Sparhawk's Angel (23 page)
Authors: Miranda Jarrett
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #General
"There you're doubly wrong, Graham. Miss Everard is a
lady
," said Nick with easy, offhanded insolence, "and it seems she's already mine."
The lieutenant drew his own sword with a practiced flourish. "Let me take him, Captain," he said, his eyes narrowing with anticipation. "Don't sully yourself with the killing of a Yankee bastard like this."
But as the man charged toward Nick his heel slipped on the wet grass and he crashed backward, his head striking one of the large round stones edging the garden path. His wig tipped off his shaven head as his eyes stared emptily at the star-filled sky and the sword dropped innocently from his fingers.
"Useless," muttered Graham contemptuously as he kicked at the unconscious man's arm. "Damnably useless, the clumsy oaf."
Lily's laughter rang out across the garden, and Nick looked up to find her perched on the wall, her fan fluttering briskly with excitement. "Useless, indeed." she said cheerfully. "I've evened the balance for you, Nickerson. Now it's up to you to defend my poor sister's honor."
"My pleasure," he murmured, smiling as he briefly raised the hilt of his cutlass toward her in salute. "And thank you, sweet."
Furiously Graham ripped his own sword from its scabbard, his eyes bright with loathing. "The pleasure will be mine, you cocksure bastard!"
He lunged toward Nick, the blade glinting in the moonlight as it arced through the air. Deftly Nick caught and deflected the blow with a scrape of steel against steel, and shoved Graham back.
But instantly the Englishman returned, answering with a ruthless determination that forced Nick to focus his energies and begin fighting in earnest. Though he outranked Graham in size and strength, Nick realized at once that the man had experience and training on his side. He couldn't afford to grow careless, not when so much more than his life alone was at stake. He owed it to Rose to win, and, though Lily could save him, he wanted to do it without her help to prove to her—and himself—that he could.
Trembling with sick fear, Rose pressed her fingers to her mouth to keep back the scream that wanted to rip from her soul. She hated to watch, but how could she bear not to
know
?
One man would die. One would live. It was as simple, and as complicated, as that, for the one who lived would claim her as his. She thought back to the time when she'd grasped this same cutlass of Nick's in her own hands, playing with it as if it were no more than a child's toy. But it was no toy tonight, and this was no game. No wonder the wordless prayers for Nick came straight from her heart.
Again the two blades crashed together and scraped apart. Once again Lord Eliot surprised her with his agility, moving the heavy bulk of his body with a skilled quickness that let him deftly avoid the sure, steady slashes from Nick's sword. Abruptly he slipped to one side, catching Nick off-balance enough so that the hilts of their weapons crashed together, and Lord Eliot was able to use his advantage to shove Nick to the grass.
But before the Englishman could pull his sword back to use it, Nick grabbed him by the front of his coat and jerked him down with him. Over and over the two rolled across the dew-heavy grass, grunting as each struggled in a tangle of arms and legs and glinting blades to get the advantage of the other. With size on his side, Nick at last broke free long enough to drive his fist into the other man's cheek, and then roll back to his feet.
But Lord Eliot was far from done. Even as Nick rose Graham managed to whip his sword forward, dragging the tip of the blade across Nick's cheek as the Englishman, too, scrambled to his feet. Rose gasped as the blood stained dark on Nick's face, and impatiently he swiped his fingers across it, smearing it across his face like garish paint.
Around and around, back and forth across the garden the two men fought, grunting and gasping with exertion. Both men were tiring, both dripping with sweat as their blows grew wilder, and with sickening clarity Rose knew it would be luck, pure luck, that finally gave one of them the advantage over the other.
If only she could find some way to help Nick, she thought desperately, some way that would make her feel less helpless as he risked his life for her. In vain she looked about the walled garden for a branch or gardener's tool, anything she could use. Her gaze fell to the pond before her. There in the shallow water, surrounded by tiny darting fish, lay a musket. Without a thought for how the gun came to be there, she reached down and pulled it out with both hands by the barrel, cold, heavy and dripping. Then before the men could see what she'd done, she darted forward and swung the musket, droplets of water flying, as hard as she could at Graham's head.
