Siren's Secret (13 page)

“Up here, Professor! You can do it!”

Olivia searched. A small sailor loaded a long rifle from a vantage point above. He fired. Then called to her again, standing to push some shot down the long musket barrel while giving her encouragement.

She could make it. He looked safe up there. She scrambled higher.

The sprite sailor reached and pulled her to temporary safety on a small, circular minideck. She breathed with relief.

Then she looked down at the chaos. And whimpered.

“No time for that, Olivia,” she encouraged herself. She had half a pouch of potion and dozens of men below. She couldn’t tell who was who. Then she spotted a corsair crawling along the main topsail yard. He had a knife in his mouth, a cutlass hanging from his side, and the look of evil in his eyes.

Olivia tapped her partner on the shoulder and pointed.

“Criminy!” he yelped with surprise—before aiming and blowing the man to kingdom come.

“Well done,” she breathed, her arms tightly encircling the tall mast between them.

“Out of shot, Professor,” he warned.

She nodded, understanding.

It was only matter of time before they got closer.

Samuel scanned the humanity of blood-covered fighting men to find a path to Olivia. He caught movement in the corner of his eye and swung his elbow sharply, ramming a pirate off his feet. One of his men finished the job. He looked again for Olivia, then cursed. She was climbing one of the fore shrouds … and not very competently. The length of his ship had never seemed so far.

Nathan had not wasted time saving Elizabeth, his sword slicing men fast and efficiently until she was safe.

Samuel kept his eyes on Olivia. Khalid’s cousin spotted her as well. They fought their way toward her. Samuel didn’t waste time with fancy moves. He killed and tossed bodies as quickly as possible, his size almost always an advantage.

His men also made progress. One thing about his crew—they defended what was theirs.

He checked on Olivia. The situation was not good. He had two loaded guns in his belt. Two shots, should he need them.

Olivia looked down from her perch. It was hopeless. There were just too many. As soon as she had that frantic thought, a wave of men seemed to move toward her.

A wave of
toppling
men. She stared in awe, discovering the source of it.

Samuel Stafford.

He seemed to be clearing ten men at time, with his crew gaining strength behind him, as if his own strength lent them more, making their combined spirit stronger. She couldn’t tear her eyes away. He was ruthless. And getting nearer. Until suddenly she could see his face. Someone dared swing at him and he roared, escaping the sword lithely and turning it on the man. He didn’t use weapons.

He used his hands.

She gasped. In horror.

He came closer. For her. She didn’t know if she was reassured or afraid.

Olivia scanned the scene below. Three corsairs fought together against two Stafford crewmen. Carefully she leaned over, opening her poison pouch. She warned the Americans to cover their eyes, then shouted in Arabic, “Above!” Several corsairs made the fatal mistake of obeying. She sprayed confusion upon them. Her men killed them, tossing their bodies over the side.

Below her, three more pirates climbed a shroud to where she and the wiry little sailor crouched waiting. Then her partner leapt. No, he dove headfirst, taking one of the men with him to the hard deck below. That left two for Olivia.

She hated their knowing grins and the way they relished her fear.

She grabbed the long-barreled gun with the foot-long knife on the end. She would defend as long as she could. One of them laughed at her pokes, his hand trying to reach under and grab the barrel. She moved quicker this time, and rammed it with fury, surprised as it went through the palm of his hand. She let out a cry of shock the same time he did, then pulled the gun back and shoved again, this time getting his ear.

Unfortunately, his partner had maneuvered closer and grabbed her arm from the other side. She dropped the gun, trying to hold her footing, certain she was about to fall to her death or be captured.

A second later there was a gunshot, and the man released her. She stared as they both realized he had been shot. Not wasting her advantage, she pushed him and he fell. Below, she saw Stafford, slamming his gun into someone’s skull before crushing another head against wood. He fought so valiantly—albeit ruthlessly—that she could not give in.

Olivia opened her pouch again and gave a quick squeeze as hard as she could. A little liquid came out. Enough to reach her other attacker’s bloody hand and make him wince with pain and fury. At her! She resented that. It wasn’t her fault he was attacking her.

