Taken by You (45 page)

“Get off the road, peasants!” he ordered haughtily. “Make way.”

Stan understood the harsh Spanish words and politely pulled his horse to the side of the road, motioning for Withers and the wagon to do the same. He wasn’t looking for trouble with the local dignitaries. Diego rode by without a second glance at the men he assumed were lowly peasants unworthy of his attention. When the wagon drew abreast, Crawford nearly fell off his horse, so great was his shock.

Withers saw Morgan’s battered body curled into a ball in the wagon bed nearly at the same time Crawford did. They exchanged startled glances. Scant moments later the four crewmen in the wagon became aware of the situation and awaited orders from Stan.

The wagon carrying Morgan rattled past. At Stan’s wordless gesture the sailors jumped from their wagon and ran to catch up with the wagon carrying Morgan. They overpowered the two Spaniards at the reins, while Stan and Withers pounded after the leader, who had galloped ahead, unaware of the ruckus behind him. The scuffle was brief and bloody. Outnumbered two to one, the Spaniards soon succumbed to the Englishmen. One Spaniard was slain outright, and the other lay dying on the grass. The men quickly untied Morgan, who showed no signs of regaining consciousness. Meanwhile Crawford and Withers approached Diego from behind.

Diego didn’t realize he was in trouble until it was too late. Having grown impatient with the slow-moving wagon, he had ridden far ahead and hadn’t heard the brief battle being waged behind him. Diego spat out a violent oath when Crawford and Withers rode up, sandwiching him between them and jerking the reins from his hands. He reached for his sword, but it was too late. Two primed pistols were aimed at his head.

“What’s the meaning of this?” he blustered as his mount was brought to a halt. “Do you know who I am? I am Diego del Fugo, governor-general of Cuba. The king will have your heads for this.”

“What in the Hell is he talking about?” Withers asked.

“Damned if I know, except that his name is Diego del Fugo, governor-general of Cuba.” Suddenly comprehension dawned. “This is the bastard who nearly beat Morgan to death in Havana. Wonder what he’s doing in Spain.”

“What do you suppose happened to Lady Scott?” Withers asked worriedly.

“Perhaps Morgan can tell us,” Stan suggested.

Stan’s attention wavered briefly, and Diego seized the opportunity to bolt. He dug his heels cruelly into his mount’s flanks, and the abused animal shot forward.

“Son of a bitch! Don’t let the bastard get away!” Stan shouted. Both men brought up their pistols, took aim, and fired. At least one of the bullets found its mark. Diego hit the ground and lay still.

“Do you think he’s dead?” Withers asked.

Stan slid from his mount and knelt beside the fallen Spaniard. “He’s still breathing. We’d better get the Hell out of here fast. I hope Morgan can tell us what happened to Luca, for tis too dangerous to dally any longer.”

Morgan was still unconscious when they returned to the wagon. “What in the Hell did they do to him?” Withers wondered.

Stan made a hasty examination and found a nasty head wound in addition to several purple bruises on various parts of Morgan’s body. “The bloody bastards. Transfer Morgan into our wagon,” he ordered. “Be careful, we don’t know the severity of his injuries yet.”

“What about del Fugo?” Withers asked.

“Leave him, and let’s get the Hell out of here.”

“What about Lady Scott?”

“We have no idea where she is and can do nothing until Morgan regains consciousness and tells us. Obviously del Fugo is in no condition to tell us anything.”

Two sturdy sailors hopped inside the wagon bed with Morgan and kept him from being jolted as the wagon bumped along the rutted dirt road to Cadiz, where the
Avenger
awaited.

Chapter 23

L
uca and her father left Lebrija in the carriage Morgan had rented in Cadiz. Don Eduardo tied his mount to the back, placed Luca’s bundle of clothing and Morgan’s sword, which had been left behind, inside, and set off at a brisk pace on the road to Cadiz. It couldn’t be too fast for Luca. Morgan’s life was at stake. She didn’t trust Diego and feared he would kill Morgan before they reached their destination.

“Calm down, daughter,” Don Eduardo urged. “I told you I would do what I could for your pirate.”

“My husband, Father. Morgan is my husband.”

“Sí,
Luca, though it is difficult to think of the Englishman as your husband.”

Luca peered anxiously into the distance. Diego had a good two-hour head start but she knew the lumbering farm wagon carrying Morgan traveled much slower than their lighter carriage. “Shouldn’t we encounter them soon, Father? Can’t you go any faster?”

“I’m being careful of your delicate condition, daughter. I don’t want to harm your child.”

Luca fidgeted impatiently. “I don’t think…” Her words slid to a halt as she spied something down the road. “Father, look! Isn’t that the wagon?
Sí,
I’m sure it is. And there’s Diego’s horse grazing nearby. Why have they stopped?” An ominous premonition slithered down her spine. “Stop the carriage, Father!”

Heedless of her condition, Luca leaped from the carriage before it came to a full stop and ran awkwardly toward the wagon. Her scream brought Don Eduardo immediately to her side.

“What is it, daughter?”

“Look!” she gasped, indicating the body lying in the bed of the wagon. Her heart constricted painfully until she saw that it wasn’t Morgan.

Don Eduardo hoisted himself into the wagon bed and bent to examine the man. “He’s dead.”

