Romancing the Pirate 01 - Blood and Treasure (30 page)

No priest. The heartless bastard.

“Don’t move.”

Zane turned to stare down the barrel of a musket. “Bloody hell.”

CHAPTER 16

The rough rope scratched against Lianna’s still sensitive throat. Like salt in an open wound, the acute pain stung terribly. The noose binding her neck constricted, making swallowing difficult. So tight the knot, she was sure her head would come clean off when the trapdoor beneath her fell away. She supposed it didn’t matter if her body remained intact or not. ’Twas not as if Commodore Bennington would see to giving her a proper burial.

At least her death would be quick.

She hoped.

Blithe thoughts on the matter kept her from focusing on the forthcoming moments before her fatal drop. She built a protective barrier around herself to ward off those maddening seconds leading to her demise.

She closed her eyes, squeezing back her burning tears, and envisioned Zane. She smiled as he dashed through her mind, nebulous images of the man she had fallen in love with. What better to way to go than with him in her final thoughts? She pictured his handsome face, his blue eyes as bright as any clear summer sky, his strong hands tenderly caressing her body, and the way his sinewy muscles shifted with each assured movement. She loved his laughter, rich and deep. She was even fond of the way he ground his teeth when mad at her. But mostly, she wanted to reflect on how he made her feel: worthy, desired—loved.

“I’m terribly sorry that you don’t have much by way of an audience, Miss Whitney.” Bennington skirted around her. “This is such short notice. Well…you understand.”

Annoyed that the naval officer had interrupted her peaceful resignation, she opened her eyes to scan the crowd. For such short notice, there were still many people gathered to witness her hanging. Word traveled rather quickly in a small town like Port Royal. After all, a public execution was like a blasted festival. Any reason to celebrate was always well received, even if it was the end of some poor, unlucky woman whose life would be literally snapped out of existence.

“Still, ’tis a jolly good turnout, don’t you think?” she quipped. Didn’t she recognize some of the faces in the growing number of spectators? Impossible. She had never stepped foot in Port Royal.

Bennington took stock of the small gathering crowd. “If it pleases you.” A self-satisfied smirk curled his lips as he returned his gaze, raking over her with his eyes. “These are your kinsmen, after all.” He chuckled. “Peasants, bastards and whores, they will soon forget the worthless wench once your kicking, twitching body ceases and ends the amusement they seek.” He moved to the right front of the scaffold, away from the trap door.

“Get on with it,” he barked at the hangman.

Lieutenant Trent stepped to the commodore’s side. “Shouldn’t a few words be recited on the lady’s behalf?” Regret bridged his brow.

Bennington glared at his officer. “Alas, no Ordinary was available at this late hour. Let us hope her soul is cleansed.” He pinned the hangman with a stern visage. “Now, your duty, sir.”

The executioner indecisively came forward, holding the white cap in his hands that would be pulled over her head. He browsed the square and swallowed. A nervous jerk twitched at his frown. Lianna closed her eyes once again. The cool night breeze whispering off the sea lifted tendrils of her hair, gently wisped against her face like sweet comforting butterfly kisses. The temperature grew warmer with him standing so near, blocking the sea’s light wind. Time slowed. She held her breath as the vision of the executioner stalked her from the dark recesses of her mind. His black gloved hand of death in a measured, agonizing movement wrapped around the lever.

Good God, why hasn’t he put the cap on me?

No. I won’t give in.

She summoned up Zane as he was just two hours earlier during their heated lovemaking—raw, animalistic and possessive. She reached for the feel of his warm skin, the smell of his earthiness, the taste of his hot mouth and salty flesh. She could even hear his golden voice.

The crowd grew loud, distracting her from her dreamy beguilements. The air shifted around her as the hangman lifted the cap to place over her head. Squeezing her eyes tighter, she tried to concentrate on Zane. Again, she could even hear his golden voice.

“You heard me. Free Miss Whitney and I’ll gladly take her place.”

Lianna’s eyes sprang open. She craned her head against the thick rope, looking over the executioner’s shoulder to see Zane, unarmed, and parting the crowd as he moved forward under the watchful guard of the armed soldiers two steps behind him.

Zane’s heart wrenched tight at the sight of the noose around Lianna’s neck. But she stood solid up there, illuminated by the glimmering torch lights. She showed so much strength, dignity and lucidity, one couldn’t help but admire her in this dire hour. He had seen throngs of hardened men reduced to blabbering sacks of cravens in the face of death.

She flashed him a sympathetic smile. Lianna may be skeptical of his negotiating skills and she may well have a right. But he had been in worse situations and always walked away with what he deemed good and just, by a pirate’s standard. The difference now was Lianna. Never before had so much been at stake. He was in a delicate matter, with no room for mistakes.

“Why on earth would I want to do that?” Bennington gleamed.

Zane mounted the stairs standing opposite of the commodore. Careful not to seem apparent, he analyzed his surroundings. With a quick glance, he sized up Lianna as well. The rope was too loose, the noose too tight. Disastrous. Somehow, he had to get her moved off the trapdoor.

“You’ve got me. That’s what you’ve wanted since you first saw me three years ago, isn’t it? You’re a hero. You’ve got your man and the medallion in one glorious swoop.” Zane held out his arms, turning out toward the crowd. “You’ve even got an audience. What do you need with her? She’s an innocent in all this. If you hang her, you chance to tarnish your crowning achievement.”

