Page 57 of The Rogue

Lawrence frowned as the voice became familiar. “Brant?”

“Aye, it’s me,” the voice returned with a spiteful laugh. “I’ve been lookin’ for ye for nigh on a year, me old friend. There’s a reward for ye’ that will keep me in rum from now ‘til the end o’ my days an’ I mean to claim it.”

“Bastard,” Lawrence muttered. He’d come across Brant before. He was more smuggler than pirate, but he would make money however it could be found, and he was well known for blackmail and stabbing men in the back. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d profited from the reward money for bringing in one of his own. Lawrence pictured the wretch’s face, and the thick black beard that covered the scars he bore. They said it was his best friend who’d done that, when he discovered Brant had betrayed him.

Swinging out of the window once more, Lawrence fired, throwing himself back into the room as a bullet smashed the window behind him, showering him with broken glass. He reloaded with quick, sure movements that testified to years of practise and grabbed the other pistol. The idea of a sick son of a bitch like Brant setting foot on the property while Henri was in the house ... Lawrence felt his guts turn. He couldn’t let that happen.

The smashing began again, and Lawrence took his chance. Leaning forward he aimed true and fired both pistols. Two men fell, one dead, the other screaming from a wound in his thigh, neither one of them Brant. But Lawrence fell back, cursing as the fierce sting of a bullet burned against his flesh and splinters flew around him as bullets hit the window frame.

Muttering obscenities, Lawrence tore off a strip of his shirt and bound his arm. Thank God, just a flesh wound, though the blood was hot and ran freely down his arm as he tried to tie off the makeshift bandage. Lawrence wiped his hands clean of blood and reloaded both pistols. He could hear gunfire from the back of the house and prayed Alex was holding his own.

The sound of axes cutting into the doors continued and though he tried to access the window again, they were taking no chances and fired upon him at the first sight of movement. He waited until they’d discharged their weapons, hoping everyone had run out of powder, and leaned out once more, winging the bastard with the axe and throwing himself back into the room as a bullet thwacked into the wall a hair’s breadth from his head.

“Damn me, that was close,” he muttered, reloading. Getting to his feet he ran for the landing. The front door was thick and solid, made of good French oak but it wouldn’t hold for much longer from what he could see, and he hurried down the stairs to find a position to hold them off. And not a moment too soon as the great door smashed to the floor, and five men ran into the house.

Taking his time, Lawrence stood his ground and fired, killing one man outright, the other crashing to the ground as a bullet tore through his upper shoulder. Dropping the pistols, he reached for his dagger and threw it, smiling in satisfaction at the dull thwack as it hit home, killing the blood thirsty-looking devil beside Brant as it struck square in his chest. But Brant and a giant of a man with tattoos over his bald head and gold in his ears were still coming, stepping over their fallen comrades without even a glance. Lawrence ducked down behind a dresser as two bullets hit the wood, smashing the glass-fronted windows.

“Devil take you,” he muttered. With his pistols lost he drew the sword with his right hand and reached for the dagger he’d stowed in his boot and got to his feet. Brant grinned at him, showing a missing front tooth. He put away his own pistol, drawing a sword and advancing on Lawrence with the bald fellow following suit.

“An’ why not settle this like gentlem’n,” he chuckled. “As it appears you are one o’ them fine fellows.” Brant sneered, and Lawrence glared at him, moving to counter the coming attack.

“What on earth leads you to believe that?” he demanded. Only Mousy had known that the earl was his brother before he’d given himself over to The Revenge. Whilst he knew Mousy would have told his crew once they were safe away, he didn’t understand how Brant could have come to hear of it. He remembered, though, that the militia had been out in force when he’d set foot on land back at home, and the crawling feeling he’d been betrayed returned all over again.

“Ye got a rat aboard, huh?” Brant chuckled. “Aye, see the money yer worth dead is a sore temptation, even to a loyal man.”

“Who?” he demanded, as acid burned in his stomach. The men who had remained with him had been loyal and true, or at least he had believed they were. The idea that one of them had given him up ...

Brant shrugged. “It’s o’ no matter now, my lad. Ye’ll have no cause to worry on it in a moment or two, nor on anythin’ else neither.”

Lawrence adjusted his grip on the sword and faced the two men. Maybe Brant was right, and his time was finally up, but either way, he was taking the two of them with him.