Seducing The Bride (Brides of Mayfair 1) (24 page)

Lifting her skirt, she tucked the makeshift weapon into the laces that wrapped around the top of her boot. She arranged it as best she could, and hoped she wouldn’t inadvertently stab herself in the foot.

She picked up the rest of the broken plate and hid the pieces under the lumpy straw mattress of her bunk. Armed as well as she could be, Isobel set out on her mission once again.

As she neared the captain’s quarters, she noticed that the man who had previously stood guard outside was nowhere to be seen. Instead of reassuring her about any chance of seeing Captain Worthington, instinct told her this would be worse.

Isobel slowed her pace, listening for any sound beyond the door, when a big dirty hand clamped over her mouth and yanked her around the corner.

“And where d’ye think yer goin’, Missy?” a voice rasped in her ear. Isobel grimaced at the stench of the man’s breath. Strong, beefy arms held her easily and pressed her back against a solid chest.

Isobel kicked and thrashed about in the man’s iron-hard arms. The pirate only laughed and squeezed her tighter.

This couldn’t be happening.

Not now—when Beckett’s life depended on her reaching Captain Worthington.

Using all the willpower she could muster, Isobel sank her teeth into the meaty hand that covered her mouth and bit as hard as she could.

The pirate bellowed and tried to pry her mouth open with his other hand, but Isobel’s jaws held tight. She tasted blood in her mouth, but refused to let the revolting hand go.

The pirate’s hand curled around her neck, and she felt his fingers dig into her flesh.

“Let go, ye bloody bitch!” the man hissed.

“Leave off, Murray!” another voice said. “No marks on ’er skin, remember? Styles will have yer tongue cut out if ye bruise er.”

“To ’ell with Styles! Help me get ’er off,” Murray groaned.

The two men struggled to pry Isobel’s jaws apart. When they finally succeeded, both regarded her warily. Isobel could feel the warm wet blood running down her chin, and knew she must look quite a sight indeed.

“Look what she to me, Dobbin!” Murray held out his wounded hand as gore dripped from it onto the floor.

“You should have the surgeon look at it,” Isobel said, spitting out some of the blood in her mouth. “While I was on Barbados I contracted a rare disease—Caribbean parrot fever!”

It was a bold-faced lie.

There was no such disease as far as she knew.

Nonetheless, it had the desired effect.

Murray’s face turned white and he looked at Dobbin accusingly. “Why didn’t you grab ’er? Now I’ve got ‘Caribbean parrot fever’!”

“Gag ’er, and put ’er in the galley,” Dobbin ordered. “That should keep the baggage out o’ trouble for a time.”

“You gag ’er, Dobbin! I’ve had me fill o’ bein’ her dinner, thank you very much,” Murry said. “The little bitch can take a bite out o’ you.”

“Hold ’er hands then, and I’ll gag ’er.”

The men roughly turned Isobel around, and Murray pulled her arms back painfully as Dobbin approached.

Isobel glared at the man, saying, “Fever symptoms can be hideous. It won’t be long now.”

She saw a flicker of fear in the pirate’s eyes and felt a small thrill of victory.

Dobbin bent down and ripped off a piece of her skirt, then stood, twisting it into a coil. Slowly, he brought the gag to her face.

Isobel shook her head like a terrier, but he managed to get it between her teeth and tied it tightly around her head in a secure knot.

She heard another tear of her skirt and soon her hands were bound behind her back, as well. At least Dobbin hadn’t seen the porcelain knife in her boot when he’d ripped her dress.

Roughly, the men dragged Isobel down the narrow passageway and into the galley. Pots and pans hung from the low ceiling, along with various ladles and other cooking utensils, which all clanged together as the ship rocked.

A galley with no cook?

So, the mutiny had begun.

The pirates dragged her over to the table, pushed her down into a sitting position on the floor, then bound her hands to the table leg. Of course, being on a ship, the table legs were nailed to the floor. She wasn’t going anywhere.

