The Pirate's Debt (The Regent's Revenge Book 2) (16 page)

Owens tramped up the beach, his crunching footsteps alerting her that they were no longer alone.

“It will be getting dark soon.” He pointed to an opening of a nearby cave and addressed his men. “Stow the boat there. I don’t want anyone to find it easily if they come looking.”

“Aye, sir,” the men said collectively, moving to do as their boatswain had ordered.

Owens settled his gaze on Chloe. “We’ll want to be at the Marauder’s Roost before it’s too dark to see the trail. These cliffs can be treacherous to navigate at night.”

“Is it treacherous where we are going regardless?” Without being able to see where the trail led, without knowing how high the cliffs rose beside it, there was no way for Chloe to tell how far she and Jane would have to travel and under what conditions. She and Jane were already wet and uncomfortable. “I ask for Jane’s sake.”

Owens inspected Jane. “Why? Did you injure your foot during that hullabaloo on the boat?”

“No.” Jane blushed, making Chloe bristle with guilt. If she hadn’t insisted Jane participate in her mutiny aboard the cutter, the men wouldn’t have been given a reason to tease her. “I am afraid of ’eights.

“Is that all?” Owens cackled as if Jane’s fears warranted no concern. “Then let us be off.”

“Don’t mind them,” Chloe said, grabbing Jane’s hand. “We will do this together.”

Fiske’s and Kelly’s doubtful expressions were laughable at best, shameful.

Chloe didn’t care for these men’s opinions. She did, however, care about Jane. And when Jane had insisted on accompanying her, she’d inadvertently become Chloe’s responsibility. Considering Jane’s discomfort was the least she could do to begin to repay Jane for her loyalty and friendship.

She forced a smile and looked in the direction they were to go. Yellow gorse and kidney vetch bordered an almost imperceptible path at the edge of the shoreline. The trail led up a slope lined with pink thrift, then disappeared behind a large rocky crevice. She glanced up at the stone walls rising on all sides but seaward. How far could they push Jane before she broke?

Chloe cut her eyes at Fiske and Kelly as the men began to argue.

“Hold your tongues,” Owens snapped. “We have our orders.”

“We are not the Regent’s men, Owens,” Fiske said. “As of now, we’re free.”

“You swore to uphold the Regent’s orders. Do you see anyone else willing to pay us? Captain Teague is dead.”

Chloe couldn’t contain her anger. “Yes, your captain is gone, and we need you now. Must you be reminded that you would be dead, too, if not for the Regent?”

“No,” Fiske said, scratching his stubbled jaw.

Owens took Fiske and Kelly by the arms and angled them toward the trail. “Lead the way,” he ordered.

“But Madden and Jenkins have been here afore. Not us.”

Madden grumbled. “Just follow the trail, Fiske. It be easy enough.”

Jane inched closer to Chloe, her blue eyes wide.

Chloe patted Jane’s hand. “Don’t be afraid. Markwick wouldn’t have sent us here unless he thought it was safe. Let’s do as they ask.”

Owens, who was walking directly in front of Chloe and Jane, nudged Fiske and Kelly to begin. Madden and Jenkins trailed behind.

“Somethin’ . . .” Jane scrunched her nose. “Doesn’t seem right. I can’t explain it, m’lady, but . . .”

Chloe nodded, her heart going pitter-patter twice as fast as their footsteps. “I feel it, too,” she admitted. “Oh, Jane . . . You’ve been forced to weather a foolhardy ordeal of my own making. How entirely churlish I’ve been. Will you ever forgive me?”

“I didn’t give ye a choice. Remember?” Jane’s insistence that she wasn’t to blame did nothing to calm Chloe’s heart. “And our journey ’asn’t been a complete failure. Ye did find ’im.”

Yes. She had found him. And if anyone had told her weeks ago that the man she adored and the pirate she’d idolized for the past two years were one and the same, she would have never believed them. But how was that possible? How had she stepped into a quagmire of deceit sure to endanger their very lives as Isabella and Matilda had?

I pray I do not end up like Matilda . . .

Chloe furrowed her brow. She hadn’t risked everything to find Markwick only to lose him or Jane forever. “Perhaps you should have reported my plan to my parents instead of joining me on my adventure. Maybe then you’d be home, warm, safe, and snug in your bed.”

But where would
she
have been without Jane?

“I prefer keepin’ an eye on ye, m’lady.”

God help her, she hoped Jane would not suffer for it . . .

In the perfectly formed foothold, their leather boots held fast to dry land as they left behind the safety they’d found on the sand for shakier, even more unsettling ground on the rocky cliffs above.

Jane clung to Chloe as if her very life depended on it.

