The Pirate Bride (10 page)

He had broken through a grove of tall palms at the top of a small hill. And as he peered between the trunks, he could see a waterfall.

She crashed into his back, stumbling over one of the roots breaking through the thin layer of soil.

“It’s…it’s beautiful,” she said.

Logan calculated they had come about half a mile from the beach. He didn’t see any signs that the island was inhabited, but he had to wonder why. It offered the most important element of life—water. And there was enough real soil for vegetation to grow.

She pushed by him, eager to reach the water.

“Wait!”

She had fallen to her knees at the water’s edge, but now she hesitated, water dripping from her cupped hands.

“Allow me,” he said, walking up beside her. “The official taster, you know.”

Despite his thirst, he only dabbed the water to his lips at first. It was sweet and clear. He sipped.

She was staring at him. He smiled. “Seems safe.”

She drank. Then she sluiced water over her face, relishing the clean feel, before she drank again. He found himself watching her, relishing the delight she found in the fresh, cool sensation and the way she cast her head back to delight in the water pouring over her.

“It’s a taste of heaven,” she said.

Aye, a taste of heaven, he thought. Stranded he might be, but with clean, clear drinking water—and with her.

He rose and looked around.

“We should head back to the beach,” he said.

“What? We just got here.”

“And now that we’ve found water, we need to build a shelter.”

She stared at him blankly for a moment, as if finally comprehending for the first time that they could be on this island for weeks, even months.

Or more.

Without a word, she turned around and started walking ahead of him toward the shore. He could hear her suck in her breath now and then, when she stepped on something hard or sharp.

Shoes would be nice, he thought. And a good strong knife or sword would be even better. He reached toward his calf, but in vain; he had lost his knife when he had cast off his boots.

Despite the pain to her delicate soles, she moved quickly. He kept close behind her.

She passed by a palm and held the branch out of her way; then it smacked him squarely in the face as he passed.

“Hey!” he yelled.

“Sorry,” she said quickly.

But he could tell from her tone that she wasn’t sorry at all. He wondered if she had let the branch snap back on purpose.

She reached the shore first and stood there, staring out at the waves. Just as there was often a calm before a storm, there was often one afterward, as well.

The world seemed to have been swept clean. The sea was like liquid glass, reflecting the glory of the sun. The sky was a soft blue, not a cloud to be seen. The roll of the surf against the sand was still like a sweet and pleasant whisper.

“I’ll retrieve the barrel,” he said. “The wood will be useful, and there might be something edible inside.”

She followed more slowly as he strode down the beach toward the barrel that had saved their lives, then cried out suddenly, stumbling to her knees.

He turned back.

“What?” he asked in concern.

“Nothing!”

He walked back toward her anyway. She was sitting on the sand, holding her foot.

“Did you cut it?”

“I stepped on a shell.”

“Let me see.”

“No.”

“Don’t be such a…girl,” he told her.

She cast him a dangerous glare, but she didn’t say anything.

Hunkering down before her, he caught her wrist and moved her hand out of the way. Her foot was bleeding, but there was so much sand caked to her skin that he couldn’t see how bad the gash might be.

“I’m all right,” she said stiffly, pushing him away and starting to rise. Then she staggered slightly, and he rose quickly and lifted her into his arms, much to her indignation.

“Put me down!” she demanded.

He ignored her.

“Do what I tell you,” she insisted. “I am the captain.”

“You
were
a captain. So was I.”

“I was captain last,” she said irritably.

He ignored her, striding toward the water. She was an easy burden, despite the fact that she was stiff and totally uncooperative.

She slammed a fist against his chest.

“Hey! You promised not to hit me.”

“I told you to put me down.”

He had reached the water, and he was tempted.

“Damn you, Logan!”

He dropped her.

She went under, then came up quickly, sputtering and furious. She slapped at the hand he offered her. But when she staggered again, he caught hold of her anyway, to keep her from falling.

“We had to wash your foot,” he explained.

Half standing, accepting his support to remain upright, she gave him her evil stare once again. “I’m soaked.”

