In the Arms of a Pirate (A Sam Steele Romance Book 2) (35 page)

It was eerily silent as the ships approached. If there was wind whistling through the sails, Aidan couldn’t hear it. His attention was all on Roche, who steered the lead ship.

“A little closer,” Aidan whispered as he pulled his pistol from his sash. The bow was at his feet and he’d use it, just not yet. Tension and excitement rose around him like a fog. His men were more than ready, had been since the attack at Nate’s. Aidan remembered how he’d recognized Roche, remembered his father. How he’d let Roche escape with the
Revenge
. He’d been so furious, so shaken. He’d hungered for blood, for justice, hadn’t been able to set out fast enough.

Well the time was nigh and while he was calmer than he’d been that night, his hunger was as keen. There would be justice.

“For you, Mother,” Aidan whispered.

Then, raising his arm in the air, he fired the signal.

Morgan and Luke veered further starboard, Nate and Blake deeper portside. Aidan kept the
Revenge
straight.

“Steady, men,” he ordered as the distance shrank between his and Roche’s ships. “Steady,” he muttered to himself.

It wouldn’t do to be hasty, to let emotion take control. There would be time for emotion later—he refused to accept otherwise—but now was the time for strategy, cunning.

Luckily for Aidan, he’d learned from the best.

Determination squared his shoulders. With his gaze firmly on Roche, Aidan spun the wheel.

Even before they’d presented a full broadside Aidan yelled.

“Fire!”

T
he cannons blasted,
belching mouthfuls of smoke. All around him the other ships did the same. The roar was deafening. Shots blew through gunwales, obliterating anything in their paths. Men flew up and back with the impact, as though nothing more than dolls. Screams of agony saturated the air, rushed through Aidan’s ears to wrap cold, dread-filled fingers around his heart.

Don’t be Sam. Don’t be Luke. Don’t be anybody I can’t live without.

Bending low, Aidan raced to the second swivel gun mounted on the quarterdeck. The next volley of shots screamed through the air, including the swivel gun Cale fired.

It was like a thunderstorm without the rain. Nothing as soft as water fell from the sky. Instead shards and slabs of wood pelted down, beating the deck with grim consistency. Aidan aimed his gun for Roche’s quarterdeck, though the smoke was too thick to know if the cur was actually there. But as it was the last place Aidan had seen him, he shot there first.

Boom.

Aidan was blown off his feet. He hit the deck hard, slid and careened into the gunwale on the starboard side. His neck snapped back. The answering crack of his skull against the hull reverberated through Aidan’s head as loud as the blast that had knocked him flat.

Panic seized him as he thought he’d gone deaf. All he could hear was high-pitched ringing. Around him, debris tore through the air, merciless in its targets. Aidan heard none of it. Bloody hell! He shook his head, boxed his ears. Sound exploded through his head once more. Aidan’s breath chugged through his lungs.

“Aidan!” Cale yelled. “God dammit, answer me!”

Cale, blood dripping from a gash on his forehead, crawled toward Aidan.

“I’m all right,” he called and scrambled to his feet.

Both his head and stomach spun. Nausea threatened to erupt like a geyser. Aidan dragged a deep breath through his mouth and nearly choked on the smoke. His eyes burned with it, felt like someone had poked at them with a stick.

He met Cale halfway across the deck, grabbed the man’s arm and pulled him to the gunwale on the port side. Hidden, though certainly not safe, Aidan hurriedly untied his bandana and wrapped it around Cale’s head.

Cale shifted the cloth a bit higher on his forehead. “Thanks.”

Everything about them was different, hair color, eye color, height. And yet seeing Cale in his bandana, Aidan saw a trace of resemblance. Nose, lips, cheekbones. Funny nobody had noticed the resemblance in four years.

“It can’t fix your looks,” he teased, needing to relieve the fear he’d seen in Cale’s eyes when he’d thought Aidan hurt, to ease his own as he wondered desperately how the others were faring. “But it should slow the bleeding.”

Aidan peered over the edge of the gunwale. At least Roche’s ship was suffering similar mutilations to his. Gun ports had been decimated, leaving ragged gaping holes in their wake. Guns had toppled and rolled, making them useless.

Some, but not enough. And hell, they’d lit the fuses. Aidan dropped, grabbed Cale and shoved him down. He threw his arms over his head as one shot screamed by, too damn close for Aidan’s peace of mind. A sickening crunching sound filled his ears and the quarterdeck convulsed beneath his cheek as more shots slammed into the
Revenge
. Hot needles of pain shot through his forearms and hands. Holy hell!

“Jesus,” Cale muttered beside him.

Aidan lowered his arms. It wasn’t Jesus he saw. The shot had punched clear through the boom, rendering it in two. The smaller piece swayed dangerously back and forth. Above it, the ripped sail—split clean from boom to gaff—fluttered uselessly. Around him debris scattered over the deck. The
Revenge
had its own pieces of gunwale ripped off. The beautiful wheel Sam and Luke had fashioned was half gone. From where he lay, he couldn’t see the main deck but knew he had casualties. Even deaths.

“Load the chain shot,” he ordered Cale as he reached for one of the rounds they’d set on deck earlier. Luckily for them, they hadn’t been lost in the battle.

Cale grabbed his arm. “Look at your hands.”

He did and wished immediately he hadn’t. Wood splinters poked out of his hands and forearms like tiny little bones. Trickles of blood crisscrossed the back of his hands. They burned like the fires of hell. Gnashing his teeth, he yanked the larger pieces out.

