The Pirate's Debt (The Regent's Revenge Book 2) (8 page)

Poor Jane. Chloe had never seen her so afraid. The poor dear had never been anywhere outside of Exeter and the grand adventure Chloe had taken her on was no longer . . . grand.

Chloe braced herself for the eventuality that her turn would come. She raised her gaze, trying to measure the distance up the
Fury’s
impressive heights, steeling herself for the task ahead. “Do as he says, Jane. I am sure we shall laugh about this experience in no time at all.”

Jane’s frantic stare fell on Chloe. “Do ye really think we’ll ’ave that chance?”

“I know we will,” Chloe said, assuring Jane and trying to keep her voice even. Inside, however, she quivered with powerless fright. Was it possible to climb such a steep structure in skirts? Were these men capable of preventing them from getting lost in the unrelenting swells?

Jane nodded and whimpered slightly as she took the first step and began her ascent. True to his promise, Quinn stayed close to her side, speaking calmly with reassuring words meant to fill Jane with confidence.

Chloe watched Jane’s progress until meaty arms grabbed the maid’s hands and she disappeared over the
Fury’s
railing.

Markwick turned his attention on Chloe. “Your turn, my lady.”

“I cannot help but wonder if I am trading one disaster for another,” she confided.

“You have no choice.” He held out his hand to her. “Come. We must hurry before all hell breaks loose upon us.”

Chloe swallowed thickly. What was he alluding to?

“Those wreckers will not wait for you to decide,” he went on.

Surely her mind suffered some catastrophic delay and the sight of Jane climbing the hull, knowing the girl had a fear of heights, had broken down filters Chloe usually relied upon to process the world she lived in.

Then her mind cleared, the fog dissipated, and everything began to make sense. She lifted her hand, taking his, absorbing the strength his touch offered. How could she have forgotten about the ship offshore? Her swift actions could very well save them because the ship Markwick had set ablaze might even now be underway!

Hysteria strangled the back of her throat. She fought to keep from searching the distance. She tried without fail to inhale air into her lungs. Could fate be this unkind?

“I am ready.” She bent over, bunching the fabric dangling behind her legs in her hands, pulling her skirts forward and up, simulating trousers of sorts. The same way she and Pru had fashioned their skirts when they rose astride.

When the Regent grimaced and the men around her tipped their heads back in mocking laughter, she offered this excuse. “A
lady
never takes chances.”

“If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t be here,” Markwick said, reaching for her hand.

She ignored his sarcastic remark and placed her hand in his.

He raised her arms and she complied, allowing him to tie a rope around her waist, cinching her skirts, forming a makeshift belt. As he did so, his face came intimately close. He kept his eyes downcast, focusing on his work. And for this she was grateful. The warmth of his breath stirred her in strange wanton places, coiling in her belly, making her ache, yearn to draw him closer and burrow into him for warmth. How much more affected would she be if he actually looked into her eyes or leaned in for a kiss?

Chastising herself for holding on to hope that Markwick had chased after
her
instead of the other way around, Chloe released a sigh. The Black Regent—Markwick—had been known to save countless men, women, and children in his legendary career.

“Do you do this often?” she asked breathlessly.

“No,” he answered, his tone flat.

“But that isn’t true!
Trewman’s Exeter Flying
—”

“Do not believe everything you read. Now prepare to board my ship.”

She would do anything he asked of her. Markwick had always been her lead light. But here he went too far. Books were her mainstay!

“Much can be gleaned from reading,” she said, clutching her satchel close to her chest as she stepped onto the gunwale.

“Give that to me,” he said, stretching out his hand, waiting for her to respond. “Get your head out of the clouds. Lives are at stake.”

Why was he angry? Did he plan to toss her little darling overboard?

“Swear you will carry my book, not throw it into the water.”

Men began to cackle behind her, and Markwick’s irritation mounted.

“Swear,” she repeated, shivering where she stood, refusing to budge.