She missed.
Lord Eliot didn't.
Catching her movement in the corner of his eye, Graham ducked and grabbed her around the waist. Deliberately he struck his fist against her bandaged arm and she shrieked with pain and dropped the musket. In a single swift motion he had locked her tight against his chest, the honed blade of his sword pressed to her throat.
"So, Sparhawk," he said, grinning with triumph even as he gasped for breath. "Who has—who has the bitch now? Move against me, and she dies."
Nick stopped, lowering his sword, and swore bitterly to himself. The terror in Rose's eyes as she mutely appealed to him was almost worse than the sight of the blade pressing into the smooth, pale skin of her throat.
"Let her go, Graham," he said as calmly as he could. "This is between us. Leave Rose out of it."
"Why should I, Sparhawk, when the chit's the cause of all my trouble?" He jerked Rose hard against him. "But maybe this is easier. Even if she dies now—the tragic victim of island thieves, say?—I'll have the papers fixed and witnesses sworn to say she couldn't wait until tomorrow and wed me tonight instead in secret."
"You would murder her yourself?" asked Nick hoarsely, appalled. "In cold blood, without mercy?"
"Why not?" said Graham carelessly. "This way I'll be rid of your little whore without having to give my name to your bastards, yet I'll still have her fortune."
"Oh, Nickerson," said Lily plaintively, hovering over Graham and her sister, "this wasn't supposed to end like this, not at all! I
told
you I couldn't help her, only you, and now look what has happened. You don't need my help. Oh, Rose, Rose, why couldn't you have stayed the frightened little rabbit just a little longer?"
But for once Nick scarcely heard her, his fear for Rose sweeping everything else away. Because she loved him, she had risked her own life to save his, and now he was powerless to help her in return. With his gaze never leaving her face, he thrust his sword back into the scabbard, unbuckled the belt and tossed it clattering at Graham's feet.
"There, Graham. You have my surrender. You can do whatever you want with me. Just let Miss Everard go free, my life for hers."
Graham snorted with disgust. "You disappoint me, Sparhawk. The way I see it, I already have you. Why should I bother freeing the chit as well? You'll hang as a pirate, with your body left to rot at the gibbet as a warning to others. Besides, I—"
But his words were drowned out by a strange rumbling noise from the tiled roof of the piazza. Frowning, Graham looked up, and as he did a large black cat, screeching with terror, leaped from the roof to sink its claws into Graham's shoulders. Swearing with surprise and pain, he staggered back, losing both his sword and Rose as he fought the animal clinging to his neck. The rumble grew louder, and the clay pot of red begonias knocked free by the cat rolled from the edge of the roof to crash directly onto Graham's head. With a groan he toppled to the ground, buried beneath a pile of broken crockery, red flowers and dirt as the cat bolted into the bushes.
"Oh, my, Nick," whispered Rose, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist as he held her close. "Oh, dear Lord in heaven. What
was
that?"
"Your sister, love." Nick sighed wearily and brushed his lips across the top of her head. She was safe, and that was all that mattered to him.
"My
sister
?" asked Rose uncertainly. "
Lily
did this?"
"It's too hard to explain just now," he said as he bent to retrieve his sword. Lily, of course, had vanished; not surprising, he thought, considering the extent of the damage she'd caused this time. He buckled his belt around his hips and took one final look at Graham, sprawled on the grass. "Another time, Rosie, when we're safe in the
Angel Lily
, and I'll try my best. But come, let's not keep Michel waiting."
"Y
ou are indeed a lucky man,
mon fr
è
re
," said Michel G
é
ricault as he helped Nick push the little boat from the beach into the water. "At least half of me expected to never see you again in this life."
"I won't ask which half it was," said Nick, hopping over the side as the boat floated free. "And besides, we're not clear yet until we reach the
Angel Lily
."