“You’re the one who believes in bathing,” he pointed out dryly.

“I thought you were concerned about my
foot?
”

“Actually, I am. An infection here could be serious. And saltwater will clean it and help heal it.”

“So I needed an entire bath in saltwater…for my foot?”

He shrugged, picked her up again and headed the few feet to the beach. She swore, but he ignored her as he set her down easily and knelt at her side, taking her foot in his hand again. There was a slash right across her instep. He was grateful to notice that it didn’t appear to be deep.

“Just a lot of blood, I think,” he said lightly.

“It hurts,” she admitted.

“Just sit here and let it soak in the waves for a few minutes,” he told her as he ripped off a long strip of his bedraggled shirt. “Then we can wrap it up.” His voice had grown husky. It was touching her that did it, he thought. Maybe he shouldn’t have dropped her in the water. Her clothing was plastered to her body again, hugging her in a way that emphasized every perfect curve. The white cotton seemed to do more enhancing than concealing.

He stood quickly. He needed to get some distance from her.

“Where are you going?” she asked, frowning.

“Down the beach to get the barrel and do some exploring,” he said lightly. “Who knows what treasures may lurk just around the bend? I’m sure we weren’t the only ship caught up in that storm.”

He left her, curious to see what might be in the barrel that had saved their lives.

Reaching it didn’t help much. He had nothing with which to lever it open. The ship’s cooper did an excellent job of sealing his creations, which helped preserve necessities on the ship. But now…

He managed to read the letters that had been burned into the side and realized that they had a barrel of rum—about a third full, judging by the weight, which had left enough room for the air that had made the barrel float and ensured their salvation.

Now he just needed tools to open it.

He looked back down the beach. Red was staring out at the sea. Her foot was in the water, though. The waves were inching up and crashing gently against the length of her slightly bent legs, and she’d folded her arms atop them. She looked like a mermaid cast up from the sea, not a far cry from the truth.

He stepped away from the annoying puzzle of the barrel and looked farther down the beach, where he saw numerous pieces of broken plank.

He hoped they weren’t from the
Eagle,
and that Brendan, Peg-leg, Silent Sam, Hagar, Jimmy O’Hara and the rest were safe and figuring out how to rescue Red.

He started piling up the wood, mentally assembling the pieces into a shelter. His heart sank as he moved along; it was becoming obvious that at least one poor ship had broken up in the heavy winds and lashing waves of the storm.

He was definitely acquiring enough lumber.

After about a hundred yards, he came upon a large cargo chest. He stooped to examine it, then swore when he discovered that it was locked.

He found a thick rock and began slamming away at the padlock. When it was clear that he would never break the lock, he changed tactics and smashed in the lid of the chest, instead, then looked inside.

The chest had been well-built, with a strong seal that had kept out the ocean. The chest was filled with clothing, not the tools he would have preferred, and he saw breeches, bodices, skirts, dresses, silks, satins and lace. There were shoes and stockings, even jeweled brooches and collar pins.

He sat back on his heels, feeling relieved. He was certain that this haul had not come from their ship.

He was sorry, though, because he was certain an innocent merchantman had been destroyed in the storm, and the owners of the finery before him were now resting somewhere at the bottom of the sea, food for the fish.

He stood and looked out to sea. More and more refuse was bobbing on the waves, washing up toward the shore. He ventured out to see what was coming his way.

Lots and lots of timbers, some with swatches of canvas sail and rigging caught around them. The rigging would be helpful in building, he thought.

And more barrels. He waded out deeper to retrieve the one floating closest. It had been staved in, he quickly realized, and was worthless.

He looked back toward Red again. She was up, a hand shielding her eyes from the sun as she, too, looked out to the deeper water. As he watched, she began to wade out, as he had been doing.

He didn’t know what she had seen that had so drawn her attention. He started sloshing through the water to reach her position.

She stood stock-still. And then a cry escaped her, a cry so startled and shrill that his heart thundered.

“Red!”

He raced to reach her.

As he ran, he saw what had drawn her attention.

A man.