“It will be all right, Jane,” she said, reassuring herself more than her young maid. “I have faith in these men. Let us not forget we have been delivered safely here thus far, yes?”

But for how long?

“Of course.” Jane frowned, clutching
Otranto
close to her breast. “Where exactly
is
here?”

Chloe shook her head. “I cannot say. I do not know how far we’ll have to travel to the Marauder’s Roost, but I know we will arrive there together.”

She put one foot in front of the other and followed wherever these men led her, believing Markwick had chosen this haven as the safest place for them to be while the battle between the ships raged for a reason. It wouldn’t do to give in to her misgivings, even when something inside her screamed at her to run back to the sea and swim as far away from this place as she could. Putting one’s fears into words gave debilitating phobias more power over one’s emotions.

The waves below them chased the sand, and seagulls flew overhead while skylarks chirped out an unseen greeting. As Chloe and Jane crunched along the path, their coats snagged on various plants and shrubbery, forcing an occasional rip of fabric.

Behind them, Madden and Jenkins chuckled, then whispered, the process repeating the longer they walked.

“’Spect not to be here long, I don’t want . . .”

She could only hear snippets of their conversation. What were they talking about?

“. . . sweeter than honey, I wouldn’t complain.”

“I’m not, but I don’t like . . .”

“Good.” Madden elbowed Jenkins in the ribs when he noticed Chloe looking over her shoulder. “Eavesdropping, m’lady?”

Owens stopped suddenly, and Chloe gasped as she stumbled right into his back.

Jane came to her rescue, lifting her elbow to keep her from skinning her knees.

“Thank you, Jane.” The last thing Chloe needed was an injury. “What is it?” she then asked Owens. “Have we arrived at the inn?”

Owens nodded to his men, enunciating his words into the eerie quiet. “The guns have been quiet a long time.”

A ceasefire! She looked to Owens, the urge to put out to sea overwhelming her even stronger than before. “I order you to turn around and go back to the boat.”

“No.”

“No?” Chloe lifted her nose, dismissing the boatswain. “It is insanity to go to the inn when our people”—for she already thought of Markwick’s crew as her own—“need our help.”

“I have my orders, my lady. I gave my word to protect you, and I will keep it, whether or not you allow it. The cap’n believes I’ve taken you to the Marauder’s Roost, and that’s what I aim to do.”

Defeated for the moment, Chloe frowned. Owens’s loyalty was commendable, but he couldn’t know her pain, the way her stomach churned inside her. She ached to hold Markwick in her arms, to feel his lips on hers, to be taken to his bed and shown the world. She also wanted to be held in her brother’s arms, sheltered as she’d been as a child, and fought back the onset of tears, fearing the worst.

Carnage had almost succeeded in ending her pursuit of Markwick. Had he taken the life of the men she loved, too?

REPORTS have spread throughout CORNWALL and DEVON with news that more SHIPS have been driven to DISASTROUS ends. The
MOHEGAN
has been LOST at SEA. FIFTY are feared dead. Who will be next? Can the BLACK REGENT save us?

~
Trewman’s Exeter Flying Post
, 6 August 1809

A furious hail of lead erupted around the
Fury
as she sailed into the line of fire. Arching geysers of seawater from narrow misses had showered her deck, dousing men and making it slick underfoot as she sailed between the two battling ships in the
Windraker’s
defense.

The
Viper’s
mainmast and foremast teetered dangerously over the water in a tangled mass of rope, canvas, and fragmented spar. More importantly, the
Fury’s
twenty-four pounders had rendered Carnage’s starboard gundeck ineffective, leaving his ship unable to protect itself.

“Prepare to board!” Markwick shouted as the
Fury
reached the
Viper
.

Within moments, his men would throw boarding hooks across the divide, bridging the gap between the two ships.

He’d effectively rallied his men in Walsingham’s defense, men who now stood shoulder to shoulder with him, holding flintlock pistols, daggers, cutlasses, and boarding axes, waiting for the moment to strike. The
Fury’s
short-range carronades protested on their trucks as his crew sponged, loaded, and wadded the muzzles, doing everything he imagined was being done belowdecks but on a grander scale. Snipers who were positioned in the ratlines aimed their muzzles at the
Viper’s
deck, ready to fire on the enemy.

Markwick wasn’t taking any chances after what he’d seen these pirates do. Carnage had wrecked the
Mohegan
, hunted down the
Fury
like a fox, and attacked Walsingham’s preventative ship with no consideration for lives lost. If Carnage was desperate enough to ignore the threat of roving revenue officers or customs officials in Porthoustock and Coverack, there was no telling what the pirate would do.

The
Fury
had to be ready for anything. Time was running out, and Markwick was eager to rescue his friend and hasten a reunion with Chloe.

