Wherever You Are (9 page)

The British flag was lowered, replaced with a black flag.

Morgan approached, a grim look on his face and a cutlass gripped in his hand. “Juliana—”

“It’s death, isn’t it? The flag? Red means battle and black means death.”

Chapter Eight

A pained look crossed Morgan’s face and Juliana wanted to cry out,
Not like this. Please, God, don’t let us die like this.

“It’s time for you to go to the cabin,” he said.

She studied the name engraved in gold letters on the side of the other ship.
Bhaya
. Just looking at it sent chills through her. “What does
Bhaya
mean?”

“Fear.”

Of course. She wiped sweaty palms on the legs of her soaking pants and desperately tried to control her heartbeat. Morgan walked with her to the steps leading down to his cabin. Suddenly she was spun around. He gathered her into his arms and buried his face in her hair. Stunned, Juliana stood there with her arms at her sides and eyes wide. Before she could hug him back, which she desperately wanted to do—hold tight, never let go—he released her and stepped away. He looked into her eyes, his own flickering back and forth as if he were trying to read her thoughts. She stared back, too afraid to mask her fear, too worried for his safety to be coy.

“Morgan.” She touched his face. The rain was now pelting them. The
Bhaya
sailed by vanquishing the little bit of sun pushing through the clouds. It was as if the massive ship had taken all of their light and warmth. The thought, almost like a premonition, made Juliana tremble.

“Go,” Morgan said with a little push. “Don’t come out until—”

The sudden roar of cannon fire drowned out his words. Juliana covered her head and screamed. The
Adam
rolled to port and Juliana had to plant her feet to keep from skidding sideways. Men, ropes, ammunition and other loose items slid past. For a heart-stopping moment she wasn’t sure the ship would right itself, but then it did with a large splash. Men were yelling, slipping and sliding to get back to their posts.

Morgan pushed her again. “Go!” he shouted and sprinted away.

Smoke billowed from the
Bhaya
and for a moment Juliana thought the
Bhaya
had taken a direct hit, but the smoke was from its cannons firing on Morgan’s ship and in fact Morgan’s ship had taken the hit.

The
Adam’s
crew returned fire in another ear-splitting explosion. The other ship was close enough that she saw men twirling ropes over their heads and grappling hooks sailing through the air before landing on the deck of the
Adam
, their pointed ends digging long furrows into the hard wood. Dozens of pirates from the
Bhaya
swarmed onto the deck. She hadn’t seen them coming, had no idea where they even came from but their presence turned her blood cold. The
Adam’s
crew met them with fierce cries.

Standing a few feet from her, one of Morgan’s men crossed cutlasses with someone from the
Bhaya
. Juliana jumped back to keep from getting sliced and almost fell down the steps. Neck muscles straining as they fought, they looked like they were on the set of a movie but their blood and their cries of pain were very real.

A dark-haired, dark-skinned man ran up behind Morgan’s man. Juliana screamed a warning but it was too late. The enemy plunged his cutlass into the man’s back. He arched and dropped his broadsword. His mouth opened but no sound came out. His surprised and pain-filled gaze met hers for a horrifying moment before he fell to his knees and collapsed face-first onto the deck. The cutlass protruded from his back and blood poured from the fatal wound.

Juliana covered her mouth in shock as the man thrashed, then went still. No! She’d seen him before, working on the deck, laughing with the others. He’d even smiled shyly at her once. He couldn’t be dead. Juliana dropped to her knees and reached for him.

The sailor who’d dealt the deathblow put his boot on the dead man’s back and tugged his cutlass out. The body jerked and blood dripped from the tip of the weapon. The sailor swung around and smiled at her.

Morgan knew the crew of the
Bhaya
had been surprised at the number of sailors on the
Adam
. Merchant vessels carried at the most fifty men. With the crew from Morgan’s sunken ship, combined with the crew from the
Adam
, that number was almost doubled. But their hesitation didn’t last long. The men of Isabelle’s crew were not fighters and ex-pirates as Morgan’s was. Together the two crews were ill-formed and they found themselves on the wrong end of a carefully planned and executed battle.

