The Following Sea (The Pirate Wolf series) (36 page)

“Bind her,” he ordered, his voice cracking with rage. “Hang her over there…from the tree.”

Eva was vaguely aware of being dragged across the dirt. She felt ropes going around her wrists and ankles and she could not hold back the involuntary cry as the ends were tossed over a thick branch and she was hauled upright, her arms stretched wide apart. Her ankles were similarly splayed and the ropes anchored tight.

"You
will
tell me what I want to know, little
puta
."

The words vibrated against her ear and sent cold shivers scratching down her spine. There was a frightening edge of pleasure in the huskiness of his voice, as if he was hoping she would remain stubbornly quiet. She suspected that he derived pleasure from the fear he instilled in others and she knew he would use it against her if her courage faltered by so much as a quivered breath. Determined to deny him, she set her aching teeth in a hard clench. Her fingers curled around the cords of the ropes taking some of the pressure off her wrists.

There were others standing in the darkness. Unseen faces, shapes without substance that watched and whispered from the shadows. The russet glow from the firelight barely touched them, glinting instead off flashes of metal from pistol-barrels and swords.

"You show courage,
puta
. Far more than is wise or necessary."

The threat in Muertraigo’s voice was stark and needed no interpretation. Eva knew she had to close her mind to the pain and try to focus inward, to block out the voice as well as the feel of the cold sliver of steel that was placed against the side of her neck.

An unwanted image of Billy Crab, his head almost severed from his body, caused her eyes to flood and she closed them, not wanting the Spaniard to see her terror.

The ferret-like eyes roved over her face, staring at the blood that ran down from her split lip. They moved on, glittering with interest when they touched upon a tiny rip at the top of her shirt.

"Tell me where the Wolf’s cub is,
puta
. Tell me the location of his camp." He leaned close enough she could taste his breath, redolent with tooth decay. "Tell me and it will go easier on you, this I promise.”

“I told you, I don’t know. I w-was left behind and I don’t know where they have gone.”

"Left behind?" A thoughtful frown brought the point of the knife dragging along the top of her shoulder to the rent in the garment. "You continue to lie,
puta
, and that disappoints me very much.”

A deft twist of his wrist sent the steel sliding into the frayed seam on the collar of her shirt, slicing it open all the way down her back. As the cloth parted, the whispers and murmurings from the onlookers ended abruptly, leaving only the soft
ssssssssssssss
of the blade slicing through cloth to fill the silence.

Eva drew a slow breath to calm the pounding in her breast. The blood was flowing hot and fast through her veins, flushing her skin a mottled pink even though the air was chilled where it touched her exposed flesh.

"Because I am in a generous mood,
puta
," his lips scraped across her ear, "I will give you one more chance to tell me what I want to know."

She steeled herself to keep from flinching. "I cannot tell you what I do not know."

There was the faintest hint of appreciation for the defiance he saw in the taut lines of her body, but it was not enough to keep the tip of the knife from sliding down to the waist of her breeches. It slivered through the cloth with a quick flick of his wrist then tore downward, following the slender curve of her hip to her thigh, then down to her ankle, leaving the moleskin split wide open.

She tried to twist and pull against the ropes, but there was no slack. Splayed and vulnerable, she could do little more than writhe and thrash her head, scattering her long blonde hair wildly over her shoulders.

Muertraigo smiled and with another downward slicing of the knife, cut through the other leg of her breeches until it too hung open over her parted legs. He slid a hand between her thighs and stroked back and forth, watching the disgust, humiliation, and anger alter the expressions on her face as his fingers probed and explored the sensitive flesh.

"So. You refuse to make this easier on yourself?"

She made a sound in her throat then spat the words free. "I told you,
I don’t know anything
."

Muertraigo’s eyes crinkled at the edges. "We all know
something
, my dear. And I can promise with some certainty that you will be begging to tell me
everything
you know before the sands fall through the hour glass."

"Then do your worst,
capitan
," she whispered, lowering her eyes and squeezing out a tear. “For you will never hear me beg.”

The Spaniard chuckled low in his throat and addressed his rapt audience. "They all say that. In the beginning.”

He withdrew his hand and gazed at his fingers a moment, then lifted them to his nose and breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of her fear. Three quick slashes saw the rest of her clothes lying in a heap at her feet, causing the watchers in the shadows to offer up a collective murmur of appreciation.

Muertraigo walked another full, slow circle around her, his eyes lingering here and there. The bold inspection caused an involuntary reaction in her flesh, the revulsion making her skin feel as if it was shrinking everywhere on her body.

The knife came up again and was used like a hand to caress her. It skimmed down the side of her neck and onto her chest following the stretched curve of her breast to push aside the tangled waves of her hair. A speculative grunt saw the point rest against the raised peak of one puckered nipple and, with a slight tilt of his head, he pressed the steel inward, dimpling the flesh until there was no more give.

Despite her resolve, a faint sound escaped her lips as the tip of the knife pressed again and the skin gave with a small pop. Almost instantly a small bead of blood welled and parted in twin rivulets to trickle down either side of the knife point.

"A pity to damage such perfection," he murmured. "Are you certain you have nothing you wish to tell me?"

Muertraigo’s voice was smooth as silk, almost paternal in its concern, while hers came out a dry, scratchy whisper. "I know nothing more than what I have already told you. No matter how many times you ask, I cannot tell you what I do not know."

He smiled and leaned close, hissing softly against her ear. "How I wish I believed you,
puta
, for it will be a shame to destroy something so... magnificent."

He straightened and nodded to someone in the gloom. An iron rod had been placed in the fire, the tip glowing red. As the man lifted the rod from the flames and walked slowly forward, the silence became so ominous she could hear the tiny grains of sand beneath his boots cracking and grinding.

