Defiant: 5 (Noble Passions) Page 8

  A trickle of dread skirled up Ned’s spine at his tone.

  “Go below!” Lady Prudence’s eyes bulged. “I just came above!”

  “Go below. And don’t come out. And if you need to, hide.”

  This seemed to have an effect on Lady Billingsly. She swung back and gaped at the approaching ship.

  MacDougal peered through the glass again. His jaw clenched. “The berths are the first place they’ll look. If things go bad, hide in the hold.”

  “Do you think it could be pirates?” Sophia asked. There was far too much enthusiasm in her voice. Ned frowned at her.

  “Pirates? Pirates!” Prudence closed her parasol and whacked MacDougal with it. “You are a terrible captain,” she announced before spinning on her heel and herding her husband back downstairs.

  Ned trained his attention on the growing speck. “Surely it’s not pirates. There aren’t pirates anymore, now that the war is over.” Were there?

  “Can we outrun them?” Percy asked.

  MacDougal’s glance was not comforting. He shook his head. “If you are caught, whatever you do, do not fight back.”

  “Not fight?” Percy’s hands formed fists. Likely he was itching for a sword. Pity none of them had one.

  “Not fight?” Sophia put out a lip. Why she put out a lip, Ned had no clue. She had no business fighting pirates.

  “These aren’t storybook pirates. Not romantic in the slightest. They will not hesitate to skewer you. Or dump you overboard. And for God’s sake, don’t let them find out you’re a woman.”

  Ned’s gut clenched.

  A sudden realization rocked him. They could be pirates.

  And Sophia was a treasure beyond measure.

  It was up to him to protect her.

  Percy scuttled below but Ned had to remove Sophia bodily from the deck.

  “Sophia, please,” he urged as she tugged back, once more, to return to the rail. “You must hide.” The hint of panic in his tone unsettled him. Hell, the churning in his gut, the thoughts of what could happen to her if these were indeed pirates, unsettled him.

  “But, Ned, I want to see.”

  “It’s not safe. Come now. Let’s get you settled someplace safe.” And when she still resisted, “Please.”

  Her eyes widened. Her features softened and she allowed him to lead her down two sets of stairs and a ladder to the belly of the ship. MacDougal was right. There were many places to hide in this mélange. He found an empty crate and had her crouch, then set it over her.

  “Wait! Ned!”

  He lifted the box. “Yes?”

  “Aren’t you going to hide with me?”

  His throat worked. Oh, how he would love to hide with her, to curl up in the hold and wait until the danger had passed. But he couldn’t. He needed to help. “Sophia…”

  “Ned.” She paled. “No.”

  “Wait here. Be safe.” He bent and kissed her rashly, wildly. If these were pirates, this could be their last kiss. She seemed to realize this as well and kissed him back with equal fervor.

  “Be safe, Ned.”

  “I will, my darling. No worries. I’ll be back soon to get you.”

  The knowledge that she was safe emboldened him. He wasn’t good for much but—to his brother’s unending chagrin—he could fight. He made his way to the top deck, preparing himself for battle.

  If they were pirates.

  And apparently they were. As he emerged from the hold, it was to see the ship almost upon them. He watched in dismay as the Union Jack came down and the Jolly Roger came up. The black flag with the skull and crossbones made his blood run cold.

  “Well, there it is.” MacDougal tensed. “Fuck.” And then he began barking commands to his crew.

  It was pointless to resist but they tried.

  When the cutter came alongside and grappling hooks flew, the sailors scrambled to loosen them, but as soon as they did another came careening over. Ned ran with them, wildly trying to repel the invasion. But they were outmanned and outclassed—as far as savagery went.

  In a trice, the pirates swarmed over the rails. It was like nothing he had ever seen, this battle. Man upon man in a ringing clash. Some of the sailors had knives but the pirates had cutlasses. MacDougal had a flintlock but the pirates had blunderbusses.

