My Fallen Angel (13 page)

“Too bad that bloody moon won’t go away,” the old sailor continued. “We could turn in another direction and be away from them like that.” He snapped his finger.

Garrick nodded, then looked up at the offending moon turning the tips of waves into silver ribbons. Two mountainlike clouds flanked its sides. Unfortunately those cloudshad yet to move in front of it, nor would they if Garrick didn’t miss his guess. Not for the first time he wished he’d been sent back with some sort of special powers, but he had none. They’d sent him back as a mortal in every sense, a mortal forced to do battle with immortals.

Belial.
The name hung on the tip of his tongue, softly uttered, never forgotten.

“What could they want, m’lord? They ain’t never even got a good look at us, yet they’re pursuin’ us as if they expect we got treasure aboard.”

“They’re after the boy,” Garrick explained.

“The boy?”

“Tom.”

Calico looked stunned. “Tom? But why would they wants ‘im?”

As quickly as possible, Garrick explained, Calico’s eyes wide when he’d finished. “I’ll need you to hide him when the time comes, Calico. The ladies, too, of course. Have you a place?”

“Aye, Cap’n. Been used a time or two before. Usually for the cap’n’s good brandy, but I wager it’ll work just as well fer the ladies an’ boy.”

Garrick nodded, his expression fierce as he turned back to stare at the approaching ship, his thoughts once again on Lucy. He would move heaven and earth to keep her safe, to live up to the faith she had in him, faith that he could save them all from the very devil himself.

“This waiting is interminable,” Beth blurted.

“What’s intermiteable mean?”

“It means unbearable,” Lucy explained to Tom, exchanging an anxious glance with Beth.

They were all ensconced in the cabin, Lucy having obeyed Garrick’s order to keep her eye on her friends. Beth sat in her bed, her blue gown so wrinkled it looked to be made out of crumpled paper. Tom sat in the hammock, his eyes narrowed on Beth. They’d been snipping at each other all morning, not surprising since none of them had gotten any sleep.

“Why didn’ she just say so?” Tom mumbled.

“Hush, Tom,” Lucy ordered when Beth looked ready to snap at him.

The boy didn’t appear happy about it, but he dropped into silence, his feet swinging back and forth.

Lucy looked out the porthole, but she could see nothing. Absolutely nothing. Frustration rose within her. She was used to action. She was used to charging into things. She was used to handling problems, not avoiding them. Despite the pride she felt that Garrick had asked for her help, his insistence that they all remain in the cabin chafed like the bindings of a rope.

It continued to chafe, until, a half hour later, unable to stand it a moment longer, she shot up from the bed and crossed to the door. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

“Lucy, you can’t go out there!”

“I’m goin’, too,” Tom called.

Lucy paused, hand on the door. “No, Tom. You stay here and guard Beth. She needs a man to protect her.”

“Needs a man ta do more’n that,” the boy grumbled, but stayed nonetheless.

“Beth, I’ll be back in a moment. I promise.”

She turned away, hurriedly closing the door behind her. The hallway beyond was as dark as a tomb. She took a moment to let her eyes adjust.

BOOM!

Lucy yelped, her heart jolting in her chest. Beth screamed on the other side of the door. The deck beneath them shuddered.

“Oh dear.” Gulping, she firmly ignored the wild beat of her heart and forced her leaden feet to move. One goal centered in her mind. Garrick.

Outside, the deck teamed with chaotic activity. Off to her left, less than a quarter mile away, sailed the enemy ship, a Jolly Roger waving at them from its main mast. Lucy felt her stomach drop to somewhere about the level of the ocean floor. The pirates had caught them. Shouts rang out. Men, their expression frantic, scurried about.

Garrick stood amid them like a mountain rising from a turbulent sea. He bellowed at one of the crew members, his face red with anger, each of his words punctuated with a stab of his finger. The hapless recipient of his tirade stared down at the deck, misery written on his face. Lucy was in time to catch his hurried apology.

“Perhaps you’ll think before you act next time.”

“Yes, sir.” The sailor snapped to attention.

BOOM!

Garrick turned.
“Port rudder!”
he yelled.

“Aye-aye, Cap’n.”

Lucy felt her heart flip-flop in her chest. She flung herself down atop a knobby deck just as the wheel spun toward the left. Once again the deck shuddered beneathher, the sail creaking in protest. She covered her ears and scrunched her eyelids closed.

Silence.

Well, not silence, really. There were feet scuffling by, and in one case over her. A crew member yelled at another. Gingerly, she opened her eyes.

A pair of scuffed black boots stared back at her. She pushed herself onto an elbow and peered up.

Garrick glared down at her. He was not pleased. She knew that because he didn’t say a word, just stared down at her as if he couldn’t decide whether to throttle her or throw her overboard. It was a look she was used to seeing on her Aunt Cornelia’s face.

