Siren's Secret (12 page)

The cannon teams were at the ready, and Samuel worked the crew to catch every breath of wind in the sails he could manage. The seas were nearly calm. Instinct told him they wouldn’t be for long. If they made it to morning’s light, they had a fighting chance of escaping battle altogether. But it wasn’t yet midnight. That meant a long night ahead.

He went to the stern and looked back, closed his eyes, and listened. Silence. He stood listening a long while. Waiting. The wind adjusted slightly, and he signaled the helmsman. The crew trimmed in silence. Their eyes adjusted to the dark. He had forbidden even a candle to be lit on the ship. After the adjustment was made he listened again. Wind in the sail. Water against wood. Creaking of the vessel.

The natural sounds of the sea.

Then something else.

A distant, steady rhythm hitting the water. Not his imagination. And not far off.

Time to alert the other ships.

* * *

Olivia worked in the galley, her eyes protected by large spectacles she’d used when working with her former chemistry tutor. She’d dispensed with the hat, but her wig was still in place, despite the perspiration pouring down her face. She’d also dressed Mrs. Tisdale in a sailor disguise. If they were attacked, it would be best not to be recognized as women. She hoped that would not be the case, but something in Stafford’s manner told her their danger was paramount.

The cook came back with several individual leather water pouches. He demonstrated the squirting ability. She nodded approval and had him close his eyes while she filled them, careful that the vapors from her formula did not burn his eyes, and wanting to hide the trembling of her hands. She prayed she did not fail them if battle ensued.

They worked in virtual darkness aside from the heat from the cauldron. Carefully they filled each pouch.

Then they sat back and waited.

Nathan handed out the final gun and closed the weapons closet. He checked the Turkish flintlock pistol that remained, made sure it was loaded properly, then took a last moment to run down and see to Elizabeth. His only concern was her safety. Now that he’d found her, he vowed he would do anything to keep her. Even if he had to fight off two hundred Barbary pirates.

He opened the door without preamble. She jumped. Then she ran into his arms. He squeezed her quickly, no time for anything more.

“This gun is primed, Elizabeth. I pray you won’t need it, but if you do …”

“I know what to do,” she whispered. “My father taught me when I was young.”

“Good.” That was somewhat encouraging. He handed her a bag of shot and powder.

“I just never thought I would have cause …” She gazed at him, anxious.

“You very likely won’t,” he reassured. “But just in case. It makes me feel better.” He fingered the water pouch over her shoulder. “What’s this?”

“Eye poison. Olivia made it. She said one squirt on their face will blind them instantly—at least put them in pain for several minutes.”

“Really?”

She nodded.

“Brilliant.”

“I sincerely hope so.”

He hugged her briefly and brushed his lips across her cheek. “I must go.”

She nodded again.

“Lock the door behind me, secure the latch, and hide in the wardrobe, would you please?”

She smiled. Then most surprisingly, she grabbed him behind the back of the head and pulled his mouth to hers. It was not how he had envisioned their first kiss. But damn, how he had wanted it. Needing no further encouragement, he wrapped her in his arms. “Elizabeth …” He caressed her lips. “Elizabeth.” Then he devoured her. Briefly. Quickly. Taking a moment of heaven before releasing her to face hell. Then he left, his mind switching to battle ready and his hand reaching for the hilt of his sword. He would protect her, no matter the cost.

Samuel found Olivia in the galley with Cook. The two leaned against the wall, side by side. Waiting. Cook had a butcher knife tucked in his belt. Olivia had two knives in her belt and five leather water pouches wrapped over opposite shoulders, same as Cook. They had another in their hands at the ready.

“We’re going to be attacked.” She already knew it. She needed him to confirm it. To tell her it would be fine.

“Yes, but they are not expecting our readiness. Khalid would not allow them more of an advantage than they already have.”

She looked up at him, gray eyes determined, but full of fear. “I could go with them, Stafford.” She said it softly. Terrified, but willing.

He shook his head. “No. You’re not going anywhere, Olivia Yates. Not until I say so. I’m captain of this ship. Do you understand?”

She nodded. Relieved.

