The Rogue’s Prize (16 page)

between the back of the cell and the gate.

“Thought you was dead.”

“Not quite,” Henry replied, opening

the gate, his instincts honed to Frink’s

every move. “Do you fancy avenging the

mutiny of your ship?”

Frink’s bulbous nose wrinkled and

his beady eyes narrowed. “Aye, and then

some.”

“We’ve a gale raining down upon

us. This might be your only chance.”

“I don’t like being indebted to you.

Why so obliging?” Frink asked. “Or do

you plan to stab me in the back?”

“I’m not like you, Frink.”

“Aren’t you now?”

Henry

did

not

speak.

No

explanations were needed. “I’ll make it

worth your while,” he promised.

The cell door creaked as Frink

moved into the open. Henry didn’t trust

the fiend, but he needed him. He pushed

the cage closed.

Several men jeered, “Make it worth

our while, Captain.”

“Why take such a chance?” Frink

asked. “Let me guess. You want your

turn with the woman.”

Henry nodded. “She’s all I want.

You can have everything else.”

Frink’s laughter filled the void.

“I’ll be damned! That wench has

bewitched us all.”

• • •

upon the swells beginning to crash over

the rails. So far, the damage inflicted

upon the
Striker
had been slight but

Percy feared the center of the storm

would weaken the rudder and throw

them perilously off course. Perhaps even

crash them upon the rocky coast along

France’s shoreline, if he couldn’t steer

them away in time.

His muscles complained against the

powerful pull against the helm. He’d

held the steering mechanism steady for

nearly an hour now and his arms felt like

leaden weights. His neck muscles

strained against the wind, and his back

ached like he’d pulled a cask of heavy

rum up a rocky incline. Seawater bathed

him and occasionally his stomach

heaved against the distasteful brine. The

more he steered the ship ahead of the

storm to prevent shredded sail, the more

his braces caught the crosswinds.

Fearful the storm would get the best of

them, his spirits lifted when more men

came pouring out of the hold. One by

one, each man moved onto the deck to

man the lines. But as much as the sight

brought relief, his teeth ground together

in concern. There was only one place

this crew could have come from — the

stockade.

Percy scanned the deck in an effort

to monitor each man’s activities. Rain

drove down upon them in sheets. There

was movement along the lanyard rail.

Two dark forms emerged, slipping along

the deck, making for the gig that banged

against the side of the ship in protest.

“Stay clear of the buoys,” he

hollered, a briny spray spewing from his

mouth.

One figure stretched to loosen the

straps. Or was there was a problem with

the knots? In any case, the cloaked

figures were at a disadvantage. Any

moment the ship could be slammed by

another errant wave. And no one would

be able to locate a man who’d fallen

overboard should any one of his crew

fall into the violent froth.

“You there!” he shouted, pointing to

a man lurking on deck. “Get those fools

off the deck!”

The figure, rotund and slow to

obey, peered upward, shielding his face

with a hand. He then glanced at the

lanyard side to discover the source of

Percy’s concern. When the man did not

move in the direction of the endangered

duo, Percy’s fury intensified. As captain,

it fell to him to ensure that everyone on

board was safe. He’d be damned if he

lost another man.

Percy called to Ollie. “Take my

place,” he ordered.

“Aye,

sir!”

Ollie

responded

immediately, strapping himself to the

helm.

Percy could not abide fools. What

had gotten into his crew? He rushed

down the steps to the lower deck. But

before he landed on the last step,

something hard pelted him, forcing him

to fall flat on his face, gasping for air.

“What the — ” He choked and

inhaled a lung-filling breath. A quick

glance upward revealed why he’d been

caught off-guard.

Captain Frink stood above him. “I

want my ship back, boy!”

Frink’s boot thrust forward but

Percy rolled away from the kick that

would’ve keeled his head and rendered

him unconscious — or worse, killed

him. He rolled over and grabbed the

captain’s foot and twisted the limb

sideways, flipping the man onto his

back. A swift turn and a downward

thrust enabled Percy to ram his elbow

into the man’s solar plexus. The captain

wheezed, but recovered to push Percy

aside.

“You underestimated me, Sexton.”

“Not possible,” Percy admitted.

“How did you get loose?”

Frink grinned wickedly. “I’ve my

share of friends,” he offered, “same as

you.”

The captain leaped in for another

left-hand jab to Percy’s chest. The shock

against his ribs sent Percy reeling

backwards. He gathered what strength he

had

left

and

lunged

sideways,

penetrating his fist into Frink’s open

mouth, cracking the man’s teeth and jaw.

The captain sank to his knees clutching

his face, spitting blood.

Jacko and two of his men

surrounded Frink. Within minutes, the

captain was bound and manacled to the

rail.

“What was he babbling about?”

Jacko asked.

Percy’s

mind

thrummed

with

possibilities, all of which led him to the

fact that they had a traitor on board.

Someone had cut Frink loose, but who?

Who benefited by the chaos?

Frink eyed Percy strangely. “You

… slow-witted … ” he wheezed.

