Taken by You (19 page)

L
uca stepped through the ornate entrance to the governor-general’s mansion at exactly three o’clock. The coach Don Diego had promised her was waiting. Her heart was pounding in fear and anticipation as the coachman handed her into the lavish rig. Diego was nowhere in sight, which pleased Luca. She wanted to be alone when she spoke to Morgan. This might be the last time she’d ever see him alive.

The ride to the prison was very short; Luca realized that she could have walked the distance with no difficulty. The jail was housed in a low building crudely constructed from stone blocks. The only windows were placed high up in the wall where prisoners could see nothing but a speck of sky. She new how miserable Morgan must be, which served only to strengthen her resolve to find a way to help him.

The coachman flung open the door, and Luca stepped down from the coach. A moment later the door to the calaboose swung wide, and Diego stepped out to greet her. Luca’s composure shattered.

“Punctual as usual,
querida.”
He smiled blandly.

“What are you doing here?”

“Interrogating the prisoner.” His smile grew wider. “The pirate was proving most difficult. I’m afraid my men and I were somewhat overzealous in subduing him.”

Luca’s gaze shifted downward, to the whip held loosely in his right hand. He had kept it hidden behind his back, and she hadn’t noticed it until he had drawn her attention to the weapon He seemed to take unholy pleasure in taunting Luca with what he had done to Morgan.

“Dios!
You’ve beaten him! How could you?”

Diego’s voice was taut with menace. “How could I not? He stole something from me that cannot be replaced. Before he goes to the gallows tomorrow he will be beaten again, and yet again, until I am satisfied that he has suffered sufficiently. Come along
querida,
he should have revived from his swoon by now and is ready to take more punishment.”

“Please, no more beatings,” Luca begged. “Hasn’t he suffered enough?”

Diego gritted his teeth. “No, not nearly enough.” He gave her a brutal stare, then smiled slyly. ‘It is within your power to help him.”

“Tell me what I must do! I’ll do anything. Anything.”

“Then you must tell El Diablo that you have willingly become my mistress. That you hate him and begged me to punish him for ravishing you. You will say that you are glad he is being put to death.”

A gorge rose up in Luca’s throat. “No! That’s not true!”

“Nonetheless, you will repeat everything I just said. Otherwise the pirate will be beaten hourly until his death. Is that what you wish for your lover?”

“Why are you doing this? What can it possibly gain you?”

“Satisfaction,” Diego said grimly. “I would prefer to dismember him slowly, loping off his hands, his feet, his limbs, making him suffer the agonies of Hell for what he has done to Spain and to you. King Philip cares not how he dies, only that he does so. I am being merciful.”

Luca swayed, dangerously close to fainting. Diego was a clever fiend. He didn’t know the meaning of mercy. He knew she wouldn’t allow Morgan to be cruelly tortured, that she’d say or do anything to save him from further agony. Even lie.

“If I do as you say, will you release Morgan?”

Diego looked at her as if she had two heads. “Release him! Never! What I will do is order the beatings stopped and allow him a dignified death.”

A sob caught in Luca’s throat. It was so little. Too damn little. But for the sake of a peaceful death she would lie. Then, before Diego took her to his bed, she would join Morgan in death. Living without Morgan was no longer an option.

“Very well, I will do as you say. May I see Morgan alone?”

“I do not trust you,
querida.
We will go together.” He handed the whip to one of the guards and led Luca into the building.

The fetid odor of death and suffering assailed Luca as she walked through the guard room into the dim, dank corridors of the calaboose. Heavy wooden doors were barred from the outside and thick stone walls separated the individual cells. A small grille low down on each door enabled the guards to pass food through to the prisoners. Diego stopped abruptly before a closed door, and one of the guards hastened to raise the bar.

“Bring a light,” Don Diego ordered. A light appeared and the door was kicked open.

