Gallant Rogue (Reluctant Heroes Book 3) (25 page)

Sobbing came from the coach, as if on cue. He saw his chance when the leader glanced at his men with uncertainty. Attacking a carriage bearing children, little girls, as Jack had mentioned, did not seem worth their sport. Jack took aim with his pistol. He shot the leader’s sword out of his hand. It dropped to the ground in a heavy clang.

A yelp emerged from the man as he hugged his wounded hand to his chest. As blood covered his shirt, the black bearded face exploded into fury. “Shoot them!”

Frightened shrieks from the carriage made the other bandits freeze and peer at each other.

“Yes, shoot us and then you can have the care of two girls. I’m sure that will make you feel like heroes, killing the guards and frightening little Spanish children in the woods.”

“Give us a horse,” one of the men suggested from nearby. He stepped forward, holding his weapon up instead of leveling it at Jack.  He had brown hair tied back in a neat queue and a clean shaven appearance. His manner and attire was almost that of a gentleman, a rumpled gentleman. “A horse,
amigo
. Fair trade for safe traveling through these woods.”

Jack waited without a breath. He waited for one of the reckless fellows to obey their leader and fire his weapon. He knew from experience if one man fired, the others would follow.

No one moved a finger. Everyone waited, looking for someone else in their party to make the first shot. Jack would likely be their main target, as the leader. He could feel the sweat running down his back beneath his clothes. The men seemed to be waiting for his response.

The portly leader was too absorbed with staunching the flow of blood from his hand, now minus a finger, to care that the men were not obeying his order. Another fellow had come to his side, ripped his shirt and was wrapping the wounded hand tightly for his commander.

“We will not harm your little girls or frighten them further.” The honorable young thief moved toward Jack with his gun pointing to the blue sky above them. He was grinning broadly. Jack noted his teeth were even and white. “Give us your horse,
senor
. You can ride on the roof or inside the carriage with your precious cargo.”

Jack wanted to kick the man in his perfect white teeth as he approached the mount. He wanted to order his men to open fire on them during this tense lapse. But Jack was not with his faithful crew who knew how to handle themselves in a fight and grasp any opportunity to gain the upper hand. He had the uncertain hire of four strangers—scratch, that, now three with the one dead on the ground. Jinx was good enough with a gun but better with a sword. Morgan was an expert shot, but he’d given both men orders to protect the women in the carriage.

They were outnumbered and if they caused trouble, they would all be dead and the women would become the evening sport of these rough fellows.

He nodded, stuffed his pistol in his belt, grabbed his rifle and jumped down.

“A wise man,” the young fellow said in a cultured Spanish accent. He took up the reins of Jack’s horse and patted the gelding’s neck with affection. “We leave you unharmed in exchange for this horse and twenty pesos as payment for safe passage through our woods.”

“Rodrigo, you impotent rat! I kept you alive, and this is my reward? Who put you in charge of this brigade?” The leader started to march across the road as if to box the brash Rodrigo’s ears with his good hand.

A shot whizzed past Jack from a nearby tree and hit the belligerent leader in the head, felling him instantly. He plopped down on the road with a thud and lay still as death.

“I did, you disgusting pig,” someone shouted with rancor from behind a tree. 

A few of the thieves cheered at the sight of their fallen leader. Rodrigo praised the man called Marco for his actions. Apparently the dead man ruled by brutality not by favor.

“Robin hood?” Jack mused, an unwilling admiration rising for the fellow who was trying to extract them all from a violent end. “Or Rodrigo the bold?”

Warm brown eyes met his as the new leader smiled. Jack had just made an ally.

“Hear me,
amigos
. Marco and I will now take our leave of you. I thank you for your
hospitality
in these wild regions. And as for this gentleman, you will allow him to leave as well with his caravan.” Rodrigo lifted his weapon and fired into the sky. “We have freed you, you are no longer in service to this barbarian cur.” He walked to their fallen leader and kicked the corpse.

While Rodrigo’s attention was elsewhere Jack slipped his knife beneath the saddle pack and cut the band, freeing his travel bag. He slid the leather bag upon his shoulder and started to back away toward the carriage. Weighted down by the leather bag and his rifle, Jack knew he could not fire easily if the vagabonds decided to provoke him further.