Nearby, her brother’s ship was taking on water and was now incapable of protecting itself. Walsingham stood to lose more than his ship if Markwick wasn’t successful—his crew, possibly even his own life.

For Chloe’s sake—for Walsingham’s sake—he couldn’t allow that to happen.

“Look lively!” Markwick called to his men. “I want every one of these verminous scum to pay for what they’ve done.”

Mere minutes had yet to pass before they’d be able to mount their attack. He rubbed his hand over the corded muscles in his neck, sneaking glances at the
Viper’s
deck, inspecting it for signs of a trap.

His heart pounded as he withdrew his sword. The pinging steel sang with delight, louder in his ears than the excited voices of his men, who appeared to be mentally preparing themselves for battle, standing nearby. “Steady, men, steady!”

The two hulls collided, a hollow thump resounding at the contact.

“Now!” He grabbed a rope and swung over the chasm between the two ships. Once across, a stream of his men joined him as he braced himself on the opposing ship’s rail before hopping to the deck and immediately bracing for an attack of arching steel against the
Viper’s
combative crew.

Men darted out of hiding places on the enemy’s deck, shouting in a collective frenzy. Gunfire erupted from the
Fury’s
ratlines, cutting men down before him as he moved across the deck. He parried and feinted, dodging attacks and hacking his way toward the companionway.

“Where’s your captain?” Markwick demanded, picking up a wounded pirate by the collar.

“G-Gone,” the man gurgled. “H-Home to . . . r-roost.” The man seized, blood oozing from his mouth. His head rolled back until sightless eyes glared at the sky.

Markwick laid the man on the deck.
Home to roost?
That meant Carnage’s home was nearby.

Hell’s fury! No, it couldn’t be . . . Carnage couldn’t be at the
Marauder’s Roost.

Markwick’s blood ran cold, and he moved quickly to the companionway, racing down the steps and forcibly working his way to the captain’s cabin, his blade singing with every thwarted effort to fend off anyone who tried to stop him. Once there, he kicked open the screen door.

The room was empty, proving the tar had been right. The captain had fled. In a burst of rage, Markwick kicked over a table. They’d been tricked! Carnage wasn’t here. And if Markwick had understood the dead man correctly, he’d sent Chloe straight to the pirate’s lair!

He clenched his jaw until he thought his teeth would crack. Racked with guilt, he prayed the tar’s last words were another trick.

He stormed out of the cabin and through the gundeck. There, he heard something that stopped him in his tracks—a strange hissing, thwacking sound. He followed it to the galley where the stove door had been left wide open. Flames licked the deck there, dancing over supplies, surging and consuming everything in its path.

Bloody hell! It
was
a trap!

He took off at a run. He had to warn his men, to get his ship away before they both blew!

He scaled the companionway ladder two steps at a time, waving his arms at his men as soon as he reached the quarterdeck. “It’s a trap! Bear away!”

His crew scrambled over dead bodies and rigging, scaling over the rail to swing back aboard the
Fury
.

“Hurry, men!” Markwick called, spurring them on. “Every man for himself.
Move!
”

“Smoke!” someone shouted.

A gray plume rose from the grates over the galley. “Are there any more men on board?” Markwick asked.

Bodies lay strewn across the deck where they’d been cut down. He sheathed his sword, waiting mere seconds more before grabbing a rope someone tossed him and swung across the divide to the
Fury’s
deck. “Cut the mooring lines!”

Immediately, boarding axes were put to good use, and the
Fury
eased off.

Quinn moved up beside him. “We can use this to our advantage, Cap’n.”

“How? I was just told Carnage is on his way to the Marauder’s Roost!” He slammed his fist on the rail. “Chloe is in danger!”

Quinn got strangely quiet. “Can you believe the man who told you this?”

Could he afford not to? That very question had been roiling in Markwick’s mind.

“It could be another trick,” Quinn suggested.

“A dying man has no reason to lie,” he said. “Unless—”

“We’re talking about the
Viper’s
crew.”

“Aye.” Markwick held on to a frayed strand of hope. “Pray you are right.”

“Where away, Cap’n?” Pye shouted.

“Leave the wreckage for the preventative men. Walsingham must be our chief concern now.” With every fiber of his being he wanted to sail to the cove and storm the Roost with his men, but he had to be patient.

As the
Fury
closed the gap between the
Windraker
and the
Viper
, two boats appeared.

“Deck there!” He lifted his gaze to the main top. “Two jolly boats steering toward shore.”

“If you want to get even with Carnage, now’s your chance, sir.” Quinn’s body was tense, prepared for a fight. “Pay him back in kind. Blow his ship out of the water and make him watch.”

