The Red Siren (19 page)

F
aith gazed at the dark, gaping holes of at least twenty pistols leveled upon her heart and thought this as good a time as any to make peace with a God she had ignored for years. Mr. Waite grabbed her hand with his free one and tried to pull her behind him.
      She did not budge.
      Though the chivalrous gesture warmed her, better to die alongside her companions than after they had been pummeled with bullets and dropped to the floor at her feet.
      
Oh God, if You are there…I know I haven’t spoken to You very much…but please help us—for the captain’s sake. He’s a good man.
      From the corner of her eye, Faith spotted a woman in a formfitting purple gown saunter over to Vane. Her brown hair, tied behind her like a man’s, curled down her back. Two brace of pistols were slung across her chest.
      “Settle down, Charlie.” She sidled beside him and gave him a sultry grin. “I know this woman.” She winked at Faith. “They mean you no harm. And besides, since when have you ever allowed a navy pig to stir your ire?” She waved a jeweled hand through the air. “Ignore him. He is nothing.”
      “Anne.” Faith lowered her pistol and stormed toward the woman she now recognized as Hope’s friend.
      “Miss Westcott,” the captain hissed urgently behind her.
      Vane’s glazed eyes flickered briefly to Anne then to Faith, before fixing again on Mr. Waite. His pistol wobbled. Grabbing his mug, he gulped down another swig of ale, foam beading on his mustache, and then switched the weapon to his other hand.
      “Do you know where Hope is?”
      A spark of alarm flitted across Anne’s confident expression. “She did not return home?”
      
Faith shook her head.
      Facing Vane again, Anne placed a hand on his arm holding the gun. “Put the pistol down, Charlie. Pay them no mind. Do we not have better things to do?” she cooed into his ear.
      “Gone wit’ ye, woman. Leave me be!” Vane jerked her hand away and gave Mr. Waite a venomous look. “Yer outnumbered, sir. Surrender or die.”
      “I plan to do neither, Mr. Bane,” the captain huffed. “But how about this? I will—”
      “I said me name was Vane, not Bane!” the pirate interrupted in a spasm of fury. He sent a scathing glance over the room, silencing the few who had dared to laugh.
      “Vane, Bane, whatever.” Mr. Waite shrugged. “As I was saying, I will not arrest you on the condition that you tell me where our lady friend is to be found. Agreed?” The muscles in his jaw flexed, but Faith could see no other indication of unease in his staunch demeanor.
      “I’ve got me a better idea,” Vane snarled. “I’ll kill ye where ye stand and take the fine lady ye brought wit’ ye fer meself.”
      Laughter rumbled through the foul air just as a blast of thunder roared outside.
      Raindrops struck the roof, at first sounding like tiny footfalls then growing in intensity until the reverberation of pounding drums filled the whole tavern.
      A chill slithered over Faith.
      Mr. Waite cast a wary glance at her, motioning her to step away from Anne.
      She did.
      He nodded toward Lucas.
      Faith’s heart took on a frenzied beat. What was he planning?
      He faced Vane. His stern gaze and rigid stance contained all the energy of a lightning bolt about to strike.
      Vane snickered and tightened his finger around the trigger of his pistol.
      Instantly the captain booted the table that stood between them. Mugs of ale and bottles of rum shot through the air, crashing into pieces against walls and floor and showering the crowd with shards of glass and drops of liquor.
      Vane stumbled back. His pistol fired.
      
