Love's Guardian (36 page)
“Is it sure you are this is the only way?” Morgan gazed at the mooring cable closest to them and craned his neck to find the spot where it disappeared into
The Merry Elizabeth
. He cast Declan a worried look. “I’d not be wanting to fish your broken body out of the water.”
“There’s no other option.” Declan gave his friend a smile he hoped appeared more assuring than he felt. Damn, he hated heights. “You just make sure the men are ready to cross the gangplank when I’ve taken care of the watch.”
“What if they’re ready for you?”
“If Catrina’s information is correct, they won’t be.”
“Don’t go picking a fight without me. I’m not happy to be depending on the word of that banshee.”
“Neither am I, but we don’t have a choice. Judging by the loose rigging and tilting yards, I’d say someone other than Paddy is in control of the ship.” He studied the brooding wooden vessel overhead. “Alex is here. I can feel it.”
The early morning mist concealed them as they huddled behind crates and barrels on the dew-slicked dock. The predawn stillness, broken only by the rhythmic sound of water slapping against the hull, contrasted with his rapid heartbeat.
He waved to his cousin a short distance away. Bradford, flanked by two others, turned and walked into the swirling white fog. He gave them a couple of minutes to position themselves at the head of the dock. Addington might try to slip by them, but he’d find no escape by land.
“It’s time.” With a last glance at Morgan, he crept to the edge of the wharf, attempting to stay in the shadows. He scanned the ship for any sign of movement, but aside from the men at the entry port, all was quiet.
The mooring cable felt rough as he yanked it to verify how securely it had been lashed to the pier. He worked quickly, taking shallow breaths, as the stench of fish, garbage, and God knew what else drifted up to him.
His rapier banged against his thigh as he drew himself, hand over hand, up the heavy rope. Raw patches developed on his palms as the hemp fibers dug into his flesh. He wished for the calluses he’d developed eight years ago and cursed silently as the wounds came into contact with the salt-encrusted cable.
At any moment one of the watch might look toward the stern of the ship. Caution warred with the need for speed. If he fell now, he’d either drop the thirty feet to the water or break his fall on one of the fenders holding the ship from the dock. He didn’t relish either option.
His hands cramped. He needed to finish this. Now. With a final burst of energy, he crossed the last five feet and hauled himself over the rail. He lay there for a moment, attempting to get his bearings in the dim light. A small boat nestled against the railing to his left with the bulk of the quarterdeck in front of him.
With soundless movements, he gave the dingy a wide berth. Livestock were often kept in crates aboard the small boats. It wouldn’t do to alarm the animals.
Clad in a black shirt, breeches, and heel-less leather boots, he blended into the shadows. Working his way around the horse block, he came to the wheel. The companionway blocked his path and beyond that, the ladders were partially obscured in the early morning mist. Masts and ropes stuck out of the swirling white like trees long dead in a swamp.
He fought the impulse to rush down one of the ladders. Alex was most likely being held in the captain’s cabin below him. The need to see her, alive and well, overcame him.
His brave Alex might push Addington too far. The man wasn’t sane. He might decide to kill her without confirmation of his success with the petition.
What would he do if Addington harmed her? He swallowed. Even the possibility she might be dead tore at him, like a crow with its prey.
So this was the kind of emotional torture his father had endured. For the first time, he understood what his father had gone through. He could almost forgive the man. Almost.
In the last few minutes, the mist had become less substantial. Urgency propelled him forward. Keeping low, he scooted around coils of rope, eyebolts, and barrels, then positioned himself next to the mainmast fife rail and peered down to the main deck. Three men stood at the entry port. A hulking giant, a short, stocky man with a cap pulled low over his forehead and, a small, wiry individual with a whiny voice that carried up to Declan.
“I just left ‘im. I tell ya, she’s in fore it. Ain’t never seen old cold-eyes riled.” The glee in the man’s voice made him want to climb down and shake the bastard, the way a dog would a rat.
The man with the cap shrugged. “Right sorry to hear that. She’s a purty little thing, but I finds it best not to mix in the doin’s of the nobility. Ye might want to remember that.”
“Yer just afeared of him. Me an’ Lord Addington hav’ an understandin’.” The wiry man puffed out his chest and jerked his head at the quiet giant. “Com’ on, Pete. We don’ need no lecture by the likes o’ him.”
They took the ladder near the hold, leaving the man with the hat on deck. The rest of the crew must still be asleep below. He’d better get this over with. The sun already edged the horizon.
Creeping along the railing, he approached the ladder. He could drop the short distance to the main deck, but the noise would alert his prey.
The unwary sailor searched his pockets and brought out what appeared to be a piece of driftwood and a small knife. He turned, resting his elbows on the rail near the gangplank. Declan descended the ladder, watching for any sign the man might be aware of him.
Once he reached the main deck, he hurried to close the distance between them. The man barely had time to turn before Declan landed a blow to his jaw.
The force of the impact flung the sailor against the rail, his wood and knife skidding across the worn deck. He stirred once, then slumped with his chin on his chest.
Declan dragged the unconscious man behind a crate and returned to the gangplank. He pulled a white square of cloth from his pocket and waved it high overhead.
