She stood in the empty room, cold, alone, scared, and listened to the sounds of bloodshed being committed above, to the sounds of the dying and a faint triumphant calling, which she hoped was Wraith as he cut through the lines to regain control of his ship.
Wraith wielded his sword at the men who poured onto his ship like ants on a forgotten sweet mincemeat pie.
But his ship was no piece of pie, and was not forgotten either. His men and he would fight to the death to keep the ship. For this was his life, and the cargo it held more precious to him than anything else—the lass and his ticket to freedom.
The men they fought were not other pirates. Although the men were not dressed in uniform or in particularly lavish attire, their weapons looked like they belonged to a military faction, although he had the distinct impression they’d not been trained to use them. He felled one man after another until he came upon a gentleman who was dressed in noble attire. Sweat covered the man’s brow as he fought for his life against Churl.
He was pleased to see that most of his own men had gotten the upper hand and had either sent the attackers to their maker or tied them up as prisoners.
Noir stood beyond the circle Churl and the gentleman were making with their parried dance, arms
crossed over his chest, fist swinging out every once in a while to knock a man who attacked him unconscious with the butt of his sword.
Watching Churl fight was a pleasure. The man had a unique style of bringing his prey in, letting them think they had the upper hand and then springing an unseen hit on them.
He laughed aloud when Churl kicked the man in his ballocks, causing him to fall to his knees. The gentleman cursed and turned his eyes on Wraith.
“Ye the captain?” he asked, his accent distinctly Irish, at the same time as Churl prepared to butt him on the back of the head.
Wraith held up his hand and to Churl said, “Hold, man, let me speak to him.”
Churl nodded and snickered, giving the man a kick in the ribs instead. The gentleman doubled over, holding his belly.
“I am the captain of this ship. What the bloody hell do ye think ye’re doing attacking us? Are ye mad, man?”
The man looked up, blood sweating into his eye from a cut on his brow. “Ye have something of mine, I believe.” His lip curled into a mean smile showing dark rotted teeth and a few spaces where teeth should have been. For all his noble clothes and weaponry he looked as though he drank a cask of wine an hour and never once cleaned his teeth with a bit of root or the like. There was something oddly familiar about the man, too. “And I want it back.”
Wraith laughed cruelly, sheathed his sword and walked forward, stalking the man. “Ye think to become a pirate yourself then, mate?”
“I am a peer and ye shall address me so,” the man sneered.
Wraith shot forward, jolting the man. He grabbed him by his collar and lifted him up to face Wraith eye to eye. “A peer? On the open seas there are no peers, and here I am king.”
The man actually shuddered but quickly pulled himself to rights. “I shall require my betrothed.
She is mine. Sold to me by her parents.”
“Betrothed ye say? I dinna think so.”
“I’ve already had it confirmed by one of your men, Captain Noir. Lady Faryn is mine!” Spittle flew from the man’s mouth.
Wraith ignored the spittle. Ignored the red-faced man he held in the air. All he could think of was the beauty below stairs. How much she meant to him, and that he couldn’t possibly lose her.
Especially not to this man. Not to this monster, with his blackened teeth and foul breath. His sweating, stinking body. His evilness that radiated off him in waves. She’d never make it.
Finally, Wraith smiled. It was a deadly smile. Cold, unforgiving. “Funny thing is, mate,” he said, dropping the man back on the deck, “I bought her myself. And I dinna take kindly to others stealing what is mine.”
The man on the deck let out a desperate growl and lunged at Wraith, a dirk that had before been concealed glinting in the sunlight. He jabbed at Wraith with manic intent. The man was mad. No matter how Wraith blocked the blows, here the wretch came back, cutting wherever he could and shouting vile curses. Even when Wraith was able to wrestle him to the ground, the bastard wouldn’t give up. He pulled a pistol from his belt and held it to Noir’s belly, every intention to pull the trigger.
Enough was enough. With one click of his skull and crossbones ring, Wraith put an end to the assault and sliced the man’s neck from ear to ear.
The maggot fell to the deck again, clutching at his severed neck, blood spilling from between his fingers.
“Shouldna have lunged at me, mate. ’Tis a shame, since I fully intended to keep ye alive and
negotiate.” Wraith wiped the thin blade on the man’s coat and then clicked the button to retract it back into his ring, watching the dying man look at his ring. “Thing comes in handy in a pinch. Didna even catch your name to ask the lass if ye were her man. Could be I dinna have Lady Faryn onboard and my man was mistaken. Could be ye died for nothing.”
Wraith left the man to die with the thought of his vile mistakes the last on his dying mind.
“We take no prisoners! Toss ’em to the sharks. Those who make it back to their ship are saved, those who dinna become feed for the fishes.”
His men shouted and cheered, happy to toss their prisoners overboard. He could hear the splashing with subtle differences. The splashing of those who could swim making a mad dash for their ship, and those who could not swim as they thrashed for their lives.
Life had made him a bitter man.
Now to find out whom exactly his new bounty piece was. Pleasure had to now be at an end.
C H A P T E R N I N E
H e opened the door and let it bang sharply against the wall. Faryn jerked from her place at the porthole where she peered out onto the expansive sea.
“Men died today, lass. ’Tis your doing.” He scowled at her.
She scowled back, arms spread wide. “My doing?” Her voice was high-pitched, exasperated.
“How in the world can ye see fit to blame your pirating ways on me?”
“’Tis quite easy actually. They came looking for ye.”
“For me?” Her face lost all color and she sank to the floor in a puddle of white linen.
“Aye. Never got the maggot’s name, but he had blackened teeth and claimed ye for his bride.”
“Nay,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Nay, it canna be!”
“Are ye calling me a liar?”
She looked up sharply, tears glistening in her eyes, making his heart lurch. He longed to reach out and hold her, tell her everything would be all right, but he couldn’t. He needed answers.
“Tell me everything,” he demanded.
“I dinna know where to start.” Her voice was so small and vulnerable. Her hands clutched at the linen in a grip so tight her knuckles were white.
“Start with his name, who he was to ye.”
“His name is Lord Bréagadóir.”
The name meant nothing to him. “He says ye were sold to him. What does he mean by that?”
Her face flushed red and she looked down at the wooden planks of the floor. “My parents gave him a large dowry to take me off their hands as no other man would have me.” She looked up, her wide eyes glassy with unshed tears. But he was struck more with the defiance he saw. She was a fighter and would not cower easily. “But ye see, when ye took me from the shore that night, he had not yet received the coin. Bréagadóir is in deep with his creditors. My father promised him a lot of gold if he would only look the other way when there was no blood on the sheets on our wedding night. If he didna get the coin, he would have been dead as the creditors would have killed him or sent him to debtor’s prison.” Her gaze flicked around the room, settling on anything but him. “Bréagadóir would have killed me, I am sure. He all but promised once he got what he wanted, he’d be done with me.”