Raven Quest (5 page)

“Don't you realize that you are the proof that the treasure really exists?”

“Or that my father wanted the last laugh.” She put her hand to her aching head. The last time she had hurt this bad was when one of her uncles—she could not remember which one—had laid into her with the lash for daring to contradict him.

“We shall talk more tomorrow,” Nathan said sharply. “You are going to bed now.”

“Not with you!”

He smiled icily. “I have never fantasized about bedding an urchin who cannot even stay on her feet.”

She wanted to accuse him of lying because she could not have mistaken the desire in his touch. Or had she? She knew nothing of men. At Yellow Hal's place, it was simple. Gold in exchange for pleasure.

Nathan pressed on her shoulders, so she sat on the bed. “Rest. You have to be able to walk out to the Blindman's with me.” He pulled a shirt from a cupboard and tossed it to her. “Why don't you change into something that will not draw every eye?”

“Thank you.”

“Don't thank me. I'm going to find your father's ship, Rory, and you are going to help me.”

“I will not—”

“You are going to help me.” His eyes became slits. “Whether you want to or not.”

Rory looked out the windows behind the bed. She had not noticed them last night. Nothing but water. Her stomach lurched. Had Nathan set sail?

“Don't be silly,” she whispered. “He will not leave Port Royal until he gets what he wants.”

She turned as the door opened. Nathan was silhouetted against the glare off the water. The breeze pulled his shirt against his muscular body and accented his lean legs that were bare beneath his breeches.

“Enjoying the view?” His grin broadened. “I am.”

She jumped away from the windows to keep the bright light from outlining her body through the thin cotton shirt. His low laugh sent heat flying up her cheeks. Grabbing her kerchief off the table, she ignored the blood dried on it. “Thank you for letting me stay here last night.”

“My pleasure.” He slipped a finger beneath the loose collar of her shirt. “Or it could have been my pleasure.”

“Not likely.”

He laughed as she tied her hair up in the kerchief. “You are going to make some poor man very miserable, Rory.”

“I have told you all I know about the
Raven.
Step aside and let me leave.”

“I thought you might want to stay on the
Vengeance.
”

“Stay here? With you?”

His smile fell into a frown. “The
Raven
was your father's ship. It was his gold. You must want that.”

“I hope you are wrong. I hope Stuart Powell hanged. He deserved that after buying my mother's indenture and making her his unwilling mistress.”

“Listen—”

“No!” She swung wildly at him. He swore when her fist struck him in the stomach, but he did not let her go.

“'Tis time you listened to the truth!” he snapped.

“I know the truth!”

“No, you do not. You have been fed lies.”

“Is it a lie my father was a pirate who destroyed the lives of everyone he touched?” Her voice broke. “Including mine?”

His hands drifted along her arms, gentle now. “Rory, your father was a privateer.”

“You want me to believe he was licensed by the king?”

He drew her to sit on the bed, kneeling before her. “Men vied to sail with Stuart Powell. His crew remained loyal even when he decided to destroy his ship rather than surrender it.”

Rory stood. “Ask anyone in Port Royal. They will tell you the
Raven
was a pirate ship.”

“We shall ask the Blindman.” He came to his feet.

“No! I don't want anything to do with you or your stupid quest.”

“You do not want this?” His voice was soft in the moment before his lips touched the back of her neck. Heated tingles scored her spine.

Slowly he turned her to face him. His gaze captured her in its ebony glow as he brought her mouth to his. She fought the rapture. She must not let the succulent sensations control her. His eager kisses meant nothing. Even as she told herself that, her hands slid along his strong arms to his shoulders. As he leaned her back over his arm, his lips seared moist fire into her neck. Passion consumed her as if she were a candle swallowed by the sun.

“Stay with me, my sweet,” he murmured. “I shall teach you what you have missed while you have played at manhood.”

“No, Nathan,” she whispered.

His tongue drifted in a lazy blaze along her neck, and she trembled. He pressed her against the door. “You want to stay with me.”

Putting her hands on his wrists to keep his palms from cupping her breasts, she whispered, “Why won't you let me go?”