A man floating facedown in the water.

His sea-darkened hair was red, and he wore a coat similar to the one Brendan usually wore.

She was standing frozen in horror, so he stepped forward and, his heart in his throat, turned the body over.

T
HERE WAS A
new ship in the harbor.

Using her spyglass, Sonya could see that it had taken some weather damage; men were even now busy repairing the mast.

There had been a storm; they’d seen it out at sea. But it hadn’t taken a swipe at New Providence, and she was glad. It seemed to have taken a northeasterly path, perhaps cutting across Cuba and following the North American coast. She hoped it hadn’t sunk Red Robert’s
Eagle.

All right, so she had taken some coins to betray Red Robert. This was a pirate island, after all, and in her own way, she was a pirate, too. It hadn’t been personal. She had needed the money. And it had ended well, in any case.

But since the
Eagle
had sailed, she had been worried. She liked Red Robert, effeminate fop though he might be, but she had long had an ache in her heart for Haggerty. He lived within the law, but he seemed to understand those who were often forced to live on the other side of it. He was a man who abhorred violence, but he wasn’t afraid of a fight. And when his eyes flashed with humor, she melted.

Even if he never wanted one of her girls. Or her.

She was jolted out of her thoughts when Blair Colm walked into the tavern.

It had been a slow morning. Though the storm had sent many a ship to this safe harbor for repair, the men had no time to go drinking. The able-bodied were busy at their work, sewing canvas, obeying the commands of the carpenters. The injured would be nursing their wounds, with the ships’ physicians and even barbers sewing up flesh wounds and setting smashed limbs, or removing those that couldn’t be saved.

Colm stared at her for a long while before speaking. He had been in before, and she took his money. After all, it spent just the same as anyone else’s. But she had always hated the man, who was considered a monster by some and a hero by others.

She, for one, found it all too easy to believe the rumors that swirled about the man.

Rumors such as the one that said he had killed children by swinging them around by their heels and cracking their skulls open on rocks.

She felt a sudden wave of guilt. Red Robert might be effeminate, but the pirate had never been anything but decent to her. And she had betrayed him, knowing all the while that it was in the service of Blair Colm. True, the bald man had offered her a fine sum of money just to discover that Robert had left, and in what direction.

She had to survive, didn’t she?

But she had known, deep down inside, that something evil was afoot, with a monster like Blair Colm seeking out Red Robert.

And she had taken the coins anyway.

“Sonya!”

She looked up.

“Captain Blair.”

“Sir Captain Blair,” he reminded her.

“Sir Captain Blair,” she parroted.

“I’ll have the private room, and your finest wench. No one old or worn out.” He looked her up and down, to be sure she didn’t miss the point that his insult had been directed specifically to her.

She only smiled and said, “As you wish.”

“And your best rum. None of that rotgut you serve the drunkards.”

“As you wish,” she said again.

He still didn’t move. She was dimly aware that the bar boys in the back had suddenly developed loose fingers and were dropping things. Blair Colm created such an atmosphere. He’d been known to backhand a lad or two for spilling a drop of rum.

“The room is yours, Sir Captain Blair,” she said, hoping he would wait there for whatever poor girl she chose for him.

“You will join me.”

She started. She was glad to be older and
worn out
when he was about.

“Aye?”

He let out something like a sniff. “I need information.”

“I have no information.”

“I believe you do.”

He departed for the room. She rose slowly, afraid not to follow. He’d not been kind to women who dissented, either.

She followed him in. “I can’t see to your rum and services if I’m here,” she said.

He took a seat against the wall. “Sit,” he ordered her.

She sat with alacrity.

“Where did they go?” he demanded.

She stared at him, her mind genuinely blank. He was a big man. Muscular. But his features were sharp and vulpine. His hair and eyes were dark. He was English, but he had the look of a Spaniard. There was a sense of cruelty about the man, maybe in the very narrowness of his features, maybe in the way he moved, and maybe in those hellish dark eyes.

“They?”

“Red Robert and his crew.”

“Oh. Yes, they were here, just before the storm,” she said.