The light revealed a tableau straight from Hell. When Luca saw Morgan, a scream hovered at the back of her throat. He was still chained to the wall, just as Diego had left him earlier. His back was a mess; livid bruises and numerous cuts slashed deeply across his shoulders and rib cage. Diego squeezed her arm in warning, and her outcry died abruptly in her throat.

Morgan turned his head slowly toward the light. His body was afire, his head pounding. Cloaked in a haze of stabbing pain, he saw Luca standing beside Diego. She stared at him, saying nothing, and his pain turned into red-hot rage. He wet his lips, trying to summon enough saliva to ease his parched throat.

“Why did you bring your slut with you, del Fugo? Wouldn’t she take your word that her orders were being obeyed?”

Diego laughed nastily. “I told her you would not be a pretty sight, but she insisted upon seeing for herself that your punishment was all she wished it to be.” He turned to Luca. “Tell him,
querida,
tell the good captain exactly what you think of him.”

Luca closed her eyes and summoned the courage to say the words that would stop Morgan’s torture. “I hate you for what you did to me, Captain.”

“Come, Luca, isn’t there something more you wish to say?” Diego’s hand tightened brutally on her arm.

Luca winced. “I am Diego’s mistress. Thanks to you I am not fit to become his wife. He is… he is a wonderful lover.” The last was added more for Diego’s benefit than for Morgan’s. Anything to appease the demented monster and ease Morgan’s suffering.

Diego sent her a pleased smile. “Ah, you are a treasure,
querida.
I am well pleased with you, in bed and otherwise. Do you think El Diablo has suffered enough for corrupting your life?”

“Oh,
si,”
she said quickly, too quickly to suit Diego. “I am satisfied. His death is all I desire now.”

Diego’s smile turned sour. “You are too tender,
querida.
Let us leave this foul place. There are better things we can do with our time than converse with a condemned man.”

When he reached out a slim, manicured hand and caressed Luca’s breast; Morgan wanted to kill the man. Then he wanted to kill Luca. He knew he deserved her hatred for his callous disregard for her innocence, but didn’t she realize that he truly did care for her? He freely admitted he had used seduction to win her, but she had been a willing participant. He thought he knew Luca, but evidently he hadn’t scratched the surface of her perverse nature.

Luca shied away from Diego’s vile caress and put all her emotions into the look she gave Morgan, but he had already turned away and did not see it. His mind and heart had already dismissed her. She had no choice but to let Diego steer her out the door. But as the door clanged shut behind her, his name left her lips on a ragged sigh. Diego clapped a hand over her mouth and dragged her away.

Morgan’s head shot up. He could have sworn that he’d heard Luca call his name. His imagination must be working overtime, he chided himself. It had sounded as if her heart was breaking. He shook his head to clear it of such foolish thoughts. Hadn’t Luca just admitted that she despised him? That she enjoyed seeing him beaten and tortured? She had freely admitted that she had become del Fugo’s mistress. Funny, he mused dimly, he never thought he’d be brought low by a woman

An unnamed ship slipped into Havana under cover of darkness and dropped anchor in the deep harbor. A short time later, a longboat slid away from the ship and glided through the water toward the shore. The longboat reached its destination, depositing its men on the deserted quay. Five men remained inside the boat while two others slipped away and disappeared in the shadows. The two men separated by mutual consent each choosing a different direction. Two hours later the men returned separately to the place where they had left the longboat. They crouched in the vessel, imparting the information they had gleaned to their leader.

“Did you learn anything, Pierre?” Stan Crawford asked.

Pierre, a dark-skinned Frenchman who spoke Both French and Spanish fluently, spat out a vicious oath. “The captain’s here, just like you suspected. He is to be executed tomorrow.”

“Bloody Hell!”

“The governor-general declared a holiday so the entire population of Havana can watch the execution. The whole town is talking about El Diablo. Finding out where he is being held was easy. What did you learn, Ramon?”