“I need you to stay in your cabin.”

She shook her head vehemently.

He hadn’t expected her to obey.

“I won’t. I’m not your myrmidon.” She turned to Cook. “That’s a servant who will blindly follow his commands. He’s very arrogant you know.” To Samuel, “You can put me there now, but I’ll leave. I’m staying with Cook. Do your job and keep them from getting below deck, Captain.” She smiled bravely. “Besides, the cabins will be the first place they look for me.”

He didn’t have time to argue. He would have to do as she said. He hoped the corsairs would not have the opportunity to board. Cook gave him the nod.

Samuel shouted for two sailors. “Stick with the Professor. Don’t let anything happen to her, or I’ll kill you all myself.”

He spun and returned to the top deck, ignoring her shocked expression.

They were as prepared as possible. Now he could only wait until the enemy ships were in range. They would use the cannons first.

He tuned his ears to the sea. The sound of oars on water drifted closer. He could make out the distance now. It was very close.

Samuel looked about. The men were strung tight. He relaxed and smiled confidently to those who could see him. Then he held out his hand to wait.

Finally, he raised a hand in the darkness. The signal passed from him to the men below.

The silence of the night broke with loud explosions followed by the satisfying sound of cannon shot through wood. He gave the signal again for another round. Their aim was true. The Dutch ship pulled closer. It would wait to see if the corsairs tried to board, then do the same, should he need fighting men.

Samuel gave a third signal as the pirates pulled closer. His archers lit their fires, and burning arrows aimed at the approaching vessel. Simultaneously, he signaled to turn the ship. The pirates had the speed of at least a hundred rowers, their long galley targeting the
Avenger.
Their ship was larger than he’d expected. At least three hundred men might be aboard, and there was very little wind in the
Avenger’s
sails to enable an escape. He shouted again to come about.

“Pull the sails! Pull the sails!” The galley charged, threatening to ram their ship in half. A light at the front of the ship warned him of another danger. Damn. Cannon.

The back of the ship took the shot. The corsairs reloaded.

“Come on.” Samuel prayed, running to the helm and dragging the wheel further with his helmsman. Slowly his ship turned. “Just a little wind.”

The men watched with increasing tension as his ship changed direction and the enemy continued on course, unable to redirect as easily at their speed. In the starlight the ships looked destined to collide at his stern.

Samuel waited. It would be close. “Portside cannons! Fire!”

They hammered the other ship with cannon. The pirate ship was long, lean, and oar powered, with only one big gun at the front. Unfortunately, its mounted rail cannon pummeled them.

The
Avenger
caught just enough wind to turn, but the attacking ship showed no signs of slowing.

Moments later they hit. The oar-powered galley, aiming to slice them in the middle, missed the target, but still scraped long and hard against the
Avenger.
The collision of ship on ship cut loudly in the night. A cracking sound of something breaking off worried him. He hoped it was the other vessel, not his.

Samuel’s men went aft with guns and swords as the pirates threw lines to climb aboard. The first wave came over. Shots were fired. Swords came out. His second row of gunmen fired and reloaded.

“Stay the course!”

They were his last words to the helmsman as he pulled free his short sword, tossed it to the man for defense, and leapt into the fray, looking for the Dutchmen and his other ship for support. The Barbary ship was nearly past. His men cut lines, but couldn’t keep up with the sheer quantities of men as a second wave of pirates threw more lines, climbed, and swung onto the deck.

Samuel estimated fifty on board already. He continued to defend on the front line of their attack, unconscious of how long he battled, at one point finding himself back to back with Nathan in the center of what seemed to be a dozen men. That didn’t frighten him. The most frightening thing he would remember from that night was a voice shouting in Arabic. A husky, familiar voice coming from a slender, unarmed form that couldn’t be far away. When she had learned Arabic was beyond him.

Olivia shouted, “Behind,” and was terrified and relieved when it worked. The miserable bastard spun around at the Arabic command and she squirted his face. He screamed in shock before the sailor who was meant to guard her pierced him. She turned to another and shouted in Arabic again. “Right!”

