The Wedding Ransom

By

GERALYN DAWSON

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Please Note

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Copyright © 1997, 2011 Geralyn Dawson Williams

Cover Design: Aggie Artist

Ebook Creation: Dellaster Design

Writing is like a chocolate stain. Sometimes it’s hard to get out.

—John Patrick Williams

Seventh-Grade Honors English

This one is for you, John. You understand your mother so well.

Republic of Texas, 1845

T
he bite of razor-sharp steel against his jugular jerked Rafe Malone from the oblivion of sleep. Beneath the warmth of the springtime sun he lay frozen, his eyes closed, his senses as sharp as the blade at his throat. Quiet breaths, distinctive scents, and the shifting of shadows relayed the information that three men, possibly four, surrounded him. The thrill of danger coursed through his blood. Here, with death but a slash away, he felt more alive than he had in years.

It was all Rafe could do to keep from grinning.

A sting of pain stroked across his neck and Rafe opened his eyes. Sunlight blinded him at first, then four figures came into focus. Good Lord. He blinked and looked again. Pirates? Gray-haired pirates? On his central Texas ranch? A laugh slid past the cutlass threatening his throat.

“Did you hear that, Ben?” growled the man holding the blade. He lifted a finger and traced the old, ugly scar running across his cheekbone, then tugged at his silver hoop earring. “He cackled at us. I have my blade at his throat and he laughs. That’s proof enough for me.”

The tallest of the men nodded, the diamond stud in his right ear twinkling in the afternoon sunlight. Wrinkles framed the intelligent blue eyes studying Rafe from beneath bushy salt-and-pepper brows. Clothed in a flowing white shirt and close-fitting breeches, he stood in a spread-legged stance, his hands braced upon his hips. He could have been standing on a ship’s deck instead of a field of green grass beside a shallow creek. “Aye, Gus,” he said in a voice ringing with command. “I heard it. I guess we all know what that means.”

“No!” A third man loomed over Rafe, fierce dark eyes glaring from beneath the red bandanna tied around his head. He was short and stocky, and with his meaty fists clenched and nostrils flaring, he looked mean as an old range bull. “It’s not enough. Go ahead and stick him, Gus. See what happens then.”

“I’ll tell you what’ll happen then, Snake,” said the fourth man in a raspy, gravelly voice. “He’ll bleed.” He hunkered down beside Rafe and smoothly confiscated the pistol at the prone man’s hip. “I told you Snake would want to slice him up. He hasn’t killed a man in months. You know what the smell of blood does to him.”

A maniacal chuckle issued from bloodthirsty Snake’s mouth.

Rafe’s attention shifted from pirate to pirate, observing their solemn nods, trying unsuccessfully to figure out where this conversation was leading. The fourth buccaneer tilted his head, and his horseshoe-shaped sapphire earring captured Rafe’s notice. Expensive little trinkets, these fellows wore.

And interesting old scars they sported, too. Rafe winced at the ring encircling the fourth pirate’s neck. At some point in his life, this fellow had been hanged. Rafe swallowed instinctively, having come close to a similar fate once himself.

Guess this teaches me to take an afternoon nap,
he thought, as a gentle puff of cedar-scented wind stirred the bushes around him. After being up the better part of last night helping Dapple Annie bring her foal into the world, he had only wanted a little bit of shut-eye. When he’d stretched out on a comfy bed of clover and succumbed to the lure of sleep, all had been quiet and peaceful around the Lone Star Ranch.

Having his sleep interrupted wasn’t exactly unexpected. Life on the central Texas horse farm in springtime did tend to run from one crisis to another. But pirates? The very idea of it struck him dumb. His spread lay a good three hundred miles west of the coast. Damn near thirty years had passed since Jean Laffite said
au revoir
to Galveston Island. Who were these men? Why the hell were they here?

Did they honestly intend to kill him?

The one with the diamond in his ear, Ben, appeared to be the leader. Gus-with-the-cutlass looked to him and asked, “What do you want me to do, Captain?”

Rafe concluded it might be to his benefit to interrupt the answer. He lifted a hand and pushed the blade away from his neck, taking care not to betray any pain as the cutlass sliced into his palm. Propping himself up on his elbows, his fingers in position to reach for the knife in his trouser pocket, he drawled, “Why don’t you boys try heading southeast? Y’all are obviously lost.” He jerked his head to the right. “The Gulf of Mexico is thataway.”

Cutlass Gus, Snake, and rope-ringed fourth man whipped their heads toward Ben. The captain slowly, solemnly nodded.

What happened next made Rafe shake his head in wonder. Gus blew a sigh of what sounded like relief as he sheathed his cutlass. The fourth pirate grinned and held out his hand, wriggling his fingers toward Snake who muttered, “Well, clam it.”

Clam it? Rafe silently repeated. What kind of a curse was that for a bloodthirsty pirate?

