Treasured (9 page)

“I have no doubts.” A laugh slid from her throat.

She stretched her arms over her head and arched her back. A yawn cracked her jaw. A raindrop splattered against her upturned cheek. She glared at the sky. Clouds had rolled in as they left Port Royal and since the murky sun set, it had been black as pitch. She couldn’t see more than a few feet over the sides of the boat as a heavy fog rolled in with the cooler night air. Lanterns cast a glow to guide everyone across the deck.

Murdoch’s eyes reflected the lamplight as he glanced at her and then away. “Some of ’em…have concerns about you being on
The Fortune
, Becca.”

“Oh.” What else could she say to that? She swallowed and fisted her hands at her sides, sudden fear racing through her. A lot of sailors had superstitions about women on board ships. She’d been surprised that she’d seen so little of it from James’s men. Would he decide that having her with him wasn’t worth the inconvenience of disrupting his crew? Cold chills shivered over her flesh. How could she fight someone’s deeply ingrained cultural beliefs? Her shoulders slumped. She closed her eyes for a moment and tucked her chin against her chest. “Thank you for telling me, Mister Murdoch.”

“Don’t you be worryin’ about them none. Fer the last while, Cap’n seemed lighter than he has in years, since he was barely more than a lad joinin’ the Navy. I’d like to see him stay that way.” He snorted and turned to stump away, muttering to himself. “Be dancin’ to my jig, you mark my words.”

“Thank you, Murdoch,” she called after him softly. Hope cracked through the uncertainty that had engulfed her, and she shook away her despair. She was just tired. She needed some sleep. James hadn’t let her get more than a few minutes at a time the night before. A smile tugged at her lips at the naughty memories of how he had touched her, how he had made her come over and over again. She shivered and not from cold. Spinning about, she went in search of James. He’d take her mind off everything else except him, and that sounded perfect to her.

Placing her feet carefully in the dark, she mounted the stairs to the quarterdeck. “James?”

“Cap’n went looking for you, Mistress Becca.” Boyd’s voice carried in the dark.

“Behind you.” James’s breath caressed her ear.

She jolted, her heart slamming in her chest. Her hand pressed to her breastbone. She spun on the top step and could just make out the planes of his face in the lamplight. “
Jesus
, James. Are you trying to scare me to death?”

“Shh.” A predatory smile pulled at his lips. “Listen.”

Closing her eyes, she tilted her head to the side and listened hard. She heard a voice shouting in the far distance, out across the sea and almost lost in the mist. A voice she recognized. “It’s McCrory,” she whispered, snapping her eyes open.

“Aye.” A wicked glint flashed in his eyes when he glanced back at her.

“You’re going to attack him, or no…you’re going to let him think he’s catching you unawares.” It shocked her that she could follow the path of his thoughts. And agree with him.

His smile widened, anticipation leaping in his icy gaze. “Oh, yes. He tried to steal my woman. I can’t let the insult stand.”

She nodded. “I understand.” Lifting her chin, she squared her shoulders. “I need my sword.”

“Rebecca…”

“Haven’t I earned my place here, James? Proven I can fight?” No way in hell was she being left to wait, but she wasn’t dumb enough to make demands. She’d have to convince the stubborn man. She laid a hand on his forearm. “Don’t make me stay in our cabin. Please.”

The muscles in his arm flexed beneath her fingers then slowly relaxed. He turned aside, muttering, “I’m going to regret this.”

The jeweled dagger that had come with her from the museum was tucked into his belt, and he pulled it out to hand to her. Then he spun away to give quiet orders to Boyd. A flurry of muted movement overtook the ship and she could feel the tension rising among the crew. Butterflies took flight in her belly and her hands grew slick on the hilt of her weapon. It was just like how she felt before a huge fencing match, only more intense because it was life and death.

Willy materialized by her side. He pitched his voice low and kept his tone casual, as though it were an everyday occurrence to attack a pirate ship in an impenetrable fog. “Stand fast, my lady.”

“I’m not a lady, Willy.”

“You are. The Lady Pirate. That’s what they’re calling you in Port Royal and soon the whole West Indies.” Boyish enthusiasm lit his eyes, but she resisted the urge to ruffle his hair. He might just throw that nasty little knife at her.