“I swear to treat
your
prize like
my
treasure,” he gritted out.

Chloe sighed with relief. Markwick had never lied to her before. But maybe he was . . . He was the Black Regent, though she couldn’t explain how. He’d been deceiving her and everyone else for some time.

Warily, she relinquished her bundle and accepted Markwick’s hand.

The Regent’s hand, because that’s how I must think of him from this moment on.

He’d saved her life. She owed him her loyalty. At least until she learned the truth.

When they finally touched, an energized charge shot all the way into the pit of Chloe’s belly. Daring a hint of a smile, she took the final step that would enable him to help her mount the battens.

“The book.” The request seemed silly even to her, but she continued.

Markwick glanced down at the bundle in his hand as if it had momentarily been forgotten. He cinched the bag, looped rope around it, tied the ends off, and then strapped the satchel across his chest, exactly as Quinn had done. “Satisfied?”

I am now.
Trusting he would keep
Otranto
safe, she grabbed onto the ropes and placed her foot in the first rung of the ladder against the hull. Anticipation thrummed inside her as she began to climb—stepping up, grabbing hold, stepping up, grabbing hold—making her way onto the very ship of her fantasies.

Every now and again, when her footing and grip were sound, she cast a sly glance at Markwick. As they neared the welcoming glow of the golden ship’s light, she made herself a promise:
I will discover why Markwick has chosen to wear the Regent’s mask, and then I will convince him to come home.

She was eager to uncover his secrets, to share this grand adventure. Now that she’d found him, she wanted to step out of the pages of literature and experience something authentic, bold, stimulating. She wanted to experience love—and preferably not the tragic kind—for herself.

With each step, Chloe kept her gaze on the ropes, her mind on Markwick, drawn to the ever-welcoming light from the lantern hoisted above her head.

Pfft. Boom!

What was that? It sounded exactly like—

“Douse the light,” Markwick implored, waving his hand to the men stationed above their heads. He swung over to Chloe, pinning her to the hull, protecting her with his body as a whistling sound whirred nearer. “Brace yourself.”

Panic rose within her breast, and she fought to remain calm, gripping the ropes as tightly as she could beneath him to keep from being knocked overboard.

There was a whir of sound and a whistling whoosh as something landed in the water nearby. The cutters knocked against the hull, absorbing the turbulent wake.

“Move.” His weight disappeared, and he gave her bottom a push. “She’ll be able to broadside us if we don’t get out of here and fast.”

Markwick shouted to the men below. “All aboard!”

Chloe’s breath escaped on a gasp. She’d never felt so isolated, alone, and cold as she did now, deprived of Markwick’s warmth. “How soon will they fire again?”

“It depends on how much damage she sustained.” They scaled the ship even faster. “If they’re using bow chasers, we may not be so lucky next time.”

Men scaled the
Fury’s
hull behind her, forcing her to hasten her pace. Voices below urged her on.

“Hurry, m’lady. Quickly.”

Soon they reached the gunwale where several men outstretched their arms to help her scale the rail.

Markwick placed his hands on her bottom again, giving her a boost.

“Oh!” she cried out unexpectedly.

“Do not take offense.”

Quinn grabbed her hand, giving her no time to argue. “Hurry, lady. Hurry.”

Pfft. Boom!

Chloe started as she climbed over the railing, landing with a soft thud onto the
Fury’s
main deck. She glanced frantically around, wondering if the next volley would make contact with the ship before she was quickly embraced by Jane.

Another strange whistling, whirring sound made her skin crawl as it produced a hissing, sputtering splash that jettisoned a plume of spray very near the
Fury’s
larboard bow. The ship listed to starboard, knocking Chloe and Jane into several men who braced for their collision.

“Oh, m’lady. Are we going to die?” Jane asked, petrified as crewmen doused the lights.

Chloe shook her head, then realized Jane couldn’t see her reaction in the darkness. “No. Of course not.”

