Nobody's Saint (5 page)

“Sweet Jesus!” the captain muttered. “If we win, I may make them take you as just punishment for the attack. Out of our way and go below. What care I what befalls you?”

He pushed past her, inspecting their arms and shouting words of encouragement and advice. Mary Kate leaned against the main mast, wrapping her arms around it as if it might offer her some comfort or protection. She thought of her father, already devastated by the death of her mother. How much more whiskey could a man drink to stave off his despair? And what of Bridget? Everyone had always said that Bridget made Mary Kate seem sedate in comparison. Her sister had already been these four years without Mary Kate to look after her. Why, neither Bridget nor Father was fit to take care of the other. They
needed
her.

Rape; rape alone she could endure. Other women had done so and then gone on living. But what if they killed her? What if she could never go home to see to her family? What if she never saw the rich green fields of Ireland ever again? And she was unshriven, as well! It had been four years since her last confession. Her ledger was stowed in the lining of one of her trunks, and she was determined to have a chance to use it. Mary Kate lifted her chin. She’d not go down without a fight, and if she absolutely had to, well, she’d tell them about her grandfather and the sot in Jamaica.

Once the crew was prepared for battle, there was naught to do but wait. They were ordinarily a noisy lot, and their silence unnerved her more than watching the pirate ship sail ever closer.

“For the love of God, Miss O’Reilly,” the captain pleaded one last time, “will you not go to your cabin and lock yourself in? You’ll only get shot up here.”

“And what will they do with your fine ship?” she asked.

“We’ll win,” he said.

“And if you don’t?”

“Likely as not, they’ll sink or burn it.”

“Well, then, I’ll take my chances up here.”

The sun was sinking toward the horizon by the time the pirate ship came close enough to fire upon. A series of resounding blasts cracked the air and the deck shook under Mary Kate when the cannon were fired. They all watched with a sick feeling as the balls fell just short of the mark, kicking up sprays of water and leaving the hull of the enemy’s ship unscathed.

“Damn!” the captain shouted. “Reload, then fire again.”

But it was too late. The other ship—
Rebellion
, golden lettering proclaimed upon the side—returned fire, and a second, more jolting shudder shook the planks under Mary Kate’s feet, even as more thundering explosions rang in her ears. The rail flew apart in huge splinters that embedded themselves deep in the vulnerable flesh of screaming men, the ball that had shattered the wood sweeping away the arm of a man in its path. Within minutes, the ship began listing to one side. A heartbeat later, grappling hooks sailed across from one ship to the other, and the deck of
Fortune
was invaded.

Men swung between the ships from ropes, and the report of flintlocks cracked the air, bringing some of the cutthroats down upon the deck in lifeless, bloody heaps. Mary Kate dodged behind a barrel and her eyes sought a weapon among the corpses. It seemed to her that if she could only take up a sword or a cutlass, she might be of some use.

More freebooters came, and as guns were emptied of their single shots, battle cries sounded and the crewmen rushed at the enemy. Now it was the pirates who still had loaded guns. More sailors fell to the deck, this time
Fortune’s
men. At last, guns were tossed aside, and fists, cutlasses, and swords became the weapons of choice. Since merchant sailors and pirates wore similar clothing, it was soon nearly impossible for Mary Kate to tell friend from foe. Men whirled around her in some kind of bizarre dance, fighting, screaming, falling. Still crouched behind the barrel, she thought better of her plan to arm herself, for she lacked these men’s skill. Instead, she took to terrified prayer and choked on air that smelled of sweat and blood and gunpowder.

Then one spotted her. He wasn’t one of
Fortune’s
crew. She had never before seen this bearded face with its dark, beady eyes and nearly toothless leer. She took a step back from her hiding place, only to stumble over a body sprawled behind her. A quick glance down revealed a cutlass in its lifeless hand, and she stooped low to sweep it up, stopping short when a hand grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her back up straight. The stench of a filthy body and putrid breath enveloped her, and she found that she was looking directly into the gap-toothed and hairy face of the pirate.

