The Siren's Song (22 page)

“This way,” whispered Joelle.

* * *

Sounds of their boots clicked on the marble floor as Drake and his
escorts
entered a large chamber. With the sweep of his eyes, Drake took in the indulgence of the room. Machete had been busy these years amassing luxuries. Paneled walls of gold and yellows were painted with flowered ivies and elegant birds. Naked females draped in red robes and wielding spears graced the center of the larger panels which flanked a large mirror atop a fireplace. Reliefs of chariots, horses and warriors crowned the walls of the room and heavy gold drapes hung from the windows.
Did the French vomit in this room?

“Galo, my friend. You brought me a guest.”

Machete appeared from a side door. The bastard wore a smug sneer and his full military regalia. Such apparent flaunts of his station hardly exacted respect or concern from Drake.

“I see you were expecting me,” Drake said, thumbing at Machete’s appearance.

“You should be honored,
Capitán
Drake,” he answered. “I dressed for the occasion.”

“What occasion would that be? Your death?”

Machete clucked and perched on the edge of his desk. “Your optimism is amusing. But, I am curious. How will you kill me?” The tinny sound of his sword scraping across the metal throat of his scabbard sliced through their verbal draw. He casually acted as though he inspected the sharpness of the blade. “You are unarmed and surrounded by my men.”

“A minor detail,” Drake said.

“Then an interesting evening we will have. Galo, what is this box you bring?”

“’Tis a gift,” Drake said before Machete’s crony could answer. “’Twas a pity the ship following my wayward lights off the Florida coast happened upon a reef. Imagine my delight when I discovered the many, finely crafted French furnishings I fished from the wreckage belonged to Commander Mancho Diaz of Havana.”

Machete’s eyes widened to the size of Spanish dollars. Laying aside his sword on the desk, he motioned for Galo’s men to open the crate.

“Don’t look so angry, Machete. I saved most of your precious things. Though, I suppose you won’t be taking them with you to the afterlife. Don’t you fret. I’ll make a tidy profit off it all. Now, about those diamonds.”

Machete grabbed a pistol from Galo’s waistband and in two strides had the muzzle pressed to Drake’s heart. “You play with me,
hijo?
”

* * *

Joelle was a crafty woman. Gilly had little doubt the pirate captain could free the men. By herself. Alone. Without Gilly’s help. Gilly took two steps back and turned on her heel, sprinting down the corridor. She would find Drake. She would help him escape. She had to. How, she had no idea. But she couldn’t let another moment pass without trying.

Each door she passed down the hall had her question whether Drake was on the other side. Instinct drove her farther into the depths of the fortress. The passage angled and down at the end stood an ornate door and she knew that was where she would find her captain.

Footsteps echoed behind her and were growing louder.
Oh, dear Lord. No place to hide.
She dashed to the only other door in the corridor and sent a hasty
thank you
above that it was not locked. Gliding inside, she leaned her back against the door. Her heart hammered in her chest as her hand tightened on the handle. The footfalls neared. Only after they faded did she dare open her eyes and breathe. Another prayer of thanks that the room was empty slipped from her lips.

Overstuffed chairs and chaise lounges littered the room filled with bookcases. A gaming table sat close to a wall of windows. But it was the open cabinet displaying many bottles of liquor that captured her attention. Beside a half-empty crystal glass of amber liquid sat her purple bag.

Gilly rounded the furniture but her joy of finding her beloved bag died. Loose threads and bits of velvet hung from where the rosettes had been slashed unmercifully off, the diamonds removed. Her heart broke at the terrible state of the bag. Perhaps she could have it repaired. She picked up the tattered pouch.

Oh, mighty heaven above! I couldn’t be luckier!

On the silver tray where the bag had lain was her laudanum. Gilly wasted not a moment. She helped herself to a hearty gulp. The poison slid down her throat and warmed her belly. More, she had to have more. To give her the strength she needed to carry on this insane mission. But without realizing it she finished off what was left in the bottle.
Bugger.

She set the empty bottle back on the tray and a gasp hitched in her throat. Did her eyes deceive her? Could it be? Had she drunk too much laudanum and was now dizzy with fantastic visions? Was that glass filled with…with
diamonds?

Gilly lifted the glass. Splinters of prisms sparkled in the light as she inspected the contents. Blood rushed to her head, her hands shook, and the gems clinked in the glass.

