Shanna (43 page)

Evil eyes stared at her from the darkness, creeping closer.

“Someone help me!” her mind screamed. “Anyone! Ruark!”

O
VER THE MATE'S SHOULDER
Ruark had watched Pellier lead Shanna across the gangplank and down into the milling throng until she disappeared from his sight. Then he returned his attention to the four who crowded before him.

“I have more important things to occupy me than sweeping any deck,” he stated bluntly.

“Gor, love the likes of him,” the mate guffawed. “ 'E wants to start at the top, 'e does. Well, man,” the beady eyes narrowed, “to be a captain ya 'as to 'ave a ship and then ya 'as to be the best man o' the crew. Oi've little enough to recommend of ya. Ya've done naught but eat our food and drink our ale.”

Slowly Ruark backed away until he felt the rail behind him. His foot struck a bucket of sand kept handy for small fires. His hand found a pinrail where the long, oaken belaying pins were stored. The pirates wore no pistols but, with obvious relish, fingered the hilts of the cutlasses thrust into their belts. Ruark could only surmise that Pellier had left orders that would negate the share of the loot which was promised him. A quick end, the half-breed no doubt expected, but this colonial had other plans.

His eyes fell on the half-open door to the captain's cabin, and Ruark remembered a stack of arms he had seen there when they had questioned him. Casually he leaned against the rail and stared back at the men. He had played much the part of a yearling calf with these men, hoping they might relax their vigil of him. He should have considered they were jackals and would readily devour the helpless.

Ruark almost smiled. “Let's see what the jackals will do when they face a man instead.”

Seeing naught to be gained by waiting any longer, Ruark bent and with a swift movement hurled the bucket of sand
into their faces, sharing it liberally with the four of them. As the men stumbled back, cursing and rubbing sand from their eyes, he quickly snatched a pin from the rack and laid it alongside the head of the nearest He bent another over with a hard jab beneath the ribs and parried the wild swing of the mate who had freed his cutlass. Coming to blows with the sword, the belaying pin was nearly sheared in two. Its continuing service as a weapon was badly in doubt, and Ruark hurled it into the face of the fourth man, who ducked to avoid it and collided with the mate. His respite won, Ruark ran for the cabin and slammed the door behind him as several bodies thudded against it on the opposite side. He threw the bolt and spent the few moments he had gained in search of a weapon. He cast aside an ornate dress sword and laid his hand upon the worn hilt of a long, curved sabre. He drew the piece from its sheath, and the naked blade winked blue in the dim light as if sharing a pun with him. Though sturdy, its balance was such that it scarcely weighed anything in his grip.

Stepping back to the door, Ruark timed the heavy blows that bowed its panels. Then, in the pause between, loosed the latch and waited. The door crashed open, and the weight of the men carried them forward headlong into the cabin. Ruark kicked the rear of the last one through, and the hapless man sailed heels over head into the sprawling cluster. The mate gained his feet and with a bellow of rage charged, lashing out with his cutlass. The heavy blade turned on the sabre's edge and smashed into an iron-bound trunk. The long, curved sabre returned with the speed of a cobra to lay open the mate's shoulder and the front of his jacket as he stumbled back.

His arm hung useless, and the mate gaped down at his chest where a thin, red line began to ooze droplets of blood. The other men gathered behind their helpless leader as if his body would shield them from the weaving, threatening blade. One of them hesitantly raised his cutlass, and Ruark smashed it aside, running the sharp edge of his blade along the man's forearm where it left a trail of red, welling from its path. The poor chap screamed as if his heart had been torn from him. This was no unarmed clod who would plead for mercy, as they had been told, but a
live, fighting man determined not to yield his person without a struggle.

The smallest of the four men decided bravery had had its day; running across the cabin, he hurled himself against the stern windows. Alas, the thick glass and heavy frames had been made to withstand the force of towering seas, and he recoiled onto the floor where he rolled moaning, bleeding from the head and holding his shoulder. Another had the foresight to free the latch and swing the panes outward before he took his leave. His success led his companions in his wake. The mate cleared the transom with an agility amazing for one of his years, and as Ruark neared him, the man on the floor saw the wisdom of a hasty retreat. He, too, cleared the transom and took to the water, striking out for shore with one arm thrashing the surface.

