Shanna (44 page)

She hurled this last insult to the Frenchman over her shoulder then came to take an open bottle from Ruark's hand and pour the wine for him before placing a choice piece of meat in his mouth.

An odd noise came from Pellier, and Ruark turned to stare in amazement The half-breed had seized an entire
joint of pork and was ravenously ripping the meat from it, stuffing the pieces into his mouth with his fingers until his eyes seemed almost to bulge. He chewed open-mouthed until he could wash it clear with a gulp of wine and then repeated the procedure. Disbelief crept into Ruark's expression as the man shoved three ripe plantains into his mouth and swallowed without chewing.

Harripen sneered. “ 'E's a bastard from St. Domingue, 'alf French, 'alf Indian. 'E tried to pass 'imself off as gentry 'ere, but as ye can guess 'is table manners gave 'im away.” After a moment Harripen continued in derision. “As bloody crude as Robby is with 'is food, ‘e's a bit o' a wizard with 'at fancy shiv 'e wears. 'Tis a fact we're all aware of. 'At's why 'e's here. ‘E speared too many o' the young Frenchmen in St. Domingue with it The frogs would stretch 'is neck on a dozen counts. And if the truth were known, three times the dozen is more like it” The Englishman sipped an ale and eyed Ruark. “ 'E also dislikes anyone 'andsome and young enough to challenge 'is rights with the women.” Then Harripen chuckled. “Aye, we've some odd ones 'ere, and this is the cream of our little colony. Wait 'til ye see the rest.”

Ruark decided he had the patience to wait a lifetime for that. Right now all in the world he wanted was to know where these scum had put Shanna. He sampled the wine, a heavy Italian red, and briefly wondered from what cargo ship it had been taken. Without turning, he directed a question to Harripen.

“How do you settle differences here? If there is an argument over a piece that two claim, how is it decided which one gets it?”

Harripen laughed with a grunt. “A duel, me friend. And if h'it's to the death, winner takes all. 'At's why Pellier is the richest among us. 'E's killed the most.”

Ruark nodded. That was all he wanted to know. He stretched lazily, like an unhurried cat, then hung a leg over the back of a chair, bracing his arm across it as he peered at the pirates one at a time until they became uneasy beneath his expectant scrutiny. When the tension had blossomed to an acceptable level, he broke the silence.

“Well, hearties, you dawdle over your cups while good time slips away.”

Even Pellier stopped and stared questioningly at him.

“How long will you give Trahern to hunt you down?”

There were puzzled mumbles and much shifting of eyes, for they found his inquiry rankling and confusing.

“I mean,” Ruark explained slowly, casually waving a hand, “would it not seem wise to send word that you have Trahern's daughter and that she is safe? Perhaps even the ransom should be made known. Let's see.” He rubbed his arm with a fist thoughtfully. “She should be worth perhaps—fifty thousand pounds.” He had caught their imaginations, and eyes brightened all around the table. “That would be enough to see any one of you to a good life of ease—after, of course, say a tithe is paid for Mother's haven and mayhap a thousand or so for myself.” These men could understand greed, in fact would be suspicious of a man who did not expect his share. Still he hastened to add, “My own part would be small as I only showed you the way in, and it was your own boldness and bravery that caught her.” He paused and watched them while he seemed to ponder.

“I know Trahern though,” he stated cautiously. “He will be after you with all sails set, and he will be difficult to bargain with when you're looking down his guns.”

Though Pellier had turned his shoulder and pretended not to hear, the others listened carefully.

“If some of your prisoners wish to return, why not send them back with the word.” There was a general murmur of approval, and Ruark continued innocently. “Where are the men? Let me question them.”

Before the others could say nay, the large mulatto captain crossed to the back of the room, threw a bar from a thick oak door, and pulled it open.

“Out here, ya gutless swine,” he snarled within and stood aside.

There was a scrambling, and the three men who had been taken with Shanna came out to stand blinking at the light. They crouched together, fearful of their fates. Ruark gave no pause but strode boldly across to them and inspected each.

Then he turned and braced his feet wide, put hands on his hips and demanded, “And where's the wench?”