He claimed her lips again. From deep in her, longing erupted. She clutched his arms as she fought not to lose herself again in the fierce eddy drawing her deeper into their pooled desire.

“Because I need you, Rory,” he murmured against her mouth. “You are the blackbird of the dawn.”

This time, Rory's knee struck flesh. When he shouted and lurched back, she lifted the latch and fled. She ran past a cannon to the railing and choked back a gasp of despair. The
Vengeance
was more than a quarter-mile from shore. The harbor was filled with sharks. She scanned the deck. It dropped sharply to a lower deck, then rose like the sea at the bow. In the other direction, another deck topped Nathan's quarters. On each of them, men stood, staring at her. Would one of them help her?

A hand touched her arm. She grabbed a staff by the cannon and whirled. The wrinkled man, the one who had come with Nathan to Yellow Hal's place, raised his hands.

“Put it down, lass,” he ordered quietly.

“I want a lighter to take me back to shore.”

“If the cap'n—”

“I don't care what he says. Let me off this cursed ship!”

The staff was tugged out of her hands. She gasped as Nathan dropped the pole on the deck.

His gaze held her. “Ernest, have the lighter lowered.”

Rory was not sure what to do or say. When Nathan motioned for her to follow Ernest, she hesitated, then ran after the old man. She must not lose this chance to flee from the
Vengeance
and its enigmatic captain.

Nimbly, she climbed down the ladder. She perched in the boat as Nathan followed her down. He tossed her hat into her lap. Tucking her kerchief beneath it, she said nothing as he picked up the oars and began rowing.

Minutes later, the boat bumped into the pier. Nathan grasped one of the pilings. When she started to stand, he seized her arm and held her in place.

“I meant what I said, Rory,” Nathan said. “You
will
help me.”

“I don't believe that the gold is out there.”

“You cannot believe in anything, can you?”

“I believe in what is real.”

Coolly, he said, “I shall meet you at midnight tonight at Yellow Hal's place. We are going back to the Blindman's to get the answer to your father's riddle.”

“I don't know if I can.”

“You mean you don't know if you want to help me.”

“I know I do not want to help you!”

“You shall help me, Aurora.” He stroked her leg as he smiled. “If you change your mind about
this,
do so quickly. Once we have the information, we will be sailing.”

“Good riddance!” She shoved his hand away, hoping he did not realize how difficult it was to pretend indifference.

“You're lying.” Dark fires burned in his eyes. “If I did not want it rumored that I like boys, I would prove it to you right now, Rory.”

“If you could,” she sneered.

“If I could?” He laughed and patted her knee. “I assure you I can. Your aim was not that good.”

Rory stood and grabbed an iron bar sticking out of the wharf. As she was about to put her foot on it, Nathan grasped her ankle. With a cry, she toppled into his lap. He started to put his arms around her, but laughter sounded from the wharf.

“Need a hand, Rory?”

Looking up, she saw Fisher Tom. His gap-toothed smile was a wonderful sight. She stood and shot Nathan a challenging smile. He would not speak the truth. If he did, he would have no hold over her.

“Tonight at midnight,” he said in a taut voice. “And be there, Rory, or—”

“I shall see you at midnight.”

“Here, you may need this.”

Her eyes widened when he held out her knife, haft first. “Thank you.”

“I want to be certain you do not get killed now.”

Taking the knife, Rory hid it under her shirt. She scurried up the rusty bars. He had made himself clear. He did not care what happened to her unless she bedded him or could lead him to some sunken treasure. When she reached the top, she glanced at the boat. His stare overwhelmed her.

“Friend of yours, Rory?” Fisher Tom asked as he peered at Nathan, who was pushing the boat away.

“I hope not.” She backed away a step, but Nathan's gaze still held her.

“Tell Olive I will see her when I bring the catch over.”

“I will.” Taking another step, she tried to look away. His lips eased into a slow, sensual smile.

“I will be there before midday,” the fishmonger added.

