A Pirate's Wife for Me (33 page)

Volker stepped forward, knife waggling up and down as he indicated her figure. "I don't take orders from a woman."

Five men, Giraud's gardeners, walked around the side of the house, holding rakes and pitchforks, pointed at the two mercenaries.

Stein eased back a step. He cleared his throat. "Volker."

Volker looked at the gardeners. "What do you think you're doing?" He slid his knife into his belt, pulled his pistol and pointed it in a half-circle. "Do you want to eat lead?"

From directly behind Cate, Taran said, "You have a single shot." Taking Cate's arm, he moved her to stand beside him … and a little behind. "Choose your targets carefully, for that will be the last shot you fire — ever." The menace in his voice raised the hair on the back of Cate's neck.

Taran. Taran was here.

Cate found herself frightened for them both, and at the same time … so relieved. Even blindfolded, she had no doubt he was a match for Volker.

"Now a blind man is threatening me?" Volker laughed harshly.

"A blind
soldier
." Cate tried to get around Taran. He stopped her with his hand on her arm. "Do mercenaries not know how to figure the odds against them? It seems that in your business, that would be a useful trait."

Volker was hurt and in an ugly mood. He would have attacked.

But Stein caught his coattails. "Captain will not be happy that we're fighting."

Volker shook him off, looked around at the hostile faces. "We'll come back with our whole troop."

"And leave the fortress at the mouth of the harbor unguarded? That seems unwise," Taran said.

Volker glared. He pointed his meaty finger at Cate. "Sooner or later, I'll make you sorry." Turning, he stomped toward the wagon parked on the road. "Get the food loaded, you lazy bastards!"

Signor Marino himself put them in the back of the wagon.

The two soldiers got in and drove away.

The servants stood in small, tense groups.

Harkness broke the silence.
"Will
the whole troop come back to get their revenge?"

"It depends on what tales the soldiers tell." Taran’s voice was dry. "I doubt that they will admit the housekeeper, gardeners, footmen and maids defeated them."

The servants relaxed and chuckled.

"And a blind man," Cate added, with an irony only Taran understood. She linked her arm through his and faced the house staff. "Thank you for your support in this matter. Gracia, go with Zelle to the kitchen for a cup of hot tea, and some bread and jam. The rest of you — you know your duties. Go now and fulfill them."

With an alacrity she had not yet witnessed in them, they went to work.

Putting her fingers to her forehead, Cate gave a shaky sigh of relief. "That came out well."

Taran gave a huff of laughter. "It's not over. Be careful, my love, never to step out of the house alone."

"I am careful. But I could not allow that brute to … to rape that child."

"Of course you could not. You could never allow such an injustice to occur." Taran brushed the tendrils of hair off her neck. "I sense your foolhardy actions have won the servants' loyalty."

Foolhardy. Well. She could hardly argue that. "I believe so, yes."

"When I heard the ruckus, I almost pulled off my blindfold and charged to your rescue."

"That would have appeared to have been quite the miraculous cure, indeed, and one fatal to our mission. A good thing I didn't need you." But she
did
need him. She needed him now that the crisis was over, now that the rage that had bolstered her courage had seeped away. She needed him to hold her and whisper that she was brave and clever and he loved her.

But she couldn't say any of that; no one wanted to believe a woman who was six feet tall with a temper to match should suffer moments when she feared and trembled. And he didn't love her. He simply did not.

Yet her casual tone did not seem to fool him. His hand tightened on the back of her neck; he brought her into his embrace and held her while she took deep breaths, until fear subsided and she was herself once more.

In a dry tone, he said, "I didn't see what happened, but I heard the servants. You shoved one mercenary through the window?"

"With a candle stand."

"And chased the other out the door?"

"Yes."

His arms tightened. "My God, Cate…"

She heard the worry in his voice. "You have to trust to Blowfish's training."

"I do. But the faster I can finish Davies…" He shook her a little, and put her away from him. "Listen. After you left that room upstairs—"

"The bank?"

"Yes. After you left the Davies bank … I started thinking." Grim lines bracketed his mouth. "You should go."

"Go?" What did he mean?

"Back to England."

She should. She should go. That was exactly what she should do. She had told herself that staying on Cenorina was imprudent. But if she went, he would be alone to light the beacon, to free the queen, to fight the battle.

In her estimation, he had already been on his own for far too long. She could not bear to leave him. How many more scars would he gather ere the end of their mission?

So she laughed derisively. "You aren't getting out of your promise that easily."

"My promise?"

"You promised me the crown jewels."

The set of his mouth eased, and he sounded relieved. "So I did."

"Then I will stay until I find them."

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Taran leaned against the wall
in the shadowy corridor outside their bedchamber, waiting for Cate to come out of the bath. When she did, dressed in her nightgown and rubbing her hair with a towel, he said, "I'm going out tonight."

She jumped, removed the towel, and snapped, "Do you find pleasure in startling me?"

His voice warmed. "It is not startling you in which I find pleasure."

A single candle lit the space, yet he saw the flash of her eyes and the enigmatic smile. Damn her, she had always been an accomplished flirt.

"What are you doing tonight? Chasing after another woman?" She didn't sound unduly worried.

"After last night in your arms, I can scarce stand, much less seek another's company."

"Humph." But she sounded pleased. She moved closer. "Why are you telling me this?"

"We are equal partners in this fight for freedom. Are we not?" He took her fingers and kissed them. "I go into Arianna to seek allies in the upcoming battle. I will be back at dawn."

