In the Arms of a Pirate (A Sam Steele Romance Book 2) (36 page)

It all happened at once. A brick wall slammed into Aidan. Something burned across his middle. Knocked flat on his back, arms spread wide, Aidan gasped as what felt like one of the seven-pound guns landed on his chest.

“Cap’n, you hurt?”

Before Aidan could respond, Chunk leapt to his feet, sliced his sword at an oncoming attacker. Aidan pulled a deep breath into his lungs. His stomach was on fire but there wasn’t time to assess the wound. A giant of a sailor was coming at him, cutlass dripping with blood. Blood from one of Aidan’s men. His lips pulled back. Pulling out an arrow, Aidan notched it and pulled on the bow. The projectile punctured the man’s black heart.

The pirate fell face forward and Aidan rolled out of the way to keep from being flattened again. Burning pain radiated across his stomach. Aidan hissed, dared look down. Blood, red as the richest wine, seeped through his dark shirt. Cold. He suddenly felt cold. Fearing the worst, he ripped open the garment.

“Looks like you’ll live,” Chunk said, smacking him on the shoulder before racing ahead to meet his next attacker.

Heat seeped back into his body. A graze wouldn’t keep him down. He yanked an arrow from the quiver, cursed as only half appeared in his hand. Chunk’s landing on him must have broken the rest. Tossing it aside, Aidan hurriedly shrugged out of the quiver, wincing as his wound screamed. Graze or not, it hurt like a bloody demon. He drew his pistol from his sash, intent on aiming for anyone manning the guns on the deck of Roche’s ship.

“Argh!”

Aidan spun, ducked as a blade swiped over his head. Then, still crouched, fired into the man’s chest. Dammit that was his last shot. He was down to his sword now. He threw his pistol aside, pulled his sword from the scabbard.

Still on the quarterdeck, Aidan hacked and feinted. He advanced, lunged, deflected. Knowing he didn’t want to waste too much energy—he was saving that for Roche—Aidan cut down his opponents as fast as he could. He read their bodies for clues and when they glanced to his right Aidan was ready with the block. He knew when their muscles tensed prior to attack and he caught the downward motions mid-swing with the flat of his sword, swinging the opposing blades aside and counterattacking with the edge of his. He thrust, parried. Aidan’s sword was never still. When the blades clashed together, he put his weight behind him, shoved the opponents back. They tripped over debris, bodies, guns. One fell down the stairs of the quarterdeck where Cale happened to be ready with his own blade. The others Aidan dealt with until his arm throbbed and the sword felt heavy as a mast. He bloody hoped they were winning, he thought as he skirted the debris.

A cannon thundered another shot. He had time only to think that he’d believed all guns spent before the cannonball blew its way into his ship, directly under his feet. He’d never been in an earthquake but knew those who had and it was as they’d described it. The quarterdeck shuddered. Tremors rocked from his feet up to his teeth and for a moment he thought the whole deck would collapse beneath him.

Aidan grabbed what was left of the wheel, ready to hang on if the quarterdeck fell into his cabin.

Oh, God. His cabin.

Sarah!

With the deck still quaking beneath him, with his heart in his throat, Aidan rushed for the stairs. Ropes swung in his face and he slapped them aside. He leapt over the dead, hacked at anything that stood in his way. He had to get to Sarah. Make sure she wasn’t hurt…or worse.

She wouldn’t be the only one, he knew. And when he jumped to the deck he saw it firsthand. Amid the carnage of shredded and fallen sails, tipped over guns, scattered chunks of gunwale and mast, sightless eyes seemed to look right through him. If he found Sarah like that he’d die himself. His life was better with her in it; he was better with her beside him.

But first he had to get to—

He stopped dead. One of the guns had been knocked back. It had rolled onto its side and currently covered the hatch to his cabin.

Aidan bared his teeth, kicked aside a mangled lantern. God dammit, the gun weighed well over a thousand pounds, he couldn’t move it by himself.

“Aidan, behind you!”

He barely heard Cale’s voice in time but the moment he did he pivoted, brought up his blade. It clanged hard against another, sending tingles searing up his arm. Fueled with fear for Sarah, Aidan shoved back and didn’t stop. The pirate’s eyes spewed evil and filth, but Aidan kept his blade tight against his and using his weight as leverage, forced the man to keep moving backward. He backed directly into Lucky’s waiting blade.

