Hart's Passion (Pirates & Petticoats Book 2) (9 page)

Crowe followed Orvis into the room. Her skin gripped her flesh as he stared at her with a lusty sheen in his eyes. As she sat up, the filmy white dressing gown slipped over her right shoulder, baring her pale skin.
 

Crowe’s lewd smile revealed several brown broken teeth. Keelan glanced at her dressing gown. The curve of her breast peeked enticingly from the silk chemise. Firm nipples stood erect against the thin fabric in the chill of the cell. With bravado she did not feel, Keelan glared at him as she slowly and deliberately reached up and pulled the dressing gown over her shoulder and clenched it in her fist, links clinking softly with the movement. Her heart gave a terrified jolt as she eyed the two warily.

Crowe swallowed and licked his lips. “God, what I wouldn’t give ter have a taste of that.” He approached and she quickly scrambled to her feet.

“Are you Gampo?” Though she tried to sound authoritative and stern, she feared she failed mightily as it was all she could do to keep her shaking limbs from crumbling beneath her.

Crowe gave her an extravagant bow. “Crowe at yer service milady, I be his brother in arms. His first mate, and cousin.”

“I want to speak with Gampo,” she retorted, inching backwards until the wall pressed against her shoulders.

He grinned. “Soon enough.”
 

Orvis leaned against the far wall and gulped a mouthful from his bottle. Keelan shifted her gaze back and forth between the two men. Her heart was now racing, her palms damp with sweat. Frigid fingers of fear paralyzed her.
 

It was obvious their intentions were dark and ugly.
 

As Crowe continued to swagger toward her, he removed his belt and began to unfasten his breeches. “Methinks ‘tis you who will do the service.”

Orvis spoke up from the far wall. “The Cap’n said—“

“I heard what the Cap’n said, Pike,” Crowe snapped, cutting him off. “I thinks she needs ter learn different ways ter please her new husband.” He reached down and pulled his hard cock from his breeches.

Keelan recoiled in horror, a scream frozen in her throat.

He grinned. “This here is Beauregard. He wants a li’l kiss.”

She gave a warbled shriek and swung a fist, which he easily blocked. Grabbing the fingers of her hands, he bent them backwards until she sank to her knees.

She bit her lip against the pain and gave him a deadly scowl. “Hurt me and I will kill you.”

Crowe stared at her a moment, then tipped his head back and roared with glee. “A wench with spirit!” He teetered nearer and smirked. “It will be a fun to break you like a li’l pony.”

Orvis Pike snorted then touched his nose tenderly, wincing. “Give her a little lesson, Crowe.”
 

The man released her fingers, but before she could move, he grabbed her hair with both hands and twisted his fingers into her curls. His eyes glowed with a cold, cruel light.

“I said he wants a kiss,
”
Crowe sneered hoarsely. “Be sweet and gentle now. If ye be stupid enough to bite me, I will break yer neck.”

Panic seized her. She groped madly for the blanket. Her palm closed around the cool, smooth glass neck of the ale bottle. Gripping it tightly, she thrust it upward with all her might.

The sudden, high-pitched shriek emanating from Crowe would have shattered a sherry glass. Enraged, he shoved her backward into the wall. The bottle flew from her grasp and shattered on the floor. A thick, red stream of blood oozed from a deep gash on the inside of his upper thigh, less than an inch from where Beauregard dangled, suddenly limp.

“Where the hell’d she get
that
?” he cried, his voice racked with disbelief and pain. “The bitch nearly gelded me!” He staggered back, tore off his shirt and quickly wrapped it around his bleeding leg. He snarled, “I’ll teach ye what happens to them that defies me.”

Keelan’s mouth went dry when he limped over to his fallen belt and wrapped the end in his fist. The metal buckle dangled menacingly, barely inches from the floor.

“Orvis, hike her up!” Crowe snarled.

The rotund man lumbered over and grabbed one of the chains. Keelan’s insides churned with a thick, dark dread. She gritted her teeth and tried to pull it from his grasp. Unprepared for such a reaction, Orvis crashed into the wall. He reeled away cursing with his hand pressed hard against his left eye.
 

“Firs’ me nose, now me eye. Dammit, woman!”