  Ned knew his way around a sword but he’d never faced a blade with his bare fists. He did his best, using some of the moves Ewan had taught him, and was pleased to find he could hold his own even with much beefier men. Especially once he found a slender pole he could use to ward off attacks.

  But then, his motivation was sharp. He was fighting to protect Sophia. Thank God she was safe in the hold.

  Bullets whizzed by, shouts and the clash of steel rang through the still air. Men cried out and cursed and howled. Sweat poured.

  A particularly filthy pirate had him cornered at one point. He advanced, chuckling and jabbing his cutlass in Ned’s direction. Ned clocked his movements, anticipated him, and with a fierce spin of his pole, whipped the sword from his hand. It flew through the air. Ned leaped forward and caught it. And lunged.

  The pirate, taken totally unawares, squawked and backed away. But others, others armed as he was, moved in. He took them all on, this advancing tide of villainy. He thought of Sophia as he whacked and parried and thrust, holding off the horde.

  And then he realized, but for the sounds of his sword and the grunts of the men he was fighting, there was silence. Wiping the sweat from his eyes, he glanced around the deck. With horror, he realized that everyone but he had been taken.

  He found himself suddenly surrounded by twenty armed men. Twenty swords bristled in his face as they closed in.

  The pirate he had just wounded gave a gap-toothed smile. He chuckled. The hush of his breath was bilious.

  A pity that would be the last thing he would ever smell. He focused his thoughts on Sophia. Her lips, her eyes. Her hair—before it was shorn—her smile. He wanted her to be his last thought. His last—

  “Well, yer a right scrapper,” a loud voice boomed over the grumbles of the thugs holding him still with their blades. They all stepped back, allowing a rather dapper man to make his way through the throng. He looked Ned up and down with an assessing glance. “Fight much?”

  Ned shook his head. He didn’t trust his voice.

  The buccaneer laughed. “Well, I can use a man like you on my crew, if you’re interested.

  Interested? In serving on a pirate crew?

  Not only no, but hell no.

  “Cor, he sliced me,” a revolting gentleman with black teeth and a hideously pocked face complained.

  The pirate captain, as Ned was certain he was, fluffed out the froth at his cuff. “It is a battle, Ridgeley.”

  “But Cap’n!”

  “Tut tut, Ridgeley. One shouldn’t fight if one is not prepared to be sliced.” He grinned wickedly at Ned. “Wouldn’t you say, sir?”

  Ned nodded.

  “Right. Now, please put down your sword.”

  Ned lifted it higher.

  The captain sighed.

  “I sais we toss him overboard,” one villain yelled.

  “I sais we run ‘im through.”

  “Do you?”

  “Aye!”

  “Aye!”

  Yes, yes. They all seemed so inclined. Ned held the cutlass higher, though his muscles were aching.

  “Are you certain you won’t change your mind about joining my crew?”

  “Very certain.” It was nearly a whisper, his voice was so lost.

  “Pity. I do hope you can swim.” The captain waved his hand and the pirates surged in, making a mockery of his weapon. They wrenched it from his hand and then lifted him bodily over the rail. He looked down in the churning waters of the deep blue sea and sent up a prayer. He did know how to swim but he could hardly swim back to England. And there was Sophia to think about. How would she—

  “Stop!”

  He cringed as her voice rang out, loud and clear, ov
er the tumult.

  The pirates—apparently they were obedient pirates—stopped.

  Ridgeley glanced over his shoulder and Ned followed his gaze. Dear God. Sophia. On the forecastle, legs splayed in a cocky stance, her chin tipped in an obdurate angle she must have learned from her brother, her spiky hair almost riffling in the wind. She held a cocked flintlock in her hands. It was pointed at the pirate captain.

  She was magnificent. She was beautiful. The sight of her terrified him.

  He wriggled madly and the pirates let him down. On the deck, thankfully. No doubt they could murder him later.

  “What the fuck is that?” Ridgeley muttered.

  “A boy,” one of the others said with a derisive snort.

  The captain silenced them with a wave. “You, boy. Who are you to dare command my men to stop? They were right in the middle of killing someone. It’s very rude to interrupt, you know.”