"A simple enough task," said Michel easily. "The tide's in our favor, and the winds, too. All we must do is look like any other nondescript little boat until we reach the deep water."
"Aye, simple enough if no one's chasing us," said Nick gloomily.
Michel chuckled as he drew a line taut. "You are a pessimist,
mon ami
. We'll be long gone before they find Graham's body. Without him to turn your capture into a vendetta, the interest in finding you will fade, especially since the entire fleet sails back to England within the next week or two. By the winter, when the hurricanes are done and they return, they'll have forgotten you ever existed. And maybe, if this extraordinary luck of yours still holds, the war itself will be through."
Nick looked down at the tiller in his hand, lowering his voice so Rose wouldn't overhear. "Graham's not dead, Michel," he said. "At least he wasn't when we left the garden."
"
Sacrebleu
." Michel's pale eyes turned coolly noncommittal, but the unspoken question hung between them just the same.
And outwardly, Nick didn't flinch. "I know what you're thinking, Michel," he said evenly, "but I don't do things the way you do. I've never yet willfully killed a man who was wounded or unconscious, and I wasn't about to begin tonight."
Michel shrugged again. "As you wish,
mon fr
è
re
," he said lightly. "We each live our own lives, eh?"
But Nick knew precisely what Michel wasn't saying. Because he'd been so damned scrupulous about not dispatching Graham, the three of them were still in danger. Blast and hell, if only Lily hadn't interfered and he'd been able to kill the man fairly!
"Ah,
mademoiselle!"
Michel smiled fondly at Rose as she cautiously made her way aft to join them. "Allow me to congratulate you again on your delivery!"
"If I'd shown a lick of sense, I shouldn't have had to be delivered at all," she said sorrowfully, her shoulders bowing low with guilt. "When I think of all the people who might have suffered on account of my foolishness—"
"Oh, love, hush," scolded Nick gently. "I won't hear it, mind? Now come sit with me, and no more of anyone's foolishness."
With a sigh she came to sit between Nick's legs while Michel moved forward in the boat to trim the sails. Shyly she curled closer against Nick's chest, relishing the feeling of being safe with him as he slipped his arm around her shoulders.
"You can babble on all you wish, Rosie, about who has suffered what for whom," he continued, guiding the little boat between two warships like the towering walls of a canyon. "But this night you risked your life to save mine, and no one,
no one
, has ever done that for me before."
She smiled happily. "How could I not do it, Nick? I love you so much I can't imagine my life without you in it. Of course I'd do all I could to keep you safe."
Suddenly her smile changed, and she drew her brows together, thinking. "What you said then, about Lily helping us. Did you truly mean that?"
He sighed, unsure of how best to answer. "So you do think I'm daft?"
"I didn't say that, Nick," she said slowly. "It's only that once you said you could sense her with us, and that sometimes you even saw her. Well, tonight when Lord Eliot was holding me, I felt Lily was somehow there. Maybe it was just because I was so frightened, but she truly seemed to be in the garden watching over us. And then when you said she'd made the cat jump and the flowerpot fall, it seemed so exactly like something that Lily would do that I almost wept."
She tried to smile and ended up wrinkling her nose instead. "Now I ask you, who's the daft one?"
"I'd say we've made a pair of it, Rosie," said Nick philosophically. "No one else would have us."
"I suppose not." Lightly she ran her fingers along his arm. "Not that I shall complain. I rather like it this way. Being so thoroughly besotted with you as I am only makes the arrangement that much better."
"Aye, it does at that." He cleared his throat, remembering all the vows and promises he'd made to her in his mind during the time they'd been apart. It should be easy enough to speak them now, but damnation, he didn't know where to begin, and he cleared his throat again.
She sat upright to look at him. "Have you caught a chill?" she asked, faintly accusing. "You're quite
rumbly to lie against. When we're back in the
Angel Lily
, I'll make you hot tea with sugarcane."
"You'll have to make coffee instead. Good Yankees don't drink tea any longer on account of the tariffs your people inflicted on mine."
