dared him to prove her wrong.

But her argument was too close to his own thinking for Rowan to summon an argument against it. “He will take advantage of you.”

Bronwyn tilted her head to regard him, her own filled with that mingled intelligence and spirit he found so beguiling. “As you would not?” she scoffed. “Tell me what other reason is there for you to compel me to remain by your side for another year? You mean to trick me at some point into wedding you so you can win your cursed dare. Why else would you want me to remain?”

Her tone pricked at Rowan’s pride, her gaze locked with
his own. He sensed that she would urge him to claim something other than what he knew to be the truth, some false reliance upon her presence, some need to have her by his side.

But that was nonsense.

“I would merely hold you to your sworn word,” he insisted, and the lady’s gaze flickered before she looked away.

Her lips tightened to a grim line. “Then I will break it. I am told—by a knight, no less—that it is not a matter of import.”

“Ibeirnia!” Rowan shoved a hand through his hair in frustration. “Bronwyn,” he growled. “What makes you imagine that Baldassare will make a pledge of love to you?”

“Ah, but there is your error,” she said, sadness clouding her eyes. “There is something other than a pledge of love that I would have from Baldassare di Vilonte.”

Rowan blinked at her, completely confused by her words. Why did she go to him, then? Was love not the sole thing she desired? He shook his head in confusion, but the lady abruptly gripped the hilt of his dagger.

“You did say I might borrow this,” she reminded him, and moved the dagger into her own belt before he could protest.

Rowan frowned but the captain called again and the ship changed course once more. Immediately their passage became rougher, the waves breaking against the hull with shuddering blows.

The bottom dropped out of Rowan’s gut just as Bronwyn brushed past him. He would have called after her, but he made the mistake of looking to the sea.

The waves swirled and tossed, their rhythm nearly enough to make him lose his footing. He seized the rail and surrendered the contents of his belly, shuddering as he leaned his brow against the wet wood.

By the time he turned to lend chase, Bronwyn and Baldassare were too absorbed in each other’s company for his taste.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time.

Bronwyn realized belatedly that that could have been the theme for much of her life and certainly all of her choices in the past sixmonth. All the same, she kept walking toward Baldassare, holding his gleaming gaze, unwilling to back down from her course.

She knew what she had to do. Indeed, when she was feeling murderous, it had seemed good sense to put the impulse to throttle Rowan to better use.

She fingered the hilt of Rowan’s dagger, overly aware of its unfamiliar weight in her belt. Indeed, she would not have minded if he came after her in this moment and halted her impulsive course, though she would never have told him as much.

But there was no sound of Rowan giving chase. She glanced back quickly and noted that he was bent over the rails. Compassion unexpectedly shot through her, but Bronwyn steeled herself against it.

Nay, she knew the manner of man Rowan was—he had made the truth more than clear—and she was clearly best without him.

Which meant she must solve her own problems, including this one.

Bronwyn summoned what she hoped was an alluring smile for Baldassare and stepped closer, half certain the man could read her every thought. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,
ma bella
.” He bowed deeply, the wind tossing his dark hair and crisply white shirt sleeves. He was
indeed a handsome man, though there was a chill in his eyes that unsettled Bronwyn.

When he smiled, there was no answering warmth in those dark eyes. His gaze dropped to the slight display of her cleavage and his smile broadened, the change making him look even more predatory. “Dare I hope that you have pondered my question?”

“Your question?”

“Aye, about Niccolo.” Baldassare studied Bronwyn as her heart hammered in her throat, then shook his head as if saddened. “Perhaps ’tis too much to hope that we might be reunited after all these years. I so hoped to see him again, for ’tis not often a man has a chance to relive old times. Perhaps another in Dublin can aid me in this quest.”

Anger rose hot in Bronwyn’s throat and she knew he would see the evidence of it in her eyes. Mercifully, a crewman called, his foreign speech readily comprehensible to her.

“Captain! The wind takes us too close to the shore!”

“Nay, there is naught to fear,” Baldassare called. “My chart insists there are no shoals in these waters. As long as we remain clear of the coast itself, all shall be well.” He waved to the crewman. “Hold our course!”

“Is something amiss?” Ibernia asked as if she had not understood.

Baldassare smiled and cupped her jaw with one of his hands. She forced herself to endure the gesture, knowing that ’twould infuriate Rowan if he saw it. “Nay,
ma bella
” he murmured. “There is naught that you need to fear. I am a man who can be relied upon to finish what he has begun.”

Bronwyn forced a smile, trying to hide her fearful response to his obvious reference. Aye, he would see her father killed and she knew it well. He was the one her father had tried to escape.

She had no choice.

First, she had to ensure they were alone, that there were no witnesses to her crime. Bronwyn could think of only one way to manage that deed.

She would worry about managing the crime later.

“Baldassare,” she murmured. “There is something about your reassurance that makes a woman”—she sighed—“feel safe.”

“Aye,
ma bella
? And what cause have you to feel unsafe?”

Bronwyn flicked a glance over her shoulder, noting that Rowan was straightening and looking no less grim than before. He turned his steps in their direction, his eyes dark, and she spun back to face the captain.

“My husband!” she whispered, trying to feign panic. “He is a man of great passions, and I fear I have vexed him overmuch. There is no place I might hide from his fury!”

Baldassare’s eyes narrowed. “I saw you strike him.”

