The Red Siren (18 page)

C
onfound it all.” Dajon stormed from the kitchen out into the yard still shrouded in darkness. The scent of rain stung his nose, soon stolen by the smell of horses and sweet hay emanating from the stables. Thunder rumbled, sending energy crackling through the air like a cannon about to fire.
      Faith’s footsteps pounded after him. “The Pink House? Do you know the place?”
      Yes, he knew the place, but he had no intention of informing her that it was the most nefarious tavern in town.
      Turning to her, he gripped her shoulders and gave her his most confident look. “Never fear. I’ll wake Lucas and take him with me. I assure you, I will bring your sister home safely.”
      “What sort of place is it?” A mixture of fear and anger raged in her eyes, and he longed to ease her pain, to replace it with the joy and admiration he’d seen in her gaze just minutes ago.
      “Please do not worry, Miss Westcott.” Releasing her, Dajon headed toward the servants’ quarters above the kitchen.
      “Mr. Waite, I demand you answer me.” She marched after him.
      Dajon halted and faced her. “It is no place for a lady. That is all I will tell you.” A look of frantic despair marred her comely features, softening Dajon’s harsh manner. He eased a lock of hair from her face then shook off her bewitching spell and swerved back around. “Go in the house. I will handle this.”
      “I will do no such thing!”
      “I do not have time for your insolence.” He entered the small brick house and took the stairs two at a time, praying she would listen to him but all the while knowing she would not.
      Minutes later when he dashed into the stables, a sleepy Lucas on
his heels, he found a lantern hanging from a hook on the wall and Faith saddling the second of two horses.
      “I thank you for your assistance, Miss Westcott, but now I must insist you go into the house.”
      “She is my sister, Mr. Waite.” She cinched the final strap beneath the horse’s belly. “I suggest you stop wasting time arguing with me.”
      Dajon squeezed the bridge of his nose, where a dull pain began to burn. Impudent woman. He had a difficult enough task ahead of him without adding another female to protect.
      “I’d let ’er come if I was you, Mr. Waite,” Lucas said, leading another horse from its stall. “She can fend fer ’erself.”
      “Not where we are going.” Images of Marianne lying limp in his arms, blood spilling from her mouth, stormed across his vision. He would not bring another lady into a dangerous situation.
      Faith adjusted the bit in the horse’s mouth and threw her hand to her hip. “You may be accustomed to having your orders obeyed aboard your ship, Captain, but this is not the HMS
Enforcer
, nor am I one of your crew.”
      Withdrawing a handkerchief, Dajon dabbed at the sweat on his throat then twisted the cloth into a knot, longing to stuff it into her sassy mouth.
      “If you leave without me, I shall follow you anyway. Isn’t it better I ride under your protection than all alone?”
      Fuming, Dajon turned and assisted Lucas with the final horse, realizing he had lost the battle. “You will do what I say when we get there, or mark my words, I shall tie you to a tree if I must in order to keep you out of trouble. Do you understand?” He snapped his gaze to her.
      “Yes, sir.” She saluted him stiffly then lifted her skirts and swung onto her horse.
      As they galloped through the dark streets, Dajon’s fears stung him like the tiny pelts of rain that sliced through the night sky. He wondered in what condition he would find Hope. Foolish girl. Had she gone there alone? If so, it would be unlikely she remained unscathed. In fact, it was more likely that she had been robbed of her purity, along with her money, and then tossed into a ditch.
      And what of Faith? He glanced at her as she galloped beside him, as at ease upon a horse as she seemed strolling in the garden. Though fear tightened the corners of her mouth, courage and resolution held them
in a thin line. He had never met a woman like her. So different from timid, sweet Marianne.
      On the other side of Faith, Lucas kept a steady pace, as if the two had ridden in haste side by side many times before. The sight alarmed Dajon. The more he became acquainted with Faith, the more he could see the markings of a pirate within her: commanding, confident, rebellious, and greedy. Not a greed for gold, but for whatever would purchase freedom for her and her sisters. He nearly laughed at the thought. Impossible.
      Great guns, he’d almost kissed her tonight—again. Her allure was intoxicating—too heady for him to resist. And that frightened him the most.
      His hair had loosened from his queue, and he shook it free, allowing the rising wind to clear his head. He mustn’t think of Faith now nor the Red Siren. He must focus on saving Hope, no matter what danger she had thrown herself into.
      He tugged back the reins as they passed through the city gates then turned onto Meeting Street. The fetid odors of the city surrounded him, along with the eerie chime of an off-key violin accompanied by devilish laughter. Lightning carved a craggy spike across the dark sky as if warning him of impending danger.
      Evil was afoot this night. Dajon could feel it.
      He could feel it in the sharp hairs bristling across his neck, in the chill rippling down his back. He could feel it in his spirit.
      His thoughts shifted to the only One who possessed the power to protect them from such unseen forces, and he chided himself. Why hadn’t he thought to pray for Hope sooner?
      