Guns exploded.
      Faith ducked.
      A man grabbed her arm and dragged her from her feet. Twisting, she kneed him in the groin then regained her balance and waved her gun across a circle of men descending upon her.
      Lucas tugged her beside him. He shot one man in the leg, dropped his gun, and drew his cutlass.
      The man screamed and clutched the wound.
      Sword tips bristled at them from every direction.
      “Halt or I’ll kill him!” Mr. Waite’s voice thundered through the room.
      Silence, save for the pounding of the rain, descended upon them.
      Mr. Waite marched toward Vane, his pistol leveled at the pirate’s shocked face. Vane raised his own weapon and gave a sideways grin at the smoke curling upward from the barrel. He tossed it aside with a clank.
      “Tell your men to lower their weapons,” Mr. Waite commanded. “Or I swear by the love of all that is holy, I will blast what’s left of your brains all over the wall.”
      The pirate’s upper lip twitched. A look of insolent defiance burned in his gaze. Faith knew that look. He wasn’t going to comply. He would risk his death rather than suffer shame in front of his men.
      Without warning, Anne rushed to his side, raised a pistol, and whacked the handle down on Vane’s head. His eyes rolled upward before he crumpled to the ground in a heap.
      Murmurs rumbled through the crowd of onlookers, their mouths agape, but Anne turned to face them and threw her hands to her hips. “Go about yer business, ye sotted dogs,” she yelled as loudly as any man. “He just needs a wee bit of sleep, ’tis all.”
      Tension spiked through the room. Faith tried to contain the heavy breath that threatened to burst through her chest. Then, one by one, the men began to laugh. Coarse chortles soon chased out the hostility as the sailors slowly dispersed.
      Anne tilted her pretty head toward the captain. “I couldn’t let you kill him. I’ve grown quite fond of him, you see.”
      Mr. Waite lowered his gun. “Are you well, Miss Westcott?”
      “Yes, I’m fine.” She turned toward Anne. “Where is my sister?”
      Anne finished giving instructions to Vane’s crew to attend to him,
then she grabbed Faith’s arm. “She was here an hour ago.” She gestured for Mr. Waite and Lucas to follow her then led them to the back of the tavern. “I saw her leave through the back door into the garden. I assumed she went home.” She glanced over the three of them, concern warming her cold, hard eyes.
      “How could you leave her alone?” Faith asked.
      “I am not her guardian. She came here of her own accord.”
      “But you are her friend.” Faith jerked from her grasp. “She’s not strong like you are.”
      Anne flinched and narrowed her eyes. “She’s more like me than you may think.” She allowed her gaze to wander over Faith. She grinned. “And from the looks of you, you are, as well.”
      Faith ground her teeth. She might be a pirate, but she was nothing like this depraved strumpet.
      Was she?
      Anne glanced at Mr. Waite and Lucas. “Who are your friends?”
      The captain nodded. “Mr. Waite, commander of the HMS
Enforcer
.”
      Faith gestured toward Lucas. “And this is Lucas, my first—my groomsman,” she stammered.
      “Your first groomsman, eh?” Anne snickered then pushed aside the massive oak door that led into the back garden. “Like I told you, she went this way about an hour ago.”
      “Alone?” the captain asked.
      “Aye, as far as I could see.”
      “Did she say where she might be heading?”
      “Not to me.” Annie cocked her head and grinned, allowing her sultry gaze to drift over Mr. Waite.
      The captain brushed past her, grabbing Faith’s elbow as he went. “Thank you, Anne. That will be all.” He dismissed her as if she were one of his crewmen.
      Lucas squeezed by her, as well, eyeing her with caution.
      Anne scowled before she released the door and stomped back into the tavern, muttering something about pompous naval officers.
      Lightning flashed, illuminating the porch in stark grays and whites before snapping it back into darkness. Two lanterns swaying on poles offered little light over the dismal scene. Rain pounded the slanted covering above them. Droplets squeezed between the wooden slats. One of them slid down Faith’s gown, weaving a trail of unease down her back
as she scanned the shadows for Hope.
      The captain released her elbow and took her hand in his. Lucas came alongside them. Together they took a step forward. Weeds reached up between the cracks of cobblestone and clawed at their feet as they made their way to the edge of the porch and stopped, peering out into the shadows. A brick wall enclosed the small garden, if one could call it that. Thistles and brown shrubs littered the area. A massive tree stood in the center, a cracked stone fountain at its base. Though most of the patrons had gone inside out of the rain, some remained splayed across benches and over the cobblestones in such a drunken stupor that they were oblivious to the raindrops splattering over them.
      Faith gulped as a metallic taste rose in her throat. Hope was nowhere in sight.
      Thunder shook the sky as they stepped from beneath the overhang. Drops of rain pelted Faith’s skin. An eerie ballad snaked through the moist air like a witch’s chant. A radiance flickered from beyond the tree.
      Mr. Waite squeezed her hand. “Never fear. We shall find her, Miss Westcott.” He led her around the trunk and down a path.
      Faith’s gaze shot to a far corner of the garden where a lantern burned. No, ’twas not a lantern but a fire, a pillar of fire nigh two feet tall. The flames burned bright despite the lashing rain and wind.
      Mr. Waite headed for it.
      With their backs to the fire, a group of men hunched together against the rain. When they weren’t hoisting bottles to their mouths, they belted out a sinister trill that sent chills over Faith.

Oh devils, we call ye
Out from yer graves.
Give us yer power;
We are yer slaves.

Faith snapped her gaze back to the fire. A shadowy figured huddled just beyond it.
      
Hope.
      Faith yanked her hand from Mr. Waite’s and dashed toward the corner. Hope curled into a ball against the brick wall, drenched and shivering.
      