“Sly devil.” Markwick appreciated Quinn’s strategy. “Hell’s fury, they truly are headed to the Roost.” His skin crawled and his blood boiled as a fiery caldron of hate consumed him. “If he—”

“A bold stroke, but we cannot be sure they’re going to the Roost, Cap’n. This coast is riddled with caves. He could be going to any one of them. Walsingham needs us.”

Torn by his responsibilities, Markwick ripped the mask off his face. Why did fate cut him down before he ever had a chance at happiness? First Pru, then his father, and now Chloe. As he saw it, he only had two options left: help Walsingham or rescue Chloe. But either way he lost. Walsingham and his men would drown if he didn’t act fast.

“She’s got five of our men to protect her, Cap’n. Walsingham stands to lose more right now.”

“Aye.” He didn’t need to be reminded. “Make way for the
Windraker
.” He motioned to his gun crew, pointing at the
Viper
. “Send
her
to hell!”

Within minutes, sparking fuses rent the air and red flashes ignited.

Ftoom! Ftoom!

The
Fury
recoiled, her ribs shaking underfoot as a heavily charged broadside erupted, the
Fury’s
quarterdeck and gun deck teeming with smoke and sulphur.

As the smoke cleared, the
Viper
splintered into hundreds of pieces, vaulting into the air then raining down on the water in a pitter-patter of hissing sound.

Markwick moved into action. “Tack for the
Windraker
! Prepare a launch! We don’t have any time to waste.”

Pye broke away from the helm and wove through the chaos to reach Markwick’s side. “We’ll pay a steep price for this, Cap’n.”

“It cannot be helped.” There would be no living with himself if he allowed Walsingham to die.

“His Lordship knows there be no place for two cap’ns aboard ship. That’s why you are here and he isn’t.”

Pye’s judgment was sound but erroneous. Though he’d served with Blackmoor, the duke’s days of piracy were done. He had a child on the way, leaving Pye under Markwick’s command.

“I’m here because Blackmoor is needed elsewhere,” Markwick corrected. “No more, no less.”

“He’ll ’ave murder in his eyes, he will. You’re playin’ with fire.”

“My hand is already at a disadvantage, Pye. Chloe knows who I am.”

“That one? She’d die keeping your secret. I’d stake my life on it.”

It was obvious Chloe had bewitched Pye.

“Would you, now?” Aye, Markwick knew she’d keep his secret. How many of her own had she kept, after all? And now, he was the one gutted by thoughts of never seeing her again, never being given the chance to love her as she should be loved.

“That one sees more in ye than ye see in yourself, Cap’n. I ask ye, is that so wrong?” He barely paused before continuing. “I don’t think so. You’ve proved yourself capable of captaining this ship a hundred times over.”

Markwick grimaced. But could he stake all their lives on it? “You’d make a good politician.”

Pye knitted his brows and yanked up his trousers. “And be forced to accommodate a guise for the
ton
? I’d rather wear a corset and parade about in me nethers.”

Markwick threw his head backward and laughed, releasing pent-up anxiety and easing the tension that rifled through his body. “That would be a sight I’d pay to see.”

He slapped Pye on the back. The very image of peg-legged Pye parading around in a corset—and nothing else—in front of Lady O and his aunt, Lady Barrow, the Duke and Duchess of Blackmoor, and notable landed gentry, including powerful members of the church in Exeter, would offer a ridiculous exhibition.

But Exeter and his old life were not important right now. He’d worked hard to make amends with Blackmoor, Barrett, Standeford, and Landon. Though, no matter what his father had done or whether or not his friends would overlook who’d sired him, he wouldn’t be alone as long as Chloe was there. The impish girl had always been part of his life, her effervescent character never far beyond reach. While he’d ignored her purposefully, to this day, she still knew him better than he did himself. She’d believed in him, sought him out, and sailed to her own destruction to find him. No, inimitable Chloe wouldn’t give him away. But if he didn’t save Walsingham, Chloe would never look at Markwick the same again.

He glanced away from Pye, his previous smile sinking as he trained his attention on Walsingham’s ship. “You’ve made your point. Take over. I’m going to get Walsingham.”

Quinn muscled his way through the hangers-on. “No, Cap’n. He’d just as soon drown you as let you help him. I’ll go.”

Pye attempted to protest, but Markwick held up his hands. “I insist that we do this together, Quinn,” he said, tying his mask back in place. “It’s
my
duty. He’s my friend. I also promised Lady Chloe I’d rescue her brother and I shall.”

Several loud cheers erupted from the men gathering ’round. There was no use pretending that Chloe hadn’t earned his crew’s support during the short time she’d been on board.

He smiled, struck dumb by the irony. They’d been won over in a matter of hours; he’d fought his attraction for years. As he glanced at Pye’s peg leg, he made a vow to remedy that.