The Rogue Pirate’s Bride (18 page)

The two men locked eyes, and Jourdain raised his hand in a salute. Bastien saluted back then stood tall as the brig’s cannons fired, and his ship shook under his feet. Wood flew around him, and he heard the tearing of canvas as the grapeshot tore through his sails.

One for Jourdain.

“Mr. Jackson, damage report!” he ordered.

And then his cannons fired. Mr. Castro was deadly as hell, and Bastien watched as men and wood scattered and shattered on the decks of
La Sirena
. A few of their guns took a hit, as did a portion of their hull. The sails had barely been touched, and there were still far too many topmen handling them. Where was Raeven and her sharpshooting?

Jackson charged up to him. “The ship’s holding, sir, but we were missing men on the foremast. They’re climbing back up now.”

Bastien stared at him. Why the hell weren’t his men in position? “Where is Maine? I want this ship running smoothly. I need maneuverability, Mr. Jackson.”

“You’ll have it, sir!” And he was gone again.

His cannons fired again, and he saw a large chunk of
La Sirena
’s main mast torn away. “Get grappling hooks and”—
La Sirena
’s cannons answered back, and he lifted a hand to shield his face from the spray of what he hoped was wood—“weapons!” he continued. “And prepare to board!”

***

Raeven swore as she dropped another hairpin. It was bad enough trying to pick a lock with the ship shaking beneath her feet, but doing so with her left hand was all but impossible.

She fumbled in her hair for another, knowing she’d never find any of those she’d lost in the darkness. But she was running out of hairpins. She’d used only a few this morning to keep the hair out of her face. For a moment, she couldn’t find one at all, and her belly clenched, but finally she touched glorious metal and pulled the last one out.

“Raeven?” a tenuous voice called.

“Percy? Percy!” she all but screamed it. “I’m here.”

He had a lantern with him, and she welcomed the light as he stepped into view. A rat scurried away, and Raeven tried not to shudder. “Here. Shine that over here,” she ordered as she fumbled with the lock on her manacled wrist again. Now that she could see, she’d make quick work of it, even with her left hand.

“What’s going on? Why are you chained here?”

“Maine,” she said through teeth clenched in concentration. The lock was being difficult, and she couldn’t finesse her movements as she would have liked. “He’s the traitor. He had me brought in here. Will probably be back later to finish me off. Damn!” She felt hot tears sting her eyes as she dropped the hairpin. “Can you shine that light down here?” She dropped to her knees and felt for the hairpin. “I need to get out. Warn Bastien.”

She heard a clank and looked up. Percy was holding a set of keys, selected one, and coming forward, inserted it into her manacles. “I came prepared.”

“Oh, Percy!” She stumbled out. “I could kiss you.”

“I’ll settle for your pistol. I don’t have a weapon, and we’re about to board
La Sirena
.”

“We’re boarding?” She handed him the pistol and started for the ladderway. “Is it going that well?”

He pushed in front of her. “Let me go first.”

She wanted to roll her eyes. Percy was always the gentleman. “Cutlass is a genius. He’s all but put a hole through the brig. Now it’s just the down and dirty part.”

The chaotic part, he should have said. And what better time for Maine to kill Bastien, if that was his plan, than in the midst of the madness? Regardless, she had to warn him. She had to—

Just as Percy reached the lower deck’s ladderway, Maine stepped out. Raeven saw his pistol even before she saw his face. “No!”

The blast of sound filled the cramped space, and Percy flew backward, his blood spattering her shirt and neck. She didn’t have time to go to him before she saw Maine look to his weapon again. Ignoring the pain in her wrist, she drew her sword and slashed at him. He jumped back, fumbled, and dropped the pistol. When he looked up at her, his eyes burned with hatred. He gestured to Percy. “That should have been you.” He drew his own sword.

“You’ll wish it were you,” she said, circling him. “I’m going to carve you up.”

He laughed. “You can hardly hold that thing.”

“I don’t need to hold it.” Their blades clashed, and she could feel the burn in her wrist as she held steady. “I just need to stab it through you.”

He thrust and she parried, almost losing her footing on something slippery.

