The Merman and the Barbarian Pirate (25 page)

Simpson dragged Raef's arms behind him. Edith banged the end of her walking stick into the mud. "No. My son can have the dreaded Pirate Kemp, but I want to keep that one."

Raef felt queasy. Jon narrowed his eyes and offered the merest nod. This was a chance, and Raef must take it.

"But, my lady!" Simpson turned to Edith, holding the chains forth in supplication. "This is most irregular. As soon as he got your message, His Lordship commanded—"

Edith jumped up with a vigor that suggested the stick was more for threatening her prey than support. She jabbed it at Simpson. "Don't you defy me, little man. What the lady wants, the lady gets. My son would be incandescent if he learned you went against my wishes."

Raef suspected this might be a lie, but Edith's threat hit its target. Simpson affected a bow. "As you wish, my lady." He did nothing to oppose Edith's two men when they came and took hold of Raef, leading him away from Jon. They forced Raef onto his knees in the mulch beneath the tree, where the spiky nutcases dug into his shins.

"Good." Edith addressed her servants so quietly, the yeomen wouldn't hear, wrinkling her lips into a wizened pout. "If you let this one escape like you did those wretched girls with the book, I'll order my son's men back to have you flogged in his place."

Raef's expectations soared and sunk all at once. Cecilia and Sarah
had
got away and might be working at some rescue plan, though current events compelled his attention. Simpson linked Jon's chains through the saddle of his horse and led Jon away, urging the mare into a trot. Flanked by the other riders, Jon kept pace using the longest steps his chains allowed, shuffling in the mud. He afforded Raef a last glance over his shoulder, cracking features otherwise set like flint in order to wink.

The party started up a high-hedged lane, rounded a corner, and was gone. Raef's heart thumped so hard, he feared it might burst. He gathered himself fast. Cool as the breeze that licked his skin, he looked up at Edith. She'd settled down in her wicker chair, as complacent as if she were about to start her embroidery rather than watch a man tortured.

Righteous anger tingled down his spine. A week ago, he might have despaired, but not anymore. Jon had called him a merman pirate. This was the moment he'd step forward and assume his new mantle. Hell, he'd little choice but to believe he could succeed. Nobody defied the merman pirate when he'd set his sights on what he desired.

"Fetch some rope," snapped Edith, to the younger, mean-looking man. "We'll string him up by the wrists and flay him raw. I want to see the pretty boy dance."

While the fellow hurried off to obey, Raef buried his face in his hands, affecting sobs. Between his fingers, he assessed the scene. Edith was cackling at him, calling him "Dandyprat" and "Lily-livered." The stout servant with the bloodhound eyes leaned against the tree trunk, a pistol tucked in a halter. He was bigger than Raef, though Raef had muscle where he possessed flab. Raef would be quicker too, but must remember everything Jon had taught him, as well as follow his natural instincts. Lull the foe into a false sense of security and take advantage.

He emitted a wail so pathetic, the servant guarding him chuckled.

"Please," he begged, shuffling closer and clasping his hands in entreaty. "Don't hurt me. I'll do anything!"

"Stay where you are, you plaguey dog."

Raef moaned piteously. The servant offered a languorous kick. Raef dodged it, then sprang up, throwing himself at the fellow, who had the pistol drawn by the time Raef seized the servant's arm and thwacked it against the tree trunk. He slammed his knee into the man's groin, wrenching the gun free as the servant bellowed in anguish. Hearing a shout, he turned. The mean-faced man was dashing out of the gatehouse, carrying the rope and a large musket.

Raef lifted the pistol and aimed, gritting his teeth as Edith veered into his firing line, waving her stick. The old biddy was fearless. Maybe she was counting on him losing his nerve. Wasn't going to happen. He cocked the pistol, readying to squeeze the trigger.

"Raef. Duck!"