“I’m not a pirate either.”

A frown pulled at his small face. “No? I’d…hoped the Captain would change his mind about leaving you on Barbados, but if you don’t want to come wit’ us…”

Shock sucked the wind out of her lungs, and the only sound she could make was that of a wounded animal.

“My lady? We must be quiet.” Willy’s callused little hand folded into hers.

Oh, God. Bones had been
right
. Shame burned through her. Everyone on board knew James had intended to dump her off on his plantation all along. Nausea roiled in her belly, and sudden tears pressed hard against her lids. He was getting rid of her. Following on the heels of despair was righteous anger. When the hell was he going to mention the fact that he’d be leaving her in a few days? It should have come up between the shag sessions. Her hands shook with the screaming emotions rolling through her like a tidal wave. Oh, God. Oh. God. What would she do now? How could she lose him? Her stomach heaved.

Willy’s excited whisper sounded in the dark. “It’s not long now. Are you well, Becca?”

Right. Pirate ship. Cannons. Musket-fire and swords.
Get it together, Becca
. She kicked herself for losing focus. This was
not
the time to dwell on personal problems. Straightening her shoulders, she squeezed his hand before withdrawing. “I’m fine,” she whispered. “Don’t worry.”

They crouched against the forecastle, gripping weapons tight. She jolted as a large hand closed over her shoulder.
Please don’t let it be James.
She couldn’t deal with him right now. She just couldn’t. Murdoch silently passed her a loaded pistol as he ghosted by.

Then it began. Flashes of light pierced the foggy dark and a high-pitched whistle sounded unnaturally loud in the silence. She ducked, covering Willy with her body to protect him as the first cannonballs exploded through the starboard railing and sent splinters in every direction. The deck beneath her feet rumbled like an earthquake as
The Fortune’s
cannons returned fire.

Within minutes, grappling hooks spanned the distance between the ships, and men leaped from one side to the other, battle screams bursting from their mouths. Steel rang as it met steel, and gunpowder flashed like fireflies in the fog as men discharged their weapons.

“Let’s
go
.” Willy wriggled away from her to dive into the fray.

Becca sprang to her feet, wanting to grab the boy and protect him, but he was gone. A man spun towards her, blade drawn. She blocked him, thrust, and he fell at her feet. Another came at her, then another, and another. She used her pistol when two came at her at once and dropped it to meet the blade. All her years of practice came down to this moment, this heartbeat. She controlled her breathing, as she’d been trained, made her movements fluid, as she’d been trained, kept her feet steady on the shaking deck—that was beyond her training, but she didn’t stop to think about it.

Spinning, she sought her next opponent—and came face to face with the muzzle of a cocked pistol. Her pounding heart skipped a beat, and ice water washed through her veins.

“Hello, Rebecca.”

She forced herself to look away from the gun to see the man holding it. Bones McCrory. He licked his lips and dropped his gaze to her breasts. She resisted the urge to cross her arms over her chest and lifted her chin to look down her nose at him. “It’s Mistress Morrow to you.”

Her mind raced. Where were James and Willy and Boyd and Murdoch? God, she hoped someone noticed soon. Oh, God. Oh, God.
Help
.

Shifting, she tried to see around Bones, tried to see if there was anyone she recognized, but the fog made it impossible to see anything beyond shadows dancing in the haze of smoke and mist.

“Ah. Ah. Ah. Call fer anyone,
Mistress
Morrow, and I’ll pull the trigger. Understand?” His eyes glinted, telling her he’d enjoy killing her.

The breath froze in her lungs, choking off any verbal response she could make. She nodded.

“That’s good, then.” He jerked his chin towards his ship. “After you, Lady Pirate.”

Her legs felt leaden as each step landed against the wooden deck. She stumbled and almost fell through the gap between the ships. Her fingers bit into the wood of the railing to catch herself from falling. The bottom dropped out of her stomach. She blinked back tears and just walked, trying to be numb.

“Down there. We’re going to my cabin. I’m sure you know how to find your way into a captain’s bed.” He chuckled.

Her stomach clenched in dread. Oh, Christ. She didn’t even want to think about what he would do to her. It was obvious. It was a nightmare.
Wake up, Becca. Wake up!
If there’d ever been a time for this dream to end, this was it. His gun shoved between her shoulder blades, prodding her on.

