The Marriage Bargain (27 page)

Isobel felt nausea swirling in her stomach, and she clutched the railing for support. She did not want to hear this.

“Then I lost my fortune in bad investments, and I admit, a bit of gambling as well. But I ask you, what young buck doesn’t like to gamble, eh? Suddenly, your grandfather decided I was a bad investment. The old fop made her break the engagement. Then your father, my friend, came along to save the day. He had fortune and position. Your grandfather approved of the match, so they were married.” Sir Harry’s lip curled in a hideous sneer.

“Of course, I told them they had my blessing. But that very day in the church, before God, I swore that they would both pay for betraying me. My plan was simple. And it would have worked if not for your mother’s foolishness… a trait which you have obviously inherited.”

Isobel shook her head, trying to make sense of Sir Harry’s story. Could her mother really have been drawn in by this monster? And was he responsible for much more than her guardian’s death?

Sir Harry grabbed Isobel’s wrist, and she struggled against him, but he held her fast.

Her foe smiled his reptilian smile and continued. “You remember the highwaymen who attacked your parents’ carriage that night?”

His voice was heavy and cold, like a dull blade cutting open Isobel’s heart with excruciating slowness.

She shook her head. No, this couldn’t be true!

Sir Harry held her chin and turned her face so that her eyes met his. “I sent them,” he said simply.

Isobel shut her eyes and bit her lip as tears flowed silently down her face. This could not be. She would not hear it.

“Shall I tell you more?” Sir Harry asked, his voice mocking. “The highwaymen were to stop the carriage, rob it, and in the process shoot that inconvenient husband of hers—your father. Which they did. But your mother attacked one of them. And during the struggle, the pistol went off. Everything would have gone according to plan if it hadn’t been for your mother’s stupid actions! If she hadn’t gotten herself killed that night, we all would have lived happily ever after. But now, all I have left of her is you.”

“You monster!” Isobel cried. She clawed at his face, but she was no match for the man’s strength. He easily grabbed her wrists and crushed them together with one hand.

“Unlike your mother, you are not going to escape me. And how fitting that the daughter will pay for the mother’s crimes. Though you have quite enough of your own to answer for.”

“I hate you!” Isobel bucked against him. “You have taken everything that I have ever loved away from me! My parents, my guardian. And now my husband—a man that I love more than life itself.”

Isobel raised her chin, staring defiantly into his coal-black eyes, and saw the displeasure there.

“But there is one thing you can never take away from me, Sir Harry. And that is love. The love that my parents gave me and I gave them. The love I feel for Beckett, and the love we’ve shared as man and wife. Those are moments you will never know. And they are mine… forever.”

Sir Harry took a step back, released her wrists and sneered, “Cherish them, Isobel. Cherish your precious moments of love. They are yours, forever… just as you are mine.”

He turned to go, but Isobel took a step toward him and grabbed at his sleeve. “Please… let Beckett go.

If it’s me that you want, then no one else need suffer. I will go with you willingly, but please, please set my husband free. I beg you to do him no harm. He is innocent in all of this!”

“Innocent. Innocent, you say?” Sir Harry spat. “He has defiled you, Isobel. Defiled my bride. And he will pay very dearly. You shall see. I have decided to hang him.” He pointed up at the masts. “Tomorrow, he shall swing from the yardarm.”

“No! No, please!” Isobel cried, shaking her head.

“Oh yes, and you shall watch it! Tomorrow at dawn, Isobel, your dear husband will be executed.”

Beckett squinted at the bright light that came into the brig from the doorway. He shielded his eyes and made out a tall figure standing in the doorway. It was Redbeard.

“Up an’ at ‘em, m’lord. Cap’n wants to see ye on deck, now.”

“What’s the occasion?” Beckett asked groggily.

“Oh, there’s to be a hangin’.” Redbeard smiled. “Some say it’s to be yours.”

Beckett rose to his feet. “Mine, eh? Too bad. I always found a hanging to be a damned inconvenient way to start the day.”

Redbeard laughed. “To be sure, m’lord, to be sure. Now, don’t you be givin’ me no trouble, an’ I’ll make sure yer face stays pretty ‘til ye put it through the noose, alright?”

“Very kind of you… ah, what is your name, if I may ask?”

“Josiah Cox, sir. First mate.”