“Lucy, what in the hell are you doing out here?”

“Cap’n,” a burly sailor interrupted before she could get a word in. Garrick turned to face the man. “Cap’n, we’ve got the cannon ready to fire.”

Garrick’s face turned a vivid, molten red. “Well? What in the hell are you waiting for? Fire the damn thing!” He turned back to her.

BOOM!

Lucy didn’t even think. She flung herself at Garrick.

“Port rudder!”
Garrick yelled, his voice ringing in her ears like the bells of St. Mary’s parish.

“Aye, Cap’n,” came the familiar call. The boat creaked, the sails groaned as the bow of the ship tilted again.

It was a second or two later before she noticed the whistling. She reared back in surprise.

“Get
down!”

Shocked, Lucy found herself practically thrown to the briny-smelling deck. The whistling grew louder. Out of thecorner of her eye she caught sight of crew members throwing themselves atop the oak planks, the sound of their bodies hitting the deck echoing in her ears.

She could see nothing with Garrick’s big body covering her, practically crushing her, really. Under normal circumstances she would have been delighted to find herself in such a position. Now her heart beat in fear wildly. She was somewhat relieved when he slowly moved off her, but when she looked around, her eyes widened. The rail was broken not five feet from where they lay. The edges of it smoked ominously.

Garrick became a flurry of activity as he pushed himself to his feet, tugging Lucy up with him.
“Haul of all port, now!”
He boomed. “Starboard rudder,
now!
Someone put that damn fire out!”

The men wasted not a second in complying.

Lucy watched, mouth agape, as they rushed to the lines angling above her head. Their muscles bulged with strain as they pulled, the giant sails above her slowly tilting to the right. Suddenly, the wind caught the sheets, and the effect was immediate. The
Swan,
groaning with strain, quickly pitched to the side; her bow pointed suddenly and with dizzying speed to the right. The world tilted crazily. Everything from empty sea barrels to coils of rope slid past her with screeches of protest, the ship’s yaw so violent the view over the left railing was clear blue sky.

She gulped.

BOOM!

Lucy flinched, but was too frightened to throw herself to the angled deck, her fear of rolling into the seagreater than her fear of getting hit by a cannonball. Once again she heard the strange whistling. Just then a black streak whizzed into the blue sky on her left, exactly where the ship would have been if not for Garrick’s quick maneuver.

“Ease off!”
he bellowed.

The men quickly complied, and the deck started to slowly level. It was the most incredibly coordinated, amazing thing she’d ever witnessed. She turned to stare at Garrick, mouth agape. She forgot all about evil pirates and stray cannonballs as she gazed at the man she loved, a man who had undergone an almost frightening transformation in the last few minutes. He was magnificent. His blonde hair flew about his head like a golden halo; the breadth of his shoulders strained against his shirt. He stood giving orders, quickly, succinctly, and with absolute calm. He looked … invincible. That is, until he turned toward her—then he looked furious. “Get below, Lucy,
now!”

She nodded, dazedly, not even flinching when another cannon blast sounded.

Smoke, its rank sulfuric smell emanating from the deck below, hung over the
Swan
like the lid of a coffin. The battle-scarred ship fluttered upon the water, a wounded bird struggling to stay afloat. The
Revenger
was so close now Garrick could see men scurrying about its deck like ants spilled from a bottle, many of them clasping weapons. He clenched his own cutlass and glanced at his men.

Calico stood alongside him, rivulets of sweat born of fear and anxiety making their way down his face. His eyes moved beyond him to the tense faces of his men. All were staring at the approaching ship, the deck unnaturally quiet; only the sighs of the ship and the rhythmic slap of the ocean could be heard over the rustle of the giant sails hanging in tatters above their heads.

Soon now,
Garrick thought. Soon, they would be boarded. He looked back at the
Revenger,
then glanced up to the black and white skull and crossbones waving from its mainmast, a vivid reminder of the skill and cunning of his enemy.

They had tried to outrun the pirate ship for over two hours, but the
Swan
had been like a minnow with a shark chasing at its fins. Every move Garrick tried had been instantly countered with a skill Garrick had rarely witnessed. Lucien St. Aubyn. Obviously the duke knew how to sail a ship as well as he wielded a gun.

Garrick slapped his hand on the rail in frustration, furious at the fates which would test him in such a way, thus putting in danger a woman with more courage than a good portion of his crew. He was an angel, for God’s sake, surely there must be
something
he could do! Unfortunately, his only option was to hope like hell he could survive the coming battle.

“Won’t be long now,” Calico grumbled.

Garrick nodded.

“John’s hoistin’ the white flag as we speak.” Calico continued, brow furrowed. “Do ya think they’ll fall for it, Cap’n?”