Without waiting to see if Morgan approached, he turned, tossed the cloth on the deck, and headed for the ladder. As he peered down into the opening, a ragged looking sailor loomed out of the darkness below. He ducked out of sight. Too late. The early morning light must have been enough to show the man he wasn’t part of the crew.
A bellow reverberated through the ship. Declan fell back to join Morgan and his men at the entrance. Sailors in various forms of undress scampered up the ladders on each side of the hold. Most clutched swords, though he saw a scimitar or two among them. With grim relief, he realized none of the men looked familiar.
Morgan covered his back as Declan fought to gain one of the ladders near the hold. If he could break through, he doubted there would be many men below to hinder him.
As though guessing his intent, Luther’s men swarmed in front of him. He barely had time to run one man through before another took his place. His arm was beginning to ache, and he wiped the sweat from his eyes.
Between adversaries, he stole glimpses of his surroundings, hoping Alex might find a way from below deck. Shafts of light cut through the clouds illuminating pools of blood staining the white wood beneath their feet. Moans from the injured, shouts, and the clanging of metal against metal filled the air.
One man, no more than a boy, lay nearby with a knife protruding from his shoulder, the blade pinning him to the mast at his back. The lad’s glazed eyes stared up at him out of a cherub face.
He turned away. Addington would pay, first for Alex, then for the poor he preyed on to do his bidding. Where was the coward?
A glint of metal high above the confusion caught his attention. Addington hurried across the quarterdeck, dragging Alex, a knife at her throat.
She was alive.
He wanted to sink to his knees in relief, but his burly adversary made it impossible. With a desperate parry, he disarmed the man and sank his blade into a meaty forearm. The man squealed with pain and charged like an enraged bull. Declan sidestepped and shoved the man into a barrel. His opponent’s head shattered the wood. He twitched once, then lay still.
Before another of Luther’s men could take his place, he turned to Morgan and gestured upward. His friend’s eyes widened as he caught sight of Addington and Alex on the deck above.
Addington would undoubtedly try to take one of the small boats. He caught Morgan’s attention, and they moved away from the thick of the battle as he hurriedly explained his makeshift plan to his friend.
The two fought in the direction of one of the ladders leading to the quarterdeck. Once they’d reached their destination, Morgan nodded to him, turned toward the starboard railing and melted into the mass of men and swords. He headed for the ladder and took the steps two at a time, thankful the main part of the battle still raged near the bow. At the top, he peered over the edge.
Addington attempted to launch a boat with one hand, while trying to maintain his hold on Alex. She wasn’t making it easy for him, in spite of the knife at her throat. Even with her hands tied, she twisted like a sail caught in a crosswind. He swallowed. There wasn’t another woman who could compare to her, but her courageous attempts at escape seemed merely a distraction for Addington. His foppish appearance disguised a strength he had underestimated.
After a quick glance to make sure no one else accompanied Addington, he grabbed the railing and hauled himself onto the deck, then proceeded toward the struggling couple with care. As he drew near, he could see a thin line of dried blood cutting a path down Alex’s neck. Her swollen right cheek already showed purple and red against her pale skin. The ties for her shirt dangled, exposing a red welt between the tops of her breasts. He fought to control his rage.
“Addington.” He roared the name. His shout hung in the air, easily heard over the waning battle.
For a moment his adversary held still, surprise and uncertainty in his eyes, then he yanked Alex in front of him and pressed the knife deeper into the skin below her chin. “Stay away.”
He stopped.
Addington smirked and put his other arm around Alex, resting his hand several inches below her shoulder. “I’d be very careful if I were you.” He gazed at Declan, then moved his hand downward, encompassing her breast. “It would give me great pleasure to kill her.” He saw Addington’s fingers tighten around the mound of flesh.
Alex’s expression didn’t change, but her chest moved rapidly under Addington’s hand. He fought the urge to lunge at him. If he did, he knew she’d be dead before he could cover the ten-foot gap. He needed to stall for time.
“You’re making a mistake.” Declan lowered his rapier, and assumed a non-threatening stance. “If you kill her, King George may wonder about the circumstances of her death. He might even refuse to grant your petition.”
Addington gave a slight shrug. “I would tell the king we were attacked. My poor future wife was a casualty of battle.”
Sweat broke out on Declan’s palms. Alex held perfectly still, her gaze locked on him. He could see the trust in her eyes. She thought he would save her. He looked away, dreading what he had to do. “There’s no need to kill her. The king would grant your petition if
I
backed you, as her guardian, of course.”
“Why would you do that?” Addington’s eyes narrowed, and the knife against Alex’s throat relaxed a little.
“I have no need of her title or estates.” He prayed he sounded reasonable. “If I marry her, I acquire the wife I need to provide my heir, and I satisfy an old debt to her grandfather.” He kept his gaze focused on Addington, afraid to see the look in Alex’s eyes. He forced a smile. “Besides, it goes against the nature of things for a woman to hold a title. Don’t you agree?”
In his peripheral vision, he saw a flash of dark blue near some crates to his left. Thank God, Morgan had made it.
Addington appeared thoughtful. He brought Alex closer and spoke in a loud whisper. “I’d always intended to make you pay for the way you’ve treated me.”
Declan gave a slight shrug and schooled his features to feign indifference. “If you do, other members of the Ton may not be willing to give you their daughters. With your title and wealth, you could look higher than an earl’s granddaughter.” The comment hit its mark.
