The Pirate Takes A Bride (2 page)

Catie had raised her hand. “I, Catherine Anne Fullbright, swear never, ever, ever to marry so long as I live. Now your turn Maddie.”

Ashley half-expected Maddie, prim and proper even then, to balk. But she said, “I, Madeleine Richael Fullbright, swear never, ever to marry so long as I live. Now your turn, Josie.”

Josie was practically jumping with eagerness. “I, Josephine Linet Hale, swear never, ever, ever, to
ever
marry so long as I live.” She jumped up and put a hand on her heart. “I promise to be a pirate!”

Ashley quickly raised her own hand. If Josie was allowed to go on about pirates it would be nigh impossible to make her stop. “I, Ashley Gweneira Brittany, swear not to marry for as long as I live. But you know what this means, don’t you?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “We’re going to be spinsters.”

“It won’t be bad to be unmarried if we’re all unmarried,” Josie said. “Nothing is bad as long as you’re not in it alone.”

“So we’ll make it fun,” Catie said. “We’ll be the Spinster’s Club!”

Josie cheered. “That’s right! We’ll stick together. No men or mean girls allowed.”

At the time the promise had seemed so easy, so simple. She’d held onto it over the years, especially after the...well, when she’d realized no man would want to marry her.

She’d thought Nick Martingale was different.

Foolish, stupid girl,
she chided herself. Why had she ever trusted Nick? Why had she ever believed that a man could love her after he had seen how truly ugly she was?

Catie, Josie, and Maddie moved back toward the ballroom, and Ashley took a deep breath. Well, she wasn’t going to make that mistake again. She wasn’t ever going to open herself up to being hurt like this again.

In fact, she was going to hurt him. One way or another, she was going to make Lord Nicholas Martingale sorry.

Eight months later, Gretna Green, Scotland 1811

N
icholas Richard Martingale, second son of the late Marquess of Blackthorne, was sorry. He was sorry he’d followed his brother to Gretna Green. He was sorry he’d bowed to Jack’s—devil take him—wishes and agreed to wed Lady Madeleine. And he was especially sorry he hadn’t married Lady Madeleine because the goddamn anvil priest had been so drunk he’d made a muddle of the ceremony. How did a priest manage to marry the wrong couples?

Nick bent over the priest’s unconscious form. He pried the marriage certificate out of his hand and read his death sentence.

This is to certify to all it may concern that Nicholas Martingale...

Nick grit his teeth and skimmed down.

...and Ashley Brittany...

Nick closed his eyes momentarily.

...being now both here and present, and having declared to me that they are single persons, have now been married after the manner of the Laws of Scotland...

“Is it still true?” Ashley asked, coming up behind him. The light from the low fire in the hearth made her wheat blond hair look like spun gold falling in waves down her back. Her sea green eyes gazed at him, and, as always, he felt his chest tighten. She was so beautiful. So beautiful it hurt to look at her.

He looked away. “Congratulations, sweetheart, you’re still married to me.”

She scowled at him and ripped the certificate from his hand, perusing it for herself. He studied her as she read. Her dark green undergown with the gauzy overlay had undoubtedly been the height of fashion when she donned it a few days ago. Now the gauze was ripped, the green material stained, and the fichu tucked at her bosom to preserve modesty was all askew. At one point during their travels she must have had to dress herself and been unable to fasten all of the hooks and eyes in the back because the gown was too loose and one shoulder kept sliding down. “How did this happen?” she moaned.

“Well, you stood there, and I stood here—”

“No, no, no!” She covered her face with her hands. “I wasn’t supposed to marry anyone. I was Maddie’s chaperone.”

“
You
? A chaperone?”

She fisted her hands on her hips, wrinkling the certificate in the process. “Well, someone had to chaperone her. She was going to elope with that Mr.—I don’t even remember his name. The dog-breeder. I couldn’t allow her to run off with him alone. If you and your brother hadn’t waylaid the carriage, I would have convinced her the entire elopement was folly.”

“We did not waylay your carriage. We merely accompanied you on your jaunt to Gretna Green.”

“Because of you, the Duke of Bleven’s men shot at us! We were almost killed!”

That much was true. He should have never insulted the duke, but he couldn’t regret saving the poor housemaid the bastard was intent on raping.

He pointed a finger at her. “Don’t forget your father and Lord Castleigh shot at us as well. That’s how we lost the dog-breeder.”

She blew out a breath. “Fathers are supposed to shoot at men eloping with their daughters.”

“I didn’t want to elope with you or with Lady Madeleine!” Nick protested. “I was trying to save her reputation!”

She rolled her eyes. “As though you are some sort of hero. If you were a hero, you would have at least married the right woman!”

Nick gaped at her, too angry to even argue. Finally, he sputtered, “The priest was drunk. That’s not
my
fault!”

“Oh, stubble it.” She balled the marriage certificate and threw it at his chest. “Stop talking for once and
do
something. Fix this.” She gestured toward the priest, snoring loudly on the floor of the blacksmith’s shop.

Nick clenched his fists to keep from throttling her. “And what exactly do you want me to do?”

“Wake him up. Make him do the ceremony over.”

Nick peered closely at the unconscious priest. “This one’s not going to wake for some time.” He pried the jug of brandy from the man’s plump hand and put it to his mouth. Only a trickle of the sweet liquor flowed over Nick’s tongue. Would nothing go his way? “He’s out for the night.”

