The Pirate and the Puritan (33 page)

“ ‘I have something you want.
Come to the Fatted Pig an hour before dawn. Alone and unarmed. Bring enough
coin to keep me from gutting your lady or turning you in for the ransom.’ ”

When Drew finished reading the
note out loud, he crumpled the missive in his fist. He entwined the lock of
hair around his finger and rubbed the pad of his thumb across the silken
strand.

Solomon braced his hands on his
hips. “You’re not going.”

Drew dropped the crushed ransom
note to the floor. He strode to a huge chest and yanked open the lid. A pile of
clothes littered the floor before he found what he searched for. He brought the
smaller chest to the table in the center of the room and dumped its contents,
sending gold and silver coins cascading in a glittering waterfall.

Drew sat down and began to sort
through the booty. “What’s the value on my head these days?”

Solomon planted his hands on the
table and brought his face close to Drew’s. “You don’t have that much.”

“I might not need it at all.” He
reached for the lock of hair he’d tucked in the pocket of his breeches. “If a
hair on her head has been touched, beyond this strand, I’ll kill them.”

“By yourself and without a
weapon?”

“I’ll have a weapon and so will
you. I’m not stupid.” Drew looked up from his stacks of coin, waiting for
Solomon’s argument. He could be walking into a trap, probably was—but his
choices were limited.

Solomon sat down across from
Drew. “Are you going to give them all this? It’s all you have.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore. It
wasn’t worth it after all.” The unexpected truth in Drew’s confession left his
throat raw. A life of piracy had brought him riches and power, or so he’d
thought. He had accepted his ill-gotten gains as proper payment for the
injustices that had been handed to him and every man like him born without
privilege or rank. But like everything else in his life, that had been just
another excuse to do as he liked.

He had consciously chosen a
crooked path. In fact, he’d reveled in his own wickedness. But he’d be damned
if Felicity would pay for that. She’d given him her heart and he’d given her a
wooden, theatrical prop and called it himself. When he got her back he’d give
her anything she wanted. He’d even try to retrieve the young man who still
possessed values and morality.

It was the man he might’ve been
if he’d not ventured to Barbados. If she wanted never to see him again, he’d
give her that too. Hell, he’d gladly make her an honest woman and provide her a
house full of brats. He’d even leave piracy, but only after one more lawless
act.

Drew raked the treasure back into
the chest without counting any more.

Solomon scrambled to save the
coins he had just carefully stacked. “Wait. I can’t count as fast as you.”

“We won’t need it. I’ve a better
idea.”

Drew slammed the lid closed. He
wouldn’t mind handing over every last guinea he had to have Felicity safe, but
a dead man wouldn’t have need of treasure. Drew fed on his lust for revenge,
longing for dawn.

Through the Fatted Pig’s two
large windows, Felicity watched the night turn light blue, then pink. The
rising sun gave the world shape. She had preferred the muted shadows. Morning
would make it easier for the soldiers guarding her to kill Drew. They said they
wanted him alive, but she didn’t believe that. Their heavy arsenal of weapons
told her as much.

No matter how many times she
insisted Drew would not come for her, dread tickled her belly, telling her he
would. She meant nothing to him, so why should he risk his life and, more
importantly, his gold to rescue her? Her death, conveniently carried out by
faceless strangers, would solve his problems nicely.

Her gaze drifted from the
deserted street to the man with the musket across his knees crouched by the
door. Another quick glance over her shoulder brought a jaunty salute from
Admiral Meldrick. He’d traded his white uniform for what he apparently took to
be the clothes of a ruffian. His crisp fawn breeches and linen shirt tied with
an elaborate cravat still spoke loudly of civilization, a thing sorely lacking
on New Providence. Though Meldrick’s authority had surely saved her from a fate
worse than death, she still wished she hadn’t been forced into the position of
bait. The butterflies in her stomach rose to her mouth with the sour flavor of
fear.