“Well, Mister Cox, it has been nice knowing you.”

“Been lovely knowin’ ye, too, sir,” Cox said, chuckling. “Now, if ye don’t mind, they’re waitin’ for ye.”

Beckett stepped through the door and tried not to squint at the bright light. As he walked down the passageway, his mind raced, and his heart—damn the bloody thing—pounded in his throat. This was undoubtedly his last chance to save Isobel and himself. He would have to keep his head, find an opportunity, and grab it. It would be bloody difficult surrounded by armed pirates, but there was no choice. He had to succeed.

So many memories of Isobel whirled before him. Some he could see, and some he could only feel. They all seemed to flow together and blend into one, like the everchanging colors of a sunset. The silkiness of her hair, her warm cocoa-brown eyes, the timbre of her voice… bathing each other in the spring, exploring the cave, kissing her neck that night in the Whitcomb garden, the sound of her gasping beneath him, dancing with her to the drums at Cropover. The images all swirled together in his head, in his veins, his limbs, his heart.

Would she be up on deck to watch him hang? If Sir Harry had his way, Isobel would most certainly be there. Beckett put his foot on the first step and looked up the stairs. He would find out soon enough.

“Ah, I see the guest of honor has arrived.” Sir Harry smirked at Isobel. “Though I must say, he looks like he hasn’t dressed up.”

“Beckett!” Isobel cried. Instinctively she tried to move toward him, but Sir Harry’s strong hand clamped down on her shoulder and held her firm.

“Now, now, my dear. You must stand back in order to appreciate the view.”

Isobel stared helplessly at Beckett, feeling her heart burn in her chest as though consumed by flames. He met her gaze with his own, and though his face was pale, unshaven and thin, his eyes still held a depth and intensity that touched her soul.

Dear God, help us!

Isobel turned toward Worthington, who stood nearby, and wrenched herself free from Sir Harry’s grip.

She ran to the captain’s side, and sinking down onto her knees, grabbed his hand and pressed her lips to it. Tears dampened her face as she looked up into the wolf-gray eyes of the pirate lord.

“Please, please… don’t let him do this! Don’t let him kill my husband. I would do anything to save his life.

You can stop this. I beg you to stop this, Captain, please!” She kissed his hand again and tried to choke back sobs of despair, but they jumped out of her throat and echoed forsakenly across the deck.

Worthington looked down at her and pulled her to her feet. For a moment, she thought she’d seen something flicker in his eyes—compassion, or sympathy perhaps. But it had only lasted a moment. It was gone.

“I am sorry, Madam. I can do nothing to help you.”

Isobel cried out and tried to strike his face, but Worthington easily grabbed her wrist and held it immobile.

“You mean you won’t do anything! You are a coward, sir—of the first order. I’m sure you are the only pirate in the world who is afraid to stand up to the likes of Sir Harry Lennox.”

“I am not afraid of anything, madam.” Worthington raised an eyebrow in warning. “Except of course, ruining my reputation—which I have no intention of doing by interfering with a paying customer. Not for you, not for your husband.”

Isobel spat, “Then I will pray for your soul, Captain, for it is surely destined for hell.”

Worthington’s eyes narrowed. “You do that.” His gaze flicked over to the men holding Beckett. “String him up.”

Isobel looked about in desperation. Could no one help her?

Captain Black crouched on the nearby railing. His green eyes watched her, stoic.

“Wait.”

Isobel turned to see Sir Harry approaching with his reptilian smile. And as he walked toward her, Isobel thought that he moved like a snake… so smooth, so dark and menacing. The only things missing were scales.

“Perhaps my future bride has a point. I am, after all, not without some feeling. I see no reason why you shouldn’t be allowed to say goodbye to your first husband, Isobel. Would you like that? I know I would enjoy seeing it. The tears, the final kiss… oh, I do love romance.”

Isobel stared at him, horrified, but unable to resist the promise of touching, kissing Beckett for one last time. She nodded mutely.

“Shall we, then?” Sir Harry grabbed her arm and yanked her toward her husband, who struggled anew against the pirates who held him.

Sir Harry pulled her up in front of Beckett, so she stood just out of reach. Her eyes devoured the sight of him, trying to memorize every line, every curve of Beckett’s face, the exact color of his eyes, the shade of his lips. She tried to get closer to him, but Sir Harry jerked her back.