“Aye, and he will have vengeance for that blow!” She knotted her hands together, relieved when the captain glared at Rowan and drew her behind him. “Oh, I had hoped he would be ill again, but he already recovers.”

“You have no need to fear,
ma bella.
I will protect you.”

Bronwyn flicked a glance in Rowan’s direction, her heart taking a little skip at both his determined expression and his proximity. “If we could retire to your cabin, Baldassare, I should feel much safer.”

The captain frowned, he eyed the sky. “I am not certain that ’tis a good time for such a course …” he began, but Bronwyn clutched his arm. She brushed her breast against his arm, but his smile turned rueful. “
Ma bella
, there is no time for such pleasures on this day …”

But Bronwyn was not about to surrender this chance. “I must tell you about Niccolo.”

Baldassare’s eyes blazed and she had his attention fully. “You know him?”

“Aye! I remember!”

It took no more than that to have Baldassare seize her arm and turn her toward the corridor to his cabin. He strode so quickly that Bronwyn had a hard time matching his pace, and she knew the moment was nigh upon her. The crew called again, but Baldassare waved off their fears. Rowan shouted, but the captain only increased his pace.

She gripped the hilt of the knife, steeling herself for what must be done. The deck began to pitch in a wild manner, the first drops of rain fell heavily on Bronwyn’s cheeks. She spared a glance at the angry sky as a crewman cried a warning.

“Shoals! We will run aground!” roared a crewman, others shouting in the wake of his cry.

Baldassare spun in the shadow of the corridor. “Incompetent fools!” he cried. “I should never have relied upon these charts again!” He swore with a thoroughness unexpected and shoved Bronwyn aside. He might have returned to the deck, but Bronwyn seized the only chance she was likely to have.

She plunged the dagger into Baldassare’s midriff, into the space between his leather hauberk and his chausses. ’Twas harder than she expected to do so, and the knife did not go deep.

But a great deal of blood flowed almost immediately. Baldassare cried out in pain, blanching. His eyes widened when he saw the blade. He swore and grabbed for her. Bronwyn stepped backward, and Baldassare lunged after her. A panicked Bronwyn turned to flee and ran directly into Rowan’s chest.

Rowan quickly shoved her behind him and reached for his
sword. Bronwyn realized in the same moment as he that it was still in the cabin beyond.

Baldassare did not miss the omission either. He roared and lunged at the knight. The dagger fell from Baldassare’s wound and danced across the floor as the men circled each other.

Baldassare dove for the knife. Rowan stepped on his hand. A bone crunched, the captain paled, and the dagger slid out of the way. The pair slipped and went down, each struggling for supremacy, roiling back and forth in the narrow space.

The knife scuttled out of their reach as the ship was tossed about the sea. Baldassare pounced on the dagger when the ship rocked again. When Rowan moved to deflect him, the captain came up with another knife.

Bronwyn gasped, for this blade must have been hidden on his person. Baldassare’s blade caught Rowan across the thigh, a thin line of blood showing on the knight’s dark chausses. Rowan kicked Baldassare’s hand with a growl, the knife bounced down the hall out of range, and they circled anew.

The ship groaned, Bronwyn falling against the wall as the deck tipped. The dagger skidded toward her, Bronwyn scooped it up and watched the fight, trying to gauge where she could best lend her aid.

“I will kill that deceitful bitch!” Baldassare roared. He leapt for Rowan, and the pair struggled mightily before Rowan slammed the other man’s head into the wooden walls. The captain sagged, Rowan leaned over him, but Baldassare’s hands locked around the knight’s neck with lightning speed.

“Nay!” Bronwyn cried, and leapt into the fray. She raised the dagger high and brought it down heavily into the captain’s shoulder. The blade sunk deep this time and Baldassare caught his breath.

He cried out and fell backward, his eyes rolling closed so slowly that time seemed to have stopped.

He did not move. Bronwyn stood with shaking hands, the trembling spreading through her entirety as she watched the captain grow even more pale.

His blood flowed onto the deck with alarming speed.

Rowan gripped the wall and watched the other man bleed for a long moment, the rasp of his breath filling the corridor. The skies burst open and rain pounded on the deck beyond, flowing into the corridor and mingling with the captain’s blood.

Rowan’s golden gaze rose incredulously to hers and Bronwyn found herself backing away. “What seized your wits?” he demanded. “If you did not want the man to touch you, then you should not have taken matters so far as this.”

Bronwyn bridled at his tone. “This was not because he meant to touch me!”

Rowan flung out a hand. “Oh, you simply thought it a good plan to murder the captain? Aye, none were likely to notice
that
! We shall have all of the republic hunting our sorry hides for this crime!” To her astonishment, he shouted at her. “Are you mad? Ye gods, Bronwyn of Ballyroyal, I thought you were a woman of some sense!”

Bronwyn folded her arms across her chest and glared at him. “He was going to murder my father. I had no choice.”

Rowan stared at her, stunned to silence. He shoved a hand through his hair and swore with a thoroughness unexpected.

When he stepped toward her, his eyes were flashing so furiously that she flinched from his touch. “I suppose ’twould have been too much for you to simply tell me the truth.”

“Aye, ’twould have.” She flung out a hand. “What would you have cared for the
obligations
of my blood?”

Rowan opened his mouth, no doubt to make an angry
retort, but the sudden groan of ship stole his words away. The vessel lurched and shook from stem to stern, its unexpected halt throwing them both against one wall.