  Sophia’s expression rumpled. “You cannot kill him,” she said.

  “Can I not?”

  “You should not.”

  “Should I not?” He surveyed her far too closely. “Why?”

  “He’s more valuable to you alive.”

  The captain’s gaze swung back to Ned. “Is he?”

  “His brother is a duke.”

  The ripple of guffaws was not heartening.

  The captain plucked at his lace once more. “Young man. I am a pirate. What makes you think I give a whit about a lordling…or a duke?”

  “The duke is very wealthy. He will pay to have his brother returned safely.”

  “Will he?” The captain did not seem impressed. “How much?”

  “A lot.”

  A deep sigh. “How much?”

  “Whatever you ask, I’d wager.”

  “I can ask a lot.”

  “No doubt.”

  “Aside from that, there is all the trouble of sending a ransom note and arranging an exchange and transporting bodies back and forth.” He waved his hand. “It’s much easier to toss him over.”

  With a great jubilant cry, the pirates hefted Ned over the rail again. He tried very hard not to squawk.

  “If you do, you will die.”

  Her words filtered down and settled like pernicious dust. The captain’s features hardened. He eyed the gun she held as he took a step toward the forecastle. “Is that a threat?”

  “A promise.”

  Who knew she could sound so like Ewan? She was defending him and her tone still made something nasty crawl through his gut.

  The captain chuckled. “Will you shoot me then?”

  Sophia laughed and lowered the gun. “You needn’t fear me—”

  “Trust me. I don’t.”

  “It is Moncrieff’s wrath you must fear.”

  The pirate stilled mid-fluff. “Did you say Moncrieff?” He spun and pierced Ned with a sharp stare. “Fuck me. You do have his look about you.”

  “Do you—do you know my brother?” Odd, that, having a conversation with a man, as calm as you please, while dangling over the rail of a ship.

  “Do I know him?” The pirate’s laugh was chilling. Yes, it was probably too much to hope the man liked his brother or owed him a debt or something convenient like that. “Bring him down,” he called. “The brother of Edward Wyeth. In my very clutches. Oh, mercy. This has been a wonderful day. Toss him in the brig for safekeeping.”

  “And the boy?”

  To Ned’s horror, he saw two pirates had taken her weapon and were herding her down the steps.

  The pirate captain shrugged. “In my quarters. I am in need of a cabin boy. But tie him up. And for God’s sake, lock up the pistols.

  Chapter Eight

  Relief scudded through Sophia as the pirates wrangled Ned and escorted him onto the deck of the other ship. He struggled wildly. When he glanced back at her, she sent him what she hoped was a smile of reassurance.

  Although, truly, there was no call for either relief or reassurance. Their safety was hardly assured. Who knew what these vile-smelling men had in mind? But she didn’t struggle as two of the pirates hefted her over the rail onto the other boat. For one thing, she didn’t want them to lose their grip and drop her in the cold waters of the ocean. And for another, she was heading in the same direction as Ned.

  The men took her to the captain’s quarters and made a great show of tying her hand and foot to a large chair. As they left, the burlier one frowned at her and grunted, “Stay here.” As though she had a choice.

  She struggled against her bonds but only because, after a long, long while, she became bored. She could hear movements on the deck, the calls of one man to another and cargo being transferred from one ship to the other.

  Mercy, it took a long time to pillage.

  When the captain finally returned to his quarters, he was sweaty. He mopped at his brow with a handkerchief.

  This struck Sophia as odd—that a pirate had a handkerchief—but she’d never met one so maybe they did. Still, she glared at him.

  “Untie me,” she demanded.

  He gaped at her and then laughed but he went down on his knees and started working her knots. “By the saints, you are a plucky one. I only had you tied because you pointed a flintlock at me, you know.” He looked up at her and grinned.

  He was rather handsome which was, if one was being honest, a disappointment. From everything Sophia had read, his beautiful face should have had at least one scar. There should be hideous teeth, a missing limb…a parrot. Instead he had laughing eyes, a wicked grin and a cascade of dimples on his left cheek. A shock of amber curls tumbled on his brow.