He brought his hand away, his eyebrow now sporting a rather large knot, which was quickly deepening in color. Unfortunately for her, the drink must have dulled the superficial pain, as Orvis was not swayed from his mission. He snatched the chain and hooked the right link over a spike in the wall, grabbed her shoulders, spun her face first into the boards and crushed her body into the hard planks with his own, while he fastened the left chain on a similar spike.

Her heart pounded frantically as the sound of Crowe’s footsteps approached. There was a hard yank on the collar of her dressing gown. The delicate fabric was no match for his strength and rent down to her waist. She pulled frantically at the cuffs, but they held fast. A renewed sense of panic seized her and she tried to twist her hands out of the manacles. Pain shrieked through her wrists, as the malicious metal bit into her skin.

“Ye shouldn’t have fought me,” Crowe growled in her ear as he squeezed her buttock hard and then caressed it roughly.
 

Keelan tried to swallow, but her throat froze and would not obey. She squeezed her eyes shut and silently began to pray.

Crowe swung the belt.

The sheriff checked the priming of his pistol. “Hopefully we’ll surprise them and avoid bloodshed, but don’t hesitate to defend yourselves. On my mark, we’ll charge.”

Landon turned to the waiting men. “Ready your weapons.”

Swords and sabers were drawn, pistols held at the ready.
 

A muffled scream pierced the night from deep within the warehouse. The men froze at the unexpected sound.

“That’s a woman’s scream!” Conal hissed to Landon in surprise.

“Now!” Sheriff Pinkerton roared.

The men crashed through the doors. A warning shout from the sentry inside was cut short by the heavy fist of one of Commodore Hall’s sailors. The guard sank into a limp heap as the men swarmed into the building.

Shouts of surprise and panic arose from a small group of warehouse occupants who had been playing cards on a barrel near the door. The disturbance drew an additional dozen or more thieves from the rear of the building, their roars of alarm mingling with the hoots and yells of Hart’s sailors and Pinkerton’s deputies. A stray pistol shot shattered a glass oil lamp. It exploded into flames, scattering a shower of blazing oil on several rolls of silk. Thin fingers of fire licked hungrily at the lamp oil dripping down the table legs and over the floor.
 

Landon shouted over his shoulder, “Henry! You and Marcel contain those flames before they spread. Save that silk!”
 

Henry’s eyes widened as Landon motioned to several crates a few paces from the fire.
 

“Captain, Those are sittin’ next to munitions crates.”

Landon paused and glared at Henry. “Then you had best be
quick
.”

Henry grabbed Marcel by the arm and together they knocked the bolts of silk to the ground, stomping madly at the ravishing flames. Thick black smoke began to spread through the warehouse.

That silk had cost him a small fortune, dammit. Would his luck never change? Half of Fynn’s cargo was ruined during their confrontation with Gampo last month then his cargo was stolen. Although he’d found it, the most expensive items were now on fire. How many more setbacks would he be able to take before he was back to where he started seven years ago?
 

Conal pointed through the smoky haze to the second floor, and an open loft currently stuffed with part of their stolen wares. “The screams might have come from up there.”

He glanced up at the thick timber door, which stood ajar above them. The faint glow of a lantern, somewhere within, illuminated the end of the passageway. He bounded up four steps before a dark form blocked his way. He barely raised his own weapon in time to deflect the first blow from the tar’s saber.

Landon blocked the second strike and returned a parry of his own, neatly disarming his attacker. The man whirled to run but stopped short to avoid the tip of Commodore Hall’s sword. Since the thief was in good hands, Landon continued up the stairs. He’d made it halfway before a bellowing war cry made him turn.
 

Conal stood on the first step, his back to Landon, holding a sword with one hand and a dirk with the other as a large man carrying a broadsword and a pistol ran directly at him. While normally, he’d leave Conal to his own defense, in this case his friend was holding a dagger instead of the pistol he needed for a balanced fight.

Landon fired his last shot. A bright red blotch seeped through the ruffian’s shirt. The man cried out in pain and his weapon clattered to the floor. Conal brought the point of his sword up to his assailant’s throat. Things seemed to be in order; time to check out the upper level.
 