Aidan brought his own to his brow and saluted his crewman. Lucky, sweat and blood dripping from his face, barely acknowledged him before continuing the charge. The numbers were dwindling. Less and less men engaged in battle. Among those moving he recognized a good handful of his own crew, including Cale, Lucky, and Chunk. Maybe the tide had turned. He could only hope, but first he had to find a way to move the cannon.

Ropes. Ropes would do it. Aidan raced across the deck to the main hatch. Glass from the tossed and mangled lanterns crunched under his boots. Next to the main hatch the longboat had fallen from its perch. While the stern of it covered the access to below, it at least didn’t weigh as much. Bending, he easily shoved it aside.

A blade slithered over his shoulder, stopped him cold.

“We meet again.”

A cannonball dropped in Aidan’s stomach. Roche. He hadn’t forgotten the sound of the bastard’s voice. It dripped satisfaction, victory. Aidan slowly straightened. The victor had yet to be declared and, to his mind, it wasn’t going to be Roche. The scoundrel would have been wise to kill him when he wasn’t looking. Instead, he’d wanted to gloat. It was a mistake Aidan intended to see Roche didn’t live to regret. Turning, Aidan faced his enemy.

Roche’s greasy brown hair was parted severely down the middle, likely held there with the same grease that curved the tip of his mustache. His clothes were splattered with blood, as was the hand that slid the cutlass from Aidan’s shoulder. While he appeared no worse for wear from either today’s battle or the one at Nate’s, Aidan knew the man had taken an arrow to his right arm and a shot in the leg.

He intended to use that information to his advantage.

“You’d have saved us a lot of time and energy if you’d just gone home for Sarah’s birthday.”

“Ah, well, where would the fun have been in that? We’d have missed all this,” he said, stretching his arms wide.

While Aidan kept his eyes on Roche he was nonetheless aware of Cale’s steady approach. His father ducked under the bowsprit and crept steadily toward the windlass. A shame everyone’s pistols were spent, Aidan thought as otherwise Cale could have finished Roche. At least he hoped they were all spent, including the two tucked in Roche’s colorful sash.

“Actually,” Aidan goaded, “we had quite a bit of fun at your house. A shame you weren’t there to see it.”

Aidan had a suspicion about Roche’s treatment of his daughter and he knew he’d hit the mark when, despite his cackle, Roche’s eyes glittered with hatred.

“Do you think to shock me with the fact that you and your crew had your turns with her? No man worth his salt would pass that up.”

Aidan leaned forward. “The crew didn’t have her. Only I had the pleasure of the feast. And you’re right.” Aidan licked his lips. “She was too good to pass up.”

Roche’s smile turned to ice. “Sarah is but a whore now. She means nothing to me.”

“Ah,” Aidan agreed, keeping his grip ready on his sword. “I suppose compared to your saintly Evangeline, nobody can compare. Tell me, did she also taste like—”

Roche’s attack was expected and Aidan parried, easily defending himself. Lunging, he riposted and kept the attack, forcing Roche to step back.

“Sarah must look a lot like your Evangeline”—he continued to taunt—“for you to lock her away and treat her as a monument.”

Roche dug in, locked swords with Aidan then shoved back. Aidan knew the man wasn’t trying to win. Not yet. Like a cat with a mouse, Roche seemed content to play.

“Sarah is nothing like her mother,” Roche spat. “Evangeline was perfect.”

“And you thought by keeping Sarah the same way you were somehow resurrecting the dead?” Aidan shook his head. “The woman’s nothing but ash by now, Santiago. Let her go.”

Roche roared, sword slashing wildly. Aidan intercepted every strike, countered by shoving, hacking. He brought his sword down time and again, different sides, different angles, trying to force Roche into using his wounded arm. Aidan’s breath soughed through his lungs. His damned wound throbbed like a tolling bell. God dammit, Roche must have a high tolerance for pain, he thought as he shoved his loose hair out of his face.

That was all the time it took for Roche to pull a pistol, aim and fire. The blast stopped Aidan’s heart. Only it wasn’t him Roche had targeted; it was Cale.

Cale hit the ground.

“No!” Aidan yelled, whirling back to Roche.

“Steele deserves to die,” Roche grunted as his blade rang against Aidan’s.

Aidan didn’t bother correcting Roche. It mattered little who carried the title of Steele now. All that mattered was Cale was down, very likely so was Sarah and he had no idea how the rest of his family was doing. Since he couldn’t hear anything besides his sword clashing with Roche’s, he knew the battle was over for the others. And he was done taunting Roche. Now, he wanted him dead.