Blair Colm suddenly moved forward. It was the striking motion of a snake.

“Red Robert is coming after me, but that storm will hold him up.”

“You tried to have him killed. Here,” she said softly, guilt settling over her like a dark cloud.

He waved a hand dismissively. “I didn’t try to have anyone killed. That wouldn’t be honorable, now would it?” he asked quietly.

He was lying through his teeth, and they both knew it. She hated the man. All she wanted was to get away.

“They sailed out. They didn’t say where they were heading.”

Before she knew it, he was on his feet, holding her by the hair in front of him. “Red Robert took a ship before he got here and is traveling with a captive.”

“Yes!” she cried out. He had her dead against him. She could feel strands of hair tearing from her scalp. Her heart was thundering.

She could scream, but she knew no one would come.

“The captive is Lord Haggerty,” he said.

“Yes,” she said again, and this time the word was a whimper. She had always thought herself hardened, inside and out. She had seen so much. She had slept with more men than most women ever knew. She despised them, as they despised her.

But now she was afraid.

He stared at her hard. “They are coming after me. Together. They are hunting me.”

“I know nothing of that!” she insisted, frantic. “Think! Would they discuss their business with the likes of me?”

He leaned closer, eyes peering into hers. “Many men speak to you, wench.”

What the hell did he want her to say?

“Perhaps they
are
seeking you out. I don’t know. They sailed into the storm—they’re probably all dead. Let me go!”

“Not yet. Now, the real question.
Who
is Red Robert?”

“What?”

Another jerk on her hair. Pain shot through her skull. Tears pooled in her eyes.

“Red Robert is…Red Robert,” she said, tears of fear and pain springing to her eyes.

“Liar!”

She found herself flung onto the table. He was quickly on top of her. “The truth! I’ll have the truth.”

“I don’t know! I swear to God, I don’t know!” He was straddling her, and she knew fighting back was foolish, but she couldn’t help herself.

She spat at him.

She should have expected it. He slapped her with a vengeance that knocked her unconscious, though for far too short a time.

She vaguely felt him rise, felt him shuffle her skirt out of his way. Too weak to fight, too groggy even to protest, she simply turned away. She never said a word.

And when he was done, he dropped a coin on the table as he casually straightened his breeches. “Who does know?”

“Bend down, kiss your arse and die,” she managed to respond.

She was ready for the next blow. It was worth it.

“I’ll find Teach and ask
him,
” he said.

She laughed, not bothering to rise. “By all means, find him,” she suggested. “He’ll help you bend over, kiss your arse and die.”

One last blow and he was gone.

Not even then did she burst into tears.

She told herself that she was too hard, but in reality she was simply too numb.

When she finally rose, she went to talk with her girls, and she told them that he had the littlest penis she’d ever seen and couldn’t keep hard long enough to finish.

The girls would talk. It would be all over the island.

She began praying that Red Robert
would
find him on the high seas.

And that Robert did indeed intend to kill him.

L
OGAN HESITATED
, but they had to know the truth, one way or the other.

The dead man was floating facedown.

Red stared at the corpse, stricken, as he had never imagined she might be. Brave pirate, brave
actress.
She loved her cousin. She looked unbelievably fragile and vulnerable now, and he was afraid himself. He didn’t want to turn the body over, because he felt helpless in the face of her obvious distress.

He swallowed hard. One lesson life had taught him: face all demons. Nothing could change what was, and acceptance allowed you to move on.

He turned the body over.

She gasped, and stepped back shaking.

It wasn’t Brendan but some other poor soul. The fish had already been nibbling at his nose, and he was a pathetic and dreadful sight.

But he wasn’t Brendan.

Logan reached out to Red to steady her. And for a moment, she leaned on his strength. Then she pulled away, as if furious with him. But she wasn’t angry with him, and he knew it. She was angry with herself. Red Robert, who had mastered her act so long ago, was ruing her own show of weakness.

But the sight of the corpse was a horrible one. The corpse had bloated in the water, and now he had the macabre appearance of something unreal, something that had never been human.