At the unexpected female shout, Raef obeyed on reflex. He threw himself to the ground as a blast sounded. A shot whizzed over him, striking the man running from the gatehouse, who crumpled the same moment the burly servant Raef had seized the gun from crashed into Raef from behind. The impact pummeled him into the ground and crushed the wind from his lungs. He managed to keep hold of the pistol—just—stretching it in front of him. The servant grabbed for it, and Raef struck his assailant's jaw with his elbow. Another shot was fired somewhere to the left of him, and a blood-curdling scream rent the air.

Raef couldn't see what had happened; he was too busy holding onto his weapon while the servant thumped his arm. He tasted the sharp scent of gunpowder, and then Sarah ran into his sightline, brandishing a gun nigh as long as she was tall. The servant on top of Raef kept whacking him, but Raef gripped the barrel harder.

Sarah must have been responsible for downing either Edith or the mean-faced servant. She now funneled powder and shot back into her weapon's muzzle, preparing for another go. "Get off him," she snarled, finishing the task and lifting her rifle. The servant squashing Raef froze before clambering up, his hands raised. His expression was thunderous.

Sarah nodded to Raef. "Are you hurt?"

Raef shook his head, placing one hand on his knee and rising, too winded to speak. His many inquiries were further quashed when their surviving enemy whipped out a knife and lunged toward Sarah.

"You mousy bitch," snarled the servant. "I'll get—"

Before Sarah had reacted, Raef fired the pistol into the servant's chest, staggered back with the recoil, and then turned away. He didn't want to see what he'd just done.

"Raef?" Sarah threw down the rifle and touched him. He cast aside the pistol and hugged her tight, burying his face in her headscarf.

"He's dead," whispered Sarah. "Thank you."

"It's the least I can do."

Raef's insides had gone numb. When he dared look up, he kept his gaze averted from the man he'd killed. Less than ten paces afar, Cecilia stood over the lifeless bodies of Edith and the other servant. She’d a rifle propped on her shoulder and her hair blew loose.

"One debt repaid," she said hoarsely, more grief-stricken than triumphant. She knelt and took the ring from Edith's finger, a single tear trickling beside her aristocratic nose. "Now let's go find your man, Raef, and finish this affair."

Raef, Sarah, and Cecilia buried the three bodies in a shallow pit in nearby woodlands. They covered it with soil and the autumn leaves, which tumbled about them in a myriad of gold and red shades. Raef muttered a prayer to the gods of the oceans, though guilt didn't eat him as he feared. He'd had little choice but to kill to save Sarah. He wasn't proud of what he'd done, yet he couldn't bring himself to be ashamed, either.

They knelt on soft mulch beside the grave, heads bowed and exhausted from the effort. "I suppose I'll have to answer for Edith's murder," said Cecilia.

"No," said Raef. "I'll take the blame. There are no witnesses left, and it'll be easy enough to say it was pirates." Hopefully, by the time news of the killings came out, he and Jon would be making a dash for some westward horizon. "Once you've become Lady Haverford, nobody must question your word. And you've got to claim what is yours, otherwise all this will be for nothing."

"He's right," said Sarah. "It's your destiny, love. Your mother would have wanted it. I won't let you throw everything away."

"I would for you." Cecilia offered Sarah a frail, but adoring, smile that made Raef fleetingly happy, though his thoughts flew to Jon. Was he all right?

"Last night," whispered Cecilia, "when I saw that man touch you, Sarah… Oh heavens, it was awful." She shaded her eyes, anguished, but Sarah hushed her.

"It's all right, sweetheart." Sarah pulled Cecilia close, and they buried their faces in each other's shoulders.

Raef speculated whether Cecilia had told Sarah about her agreeing to let Jon kiss her. These two seemed so close; he suspected she had. The traumatic events of the night seemed to have fortified their bond of trust, just like they had his and Jon's.

"It's all over now," murmured Sarah, smoothing Cecilia's hair before releasing her. "The bitch is dead, though… we'd better get moving."

"We had," affirmed Raef, jumping up. He didn't like to spoil the girls' moment, but the life of
his
love was at stake here.