It all rested on Rodrigo, their new leader, who had just commandeered Jack’s horse.

“Tell you what,” Jack said casually, after handing the bag up to the driver, who stashed the pouch under the seat. “I’ll do you one better. I’ll give you two horses if you can direct us to shelter for our little girls. I do not know this land. I am as stranger here. Night will come soon. Is there a place on the road we might find safe lodgings?”

“The horse first. That one.” Rodrigo pointed to the one Jinx had been riding, a fine Andalusia gelding with a rich dark coat that gleamed like fresh boiled molasses.

“Take him,” Jack responded, holding up a hand in surrender. “With our compliments.”

Weeping could be heard from the open window of the carriage. Fierce weeping. Jack knew it was not Chloe crying so frantically, but that silly maid.

“There is a village five miles ahead,” Rodrigo informed him. Mirroring Jack, his eyes moved to the carriage at the onset of fresh weeping. “Marco, this mount is yours, let us go.”

Marco, a thin blond fellow who hardly looked old enough to shave, emerged from the trees and took the reins. He, too, made Jack think of a stranded gentleman as he swung up into the saddle. As a courtesy, he untied Jinx’s saddle-bag and tossed it to Jack’s feet.

“Our money, sir.” Rodrigo stalked over to Jack. The pistol was no longer pointed at the air. It was pointed at Jack. “Twenty pesos. One for each man as payment for our protection.”

Cursing, Jack reached into his trouser pocket and extracted a bag of coins. He tossed it at Rodrigo. The man’s wily grin was Jack’s reward as the man hefted it, satisfied by the offering. "I would know the name of our benefactor?”

Jack grimaced and spat on the ground. “Don’t spend it on whores or liquor. Compliments of Captain Jack Rawlings.”

“A military man?” The jovial fellow tossed the bag to someone in the trees. A quick hand caught it and then disappeared. “English, by the look of you.”

“No. Sea captain, merchant seaman, in the hire of a wealthy West Indian planter. I’ve no allegiance to the English, the Spanish, or the French.”

“Ah,” Rodrigo acknowledged with a smile. “A most dangerous man, a rogue officer with no loyalties to king and country. A mercenary hired to escort two little girls to their dear papa?”

“The village, sir? Is there a safe shelter there?” The last thing they needed was to take up lodgings in a village comprised of thieves and robbers, like this rag-tag crew.

“There is a convent. The nuns offer rooms for the night for weary travelers for a modest fee.” Rodrigo swung up in the saddle of Jack's horse, saluted Jack, and kneed his mount. He gave a shout, and then he and his companion galloped quickly down the road ahead, leaving their fellows behind to deal with their victims.

Jack scrutinized the woods as the two on horseback made their hasty departure.

The men surrounding them had disappeared like ghosts fading into the forest.

He glanced about quickly, taking careful measure of their situation. He would not turn his back on the woods to peer into the carriage. With his back to the vehicle and his rifle raised, he sidestepped along the carriage, around the back and over to where Morgan was mounted on the opposite side. Morgan had his rifle level and pointed at the now empty woods beyond.

Jack glided to the front of the carriage, stepped over the body of Benito, a fellow who eagerly joined their caravan in the hope of being reunited with his family near the seaside town of Marbella. Benito knew the area. Damn, now they were without a guide.

The carriage door opened. Jinx emerged. He said something to the inhabitants of the carriage and closed the door. Must have told them to stay put, Jack surmised.

The crunching of boots around the back of the carriage brought Jinx to Jack’s side.

“Oh, blimey. Had to be him, dinn’it?” He spat on the ground and tugged his rifle belt, adjusting the weapon on his shoulder. “We’ll have to navigate our own way through the hills."

"It shouldn't be too hard," Jack said. "There is only one road."

The carriage door opened and soft footfalls were heard coming around the back. “Captain?” It was Chloe. “Captain, are we able to proceed--dear God!”

Her soft gasp was all it took to make Jack’s heart seize. Seeing Chloe, hearing her distress, he felt a bullish rage. “Come away,” he ordered, taking her arm and wheeling her away from the corpse. “Jinx, take care of it. Come, now, let’s not be all maudlin. We don’t know the fellow. And we are still in danger here.”

