A Pirate's Wife for Me (41 page)

"That's it!" Signor Marino dabbed the holes with brandy, then pressed a new, clean pad on the wound and wrapped strips of cloth around and around Cate's arm.

Somewhere during the process, her head got woozy, she took a few long breaths, and when she opened her eyes, the butler had joined them.

Harkness looked worn, thinner, older than he had before. Harkness…

Abruptly, Cate remembered Taran's battle, her vows, and the need to make haste. With Harkness here, she could fulfill the first promise. She said, "You must go light the beacon."

Harkness staggered back. "Now?"

"My husband is your crown prince," she told the gathering, and waited for an outcry of surprise.

Heads nodded.

Smiles lit faces.

"Ah," Signor Marino said. "So the rumors are true."

"Rumors? There are rumors? " Damn Taran.
Did everyone but Cate know?

"Many of us have pinned our hopes on his return," Signor Marino told her. "Some have said he was here, now, bringing the fresh air of freedom to this land."

Zelle scowled and slipped out of the kitchen.

One of the maids rushed in. "They're still fighting. In the study. You should hear it!"

One of the service bells rang violently. Everyone looked.

"It's the bell from the king's study," Gracia said.

"Does Sir Davies imagine he can ring and
we
will come to rescue him?" Harkness was incredulous.

Eyes alight, one of young footmen ran out. "I want to listen!"

The kitchen began to hum with excitement.

"Taran is your crown prince," Cate repeated. "He has come to free Cenorina. He needs to call in his warriors, and Harkness
"
Pressing her good hand to tabletop, she stood, she stood — "he wants that beacon lit
now!"

Harkness straightened his jacket. "Mrs. Tamson … Your Highness —"

No. Not that. Not your highness.
"Just Mrs. Tamson, please."

"I would do as the prince requires, but every night, I have been working, hauling wood and oil up to the top of the pinnacle, and the last time…" Harkness pressed his shaking hand to his chest. "I don't think I would again make it to the top alive."

Cate placed a hand to his sleeve. "Then you must not try." She looked around. "Who else can fulfill this duty to Cenorina?"

Using a pair of tongs, Signor Marino removed coals from the fire and put them in two empty iron pots. He handed it to young Gillies and one to Gracia. "You heard the princess. Go and ignite the beacon."

The young people's faces lit up, and they ran out the door.

After another sip of wine, Cate followed them.

"Where are you going?" Harkness asked. "The prince might get hurt. He might need you here!"

"He will win this battle." She had to believe that. "The queen escaped the tower, and the prince requires that the brave lady who took her place be rescued."

"Let me help you," Signor Marino said.

These were such good people. Taran would be happy living in Giraud. "I'm afraid rescuing the lady is something I must do myself. If the lock must be picked, I am the only one who can do it."

Signor Marino caught up with her as she crossed the lawn. "Please, Highness, I cannot pick a lock, but I can give you this." He held out his hand, palm up.

A small pistol rested in his palm.

"It is loaded," he said. "I keep it hidden in the kitchen, where I am always prepared to defend my crew. But you are a heroine, walking into the deepest danger, and we have agreed — you need it more than we do. Please. Take it."

She did. Reluctantly, because she couldn't face the idea of killing someone. And willingly, because she knew her use of this gun might be necessary to save a life: the lady in the tower, or her own. She tucked it into the reticule she wore at her side. "Thank you, Signor Marino. I will return it." She meant, she would survive.

He understood. "See that you do."

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

The flush of energy carried Cate
from the kitchen across the lawn, through the garden and into the stable. She stood in the doorway, blinking into the dim silence and wondering what to do now. She could ride, of course — she had galloped across many a wild Scottish mile — but she had never saddled her own horse. She needed help. "Halloo?" she called. "Is anyone here?"

No one answered.

As her eyes adjusted to the light, she strolled along the stalls, looking for a horse capable of carrying her into Arianna and up the hill to the fortress that guarded the harbor.

As Taran had discovered before her, only a few of the stalls were occupied and most by young horses who gamboled and flirted and made it clear that, even if Cate tried to ride them, they would be more than she could now handle. Only one horse captured her interest, a large, elderly gelding that watched her with standoffish dignity.

"Aren't you a handsome boy?" She leaned over the wall and offered her hand.

With a look of almost comical disdain, the beautiful old horse stretched out his neck and sniffed her fingers. Then he curled his lip at her.

"Don't be that way. I'm the Crown Princess of Cenorina." Might as well impress him with her credentials, no matter how recently she had learned them, how terribly she feared for her prince, and how likely it was that she would be ousted from her position before she had even taken the throne. "If you would consent to carry me into town, I will free an important prisoner and fulfill my duty to my husband and sovereign lord."

The horse tilted his head in equine derision.

She
loved
this guy. "Come to me, my darling boy, my king, my savior."

The horse leaned his head closer, put his nose under her hand and slid it up his head to his mane.

He was
her
horse. She knew it now. She scratched his forehead. "If you would let me, I could put the bridle in your mouth, but even if I knew how, I cannot place a saddle on you." She showed him her bandaged arm. "Will you carry me bareback?"

A voice from behind her said, "No need for that."

She jumped so hard she startled the horse.

"I can saddle him for you."

The man who stepped forward was an American — after meeting Lilbit, she recognized the accent — and appeared to be a native of that continent, with dark, straight hair, cool eyes, and copper skin. All the natives in America were portrayed as savages, but this man introduced himself eloquently and with an undertone of humor. "I'm Wahkan. I am in charge of the stables, what is left of them. I would do anything our future queen desires."