“Take ‘er to me cabin an’ lock ‘er in,” he said, shoving her into the arms of another foul blackguard. “We’ll decide what’s to be done with ‘er when we’ve cleaned out their stores.”

“There’s a chest below with my dowry,” she said without hesitation. “And there’ll be more in ransom if you return me in—in good condition.”

The gap-toothed mouth grinned. “We’ll see, lass, we’ll see.”

Magdalena
had entered into the Gulf Stream days ago, and the change in both the weather and the nature of the ocean was always a welcome one. The water had gone from an impenetrable green to a crystalline blue, reflecting the warm sun and clear sky above it. A brisk but pleasant wind kept the sails round and taut, and Diego was enjoying the feel of it through his hair at his place at the helm. He could only hope it was the sun’s warmth that made him suddenly dizzy, or its brightness that forced him to close his eyes for a moment, but he knew better.

“
Diego
.”

He tried to open his eyes again but could not do it.

“Diego!”

She was back in her modest robes, still beautiful, but no trace of seduction. As always, her Spanish had that foreign, lilting quality.

“Yes, my lady?”

“Send half your men below deck. Have guns at the ready.”

“Maybe we should run. The men will not like this, even if we win.”

“IF you win? When have I led you astray? Do you question me, Diego?”

“No, Magdalena.”

“Then order your men below. You will need the element of surprise.”

Diego rubbed his eyes and opened them, giving his men a weary look. “I need half of you below deck. Prime the cannon and your firearms.”

“But Captain,” one protested, “there is not another ship to be seen.”

“A ship, Captain!” his man in the crow’s nest called. “Just there, on the horizon!”

The first crewman looked at Diego in horror. “How…?”

Enrique, the first mate, stepped in. “Perhaps it would be better to let this one pass,” he suggested.

Diego turned to him, feeling torn. He, too, would prefer to let it pass, but he was too close to his dreams to turn his back upon the woman who made them all possible. In a voice that brooked no argument, he said, “We fight.”

“But we do not know yet what kind of ship she is. She may have us outgunned.”

“It will be an even match. Let her think she has us outmanned. Hold the crew below until we are boarded and I give you the signal.”

As always, Enrique obeyed without further question, but Diego’s heart sank to see his second in command glance at him and then cross himself as he ordered the rest below.

*

“She’s Spanish, Cap’n!” The crewman who delivered the report to the pirate captain stood just inside the cabin doorway. “And from what we can see, she’s short some crew. Easy pickins.”

The captain showed what few teeth he had through a nasty grin. “She’d better ‘ave somethin’ good in her ‘old. The booty from the last ship weren’t bad, but it’ll take a damn sight more to make up for ‘avin’ to put up with ‘er.” He nodded his head toward Mary Kate, who sat bound in a miserable heap at the foot of the captain’s filthy, rumpled bed.

Damned if she would let him see how desperately she hoped there would be enough men on the Spanish vessel to save her.

“Well, aren’t you fine ones?” she snapped. “You haven’t the guts to take on anyone your own size! God forbid you give chase to a ship with a full crew.”

“We made short enough work of yours.”

Mary Kate gave a contemptuous sniff. “They were English.”

“
We’re
English,” the captain rejoined.

“Humph! Maybe you and half a Spanish crew are an even match after all.”

The pirate glowered at her from under one enormously long eyebrow. “Shut up, wench. Fer yer sake, ye’d better ‘ope yer man can pay yer ransom. If ‘e can’t, I’ll rip that she-devil’s tongue right out of your mouth.”

For all her bravado, she couldn’t shake the fear that she was to be witness to another massacre. She had despised
Fortune’s
captain and crew, but they hadn’t deserved their fate. She hadn’t watched, but she knew they had gone down with the ship. Sir Calder could never have foreseen this, but somehow, she hated him all the more for it. He had shipped her off across the ocean to be kidnapped by pirates and watch helplessly while innocent men died.

“When the day comes that they hang you in irons,” she snapped, “I swear, I’ll sail all the way from Ireland to see it!”

“If the poor swab ‘oo’s marryin’ ye ‘asn’t killed ye first,” the captain rejoined, then slammed out of the cabin.