“Shut it, Frink!” Percy shouted.

He scanned the deck where most of

his men struggled to right the ship

against a deluge of sea spray. Where

was Constance? Was she still locked in

the captain’s cabin? Or had Frink done

something horrible to her?

Then it occurred to him. The gig!

He spun on his heels and headed for the

small boat. The two figures he’d seen

there were now gone, but thankfully, the

gig was reasonably secure. He noticed

one of the straps had been cut about the

time a rogue wave took him by surprise.

The wash pounded him against the ship,

wedging him between the gig and the

side of the bridge as a result. When the

water cleared, he was trapped.

“Don’t move, Captain!” Guffald

rushed in and cut several lines to free

him. The tiny vessel slipped over the

side of the ship and hit the water,

breaking into pieces.

Percy accepted Guffald’s hand and

offered his thanks. “Did you see them?”

he asked.

“See who?”

“Two figures skulking here,” he

said, concerned two members of his

crew had fallen overboard.

Guffald held onto the side of the

ship as a wave drenched him head to

foot. “Not two figures.” The man

grimaced. “Two women.”

“Women?” Percy scoffed. “The

hell you say!” His eyes darted

overboard to scan the rough swells. Had

Lady Constance or Mrs. Mortimer

escaped from their cabins and been

swept overboard?

Guffald pointed to a dark alcove

beneath the juncture where the gig had

been secured. “I caught them trying to

drop the gig.”

Percy followed the length of the

man’s finger. He squinted until he made

out two figures huddled together,

whimpering, soaked through and through.

“Constance?” he asked.

The two women screamed as a

wave washed over them. Taken by

surprise, Percy and Guffald were

knocked into the side of the
Striker
and

then slipped on the receding water. Just

before Guffald disappeared over the

side of the ship, Percy outstretched his

hand and caught the lieutenant by the

forearm. He grit his teeth as he struggled

to lift the man safely back on board.

Then, he turned to face the two women

and none-too-gently grabbed Constance

by the arm.

Yanking her up, he said, “You’ve

had enough adventure for one night.”

He lifted Constance into his arms

and carried her to the hatchway,

expecting

Guffald

to

usher

Mrs.

Mortimer behind him.

As they descended the stairs to the

lower

decks,

Percy

found

the

companionway in disrepair. Conditions

below had worsened since he’d last left

Constance alone in her cabin. His cabin

door dangled off the hinge and banged

against the wall, while Banks lay in front

of the portal, snoring, oblivious. Angry

and shouting an expletive to the lazy cur,

he kicked open the swinging door and

entered the room.

His foot grazed an empty bottle. It

then rolled to the bunk with a clankety

c l a n k .
Damn!

She’d

gotten

that

cantankerous fool drunk and escaped on

her own. Furious, Percy dropped

Constance onto the bunk and bent closely

to ensure she heard him. “I warned you

about this ship.”

Guffald ushered Mrs. Mortimer into

the room. Percy caught sight of the

woman out of the corner of his eye and

snapped. “Not here. Put the old hen back

in her cabin.”

“Please sir, let me stay,” Mrs.

Mortimer cooed, trying to break away

from Guffald. “I’ll not be a bother. Only

allow me to tend my mistress.”

“I’ll tend your mistress, madam,”

he explained. “Guffald will tend to you.

And Guffald,” he warned without

sparing the man a glance. “Explain to

Mrs. Mortimer what will happen the

next time Lady Constance tries to

escape.”

“Aye,” Guffald responded gruffly.

The room echoed with Guffald’s and

Mrs. Mortimer’s retreating footsteps.

The door closed roughly, though not all

the way, and they were once again alone.

Constance shot him a defiant stare.

Her mutinous eyes cut into him like

daggers. But he was also conscious of

her scent and the state of her sodden

clothes. The dammed woman was a

menace, a thorn in his side. She’d nearly

cost him everything. And yet he wanted

to embrace her, assure himself that she

was unharmed. There was only one man

he trusted, Simon Danbury. Without

Simon, he’d be unable to locate

Celeste’s killers. He needed Simon, just

as much as he needed Constance

Danbury to stay alive.

“It’s clear you cannot be left

alone.”

CHAPTER

SEVEN

The captain roared like a half-starved

lion. He was angry and rightfully so.

Outwardly his fury exaggerated the

height of his brow and the length of his

nose. His behavior would be almost

comical, if she wasn’t afraid of him.

Afraid he would raise a hand against

her, punish her for all the trouble she’d

caused.

Instead of slapping her, however,

he waged a silent war, until finally, he

broke the silence.

“You’ve caused me more than my

fair share of trouble,” he accused. His

lip curled awkwardly, drawing attention

to the crooked hook of his dark

mustache. He crossed his arms over his

barrel chest and cocked his chin

sideways.

The ship rocked and he narrowed

his gaze upon her. “Be forewarned,” he

said, “I am not done with you.”

He snapped his heels together,

turned, and exited the cabin. His angry

voice boomed down the companionway.

Within seconds a couple of pirates

appeared. Armed with tools and