He spun around, but his forward progress was halted by the cold gray barrel of a pistol pointed at his chest. The twisted face of a scarred, balding man, with a toothless grin met his gaze.
 

Dammit. He’d fired his last shot to save Conal. This one was too close to fight off with his sword. Perhaps, if he was quick, he could strike out at the gun, and hope to dislodge it before the bullet discharged into his chest. It was a stupid plan, but it was the only one he could come up with at the moment.

A whisper of sound, slight as a fawn’s breath, skimmed past Landon’s ear. The man’s snarl was replaced by an odd bewildered look, the hilt of Conal’s dirk protruding from his chest. Now
that
was a much better plan. Landon stepped aside as the cutthroat tumbled forward down the steps. Exhaling with relief, Landon tossed his friend a grateful nod then bounded up the remaining steps, two at a time.
 

“There’s a commotion of some sort goin’ on below,” Orvis Pike slurred.

“Probably another fight over cards,” Crowe said. “Kinda figured we’d have trouble after we opened another keg of wine.” He gave Keelan a swift lash with his belt.

She screamed again, as the buckle bit into her shoulder. Pain seared across her back and sank its talons into the deeper depths of her consciousness. She barely felt the fine trickle of blood running down over her ribs, backside, and inside of her leg. The steely bite of the iron cuffs temporarily drew her attention from the sting of her back as she twisted her wrists within the bindings.
 

Focus. Concentrate on getting out of the manacles.
Leave no room to acknowledge pain. Get at least one hand free. With the rest of the crew downstairs drunk, she might have a chance to escape if only she could get her wrists free.
 

Crowe drew the belt back, ready to deliver another blow. This little diversion made his gut clench with lust, the sting in his thigh almost forgotten. Half a dozen welts crossed the haughty bitch’s back and shoulders. Four of them, he noted smugly, had slashed her flesh. He swung the strap again, but to his surprise the buckle cracked harmlessly against the wall. Where her bloody back had been, a manacle dangled empty against the planks.
 

After managing to slip one hand from its iron cuff, she still worked furiously to get the second chain off the spike. The links fell to the floor with a metallic “clink.” Her left hand remained shackled to the wall, but now she could attempt to dodge the lashes with better success.

The wench faced him with a glare containing such hatred and contempt, he was taken aback. He’d expected pain and fear. Submission. Instead, the small victory of freeing one of her hands had bolstered her courage; she appeared even more defiant.

He shook his head at her, chastising. “You still haven’t learned the lesson yet, darlin’.”

He drew back for another blow, but the forward momentum of his arm was abruptly halted. When he glanced over his shoulder to determine what had impeded the progress, he screamed. Standing behind him was a man dark and sinuous as a panther.
 

And death glinted in his eyes.
 

Landon let out a feral snarl and pulled the leather belt with his left hand, while bringing his right fist around to make contact squarely with Crowe’s jaw.

The woman’s tormentor crashed to the floor, motionless.

Landon stepped over the prone form and looked at the woman crouched in the shadows against the wall. His heart jerked in shock when his gaze fell on her face.

“Keelan!”

What was she doing here? He wanted to go to her and gather her up into his arms, but a voice of caution made him pause. Her stare was wide and wild, like a caged animal with a fevered gaze. Her breath seemed to come and go in short hollow gasps, as if it was afraid to stay in her lungs.
 

She was in shock.

As badly as he wanted to hold her, he forced himself to stay still. He was still unsure if she’d recognized him. He tried to keep his voice soft and calm, “Keelan? It’s me, Landon.”

There was still no recognition in her wide-eyed gaze.
 

“Keelan. Look at me, love. Can you see me?”
Please recognize me.
 

She lifted her head and locked on to his face. Her body shook violently. Landon’s heart wrenched in his chest at the sight of her tear-stained cheeks and pale lips. This was not the proud, defiant woman he knew and loved. He stepped close, but was careful not to touch her.
 

“Keelan, I can take you out of here. Will you let me?”
 

At last, recognition washed over her features and with a strangled sob, she sank back to the floor. He moved closer and pulled her to her feet before wrapping his arms around her. She winced and gave a pained gasp, and he released her. She’d been injured. His arms were blotted with blood.