The trio of heavy gold hoops in Snake’s left ear clinked against one another as he yanked off his bandanna. He reached inside the cloth and removed a wad of bills.

Prepared for a more lethal weapon than cash, Rafe let out the breath he’d been holding.

Snake shoved the money toward the fourth man. “I can’t believe you actually won the bet, Lucky Nichols. You never win anything. You are the most unlucky man alive.”

The fourth man, Lucky Nichols, kissed the bills, then gleefully stuck them in his vest pocket, along with Rafe’s gun. “This is a sign that my luck is changing, I can feel it.”

Snake snorted and reached out a hand to flick a bug off Lucky’s shoulder. “What you’re feeling is a caterpillar crawling up your back. Our bets financed my bad habits for the past thirty-two years, and I don’t see that changing. This was a fluke.”

“This outcome was predetermined,” interjected the captain, his blue eyes gleaming with amusement. “I warned you not to bet him, Snake. A band of washed-up old cutthroats like us never stood a chance of frightening the likes of Gentleman Rafe Malone.”

Rafe wondered if the Republic of Texas had put in a mental hospital down the road in Bastrop and neglected to guard the gates. Sitting all the way up, he demanded, “What the hell is going on?”

The leader bowed his head. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Malone. I believe introductions are in order. I am Captain Benjamin Scovall. With me are my colleagues, Gus Thomas—”

Cutlass Gus saluted.

“—Snake MacKenzie”

He folded his arms and scowled.

“—and Lucky Nichols.”

Lucky gave his earring a twist and nodded while Captain Ben continued. “We were attracted by your exemplary reputation, Mr. Malone, but since you’ve been out of the…business for some time now, a test of your courage was deemed appropriate.”

“So you dressed for a costume ball and put a knife to my neck?”

Ben fingered the billowing blouse he wore and shrugged. “Our dress is no costume, but the garb of our youth. It can be intimidating, don’t you agree?”

“Yeah, but not all of us could get into his old clothes,” Gus said, looking pointedly at Snake MacKenzie’s protruding belly.

The short man turned a glare on his companion that widened Rafe’s eyes.
A look like that could scare the ugly off a buzzard.
“I am pleased to say you passed our test,” Ben continued. “You are a brave one, Gentleman Rafe Malone.”

“He’s a cocky blighter,” Snake added unhappily.

Rafe gazed around the ragtag group. What was it the captain had said? Exemplary reputation? Somehow he didn’t think the ol’ swashbuckler was talking about the horse-breeding business Rafe had established with his old friend Luke Prescott. Four years had passed since Rafe had last committed an illegal act. Four years since Luke Prescott tracked him to his east Texas hideout dangling an amnesty from the government in exchange for a little help with a particularly vicious band of murderers.

Rafe rolled to his feet and casually brushed the dirt from his trousers. “Like you said, I’m out of the business. I gave up thieving years ago, so if you’re here looking for the
gentleman
in Rafe Malone you’ve wasted your time. I’m plain old Rafe, now.”

“You’re not a gentleman?” Frowning, Snake MacKenzie folded his arms. “Maggie will want a gentleman.”

“I’m not a
thief
,” Rafe replied, eyeing each of the four older men in turn. “Not anymore. I have a deal with the Texas Rangers. The people of Texas get to keep their money, and I get to keep my neck out of a noose.” After a moment’s pause, he added, “Who’s Maggie?”

“Mary Margaret St. John,” Ben explained. “She’s our granddaughter.”

Rafe quirked a brow. Four grandfathers?

Snake MacKenzie snorted. “I thought this fellow was a gentleman. It’s why I agreed to this plan.”

“It doesn’t matter whether he’s a gentleman or not,” Lucky said, a threat obvious in his voice. “He’s not getting anywhere near our Maggie.”

“You’re dreaming, Lucky.” Gus shook his head sadly. “You are all dreaming. I’ve been trying to tell you that for some time now. Whether we like it or not, Maggie is a woman full-grown. For all our trying to mold her into a gentle lady, she is her father’s daughter, curse his black soul. She’ll be wanting herself a man before long.” He jerked his head toward Rafe. “Mark my words, she’ll take one look at the shoulders on this fellow and swoon. He’s just the type to attract her. She’ll like his attitude as much as she likes his looks. And we all know how he’ll react once he gets a look at our Maggie.”

Snake MacKenzie moved like a twenty-year-old as he reached over and grabbed Gus’s cutlass from its scabbard. Before Rafe could react, the blade was back at his neck. MacKenzie spoke through gritted teeth. “Touch even a hair on her head and you’ll lose your own, Malone. Understand?”

“Put the weapon away, Snake,” Ben instructed. “By all accounts, Mr. Malone is an intelligent man. Knowing Mary Margaret is under our protection, he’ll not trifle with her.”