A quick glance toward the
Eve
told Morgan that Isabelle was trying to maneuver her ship into a clear position to fire on the
Bhaya
, but it took time and expertise in such weather. Morgan gave up any hope of help from that quarter as he parried another blow. He tried hard to block the sound of their voices—a language that took him back to his nightmares. Instead, he thought of Juliana in his cabin, counting on him to keep her safe. And he concentrated on killing as many of Barun’s men as he could.

As soon as he saw the name of the sloop coming toward them, he’d known it was Barun’s ship and a sense of inevitability descended on him. This confrontation had been in the making ever since Morgan escaped Barun’s clutches. In his heart, he’d known his time would come and some part of him had been prepared for it. He just hadn’t expected it now, at the one time he was preoccupied with other matters.

If only Juliana weren’t on board—

A shout above the noise drew his attention. It wasn’t overly loud and if his ears hadn’t been attuned to Juliana’s voice he may not have even heard it.

Blood ran at his feet while smoke from the pistols curled around his head. The rain melted the smoke and like an angel coming out of the shadows, he saw her.

A dark-skinned man with the light of battle in his eyes had his arm around her neck and a dagger at her throat. Morgan’s stomach curled. He lowered his cutlass until the point rested on the deck. Around him the battle raged, but the scents and sounds dissipated and it was only Morgan, Juliana and the man who held her.

“Ah, Captain Morgan.” The man’s English was tinged with a Hindi accent. Rajiv Barun, brother to Morgan’s most hated enemy.

He, Morgan, a pirate whom many feared, now experienced fear himself. A fear born of intimate knowledge of what Sanjit Barun had done and could do to him—and now he had Juliana. Morgan swallowed the slick knot of terror but it refused to go away.

“Rajiv.” He’d always thought it ironic that Rajiv’s name meant lotus flower in Hindi while his brother’s, Sanjit, meant invincible. It was indicative of their relationship. Sanjit being the leader, the strong one, and Rajiv the pretty one, never living up to his brother’s reputation but desperately wanting to. The look on his face indicated he believed his time was here to change the course of his life.

“I am here to collect a few of my brother’s possessions.”

Morgan refused to look at Juliana, refused to let Rajiv know how much she meant to him. Damned if he’d give the man another weapon.

Juliana struggled against Rajiv’s hold. Morgan had a powerful urge to put his cutlass through the man’s heart and end this now, but Juliana would be dead before he could move. Still his hand tightened on the hilt, a motion Rajiv didn’t miss.

He smiled. “My brother wants his lance,
daasa
.”

Daasa
. Slave. The word threw Morgan back three years to the hole he’d lived in. To the dark prison cell. The hunger. The beatings and the demands of a man who was the definition of evil.

“I don’t have the lance with me.” The fucking bloody lance. He should have known.

“Where is it?”

Against his will, Morgan looked at Juliana. Her eyes were wide, her face pale. She’d grabbed onto the arm Rajiv had around her throat but she was no match for the man’s strength.

The fighting around them had ceased. Barun’s men held Morgan’s at knife point and pistol point.

“The lance,” Morgan said, “is in London.”

Rajiv’s arm tightened and Juliana gasped. “My brother requires the lance,
daasa
. I will give you two weeks to return it. And of course, my brother expects his slave returned as well. Meet us at Port Royal. I believe you know where to find us.”

Morgan’s free hand clenched at his side. His already tense body dripped with sweat. Two weeks? There was no way in hell he could sail to London, retrieve the lance and make it to Port Royal in two weeks. And he damn well was not leaving Juliana in Barun’s care for two solid weeks.

“That’s impossible and you know it.”

Rajiv’s dark eyes narrowed and he drew the dagger across Juliana’s throat in a mime of what could happen if he wasn’t there at the appointed time.

“Two weeks, Captain Morgan.”

Rajiv’s men closed ranks on Rajiv and Juliana, blocking his view of her. He lunged forward but was brought up short by a dagger to his throat. Rajiv’s man grinned, bloodlust clear in his eyes. He wanted nothing more than to stick that dagger through Morgan’s neck. Morgan’s chest heaved with the need to go after Juliana, to rescue her from Barun’s clutches. His gaze sought out his crew. They had been herded together like cattle and surrounded by more of Rajiv’s men. Their weapons had been stripped from them. They were as helpless as he.

All he could do was watch as Juliana was handed over the side of the ship.