Blood. Percy’s blood. The bile rose in her throat, and she wanted to look, needed to look at her friend, but she didn’t allow her eyes to stray from Maine. She could tell from his movements and his thrusts he was no match for her, but she was not at her best. He would take any opening she gave him.

“Why did you do it?” she asked, ducking when he slashed at her. She spun and thrust, cutting his arm and drawing blood.

He swore and came at her. But he was angry, and she easily evaded.

“Money? Power?”

“Money, if you must know.” He struck, and she sidestepped, feeling the whoosh of the blade tickle the skin of her throat. He grinned at her. “I told you. I have a wife. A son.”

“And Cutlass doesn’t give you your share of the profits?” She feigned left, moved right, and sliced across his midsection, opening a gash. She couldn’t tell how bad it was, but his face paled visibly, and his movements slowed.

She risked a glance at Percy. He was lying on his side, one leg drawn up and his hand clutched to his abdomen. His eyes were open and filled with pain.

There was blood. Everywhere blood.

She pulled her gaze away, tried to plan her next move, not act out of anger and fear for her friend.

“Cutlass is obsessed with finding Jourdain. Passed up too many opportunities for profit.” He thrust, and she easily parried, though her wrist twinged in protest. “I thought, he wants Jourdain, I’ll give him the corsair!”

He thrust again, but it was weak. Still, her wrist was aching and she knew she couldn’t last much longer. “I’m sorry to ruin your plans.”

“Oh, you haven’t ruined them, sweetheart. This is far from over.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” She thrust, ducked right, and brought her sword up, stabbing him in the side. She felt the blade go through flesh and hit bone, saw Maine’s look of shock before he crumpled, and she pulled out her sword, allowing his blood to drip on the wooden deck planks.

She kicked Maine’s sword out of his reach, sheathed her own, and turned.

“Oh, Percy. No…”

***

Bastien stood on the port side of
Shadow
and threw his grappling hook. Much of his crew followed while others fired pistols at Jourdain’s men to give the boarding party cover. Bastien wondered if Raeven had hit any of Jourdain’s crew. He hadn’t seen her since early morning, and though he knew he shouldn’t concern himself with her, she was constantly in the back of his mind.

Half a dozen times, he’d wanted to leave what he was doing and search for her. But he was the captain. He couldn’t leave his command to chase after his paramour. Besides, she’d more than proven she could take care of herself. She had probably fared better in the battle than he, as he now had several cuts Gaston would need to stitch later.

She was fine, he told himself as his grappling hook caught
La Sirena
’s rigging. But he had a niggling feeling something wasn’t right. As soon as the battle was won, he would find her, hold her, see for himself she was well. Right now, he had little choice but to swing from the
Shadow
to
La Sirena
. He landed with a thud and immediately drew his sword as several of Jourdain’s men charged him.

He cut one down and turned to the second when he saw Jourdain step onto the deck. “Wait! He’s mine.”

Good, Bastien thought. He would finally have his revenge. The two crews moved aside to give them space, but the fighting continued around them. Bastien caught sight of Jolivette, Castro, Jackson, and Ridley cutting a swath through the Barbary corsairs with cutlasses and pistols.

He had a moment to wonder at Maine’s absence and a moment to look for El Santo, but he saw neither. No sign of Raeven either. He wasn’t sure if her absence was good or bad.

Jourdain lifted his cutlass then tossed it aside. Bastien raised a brow. He still held his sword.

“You want to kill me, Cutlass?” Jourdain asked, his English heavily accented. “You want to avenge the death of Vargas? Then fight me like a real man. With these.” He held up his fists in a challenge.

Bastien was no fool. Jourdain had a good fifty pounds on him. Bastien was strong and knew how to throw a punch, but he was better at evading fists than using his own. Still, the challenge had been given, and he could hardly resist bloodying Vargas’s killer with his own hands.

Bastien sheathed his sword and raised his fists. The two men circled each other, and Bastien looked for weaknesses. He didn’t see any. He moved in, only to watch Jourdain block access. They circled again, and Jourdain smiled. “One of us will have to move first.”

“You’re right—” And without warning, he struck Jourdain square in the face.

Jourdain turned his head at the last moment, making it only a glancing blow, and when he turned back, he had murder in his eyes. Bastien took a step back and didn’t see the hard left jab.

