Her Pirate to Love: A Sam Steele Romance (35 page)

Claire held her breath as Nate pushed open the door. The acrid smell of chemical smoke assaulted her. Dear God, had Mrs. Wingate been in the kitchen…

The remnants of a firepot lay burning on the floor. The cupboards it had smashed against bore a large scorch mark and flames were already eating the cupboard doors. The floor beneath the firepot was also on fire. Claire raced in. She ripped open the drawer where the towels were kept and grabbed a handful, intending to beat out the flames.

“Get down!” Nate yelled.

Before Claire could argue, Nate had her around the waist and was dragging her to the wall.

“What are you doing? We need to get this fire out!”

“Damn it, woman, whoever threw that is still out there. I’ll not have you hit by a firepot, or worse!”

“We can’t let them burn this house down!”

He was trembling as much as she was. “I know. But there’s no use in saving the house if we die in the process.” He pressed a fast kiss to her cheek. “Stay here, I just want to peek outside, see what’s going on.”

Claire gave a sharp nod but she kept her pistol pointed at the window. If anything moved, she was firing.

Crouching low, as much as a man of Nate’s height could, he shuffled to what remained of the window. Glass crunched under his boots. He dropped beside the opening, pressed his back to the wall and inched his way up.

“Get back!” he yelled and dove for the floor as the other window in the kitchen exploded. Claire yelped, threw her hands up to protect her face. The chemical concoction from the firepot burnt the inside of her nose. Almost too afraid to look, Claire lowered her arms and took in the shocking scene. Another scorch mark, this on the wall, blazed a black smear the length of her leg. The papered wall caught and in the blink of an eye the fire swelled. It lunged for the floor, reached for the ceiling and spread its flaming arms wide. Her kitchen, her beautiful kitchen was on fire.

“Nate.” She whimpered.

Fury overtook his face. “Those bastards are going to regret this.” He vowed. He pulled his pistol, jammed it through the broken pane, and fired.

Claire hoped he killed the rotten scallywag, or injured him in the most painful way. Whoever was doing this deserved to suffer greatly.

“Here, Nate.” Claire slid her pistol across the floor to his feet. She trusted her husband to do what needed to be done but, for the moment, she had other priorities. She couldn’t lose the only home she’d had since she’d been left at the orphanage.

Racing ahead, she beat at the flames. They weren’t so very big. If everyone came and helped, they could save the house. The towel snapped with each whip of her arm and nervous laughter bubbled from her throat. “We can do this, Nate. We can—”

“Bloody hell.” Nate cursed. He fired off another shot and the sound was still ringing in her ears when he once again grabbed her around the waist. “We need to get out of here.” He lifted her off her feet and ran from the kitchen.

“No! Nate, we can stop it! If we just—”

Once clear of the kitchen, Nate slammed the door closed and set Claire on her feet. His eyes were cold. “They’re burning our house, Claire. We need to get out.”

“It’s made of brick. If we—”

He grabbed her shoulders, shook her. “The inside’s made of wood and it’s burning. We can’t contain it. It’s spreading too fast. Claire, it’s just a house. We have to get everyone out.”

Her eyes welled. “It’s our home.”

“All I need is you and the children.” He kissed her hard. “Now let’s get out while we still can.”

*

Sweat poured in
his eyes, stung like the devil. Cale wiped away the moisture as best he could, but his sleeve was drenched with it and he accomplished little more than smearing it about his face. He’d stumbled more than once. He’d had to stop, use a tree trunk to keep from falling face first into the undergrowth. His back teeth were likely nothing more than stubs by now but he’d managed not to wretch. So far.

He made it to the cache. The lid was off, most of the weapons, including the firepots, were gone. Hell, he hoped it was their side that had the firepots. No good could come from Roche or his men having gotten their hands on them. Concentrating on his own plan, he looked down at the bow, quiver of arrows, and three measly swords. He slung the quiver over his shoulder.

From the house came the sharp sound of glass shattering.

He jerked his head, cursed himself when it swam on top of his shoulders. He wasted precious seconds waiting for the world to right itself. Then, bow in hand, he plowed through the jungle until he’d reached the edge of growth, then he slowed. It wouldn’t do to come this far only to get shot as he lurched from cover.

Fear rose from his toes until it choked him. Holy, Mother of God they were burning the house. A perfect line of fire, as though someone had spread gunpowder along the grass, ran the entire length of the back of the house. Flames flicked from the broken kitchen window and suddenly he knew with sickening clarity what the firepots were being used for.

Grace was inside. So was Aidan. Hell, so were the children, the innocent babes who’d always looked a bit scared of him because he’d been determined to remain untouchable. All but Will. Despite Cale’s determination, Will had not only managed to climb the wall Cale had built around his heart, he’d obliterated it. Because he’d reminded him of Caden.

Suddenly, a man came round the far corner of the house, a firepot in his hands. The fuse glowed red. Damnation! Before Cale could do more than grab an arrow, the enemy raced forward, hurling the firepot through another window as he passed. More glass shattered. Then, to Cale’s satisfaction, he saw a pistol jut from the other broken window and fire. The shot missed its target. As the man sped in his direction, he passed the bonfire and light illuminated his face.

Isaac.

Cale snarled and notched the arrow as another shot fired from the house.

