Chapter 48
Nick had fended off at least a dozen men with his blade, leaving a trail of injured men gripping their arms for the soldiers swarming through the melted gate to deal with.
Those people held nothing against him other than his unfortunate position between them and their freedom.
The man rushing at Connell with a dagger in his hand was different.
There was hatred in his eye. He would rather murder Connell than seize his own liberty, and he would callously run through anyone who got in his way.
Connell had been a bur in Nick’s side, but it wasn’t right to watch him die. Not when Nick could prevent it.
Quick to react, Darcy tackled Wickham to the ground, leaving a clear path to the degenerate aiming his dagger at Connell.
Reaching into his boot, Nick flipped the dagger in his hand and sent it sailing, handle first, over Darcy’s head.
The man dropped like a stone, his knife clattering to the ground beside Darcy.
Jumping to his feet, Darcy grabbed Nick’s shoulder. “It is safer inside.”
It was the last place Nick wished to go, but his brother was right. If anything happened to Alex, Elizabeth, or Darcy, Nick would rather rot inside a prison, for he would have no one for which to live.
Motioning for Jaffa, Nick waved toward the door. “Get Elizabeth inside.” That done, he grabbed Alex around the waist and carried her, kicking and cursing, over to the condemned building.
“Let me down! Let me fight, ye lily-liver’d coward.”
Nick held her tighter and kept running.
They ran inside and up the stairs to the cell he had occupied his first day back on British soil.
Setting Alex down, he held her arms at her side. She stomped on his foot. “Ye eel-skinned cheat!”
He ought to have seen that coming. Jumping out of her way when she brought her heel down again, he seethed, “Ye’ll stay here and outta harm’s way if I have to tie ye.”
Wickham and Connell darted inside the cell.
Barnacles! Just what they needed. Another arrest.
“I came to offer my protection to the ladies,” Wickham claimed, his back against the cell wall.
Connell gaped at Nick open-mouthed. “You saved me. I imprisoned the wrong brother, but you came for him. And you saved me—the man who would let you hang for a price.”
Nick shrugged. “I wouldn’t leave me own brother here.”
“He could have hanged for you.”
Nick shivered. Well he knew it.
“That was a risk we had to take.” Darcy looked at Nick sheepishly. “I only regret the timing of this riot. It would have been far less complicated for our uncle to prove my true identity and insist on our release without you having to return to this wretched place.”
A warmth Nick had felt many times over the past few days spread through him. He knew what it was now, and his heart was too full to breathe or speak.
Before Nick could mumble anything embarrassing (“I love ye, too, Brother,” was too tender and sentimental for a grizzled pirate to utter), Wickham pointed his finger at Darcy. “You bent my nose!” His voice reverberated off the walls.
“Sh!” he was unanimously reproved.
“That was you,” he added, softer.
Darcy hissed at him, “And I saved your life. All the years I have covered over your indiscretions and debts out of loyalty to my father’s wishes, but not once did you attempt to live up to his generosity.
You did not deserve his loyalty, and you do not deserve mine.
You would have let me hang and profited by spreading scandal about my family, even though we have treated you with nothing but consideration.
” He stepped forward, towering over Wickham, who seemed to shrink against the wall.
“That ends now. This is not a debt I cannot overlook and which you cannot hope to ever repay.”
Nick tried to control the twitching of his lips, but the shock on Wickham’s face was comical. He blustered, “I shall not need you any more once I get my share of the reward.”
Connell scoffed, a beautiful sound in Nick’s ears. “You think me capable of sending the man who spared my life to the gallows?”
“B—but wh-what of the woman? She’s a Lafitte!”
Connell shook his head. “I could not live with myself if I betrayed his betrothed.”
“But—all my work—all the time I invested—” Wickham bit his tongue when Connell rolled his eyes.
“You dare compare the hours you lost to the months I spent chasing my prize all over the Atlantic, then all over England? You ungrateful cur. Do you truly believe yourself deserving of a reward you did nothing but point a finger to earn? You shall get nothing from me.”
“And nothing from me,” Darcy added.
Wickham swallowed hard, eyes wide with fear as he saw Darcy in a new light. It was about time.
Alex broke their silence. “There’re few fates worse than watchin’ a reward ye’ve been chasin’ slip through yer fingers. I’ll not have it.”
Nick grinned. Had she read his mind, or drawn the same conclusion?
He wanted to credit Alex with brilliance, for by sending Connell after Mrs. Finchley, she was securing their freedom.
No more hiding. No more chasing. “Once we’ve helped to calm the riot here, me and me uncle means to hire ye to track down a murderess, the evil woman who created this whole mess. ”
Alex added, “We already know ye’re a tenacious man. Ye’ll need all yer wits about ye if ye’re to find Mrs. Finchley. She’s a slippery one.”
“I shall give you an advance on the reward my family is willing to offer for her capture.” Darcy added an additional incentive. He was brilliant, too.
Wickham scrambled closer to Connell. “I can be of invaluable assistance—”
Connell cut him off. “If I ever see your face again once we leave this cursed place, I will draw your cork so thoroughly, your poor wife will not recognize you.”
Wickham covered his nose and cowered in a corner.
Motioning for the door, Nick urged, “Come, gents! We’ve a riot to halt.”
Alex pouted. “I fight as good as those men.”
“Nobody said ye don’t, but I need ye to stay here to protect Elizabeth … and the other ladies.” He looked past her to Wickham.
She kicked Wickham’s foot. “He’s useless, isn’t he?”
Elizabeth wrapped her arm around Alex’s shoulders.
“Not completely. You could show me more tricks with your knife.” She flicked the blade over in her free hand, her smile growing as the blood drained from Wickham’s face.
“If he holds himself very still, I think I can manage well enough,” she added with an impish gleam.
Darcy shoved Nick forward. “Come on. He is in good hands. Jaffa will make sure he does not give the ladies any trouble.”
Jaffa nodded, scimitar drawn and ready, and stepped into the doorway of the cell.
Nick traded his sword with another, better balanced blade, then grabbed another from a fallen guard for good measure.
Poking and shoving their way to the front, Nick, Darcy, and Connell joined the guard at the gate.
“Nick! Darcy! I have never been so happy to see you two rascals,” shouted Richard. He disarmed the prisoner he fought, turning to the next in a fluid motion.
Nick fell in beside him, Darcy on his other side.
Twirling the blades through the air, Nick forced the prisoners back without shedding a drop of blood.
When a few intrepid souls braved the sharp edges, he warded them off until they were too exhausted to try anymore.
He used every trick he had ever learned or created, glorying in the fire burning in his muscles and the sweat stinging his eyes as, one by one, the enemy tired and retreated.
With a wide grin, Nick fought side-by-side with his cousin and his brother to the cheers of the men behind them. He was a part of something bigger, something that made him whole. They were his friends. His family. He loved them.