“My lady, there’s no use not doing what I say. If you don’t, some of those men in the ship will come down to get you and they won’t be gentle.”
The idea of being manhandled by pirates was enough to make her move.
“I’m sorry, my lady, truly,” Myghal said again as he tied the rope firmly around her waist and, at last, took the gag out of her mouth. “I’ve got no choice.”
She didn’t care what he said, what excuses he made. “Ranulf’s going to hunt you down and kill you.”
Myghal stared at her as if she’d already struck the deathblow, then stepped back. “Now!” he called, and they pulled her up the side of the ship as if she were so much cargo.
By the time she was hauled over the rail of the ship, more men had come on deck, including one minus an eye. The others made way for him, so she assumed this was the captain, if he deserved that respectable title.
She shook off the crewmen’s grasp and found her balance on the heaving deck. As Myghal climbed aboard, she ignored him and the rest of the rough-looking crew to concentrate on the one-eyed man. “I supposeyouare in charge of this ship?” she asked scornfully.
The man grinned like a gargoyle. “Oui, my lady. I am the captain, Pierre de Lessette.” He made a sweeping bow. “Welcome aboard.”
“If I am welcome, cut these bindings. They’re hurting me.”
“We don’t want that,” the captain mockingly agreed, taking a very slender dagger out of his wide belt.
She swallowed hard. She had heard that the knife that had killed Hedyn had been narrower than most.
Stinking of wine and fish and tar, of dirt and sweat and tallow, the smuggler came close and slipped the dagger between theropes and her hands and sliced the bindings off. He leered as he did it, and she felt the bile rising in her throat until he moved back.
“If you have an ounce of intelligence in that thick skull of yours,” she said as she rubbed her bruised and aching wrists, “you’ll give me Wenna and her child and return us to the shore. Otherwise, Sir Ranulf of Penterwell, Sir Henry of Ecclesford and Lord Merrick of Tregellas will hunt you down and kill you and all your crew.”
Pierre laughed, the sound as coarse as a crow’s caw. “Mon Dieu, beauty and spirit, too. What a pity I can’t keep you for myself. But I must point out, my lady, that it is not wise to threaten me.” His broad gesture encompassed the ship. “This is my ship and I command here. As for these men you name, they do not frighten me. Once I’ve sold you and that other sobbing, pathetic woman and her child, I will be rich enough to give up the sea and live in comfort in Marseilles for the rest of my life.”
“You’re to give Wenna and Gawan back to me!” Myghal exclaimed, starting forward. “That was the bargain! That was why I brought Lady Beatrice to you!”
Pierre regarded Myghal without the least pity or concern and shrugged. “I lied.”
Myghal didn’t even draw his sword before he lunged at Pierre. His attack was hopeless and doomed, and the men of the crew wrestled him to the deck in the blink of an eye.
Bea moved back toward the rail of the ship, and the small boat rocking below. With her hands free and the gag gone, she could perhaps get down to the boat… And leave Wenna and little Gawan here to be sold into slavery?
No, she could not.
The men tugged Myghal, his head bleeding, his cheek scraped, to his feet. Passing his dagger from hand to hand, Pierre approached the sheriff. “Like I told my lady, I rule here.And since we shall not be coming back this way again, your usefulness is done.”
With that, he shoved the dagger into Myghal’s stomach. As Bea quickly looked away, the sheriff screamed in agony, then gasped as Pierre twisted the terrible knife. Myghal made a horrible choking sound and his body fell onto the deck with a sickening thud.
Despite what Myghal had done, tears started in Bea’s eyes and she could scarcely breathe.
“Throw that dog over the side,” Pierre ordered as he roughly grabbed Bea’s arm. “Now come, my lady, and join me in my cabin.”
“THIS IS MADNESS, Kiernan, madness!” Celeste cried as she watched him adjust the girth of the saddle on one of the garrison’s horses in the courtyard, now lit with several flickering flambeaux. “You won’t be able to see anything in the dark, and there are bogs and quicksand and all sorts of dangers out there.”
“Would you have me stay here?” he asked, turning to look at her. “I don’t love Beatrice, but I value her as a friend, and her cousin loves her dearly. When I think of what Constance will feel if her cousin is never found…” He could only shake his head as he went back to his task.
“You care about Lady Constance more than me? How will I feel if something happens to you? I can tell you—my heart will break.”
Kiernan glanced over at Ranulf a short distance away, then answered her plea quietly, although it was unlikely that Ranulf could hear what was said over the noise of his men preparing to ride out. “I do care about you, Celeste, very much. You gave me the best night of my life.”
His voice grew resolute, and so did the look in his eyes. “But I must help find Beatrice.”
“Will you at least promise me that you’ll be careful?”
“I do. I will,” he vowed, looking down into the lovely Celeste’s anxious face and seeing the fear she had for him in her eyes. He remembered the passion, the laughter, and the sense that more than mere desire had bloomed between them last night. She was not Constance, the serenely unattainable. She was certainly not the loquacious, unladylike Bea. She was a woman who’d suffered, who longed to have a home. Who needed him, as he needed her warmth, her desire, her admiration and respect.
