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They yelled to one another, calling and jeering until another louder, closer crash echoed through the kitchen.
“They’re trying to bash down the door,” Fulton said as though Ethan needed an explanation. “The door’s been reinforced. It’ll hold.”
Reinforced? The Smiths had been preparing. Through the window, he watched five men back up and then rush forward, striking the door with a battering ram.
The loud noise echoed through the house again, and though it was muffled, a baby cried, letting out a long wail.
Ethan’s teeth clenched and he gripped his pistols tighter. “How are we going to protect the women from all those men?”
“Upton went to my ship to collect my crew and Northville went to the crown to bring soldiers. We only need hold them off till reinforcements arrive,” Fulton answered, never taking his eyes from the door. “And besides, I’ll kill fifteen of them before a single one has even made it to the kitchen. How many will you be able to take?”
He gave a low chuckle. He was no stranger to fighting, or to dueling even. But a scrappy war, this was a first. “Ten, at least.”
Fulton gave him an honest smile. “That’s the spirit.”
The battering ram hit the door once more and then again, this time the sound of splintering wood adding to the loud crash.
Both he and Fulton leveled their pistols as one more push came and the wood gave way, the battering ram breaking through.
But much of the door held. “Reinforced,” Fulton laughed as he fired a shot through the hole that had been created. A man screamed.
“Did you just hit a man through a hole in a door?”
Fulton chuckled. “Good odds someone was standing on the other side.” And then he fired again.
It was difficult to tell if Fulton hit anyone or not; the cacophony outside the door was deafeningly loud.
Men yelled and jostled as the battering ram hit the door again. Ethan considered himself a good shot, but he saved his bullets for when the door gave, wanting to make certain that as few men made it into the house as possible.
And then the door broke.
Leveling both pistols, he took aim, firing once and then again. Dropping the pistols, he grabbed two more that were already loaded, and repeated.
Fulton let out a roar, dropping three men before he rose up with a short sword, letting out a war cry that—even being on the same side—made Ethan’s hackles rise.
But even more astounding was that from outside, several of the exact same calls echoed in answer. Who had answered Fulton’s war cry?
Ethan got his answer moments later when Fulton let out a victory roar as men flooded into the kitchen. “You’re all fucked now! Sailors like to kill you slow.”
Ethan had nearly reloaded his first two guns, and he felt the pause from the ten men that were attempting to enter the kitchen through the short hall from the back door.
He fired both his guns again, taking out two more men while Fulton rushed into the fray, short sword swinging.
Ethan spun about, seeing a large butcher knife that he grabbed, ready to fight more.
But when he turned back, the fight had already ended, and another man was embracing Fulton in a bear-like hug. “Soldiers in the front have subdued the men in the street.”
“And Gyla? Was he captured?” Fulton asked as he stepped back.
“Couldn’t say.” The other man spat on the floor as he answered. “But I did see one carriage leaving. Don’t know who was in it, but if you want to go check, I’ll make sure I clean up anyone left that tries to enter the house.”
Fulton looked back at Ethan, whose jaw clenched in response. “You want me to leave the women?”
Fulton waved his hand. “This is Jack Mate. My first mate and friend. He’ll not let a soul into the house who doesn’t belong.”
Ethan gave the man a quick glance. Large, burly, with a giant black beard and several missing teeth, Jack would best any foe he faced, Ethan had every confidence. “Let’s go find out what happened in the front.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