“There’s another man lying in the grass,” Luca exclaimed.

Don Eduardo eased down from the wagon bed and quickly ascertained that the second man was beyond human intervention. “He’s dead, too. I wonder what happened to Diego?”

They found him lying beside his horse a short distance away. “Is he dead?” Luca asked.

“He seems to have a minor head wound. The bullet grazed him. I suspect he will come around soon and tell us what happened. Who would have thought your pirate could overpower three men in his condition,” he mused thoughtfully.

“He couldn’t,” Luca replied. “Someone else was responsible, and I have a good idea who it was. Quickly, Father, you must take me to Cadiz without delay.”

“Very well, Luca, as soon as I get Diego into the carriage. He needs medical attention.”

Luca grasped his arm, urging him away from Diego. “No, Father, we can’t take him with us. Don’t you see? If we do, he’ll notify the authorities. We have to leave him here until someone comes along or he makes it to Cadiz under his own power. It’s Morgan’s only chance to escape Spain and certain death.”

Don Eduardo stared at his daughter in consternation. “But, daughter, Diego is my friend. I cannot leave him.”

“You said yourself his injury wasn’t serious. If we’re fortunate, we’ll reach the
Avenger
before he revives. Please, Father, do this for my child’s sake. My baby needs a father to love and nurture him to adulthood.”

Don Eduardo was torn. It was true that Diego probably suffered from nothing more serious than a mild concussion, but his honor demanded that he aid his countryman. Yet with Luca, his own flesh and blood, beseeching him so earnestly, he hadn’t the heart to deny her. He had ignored her wishes once, and look what had happened. She was now the wife of an English pirate and expecting his child. If he had allowed her to become a nun, none of this would have happened.

“Very well, Luca, I will do as you wish. But we must hurry if we are to reach Cadiz before Diego. Once he revives he will be hard on our heels. His horse is bred for speed and will catch up with us in no time at all.”

“Then we must take his horse with us,” Luca said firmly. “Morgan must be given every opportunity to escape. Quickly, tie Don Diego’s mount to the back of the carriage.”

“Luca, this does not sit well with me.”

“Even when you were stern and uncompromising I loved you,” Luca said, growing desperate. “And I know you loved me. Prove it now. Leave Don Diego. It’s not as if you’re leaving him stranded. He can drive the wagon to Cadiz, it isn’t all that far.”

“I will do as you wish, but I like it not”

Within minutes they were jouncing down the road with Diego’s horse tethered to the back of the carriage next to Eduardo’s.

It was nearly dusk when the wagon bearing Morgan wound its way through the streets of Cadiz to the waterfront. Morgan had drifted in and out of consciousness several times but hadn’t been coherent enough to reveal Luca’s fate or how he’d ended up as Diego’s prisoner.

“Be careful with him, men,” Stan warned as he quickly located the boat they had left tied up at the quay, guarded by a couple of men. “He might have internal injuries.”

Morgan was placed into the boat and settled so that he was resting against Withers. Two men manned the oars, while the others pushed off. Stan breathed a sigh of relief as the boat cut smoothly through the water toward the
Avenger.
The boat was hoisted aboard by a system of pulleys, and in a short time Morgan was lying in his bunk, waiting for the cook, who doubled as the ship’s doctor, to arrive and treat his wounds.

“Feels like he has a cracked rib,” the cook said as he examined Morgan’s bruises. “There’s a lump the size of an egg on his head, and his leg appears to have been injured in the same spot where it was broken.”

“How serious is it?” Stan asked anxiously.

“The leg’s not broken, just bruised. The captain is tough, he’ll heal right properly, I suspect if he doesn’t try to get out of bed too soon. I’ll dose him with laudanum.”

“No, no laudanum.” Morgan’s voice was weak but determined. “I need all my senses if I’m to go after Luca.”

“Where is she?” Crawford asked, leaning close to Morgan.

“Home with her father by now,” Morgan guessed. “I don’t remember much. What happened to del Fugo and his henchmen? How did you happen to be on the road, when you were supposed to wait for me aboard the
Avenger?”

“Call it a wild hunch I couldn’t shake. Thank God I followed my hunch. What in Hell is del Fugo doing in Spain?”

“That’s something I don’t understand myself,” Morgan croaked. Pain coursed through him; his entire body was an aching mass of flesh and bone. He was in so much agony that he could barely speak. But he fought it with every breath he took. He couldn’t surrender to pain until he had Luca safely aboard the
Avenger.
Trying to rise, he fought the blackness closing in on him, and his face turned white as a sheet.

“What in bloody Hell do you think you’re doing?” Stan asked, vexed at Morgan’s stubbornness. “You’re in no condition to get out of that bed.”

“Help me, Stan, I have to find Luca before del Fugo gets to her.”

“Don’t worry about del Fugo,” Crawford remarked. “His henchmen are dead, and he’s in no condition to travel any time soon.”

“You killed him?”

“No, at least I don’t think so. He was breathing when we left him, but I doubt he’ll feel like traveling for a while.”

“Don’t underestimate the bastard, Stan. Are you going to help me up?”

“No.”

“No? As your captain I order you to obey my order.”

“No.”

Morgan felt so damn helpless he wanted to scream in frustration. “I could have you put in irons for insubordination.”