Chapter Fourteen #3
Oars dug into the shallow water, each stroke a desperate push toward the beach. He took hold of one, throwing everything he had into each pull. Water splashed as they made for shore at a breakneck speed, gliding over the waves. Salt stung his eyes, the small boat pitching with every breaking swell.
A chorus of shouts followed them, bloodthirsty taunts carried on the wind.
Too close. Lucien’s chest tightened, pulse hammering against his ribs.
He leaned forward, muscles screaming with every stroke, the oar biting into the water again and again.
His eyes flicked to the narrowing distance behind them as he forced more speed from his shoulders.
Miss Ross’s hands clutched her seat, knuckles white. “We won’t make it.”
“We’ll try.” It was all he could say as the pirates closed the distance.
They hit the shallows, sand scraping their keel. A few more powerful strokes and they ground to a halt. Lucien leapt from the boat, boots digging into the wet beach. He turned and pulled Miss Ross out, her skirts dragging in a breaking wave.
They stumbled to dry ground, and he gave her a push toward the bluff. “Run. Head for the fort and hide.”
She hesitated, eyes wide with terror, then bolted, following the faint path up the hill.
With a growl, Lucien spun, drawing his sword as the pirates surged onto the beach.
He met the first one head-on, parrying a wild swing before driving the flat of his blade against the man’s chest. The pirate staggered back as Lucien slashed with precision.
A grunt, a stumble, and the man crumpled into the sand.
One down, a couple dozen to go. He twisted as another pirate jumped toward him with a shriek, a cutlass slicing air where his head had been a heartbeat before. He drove his elbow back, catching the man in the ribs, and followed with a strike that sent him sprawling into the surf.
His gaze swept over the men fighting in a frenzied tangle of fists, blades, and shouted curses.
One in particular fought his crew with terrifying skill—each strike precise, each opponent falling with brutal efficiency.
Lucien’s jaw tightened. He sprinted toward the man, sword raised.
They met with a clash of steel that rang across the sand.
The man’s movements were fluid, controlled, merciless.
Lucien blocked, sidestepped, and thrust, but the man countered all of it with ease.
A coat cut too fine for the likes of a pirate shifted across broad shoulders, the morning light catching on polished brass buttons.
With dark hair tied back in an unruly knot and a clean-shaven jaw, the man looked as though he should be fighting side by side with Lucien, not at the other end of his sword.
“Are you Thorne?” Lucien grunted, straining as steel slid against steel, the man’s blade pressing dangerously close.
“No.” The man’s cold laugh echoed as his blade flashed again. “And be grateful for it.”
Lucien pressed, circling, searching for an opening. “You don’t look like a pirate.”
The man tilted his head, green eyes glinting with amusement and menace. “Appearance can be deceiving, Captain.”
Sharp-eyed as well as a master with his blade. A formidable foe. Another swing, and their duel erupted once more, sand kicking up around their boots. Sparks flew as metal clashed again and again, their dance weaving between fighting men.
Sweat dripped from Lucien’s brow, but he refused to back down, matching the man, step for step. But no matter how he feinted, how he lunged, the pirate countered every move with uncanny ease. The muscles in his arm screamed as he thrust toward the man’s side, only for him to effortlessly block it.
With a sudden spin and an underhanded flick of his wrist, the pirate sent his blade whipping in a low arc, catching Lucien off balance and exposing his side.
He twisted, throwing himself to the ground.
Sharp metal sliced through his sleeve, hot pain blossoming in its wake.
He landed with a thud, rolled clear of the blade’s arc, and sprang back to his feet, eyes locked on the man before him.
They circled, blades leveled, and Lucien’s heart sank as the scene around him sharpened into focus.
Even if he bested this man, his crew was being quickly overwhelmed.
It wouldn’t be long before they were forced to surrender.
A flash of blonde at the edge of the clearing drew his gaze, and he bit back a curse.
Why hadn’t she listened to him? He drove his blade forward, teeth clenched.
But it was too late. The man had sensed his distraction and came at him from the side with a heavy blow.
Somehow, Lucien twisted his weapon in time to stop it, but the momentum was too much.
The sword ripped from his hand, sending a wave of pain flashing up his arm.
He stumbled to one knee as his opponent lifted his weapon for a final strike, sun glinting from steel.
The roar of the surf, the cries of men, the clash of metal—all blurred into a single pulse of dread twisting through clenched muscles. Time slowed, each heartbeat a hammer in his chest. His gaze locked with Miss Ross’s, her eyes catching his in stunned disbelief.
He’d risked everything, fought his best.
And it hadn’t been enough.