Voices carried from across the room. Another door nestled between two large bookcases was left cracked open. Gilly poured the gems into a napkin, shoved it into her bag and tiptoed to the door. She held her breath, afraid if she breathed in any air, she’d be spotted. The adjoining room appeared to be some sort of suite for conducting business. She recognized Machete’s voice and angled for a better view.

Thayer!
She bit her tongue to keep from calling out his name.

That was before Machete pulled his pistol and placed it to Thayer’s chest.

* * *

Drake clamped his jaw tight and cracked his knuckles. His spine tingled with the excitement of death, be it Machete’s or his own. “Do I anger you, Machete? You should know better than to steer by passion.”

The pistol’s barrel pressed harder against his chest. But the commander wouldn’t kill him, not at that moment. He would be unsatisfied by Drake’s quick demise. Nay, he would want Drake to suffer first. It was the way of most undisciplined, vain men with power.

“Go on, Machete, lose control. Kill me.” Eyes locked in a battle of wills, Drake egged him on, pushing for him to make that fatal mistake. “Kill me, you filthy prick.”

A muted squeal caught Machete’s attention. His deliberating eyes flickered and Drake reacted to the fleeting breach in Machete’s concentration. Drake grabbed Machete’s wrist, but the bastard anticipated the move. His ears rang from the deafening blast before the sharp pain sliced through his gut. The floor rose up to meet Drake. Swallowing hard, biting back the agony ripping through his body, he breathed deeply through his nose. Mustering strength, he pushed off the floor and sat back on his knees. Drake felt his side fast becoming numb and when he brought his hand into view, blood, slick and bright, covered his palm. He choked on the laughter burbling in the back of his throat.

Screaming, he heard screaming. A woman’s cries shut out the buzzing in his head. He slowly raised his head and focused on Gilly who was calling his name, struggling against Galo.

“
Señorita.
What an unexpected surprise.”

Drake wasn’t in enough pain to not notice Machete’s sour tone. Nor was he any more pleased with Gilly’s appearance than his enemy.

“You.” Machete pointed to one of his lackeys. “Find the other woman. If this one is free, so is she. I want her waiting for me properly in my room. Check the
sepultura.
The woman might be
bastante absurda
and try to free her friends.”

Machete sneered down at Drake. Obviously finding him no longer a threat, he turned on his heel and strode over to Gilly.

“I must say, I am mildly disappointed not to find you waiting for me in my chambers.”

“I’d rather die than be a part of your depraved sport.”

“Many have,
mi pequeña.
” He cupped her chin, leaning in close to her lips. “I do not think you have many options. But no matter. I have a new task for you. The entertainment you will provide me will be even greater than squirming beneath me. This I am sure.”

Machete squeezed her face as she tried to pull away. He kissed her. Drake growled. Fire raged in his blood. Machete would pay for kissing his woman. The wretch snapped back, as if bitten by a viper. In fact, he had been bitten. Machete dabbed the blood on his lips and laughed. “Spiteful. This is good. The more you fight, the better the show, no?”

Drake tried to stand again. The effort burned his side, his leg buckled, and his knee hit the floor hard. A new pang shot up his thigh.
Blazes! Breathe. Get a hold of the pain. She needs you.

Machete yanked her bag off her wrist and tossed it to his desk. “I must be frank,” he said, walking behind his desk. “Taking your woman,
Capitán,
on my writing table for you to witness appeals to me. However, I cannot squander this, how do you say it, occasion. I will like it very much to watch your face as she dies before you.”

“I won’t let you kill her,” Drake growled.

“No, no,
mi amigo.
You are mistaken. I will not kill her.” His grin unfurled like a toothy crocodile. “You will.”

“You’re mad.”

“
Sí,
quite mad.”

Machete retrieved a pistol from a drawer and a rondel dagger from another. He held up the dagger for display. Its wooden, cylindrical handle was carved in a weave pattern and the blade was long and thin. “Impressive, no? It is three hundred years old and, I am told, once owned by a knight.” He laid the dagger on his desk and came back around to stand beside Drake.

What in all hell was Machete up to? Drake needed to clear his mind, calculate any measure he might be able to take to turn the tables in his favor. Ignoring the pain, Drake again tried to stand. Machete placed a hand on his shoulder, forcing him back to his knees.

“Galo, let the woman go.”

Apprehension fanned out across Gilly’s lovely face, as it should. Machete had conjured up an evil design. But Drake wasn’t going to kill Gilly no matter what tortures the bastard had planned.

“Pick up the dagger,
mi pequeña.
”

Gilly looked to Drake. “It’s all right,” he said. “Do as he says.”

With hesitation, Gilly did as she was instructed.