He wasn’t the shot Aidan was, wasn’t sure anyone could be, but he knew how to use a bow and, at times like this, appreciated the fact that, relics or not, arrows had their place. He’d kill Isaac without ever revealing his position. He raised the bow, cursed viciously at the pain shooting through his side, then looked down the length of the shaft and opened his fingers. The arrow whooshed toward its target, a silent bullet in the dark. It caught Isaac in the chest—Aidan would have caught him in the throat, Cale thought with pride. Isaac staggered, looked down at what had struck him then fell to the ground.

Cale didn’t waste more time. With the back of the house on fire his friends would need to pour out the front. And if Roche was close, and Cale would bet his life he was, the man wouldn’t hesitate to cut everyone down in order to get to Grace.

As the jungle swayed around him and the ground undulated beneath him, he prayed he’d stay conscious long enough to help.

*

The maids poured
from the cellar, ashen-faced children in their arms or hanging onto their skirts. The infants wailed, the younger children cried and fussed while the adults talked all at once as they tried to make sense of what was happening. There was no reason for Nate’s home to be attacked, Blake said. He hadn’t been Steele in years and it seemed unlikely someone would have made the connection now. Which meant he wasn’t the target, Aidan reasoned. Steele could be, Luke ventured, but it would have been easier to attack him at sea. Why follow him here where he had a chance to hide?

Whoever was attacking them wanted them to come out of the house, Nate concluded. But why?

Grace pressed her cold fingers to her lips. It had to be Roche. And if it was, then ’twasn’t Steele he was after, ’twas her.

Hadn’t Nate said just last night that Roche would come after her? Cale had been quick to dismiss the possibility and she’d foolishly latched onto his certainty. She’d desperately wanted to believe she was rid of the scoundrel forever. Blast it, she should have known better. After months of witnessing his abuse, suffering at his hand, and learning just how vindictive Roche could be, why had she thought once she was off his ship he’d leave her alone? And now he’d found her…

If Roche got a hold of her now, the only way he’d spare her life would be if she told him of the child. She bit her lip to keep from crying. It would guarantee her life for another few months but no longer and her son or daughter would never know its mother. Her child would live, though from what she’d learned of his other child’s life, it wouldn’t be much of a life. A child wasn’t supposed to be some kind of prize to be kept locked away but for a few times a year when it was taken out and admired. A life without love, she’d come to realize, was no kind of life at all.

Her muscles trembled with the need to burst from the house and run until she couldn’t run any longer, until her breath wheezed from her lungs and her legs could no longer support her. She could run to the main harbor, stow away on a ship—any ship—and get as far away from Roche as possible.

She hugged herself because she knew she couldn’t. Wouldn’t. These people had welcomed her, treated her like family. Around them, she’d felt as though she’d finally found the woman she wanted to be. They were her friends and what kind of person would she be if she not only fled, but also left them to suffer on her behalf? They were innocent in this and she wouldn’t stand by and see them hurt because of what she’d brought to their door.

For once, Grace was going to do the unselfish thing. Since their indenture began, she’d done nothing but think of herself and what was best for Grace, what Grace wanted. No more. Her da had raised her better, despite the fact she hadn’t acted as such. She intended to make up for it now. Aidan had risen above his past, as had Cale. They’d both become trustworthy, loving, and giving. If she was going to die, then, like Colin, she intended to die with honor.

They were gathered in the entryway. They had quieted while she’d been thinking but the sound of the fire chomping closer had increased. The smoke was thickening and her throat was raw with it; several of them had begun to cough. The children were huddled around their parents, their eyes wide and bursting with fear. Grace knew the time had come. She wiped her palms on her skirt, walked to the stairway. It was Aidan’s eyes she looked into when she stood on the bottom step and spoke.

“’Tis me they are after, not you,” she called out.

Luke cut through the ensuing silence first. “How is that?”

“I was a prisoner on Roche’s ship before Cale attacked and took me from it. Cale sank Roche’s ship but clearly the man found another.”

“Santiago?” Luke hissed. “Bloody hell.”

“You can’t be sure,” Blake argued, “and we don’t have time to figure it out. We need to get out of here.”

“Has Steele ever been followed here before?” she asked.

“No,” Nate answered.

“Then it stands to reason, does it not? It can’t be pure happenstance that the one time Steele is followed here happens to be after he attacked Roche’s ship.”

Aidan was already shaking his head. “Grace—”

“Listen! I’ve sailed on the man’s ship, I’ve seen his temper. He holds grudges and he forgives no one. If he’s out there, if he’s already gotten to Cale—” She choked on a sob before she could continue. “If ’tis be the case,” She managed. “Then ’tis me he’s after now and he’ll not be taking the rest of you. I’ll not pay that price. I’ll barter with him.”

Ignoring the questions, the hollowed looks of fear and worry, Grace strode through them, leaned against the side of the cabinet blocking the door and strained to shove it out of the way. She was cold, so very cold she could barely feel her fingers, but she’d made up her mind.

“Grace, we’ll think of another plan,” Aidan said.

Wood cracked and hissed as the fire chewed its way toward them. Thick, black smoke rolled along the ceiling.

Grace pointed to it. “Aidan, time’s run out. Help me get this out of the way. Please. I’ll only go through a window if you don’t.”

He didn’t want to do it, ’twas plain on his face, but when she gathered herself to push again, he sighed and helped her shove the cabinet out of the way. Then, before he could try to change her mind, and before she lost her courage, Grace reached for the knob.