Ashley frowned, his pronouncement quite obviously not what she wanted to hear. He didn’t particularly give a damn right now. He didn’t want to be married to her any more than she wanted him. In fact, he’d done everything in his power to avoid this fate.

And here he was anyway.

Nick didn’t care for Lady Madeleine one way or the other, but he would have much preferred being leg-shackled to her than Ashley Brittany—a woman who made his head spin every time he looked at her. A woman who had tried her damnedest to see him killed by sending her bloodthirsty eldest brother after him. She hadn’t counted on Nick besting Thomas Brittany and sending the lad back with a bloody nose and a broken finger. She was no saint. He would do well to remember that—and remind her as often as possible.

“Well, at least
try
to wake him,” Ashley demanded, pointing at the priest.

Nick stepped back and opened his arms wide. “You want to try, you’re welcome to it, sweetheart. I’m going to see if my brother and Lady Madeleine have come up with anything better.”

“Fine. And stop calling me sweetheart.”

“You prefer another sobriquet? Because I can think of a few that fit you far better than sweetheart.”

“And I can think of several choice names for you. Starting with—”

He put a finger over her lips silencing her. “Save them for later.” He winked. “When we’re alone.”

He turned and strolled out the back door, leaving her to call a sampling of her favorite epithets after him.

He smiled and closed the door.

She was still feisty as hell. At least that hadn’t changed.

He surveyed the moonlit courtyard where he’d left his brother and Lady Madeleine. After they’d dispatched Lord Castleigh’s footmen, Jack had suggested they split up to make it more difficult for Ashley’s father, should he still be in pursuit, to catch them. Nick had argued and gone back to attempt to rouse the priest. Jack and Lady Madeleine would just have to wait for the priest to wake and repeat the ceremony—marrying the correct couples this time—and the four of them might as well all wait together. “Our noble priest is half-seas over,” he announced to the courtyard. “He won’t—” Nick paused.

The courtyard was empty.

Jack and Lady Madeleine were gone.

Nick leaned back against the wall of the blacksmith’s shop and wished he had a cheroot. Better yet, he wished he had a jug of rum. Maybe if he was as drunk as the priest he’d understand how all of this had happened. At the very least, he wouldn’t care that his brother and Lady Madeleine were gone and Nick was now irrevocably wed to Ashley, The Hellion, Brittany.

He deserved his fate, of course. He was the one who’d insulted Bleven. He was the one who’d pulled Jack—who’d been completely innocent of any wrongdoing—into the muddle, and Nick was the one who reveled in the adventure of escaping Bleven and his small army of thugs. Nick loved a challenge, always had. Well, he had one now. But Ashley Brittany was more than a challenge. She was a trial by fire, a test of his patience and his sanity.

If they made it through even one day without killing each other, he would count their marriage a success.

Marriage.

How could he be married? What the hell was he going to do with a wife?

No, not just any wife. What the bloody hell was he going to do with
Ashley Brittany
? She’d cared for him once, but he’d made damn sure he’d annihilated that feeling.

Regret slammed into him like a hammer. His insides wanted to shatter, but he fought the feeling. He didn’t have the luxury of regret. He’d done what he had to do, done what was best for Ashley.

Nick stared at the dark sky and shook his head. Sometimes he wondered if somebody up there didn’t have it in for him. Whoever was in charge of the universe had one cruel sense of humor.

A piercing shriek rent the quiet night, and Nick jumped. His hand went to his belt, but he’d forgotten he wasn’t wearing his cutlass.

Damn it!

He heard the scream again, and this time he placed it. Inside the blacksmith’s shop.

Ashley.

He tore the door open and flew into the room with the only weapon he had—his fists. Immediately, he knew that wouldn’t be enough. Four large men stood in the center of the shop facing Ashley, who waved a poker at them. All four were smiling, and all four were dressed alike: colorful bandanas or plumed hats on their heads, hoop earrings glinting in their ears, and fearsome pistols and cutlasses gleaming at their waists.

Nick shook his head. He should have known.

Pirates.

“N
ick!” Ashley screamed. “We’re under attack!” She waved the poker menacingly at the big brute in the middle. He had mahogany skin, a head full of long black braids, and when he sneered at her, she could see that one of his front teeth was gold. He seemed to be the leader.

One of the leader’s companions stepped forward. This one was fair with red hair and freckles, and Ashley swung the poker to ward him off. “Stay away!”

She darted the poker back and forth, trying to fend off both men.

She glanced in Nick’s direction, hoping he had devised a better way to defend them than the woefully inadequate fire poker she held.

But Nick looked completely unconcerned. He was standing with one shoulder braced against the wall, arms crossed over his broad chest, and a dubious smile on his lips.

“Nick!” She seethed his name. “Don’t just stand there. We’re being attacked by”—she glanced at the men—”highwaymen.”

“Pirates,” Nick drawled. “Well, privateers, actually.”

“Pirates?” She frowned, unwilling to believe it.

A tall whale-sized man who looked as though he could lift a cannon with one hand stepped closer. He grinned, showing several gaps where teeth should have been. “Argh.”

Ashley gasped and brandished her poker. “No, these can’t be pirates, they—” She took in the men’s appearance once again and swallowed.

“Hello, Cap’n,” the leader with the gold tooth said in a voice rife with the lilt of the Caribbean. “Might we have a word alone?” He nodded at Ashley.

Ashley swung the poker back at him, but he only scowled at her attempts to cow him.