Chapter 9
Before he realized that he’d moved, Percy’s feet had carried him through the throng of terrified men and down the companionway to the gun deck. It mightn’t have registered in his mind yet, but his heart and body damned well knew what to do: reach Heather and get her to Butcher’s ship.
Boom! Boom-boom! The frigate shook, and men hollered. The scent of perspiration, gunpowder, and fear permeated the air, and Percy kept going.
No ship that Butcher came across was ever left sailing. No man was ever left alive. The man was his namesake: a butcher. And if Percy did not get Heather off the Sapphire, she would perish as well.
His feet drummed against the tar-sealed wood planks of the deck before he descended the next companionway and ran to Heather’s cabin. Skidding to a halt, he lifted a trembling hand to knock, and swallowed the bile that had risen to his throat.
There was only one option for him, and—Christ alive—he hated it. He would do whatever it took to protect Heather from harm, however, and if his plan had the benefit of keeping more of this crew alive, then it was best.
He licked his dry lips. “Heather, it’s me.”
Stars sparked behind Heather’s eyelids as she rubbed at the dratted prickling that wouldn’t abate. She detested feeling helpless, and while tears were a good release, they gave her the headache and wouldn’t do her any good at the moment.
She took a deep breath and rested her chin upon her knees once more, listening to the thundering of footfalls, the shouts, and the rumble of gunfire.
Tossing aside the lilac muslin of her skirts, she reached for her mother’s journal in her uppermost drawer and hugged it to her chest. She mightn’t be able to read it in the darkness of the room, but she took comfort in its nearness.
And, of course, it contained those important pilfered documents…
She squeezed her eyelids shut and thought back to the masquerade…
Knock-knock, knock-knock.
Heather’s spine straightened. Who would be knocking on her door in the middle of a battle?
“Heather, it’s me.”
Percy. Her breath left her in a relieved whoosh, and she rushed from the bed to unbolt the door. The scent of gunpowder and perspiration confronted her as she swung it open.
The brief moment of relief that washed over her fled immediately at the sight of him. His usually pink-flushed and sun-kissed skin was pale and sweat-slickened. His hair was wild, and his dark eyes were full of…Lord, was it fear?
“We have to go,” he burst out.
Boom! The Sapphire shook, and cries rang out above them, sending a shiver down Heather’s spine.
“Go?” She blinked. “Do you mean fight? I haven’t a weapon, but I am willing to—”
He shook his head sharply and clasped her hand in his. “Off the ship.”
Boom-boom.
“Pardon? What of the others? What of Berta?” Her heart squeezed. “And my plants!”
“I’m afraid we haven’t time.” He cut a glance at her and took her mother’s journal from her numb fingers. “Please trust me, Heather.”
And she did.
Percy tugged on her hand, and in a momentary panic, Heather reached out with her free arm and grabbed one of the potted plants that sat upon her chest of drawers, the minty horehound leaves shaking with the movement. She couldn’t very well leave without at least trying to save one.
Percy tutted softly and shook his head, but he led her through the nearly abandoned mess deck—where he retrieved a satchel in which to stow the journal—and up the companionway onto the gun deck.
Boom!
An involuntary curse escaped Heather as the cannon fire reverberated through her chest. She hesitated while men scurried about, loading the cannons and preparing the ammunition. But she hadn’t long to look, for Percy pulled her toward the next companionway.
Boom—crack! Fear sizzled along her skin and hastened her steps as the wall behind them splintered, spraying shards of wood through the air and sending a man sailing past on a hoarse cry.
“My god,” Heather breathed.
Percy tightened his hold on her hand. “Butcher will leave no one left alive.”
“Butcher?”
He nodded brusquely. “The captain. The damned thing is that his pirates are capable of being decent men, but they’re tempted by greed, bound by duty, and ruled by fear. And Butcher is not one to forgive; he will kill any man who defies him.”
“How do you know all of this?”
They ascended hastily to the quarterdeck, where—blimey—hand-to-hand combat had broken out.
Percy’s lips tightened as he took in the crush of pirates running across wooden planks that now connected the two ships.
Others swung down onto the deck from ropes.
The thudding of footfalls, the cries of pain, the clangs of swords and cutlasses, the splashing of the ocean, and the occasional crack of a pistol filled her ears.
Gentle wind swirled past, carrying with it the scent of gunpowder, sweat, and the metallic zing of blood.
Heather tamped down her nausea. She wanted to pursue the matter of the man called Butcher, but this was most certainly not the time.
“We will need to fight our way through,” Percy said over his shoulder as he shifted his satchel.
He led them forward, then paused to retrieve something from the ground, and Heather’s hold tightened instinctively around her plant.
Boom-boom-boom!
She flinched as the ship trembled beneath her feet.
And, slowly, they moved. Men jostled around them as Percy swung his cutlass and cleared their path.
A shout and a sickening gurgle came from beside them, before one of their crew fell at their feet with a hollow thud. The pirate standing behind him whooped triumphantly before he rushed toward Heather.
Oh, ballocks. Another man leapt upon Percy, leaving her alone with her pirate, and despite her hours of training, her instincts took over.
With a screech, she lifted the plant high above her head and swung it downward. It connected with the pirate’s temple with a solid clunk. The man toppled to the deck, dirt and shattered earthenware spread over him.
“Capital hit,” Percy said beside her, his breath coming hard as he stepped over his own opponent, who was sprawled beside Heather’s.
“Thank you,” she breathed, remorse coursing through her. “That was my Marrubium vulgare.”
Percy gripped her wrist and placed the handle of a long-bladed dagger against her palm, his dark eyes solemn. “Keep this dirk on your person. Stab any man who comes close. You remember your training?”