Her temper rose. "Damn it,
everybody
knows Taran’s true identity."

"I heard you introduce yourself to Narragansett. That was is courtesy many riders neglect."

She looked from Wahkan to the horse. "How did you hear me? I didn't know anyone was near."

Wahkan laughed, and something about that dry, cool amusement made her think Wahkan had a way of hiding in plain sight. But he said, "Also, I knew the prince as a child. I taught him to ride."

Appeased, Cate said, "I suppose that makes sense."

"You can ride a man's saddle?"

She had ridden a man's saddle since she was three. "Yes. Please."

He disappeared into the shadows and came back with a fine saddle of tooled leather. "'Tis the king's saddle, for the king's horse."

Startled, she looked at the large gelding. Of course. That explained the tinges of gray hair on his muzzle, the length of graceful neck, and the dignity and beauty that lingered around the old boy's shoulders.

"This is Narragansett," Wahkan said. "His days of carrying a king of Cenorina are over. Now he resides in peace. Not that a noble steed like this wishes for peace." He finished saddling the horse, then cupped his hands and offered them as a mounting block. "I'll help you up," he said. "Have a care with that arm."

She glanced at her arm. Blood still seeped through the pad, but she told herself it felt better. "I will." She took a breath, put her good hand on the saddle horn, held tight and put her foot in Wahkan's cupped hands. She jumped, and he pushed, and she got her leg mostly over the horse's back.

The horse, God bless him, stood stock-still while she arranged her skirts and took the reins.

"You look good up there," Wahkan said. "Do you know, since the king died, Narragansett hasn't made up to a single soul until you. He likes you. That means he recognizes your nobility. Don't forget."

"I will remember." She leaned forward and gave the gelding a gentle kick.

As they walked out of the stable, Wahkan followed, and pointed. "Look!"

Giraud's beacon leaped with flame. She saw the tiny figures of Gracia and Gillies scampering down the stairs, and even from such a distance, she could feel their infectious excitement. "The revolution has started," she said.

Wahkan pointed at the study as someone — Taran or Davies — shrieked, and tore the velvet drapes off the window. For one moment, the outline of both men was visible, and sunshine danced across two deadly swords. "Fire did not begin the revolution. The prince did. And he will finish it!"

Wahkan saluted her. "Go forth, Crown Princess Cate, and do your duty!"

She nodded in return. Narragansett trotted through the yard. Then Narragansett moved into a smooth gallop. They traveled up the road toward Arianna, leaving that battle behind, carrying Cate to a new confrontation.

Cate held on with all her strength, and at the top of the hill, she brought the gelding to a halt and looked back.

In response to Giraud's beacon, fire touched the beacon at the top of the Trueno Ridge. Flames grew slowly, then suddenly, the beacon blazed, spreading its light far out to sea.

The pirates had been signaled.

Cate's first vow had been fulfilled.

Turning, she spurred her mount toward the fortress, and the tower, and the lady imprisoned within.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

Someone pounded on the door.

Taran didn't seem to notice. He kept attacking Maddox, not with the elegant grace of a true swordsman, but like the bully he was. He used a chair as a shield. He launched himself off the wall. He swung on the bell pull.

Of course, Maddox prided himself on being the premier swordsman in all Europe, and he scored hits. He had slashed Taran’s cheek, his ribs, and in one moment of triumph, pierced his thigh.

But as this battle proceeded, one truth became escapable — this crown prince, with a passion for combat, a laughing disposition, and a pirate's sharp sword, would triumph.

Wherever Maddox turned, Taran was there. Smiling. Mocking. Slashing.

Maddox dripped blood from a dozen shallow slices. He was in pain. He was growing weak. And afraid. Sir Maddox Davies was
afraid
of the arrogant boy he had once so easily bested.

Would no one come to his rescue?

The servants? … No, probably not. The cook? … No. That savage in the stable? … Most definitely not.

Yet the battering at the door continued. The mercenary! Yes. If he could get in…

Maddox didn't have time to wait. Taran’s sword whipped through the air with a humming sound. The point stung like a thousand bees. And everywhere Maddox looked, there was Taran’s face, smiling, smirking … the little brat was enjoying himself!

Finally, irrevocably, Maddox panicked. He
panicked
.

His sword work became less polished, his thrusts less precise.

Escape. He had to escape!

The window. The window was open.

Yes! He could flee through the window. He turned his back to Taran. And he ran.

Just as he reached the king's battered desk, Taran brought him down with a graceless tackle.

Maddox landed hard with his arm underneath him. His arm separated from his shoulder. He screamed. He lost his grip on his sword.

Taran flipped him over, planted his boot in his chest and pointed his sword at his throat. Taran — Antonio — whateverhisname was — was still laughing, but his eyes were cold and black and intent. And purposeful. And expectant.

Taran intended to execute Sir Maddox Davies.

The door rocked on its hinges. The mercenary — what was his name? — would surely break through soon.

Fortune somebody.

Fortunato!
That was it.

Sir Maddox Davies paid an exorbitant fee for his mercenaries, and the soldier had damned well better get in here fast.

Because the maniac who held Maddox down with a boot to his chest didn't intend to kill him … yet. Now he heated the king's seal in a candle's flame … and smiled.

Davies knew what Taran intended.