Did Jane believe her lie? She didn’t wait to find out. She rushed to the railing. “Where is the Black Regent?”

Wrecks have multiplied off the MANACLES, to COVERACK, to FALMOUTH, and LOOE. EXCISE officers vow to EMPLOY countermeasures from PREVENTATIVE stations to AID vessels lost at sea!

~
Sherborne Mercury
, 30 July 1809

Markwick shook off his stupor, then checked the ropes strapped to his back to see whether or not he’d lost Chloe’s book after he slipped about ten rungs downward to the boats. He breathed a sigh of relief when he discovered it was still tightly bound there.

Quinn called down from the railing. “Are you all right, Cap’n?”

He raised his hand and waved. “Aye.”

But what had happened to his men? He lowered his gaze. Cloud cover shifted and shafts of brilliant moonlight illuminated the froth below. There, in the tethered cutters, several men labored to climb out or offered a hand to those who’d slipped from the battens.

They’d survived the second volley originating offshore, but now, in the dark blue brilliance, they posed an easy mark. If they didn’t weigh anchor soon, none of them would survive.

Markwick hollered up to Quinn. “It’s time to employ countermeasures. Tell Pye to ready the guns and bring me my pack. I’ll need several lanterns and cartridges if we’re to have any hope of evading that damned ship.”

“Aye, sir.” Quinn instantly disappeared to retrieve the items he’d requested, tactics Lords Nelson and Cochrane had used against Napoleon’s forces with great success.

Markwick commended himself. He’d been able to save Chloe’s life, yet his work was far from over. The heavy burden of protecting Chloe remained, weighting him down like submerged contraband hidden at sea from excise men. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—rest until Chloe was safely back in Exeter with her feet firmly on the ground.

“Heva!” Quinn’s shout alerted him that his orders had been obeyed. His quartermaster held up a lantern and a lumpy pouch filled with powder, rope, and anything he’d need to create a diversion that could very well save their lives.

“Brilliant.” Markwick leaned out and gazed down at the boats below before climbing back up to the
Fury’s
rail. He hesitated there, allowing his men to pass. Securing his feet in the ropes, he hefted Chloe’s book over his head and handed it to McHugh.

He glanced at Chloe, who stood beside Jane, wringing her hands near the railing. “Give the bag to the redhead. Understood?”

McHugh gave a nod, then turned to do Markwick’s bidding.

“Make haste,” he told Quinn. “Haul in the second cutter. If this works, we’ll make way before they can get a lead on our true heading.”

“Aye. Aye, sir. This be all Pye gave me.”

“Thank you.” He peered at the sky. “Pray the moon cooperates, eh?”

Quinn repeated the gesture. “Won’t be out long. Short break, Cap’n. I ’spect with a fine lady on board heaven will spare a cloud or two.”

“Not if the crew’s superstition holds sway.” Markwick grinned. “I’ve never quite understood why they object to a woman being on board.”

“Bad luck.”

“Men,” Markwick reminded Quinn, “make their own luck.” He shook off his concerns as he scaled back down to the boats.

The crew—his men and the men they’d saved from the
Mohegan
—moved in the opposite direction, one by one, scaling the ship like insects to a hive.

Markwick landed in the first cutter, dropped his burden, and then moved across the thwarts. He bent to work, quickly using three oars, tenting them in the form of a temporary mast in the middle of the ship. He set the lantern inside the makeshift steeple nearest the powder cartridge and said a silent prayer that their ruse would work before the boat crashed against the rocks. Then, without a backward glance, he leaped to the battens and cut away mooring lines connecting the boat to the ship.

Set free, the vessel eased off with the tide.

“Heave!” The shout coordinated the raising of the second cutter up to the deck. The capstan cranked, and the anchor was raised.

Markwick scaled the
Fury’s
hull until he landed on deck, soliciting winks and silent accolades from his crew.