Machete chuckled. “You have feelings for the
capitán,
no? So much that you risk your life to come here. Let us see how much you fancy him.” He placed his pistol to Drake’s head.

Saint’s blood!
Drake suddenly knew his foe’s wicked scheme. His chest tightened, his mouth became dry, his heart beat in his throat. It was happening all over again. Helpless. He was helpless once more to change the situation.

“If you don’t want to see him die,
señorita,
you must take your own life. You have until the count of ten, and then I blow his brains out.

“One…”

Chapter Twenty

“Two.”

Gilly’s heart pounded faster than she could breathe. Her mind
muddled with a fury of thoughts. Machete holding a gun to Thayer’s head was more
than she could endure. Her legs grew weak beneath her and she had to steady
herself with the edge of the desk.

“Three.”

“Don’t listen to him, Gilly,” Thayer said. His face was drawn
and his eyes pleaded with her to heed his demand. “He won’t do it.”

Machete cracked the butt of his pistol upon Thayer’s skull.
Gilly cringed, swallowing back the knot of sobs burbling up in her chest.

“Let us see,” Machete said. “Four.”

No, Machete would indeed kill him. Thayer only meant to spare
her. Deep inside, she knew she would never leave Machete’s fortress alive, no
matter what choice she made. She couldn’t let Machete murder Thayer. She would
be lost without him.

“Five.”

Tears pooled in her eyes. Gilly’s hands shook so, she feared
she might drop the dagger. Oh, what could she do? Her life for his.

“Six.”

Stop counting! I can’t think! Dear Lord, help me. Give me
the strength.

“Gilly. Look at me.”

Thayer’s voice, sure and dominant, stilled her mind. Coaxed her
to look at him, really look at him. He was ever strong, ever courageous. She
should be more like him.

“Seven. His time is running out,
señorita.
Will you have his blood on your hands?”

“Put the dagger down, Gilly.”

She glanced at the weapon quivering in her hand. ’Twould be
easy to puncture her skin with the slim blade. All it would take was one good
thrust. She lifted her other hand, gazing at her bandaged wrist. How much more
pain would this dagger cause?

“Eight.”

Gilly remembered the scars on Thayer’s body. All the suffering
he had shouldered in his life, it wasn’t fair. He deserved more than the short
straws drawn for him. He deserved peace. She would give it to him, give him a
fighting chance.

“Nine.”

Gilly gripped the knife with both hands and poised the tip to
her chest. “Forgive me, Thayer.”

“No!” Thayer jabbed his elbow back into Machete’s groin.
Machete folded, and Thayer followed with an upper blow of his fist. He then
threw himself back, pushed off the floor and landed on his feet.

Machete recovered and pointed the pistol at him, but Thayer
blocked his aim with his arm. Grabbing Machete’s arm and twisting into him,
Thayer aimed the gun toward her and fired. Gilly screamed as Machete’s crony
crumbled at her feet.
Blast that was close.

The two men traded swings one after another. She feared for
Thayer. How long could he keep up the fight with his wounds? Powered by such
hatred, neither gained an edge over the other. No time to worry over him, Galo
was coming for her. Quickly, she put the desk between them. Each time he tried
to reach her, she scampered to the opposite side.

“Come here, ya little bunter.”

“Kiss my arse.”

They circled the writing table once more and came to a complete
standstill. Galo was no closer to catching her and Gilly was no farther from
getting away. The sword Machete had laid down earlier to examine the crate’s
chandelier could give her an advantage. ’Twas unfortunate Galo had come to the
same obvious conclusion. Both snatched at the sword. Gilly grabbed the hilt
first, but Galo nabbed her hand. He was too strong—she couldn’t pull free.

Galo chuckled, but his grin faded when Gilly offered him a
smirk of her own. She sliced the rondel dagger down upon his arm. Unwieldy with
the knife, she didn’t achieve the desired effect of goring him. He let go all
the same.

“You bitch, you cut me!” Galo attempted to staunch the blood
flowing over his fingers from the sizeable gash.

She poked at him with the cumbersome sword, needing to hold on
to it with both hands. Not an easy task while also holding the dagger. “I’ll do
it again if you come any closer,” Gilly warned. The sword wobbled, but she
managed to keep Galo at bay.

Thayer crashed into the desk from a resulting blow. Sweat
trickled down his brow and coated his upper lip. His eyes, rimmed with redness,
blazed with anger and hell-bound determination. But his injury took its toll and
he struggled to keep up with the fight.

“Take this!” Gilly handed him the rondel dagger.