“’Tis Hope,” she yelled over her shoulder, sidestepping the fire and kneeling beside her sister.
      “Hope?” She touched her arm, cold as ice. Faith gulped. “What have they done to you?” Hope’s eyes fluttered, but she did not open them. A moan escaped her lips. A hundred heinous scenarios crept through Faith’s mind. “Not again, Lord. Not again.”
      “Heaven help us.” Mr. Waite stepped around the flame, slid his arms beneath Hope, and hoisted her effortlessly into his arms.
      The fire disappeared.
      Faith’s widened eyes met the captain’s. She shifted her gaze to the spot where the fire had been and then to Lucas, who stood frozen in place, the whites of his eyes fixated on the missing flame. No wood, no smoke, nothing to indicate a fire had just burned there. The ground beneath it was not even charred. Faith placed her hand over the spot.
      Moist, cold soil met her fingers.
      “There she be!” one of the drunken men shouted, arousing the others from their ballad. The mob rose and clambered toward them.
      “We’ve been lookin’ fer that lady!” bellowed a slovenly fellow in front, pointing his bottle at Hope.
      “Aye, she just disappeared,” another commented, and the men grunted in unison.
      Faith glanced at Mr. Waite but could not make out his features in the shadows. She wiped drops of rain from her lashes and stood.
      Two of the men drew their swords. “We saw her first. She’s ours.”
      Lucas swerved to face them and slowly pulled out his cutlass. The metal against sheath rang an eerie chime across the yard. Yanking her pistol from her belt, Faith aimed it at the mob and counted the dark, swaying heads.
      Ten.
      Ten to three. And Mr. Waite with his hands encumbered beneath the weight of Hope’s unconscious body.
      “She does not belong to you,” the captain said with all the authority of a king.
      “To the devil wit’ ye, sir. I’m givin’ ye a fair warning. There be powers at work here that ye best be heedin’.”
      “I agree with you gentlemen,” Mr. Waite replied, his tone so calm and steady it astonished Faith. “There are indeed powers at work here. But if I were you, I’d be careful which ones I associated with.”
      
Malefic chortles filled the air as lightning shot a fiery dagger across the sky, flashing a spectral glow over their faces.
      Faith swallowed. A chill struck her as if a wall of ice passed through her.
      Evil was here.
      A malevolent force tugged upon her, weighing her down with dread and hopelessness.
      She shook the rain from her face and tried to steady her wobbling gun. What did Mr. Waite hope to gain from this derisive repartee? It would take more than mere words to disarm these men and the wickedness that empowered them.
      The captain took a bold step forward, clutching Hope more tightly to his chest. “This woman is not yours. She belongs to God,” he roared, “and in the name of Jesus Christ, the Son of the living God, I order you to stand down.”
      Thunder boomed. The ground shuddered.
      The men shrank back as if a broadside had struck them in the gut. Although their eyes narrowed and their jaws tightened, they made no move toward Hope.
      Mr. Waite turned and marched across the garden toward the back exit.
      Faith glanced over her shoulder as she ran next to him, expecting the villains to give chase. Behind her, Lucas ran backward, his sword brandished toward the band of cursing men.
      Mr. Waite kicked open the iron gate. It squealed on its hinges and slammed into the brick wall.
      Faith followed him around the side of the tavern where they’d left their horses. One final glance over her shoulder told her the men had not moved an inch.
      Grabbing her arm, Lucas pulled her away from the sight.
      Mr. Waite halted amid the row of horses and wheeled around.
      Faith touched his arm. “What is it?”
      “One of our horses is missing.”
      “Hey, you there.” A slurred voice echoed through the alleyway. “Ain’t ye the strangers that bested old Charlie?”
      Mr. Waited snapped his eyes toward Faith. “We’ve no time. We shall make do with two. Lucas, mount up, and I’ll hand you Miss Hope.”
      “Aye, aye.” Lucas untied the reins, swung onto the horse, then leaned
down to receive Hope. She moaned as he grasped her and laid her across the saddle in front of him.
      “Hey, I told ye to stop!” A crowd of men formed at the head of the alley. “Are we gonna let this bilge-sucking navy dog come down to our territory an’ make a fool o’ poor Charlie? Let’s teach ’im a lesson.”
      Groans and “ayes” bounced off the brick walls.
      Faith lifted her pistol and stepped out from the horses. “Stay back, or I’ll drop you where you stand.”
      “Ouch now.” The man snickered. “Did ye hear that, gents? The lady’s gonna shoot us.”
      He and his companions fell into a fit of laughter.
      Lucas backed up his horse and leveled his own pistol upon them.
      The captain took a running leap and jumped onto his steed then held down his hand for Faith.
      She hesitated, shifting her eyes between him and the crowd. One well-aimed shot by these villains at their fleeing backs and all would be lost. Perhaps she should remain and keep them at bay until Mr. Waite and Lucas could escape with Hope. Perhaps it was the only way to ensure her sister’s safety.
      “Are you coming? Or do you plan to take on these ruffians by yourself?”
      Though she couldn’t see his face, she envisioned the sardonic curve of his lips.
      “Trust me. I will get you and your sister home safely. Now, please.” He stretched out his hand farther even as the horse clawed at the mud, perhaps sensing the impending danger.
      
Trust.
Her chest tightened. Placing her life and the life of her sister in someone else’s hands made Faith’s stomach constrict so tightly she felt it would explode into a thousand pieces. But she had little choice at the moment. And Mr. Waite had not let her down thus far.
      Stuffing the pistol in her belt, she took his hand, and he hoisted her up before him and grabbed the reins.
      The men recovered from their gaiety. “Hey, where ye runnin’ off to, ye cowards?” One of the men took a step forward and plucked out his sword. “I’m challengin’ ye to a duel, ye spineless son of Neptune’s whore.”
      Mr. Waite twitched the horse’s reins and faced the man. “Another time, perhaps?” He gave the horse a swift kick in the belly, sending the steed galloping down the alley straight toward the mob.