She clasped her hands in her lap
and waited. The men at the table beside her seemed absorbed in their card game,
unconcerned that a notorious pirate might burst through the door any minute.
Both men were dressed in well-worn canvas breeches and linen shirts with faded
blue checks. The brilliant red sash each man sported around his waist, a
standard for pirates on the island, stood out against the drabness like a
beacon. Clean-shaven faces and neat hair gave away the fact that they were
British officers.

She shifted in her roughly crafted
chair, knocking the uneven legs against the planked floor. Drew was late. She’d
told them he wouldn’t come.

It hadn’t been her idea to set
the trap for Drew, but she had gone along with the scheme. In the first place,
she doubted he would rescue her, and her cooperation seemed to appease Admiral
Meldrick. She suspected he’d have gladly let the brutes who’d chased her into
the street keep her if Bertie hadn’t started babbling about
El Diablo
.
Apparently Bertie had a price on his neck as well and had felt compelled to
distract the admiral from himself.

Without warning, the bright blue
door swung open. The startled marksman moved sideways to keep from being hit.
Felicity glanced behind her in time to see Admiral Meldrick duck behind the
bar.

Drew strutted into the room as if
he was an honored guest. His presence consumed everyone’s attention. He wore
snug black breeches tucked into knee-length boots. His white linen shirt hung
open at the neck. Missing from his waist was a sash and, more importantly, the
weapons that were usually secured by the cloth. That fact did not lessen the
aura of danger surrounding him. His wind-tousled hair fell loosely around his
shoulders and his eyes narrowed in feral aggression.

The two men next to her shot to
their feet in a shower of cards. Obviously they’d not expected Drew to come
either, much less make such a dashing entrance. The man on her right fumbled
for his pistol and pointed it at Drew.

Felicity gripped the bottom of
her seat to keep from leaping out of it. Why had he come? She fought a
dangerous combination of hope and fear. Her emotions were too tangled at the
moment to know what any of it meant.

Drew stalked toward them,
apparently unconcerned by the threat. Not once did his gaze stray in her
direction. “Sorry I’m late. I was detained by some friends of yours. I
convinced them I could find my way here on my own.”

“That’s far enough. Move your
hands away from your body,” said the one holding the pistol.

Drew obeyed. “Release the woman.
You have your prize.”

“Search him,” said the
higher-ranking soldier to the man next to him. The other soldier hesitated. His
raised eyebrows showed he thought the request the ravings of a madman.

The officer used both hands to
steady the weapon. “That’s an order. I’m aimed at his heart.”

The soldier inched toward Drew.

“Mistress Kendall is under our
protection now.” The officer holding the pistol squared his shoulder in a
confident stance. “I won’t subject her to any more of your brutality, Mr.
Crawford.”

Felicity glanced down at the modest
gown hiding her feet. The tight pull of her prudish bun and the high neck of
her borrowed dress made her feel a fraud. Fortunately, Drew ignored her. If she
had to look into his eyes, she would give herself away. They would all realize
she was still in love with him.

“Are you going to hang me on New
Providence?” said Drew matter-of-factly.

She jerked up her head. She
couldn’t bear to watch Drew hang. The man ordered to search Drew squatted as he
patted the length of his leg. Without a weapon, Drew would never have a chance
to escape. She blinked away the tears threatening to run down her cheeks. What
had she done?

“No, Mr. Crawford. It seems
you’ve made one of His Majesty’s favorite noblemen angry with your escapades.
He’s on Barbados and wants to see you hang properly. You’ll have a trial, but—”

The man’s words were cut off by
the sound of a thud near the window. She didn’t see the blow that sent the
marksman beside the door sliding to the floor. The bulk of a pirate looming
outside the window gave no doubt of its source. Before the officer holding the
pistol could react to the new threat, a streak of metal imbedded itself in his
chest. He looked down at the protruding handle of a dagger, then fell to the
sandy floor.

Drew swiftly brought up his knee,
smashing it into the chin of the man searching him. Solomon, followed by Drew’s
crew, spilled through the windows and door. British soldiers adorned in bright
red coats leaped from behind the bar.