Muertraigo took the rod and brought the tip close enough to her cheek that the fine blonde hairs at her temple sizzled and melted.

“I am told your father only has one eye. Is it the left?” He moved the glowing rod to the other cheek. “Or is it the right?”

“No,” she whispered, her voice shaking as badly as her body.

Muertraigo smiled… and brought the iron closer. Eva leaned back as far as the ropes would permit and gasped again when she caught a glimpse of the man who had handed Muertraigo the heated iron.

“Lawrence!”

“Hello Eva.” He moved around in front, pressing his thin lips into an even thinner smile. “You are looking fetching, my dear, as always.”

“How—? Why—?”

“The how is anchored in a small inlet a few miles from here. The why… I am sure you are clever enough to have figured that out already. I would recommend you save the few breaths you have remaining to answer Captain Muertraigo’s questions.”

“Father trusted you. I trusted you.”

“My dear mother trusted me too but she’s locked away in an attic somewhere in the north of Ireland. Now do be a good girl and tell us what we want to know. Where is the
Nuestro Santisimo Victorio
?”

“Where you will never find it,” she said, her eyes flaring with hatred.

“Mmm. And your father?”

She answered Ross with a mouthful of spittle, landing it squarely on the bridge of his nose.

Ross cursed and wiped the oozing wetness off his face. He grabbed the still-glowing iron out of Muertraigo’s hand and thrust it close enough to her breast that the pink skin of her nipple began to bubble and blister.

“Where is your lover, whore? Where is Gabriel Dante?”

Eva had just enough courage left to smile her widest, most dazzling smile as she whispered, “He is standing right behind you.”

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

Ross and Muertraigo whirled around. Gabriel Dante, a cocked pistol in each hand, emerged from the shadows, flanked by a dozen armed crewmen. The pirates who had become more interested in the pale, nude body of Eva Chandler, paid for their distraction now as each found themselves with the cold barrel of a gun pressed to the backs of their necks. The few who stood closer to the fire reached for their weapons but an iron crossbow bolt hissed swiftly out of the darkness and struck the first man squarely between the eyes, the force splitting his skull open like a ripe melon.

The sight unnerved Muertraigo’s men enough to send their hands reaching, empty, up in the air.

“Nice shooting,” Dante murmured.

Eduardo stepped forward holding Billy Crab’s formidable weapon. “I was aiming for his heart, sir.”

“Nonetheless Billy would have been proud.”

“Yes, sir.” There was a quiver in Eduardo’s voice for he had become close friends with the giant baker’s son over the past two weeks.

Dante had not taken his eyes, or the aim of his pistols, off Muertraigo. “And so we meet again,
Capitan
.”

“You have lived up to your reputation, Gabriel Dante, as someone not to be underestimated.”

Dante’s gaze touched briefly on Lawrence Ross, who was still holding the iron rod dangerously close to Eva’s eye. “You must be Ross. I will give you two seconds to step aside and drop the iron.”

Ross’s lips started to curl in a sneer and his hand wavered toward, not away from Eva’s cheek. A roared curse, followed by the distinctive snick and
pooffft
of a hammer striking sparks off flint was followed instantly by an explosion of powder. The lead ball struck Ross’s wrist, shattering the bone into fragments that tore through the skin. The iron rod jerked back and struck him in the face before it fell to the ground. Howling in pain, he staggered back, clutching the bleeding shreds of his wrist against his chest.

William Chandler strode forward, his pistol smoking. “I never was good at counting.”

With the swiftness of a cobra, Muertraigo moved behind Eva and grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back to bare the arch of her throat to his knife.

“Stand back! Stand back or she dies!”

William stopped in his tracks. Gabriel’s fingers tensed on the triggers of his pistols, as did those of every one of his crewmen.

“Now then, senor Dante,” Muertraigo’s voice quivered with triumph. “I would suggest you and your men lower your weapons… unless you wish to see your whore die before your eyes.”

“With her would die any hope you and your men might have of walking away alive,” Dante countered quietly. “Or winning a share of the treasure.”

Thus far they had spoken in Spanish but as some of Muertraigo’s men looked around and murmured, he switched to English.

“Do not try any of your tricks, senor. They hear your words but they know them to be lies.”

Dante’s guns did not waver by a hair’s breadth. Nothing in his expression changed apart from the fine white lines that appeared around the rims of his nostrils as he continued to address Muertraigo’s men in loud, clear Spanish. “We have the treasure from the
Nuestro Santisimo Victorio.
There is enough gold and silver and jewels to make every man on this island richer than he could ever dream of being. Barrels full of pearls, and emeralds, bars of bullion stacked higher than the tallest man here. You can lay down your weapons now and return to your ship with your pockets bulging with gold… or you can die where you stand fighting for the greed of men who will reward your loyalty and blood with a handful of tarnished silver ducats. The choice is yours. Make it now or we will make it for you.”

“He lies,” Muertraigo spat. “The only thing you will share is the same fate as your shipmates who were slaughtered on the beach! He has no proof he has even found La Fantasma!”

Rowly stepped forward with a smirk and tossed a canvas sack across the clearing. It tipped in mid-air, spilling a shower of gold coins onto the dirt. “There’s ye’re proof, ye hoary arsed bastard. An’ we’ve a thousand more sacks just like it.”

The Spanish pirates were all former soldiers, accustomed to obeying and not questioning, but their eyes all followed the golden glitter. There were some Englishmen among them from the crew of the
Cormorant
, most of whom did not understand Spanish, but they all spoke the language of gold. Murmurs were exchanged and they began to unbuckle belts and bandoliers and cast their weapons to the ground.