"Very well. Take care not to wake me when you return." But she squeezed his hand.

He lingered. "A good wife would stay awake to welcome me."

With acerbic amusement, she said, "A canny wife, when faced with a husband who sneaks in after dark, greets him with a frying pan applied to the forehead."

God, how he loved sparring with her. When he was somber and serious with the weight of his duties, he had only to see her, to speak with her, and he felt his burden lift. "Perhaps you should sleep then."

"I intend to." Then, to his surprise, she kissed his cheek. "Be careful."

"I will."

"Be smart."

"I am. No one would recognize me as your poor blind husband. Few would recognize me from my previous years in Cenorina. And I watch and I listen. I have come too far to jeopardize this operation now."

"Humph," she said again. She gave him a shove and watched as he ran down the stairs.

Giraud's great outer door squeaked as he opened it, and he was out in the moonlight, striding toward the stables. He entered cautiously. His father's horses had been the king's pride and joy, but Davies had been an appalling rider, weak in the saddle, cruel to the horses, and Taran feared what he would find here.

Yet the stable smelled of clean hay and leather, and he could hear the faint nicker of a horsely greeting. He moved down the line of stalls, all of them empty, until he came to the stall that had held his father's favorite. He could see the outline of a horse … was it Narragansett? He moved to open the shutter, to let the moonlight in.

Without warning, strong fingers grasped his wrist. A knife's point touched his ribs. In a voice low and menacing, a man said, "Identify yourself."

At once Taran knew who it was. Only Wahkan, the man who had brought Narragansett from America, could have taken him by surprise. "I'll let in the light. Then you will know me."

The hand on his wrist loosened. He heard the smooth sound of the knife being sheathed. "No need for that, my prince. Faces can lie, but your voice tells the tale."

Taran flung open the shutter. He faced Wahkan.

In the moonlight, the two men surveyed each other, each looking for changes. Of course, there were many.

Taran well knew what he looked like. And Wahkan … well, Wahkan had aged. He had always been short and wiry, with a reddish-brown face weathered by sun and dark brown eyes that had once squinted across an American desert. He had always been proud, a native of the Americas, a man who loved and tamed horses. Now, clearly, he was old, distrustful, ready to fight or flee, whatever it took to survive a difficult life.

Taran’s relief in knowing the man he trusted remained here mixed with his irritation at seeing the empty stalls. "When my father was alive, you stocked this stable with horses of impeccable breeding."

"Davies was going to sell them. So I released them."

The answer sent a surge of hope through Taran. "The horses are wild? They are … free?"

A ghost of a smile crossed Wahkan's lips. "Wild and free. Yes, my liege, a fine herd of horses roams this island. If you have returned to stay, I will capture them and tame them again."

With deadly seriousness, Taran said, "I am here to take back my kingdom."

"That is the answer I have waited to hear." Wahkan gestured to the horse behind them. "Your father's gelding remains my companion."

Taran faced the stall. It
was
Narragansett, thin and old, but with a proud tilt to his head and uncanny intelligence in his eyes. "Why did he stay?"

"He's a smart one. Smarter than any horse I've ever worked. He wouldn't leave. I would chase him away." Wahkan flapped his hands in dismissal. "He would return. Then Davies realized that the one horse that remained in the stable was the king's horse. The chance to plant his skinny ignoble ass on the royal steed was a temptation Davies could not resist. He demanded to ride him."

Taran didn't know whether to laugh or groan. "Davies could barely ride the stable's oldest nag. Did he even make it into the saddle?"

In the moonlight, Wahkan's eyes glinted with merriment. "Yes! The horse let Sir Davies ride. Let him! Narragansett sought revenge on the man he blamed for the loss of his companions and his master."

"What did Narragansett
do?"
Taran hung on the reply.

"He was the perfect gentleman … in the corral. When Davies believed he had mastered the horse, he demanded I open the gate so he could ride like a lord over his new lands." Wahkan's laughter got louder, less restrained. "Narragansett walked out of the corral. He trotted onto the road. He cantered toward the mountains. I swear the horse knew I was watching, because at the last bend of the road, he turned and looked at me. In irritation, Davies lashed him."

Wrath took the place of Taran’s amusement. "He dared!"

"No, my prince. Listen. Do you remember how Narragansett could run, smooth and swift as the wind across the prairie whence he was born?"

"I do."

"This chief of all horses stretched out his neck, and he ran."

"Did Davies land flat on his back?"

"Indeed not. Afraid for his life, Davies hung on."

"For how long?"

The old man spread his hands and shrugged. "Three days later, he came limping back. In a fury, he tried to whip me. That did not turn out so well for him."

Taran could not believe Davies's audacity. Wahkan was slight, but he wielded a knife with a skill that had taught more than one stable boy respect.

"Then he told me to get out, that he would not give me a referral, and he damned me to hell."

"Yet you stayed."

"I did. Here in hell. The stables were abandoned. I ate with the kitchen staff. I slept in the hayloft. Davies was gone — is gone — much of the time, and when he is here, he ignores his servants. He has never realized I remained, or if he did, he didn't dare confront me."

"That is what I believe," Taran said.

Wahkan leaned on the gate of Narragansett's stable. "A year later to the day, Narragansett returned with your mother's mare as a companion."

"You cared for them." Taran reached a hand into Narragansett's stall.

The horse nipped at him.

Taran snatched his hand back.

"He doesn't allow familiarities," Wahkan informed him. "He hasn't allowed anyone on his back since your father died."