“To the guns,” he told them. “And be quiet about it. Our lives depend on whether or not that ship can sail and
if
our decoy works.”

He noticed Chloe clutching his black muslin shirt around her shoulders and staring out into the darkness. What was she searching for? The other ship? Pulled by an unseen force, he joined her there, wishing he could erase everything she’d been forced to endure, what she’d seen. Nothing could undo what had been done, of course, but thankfully, Chloe was alive. Now it was up to her to put this horror behind her.

No one made a sound that would give away their position, but above them, ratlines squealed in their blocks. Black canvas snapped and popped smartly in the wind as the
Fury,
set free from her anchor, began to carry them covertly out to sea.

Lantern light flickered in the cutter as it bobbed on the roiling waves, resembling stern lights on a retreating ship.

Would the enemy take the bait?

They didn’t have long to find out.

Pfft. Boom!

A smoky spark ignited in the darkness from the direction of the enemy ship.

Chloe’s fingers slowly crept around Markwick’s hand as they waited by the rail. Startled by the contact, he snatched his hand back. What an unlikely contrast—anticipation that his plan would work and the unbidden heat of her touch shooting into his arm.

He turned, gazing down at her upturned face. The expectation he saw there unnerved him. Unspoken agony in her stare doused his invading alarm. She feared the results of his diversion as much as he. Careful not to do anything that would cause her to recognize him, he encircled her hand with his own as the whistling cannon shot vaulted through the air, landing on his baited trap with a tremendous whoosh. Gunpowder ignited, punching a blinding hole in the darkness. A booming reverberation echoed in the stillness, splintering the vessel into hundreds of tiny shards.

Would their enemy believe they’d destroyed the
Fury
? Would they discontinue the chase? He could only hope cannon fire and explosions had also activated Coverack’s preventative service.

“Will that be enough to stop them?” Chloe asked.

Markwick turned her toward him. “Only time will tell. Now we must get you below.”

They turned away from the rail to see men quietly slapping one another on the back, but at what gain? By dawn, their ruse would be discovered, and if their enemy had found no interference by excisemen, Markwick had no way of knowing if they’d give chase.

Pye strode forward. “Time to swear ’em on account, Cap’n.”

“Permission granted.” He’d never understood the process of swearing in sailors to ensure their cooperation while they remained aboard, but he’d quickly learned the necessity of it. Mutiny was a greater risk. Though every effort would be made to deliver these men to their home ports, several would choose to stay. The allegiance they were forced to provide helped maintain the Black Regent’s identity and offered little recompense for saving their lives. And those who chose not to remain . . . well, that was a risk the Regent had to take.

Pye, never one to abstain from tradition, delivered the same speech every time the process repeated itself. The
Mohegan’s
crew wouldn’t be welcome until they swore allegiance to the Regent. Only an idiot would refuse.

Markwick straightened his shoulders. It was time to play his part. Unlike Blackmoor, whom the crew idolized, Markwick found no joy in bullying others. But in order to continue his charade, it had to be done.

He looked into the haggard, confused faces of his newly acquired crew members. “Kneel.”

Several men, who were much younger than the rest, exchanged worried glances.

Jane swooned, probably at the thought of what would happen to the men if they did not comply, but Quinn caught the young woman before she collapsed.

Chloe rushed to her friend’s side. “You cannot kill these men if they refuse! That would be heartless!”

Heartless? Is that what Chloe thinks of me now?

Pye reacted first. “Sink and scuttle me, we don’t intend to kill these tars.”

His first mate’s outright lie caught Markwick off guard. Order had to be maintained. People depended on what they provided by smuggling goods from foreign ships. Tin had been depleted. Mines were failing, giving miners no other means of making a living for their families. They couldn’t fail. The alternative meant he’d be caught, tried, and hanged.

And where would that leave Chloe? A woman who’d sworn to love him?