“Dios, the whole damn town is eager to see him strung up,” Ramon revealed. Ramon was the only Spanish member of Morgan’s crew and had good reason to hate his countrymen. He had nearly lost his life in the Inquisition “The captain is in the local
calabozo
awaiting execution.”

Stan gazed at the moon, calculating the hours left before dawn. “We don’t have a helluvalot of time to rescue Morgan and return to the
Avenger.
You men were chosen for your ability to work under pressure. Are you with me?”

“Aye, Mr. Crawford,” the men echoed in unison, “we’re with ye.”

“What about the woman?” Crawford asked his spies. “Do either of you know what has become of her?”

Pierre aimed a dirty stream of tobacco juice into the water. “Forget the little slut. Rumor has it that she is already warming the governor-general’s bed. It’s amazing what you can learn in an alehouse. There ain’t no talk about a wedding, either.”

“It’s just as well,” Crawford said bitterly. “We’ll be lucky to get Morgan out alive, let alone the woman. Where’s the
calabozo?”

A short time later, seven armed men crept through the dark to the squat building that served as a jail. They traveled in single file, darting from doorway to doorway. Crawford led the way, his hand curved around the hilt of his sword. He halted the group within sight of the calaboose, where they squatted behind some thick bushes, sizing up the situation. Crawford counted two guards lounging against the door, their weapons hanging loosely in their hands. After a silent signal from Crawford, Pierre and Ramon crept stealthily toward the inattentive guards. Sneaking up from behind, they swiftly put the guards out of commission, then dragged them off into the bushes, where they exchanged clothes and took their places.

Crawford cautiously opened the jailhouse door and peered inside. The flickering light from a single candle revealed only two men seated at a table playing cards. They had timed it perfectly. Obviously the other guards were out making rounds and weren’t expecting company. And if by chance unwanted company did show up, the guards posted outside the door were expected to dispatch them.

Crawford paused in the doorway and motioned his men to follow him. One by one they slipped through the door into the guardroom. Crawford did not have to tell them what to do, for they knew instinctively what was expected of them. The guards seated at the table must have heard something, for they jumped up and reached for their swords. Crawford’s men were on them instantly. The battle was fierce but of short duration. The Spaniards were quickly subdued, bound and gagged, and left lying on the floor. Crawford found a ring of keys hanging on a hook in the guardroom. Two men remained behind in case the absent guards returned while the others followed Crawford.

Morgan heard scuffling in the passageway but paid it little heed. There were always comings and goings of one kind or another in this evil place. If they were coming for him he hoped it was to end his life, not torture him further with the cat. Or worse yet, taunt him with the knowledge that Luca had ordered his beating. That cut him deeper than the leather thongs plied to his back.

“Morgan, psst, answer me if you’re in there.”

Morgan swiveled his head toward the locked door. He feared that the severe beating he had endured was causing him to hallucinate. Mayhap the Devil had come to claim him.

“Morgan, it’s Stan Crawford. Answer if you’re able. God’s blood, man, we must flee quickly before we are discovered.”

“Stan?” His mouth was so dry he could barely speak above a whisper. He prayed it was enough. ‘Tn here, Stan Do you have a key?”

Relief shuddered through Stan. He had no idea when the guard changed or how many hours were left before dawn. “Aye, I have a key.”

“I’m wearing shackles, Stan. I hope you have a key for those too.”

The door opened with a resounding crash. Stan held a candle aloft, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. The candle nearly flew from his hand when he saw Morgan slumped against the wall, supported by the chains binding him.

Stan sucked in his breath as he took in the pitiful condition of Morgan’s lacerated flesh, his swollen face, and his split lip. He swallowed convulsively. “Bloody Hell, you’re lucky to be alive.”

“I’m not feeling very lucky, my friend. Do you have the key, Stan? Quickly, there’s much to be done before taking the
Avenger
home.”

Trying one key after another, Stan finally found the one that sprung Morgan’s fetters. Once he was free, Morgan fell against him, unable to support his own weight. “Can you walk?” Stan whispered. “Lean against me.”