Left alone, Mary Kate went back to the task she had been working on while the captain was sleeping. She had convinced him the bindings on her wrists were too tight and that, if they infected, the damage would impact her value. It wasn’t a lie. Her wrists were truly a mass of lacerated skin. But the pain didn’t stop her from slowly loosening the binding, pulling and stretching the strips of cloth, letting her own blood wet them and make them more pliant. When she had started, she had no further plan than to get loose. Now, she had far greater motivation. If she could surprise someone, be of real help to the Spaniards, she might help them to victory, and they would owe her something. Passage to Ireland would be ample compensation.

*

Magdalena’s
crew stood in groups, whispering nervously. The white flag had been hoisted, and now they waited for the pirate crew to board. They’d win the day; they had no doubt of that, but none were eager to taste victory if it was delivered by the hands of Satan. How had the captain known about the ship before the lookout had spotted it, and how had he known that they were, in fact, an even match, in terms of size and weapons?

Although he knew what preoccupied his crew, Diego had to concentrate very hard to keep from smiling. He could not help the sense of elevation, the thrill that came with the anticipation of another sure victory. But he was under the pirate captain’s close scrutiny, and he could not afford to let his confidence show. He had enough men to win a hand-to-hand fight, and the element of surprise would make it all the easier.

When the grappling hooks hit the rail, he heard a quick flurry of activity below, but it was abruptly quashed. He had made it very clear that they were to remain absolutely silent until they heard the order to ascend. Although it was tempting to cry out the moment the first of the pirates swung from their ship to his, he waited. None of his crew raised a weapon, but as could be expected, the pirates drew cutlasses and flintlocks. They swaggered on board, pleased to have the Spaniards surrender without a fight, and they brandished their weapons carelessly, obviously not prepared to actually have to use them.

“Now!” Diego shouted, and the hatch flew open, spewing sailors onto the upper deck. Flintlocks thundered and clashing blades rang out. Diego systematically worked his way past enemy seamen and over bodies of friends and foes to take on the captain of the pirate vessel. That man, seeing the dogged determination in Diego’s eyes, fled to the rail, grabbed a rope, and swung back to his own ship. Undeterred, Diego followed.

They were, by no means, the only two to have carried the battle from the decks of
Magdalena
back to the other ship. The scene here was very similar, with Diego’s men beating back the pirates, even as the pirates tried to retreat. His quarry, the filthy, bearded leader of the criminals who had attacked them, stepped ever backward, never taking his eyes from Diego’s. It was with satisfaction and pride that Diego read the hint of fear in the other man’s eyes.

And then, for a critical, split second, Diego was distracted by a shocking jolt of recognition. In the midst of the battle around him, a vision of beauty and vengeance stole his attention. She wore the clothing of any woman of the day, but the long, dark hair, the sapphire blue eyes, the bold mouth set in a delicate face were unmistakable.

Magdalena stooped down and seized a fallen sailor’s cutlass, brandishing it with the gleam of retribution in her eyes. Above the hands that clutched the sword, her wrists were ravaged and bloodied, like a tortured martyr, but she seemed oblivious to the pain they must have surely caused her.

That split second of distraction should have cost Diego his life. The pirate captain saw his moment and seized it, lunging toward the Spaniard, blade held high. As if time had slowed down, Diego watched Magdalena leap forward and sweep her own blade with all her might against the pirate’s neck. The force was not enough to sever it, but she hit the crucial artery, and blood pulsed forth in a wide arch, splattering the deck.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” Magdalena berated him. “You can’t stand there like a bloomin’ idiot in a fight. The bastard would’ve run you right through your bloody heart!”

His mind was in such a dizzying spin, he could barely spare a thought for the next attacker, whom he ran through with his blade almost without seeing him.
English?
Why was she speaking English?

“Look about you!” she cried.

Diego spun and took on the man behind him. He could not think of her now. He wanted to look over his shoulder, make sure she was safe, but she was right, he needed to be aware of the men around him. Besides, she was a saint. What harm could befall her?