Paradise Island (12 page)

Gregory took it, open amazement on his face. He gripped it as though he had fought with it from childhood. He weighed it in his hand, tipping the end upwards and testing the weight of the handle, the sword a true extension of his arm. He would make the blade dance if he wanted to. He looked like the true owner of such a fine sword, a magnificent swordsman.

A hunter.

The men outside the hut closed formation and surrounded them. Silent sentinels. “They have found us,” the old woman whispered.

Gregory positioned himself in front of the woman and Estelle, barring them from the entrance to the hut with the width of his body. Estelle stepped around him, shot him a heated glare and took position, sword drawn, shoulder to shoulder, ready for battle. She thought she heard a quiet snort behind her back, but she couldn't be sure if it wasn't the blood rushing through her ears.

The men did not move. Estelle's nerves frayed and she gripped her sword handle tighter, repositioned her fighting stance, knees bent, feet shoulder width apart, muscles tensed. Her skin was heated, flushed. Still the men stood silently, grouped around the hut, human barricades. “Why aren't they coming in?” she whispered.

There was a dark shadow at the entrance and a large figure blotted out the sunlight as he slowly entered the hovel. He had to stoop low. His clothes were as black as the men on the outside of the hut. On his head was a large ebony hat with a wide sweeping brim that hid his face. A feathery plume decorated the side.

Then he stood. Smiled. There was no humor, no laughter in that smile. It was no more a smile, as lips stretched over white, even teeth. The man's steel grey eyes glinted in staggering animosity. Greed and hatred bored into her. It was a handsome face, a young face, belying his advanced years. But even so, a deep chill raced through Estelle's insides, threatening to choke her. She knew the man, knew who had been tracking her down, knew who had been trying to kill her and end the life of all her crew. “Cutlass,” she hissed between clenched teeth and frigid lips. She was barely aware that Gregory said his name at the same time as she did.

“Away!” The old woman screeched so loudly that the hovel seemed to shake with her voice. Gun powder fumes clogged Estelle's throat. Her eyes stung and she brought her hand to her face to try to keep the smoke from entering her mouth.

Estelle cracked open eyes and saw that the old woman and the hut were gone. Jack Cutlass still stood solidly in front of her, as did the silent men in a full circle around them. Only Jack seemed to be as affected by the wind as she was.

She had to take action. Once the wind settled, they would be trapped. She pounced from the ground, pushing from the balls of her feet. Her shoulder landed in Jack's soft stomach. She heard the breath expel from his mouth and he collapsed to his knees. There was a flash of bright metal, and she glimpsed a golden skull as his sword fell to the ground.

“Run!” she yelled to Gregory. She glanced over her shoulder to see that he heard then darted into the dense bush, Gregory's heavier steps at her heels. Branches lashed at her, stinging her skin and wanting to trip her, but she kept on her feet, losing herself further into the dense underbrush. She didn't know how long she had run, only knew she had to stop when she couldn't breathe and her legs had become too heavy to move. She gasped, coughing back air into her lungs. Gregory was next to her, bent over on one knee, catching his breath too.

As she recovered, she glimpsed her surroundings. Giant gums grew around them. Leaves sang a papery rustling song in the slight breeze. Estelle straightened, watching for shadows chasing them, but there were none. “I think we have out run them,” she gasped.

“Indeed.” Gregory also straightened, faced Estelle, pointed the tip of his sword to her throat. “How did Cutlass find us?” he demanded.

She pushed the blade away, eyes darkening and staggered to her feet. “I know as well as you,” she said, her voice strained and husky.

Her hair was tussled with the sudden whirlwind they had passed through. Autumn curls tumbled in wild abandonment over her shoulders. The thin sheen of perspiration covered her face. Her cheeks were flushed and when she faced him with intent in her eyes, the breath hitched in his throat. She looked just like he had imagined she might, sated and content after giving of herself.