Ruark leaned out the windows to assure their hasty departure and saw a long, dark shape pass under the stern of the ship. A tall fin cleaved the surface a moment later, and the bellow of the mate announced that he had also sighted the shark. As was befitting, he passed his men to lead them ashore, and soon they had all disappeared into the swamp, leaving only four wet trails across the beach to mark their passing.

Ruark now surveyed the cabin with less urgency, though the need to follow after Shanna made him hasten his selections. He found a pair of fine pistols on the captain's desk and checked the load and priming. He marveled at the snug way they tucked into his waistband. A broad brim, low-crowned hat of woven straw was made with a skill of workmanship that rivaled Trahern's headgear. Its fit justified his confiscating it. He added a sleeveless leather jerkin and borrowed a clay pipe and pouch of tobacco from a shelf. The sheath from the sabre was hung on a sash over his shoulder, and, thus equipped, Ruark went out onto the deck and made his way along the jetty to the shore. He had not seen which way the captains and their party had passed but guessed the white structure, being the largest one about, would be their quarters.

Along the path, through a jumble of lesser dwellings, Ruark found himself the object of many stares, though none moved to stop him. The looks were bolder from some of the women, who paused where they stood and watched
him pass, posturing for his benefit and then frowning as he gave them no heed. He cleared the town, and at last paused before the inn and gazed up toward the figurehead swinging gently from its bracket. From within came the noise of boisterous merrymaking. Pellier's loud bellow called for more ale, and Ruark stepped within, keeping to the shadows.

The bedlam assailed him. The odors of sweaty, filthy bodies crowded together in the common room mingled with the aromas of strong ale and a pig roasting on the open hearth. It was Mother who set down an empty mug and waited in silence while the din continued around him. When the giant spoke, directing his gaze toward a dark corner, angry murmurings rose around him, and many hands reached for weapons.

“Come have a draught with us,” Mother beckoned. “And tell me why you lurk in the gloom.”

Pellier slammed his cup down and stared in surprise as Ruark strode from the shadows and accepted the proffered mug of ale. Leisurely Ruark quenched his thirst, letting them await his pleasure, then sighed as he lowered the tankard. His gaze passed about the room, touching on the waiting faces. Then he grinned casually and shrugged.

“Tis no fault of mine that I'm here, but 'tis still somewhat by choice. It seems there is a matter of a small debt which these gentlemen owe me.” He swept his hand to indicate the captains. “I would not be so pressing on the subject, sirs,” he apologized with mockery, “but as you know I am penniless, and it seems that even here there is little that is free.”

Ruark noted that many eyes went to the sabre and the pistols whose butts were close to his hands.

“Bah!” Pellier sneered. “Give him a copper or two and throw him out.”

“A copper is it?” Ruark snorted. “You must have promised that much to your mate. He did you a copper's worth or less.” His own sneer was evident “I have never seen a man so born to water as that one.” He directed his statements to the others. “I was promised a full captain's share, if you remember, and I can forgive the attempt to gain even that. Still, had I not warned you, you would have sailed directly into the muzzles of Trahern's cannon,”
Ruark reminded them boldly. “They could have sunk you with the sheer weight of lead long before you neared the village.”

“He's right,” one of the lesser captains grudgingly admitted. “He did tell us the truth of it.”

“And had you landed out of sight as I suggested,” Ruark continued easily, “you might have reached the village and returned with something of real worth.”

This last was not the complete truth, for he had been to the lookout hill himself and knew the entire coastline was visible from there.

“Ah lads!” Harripen broke in. “I 'aven't the stomach for this bickering.” He snatched a small bag of coins from his sash and tossed it to Ruark. “ 'Ere, bondsman, find a wench to amuse yerself. When the gold is weighed, ye'll 'ave a full share.”

Hefting the pouch, Ruark guessed it not an untidy sum. He nodded his thanks, but Pellier snorted in disgust and returned to his cup.

At the word bondsman, Mother had turned a more attentive perusal to the newcomer and now leaned forward. “Bondsman, you say?” His eyes gleamed in the dim lantern's light. “Were you in bondage to Trahern?”