Isobel glared up at the pirates, truly wishing that looks could kill. Strangely, the overwhelming emotion she felt was anger, not fear. But that would most likely change when the reality and hopelessness of the situation set in.

What would happen to her—to Beckett? She hoped that Sir Harry Lennox would be consigned to eternal Hell for this.

“She should stay out of harm’s way in ’ere,” Dobbin pronounced. “If a pot doesn’t fall on ’er head!”

“Per’aps we should take a pot to ’er noggin and knock ’er out now,” Murray said, nursing his wounded hand. “I don’t trust ’er.”

Isobel tried to calm her fears as she pictured Murray taking a skillet to her head.

“I don’t think so,” Dobbin answered. “Might make her go daft, see? It would lower ’er price in Kingston.”

“And she’s not daft already?” Murray asked, looking unconvinced. “Said she ’ad parrot fever after all. Her an’ me both, now.”

“Ah, quit yer cryin’,” Dobbin said. “Our job’s done ’ere. McGregor will be wantin’ us, up on deck. Come on.”

The two men took a last look at Isobel and closed the door behind them.

Isobel struggled against her bonds but it was of no use.

Frustration made her want to scream. But the sound she made came out like a muffled mewling and that made her fume in aggravation even more.

Hearing an odd squeaking noise, she twisted her head but could not see anything.

Then she saw it.

A little gray mouse scuttled straight toward her across the rough plank floor.

After fighting bloodthirsty pirates, Isobel wouldn’t have thought she could still be frightened by a mouse.

Not so.

And now she would spend her last moments being terrorized by one. How fitting.

She recoiled as the tiny rodent scurried in front of her. It began to sniff around the edge of her skirt, which was soiled with spilled food and drink from the floor of the galley.

Then, with an other-worldly growl, a cat sprang from the shadows.

Captain Black!

He truly was her knight in furry armor.

The mouse squeaked and scuttled across the floor in a blur of grey fur. Captain Black darted after the poor creature, and though it had surely been about to nibble her to death, Isobel feared for the rodent’s life.

Just as Captain Black was about to pounce, the mouse disappeared through an opening in the planked flooring. The cat meowed and batted at the mouse-hole with his paws, unwilling to give up the chase.

Reluctantly, it seemed, Captain Black abandoned his hunt and returned to her side.

Oh, I wish you could help me
, she thought, looking at the cat in desperation.

The cat meowed at her loudly, as if saying,
What are you waiting for, a cat to set you free? Get on with it.

The feline was right, Isobel thought. She had to find a way out if this. No one was going to come to her rescue, and Beckett’s life depended on her.

She wriggled around and tried to reach the makeshift weapon she’d hidden in her boot. But she couldn’t touch it.

Captain Black meowed at her again, encouraging her.

I can do this, s
he thought.
I just need to think
.

The galley table was nailed to the floor, so she couldn’t drag it or flip it over. But a thought took hold. If only she could change her position so that she could reach the weapon in her boot….

She tried to move, but her bonds were tight. However, the pirates had ripped them from her underskirt—which was made of cotton. And cotton could stretch.

Isobel winced in pain as she pulled against the bonds. Heavens but they had tied them tightly! Yet she refused to give up. She stretched and pulled against them as hard as she could.

Captain Black meowed at her again, as if to say,
Now you’ve got it!

It was tiring work, especially in such an awkward position, but Isobel kept on. Soon, she felt the cotton bonds loosening, just a little.

It was enough.

She maneuvered into a kneeling position and slowly slid her bound wrists up the leg of the table. With a little more wriggling, she was able to reach down and grab the jagged piece of porcelain stowed in the side of her boot.

“Meow!” Captain Black intoned.

Even with the gag still in her mouth, Isobel grinned.

Captain Black was right, she was almost there.
Don’t give up now!