An unfamiliar kick of disquiet touched his mind and brought him up short. He didn't like the thought that she might have given herself to another, but he could assume a woman of her capacity would have in the past. She was no longer the virgin child he had seen, quietly sitting beside a glowing fire at her father's side in the sitting room of his greatest mentor and friend.

She had been so quiet he had soon forgotten she had been there at all on many occasions. She was, after all, just a child then, a near grown girl not yet of age, but now before him stood the fully grown woman and he wondered with some amazement why he hadn't looked more closely at her all those years ago. She had bloomed into a stunning woman that had the capability of setting his blood on fire and his mind wandering to areas he knew it shouldn't, and yet he couldn't stop the thoughts, or his unruly emotions from surfacing.

Yet he had to. This was no time to be thinking with his instinctual baser thoughts, and given the situation, he couldn't make any sense why he should be tempted by her at all. He would have to reign himself with the tight control he had mastered after all his years at sea with the Navy. She was just a woman, no matter how this infatuation seemed to be growing. There was no room for one, especially this fiery Valkyrie, in his foreseeable future.

He'd been on the cusp of finding her father, when she had set all this in motion. Years of investigating all to waste and there was no more time to lose. She was the cause of all this madness. She also knew more than she told him. He had to know exactly what.

“You can't sail the waters of the world without knowing of a criminal like Jack Cutlass. He has maimed and destroyed more Navy ships that others combined. How he does it is a mystery to us all. His ships are faster than the best ships I know of and he seems to melt from horizons in seconds. No one can outrun him. No one can catch him. He is wanted the world around by our allies and enemies. But he is one of your sort. Is that why I saw that flash of recognition in his eyes as he entered the old woman's hut when he looked at you?”

“How dare you suggest I would sail with such a vile man.” Estelle's eyes flashed. “I have rescued more women from him than any other ships. I daresay he recognizes me because I would be the first to have a knife at his throat in any chance I could get.”

“Tell the truth,” he demanded.

“Are you sure you want to hear the truth. I could tell you many things that are true, but you won't believe a word I that comes out of my mouth. The world is a harsh place and so too is the truth.”

“I would like to hear
your
truth.”

“You still want me to tell you. I guess it does not matter that you believe me or not, as I know it is the whole truth. You want to hear why I would sail with a man like Cutlass or any other man in this world then you shall hear it, although you may wish you had never. Sara. The doctor aboard my ship who tended you.”

Gregory nodded, remembering her unusual behavior towards him when he had held her wrist, far beyond that of reasonable surprise. “Go on.”

Estelle spoke, surprising him that she would disclose this secret to Gregory. It was as though some small region of her mind wanted him to know that she would never, could never be tied to a man like Cutlass. “It was from Cutlass's ship that I rescued her from. She is a doctor's daughter and she knows everything a doctor should know. When she was thrown out by her husband, Cutlass knew that too. He needed a doctor on board his ship, so he took her. No one cared where she was, and those that did couldn't do anything about it. She was on board for weeks before I found her. She still hasn't told me what she was subjected to, but no man has touched her since. You were the first and you saw how she reacted. It comes out in her nightmares at night.”

Estelle shivered. Her eyes grew distant and her voice low. “From what I can piece together, no living thing should have had to go through what Cutlass did to her.” She shook herself and settled her gaze back to him. “There are others on Paradise who would try and beat me to his neck and I could tell you a thousand more stories, each of them as atrocious as the rest. He is a vile man and one the world would be better off not having him in. I have been tracking him for years, and for years he has eluded me.”

Her brows lowered over glimmering eyes. By the firm set of her chin and tilt of her head he knew she was telling the truth. Anger that deep could not be hidden. Yet he still had to push, had to know that he could trust her while they were both stranded in a land neither knew and trust was an emotion hard won from her. He had to take her to the edge of anger so that she might see that they had to rely on each other.

It seemed as though they had a common goal and neither one could go on without the other. It was a realization that sat uncomfortably. He was used to being in charge, used to the one whose orders were followed, as she was, and as far as she was concerned, he was still her captive. He had to put her off balance, off guard, so that she would step down and work as a team while they were here. “Then how to do you explain his appearance at the old woman's hut?”