Pellier snorted. “ 'Od's blood! Now you'll see! He wants
to see the little tart's body again. Twas his game all along.”

Angry growls came from the group, but Ruark's voice snapped like a whip.

“Aye, fool.”

Pellier drew taut in his chair at the insult.

“Will you send these to Trahern to tell him they know not if she is alive. Where's the wench?”

“Where the bitch'll learn to be a proper slave,” Pellier roared. “And 'tis no concern of yours.”

“My need is my concern.” Ruark's tone was acid. “When Trahern learns we have her and that she's alive and unharmed, we're safe but not until then. If he has a doubt, he'll level this place and take the chance.”

The half-breed threw a foot onto the table and leaned back to sneer at Ruark. “You're the fool if you think I'll let you run this island.”

Ruark's eyes narrowed dangerously. He was about to challenge the man openly when there came a splash and a muffled shriek. In that same moment Ruark saw his opponent's glance flicker to the grating whereon sat a huge barrel. Ruark cursed as he ran across the room.

“You twice damned maniac!”

His face contorted by a snarl, his lips drawn back from gnashing teeth, Ruark kicked the barrel, sending it crashing to the floor where it rolled crazily until it reached the wall.

“You'll see us all hang for your want of a night's play!” he flung viciously.

His pistol was out and quieted any thoughts of interference as it wandered over the group. No one appeared anxious to stop him. Indeed, Harripen eyed Pellier and appeared to gloat in anticipation of some bloodletting. As if it were a gaming table, Ruark snatched the grating up and flung it aside. At his intrusion a scurrying and chittering came from below, then silence. Keeping a wary eye on the pirates, Ruark called down.

“Milady?”

A splash in the water and Shanna sprawled across the pile of rubble. A muffled groan of pain escaped her as she rolled over, and he could see her pale face in the dim light, pinched and drawn, twisted with fear. Her eyes
sprang wide as she recognized him, and she scrambled to her feet, sobbing his name. A violent curse came from Ruark, and his angry gaze scornfully raked those at the table, most promisingly Pellier. There would be some payment for this, he vowed.

Dropping to a knee and resting the pistol against the edge of the hole, Ruark reached down a hand to hers which were raised in silent supplication. Shanna seized his wrist with both hands in a panicked grip of desperation, and Ruark knew it would have taken a bar of steel to pry her fingers loose. Lifting her as if she were of thistledown, he set her to her feet on the stone floor. Trembling she clung to him, sobbing softly against his chest Then she saw the leering faces of the pirates as they watched her, and she resolutely pushed herself away from Ruark to stand on her own feet However, the effort was too much for her quaking limbs, and, like a puppet whose strings had been suddenly severed, she crumpled weakly to the floor. Her muffled weeping burned through Ruark's mind. He would not be satisfied until he tasted revenge.

“You see?” Pellier laughed jeeringly. “She has already lost much of her Trahern ways.”

The pistol in Ruark's hand came around quickly, its single black eye settling on the corsair captain where it stared unblinkingly for a long, long moment Beneath the cyclopean threat, even that brave fellow froze, and the gloating grin faded from his scarred face.

The cold fire in Ruark's eyes bespoke the fury churning within him. He held himself in tight rein until the rage cooled. What was left was a gnawing wish to see Pellier at the end of his sabre. This was no man, but a rabid beast with a warped mind who had abused the wife of a Beauchamp!

“I see the simplest of plans escapes you,” Ruark taunted. “Is your reasoning, then, so shallow that you cannot see a valuable piece must be guarded with care?”

Pellier scorned the words and would heed no argument “Step aside, knave. I would see how the Trahern bitch has fared.”

Shanna raised her head and favored the pirate with a glare of hatred that would have shriveled the swamp to dry sand.

Moving away a mere step, Ruark permitted the man a glimpse of the disheveled beauty but directed an appeal to the rest of them. “ 'Tis sure Trahern will pay the ransom, but when he sees his daughter thus, do you doubt he will find a way to see you all hunted to the ground?”

The picaroons stared at him but carefully gave no hint of agreement. The danger of drawing Pellier's wrath to them was a surety of the present All else was in the future and thus doubtful.