Father, please protect Hope. Please let no harm befall her. Keep the villains from her and watch over her until we arrive.
      When he raised his gaze, it was to Faith’s curious stare.
      “Who were you talking to?”
      Thunder growled in the distance, announcing a storm. “I was praying for your sister.”
      “Humph.” She nudged her horse into a trot.

Faith thrust her nose in the air but did not respond. Angry voices blared in the street ahead of her. They had not seen a soul since entering the city, all asleep at this hour save for the men down by the docks, the
miscreants of the sea who spent their coins on idle pleasures and boastful brawls. In that way, she certainly differed from her pirate compatriots.
      Narrow houses sprang up on both sides of the street. Two- and three-story stone structures originally built to house families but now transformed into filthy bordellos. Scantily clad women of all shapes and sizes spilled from the door and windows of one of them as if the house could not contain them all. Men with mugs of ale in hand hung on the trollops like ill-fitting shawls.
      Drunken eyes shot toward the trio in the street, and for the first time that night, Faith found comfort in riding between the captain and Lucas.
      A flash of lightning drew her gaze to a pink building up ahead.
      The Pink House.
      Faith swallowed and tried to quiet the pounding of her heart.
      Mr. Waite raised a hand to slow them. The horses’ hooves clicked over the narrow cobblestone street like the ticking of a clock counting down their demise.
      The captain turned in his saddle. “Miss Westcott, I beg you. Allow Lucas to escort you home. Mullato Alley is no place for a lady at night.”
      So this was Mullato Alley—the most perilous district in town. She had thus far managed to avoid traveling this way, and now she knew why ’twas spoken of in hushed tones. But no matter her fear, no matter her disgust, she must think only of Hope and of bringing her sister home safely. Faith took a deep breath and threw back her shoulders. “My sister is here somewhere, Mr. Waite. Therefore I will stay. She will no doubt need me when we discover her whereabouts.”
      The captain grunted but said nothing more.
      Terror stiffened each nerve within Faith as they proceeded to the Pink House. Men brawled openly in the street. Angry shouts and curses burst through the night like pistol shots. To her right, a ring of boisterous sailors, shouting and thrusting their fists in the air, had formed around two others engaged in a sword fight. The clank of metal on metal rang across the street in ominous tones. Somewhere a gun fired.
      What had lured Hope down to this ungodly place? Hadn’t she had enough of lecherous men? Faith shivered beneath a rising swell of fear for her sister’s safety. An unusual desire to pray gripped her—an urge to appeal to a force outside herself, for as she looked around at the violent depravity consuming the alley, she could not imagine any
of them escaping unharmed.
      The captain’s gaze locked upon the Pink House. Concern tightened his features, and beads of sweat glistened between his eyebrows. She turned to Lucas. “Give me one of your pistols.”
      Mr. Waite shot her a curious look.
      “I know how to shoot it. Never fear.” She knew she had just given him more fuel to feed his suspicions, but she couldn’t concern herself with that at the moment. In light of what she saw before her, she realized it was not just Hope’s innocence on the line but her very life.
      Gripping the weapon, Faith stuffed it in the belt on her gown, finding a small measure of relief at being armed again. Now if she just had her cutlass.
      As the captain led them around the side of the Pink House, where several horses stood tethered to a post, Faith tried to ignore the lewd comments tossed her way, tried to allow them to pass over her like the wind rising upon the oncoming storm, but she could not. Instead of disgusting her, however, they only pricked her ire. How dare these men fling such foul, degrading suggestions toward a lady, or any woman for that matter?
      At least the captain and Lucas’s presence seemed to keep them at bay. No doubt most were too inebriated to follow through with their obscene threats anyway.
      Mr. Waite dismounted and held out his hand to assist her from her horse. “I apologize, Miss Westcott, for the insults you are forced to endure, but I fear if I were to attempt to defend your honor for each one, I would be engaged in battle the entire night.”
      “’Tis quite all right, Mr. Waite.” Faith took his hand, glad for the warm strength that enveloped hers, and hopped to the ground. “I believe I can suffer through it for my sister’s sake.”
      “You are a brave woman.” He gave her an admiring look then plucked his pistol from the inside of his coat, primed it, replaced it, and nodded toward Lucas.
      Without asking, he placed Faith’s hand firmly on his arm. “Stay close to me,” he ordered as the three of them rounded the building and slipped through the front door.
      The stink of ale, tobacco, and human sweat assaulted Faith. She held her breath against the onslaught and tried to focus. The tavern was a swaying mass of inebriated humanity stretched in every direction. In
the right corner, a plump woman perched at a harpsichord banged out a bawdy tune, while a skinny man attempted a vain accompaniment with his violin. An off-key ballad rose from a mob clustered around them, their mugs of ale raised toward the rafters.
      A loud thump startled Faith, drawing her attention to a table at her left where two men arm wrestled. A crowd circled them, placing bets. Angry card games exploded with insults and threats from every corner. Women snuggled upon men’s laps and cooed into their ears. A narrow staircase led upstairs, its wood creaking under the continual passage of its patrons to whatever wickedness loomed above.
      Mr. Waite tensed beside Faith as he scanned the room. Hope was not here, at least not in this part of the tavern.
      Some of the patrons fired seething glances their way as they muttered to their companions.
      Faith felt his eyes lock upon her long before she saw him.
      A man wearing a plumed captain’s hat, leather jerkin, black waistcoat, and cocky grin stared at her from a table in the corner. He sat back in his chair with his arms folded across his thick chest. A motley group—his crew, no doubt—sat with him.
      A pirate.
      His gaze scoured over her as if she were tonight’s supper then shot to Captain Waite and narrowed.
      “Have ye come to arrest me then?” His eyes dropped to the three gold buttons lining each of Mr. Waite’s cuffs. “Lieutenant, is it? Ha.” He snorted, his spit splattering onto the table. “They send a mere lieutenant to arrest the great Captain Vane.” The men surrounding him erupted into a round of drunken cackles as every hazy eye in the place shot to the trio.
      So this was Charles Vane. Faith had heard of his brutality—how he tortured and murdered the crews of his captured vessels, how he never abided by the pirate code and cheated his own crew out of their share of the plunder, and how he had arrogantly snubbed the offer of pardon given by the governor of the Bahamas by setting a French ship aflame and destroying two Royal Navy ships. As she took in his grotesque physique and the pure evil simmering in his gaze, she felt as if a thousand bugs crawled down her back, the sensation made all the more disgusting by the shame of her association with his kind. Averting her eyes, she scanned the room once again for any sign of Hope.
      