But he felt it. His neck snapped back, and his jaw exploded with pain. He doubled over and charged Jourdain, ramming him in the abdomen. Even when Bastien used the full force of his weight, Jourdain barely moved. He rained blows down on Bastien’s head and shoulders, and Bastien endured the pain while continuing to push Jourdain back. Together they crashed into a mast. Bastien felt the thud reverberate through Jourdain’s thick body, and he skirted away. Jourdain went after him, and a quick jab of his foot had the Barbary pirate sprawled across the deck.

Bastien got in a kick and would have got in another except he’d pressed his luck. Jourdain grabbed his ankle, and Bastien lost his balance, landing hard on his injured shoulder. He lay still for a moment, willing the black swimming before his eyes to fade, and then Jourdain’s leering grin came into focus a moment before his fist connected with Bastien’s eye.

“Merde
.” Bastien tried to roll away, but Jourdain had him straddled. He punched him again, and Bastien tasted blood. Jourdain was still leering when Bastien wrapped his hands around the pirate’s neck and squeezed. Jourdain locked his hands over Bastien’s and the two were at stalemate until Bastien managed to roll over and push Jourdain away.

He rose shakily to his feet, keeping an eye on the equally shaky Jourdain. The two circled each other, hurt now and weary. Around them, the battle between the two ships’ crews continued. Bastien couldn’t tell which side was winning, but he could feel
La Sirena
listing to starboard. The ship was sinking.

He hoped to hell Maine was preparing to separate the two vessels. He didn’t want the
Shadow
dragged down with
La Sirena
.

Jourdain must have felt the change in his ship, known it was sinking. Known he was doomed. He reached into his boot and pulled out a dagger. Without blinking, Bastien reached for his sword—and found his side bare.

He looked down to see his sword and sheath were missing. He had a moment to scan the deck and locate it sliding away from him.

Then Jourdain attacked.

***

Raeven struggled with Percy’s weight. He had always seemed so thin and scrawny, but now that she’d half carried and dragged him to the infirmary, she would have sworn he weighed as much as two men.

As expected, the men of the
Shadow
packed the infirmary. The companionway outside was already lined with sand to minimize slips from all the blood. Raeven tried not to look at the blood or the wounded men. She dragged Percy past the men lying in the companionway, and when her way was blocked and she could go no farther, she called for Gaston.

“Mr. Leveque!”

No answer, and she wasn’t even certain he’d heard her over the moans and cries of the men, not to mention the sounds of battle above them.

“Mr. Leveque! Please help me!” She had Percy under the arms, and she slumped now, resting her forehead on top of his white-blond hair.

“Mademoiselle?”

She looked up and said a prayer of thanks.

“Are you injured?”

“No.”

He gave her a look that said otherwise, but she shook her head. She had no time for her injuries. “It’s my friend Percy. He’s been shot. Can you help?”

She could see him take in the throngs of waiting men, but he said, “
Oui
, of course. Here, I will help you bring him in.”

Together they managed to lift Percy onto a table, and the doctor tore open his shirt. It was then Raeven saw the true extent of the damage. Percy had been shot in the chest, and she saw blood. Too much blood. It oozed and bubbled from the wound, making a dark crimson river down his chest. His chest still rose and fell, but his breathing labored. She felt weak and faint, but she gripped the table tightly and said through gritted teeth, “What can I do to help?”

She looked up and met the gaze of the doctor. His eyes told her all.

There was no help for Percy.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please. You have to do something.”

Leveque nodded and brought her a canteen of rum. “Here. Give him this. He is thirsty, no? And the rum will dull some of the pain.” She reached under Percy’s neck, supporting his head, and eased the canteen to his lips. His eyes fluttered for a moment, but he did not drink. The rum sluiced over his chin to pool around his neck.

“Percy,” she leaned close and whispered. “Please drink, Percy. Please.” She held the canteen to his mouth again, but he didn’t open his lips.

“Percy.” She was sobbing now. “Percy, you have to drink. Please, please.” She laid her head on his shoulder, feeling the tears wet her cheeks and tumble down her chin. And she didn’t care if anyone saw. If she looked weak.

This was her fault. If Percy died—no, she knew he would die—and it was her fault. She had brought him here. She had done this to him.