“Did he have a family?”Her voice was riding a wave of panic. “Jack, what have I done? This is my fault. I should have stayed in Cadiz, I should have---”

There were two remedies Jack learned to employ when a woman was reaching the height of hysteria. Either slap her or kiss her. He chose the latter. Jack drew Chloe into his arms and kissed her with all that was within him. His tongue sought refuge in her moist mouth. Her arms went about his shoulders and her lips latched on to his with a desperation mirroring his own.

*   *   *

They followed the road east. They stopped for the night at the convent Rodrigo mentioned. It wasn’t actually nightfall, but the women were frightened and fatigued. Jack didn’t feel it necessary to mangle their nerves further today.

The sisters were kind. Jack explained what had happened to them on the road. The sisters immediately offered sympathy and took charge of Chloe and the despondent Marta. Chloe was taking it better now that they were away from the grisly scene. He could see that she was still blaming herself for the random attack and the loss of a man whose name she didn’t even know.

Marta, on the other hand, was coming apart at the seams. She had followed her mistress outside of the carriage and saw the two bodies in the road while Jack was busy distracting Chloe. Shrieking had ensued and it was all Jack could do to wrest himself from the potent kiss with Chloe and clap his hand over the girl’s mouth. They didn’t need to bring any more attention from the desperadoes. All he needed was for them to return and find the little girls Jack mentioned were actually women and there would be hell at their heels. He grabbed Marta by one arm, Chloe by the other, hurried them to the carriage door, and rudely shoved them in.

Once they were inside he gave quick orders for their departure and swung himself up onto the roof of the carriage. Jinx tossed him his rifle and then joined him on the roof.

They arrived at the convent less than an hour later. The driver didn’t spare the horses, at Jack’s express command. Now, Jack wanted a good stiff drink. He intended to go into the stables and enjoy one while he attended the horses, as the women were safe behind the convent gates.

“So, we’re down one man, and likely that fact won’t keep the others close, now that we’ve a dead one.” Jinx opened his saddle bag to retrieve his whiskey flask. He opened it, took a swig, and handed it to Jack. “Did you pay the fools yet? If you have, you know they’re as good as gone come the morning.”

Jack chugged at the flask and handed it back. He wiped his mouth. “I gave them half at the start. They'll receive the other half when we arrive at our destination. We’ll see what mettle they are made of come the dawn.”

“And the women?” Jinx added. “Will they go further, or hie up here for the next month?”

“That girl we could leave here. I’d pay them to take her off our hands. Chloe’s got bottom, Jinx. She’s not made of glass as you suppose. She’s seen her share of trouble, lived through it. Chloe will be ready to leave in the morning, mark my word.”

“
Chloe
, is it? That was some kiss, Cap’n.” Jinx chuckled, taking another swig of his nerve tonic—hard whiskey. He swallowed it and shrugged his shoulder to wipe his lips on his jacket collar. “I do mark your words, Captain, and your actions.”

“We’ve been acquainted for years, old friends, Mr. Jenkins.”

Jinx nodded, appearing to consider Jack’s words. “Yep, and old friends kiss with plenty of tongue, I presume?”

Chapter Twenty-One

The sisters of St. Agatha were kind. Unlike the monks, who had cast the women into suspicion, the nuns welcomed them like orphaned children. Chloe was relieved for their kind attentions, as Marta had been worked up into a fine fit of hysteria by the time they arrived at the gates of the Pueblo Blanco settlement. She was able to hand the girl over to two sisters and attend to herself without having to listen to Marta’s frantic chattering.

Chloe was led to a comfortable room by an older sister. The room was sparse, but it had a warmth the monk’s lodgings were lacking. The floor had a rug, and the walls had embroidered samplers on them with religious sayings. Someone saw fit to put a vase of fresh flowers on the small wooden table and left a few leather books on it beside the oil lamp. The window had curtains. What a difference a woman’s touch made.

“Vespers are at six,” Sister Maria told her plainly. She patted Chloe’s arm with a gentle hand. “If you wish to pray with us for the soul of your lost companion. We will light a candle for him, Senora O’Donovan. For now, I will leave you to your solitude.”

“Thank you, sister.” Chloe was relieved by the serene atmosphere and the kindness of the women who welcomed them.