“Aye,” Ruark replied. “ 'Twas a choice of a hangman's noose or bondage, so I was shipped from England to Los Camellos.” He braced a shoulder against a solid, roughhewn post and openly studied the men seated around the table. “There is also another score I'd like to settle, but time enough for that.”

Mother chortled and saluted him with his mug. “We've a tie between us then. I was a bondsman of Trahern's many years ago. The lass were but a tot at her father's knee.” He swilled more of the ale then mused aloud, “I fought a man in a fair fight, I did, and killed him. Trahern said I 'ad to do his work as well as me own 'til the man's debt was paid.” He sank back in his chair and beneath bushy brows, glowered darkly. “I tried to escape, and they caught me. Spread me on a hatch cover for the whip as an example. The field master was happy at his work, and when he had bloodied me back well enough, he bloodied my chest and struck lower.”

Mother emptied the mug and threw it across the tavern, shattering it against the wall.

“He made me a bloody eunuch!” His fist crashed down to emphasize the last word. Then he slid low in his chair and his neck disappeared in folds of fat His eyes glowed, tiny and feral, deep in their sockets. He chortled, almost as if to himself. “But he won't get hold of me again. No he won't.”

Harripen rose to stretch his legs and nudged Ruark with his elbow in passing, nodding toward the enormous man.

“That's our dear Mother,” he grinned. “He takes care o' the town 'ere, sort of lord mayor as it be.”

Ruark contemplated the eunuch who was blubbering in a fresh cup. Mother was not what he had expected, but he made no comment as to that He had seen many men in his travels, but these brigands would have made the poor wretches in Newgate seem like mild-mannered children. Mother and Harripen acted friendly enough for the thieves they were, but he had no doubt that if their way of life were threatened, they would turn on an enemy with the ferocity of wolves.

Ruark's eyes roamed further. No sign of Shanna and the other captives. But with Pellier present she could not be in too great a danger. Still, it would have eased his mind considerably to know her whereabouts.

Pellier snorted and came to his feet “Bah! This ale sours my gut.” He caught the arm of the shy young woman who served his fellow captains, making her crouch away in sudden fear. “You doltish slut, fetch us meat and better wines.”

The girl nodded quickly and skittered off to do his bidding. Pellier leered after her, taking his seat again, and rubbed his hands together in anticipation. Heaping trenchers of pork and fowl were brought, and Carmelita delivered him a flagon of wine, placing several others around the table. As she offered one to Ruark, she leaned against him and smiled seductively into his carefully blank face. She pranced off and returned with a tray of fine crystal goblets. Giving him one, she brushed hard against him, and for a moment her hand dipped brazenly beneath his belt to fondle him.

“Gor, she's after ye, lad!” Harripen roared and
watched her swinging hips as she paraded off to distribute the glasses. “But mind yer ways, lad. She has a temper, that one.”

Ruark declined comment but decided she was one person to avoid in Shanna's presence. The woman could have almost made two of Shanna. A full skirt was hitched up to show her bare feet, and a loose blouse clung precariously to one shoulder, the other sleeve drooping down her arm. As he had already observed, she wore nothing beneath it, and her dark-nippled breasts swayed ponderously with each movement. Her hair was raven black, her skin dark. There was a Spanish look about her, though her speech was flavored more like Harripen's. She was comely enough for a man who wanted an easy toss.

A scowl had blackened Pellier's face as he witnessed Carmelita's provocative invitation to the bondsman. It was an affront to the half-breed's pride that she had never displayed such eagerness for him—and another reason to hate the bondsman. Carmelita set the glasses down beside him, and Pellier lowered his plate abruptly to seize her, snatching her onto his lap and roughly caressing her heavy breasts.

“Come, Carmelita,” he crooned. “Share a bit of that with an old friend.”

Driving her heel into his instep, she whirled away from him. A ringing slap cracked through the room. In stunned surprise, Pellier gaped at her.

“Old friend, hah!” she jeered. “You come to my door and beat it with your fist. Boom! Boom! Boom!” She stood with feet spread, shaking a fist as she raged at him. “You tell me of all the duels you've fought and all the men you've killed, and then you fall asleep drunk.” She laughed at his reddened face and deep scowl then dangled a hand limply toward the others. “He is like the little octopus who catches a big fish and doesn't know what to do with it. Huh!”