The man turned on command and this time was blinded instantly before dying. The small group continued to work their way to the center of the fray, Cook and Olivia leading with her commands until others took notice. She finished with another pouch and pulled it off her head, leaping sideways, but not fast enough. A cutlass sliced at her side. She thought she heard Stafford shout her name, but didn’t have time to analyze as she frantically patted her body to assure that she was still in one piece. Her hands encountered wetness. Her heart pounded in her ears until she realized the pirate had succeeded in destroying one of her precious bags, not her. He raised his cutlass again with a wicked sneer. Then he froze. And fell before her. Cook stood behind him. They both looked down at Cook’s butcher knife in the pirate’s back.

Olivia swayed with nausea. Blood drained from her head and she nearly fell on her feet. Cook pulled her back.

“Breathe, Professor!” He shook her out of it. Olivia reached for her last pouch. That’s when a scream pierced her consciousness.

A female scream.

Horrified, she searched for Mrs. Tisdale and found her held by the edge of a rail, three other corsairs protecting the comrade who held her. Her friend struggled, and then there was a shout. Another man nearby, clearly the leader, raised a hand to tell them not to kill Elizabeth yet.

He cried in English, “Drop your arms, or I kill her.”

With remarkable speed, the fighting ceased. The men did not step back from each other, but they held their arms at the ready, waiting to see what would happen.

Olivia froze. Samuel shouted to the man.

“You’ll not injure her. You need her alive.”

The man responded in English. “She is not the one I want.” He motioned for the man to kill Mrs. Tisdale.

“No!” Olivia screamed as loud as she could over the confusion. “Wait! I’m here. I’m here!” She pulled off her bandana and wig. Fear and anger ripped through every nerve—anger that they were attacking and fear that they would kill everyone to get to her. “You could have just asked for my help instead of being complete malevolent, murdering morons. Have you no humanity? Is your life so pathetic and dull that you must resort to the devil’s work?”

It was silent. They all stared at her, obviously confused.

“Who’s translating? Someone translate that!” she demanded, furious.

Samuel didn’t know what the hell was happening. He was fairly certain Olivia was losing her mind. Rapidly. Hell, she was mad or truly
was
a genius. He shouted out her translation in Arabic. “She said …”

He thought the last line most useful for provoking guilt, should any have that ability left. He filled in what general slang he knew for idiots and bastards. In the meantime her diversion allowed Nathan to get a couple steps closer to Elizabeth, and the Dutch and Stafford ships floated into better position for defense and attack.

“I understand! Cease!” The leader did not want Samuel translating.

Olivia shouted, “Let her go and you can have me without all this mess!” Then, as if she couldn’t help it, she threw in a number of insulting adjectives that not even Samuel understood. She was nervous
and
mad. A dangerous combination.

Samuel saw Olivia step back from a threatening move by some pirates nearby.

“Well?” Olivia shouted to the leader. As if saying,
What’s it to be, you cultureless heathen?

He responded with assurance and cried two terrifying words in Arabic. “Get her!”

Samuel swore with panic.

Olivia didn’t know more than a few words in the language, but she understood the swarm of pirates suddenly charging like madmen toward her. Terror as she’d never experienced nearly froze her. Until somewhere in the distance she heard Stafford shout, “Olivia! Run!”

Run? She turned. Run where? There was nowhere to run! She was on a damned ship! With limited options, she started to climb some rigging—tumbling and tangling in the ropes. It was dark, after all. Someone grabbed her coat, she twisted, swung into him, and squirted her sight-sucking solution with power. A long spray of the secret formula sent the man back, and Kelley was suddenly there killing him.

“Climb, Professor!” he bellowed.

She didn’t need further urging. She climbed. As she did, a third swarm of pirates invaded from the back of the ship. She couldn’t breathe. Her vision became spotty. Her brain started to get fuzzy. Vague thoughts registered.

Not possible to survive. Certain doom. Slavery. Death.

She took another step and slipped, causing her leg to slide through the footropes. Someone grabbed her ankle. She screeched. He released. She glanced down to see a man falling under the crowd of fighting men. Likely Kelley’s help again. She faced upward and with all her strength clambered to safety.