“Swear allegiance to me,” Markwick told the assembled men, “and you shall earn a decent wage.”

Suspicious expressions eased to acquiescence.

A man stepped out of line to speak. “I’d prefer to serve the Regent.” He wore the typical clothes of a merchant sailor—linen neckerchief tied above a calico shirt, a loose-fitting jacket, buff-toned trousers, and a leather belt, now devoid of its sheathed weapon.

“Who are you?” Markwick asked the man, getting several salutes from his fellow crewmen.

“Owens, sir. Captain Teague’s boatswain. I speak for all of us here when I say it would be more pleasin’ by far if we get a chance to serve a man capable of stopping the
Viper
.”

“The
Viper
?” Blackmoor had mentioned Captain Carnage and his crew’s recent strikes along the Cornish coast. “Do you think that ship took part in the
Mohegan’s
intentional grounding?”

“Aye, sir. Everyone fears Captain Carnage, includin’ the brigand’s own family.”

“Aye,” Pye said. “Ye know the way of it now, I reckon. If’n ye want revenge, this be the ship to sail.” He turned to Markwick. “They be ready, sir.”

Markwick gave Pye a nod. “Gentlemen, we’re happy to have you aboard. This is your new first mate, Angus Pye. You will be introduced to everyone readily enough, but for now, you must swear an oath to the
Fury
. All aboard her sail for one reason and one reason only . . . salvation. Yours.” He inspected the fourteen men. Could they be trusted? “And mine.”

“To refuse is as simple as this,” Pye added. “Join us if ye want to avenge Captain Teague and your brethren. Refuse and do not sail aboard the
—
”

“These men saved my life,” Chloe interrupted. “Certainly you cannot mean to throw them overboard?” Her lower lip quivered as she stared at the
Mohegan’s
crew.

What was she doing?

“Did I say that was the plan?” Markwick asked.

She stepped forward, all courage now, her violet eyes sparking to life, eager to protect men she barely knew. “You did not.”

Markwick bowed. “Then you have no reason to question me, my lady.”

“Oh, but I do,
Captain
. You implied these men could either sail aboard your ship or drown.”

Grumbling commenced among his raw recruits. Damn it, he was losing ground and fast. “Everyone has a choice. Including you, my lady. The way I see it, you can choose to be silent and allow me to do my job or you will find yourself given the same ultimatum.” He hated the lie as soon as it left his mouth.

Her shock was palpable. “You cannot mean it!”

The last of the
Mohegan’s
crew rose to stand. “Captain.”

Markwick tried to curtail his exasperation. “Aye?”

“Do not scare the lady, I beg you,” Owens said, twisting his felt hat in his hands. “We are more than happy to join your crew. Truth be, we’ve heard a great many tales about this ship. It would be an honor to become part of her crew.”

“Aye, aye,” several other men agreed.

“Very well. Swear them in, Pye.” A quick glance at Chloe gave him a start. Her eyes gleamed with something akin to satisfaction, a look that—if he wasn’t wrong, and he didn’t think he was—proclaimed she’d extracted the outcome she had sought.

Alarms pounded in Markwick’s head like incessant cannon fire. Did she think she could easily manipulate him? He’d been deceived by his father and used mercilessly in the ruination of his own friends. He’d be damned if he allowed anyone to exploit him again!

He pulled her toward him, yanking her off her feet.

She collided against his bare chest with a thud. “What do you think you are doing, Captain?”

“Come along.”

“Now see here,” a vocal member of the
Mohegan’s
crew shouted. “Do not hurt the lady. We’ll swear allegiance to you! We’ll swear!”

Markwick was beyond hearing. “Handle this, Pye.” He glared at Quinn, who still held a weak Jane in his arms, daring him to object. “Escort the lady’s maid below and lock her in Pye’s cabin until such a time that Lady Chloe needs her.”

“But I need her now,” Chloe stated.

“No, you and I need to come to an understanding,” he corrected.