Boom! The Sapphire shook beneath her.
“I do.” She nodded, her gaze darting around. Blood splattered her skirts from two men fighting nearby, and she grimaced.
“Good.” Percy gripped her free hand in his, the heat of his palm sending a spark of awareness up her arm, despite the utterly inopportune time. “Remain close.”
With that, he turned back into the fray, leading her along behind him. Blimey, this was it. She was in a proper battle, expected to do harm with an actual sodding weapon, not their wooden practice ones. But she didn’t know enough to survive in a battle such as this! Did she?
Fear and anxiety travelled in waves throughout her body, trembling in her fingers and twisting in her stomach, but she followed Percy. She trusted him.
Ahead of her, he was meeting opponent after opponent with his cutlass, smoothly slicing his blade through the air and across their flesh as though he had been born to it.
They reached the bulwark where two long wooden planks precariously connected the ships. Lord above, does he expect me to walk across that?
“We must cross,” he said, confirming her fears as he wiped his perspiring brow with his sleeve.
Boom-boom!
A beast of a man launched himself at Percy, and he grunted at the impact, working quickly to fight him off.
A flash of movement to her right caught her eye, and instinct once again took over.
She arched her arm high, swinging the dirk through the air at the approaching figure.
Her heart thundered, rushing in her ears and hammering in her throat.
But the man stopped, his eyes wild on her as he licked his lips.
“I like ’em fiery,” he growled lasciviously. His gaze raked over her, and she shivered with revulsion. “I’ll take ye right ’ere.”
He lunged.
“No!” Percy hollered, as another opponent tackled him from the side.
Horror nearly froze her, but she tightened her grip on the dirk and brought the blade swiftly up between them, its tip digging shallowly into the blackguard’s jugular and halting the man’s forward motion. He glared at her, his heavy, fetid breath wafting over her cheeks and ruffling her hair.
“You will not have me,” she said, astonished at the calm that had settled over her.
Despite the upheaval around her, and the slight churn in her stomach, her body knew what to do, knew how to react. And if this was how she would survive, then she would do as she must.
Pulse thundering, Percy punched the hilt of his cutlass into his opponent’s eye, felling the man with a choked scream. Then he turned toward Heather. There she stood, her eyes steely as she glared at the pirate before her, her blade at the man’s throat.
His pulse fluttered, and his cock gave a twitch of acknowledgement. Damn, but she was beautiful.
“Step back and let us pass,” she said coolly.
The cur did as he was told, his eyes flashing with both hate and fear. Agonized cries rose around them, and all at once Percy lost his patience. The crew was dying, for fuck’s sake. They hadn’t time to waste.
He stepped forward and rapped the hilt of his cutlass across the man’s skull with a solid thunk, knocking the man out.
“Percy!” she breathed, her gaze wide on him. “Have you been hurt?”
He blinked, and with a grunt and a grimace of realization, he swiped at his face with the sleeve of his coat before pulling the irksome thing from his shoulders and dropping it to the deck.
He was too bloody hot, anyway…and he knew what must happen for his plan to succeed.
“No, I am well. I was bled upon.” He gripped her hand once more.
“You did excellent. Are you well enough to continue?”
A small smile curved her lips. “Of course.”
He nodded. “Keep the dirk at the ready.”
Boom!
With that, they skirted past a fighting trio of men—one of whom was Stubbs—and across the planks connecting the ships. Fewer men were aboard the pirate’s ship, but while he was grateful for fewer potential threats against Heather, it also meant that they were easier to see coming.
“Someone’s gutted the captain!” one of the naval officers screamed.
More shouts and shrieks rent the air as the naval crew flew into a panic.
There was no hope for it. He spun his head to shout at her over his shoulder. “Run!”
His palm tight against hers, Percy ran, cutting down any pirate who dared get in his path. Butcher stood against the bulwark at the fo’c’sle, his broad back to them. He couldn’t hesitate. He had one chance to make this plan work, or they were all dead, Heather—and perhaps his unborn babe—included.
Fuck. His gut twisted. Heather was going to hate him.
On swift feet they neared Butcher, and Percy set his plan into action.
In a smooth series of movements, he released Heather’s hand to retrieve the blunderbuss he’d tucked into his slops, then tossed his satchel to the deck.
Without a moment’s hesitation, he swept forward to tuck his blade beneath Butcher’s chin and his blunderbuss to the bastard’s temple, the man well and truly caught.
He sucked in a deep breath and let out a shrill whistle, garnering the attention of the men directly around them. “Ring the bell,” Percy bellowed.
A growl went through Butcher, his body taut as a bowstring and veritably vibrating with the force of his fury. “I know you,” he rumbled.
Percy ignored the bastard, feeling the other pirates’ gazes burning into his back. But they didn’t dare interfere when their captain’s life was in Percy’s hands.
Bong, bong, bong, bong. The bell rang, and the sounds of battle subsided as all eyes turned Percy’s way. No hesitation.
Percy’s grip tightened on the blunderbuss as Butcher gripped his shirtfront.
Bang!
Percy pulled the trigger, the blunderbuss backfiring in his hand with a flash of light.
But Butcher went down. His head whipped sideways, propelling his body overboard and tearing Percy’s ill-fitting shirt from his frame.
Percy let him fall to the ocean with a heavy splash, while he remained on board, entirely bare-chested.
Fuck.
A low murmur went through the conscious men, while those nearby took several steps back.
“There will be no more fighting!” Percy hollered, his voice carrying.
He gritted his teeth against the surge of fear and trepidation that threatened to overtake him at what he knew must come next.
“Some of you know me. But for those of you who do not, I am Percival Baxter, and I am taking over this ship.”