"Very well, then," she said promptly. "I shall make hot coffee with sugarcane, as hot as blazes, if you can bear it, and I shall make you drink every last, blessed drop."
The image of her trying to make him drink hot coffee in his cabin made him
smile, especially since he was picturing her once again in her mother's
necklaces and little else, sitting poised on his knee with a silver teaspoon
held daintily in her fingers as she coaxed him to open his mouth just a little
wider, please, only a little more
…
He was so blissfully enthralled with his dreaming that he didn't hear the first cannon from the encampment on the hill they'd left behind, or the second one that answered it. What he did hear was Michel swearing, in both French and in English as he struggled to bring the little boat around on a fresh tack, and belatedly Nick leaned against the tiller.
"
Mordieu
, Nickerson, it's past time for that," shouted Michel. "Haven't you eyes in your head?"
And at last Nick saw the harbor washed in the cool, lemony light of first dawn, the shallow hill of Pigeon Island bright on one side and still in darkness on the other, the gulls wheeling and mewing overhead as they fought over the trash cast overboard by the fleet. And at last, too, he saw the final frigate they had to pass before they would leave the harbor for clear water, a small frigate with only thirty guns, yet impressive enough with all fifteen here on the port side run out, and marine sharpshooters ranged along the rail and in the tops, and dear God in Heaven, every one of those guns and muskets was aimed at
them
.
"
Mordieu
, we were almost clear," said Michel, his face wooden as he stared at the long line of guns. Blindly he fumbled inside his shirt for a locket on a chain and opened it to a miniature of Jerusa, rubbing his thumb around and around the polished gold frame. "If they'd meant to take us as prisoners, they would have lowered a boat by now.
Sacristi
et J
é
sus
."
"Then they're going to kill us instead," whispered Rose. "Because of Lord Eliot, because of
me
, those men are going to kill us."
Nick stared at the frigate, unwilling and unable to believe what his eyes told him was true. They were nearly even with the larger ship, and at this range the gunners would not miss. Before they could sail clear on this tack, to Gideon and the
Angel Lily
, they'd be dead. It was as horrifyingly certain as that. There was no chance of going over the side to swim for safety, not in waters this transparently blue, not at dawn, and not with Rose with her heavy skirts and bandaged arm. They were going to be slaughtered where they sat, their little sailboat smashed to pieces and them with it.
So this, then, was how it would end for Rose and him, he thought furiously, end before it had really begun. He stared at the rows of guns, cursing the fate that had brought his life to this end, while his soul turned heavy as lead at the heartbreaking unfairness of it.
Unsteadily Rose climbed to her feet. "If I must die, I won't go weeping and wailing," she said, though her voice quavered with tears. "Here, Nick, stand with me, so I'll be sure to die at your side. Bravely and gallantly, Nick, oh, please, the way I've learned to be with you!"
Standing there in the light of the rising sun, she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, her dark hair streaming around her shoulders in the wind and her silver eyes defiant as she tried to face her destiny.
He loved her, loved her with all his being, and he didn't want her life to end like this. He couldn't let her believe that this was all there was, and gently he pulled her back down and into his arms.
"You've learned to be brave, Rosie, aye," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "But I'd rather you'd have learned more from me than that alone. We've not much time, I know, but I'd ask you instead to think of when this war will be over and done and our two countries are at peace. Think of yourself as my wife, and us living in a pretty little house in Newport, near the water so we can see the ships come and go from our parlor."
She shuddered with a sigh that was halfway to a sob, a sound that tore at his heart. "I would like a yellow house, Nick," she said softly. "A yellow house with white shutters always looks very fine and trim."
"Then yellow it shall be." They were coming closer under the guns, and he turned her face to his chest so she could not see, smoothing her hair gently. "You can have a garden with all the flowers you like, too, since flowers prosper most amazingly well in Newport. Children do, too. I'm only one of six, you know, and look at me."
"I would have liked that very much," she said sadly, her voice muffled by his coat. "We would have made vastly fine, fat babies between us, I believe."