Rory did not answer. She ran toward shore. When Fisher Tom called, she did not dare to look back. If she were ensnared again by Nathan's bewitching smile, she might let him persuade her with his luscious kisses to listen to madness.

She rushed along Thames Street. She considered going to the Blindman, but the ringing church bells warned the day was passing. She had to get to Yellow Hal's place and clean up the mess that was sure to have been left last night.

When Rory opened the tavern door, it was grabbed from her hand. She was thrust across the floor. She grasped the table and fought to stay on her feet. Her head spun anew.

The front of her shirt was seized, and she was lifted off her feet. The shirt cut into her nape. Her face was pulled close to a rough one. The broad nose had been broken in more than a half-dozen places. Pock marks were criss-crossed by scars that stretched across the strange man's lips. She saw that in the moment before her eyes locked with the steely ones.

“Who be you, boy?” demanded her captor.

She choked as the odor of stale rum and onions washed over her.

“Answer me, boy!”

“Rory.”

“You work here?”

“Yes.”

“Where have you been?” Each word was punctuated by another jolt.

“I was attacked last night. On the beach.”

His laugh resonated through her, and she was dropped to the floor. Pain scored her shin as she collapsed.

She stared at the huge man striding to the bar. Other men filled the tavern. All of them were strangers. She had thought she knew every sailor who came here.

Looking back at the man who had hefted her so easily, she saw he had his arm around Caroline. The black-haired whore was smiling and stroking him eagerly.

When a finger tapped her arm, Rory's hand went for her knife. She did not draw it as Olive signaled for her to get up. Rory gasped. The whole right side of Olive's face bore a scarlet handprint.

Rory asked, “Who—?”

“Hush,” Olive whispered. Pulling her toward the shadows at the back, she wiped tears away.

“Why did you let them in here? You know the rules.”

“Rules?” She laughed without humor. “Don't you realize? You are no longer in charge here, Rory.” Her finger trembled as she pointed to the massive man kissing Caroline. “Yellow Hal is back.”

Four

Yellow Hal's bellow shook Rory out of her horror. “Ruth? Woman, where are you?”

She stared at him. His faded yellow hair should have identified him immediately, but she had come to believe her hopes that he was dead. She took a deep breath. “Ruth Mullins is dead. She was my aunt. Since she died, I've been running your place, Captain Warwick.”

He laughed. “A boy like you? That's a good joke.” His hand rose and slammed into the side of her head. With a cry, she fell to her knees. She could barely hear his words through the ringing in her ears. “Let that remind you, Rory, my lad, that I'm the boss here. Get to work. Finish cleaning this place before the customers come in for their grog.”

She struggled to her feet as he pushed Caroline toward the brothel. She stared after them, then glanced at the door. Should she flee? Where? The Blindman had said enough over the years for her to know he and Yellow Hal had been enemies. She could not risk Yellow Hal discovering that the Blindman was still alive. Should she go to the
Vengeance
?

As if she had voiced her thoughts, one of Yellow Hal's men pulled the door shut. The bar slid into place, warning her that she was a prisoner.

Edging toward the stairs, she gasped when a sailor held out a cutlass to block her path. In a raspy voice, he sneered, “The cap'n said you're to work, boy. Work!”

“I must—”

“Work!”

Rory reached for a broom. She must be patient. Eventually, she would find a way to slip out of here. When the tavern was full and the patrons drunk, no one would notice that she had vanished. Again, she glanced toward the harbor. She had bragged to Nathan that she could take care of herself. Now she must prove that.

The crowd inside Yellow Hal's place was raucous as they celebrated their host's return. At midnight exactly, as he had told Rory he would, Nathan walked in. He did not look in her direction.

Her hands fisted on the bar when Yellow Hal strode toward him.
Should I have sent Nathan a warning? No! He is no better than Yellow Hal.
Even as she thought that, she knew it was not so. Nathan might be a pirate, but he had not tried to knock her senseless.

She strained to hear over the noise in the tavern as Yellow Hal announced, “I'm Yellow Hal Warwick, captain of
The Scourge of Spain.
”