Olivia spun, searching for options. No place to go. The man grabbed at her foot. She kicked free, panicking, and did the only thing she could do.

Jump.

“No!” Samuel cried in panic as he saw a figure fall.

Wait. She jumped. What the hell was she thinking?

He plowed his way forward. She landed on the main yard, the reefed sail cushioning her landing.

It was a less-than-safe place for a clumsy woman, prone to falling.

Samuel could see Kelley and the others defending Olivia. He made his way to them, grateful for a fresh swarm of companions, who swung onto the deck nearby from the Stafford sister ship. The Dutch ship continued to drill cannon holes through the corsairs’ floating fort.

That still left confusion forward. More and more pirates crawled up the shrouds after Olivia. Fortunately they made good targets for those with guns.

He looked around for a weapon. “Longstrom! Find me two muskets!”

The smaller sailor dove to the deck and found two not far away.

Samuel raised an arm and thundered, “To the forward shrouds men!”

He loaded one musket, while Longstrom loaded the other. He fired. Longstrom tossed the second musket and reloaded the first. Samuel fired both consecutively. Three shots. None wasted.

The others joined him. Kelley and his men guarded the musketeers as they picked off pirates climbing after Olivia.

The enemy loosened the rigging, and a fresh breeze snapped the foreyard around. The ship rolled, and Olivia’s body went flying off the yard, feet dangling over the water.

Samuel knew instantly she couldn’t swim. Hell, had she ever been out of London? What were the odds she could swim to another ship for safety?

She screamed and struggled to gain a better hold.

Right. Very long odds.

He plunged forward and picked two pirates by the back of the neck and tossed them overboard.

“Olivia! Hold on!”

She swung her legs up, and he was pleased when one caught. At least she wasn’t without some strength. She regained her leverage, then shouted, “Behind you!”

Samuel turned in time to see a cutlass on its diagonal swing. He lifted his musket for protection as the sword sliced partially through the gunstock before getting stuck in the wood. He pulled forward and kicked the pirate onto his back, yanking the sword free and tossing the musket to one of his men.

“Your right!” she shouted.

Halfway through his turn to the right, Samuel ran his sword into the man. Then he set his sights on the leader. If he could stop him, he had a chance of ending this. Except Khalid’s cousin was bigger than the others, had his own defenders, and was an excellent swordsman in his own right.

Samuel didn’t give a damn.

He heard Olivia’s shout again. This time in Arabic. “Above!”

He looked up.

She shouted back in terror. “No! Close your eyes!”

Too late. A splash of something hit his face and burned like fire in his left eye.

“Not you! Watch out! Behind you!”

Samuel was half blind. He was going to kill the woman himself if she lived.

“Sorry! In front of you!”

He faced the pirate captain and his men. One of the men had also been blinded, and Samuel ran his sword through him, pulling it out in time to block a strike from Khalid’s cousin. With blind brute force he stepped inward and surprised the man with a left uppercut that stunned. Keeping his advantage, he struck his most powerful left hook, and the man fell sideways to one knee. Samuel’s knee met the leader’s chin and the man fell backward.

He stomped his opponent’s sword arm, then ground his foot on the man’s wrist as he spun to defend against two more men.

“At your feet!”

Samuel heard Olivia’s scream again and hoped it was meant for him this time. Sure enough, his captive had pulled a smaller knife. Samuel kicked the man’s hand and the knife flew loose. Kelley came from behind and finished the other two irritants.

Pulling the corsair leader to his feet, Samuel loosened one of the stays and made a noose around his neck.

“Call off your men, or they will see you hang like a common thief.”

His mouth clamped.

“Have it your way.” Samuel pulled the rope.

Feet dangled. He rasped something.

“What’s that?” Samuel released, just enough for him to speak with his toes touching the deck.

The man shouted in Arabic. “Cease. Surrender.”

“Louder!”

“Surrender!”

Samuel waited as the corsairs froze. “Tell them to put down their weapons.”

He did. Then he added furiously, “I’m Nuh al-Jamil bin Muhammad bin Yahyu al-Nasir!” He threw his left hand out, palm up in the air to emphasize. “Kill me, and you will have a war on your hands.”