She squirmed and stretched, turning the weapon in her fingers until it rested against the cotton strips. Slowly, so she didn’t lose her grip on the jagged porcelain blade, Isobel pushed it back and forth against her bonds, like a saw against a sapling. It seemed fruitless at first, but then she felt one of the strips weakening, then the fibers began to pull apart.

Isobel felt a thrilling surge of victory as she finally freed herself from her bonds. She reached behind her head to untie her gag, and turned to thank her valiant friend.

“Thank you for helping me, Captain Black,” she said. “I shall have to give you a very large fish for this. Captain Mayfield was right—you are watching out for me, aren’t you?”

The cat meowed as to confirm the idea.

Grabbing a skillet, Isobel scrambled to the door.

There was not a moment to waste.

Both hers and Beckett’s lives depended on it.

Chapter 23

The ship held an eerie silence as Isobel walked quietly towards the captain’s quarters. Captain Black bolted down the companionway and disappeared from sight.

Isobel had no idea where Sir Harry would be in all this, but with any luck he would be mortally wounded during the melee. She only hoped Beckett was still safe in his cell.

As Isobel approached the door to Captain Worthington’s cabin, she heard snarling voices from within. Taking a deep breath for courage, she crouched down in front of the door and peeped through the keyhole.

What she saw made her gasp.

Captain Worthington sat tied to a chair. The pirate she knew as Styles held the tip of his saber dangerously close to Worthington’s throat.

Oh, he couldn’t be killed now. Worthington’s death would make things much worse for her and Beckett.

She had to do something…anything!

Isobel knocked on the door, then wondered what exactly she was going to do when it opened.

She heard footsteps approaching and stood back.

“Who is it?” a raspy voice asked.

Isobel used the gruffest voice that she could muster. “Message for Styles,” she croaked.

She heard a grunt from behind the door. Taking a deep breath, she crouched and held her skillet ready.

The door opened and a large, ugly head popped out.

With all her strength, Isobel swung the skillet, smashing it into the pirate’s face.

Perhaps she should have used her makeshift knife, but the truth of the matter was that she hadn’t felt quite up to stabbing someone. The skillet produced the desired effect, however, as the large pirate crumpled in a heap across the door’s threshold.

Isobel peeked around the door and saw Styles pause for a split-second.

It gave Worthington the chance he needed. His boot flew up and connected with Styles’s crotch. The man let out a bellow and dropped his saber, his hands covering his injured privates. Worthington kicked the saber into a corner as Isobel dashed in. There was no one else in the room.

“Hurry up and untie me!” Worthington commanded.

Isobel dropped the skillet and ran over to cut the captain’s bonds with her little knife.

Styles quickly recovered. Like a wounded bull, the pain seemed to fuel his anger.

Isobel cut as fast as she could, but the ropes were thick and her silly piece of porcelain was not very sharp.

Styles approached slowly, his eyes blazing like a madman’s as he pulled out a long thin dagger from his boot. He fingered it idly.

“Per’aps I won’t sell ye, little whore,” he said. “I shall carve ye up and feed ye to the sharks…after I’ve done with him.”

Isobel worked frantically on the last rope, and as Styles neared, she finally cut through it.

Worthington sprang up like a panther. He easily dodged Styles’s lunge and landed a few well-placed punches in his opponent’s ribs.

Then the captain’s leg shot up and he kicked the dagger out of Styles’s hand. Worthington swung his boot around to land in the mutineer’s stomach.

But Styles was far from beaten, and in hand-to-hand combat, he did some damage to Worthington, as well. Both men stared at each other, out of breath, waiting for their opponent’s next move.

Isobel glanced down and saw Styles’s dagger by the wall. She scurried to retrieve it. As the men locked in a deadly embrace, Isobel jumped out of the way, crouching behind a leather wing back chair. The men crashed backwards onto a table, sending books and papers flying in all directions. The two rolled over it and onto the floor.