"Aye, we would indeed." Damnation, why the devil didn't the bastards fire? Why didn't they go ahead and end this
now?
"I love you, my own White Rose, sweet little Rosie."
"And I love you, Black Nick Sparhawk," she whispered. "Dear Lord, how I love you!"
Desperate to treasure this last moment with her, his mind was slow to realize what was happening, but after a lifetime at sea his body sensed the change at once. The wind was shifting, gathering and blowing up from nowhere on this cloudless morning to whip the waves higher, high as a midwinter gale as their little boat raced along before it toward the mouth of the bay. Nick let Rose go to grab at the tiller with both hands, struggling to hold the boat steady while Michel wrestled to control the sails.
"Oh, Nick, look, look at the other ships!" cried Rose as she clung to the side. "Oh, my God,
look!"
The same wind that was making them fly across the waves had caught the frigate with too much sail aloft, and she lurched crazily toward the waves, marines and sailors and guns jerked free from their moorings all tumbling and rolling across the slanting decks as the canvas overhead shredded to tattered rags.
But in as much disarray as the frigate was, the rest of the fleet was suffering, too. As far as Nick could see were shattered masts and ships wrenched free of their moorings, and torn sails whipping in the wind like laundry on the line. With their anchor chains broken, seventy-four-gun ships of the line crashed into their sisters, the bowsprits jabbing into one another's rigging as lines and cables snared together into hopeless tangles. No battle could cause so much destruction in so short a time, and no one storm had ever been so costly to so many ships in one place.
Not one storm or battle, thought Nick grimly, but what were they compared to Lily?
"Oh, pish, I know perfectly well what you're thinking," she said mildly as she appeared beside him in the sternsheets on the other side of the tiller from Rose. "It's not nearly as bad as it looks with everything jumbled together like this, and I took care that not a single innocent fellow was injured. That took some doing, I can assure you, but I did it just the same.
You've
been so wondrously saintly, how could I dare be otherwise?"
Mutinously he scowled at her, unwilling to speak before Rose.
"Oh, go ahead and say it, if you wish," said Lily as she patted at her hair.
"Since this will most likely be our last time to converse, neither Rose nor
Michel can hear a word from either of us."
"Well, then, why the devil did you go through all
this
?" He waved his hand back toward the harbor. "Why didn't you end it with Graham in the garden?"
"Because I wanted to see if
you
would," she said, prodding him gently with her folded fan as if to share a humorous jest. "Thank goodness you didn't, or I don't know what I would have done. You were quite surpassing noble over that, and if you had killed Lord Eliot I wasn't quite sure what I would have done. But this way, he's been supremely discredited and shamed for ordering ships to sea in such dreadful weather, especially on a personal matter. He'll be court-martialed for sure, and sent back to Britain in such disgrace I'm certain he'll never find another heiress. I only pray he's not given to
me
to reform next."
Nick looked at her curiously. "So you really are clearing off, then?"
"That's what you've wished from the first time I rescued you, isn't it?" She tipped back her head and laughed. "Oh, my, I never expected calf's eyes and a long face from you!"
He smiled wryly. "It's not as bad as all that, Lily. It's going to be a powerful relief to know my water pitcher will stay where I put it. But you brought me Rosie, and I'll never be able to thank you enough for that."
"No, most likely you won't," she agreed amiably. "But then, you'll recall I did promise you happiness."
"That you did, and I will thank you for not giving up on me before I found it." He smiled, surprised by how much he truly would miss her. Without thinking he reached out to take her hand, only to have his fingers pass through to the side of the boat.
"None of that now, Captain." She glared at him with feigned indignation and slapped his fingers with her fan, a fan as ethereal as the rest of her that nonetheless left his fingers smarting. Then she smiled, her blue eyes growing misty. "Oh, but I shall miss you, too, my dearest, darling Nickerson! I vow I could almost be jealous of my little sister. Just mind you marry her before you start bringing that litter of jolly babies into the world."