“It’s worked before,” Garrick grunted. “And the
Swan
looks battered enough they might believe we’ll surrender. ‘Tis worth a try.”

“At least the women and the boy are hidden,” Calico mumbled.

The corner of Garrick’s mouth tilted, not into a smile. He was too tired, too frustrated to attempt that. It was more of a smirk as he remembered Lucy’s cursing when he firmly, yet gently shoved her beneath his bed, Beth and Tom piled in next to her. She had ranted and raved when he’d nailed the boards into place, her fury with him clear in the banging of her fists against the thick wood. Livid was a more apt description. She hadn’t wanted to hide. She had wanted to help, and God help him, he had wanted to let her, but he needed Lucy to protect the boy. He only hoped it never came to that.

“She’s a bonnie one, Cap’n,” Calico said, seeming to read his mind.

“Aye, Calico, she is.” Garrick’s hand clenched around his cutlass so tightly he felt the leather hilt bite into his flesh. God help them if they fell into the enemy’s hands. God help them all.

Lucien St. Aubyn studied the
Swan
for any sign that the white flag waving from its standard was a trap. Not that the
Revenger
would have a problem overpowering the smaller vessel were that indeed the case, but it seemed odd that there was a such a small number of men visible on deck.

“Stand to your stations, men,” he called, following Tully’s gaze. The pirate looked the quintessential rogue with his left hand tucked into a belt with six small pistols shoved behind it.

Nothing but the deck of the ship moved, the pirates waiting patiently to inflict their revenge upon the
Swan.
Lucien had watched over the last two hours as each member of the crew had grown more and more furious with their prey, the smaller vessel having done a remarkable job of inflicting damage upon them. Now they stood, hatred on their faces, greed lighting their eyes, their dirty and unkempt hands tight around the thick cords they held, the grapnels attached to the ends of the hemp swinging like pendulums.

It might have been better for the crew members of the
Swan
if their ship had been sunk, Lucien thought, but he’d ordered Tully not to do so. Despite the pirate’s protestations, Lucien had refused to risk harming the boy. As a result, the
Swan
would now have to face the furious and incensed members of the
Revenger,
and judging by the looks on their faces, few would survive the coming battle.

“Boarders away!” Tully called.

With a
whoosh
they swung their ropes. The grapnels flew through the air with talonlike precision and landed on the rail of the
Swan.

“Heave to!”

Lucien tensed. If the
Swan
was planning to attack, now would be the time, for the
Revenger
was at its most vulnerable while the crew tugged the smaller vessel into their clutches.

Almost as if the captain of the
Swan
read his mind, battle cries rang through the air. Gunfire called out. Lucien stood there, daring a bullet to hit him, wishing a bullet would hit him, but of course, none did. Wood splintered above and around him, but none splintered his rotted soul.

“Get ‘em, boys!” Tully called, his voice filled with rage, blood spewing from a wound to his arm.

Lucien pulled out his own weapon, though he had no intention of helping Tully and his men. Let them do all the work. He would stand by and watch.

The crew of the
Swan
were obviously outnumbered, he noted, though one man in particular was doing more than his fair share of dispatching Tully’s men. He was atall man, with shoulder-length blonde hair and the best sword arm Lucien had ever seen. Unfortunately, his prowess with a blade could do nothing to stop the ball that sent him crashing to the deck, his legs shot out from beneath him. Still, he made a valiant attempt to rise, only to have the butt of a pistol smashed into his head.

The battle ended quickly, almost as if all the fight left the crew upon seeing the big man fall. Lucien felt elation surge through him. It was done. His mission was almost complete.

The smell of blood clogged the air as those members of the
Revenger’s
crew who weren’t on board the
Swan
took up where their crewmates had left off by once again pulling the ship toward them, until with a loud groan the two hulls collided.

With a precision which spoke of years of practice, the pirate crew herded the survivors of the
Swan
to the rear of the ship. Their wounded leader was dragged in their wake.

“Well, Yer Grace,” Tully said, scurrying over the combined rail of the two ships a few minutes later. “Seems we caught ‘em fer ya.”

Lucien eyed the wound on the pirate’s arm. “It would seem so, Tully, though not without bloodshed.”

“This?” He looked down at the wound. “’Tis nothing. A mere scratch.” He waved his arm in dismissal, then said, “Are ya comin,’ or do ya wait till we find the boy?”

“Lead on, my dear Tully. Lead on.”

Tully smiled, exposing a row of rotted teeth, then turned away and hopped over the rail.

Lucien climbed over the splintered rail, too, dropping onto the deck of the
Swan
an instant later.

The smell of gunpowder hung heavy over the deck, mixing with the brackish odor of salt and fear. It was quiet, the only sounds the shuffle of footsteps as the crew of the
Revenger
searched the ship, and the steady rush of the ocean against the sides of the two vessels; the riggings and giant sheets added their own melody to the cacophony.