Giving Thayer the knife allowed her to hold the sword better,
yet she felt only marginally more confident. She was much too clumsy with the
long rapier. Gilly kept the sword poised outward to avoid dropping it and
slicing off her toes. Galo, eyeing her fixedly, waited for his chance.

Thayer twirled the dagger around his fingers in an impressive
show of speed and dexterity before shoving off the desk and charging Machete
with renewed vigor. He slashed through the air left, then right, coming fast at
Machete. Machete stepped back, leaning away from Drake’s swings. Drake’s blade
hummed with his swings, shaving through their grunts redoubling off the
walls.

With his back against the wall, Machete latched on to Thayer’s
arm. The dagger quaked, poised at Machete’s neck, as the men struggled. In a
sudden shift of strength, Machete let one grip go and slammed his fist into
Thayer’s wound. Thayer bellowed through clenched teeth, staggering away.

Gilly gasped, and the distraction cost her. Galo sprang over
the desk, wrenched her wrist and disarmed her of the sword.

“Machete!” Galo tossed his boss the weapon.

“Let go!” She bit Galo’s arm, sinking her teeth deep into his
sour flesh.

“Crazy chit!”

“That’s the truth of it.” Gilly socked his jaw.

He smirked, working his jowls from side to side. “You hit like
a wee girl.”

Suddenly, remembering the pistol stashed in her bag, she
grabbed the bag and whacked him across his face. “I am a girl, you dolt!”

In retrospect, using the pistol as a gun instead of a mallet
might have worked better. Even so, the impact dazed the brute.

Afraid the wooziness wouldn’t slow him down, Gilly snapped up a
gold inkwell and chucked it at Galo, clubbing him in his head. He swayed, his
eyes rolling back, and thudded to the floor.

I did it! I beat him! I saved
myself!
Victory was short-lived.

Metal connected with metal. Spits of bellows and grunts
accompanied thrusts and parries. Thayer’s smaller weapon challenged him with
blocking more than attacking. And yet, he dispatched Machete’s lunges with the
appearance of ease, though Gilly knew better. How long could he continue his
defensive moves? Someone, at some point, would have to make the final blow and
end the fight. Thayer was at a disadvantage. She must find a way to help.

She slipped her bag on her wrist and looked around the room for
something, anything that might help. The chandelier in the crate! It was a silly
idea, but the only one she could conjure up. Gilly pushed the crate across the
floor. Plague and perish, it was heavy. She shoved and smacked her weight into
it, moving it steadily until she had it positioned behind Machete. If Thayer
could get Machete to step back…

The men fluctuated, stepping closer to the crate and then away
again.
Come on, come on.
She gnawed on her bottom
lip.
Yes, closer. Closer.

Machete’s legs butted against the crate, but he didn’t fall as
Gilly had hoped. Surprised by the obstacle not there moments ago, Machete
hesitated. In that moment, opportunity favored Thayer. Her captain seized his
enemy’s thrusting arm, spun into him and plunged his dagger into Machete’s
chest.

“This is for every man, woman and child you have wronged.”

Time suspended. The air left Machete’s lungs. He clamped down
his lips, as if trying not to let any more precious breath escape. His sword
slipped from his hand and clanked against the marble floor.

“And this is for my family, you son of a bitch.” Thayer hitched
the dagger higher.

Gilly flinched and her hands flew to her mouth.

Machete grabbed a fistful of Thayer’s tunic. Coughing up blood,
he strained to be heard. “I will…wait for you in hell,
Capitán.
”

“Until then, give my regards to Old Nick.”

Thayer let go of the dagger and yanked free of Machete’s grip.
The commander sank down onto the crate. His gaze glazed over, and as death took
him, he slumped off the box.

Gilly rushed into Thayer’s arms. Tears of joy, tears of
exhaustion, tears of extreme emotions flowed down her cheeks. “Thayer. I was so
scared. I thought he had killed you. When he had the pistol aimed at you…Oh God,
I couldn’t bear losing you.”

“Shh.” He stroked her hair, soothing her with his whispers.
“Shh, it’s all right, love. It’s over.”

Thayer shifted, leaning more into her. Gilly tucked her arm
around him to support his extra weight. “You had me terrified,” she said. “Come,
you need a chair. Let me look at your injury.” Crossing the room was a
challenge. Every step became slower, heavier.

“You were very brave,” he said.

“My strength came from you.”

“No, Gilly. ’Twas in you…the whole…time.”