Morgan’s crew, a bedraggled, filthy lot with oozing wounds, watched him, clearly as stunned as he they’d lost the fight. Absently, Morgan swiped dripping blood off a cut on his upper arm.

Thomas was the only one brave enough to approach. He placed a hand on Morgan’s arm. The contact brought Morgan out of his stupor and with a cry of rage, he launched his cutlass. It somersaulted through the air, skittered and slid across the deck until coming to a stop alongside a coil of rope. Crewmen scattered in its wake.

“Round up the men,” he said to Thomas. “Begin unloading the hold. Lower every one of the tenders and load them with the cargo.”

“Where are we taking the cargo, sir?”

“To the
Eve
. If they don’t have room, dump it. Where’s Patrick?”

“Right here, Cap’n.” His boatswain appeared at his side, his usually twinkling blue eyes dimmed. “It’s sorry I am about the lass, sir.”

Morgan ignored the fierce pain in his gut. “Take a scope up to the fore topgallant yard. Watch that ship. I want to know where it’s going. Don’t take your eyes off it.”

“Aye, Cap’n.”

Morgan turned to the closest crewman and snagged him by the collar as he tried to hurry away. “Find O’Callahan and get the wounded down below.”

“Aye, Cap’n.”

The
Bhaya
hadn’t been gone more than ten minutes when Isabelle came storming up the side of the
Adam
.

“She’s gone.”

A look of confusion crossed her face. “Who’s gone?”

“Juliana.” He turned away from Isabelle, afraid of what she would see in his eyes. A murdering glimpse of rage. A shattered heart and soul.

“Talk to me.” It was the voice of a captain and ex-pirate speaking to him, not his friend. It was exactly what Morgan needed at the moment.

“It was Rajiv Barun, acting on Sanjit’s orders. He said he would exchange Juliana for the lance.” The sniveling, cowardly sonofabitch hadn’t had the courage to fight his own battle, but sent his brother in his stead. The raw fury inside Morgan formed a ball in his stomach until it was all that drove him, all he would think about. Fury. Sanjit Barun. And revenge.

“Barun?” Isabelle asked in surprise. “Your enemy is Sanjit Barun? When the hell did you meet up with him and, for God’s sakes, why?”

He searched the waters for the
Bhaya
, finding it a short distance away. Removing the cargo from the ship was taking too long, but lightening her load was a necessity if he had any chance of following. Damn the lance. No way in hell was he heading for London to retrieve it. “It’s a long story.”

“Fine, let’s start with the lance then. What lance is he talking about?”

Taking her arm, he propelled her away from the crewmen unloading the hold. “It’s called the Holy Lance.”

Her eyes went wide.

“I see you’ve heard of it.”

“Who hasn’t heard of the Holy Lance? Bloody hell, Morgan, you have it?”

He nodded, his gaze finding the
Bhaya
again.

“Men would kill to get their hands on that lance.”

He winced, the statement hitting too close to home. Most believed whoever held the lance could claim divine right as a ruler and was assured victory in war. Presumably, it was the sword that pierced Christ’s side to ensure his death. Some claimed it contained a piece of nail that held Jesus to the cross. When Morgan took it, he neither knew nor cared what it was. He merely saw it as a weapon and a tool to gain his freedom.

“Talk to me,” Isabelle said. “How did you come by the lance?”

“I don’t want the damn lance,” he yelled. Activity around him paused and he lowered his voice. “I just want Juliana back.”

Isabelle’s gaze searched his. “We’ll get her back.”

“There is no we. I’m going alone.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Isabelle, I can’t travel quickly with the cargo weighing me down. I have to load it onto your ship and you sure as hell can’t follow with nearly twice the cargo. Go to London and wait for me to return with Juliana.”

She stared at him with narrowed eyes.

“Please.” It was a word he rarely said.

Juliana sat in a chair with her legs pulled to her chin and her mouth pressed against her knees.

In front of her the man who’d taken her off Morgan’s ship was yelling at another, gesticulating wildly with his hands. The two would alternately stand toe-to-toe, screaming in each other’s faces and pacing away. She had no idea what they were saying. They were speaking in a foreign language. Hindi maybe, but she had no idea. All she knew was that a cold fear had wrapped around her. A terror that didn’t come close to what she felt when she woke up on the burning ship or took the long walk to be flogged.