“Have a war? What do you call this?” Samuel shoved the man’s face toward the pile of bodies. “I may not kill you, but don’t tempt me to cut off your tongue and your fighting arm to go with it.”

Samuel thought the younger man actually paled. Good. Fear was good.

“Kelley, have the men collect the weapons. Get the prisoners on their knees facing the rail. Hands on their heads. If anyone speaks or tries to struggle—kill them.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“Nathan!”

“Behind you, Cap,” Samuel heard the weary reply.

“Keep your knife at Mr. Nuh’s throat. I’m taking a party overboard to free the slaves.”

A voice came from above. “What slaves?”

He looked up at Olivia. She was inching her way back to the mast, her balance wobbly.

“Don’t move!” Samuel looked to see who was available to go help her.

“I’m all right,” she called.

“No. You’re not! You’re about to—”

She slipped. Flailed for something to hold, and missed. An instant later she was falling twenty feet toward the deck.

Samuel did the only thing he could. He opened his arms to catch her. Then he too fell to the deck from the force of her weight.

He couldn’t move for a full minute, the blow stunning him temporarily. He tried to breathe, then grunted when she started to move. A knee came too close between his legs and he winced as she scrambled to her feet, completely unaware of his discomfort, and herself surprisingly undamaged.

Kelley cleared his throat and Samuel looked up at the suppressed grin on his boatswain’s face. “You ’right, Cap’n?”

Samuel squinted out of one eye, his tailbone stinging, his arms aching. “Yeah.” It was a gasped response. He reached out a hand and the other man pulled him to his feet. He exhaled carefully, then breathed and exhaled again.

Kelley gave him a pat on the back. “Good catch, Cap.”

“Yeah,” he said again, still recovering. Then sought out Olivia. She’d disappeared.

“Behind you,” the boatswain informed.

He turned and bumped into her. Her hair was disheveled, her eyes silvery bright, and her body trembled despite her obvious efforts to appear calm. But she seemed unharmed.

“You’re all right,” he told her.

She opened her mouth to deny it.

“You’re all right,” he insisted.

Samuel watched as she looked around at the swarm of men, corsairs on their knees, their leader captured, smoke still wafting around them, dead bodies being piled, and wounded men bleeding on the decks.

“How,” she asked him, shaking, “could I
possibly
be all right?”

He grabbed her by the back of her hair, pulled her against him, and crushed his lips to hers, battle hunger raging through him mixed with relief, desire, and demand that she submit. When he released her, she had some color back and strength in her arms as she pushed him away.

“You’re all right,” he reminded her. He turned to Nathan and his prisoner. “If I don’t come back, kill him.”

“Gladly, Captain.”

Samuel smiled a bit as he caught Olivia’s huff. She wasn’t done.

“I’m not all right! If you think one kiss from you makes everything all right, Stafford, then you’ve clearly no awareness of the benefits of modern medicine.”

He ignored her, and she shouted at him. “You don’t have magic lips, you know!”

Samuel grabbed one of the stays and pulled himself to the rail. He searched out her eyes and responded with assurance guaranteed to irritate her. “Yes, I do.”

Her hands went to her hips as she marched forward. “No, you don’t. And—” Olivia looked at the rope, then at him. “What are you doing?” Then understanding, she warned, “I don’t think you should do that, Stafford.”

“I know what I’m doing, Ollie. I’ve done this before.”

“Yes, but the trajectory of your landing—”

Samuel wasn’t in the mood. She should trust him by now. Had he not just defended her against more than a hundred pirates? He pulled the rope, jumped, and swung off the
Avenger.

Too late, Samuel realized the rope had been caught, and once freed was notably longer. He flew, the line jerked, and he slammed to a dead stop into the side of the enemy ship. His body hit the rail below his ribs, earning an extremely uncomfortable thump in his gut, which caused his upper body to fall over the side until he somersaulted onto the deck and somehow managed to land on his feet. It was a miracle, considering his entire body ached from the beating he’d taken catching Olivia only minutes earlier.

“I’m all right!” He saluted his laughing crew and accepted their ribbing.

Olivia shouted, “Indeed, Stafford, I’m sorry if you’ve done
that
before.”