Drake’s leg gave out. “Thayer!” Gilly tried to keep him
upright. His weight was too much and she did her best to keep him from falling
too hard.

He groaned as she cradled him into her lap and pushed up his
blood-soaked tunic. The bullet had torn a fleshy hole through his side. Merciful
Heavens, she must stop the bleeding. Gilly made quick work removing his shirt.
She swallowed back the bile building in her throat from the tart smell of blood.
Balling the shirt up, she placed it on the wound. He jerked, grinding his teeth
against the pressure.

“I’m sorry.” Her mind raced. Gilly had no training in medical
matters. “What do I do, Thayer?”

“Just give me a minute.” His words came out in a rush. He was
in so much pain and she wanted badly to put him at ease. “Let me rest.”

Gilly nodded, choking back her panic. She laid her cheek
against his head and listened to his erratic breathing cresting with his agony.
She had to do something. They couldn’t sit here much longer. Surely men loyal to
Machete would happen upon them if they stayed put. Should she risk going for
help? Was she strong enough to drag him to safety? There had to be a way.

“I’ll get us out of here, don’t you worry,” she whispered,
swiping at the sweat beading on his brow.

An eternity had passed before he finally spoke. “Why, why would
you take your own life to save mine?”

“Because I love you.”

“You can’t—”

Snapping his eyes shut, Drake expelled a long, torturous moan.
He arched up, tensing against the throes devouring his body. She held on to his
hand, squeezing tight. With all her heart, she wished she could take his
place.

Gilly heard footfalls nearing. Someone fast approached down the
corridor. It was happening, just as she knew it would. There was nothing to do
but be discovered. Whatever their fate, be it torture or execution, she would
not leave Thayer’s side. She would face whoever came through that door with her
pistol drawn. She withdrew the gun from her bag, but the footsteps had stopped.
She strained to hear any sound beyond Thayer’s ragged breathing. Her arms
cramped and she couldn’t steady the shake of her aim.

The wait was killing her. “Who’s there? Show yourself.”

With weapons drawn, Valeryn and Joelle sallied into the room.
Sam and Henri came through the library door.

“Christ, Miss McCoy. Put the gun away.”

“Valeryn, you must help him!”

Valeryn stooped beside them. “How goes it, brother?”

“It hurts like hell, I’ll grant it,” Thayer said. He cringed as
Valeryn removed the balled shirt to inspect his injury. “’Tis a fine night, V.
The bastard is dead and there’s an end on it, my friend.”

“So it is, so it is.”

Gilly didn’t like the frown creasing Valeryn’s brow.

“Sam,” Valeryn said. “Fetch up a torch.”

“What for?” Gilly was afraid she already knew the answer.

“Gotta close up that there hole, lest he bleed to death,” Henri
said.

“You should have seen Gilly,” Thayer said. She wasn’t fooled.
He deliberately thwarted the attention from himself. “She fought off Machete’s
scratching alone. Pummeled him good.” He winked at her, and she tried to conceal
her smile, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Did you hear? She can carry
a tune, too.”

Teasing her in a time such as this? Insufferable! How she loved
him so.

Henri kicked at the dead man’s leg. “This fella’s been
shot.”

“You shot him?” Joelle asked. “I don’t believe it. ’Tis not
possible. It had to be an accident, am I right?”

“No, not him. Him.” Gilly pointed to where Galo lay. Or rather,
where he should have been lying. “He’s gone! Galo’s gone!”

Thayer’s face contorted with the pain as he sat upright. “Give
me your rum, Henri.”

“Aye, Capt’n.” Henri screwed off the flask’s top and wiped the
rim with his sleeve. “Take your due. All of it, now.”

’Twas astounding the respect and loyalty these men had for one
another. Gilly was fascinated by the bond between friends. That Henri didn’t
grouse at all about giving up his precious rum said a great deal. No matter what
Thayer alleged, she knew he was a good man. Good men had good friends willing to
risk life and, in Henri’s case, liquor for one another.

“Ready, brother?” Valeryn asked.

Thayer handed the empty flask to Henri and nodded.

“Best you look away, dear.” Joelle helped Gilly to her feet,
moving her aside so that Sam could take up her position.

The torch sizzled against Thayer’s wound. His petrifying roar
tore through Gilly. Her stomach curdled on the stench of sulfur and burnt flesh.
He thrashed against Sam’s hold and Valeryn fought to keep the torch in place.
She could stand no more, turning to Joelle for comfort.

Once Thayer’s screams silenced, Gilly dabbed her tears and
chanced a look at Thayer’s lifeless body.