The ship rocked as cannonballs slammed into it and she bounced against the narrow walls of the short hallway that led to his chambers. She had to step over three bodies along the way, their blank, lifeless faces staring up at her. One of the men she recognized from
The Fortune’s
crew. She wanted to stop, check his pulse, make certain he was dead, but Bones’s pistol shoved her forward. She fought the need to whimper, curl up into a ball and sob, but she forced herself to keep it together. There had to be a way out of this. She had to find it. Her sword was still with her. The sword that brought her to James. Its weight felt good in her hand, solid, and she tightened her grip. She was armed. That was good, right? It counted for something. She just wasn’t sure what. Yet. But why had he let her keep her weapon? Was he insane? She’d pulled a gun on him before. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t use a sword. The questions chased themselves around in her head, but she had no answers.

She clenched her jaw and forced the world to snap back into clear focus. Her panic receded. Anger bubbled up inside her—at Bones, at James, and at the twist of fate that dropped her into the middle of a world that would be the end of her. Her knuckles whitened on the hilt of her sword. Right. Bones might have a gun, but he’d have to kill her before she let him rape her. And she was taking him with her.

Pushing into his chambers, she spun to face him as he followed her in and shut the door. He tossed his gun aside, crossed his arms, and leaned back against the door. She eyed him, wary of whatever game he was playing. He still had a sword and dagger, but neither of them were drawn. How fast was he? She wasn’t sure she could risk finding out.

She nodded to the gun. “You don’t think you need your pistol? I have a sword.”

“
That
puny dagger?” He scoffed. “Put it down.”

“Make me.”

“In good time. In good time. I want Morrow to realize you’re missing. I want him to
fear
what might be happening to his precious Lady Pirate. Mmm…James Morrow afraid would be such a treat.” An ugly, yellow smile split his sallow cheeks. “And then I want him to walk in on his woman rutting with another man.”

She swallowed the bile that bubbled up in her throat.
No
. It wouldn’t happen. She wouldn’t let it. He underestimated her strength and what she could do with a sword. She could use that to her advantage. She could survive this; she could
win
. Steely determination snapped her spine straight, and all her other worries slid to nothingness. James, how she got here,
The Fortune
and her crew. It was all gone and her entire life came down to making it to the other side of this moment.

“Not long now.” Bones’s smile widened.

She grinned back. “I’m going to kill you, Bones McCrory. James isn’t going to have the chance to gut you himself for daring to touch his wife.”

His eyes rounded and anger flashed in their depths. “Don’t be sayin’ something you can’t follow through with, Mistress Morrow.”

“Try me.” She quirked an eyebrow.

“I’ll try you. I’ll try all of you. I’m going to get a taste of the woman Morrow likes to spread for him. They say he likes it rough…is that true, then?”

“Perhaps, but perhaps
I
like it rough. And James knows just how to please a woman.” She curled her lip, looking him over as though he were a slimy bug slithering across the floor. “I doubt you’ve had anything but a whore
rut
with you.”

A roar ripped from his throat. He jerked a small dagger from his belt as he lunged for her. She danced out of the way and let him shoot past her before she spun to face him again.

He growled and advanced on her, waiting for an opening. They faced off, staring each other down. She kept her face calm, impassive, not giving him anything. He backed her against the bed and lashed out with that little blade. She leaped on the bed, but her feet caught in the blankets. He came over after her and she kicked a little table at him. He jumped out of the way as she sprang to her feet.

Shit, shit,
shit
. Her breath bellowed in and out of her lungs as she scooted out into the middle of the chamber. He lifted a chair and threw it at her, but she got out of its path. Just. The chair took down a little mirror and it shattered on the floor. Glass crunched under their boots as they circled each other.

He lunged again, and she sidestepped, but he threw himself at her, catching her around the waist to drag her to the ground. The air rushed out of her lungs when his full weight slammed into her. Broken glass sliced into her back and she screamed. She lost her grip on the sword and her hands scrabbled along the floor to find it again.

His fingers tore at her clothing, ripping the tie that held her pants. She fought, punching and clawing at his face. He reared up, his hand drawing back to slap her full across the face. “Like it rough, do you? I’ll give you more than Morrow ever dared.”