  Disappointing indeed.

  “I only pointed a flintlock at you because you were going to kill Ned.”

  He released her hands and she rubbed her wrists. “Ah. Ned. Is that his name then? The lordling?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what is he to you that you would risk your life for him?”

  Sophia stilled, unsure how to respond. The captain gazed at her, waiting. His eyes were blue, she noticed, and flecked with green, like the sea.

  “Well?”

  “We’re related through marriage…distantly.”

  “Really?” He leaned back and began working on her ankles. That he cursed the bastards who’d tied the knots amused her. “And how is it you are not dressed as he?”

  “As he?”

  “A lord.” He waved at her grungy, well-worn costume. “You look like a cabin boy.”

  “I ran away.” She put out a lip and tried to appear recalcitrant. If she gained this man’s trust, she could better protect Ned. “He was intending to return me home.” That, at least, was true.

  “I see.” He stood and dusted off his knees, then ambled to a decanter on the desk. He poured two drams and handed her one. She sipped it gingerly. The heat of it scorched her, fed her flagging bravado. “And why did you run away?”

  She shrugged a shoulder. “Adventure.”

  “Well, you’re having adventure now.”

  It was probably not wise to smile. Smiling would only encourage him, she was certain. But she couldn’t help it. It was an adventure. And Ned wasn’t dead. And—

  “What are you going to do with the others?”

  “A tender soul, are you?”

  “I like them very much.”

  The captain sighed and scrubbed his face. “There’s little profit in murder. We rarely indulge in it.”

  “You dangled Ned over the rail,” she reminded him.

  “We always dangle someone over the rail. It makes the other captives more cooperative.”

  “I see.” She sipped again and studied him. “Was anyone else hurt?”

  “Only a few of my men. All negligible.”

  “And our crew?”

  “A sailor took a ball in the leg. He’s with our doctor now. And another has a nasty cut but I daresay he won’t lose an arm.”

  “How gruesome. Does that happen often in your business? Losing an arm?”

 
He chuckled. “You sound far too eager about a potential maiming. Rather bloodthirsty of you, you know.”

  She swung her legs. “This is an adventure, after all.” She took another sip. “Did anyone else get hurt?”

  “Some woman.”

  “Lady Prudence?”

  “Is that her name?”

  “I believe so. Did someone skewer her?”

  He threw back his head and laughed. “I don’t like the light in your eyes. And no. She fainted and hit her head.”

  “A pity.”

  “A mercy, actually. She’d been screeching.”

  “She does screech.”

  He dropped in his chair and studied her as he sipped. “I daresay you would make an excellent pirate. Once you’re grown, naturally. Have you any interest in joining my crew?”

  Ah. La! Had life been different… “The thought of sailing the seas and plundering treasures does appeal.”

  “There is not often treasure but adventure does abound.”

  “Thank you for the offer. I will think on it.”

  “Do.”

  They both sipped as silence surrounded them. Then Sophia asked, “What will you do with us?”

  He tapped his glass with a long finger. “I will ransom the others, I suppose. Dreary business. Moncrieff’s brother, however, I have in mind an exchange.”

  “An exchange for what?”

  Ooh. She did not like the way his eyes glinted. “Why, an exchange for Moncrieff, of course.”

  * * * * *

  Ned was miserable. The brig, as the pirates called it, was little more than a tiny, airless room with a moldy mattress on the floor and a bucket should he need to avail himself. Other than the dim light from a small window by the ceiling, it was dark. His shoulder ached from when the pirates had pushed him in, hard, and he’d hit the wall.

  But that hardly signified. His true misery was in the thoughts circling his head, his worry for Sophia. She was in the hands of filthy pirates. In the chambers of their captain. It was a matter of time before someone discovered she wasn’t a boy at all.

  Dread churned in his bowels.

  Dear, sweet Sophia, ravaged by that filth.

  His pulse spiked painfully in his temples when he thought of it.