She shook her head. “I have no idea.”

“And you know nothing about the old woman herself and what she told us.”

“No.”

“What about this prophecy she spoke about? The power of love. Our love.”

She flicked an autumn brow upwards and snorted indelicately. “That will never happen.”

“You live by the pirate's code. In the face of the law and authority, you stick together. You could have asked for the help of a fellow pirate.”

She raised her sword and aimed the tip at his throat. “I don't need the help of Jack Cutlass to rein you in,” Estelle said. “I can, and have, done that all by myself. For all I know, you could have enlisted his help. Murderers tend to stick together.”

He raised his sword. The tips exchanged a soft metallic clink as they touched. “I did not murder your father. You have to believe me.”

She pushed the tip of his sword to the side, leaving hers on top, in the position of advantage. “I don't.”

Gregory slipped the edge of his sword above hers. The tips exchanged and tapped. He drew the edge upwards so that it scrapped over hers, glinting in the sunshine, steel rasping against steel. “Then how do I make you?”

She pushed his sword tip downwards and away, keeping his blade lowered. “No one can make me. Stand down or suffer the edge of my sword.”

“The Navy doesn't stand down.”

Her chin notched higher, her lips set into a firm line and she bored him with a glare that could bite. “And neither do I.”

“Have it your way.” He parried forward, swiping her sword to one side. He came up tight against her, chest to chest, felt the pounding of her heart through the thin veil of her shirt, the heat of her breath as it hissed from between clenched teeth. He went to cover her hand that held her sword but she glanced away, spinning around in a tight circle of the balls of her feet and halting a step away from him.

She swung her sword in a quick parry, swiping his sword and wrenching his arm away. He quickly swung back, locking the edge of his sword against hers. She was good, quick. Experienced. He sized her up, noted the stance of her body, legs bent, feet apart, gaze locking with his, never leaving his face, following his every move. He saw her calculations, move playing against his possible move in her head. Working with her mind, knowing what could possibly happen. She dodged, moved to the side. He swung to follow her, blocking her parry, swinging her wide and open.

A brief flicker of surprise flickered over her face then it was gone, set behind sparking eyes. One end of her mouth turned upwards. She jumped backwards, sword drawn lightning fast aiming back at his throat. “So the Navy teaches more than drinking whiskey.”

“Sword fighting was always a hobby of mine. One I practiced in every available personal moment I had. I have to tell you, I have been told I am quite good at it.” He stepped forwards, blocking the tip of her sword, swinging it around so that she had to take a step back. The clang of metal rang loud in his ears.

“I like a little competition,” she said. She bent and twisted, leapt from her back leg and buffeted her shoulder into his stomach. He staggered one step, two steps back. She thrust her sword, edge to edge against his, locking at both hilts, stepping hard up against him, keeping her pace so that he had to step back again or fall onto his backside. “I practice every day too. Only I know all the tricks you probably never thought of.”

She slipped her ankle behind his and pushed hard against his chest. He went to step back, caught his ankle on hers and landed heavily on his backside. He noted the upturn of one of her brows and she looked down her nose at him. She moved to bring the tip of her sword beneath his chin when he rolled sideways onto his knees and jumped to his feet, sword already aimed towards her.

“Don't underestimate the dirty tricks of the Navy.” He brought his foot behind her ankle, at the same time following the force of direction of her arm pushing against his, trying the same trick she had just used on him. He moved aside, allowing her momentum to follow through. She clearly hadn't been expecting him to do that. With a squeal she unbalanced. He pushed the sword from her hand using the hilt of his. Her sword dropped to the ground and she fell into his chest. He wound his free arm around her waist and crushed her against his chest, using his body to trap her against himself. It was the law of bigger against slender, brute muscle strength against those with less. “Years fighting against much larger men taught me this particular move. It's dirty, but very effective. And, I'm a very quick learner.”