Mr. Waite returned the man’s stare and waited until the chortles silenced.
      “Ye come here with a mere woman and a slave?” the pirate continued his verbal joust.
      Lucas grunted and gripped the hilt of his sword.
      The pirate’s eyes shifted to the groomsman’s threatening gesture, and a wicked sneer played upon his lips.
      Mr. Waite raised his brows. “I’ll be happy to arrest you if you wish, Mr. Vane,” he said nonchalantly, “but I am afraid I have not heard of you.”
      Faith elbowed the captain and sent an anxious glance his way. Surely he knew who this vile man was. ’Twas sheer folly to antagonize such a volatile beast.
      The pirate’s face exploded in a purple rage. “Not heard of me?” He shot up, his chair thumping to the floor. The crowd shrank back. “I’ve plundered o’er twenty ships in these waters.” He flung a glance over his men to receive the expected grunts of approbation, even as he slid his hand within his waistcoat.
      The captain remained steady and relaxed beside her as if he were talking to a mere servant. Either he was mad, or he possessed more courage than she had ever seen.
      “You must be quite proud of yourself, Mr. Vane, but alas, I care not.” Mr. Waite gazed off to the right as if the exchange bored him. “We have come in search of a lady.”
      “Well, ye ain’t gonna find a lady in here,” blared a man’s voice above the noise of the crowd, eliciting a barrage of chortles.
      The pirate fumbled within his coat. Faith knew he went for his pistol. She knew he would have already drawn it if not for the alcohol tugging on his reflexes. Lucas shifted his stance, his fingers stretching beside his own weapon. Faith clutched the handle of her gun. Her moist palms slipped over the cool metal. Why didn’t the captain do something?
      The laugher abated, leaving a deadly silence in its wake.
      A slow smile crept over the pirate’s lips. He plucked his pistol from inside his waistcoat. The cock of a dozen pistols snapped through the room like firecrackers—Faith’s and Lucas’s and the captain’s among them. She hadn’t even seen Mr. Waite draw his.
      Mr. Vane aimed the dark barrel of his pistol at the captain’s heart. His grin faded.
      The captain did not move, his own weapon trained upon the pirate.
      
Eight men surrounding Vane leveled their pistols upon the trio, while only their three returned the threat. A maze of deadly steel crisscrossed before them, ready to fire in a lethal explosion.
      Fear as she’d never known before dug its claws into Faith and kept her frozen in place.
      There was no way out of this. They were all going to die.