Bennington heartily laughed, crossing his arms over his chest. “You can’t bargain with me, boy,” he said wryly. “Your current status doesn’t yield you a leveraging tool. ’Tis true. I have what I require and with the added pleasure of ridding the world of you. As for the unfortunate lass, you know the law about consorting with a pirate.”

“Captain Fox is not a pirate. You well know it, sir.” Lianna spoke crisply, if not a little hoarsely. “He is a legally commissioned privateer by Governor Abbott. You cannot have him killed just because it suits your swelled pig-headed liking.”

Zane’s eyebrows shot up. Lieutenant Trent stifled a smirk.

“Hang me if you must, but not for standing by a man who embodies all you wish you could be. You know…honorable, esteemed, successful. Hang me because I have threatened you, overcoming you while restrained. A mere stew wench embarrassing you among your men.”

“Enough!” Both Zane and Bennington commanded in unison.

Bennington’s cheeks flushed splotchy red from Lianna’s proclamation. She made a public statement directed at the curious onlookers to erase any doubt as to why they were all there. The Commodore, to be sure, did not need her fodder undermining his authority among the civilians.

Though it amused Zane to hear her brassy insinuations, too much mouth would get her twirling at the end of the rope quicker. He needed to avert attention back to himself. “Be warned, Commodore. I can escape. I will take back the prize
and
save Miss Whitney.”

He felt a bit like Robin Hood of Sherwood Forest, sounding so confident with fists on his hips facing the formidable Sheriff Nottingham. He had read in an old tattered book of the sly, resourceful man who saved Maid Marian and the people from the tyrannical King John. Zane had always maintained Hood’s thieving trickery and quick calculations were absurd. But what an amusing read.

The commodore’s scowl slanted into a crooked smirk. His gray eyes danced with excitement. “And you think it is I who am arrogant.” He snorted. “Look around you, Fox. You’re very much outnumbered.”

“Am I?”

“Believe what you may.” Bennington shrugged. “It’s your suicide.”

“Maybe ’tis
you
who should look around, Commodore. Things aren’t always what they appear.”

Zane followed the British naval officer’s gaze out to the people standing in the square. The crowd that had formed looked more like an angry mob than a bunch of locals hoping for grisly entertainment. Scowling men pulled out knives and brandished pistols. Many were from the
Rissa’s
own crew, but a fair amount were men from the streets and taverns. Soldiers drew up their firearms, ready for the order to cut down the rebels. Alarmed bystanders hurried for safety, rushing for the archways, away from the imminent clash threatening to unfold.

Without any emotion, Bennington ordered the drop. The executioner hesitated, probably contemplating the indemnity of his own life should the soldiers not be able to subdue the rabble.

“Now!” Bennington twirled around to the man.

The hangman reached for the lever.

Blade stepped out from the crowd and raised his pistol, right on time. The thunderous discharge skipped off the stone walls and wood from the gallows tree splintered just above the executioner’s head. Frightened, he ducked and fell back. Scampering to his feet, the hangman fled down the platform and out of the square coming to life with hostile combat.

Zane spun around on the guard behind him, grabbing for his musket. He struck the startled man with the firearm’s butt, knocking him out. Lieutenant Trent attacked, drawing his pistol. Zane swung the gun around, jarring the pistol from his hand. The sidearm skimmed across the platform. He shot Trent in the thigh, bringing him down writhing in pain.

A deafening roar thundered as metal clashed and men fought and fell, hand to hand, sword to sword. Someone tossed a cutlass to Zane. He caught it by the hilt, turning to Bennington.

The Commodore knitted his brow. He methodically scanned the melee. Pursing his lips, he slid his gaze to the trapdoor lever.

“No!” Zane hurtled himself toward Bennington.

The sounds of steel and rallying battle cries reverberated in Lianna’s ears. She stood helpless with hands bound watching the skirmish unfold in front of her. Lianna
had
recognized some of those onlookers. It came clear to her now. The
Rissa’s
gang was there to finish what they had started, to fulfill their mission. ’Twould be a boon if they were able to save her as well.

Brave men they were, pitted against each other by the division of their loyalty. They were all alike in that sense, giving their lives to a greater cause they themselves may not even understand. And in some twisted way, giving their lives on her behalf, whether she was to live or to die.

Behind her, Lianna heard Zane shout. Instinctively she jumped to straddle the trapdoor, struggling to free the binds biting her wrists. With each grievous jerk of her shoulders, the rope shifted, chafing her raw neck. She lost her balance over the drop once and reminded herself to take it slow. What good was having free hands if she dangled at the end of the cord?

Stealing a glance over her shoulder, Zane and Bennington attacked one another with unbound hatred, deflecting each other in a raging sword fight. Zane advanced as if he were in a well-rehearsed play. But his speed and agility was far from poetic. He executed his parries and thrusts with scary ease and precision. And yet, Bennington held his own.

They moved from her line of vision. Lianna turned to look over the other shoulder in time to see Zane knock his foe’s sword from his hand. Bennington stared maliciously at Zane for one, maybe two, heartbeats before he lunged for the trapdoor lever.

The drop fell away. Lianna desperately tiptoed at the edge of the trapdoor, the terror of falling erupting through her. Digging her toes through her shoes, she tried gripping the edges she could barely reach. She was losing her balance and she violently rocked her body for equilibrium. No matter her will, she was going to die. Her left foot slipped away.

Around her neck the noose restricted, but she felt no pain. The rope fell slack and she hit the ground, hard, feet first crumpling to the cobblestones. Sweet Jesus, she wasn’t dead. Her head was still firmly in place. But how? She rolled to her side and looked up through the hatch in time to witness Zane run Bennington through with his sword.