Their skills, however, were evenly matched and even Aidan’s burning hatred offered little advantage. Their blades clanged together, hard jabs that shook his teeth, pealed in his ears until he hardly heard them any longer. His muscles strained, every time he lifted the cutlass it seemed to take a bit longer but he kept at it, surprised sparks didn’t fly from the heated blades.

Sweat trickled in and burned Aidan’s eyes. The metallic taste of blood was strong on his tongue. Growling, their swords pressing against each other, Roche shoved Aidan back. Aidan gulped in air, tried to blink the sting out of his eyes. He didn’t rest, but coiled to strike again.

Roche beat him to it. But instead of coming at him with his blade, he grinned and pulled out his remaining pistol. Only once it was pointed at Aidan did Roche drop his cutlass to the deck.

Roche wiped his brow with his sleeve. He too was heaving.

“Apparently, you’ve failed in avenging your poor mother.” Roche laughed. “But then, how did you put it? She’s nothing but ash by now anyway.” He leaned forward, reveling in his victory. “Best to let her go.”

Aidan wasn’t about to let Roche get to him. “Is that the best you have?”

Roche lifted his pistol, turned it left to right. “No, whelp. This is.”

“This one’s better.”

Both Roche and Aidan’s gaze whipped to the side. Cale was on his feet, a pistol aimed at Roche as he limped steadily forward.

“That pistol’s spent,” Roche sneered.

“Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, you only have one shot and there are two of us.”

“Make that three. And I know for damn certain my pistol isn’t spent.”

Everyone’s glance cut to Luke, who stood on the gunwale of Roche’s ship, pistol aimed at Roche. Aidan didn’t waste a moment. With his enemy’s attention elsewhere, he tucked his hand into his boot, pulled out his dirk and threw the knife. It sunk to the hilt into Roche’s shoulder.

Roche jerked, spun. The pistol fell to the ground. It fired, but missed wide.

“Luke, don’t shoot!” Aidan ordered as he tossed his cutlass aside and charged Roche. Suddenly Aidan had energy to spare and he pulled his fist back and rammed it into Roche’s face. The sound of bone cracking had never sounded sweeter.

Roche screamed in agony as his nose broke and blood gushed into his mouth. Aidan showed as little mercy as he’d been given and hit him again, this time kicking him in his wounded leg. Roche fell to the deck.

“Don’t touch him,” he barked when Cale stepped closer.

Aidan reached for his sword. Rage blinded him to everything but this man and what he’d done. To his mother, to him. To his father, he thought looking at Cale. To Grace and Sarah and everyone else he’d hurt over the course of his sorry life.

Roche struggled to get up. Using the pommel of his cutlass Aidan struck him on the side of the head, sent Roche sprawling.

Aidan looked to Cale. “We do this together.”

Gripping the sword, Aidan held it out. Cale nodded, stepped forward and wrapped his hand around Aidan’s. As one they plunged the blade into Roche’s heart.

“H
eave. Heave!” Aidan,
Luke, Cale, and everyone else who was able pulled on the ropes tied to the cannon. It crept steadily off the hatch until finally it rolled off.

Aidan, hands screaming with burns and slivers, ripped open the hatch and skittered down the ladder.

Holy mother of God.

Two chairs could have fit through the gaping hole in the hull. His berth had been decimated by the blast. Through the few slabs of wood and lengths of rope remaining he saw the blankets. But Sarah wasn’t amid them. His gaze flew across the room. His table was on its side; the window was gone. His body started to shake.

“Aidan.”

He whirled and there she was. Clutching Carracks’ cage to her chest, she sat huddled under the ladder. Her hair had come apart from its braid and her eyes were red and swollen from her tears. Her shirt had slipped off one shoulder.

Oh God, he’d believed her lost. Despite wanting to rush forward, crush her in his arms and never let her go, he moved slowly. She looked fragile as glass and she’d been through enough. More than enough. The least she deserved now was some tenderness.

Cale came rushing down the ladder, followed closely by Luke. “Is she—”

“She’s fine,” Aidan said, his gaze never leaving Sarah’s. “She’s fine. Luke? What of Samantha?”

“Frantic to see you, but otherwise unharmed.”

His shoulders drooped. Thank God. “We’ll be up soon,” he said, dismissing them.

Seeing for themselves that Sarah was alive, they silently returned the way they’d come.

“She’s all right,” he heard Cale shout before Aidan put everything out of his mind but Sarah.