“We’re close enough now,” he hollered as pistols and muskets began to replace the cannons. “Fire the chain shot.”

They each only had two, as did the others but if they hit as planned, they should be more than enough. Aidan fired his, then Cale. His missed the main mast but caught Roche’s topsail yard. The chain wrapped around the yard, easily snapping it in two. Cale’s broke through the boom.

They reloaded and this time fired simultaneously. They both caught the main mast. Wood exploded in every direction. Men scattered and fell, howled in pain as shards stabbed mercilessly. Like a tall tree being felled, wood groaned and creaked. With a roar, Roche’s mast toppled to the deck.

*

Sarah had never
been so afraid. Under Aidan’s bed she lay hidden and sheltered, as safe as she could be from everything but the heart-stopping noise. She’d screamed with the first shot. The blast had shaken the berth, rattled everything in the room including her teeth. She’d cowered in the blankets, pulled them over her head. Curled into a tight ball, it was every thunderstorm she’d had to endure alone combined into one with no end in sight.

She prayed like she’d never prayed before, cringed and yelped with every blast. Would the next one come hurtling through the cabin? Had one already harmed Aidan? Were they winning or losing? The ship rocked worse than it ever had, lurching from one side to another. Any loose item that had been on the table or desk had long since tumbled to the floor. Were they going to capsize? Take on water? Oh, God, what if they sank?

Another blast—they were getting louder, she was sure of it—shook the cabin. Something heavy rolled over her head. Immediately after a man shrieked. Imagining the worst—how could she not—Sarah pinched her eyes closed and pulled her knees closer to her chest. How could Aidan want this? How could he want this kind of life? He couldn’t know going into battle whether he was going to live or die and yet it didn’t bother him. It couldn’t if he wanted to remain Sam Steele.

She’d lived her life in confinement and she’d yearned for more. But it was walking on sand and having friends she was after. Doing ordinary things such as frolicking in the sea, strolling through a forest. Going to market.

She’d lied. She’d lied to Aidan and she’d lied to herself. She’d believed she was no longer the naïve girl he’d first met but it was clear she was. While she certainly had no desire to live her life confined, she couldn’t imagine living this way either. Hiding scared and alone, not knowing if she would live to see the sunset. If any of them would.

Foolishly, she’d hoped to have a life with Aidan once this was over. She’d even imagined herself going along on his voyages. She enjoyed the ocean, the rocking of the ship, the speed. The smell of sea air that clung to her clothes and skin at the end of the day. Living on a ship had appealed to her, the idea of seeing new ports, experiencing what she’d only read in books. Until now. Now she knew she couldn’t do it.

The next shot blew just above the cabin like a rabid beast, its roar dripping with blood and death. Sarah shuddered, tears warmed her cheeks. She was going to die; they were all going to die.

Then somehow, through her fear and between the thundering clamor overhead, she heard the scraping. It took her a moment to place what it was and when she recognized it, she let out a watery breath. It was Carracks rattling his cage. She’d forgotten all about him when she’d come below, easily done when she’d not seen him, and he hadn’t made a sound. He was making one now.

He had to be as scared as she was, thinking he too was alone in this nightmare. Suddenly, that was all that mattered to Sarah. She couldn’t stand another minute alone. Kicking and shucking the blankets aside, Sarah belly crawled from underneath the bed. Without the benefit of covers and the bed to muffle it, the blaring sound assaulted her as though she was being struck by a battering ram.

Her legs were unsteady beneath her as she wobbled to her feet. She spotted the wrapped cage tucked underneath the ladder and, despite everything, she felt a tug in her heart. He’d covered the bird, tied the cage to a wrung of the ladder. He’d done as much as he could to ensure its safety, as he’d done for hers. She hoped it would be enough.

“I’m coming,” she told the frantic bird as he rattled the cage incessantly.

But she’d only taken two steps when the shot blasted through the cabin.

*

Aidan wiped the
sweat dripping from his brow. His eyes and throat burned from the combination of cannon smoke and mixed chemicals from the stinkpots his crew had tossed onto Roche’s ship. Sulfur rode through the air, gleeful as a witch on a broomstick. Aidan abandoned the swivel gun, preferring now that they were closer to use the bow. It was more accurate and a hell of a lot easier on his ringing ears.

He notched an arrow, aimed for those manning the guns. The faster he rid himself of those, the less damage could be done to his ship. As he let the arrow fly and reached for another, he acknowledged his precious ship had already suffered its worse battle yet. And it was anything but over.

Pistol shots thudded into the mast, tore through the sails, and bore viciously into flesh. One whizzed past his head. He ducked, scooted along the gunwale and came up, bow at the ready. Aidan set his sights on the next gun in line. The man intent on lighting the fuse never had a chance as Aidan’s arrow plunged silently into his neck. His eyes widened. Blood bubbled from his throat. Aidan reached back and grabbed another arrow.

“Look out for the grab hooks!” he yelled as they began to arc over, digging their teeth into the gunwale of the
Revenge
.

“Kill those flea-invested bastards!” Lucky yelled as he fired a pistol from first his right then his left hand.

Aidan was dimly aware of his men scrambling about, firing muskets, pistols, stinkpots. They cursed and snarled and Roche’s crew responded in kind. He’d lost Cale in the chaos, but if anyone could handle himself it was Cale. Aidan had his own problems.

He was fast running out of arrows and despite the staccato of firing weapons, Roche’s men were swinging over, like spiders on webs. Dammit! He grabbed another arrow.

“Cap’n!” He heard over the cracking of shots, the clang of blades slapping blades.