Felicity jumped from her chair.
She turned in a full circle while the battle erupted all around her. With the
cutlass retrieved from the downed man at his feet, Drew engaged two soldiers at
once. Swinging cutlasses and screaming men made it hard to follow the tide of
the melee.

Felicity knelt to pick up the
pistol dropped by the man with the dagger in his chest, who thankfully remained
face down. Before she could decide whether she should roll him over and check
for signs of life, the table beside her exploded under the weight of a body
being tossed onto it, sending her to her feet. She darted out of the way of the
red-haired giant who leaped on the fallen soldier, and gripped the pistol until
her knuckles turned white.

As swiftly as it began, the clash
quieted. Felicity frantically searched for Drew. To her relief, the men
littering the floor mostly wore red coats.

“Felicity.”

Her softly spoken name sounded
above the soft moans and angry curses. She spun to find Drew walking toward
her. He reached out to her with his right hand, the lowered cutlass in his left
dripping blood. Solomon yelled something and the pirates hurried through the
door.

With his arm still outstretched,
Drew stepped closer to Felicity. “We must leave now. There are more British in
the area.”

The door of the tavern swung shut
when the last pirate dashed out. Drew stayed, his back to the door.

Felicity dropped her gaze, afraid
she’d weaken if she looked too long into his eyes. “Get out of here.”

Drew moved purposefully toward
her, looking as if he intended to throw her over his shoulder and carry her out.
And God help her, she wanted to let him. She glanced up at him and forced
herself to see the killer she knew him to be instead of the man she feared she
still loved. In the breadth of Felicity’s exhalation, everything she thought
she believed in fell away. She knew she had no choice but to act and act now.
She raised the pistol and fired. The shot flew over Drew’s shoulder. The force
of the blast startled her. She staggered, unbalanced by the noise and her own
actions. Acrid smoke rising from the pistol burned her nostrils. She blinked
hard to orient herself.

Solomon swung open the door.
“We’re saddled and ready to go. More soldiers are on their way from the
harbor.”

Drew stared at her, the
understanding of her seeming betrayal dawning on his features. Without a word,
he turned and ran to join Solomon. A sob caught in her throat. She couldn’t
have explained her actions even if he’d given her the chance. She didn’t
understand herself. At that moment, all she could think about was killing the
man aiming the musket at Drew’s back.

The door again swung closed. The
marksman slid to the floor, clutching the hole in his belly made by Felicity’s
shot.

***

The ship heeled violently
leeward. Water rushed over the sailors’ feet as they scrambled to keep from
being swept overboard. Drew held the wheel steady, yelling orders above the
rush of wind. Cold rain stung his cheeks and he squinted to protect his eyes.
The British became little more than a speck on their stern, but he’d not
slacken their sails, even in the face of the storm. The
Rapture
sliced
through the turbulent waves with the grace of a gull in flight.

Soaring with the wind lessened
the heaviness in his chest. He didn’t want to stop or slow down. If he did, he
feared he’d sink under the weight of Felicity’s betrayal. Had she orchestrated
the trap or was she just a willing participant? The muscles of his jaw
tightened at the thought of either possibility.

He’d recognized the British trick
the moment he encountered the soldiers lurking on the outskirts of town. The
patrol of seamen there instead of the well-trained, red-coated marines could
only mean that the British were undermanned or the ground troops were involved
in something more important. Drew wasn’t that lucky. It had to be a trap.

Fear had been his first sensation
when he realized who held Felicity, but not for himself. She would undoubtedly
trust the demons in uniform and babble on about her father and his innocence,
unknowingly giving the British enough evidence to hang Ben with a clear
conscience. Being the fool that he was, it had not occurred to him that she’d
hand him over to prove her point.

The trap had not concerned him.
What choice had she really had once the British got their hands on her? He
could have freed her, and they could have been on their way without too much
damage done. It was the way she’d stared through him as she leveled the pistol
that severed his heart. The ball had missed him, but the shot had found its
mark.

Sails strained against another
powerful gust, forcing Drew to give the order to release the tension on the
sheet or risk tearing his foresail. The ship’s leeward side emerged from the
water, but Drew maintained their speed.