“I’ll bury him,” he said curtly.

“He—he isn’t one of ours,” she whispered.

“Whoever he is, he deserves a decent burial.” He didn’t add that a rotting corpse on the beach would create a horrible miasma. He turned, pulling the corpse through the shallows as he paralleled the beach. She was still for a moment; then he heard a splashing behind him as she followed to help.

He dragged the body up to a cluster of palm trees far above the water.

He didn’t want high tide undoing his work.

He still hadn’t found any tools, but a broken coconut made a crude scoop. Fifteen minutes later, when he was already dripping with sweat from the effort of working with so small a tool, he looked over and saw that she had gone back down the beach to discover a large silver soup tureen, which made a much better scoop, and had started digging alongside him.

“Let me,” he said.

She was working vigorously and didn’t even look up at him. She shook her head, intent on her task. She worked almost as if she were in a frenzy, burning her strength. He let her, certain she was trying to allay her fear that although the body they had found was not Brendan, the crew of her ship might have met a similar fate. When he was certain she had burned away most of her emotion, he stepped forward again, reaching for the silver tureen, forcing her to look at him. “You’ve done more in a matter of minutes than I did in twenty. Let me finish,” he said gently.

She stared at him, blinked, lowered her head and nodded at last.

The tureen was a big help. His shoulders and back ached, but in the end, he managed a deep-enough grave. He pulled the man in and was ready to drop the sand back over him when she stopped him.

“Wait.”

“Yes?” he said, and eyed her expectantly.

“Don’t you…know a few words to say?”

“Don’t you?”

“You’re a captain.”

“So are you.”

“I’ve never lost a crew member,” she said proudly.

“Neither have I,” he informed her.

“But you—”

“I what?”

“You still believe in God,” she said flatly.

He looked at her for a moment.
So do you,
he wanted to tell her, but something in her eyes told him to keep the words inside.

“Father, accept the soul of this, thy servant,” he said instead, and crossed himself.

“And may ye be in heaven an hour before the devil knows ye’re dead!” she said, and did likewise.

Strange prayer for a man who was already dead.

“Amen,” he said, and she turned away.

Scooping the sand back on wasn’t half as hard as digging it out. He was done in a matter of minutes. To his surprise, she had fashioned a cross out of palm fronds, and when he had finished, she set it into the sand covering the body.

“It won’t stay, you know,” he said gently.

“Ah, but it’s there for the journey,” she replied.

She turned away and started walking back down the beach. As she left, he felt his stomach rumble. Without the labor to take his mind off things, his body was reminding him that they hadn’t eaten.

Well, if nothing else, there were coconuts. And rum.

But hunger didn’t seem to be plaguing Red yet, as she examined the flotsam that continued to wash up on the beach. He followed her, collecting timber, then shouted out with triumph, seeing what appeared to be a chest of carpenter’s tools next to a broken crate.

“Aha!”

“What?” she cried, startled and clearly afraid of what he might have found.

He was already down on his knees beside the chest, pounding at the lock with a sharp stone. When it split apart in his hand, he didn’t care, he just picked up another one and resumed his efforts.

Finally the ring holding the lock in place gave, and he looked up at her, smiling in triumph, feeling as if he had just stumbled on a cache of gold doubloons.

“Nails! We have nails. And a hammer, a lathe…and a leather needle…!”

She didn’t respond with the same enthusiasm.

“What?” he asked her.

“It’s not…ours, is it?” she whispered.

He sat back on his haunches. “There are no markings,” he told her.

She let out a sigh. “Ours had initials. It isn’t ours.”

“There’s been nothing on this beach to suggest that the
Eagle
broke up,” he assured her.

She looked reassured, at least for the moment.

“All right, take the chest,” he said.

“Me?”

“Unless you want to carry the lumber?”

“And where are we going?” she demanded.

He rose and looked around, then pointed out a place a good twenty yards farther inland and a good hundred yards to the east of their hasty cemetery. Palm trees surrounded a glade where their shade had kept the earth barren of brush and scrub.