He leapt to his feet, roaring, “You!” He lunged at the man standing at the front of the boarding party, grabbing him by the collar and lifting him until the man’s toes dangled helplessly above the boards.
Lord Matlock’s shout reached them from a distance, growing louder as the gentleman came nearer. “If you kill Connell, I shall have no choice but to turn you over, Nick. Heis not worth it.”
If Nick retaliated, nothing would stop the ensuing fight. More lives would be needlessly lost. Elizabeth caressed Alexandra’s cheek. If only she would wake. If only they knew for a certainty she was alive yet.
Elizabeth gasped as an idea struck her. Grabbing the dagger now nestled between her knees and Alexandra’s shoulder, she held the blade in front of Alexandra’s mouth and nostrils, angling the blade so that the moon reflected off the edge. Please, let it cloud. Please, let there be breath. Jaffa leaned closer, watching with her.
Nick roared, and Elizabeth imagined him shaking Connell as he spoke. “An eye for an eye. That’s God’s justice, not mine. I’ll not defy the maker of the seas.”
Elizabeth uttered another supplication … and she saw it. A hint of fog. She glanced up to see that Fitzwilliam had risen to his feet. “Look!” she called. “She is breathing!”
Nick lowered the man to his toes, but he still held him at the neck. His chest heaved violently.
Fitzwilliam stepped over Alexandra and placed his hand on his brother’s arm.
Several gasps, followed by whispers, flowed through the newcomers as they saw the brothers standing beside each other, one the exact replica of the other.
Fitzwilliam ignored them. Softly, he said, “Let Connell go. He is not worth it. She is alive.”
Nick dropped Connell, letting the man fall like a sack of coal to the deck.
“Lexi’s alive?” Nick sank to his knees beside Alexandra.
Elizabeth held the knife in front of Alexandra’s airways so he could see for himself.
Alexandra’s chest inflated with a deep, visible breath.
Jaffa gently helped her rise onto her elbow, facing Nick. With a groan, she raised her fingers to the side of her head. “I’m bleedin’ like a stuck pig!” She winced and blinked several times, looking past Nick, her eyes widening. She scrambled to push herself up from her elbow. “Arnold!” she shrieked, wincing again.
Nick spun around, and the men cleared away from the man called Arnold.
Forgetting her manners entirely, though Elizabeth could hardly blame her, given the duress they were under, Alexandra pointed at Arnold. “Ye betrayed Nick. It was ye! His own First Mate,” she said a little softer and without a single wince or grimace.
CHAPTER 28
Elizabeth, along with Jaffa, helped Alexandra to her feet, all the while watching the accused man. He was of a similar age as his captain, shorter and built like a man accustomed to hard labor. There was nothing in his looks to distinguish him from any other man crowding the deck, but the sneer on his face, the hatred in his eyes, was blatant.
Nick’s voice was low. “Is it true? Did ye betray me to this thief-taker?” He motioned at Connell, who stood beside Arnold, rubbing his neck.
Alexandra twisted free of Elizabeth’s hold on her arm. Without turning around, she made signals behind her back. Elizabeth did not know if she should be worried or not, but she knew not to draw attention to the gestures.
Arnold glared at Nick. There was no regret, noshame. His lack of a reply was boldly rebellious, and it thickened the air surrounding them.
Elizabeth cast another glance at Fitzwilliam. He stood beside his brother and, while Elizabeth appreciated the loyal gesture, she could not help but wish he would take a few steps away.
“Why’d ye do it?” Nick asked, his tone sharp.
“Amnesty,” Arnold replied mockingly.
“Ye turned me in to clear yer own name when ye knew I was leaving that wretched life?”
The man sneered. “And turn down the opportunity to take command of yer ship under the protection of the Crown? I could continue takin’ ships with the blessin’ of the Admiralty. I’d be rich. Be called a hero fer freein’ the seas of The Blade.” Arnold pounded his fist against his chest. “It’d bemyname they sang about in the taverns.”
He raised his other hand from his side, pointing a pistol at Nick, who now had a sword in his hand. Arnold cackled. “Yer no different from me. Look at ye. Yer fingers are itchin’ to see if ye can run me through ‘fore I shoot ye.” He had the impudence (or, Elizabeth thought, the stupidity) to stretch his neck, offering a larger target. As though he wanted Nick to exact his revenge.
Fitzwilliam watched Nick as intently as Elizabeth did, willing him to act wisely.
Elizabeth had no air in her lungs, but abit of breath still whooshed over her lips when, with a flick of his wrist so fast she did not know what she had seen, he sent Arnold’s pistol clattering to the floor. Nick’s blade pointed steadily at Arnold’s throat. Elizabeth had never seen anything like it. One thrust, and he had completely disarmed his enemy. Arnold’s life was in Nick’s hands.