They started up the lane in pursuit of the yeomanry cavalry, and Raef learned the details of the women's escape. The younger of Edith's manservants had taken a fancy to Sarah, who had pretended to be willing to please in order to drop a sleeping potion in the man's wine. Cecilia had brought the concoction from the supplies in the cottage. "Just in case," she explained. "I like to be prepared for the worst."

Both servants had supped from the bottle, and once they were snoring, Sarah had freed Cecilia. They'd found the registry book propped beside a heap of chopped wood and ready to be thrown on the fire. They had next attempted to break into the secure part of the gatehouse, where Raef and Jon were imprisoned and Edith slept. Upon failing that task, the women had taken the donkey to a safe spot—which pleased Raef—and ran off to steal some weapons from a nearby battery, where Sarah's soldier brother had once served. They'd drugged the men on duty and returned quick as they could, in time to help Raef. Now, both women refused his offer to carry their guns. They strode out ahead, while he bore the pistol and a knife in his belt and lugged the great book, which Cecilia had retrieved from a temporary hiding place.

"In some respects, I'm enjoying myself too much." Sarah tugged the scarf from her hair and swung her heavy rifle to a jaunty rhythm. "This beats selling winkles out of a bucket."

"You two should become pirates for sure," said Raef. "With your witchery with herbs, you'd be more valuable to Jon's crew than I." He almost laughed, but as the day wore on, his unease mounted. On reaching the cliff top, they had a fine view of the path winding around the headlands in front of them, and there was no sign of Jon and his escort. It was unlikely that Raef's party would catch the yeomanry cavalry before the latter reached Haverford's castle. Anyway, even if Raef ran fast as the wind, he and the girls had little chance of winning any fight in the open.

"We're going to have to trick them," said Cecilia, hooking a hand on her hip and licking wind-chapped lips.

"Yes, but how?" asked Raef.

When no good answer was forthcoming, he scanned the horizon for ships. Though he wasn't convinced even the
Alice O'Shanty
could help. It would be impossible to get a message to the crew. Worse of all, his human legs were getting weary, and the golden conch appeared to weigh twice what it ought in his pocket, where he'd tucked it deep, glad the yeomen hadn't found it. It seemed to whisper to him, beneath the moans of the sea and the murmur of the wind.

Haverford's castle is by the ocean. You're going to have to use me. Give him up—give everything up—to save him.

He closed his fist about the conch, but couldn't shut out the truth. At the present, his best plan was to summon his tribe. He briefly considered telling Cecilia about the shell, and also her mother's true identity, but decided to save it. She had enough to deal with; they all did. And besides, the girls did not even know he was a merman, and that would be a revelation enough.

A cloud of black seabirds twisted through the skies, forming ever-shifting shapes and spirals, and Raef wracked his brains. He must change too, be as mutable as those fowl. Create new plans, on the spot if he must, just like Jon would. He'd been to Haverford's castle before. What had he learned that would help him? He knew about the passage and staircase from the servants' quarters, which was hardly a secret, but that sort of information might prove helpful.

In the late afternoon, they deserted the path to approach the castle under the shelter of woodlands, picking carefully through the bracken to avoid any mantraps. As the trees started to thin out, Cecilia motioned they must be quiet. She pointed toward the lawns in front of the castle, visible through the foliage. Here, a servant was climbing a ladder to fix a rope over the bough of a high tree. Beneath this, a carpenter erected a wooden platform, sawing what looked like a trap—the door that would open beneath Jon's feet, leaving him dangling and suffocating on the gallows.

Raef and the girls crouched down among the ferns. "They're going to hang him," whispered Cecilia. Raef had gathered that, and his insides were crawling. "We need to rescue him fast. Have you any notion where they might be keeping him?"

"Let me think." Raef snatched an unsteady breath. Keeping calm was getting harder and harder. The game larder was a possible prison, though wherever Jon was, it would be heavily defended. The three of them still didn't have much of a chance alone; they needed allies, or at the very least, more information. And they required it fast.

Words that Jon had spoken last time they'd broken into the castle flashed into his mind.
Silence can be bought from servants who've no love for their master, and I'll wager this crew has none.