“Where’s Scabbs?” Tully asked as he came to a halt by the rail. “There ya are. Take a few men and see to it that the remains of those sails are furled. An’ I want every foot o’ this ship searched. We’re lookin’ fer a boy. Bring ‘im back ta me unharmed.”

“Aye, sir.”

The pirate captain pierced one of his men with a glare. “Where’s the cap’n o’ this vessel?”

“I ‘ave ‘im ‘ere,” answered a gruff voice.

Tully turned toward the back of the ship, taking two steps toward the person who’d spoken, then suddenly halting in his tracks. The reason became apparent when the big blonde man said, “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it, Tully?”

Lucien’s brows rose, watching the play of emotions cross Tully’s face: rage, disbelief, and finally, glee.

Slowly, Tully crossed to where the big man stood on one leg, blood dripping down his torn breeches. “Hang me from the gallows,” he murmured, blinking his eye as if he still couldn’t believe what he saw. “Yer supposed to be dead. Saw ya fall off the deck with me own good eye.”

“I survived,” the tall man said. “You survived, too, I see.”

“No thanks to you,” Tully said softly. He took another step forward, now only an arm’s length away. For a long moment he simply stared, turning his head this way and that, and then he smiled, a great, giant, hearty grin that was all the more menacing because it didn’t quite reach his one good eye.

“Ya know, I never once afore believed in God, but with ya standing afore me, I ‘ave ta think otherwise. Not only that, but He ‘as a bloody sense o’ ‘umor.” He threw back his head and laughed and laughed, his crew laughing nervously along with him.

“Silence!” Tully roared.

The laughter abruptly died.

“Do ya know ‘oo this is, men?”

The men looked at each other uncomfortably, then exchanged sheepish glances.

“’Tis the Wolf. The man what did this to me.” He turned to his crew and lifted his patch, the skin beneath looking like a conglomeration of melted flesh-colored wax. Where his eye should have been there was only a deep gouge of pitted skin.

Murmurings began.

Tully leaned toward Lucien. “Have you heard o’ the man, Yer Grace?”

“Aye.” Lucien nodded, crossing his arms in front of him. So this was Garrick Wolf, Marquis of Cardiff. The hero of the Royal Navy. A man who’d dispatched more Caribbean pirates than all other naval officers combined. Strangely enough. Wolf seemed not at all disturbed bythe fact that he was now in the hands of one of those pirates.

Tully’s face turned an indignant red, his fury a palpable force. When Wolf looked away and blithely began to study Tully’s two henchman, the pirate captain’s temper snapped. “Grab ‘is arms,” he ordered, the corners of his mouth creased into a snarl.

Not by a blink of the eye did Wolf react to the two men who pulled his arms behind him. Not even when Tully stepped within striking distance of him, hauled his fist back and sent it flying into Wolf’s gut. Lucien’s brows rose as, somehow, the big man managed to stay upright, his eyes cold with indifference as they glared at Tully.

“Why don’t you tell your dogs to release me, Tully? Then we can settle our differences like men.”

In response, Tully hauled back and punched him again. Wolf’s breath escaped in a rush; his legs gave out beneath him.

“Enough, Tully,” Lucien called. “I grow weary of watching you play.”

Tully slowly straightened; his one eye glared at Wolf. “Aye, suppose yer right. I’ll enjoy ‘angin’ ‘im from a yardarm this evening, right after I poke ‘is eyes out.” He grabbed his enemy by the hair, jerking his head back. “Where’s the boy?”

“What boy?” Wolf managed to croak out, blood still oozing from the wound to his head.

Tully hauled back and hit him again; Wolf’s head snapped limply to the side. “Don’t be stupid. We ‘eard about the boy ya got on board. ‘Is grace ‘ere’s paid me a mighty sum o’ money to find ‘im.”

“Don’t have him.”

Tully drew back his fist, but he was stopped from landing another blow by Lucien’s own hand. “You can continue this later, Tully. Right now I want every hand on deck searching this ship. The child’s on board somewhere. Find him.”

Tully’s hand slowly dropped to his side, a look of reluctant agreement covering his face. “Argh, no doubt yer right. Save the entertainment fer later. No doubt one o’ the other crew members’ll ‘talk.” He waved his hand. “Tie ‘im up, then take ‘im to the hold. You there, do as ‘is lordship says and keep searchin’ fer the boy.”

Pirates scattered as they followed Tully’s orders.

“Do me soul good ta see that bloody bastard in chains,” Tully murmured, his eye on Garrick. “’Ow ‘bout you, yer lordship? Ya must be pleased with the day’s work.”

Lucien said nothing as he watched Wolf struggle with his captors. “Pleased, yes.” He turned to the pirate. “But I have no soul, Tully. Best you remember that.”