“But you said we could have one last kiss,” Isobel pleaded.

“I lied.”

“Get your hands off her, you bastard,” Beckett growled.

“Oh. You mean these hands, Ravenwood?” Sir Harry slid his palms over Isobel’s shoulders and pulled her against him. “You mean, the ones that are going to be undressing your little wife on our wedding night, while you rot in hell?”

Beckett thrashed against the pirates who held him.

“I won’t let him hurt you, Isobel—I promise you that! Whatever happens, I’ll come for you. Do you believe me?”

Isobel nodded. “I love you, Beckett.”

“And I—”

“Now you can string him up,” Sir Harry ordered, dragging Isobel away while her husband struggled against his guards.

“Beckett!” Isobel cried out over her shoulder, trying to see him.

“Isobel,” his muffled voice answered, drowned out by the scuffle.

“Get him up there, now!” Sir Harry shrieked.

Isobel watched in horror as the pirates dragged Beckett toward the side of the boat, where the noose hung off the yard-arm and swung mockingly in the breeze.

“No! Oh, please, no.” Isobel stood transfixed, not wanting to watch, but helpless not to.

“For goodness’ sake, he could at least have the decency to put his head in the noose like a gentleman,”

Sir Harry complained.

Catching the man off guard, Isobel shoved him as hard as she could, and spun around to do more damage. But the escalating noise behind her made her turn around, and her heart leapt at what she saw.

Beckett seemed to be breaking free of his captors!

Two of Worthington’s men had been trying to force his head through the noose, and Beckett had taken one of their daggers. It now flashed before him and glinted in the early morning light as he fought against the remaining guard.

But the tide was turning yet again.

Soon five, then six armed pirates swarmed around Beckett, and Isobel screamed.

He would be sliced to ribbons by their swords!

Beckett climbed up the rigging like a monkey, his dagger swishing through the air behind him as the cutthroats clambered after him in pursuit. The clanging of blade on blade rang out from above and made an eerie music for this strange dance.

“Damnation!” Sir Harry growled from beside Isobel, his injury now forgotten as he watched the action high above, along with the rest of those on deck.

Isobel ignored him. Her heart, her entire being was too fixed on the deadly ballet going on above to pay Sir Harry any attention now.

Beckett had stopped climbing, desperately fighting off the closest of the pirates. He kicked out and the man went flying off the rigging and fell to the deck below. The pirate landed with a great thud, then lay inert. She looked back up and saw another pirate closing in on her husband and their blades clashed anew.

Then, Beckett threw his head back to avoid a blow and lost his hold, falling through the air. Isobel screamed. It seemed so unbearably slow, but she heard him yelling, and herself screaming, and then, a great splash as he hit the water.

Isobel ran to the side, joined by the entire crew. Frantically, she scanned the water for his head, but saw nothing.

“Beckett! Beckett!” she cried.

Someone’s hand grabbed her arm and tried to pull her away, but she fought hard.

“Where is he? I can’t see him! Beckett!”

Worthington’s voice spoke from behind her, and she realized it was his hand that gripped her arm. He peered over the side down into the water that offered no answers.

“He’s gone, my lady.”

“No!” Isabel shook her head, willing herself not to believe.

“A fall from that height… he went straight down. Or broke his neck when he hit the water. Your husband is dead.”

“No. I don’t believe it. I won’t believe it!”

Worthington shook his head. “He is dead, madam.”

“Well, I certainly hope so,” Sir Harry spoke up, adjusting his cuffs. “Though I must say, I am not pleased with the way it went. I would have liked it drawn out a bit more, at least. But, as you say, Worthington, dead is dead. Now, we can be married, my dear.” A smile snaked across his lips. “As soon as we reach Hampton Park, which, if we continue to make good time, may be tonight. Can you imagine? Widowed and married in the same day. How very macabre.”

Isobel, unable to speak, turned and looked out at the calm water that surrounded the boat.

The idea that Beckett was gone—it was too painful to even think about. Instead, she would stare out at the water, looking for a glimpse of him. She would not think about Sir Harry or his plans.

The truth was, she didn’t care anymore. If Beckett was dead, then so was her heart. Sir Harry could do whatever he wanted to her, and none of it would matter.