Pellier rose and hitched up his breeches. “Methinks the lady needs more of the pit”

“Ruark!” Shanna's whimper came choked with fright, and she clutched his leg frantically, pressing close against him.

“Why, milady,” Pellier mocked. “Did your quarters disagree with you?” He stepped a few paces nearer but then paused as if to muse. “Mayhap the linens were not as fresh as you like.” His voice deepened to a rasping snarl. “Or mayhap your little friends are more a comfort to you than the likes of us.” Then he roared, “Back to your dungeon, slut!”

With his command he charged forward to seize Shanna, but she flung herself behind Ruark and several spaces beyond. It may have been that Pellier simply did not believe that another man would dare interfere with him. Whatever the cause, he ignored Ruark, and that was his downfall. He never saw the foot that was thrust out in front of him as he passed Ruark. Nevertheless, he again tested the sturdiness of the stone floor, this time with his face.

An almost deathly silence gripped the room; those who watched held their breaths in anticipation of what they knew would come. Pellier rolled over, spitting dirt from his mouth, and his dark, glaring eyes settled on Ruark. Casually the colonial caught the back of a chair and spun it about to place his foot on the seat Leaning forward and resting an elbow on his knee, he shook his head and chided lightly.

“You learn so very slowly, my friend. I have more claim to the wench than you. 'Twas I who watched her strut about while I sweated for her father. Twas I who
guided you onto the island. And were it not for me, you'd be feeding the fish at the bottom of Trahern's harbor.”

Pellier's glower shifted to Shanna, who sidled back to Ruark's side, taking refuge there. Deliberately Pellier rose and dusted himself off. He was oddly calm now and there was an air of deadliness about him.

“You've touched me twice, bondsman,” he commented arrogantly.

“The more to instruct you with, my good man.” Ruark's words lashed Pellier's pride raw in spite of their softness. “In good time I might teach you to respect your betters.”

“You have hindered me from the first,” Pellier sneered, struggling to keep his temper in check. “You're a swine! A colonial swine! And I never have had any use for colonials.”

Ruark shrugged the insult off and stated simply, “The wench is mine.”

“The Trahern bitch is miner!”
Pellier bellowed, losing all restraint. This was too much! He could allow no further erosion of his position if he were to maintain dominance over the other pirates.

He lunged forward, hoping to catch his tormentor off guard, but the chair slammed painfully into his shins. Then he found his shirtfront gathered in Ruark's fist, and his toes brushed the floor as he was nearly lifted clear of it An open hand struck the side of his face and returned to slap the other side.

Ruark shook the dazed pirate until the man's eyes stopped dancing. “I believe the slap is a challenge,” he informed Pellier, loud enough for all to hear. “The choice of weapons is yours.”

Ruark shoved and let go. Pellier staggered backward to crash into the table, sprawling helplessly across it before rolling into his own chair. Red-faced, he drew himself to his feet, straightening his jacket with a jerk. A calculating gleam grew in his eyes as he considered the weapons at hand, and he began to relish the thought of the bondsman sprawled lifeless in a heap. The pistols hung on the back of his chair, ready and tempting, but he had heard much of the marksmanship of the colonials.

“You have a blade, pig,” he growled. “Do you know
how to use it?” He had killed too many with the sword to doubt his own skill.

Ruark nodded and, setting the chair against the wall, guided Shanna to it He drew his pistols and, cocking them both, laid them atop a keg, well within her reach. For a moment he gazed down at her. Shanna ached to say some gentle word at what might be her last chance, but there was still a bitterness towards him that sealed her lips. She could not meet his eyes.

Carmelita leaned against the door to the back room, her eyes eager for the bloodletting. Behind her huddled the thin girl, no emotion on her face, carefully keeping her place. The other pirates settled themselves for the show as the table was pushed back and a large space cleared for the duel. Money changed hands as wagers were made. Only Mother abstained. He studied the young man closely.

Ruark took the sheath from the sash and held it in his hand. A loose, swinging scabbard had been the death of many a good man and it was, itself, a weapon of sorts. As he drew the sabre, its long length gleamed pale blue, and he was glad he had taken the time to select a fine weapon. He swished the blade through the air; its balance was superb; the edge was keen.