Chapter Fifteen
Abigail screamed.
It was all she could do as Christian’s blade fell toward Mr. Moreau’s exposed chest. She pressed her eyes shut, her fingers clamped around the trunk of the tree she’d taken cover behind.
The sharp clang of steel against steel rang out, and her eyes snapped open. Had he recovered his sword? No. She gasped, her heart skipping a beat.
“Samantha?” She croaked her friend’s name out, certain her eyes must be deceiving her.
Copper waves billowing behind her in the wind, clad in breeches and a flowing white blouse, Samantha held a rapier above Mr. Moreau’s head, her arms trembling beneath the weight of her husband’s blade.
“Christ.” Christian dropped his sword to his side and took a step back.
Samantha followed him with a snarl. “Don’t you dare back down!”
“This is ridiculous.” He jumped to the side as she swung at him. “I’m not fighting you.”
Samantha’s blade whipped out again, and he raised his at the last second to block it. Her eyes narrowed. “You just did.”
“Samantha—” His plea was cut off as she spun and jabbed a thrust at his side. “Damn it, Samantha!” He dodged the blow.
Barely.
Abigail sucked in a breath. Her friend looked at her husband with deadly intent. Would she really hurt him?
“I hope he knows how mad she is.”
Abigail twisted as a familiar voice came from her side. “Josephine!”
Her friend, the daughter of the governor of Tortuga, stood there, dressed almost exactly the same as Samantha, all the way down to the rapier clutched in her hands.
Men began to pour from the trees, weapons raised, and rushed into the fight on the beach.
In a matter of moments, the battle turned and the pirates began retreating toward the water.
Josephine gave her a quick hug. “I’m so glad to see you safe.”
A thousand questions hovered on Abigail’s lips, but the heavy clang of metal rang out from behind them. They twisted and Josephine let out a gasp.
Abigail stared as Samantha held her blade steady, the point pressing to her husband’s neck, his sword laying in the sand. “You are not going back on that ship.” Her words came out in a throaty growl.
They stood that way for several long moments, an uneasy silence settling over the beach.
“I’m sorry, love.” Christian’s foot flew out, sweeping Samantha’s legs from under her, causing her to tumble to the sand. “Can’t let you win every argument.” With a wink, he sloshed out into the water to a waiting longboat, where the pirates had already clambered in.
Abigail blew out a breath and started to turn to Josephine. “That was—”
She let out a sharp cry as a rough hand tangled in her hair and yanked her head back. “You’ll be coming back with us, missy.”
A pirate yanked her against him and began dragging her toward the water. Josephine whipped her blade up, leaping forward, but slid to a stop when the cool edge of a dagger pressed to Abigail’s throat.
“Stay back!” He stopped at the water’s edge. “If anybody moves, I’ll slit her throat.”
Abigail whimpered as her captor jerked them back another step, her heels carving furrows in the wet sand. Josephine took a step toward them, rapier still raised. “Don’t think about it,” the man growled. “Drop your weapons or she dies.”
One by one, the men around the clearing threw their blades to the ground, and the pirate chuckled. “So easily swayed by a pretty face?” Another step back and a breaking wave washed around Abigail’s feet.
Her gaze found Mr. Moreau, who stood rigid, hands slightly raised. “Let her go.” His voice rang with warning.
“Or what?” The man next to her smirked. “You wouldn’t make it half a step before I dropped her dead on the ground.”
Gray eyes narrowed. “I beg to differ.”
The next moment, the pressure at her neck lifted and the man at her side crumpled. With a cry, she stumbled back, her hands flying to her throat. The surf hissed, retreating over the sand, and in its wake lay the pirate, a dagger buried deep in his chest.
Before she could draw another breath, Mr. Moreau was there—water splashing around his boots, his expression dark with worry. He caught her shoulders in his hands, eyes searching hers. “Are you hurt?”
She could only shake her head, the world still spinning. He brushed a curl from her forehead with his thumb, wincing. A thin red line marred his white sleeve. “But you are.”
He pressed his lips together. “’Tis but a scratch, it can be dealt with later.”
Samantha approached, and he turned to face her. “I am in your debt, Ms.…”
“Captain Thompson,” she supplied, sheathing her blade. “And it is I who am indebted to you. You’ve saved Abigail. Twice now.”
“I did only what was necessary. Miss Ross’s safety is not a debt.” His gaze flicked around them. “I must tend to my men and see who requires aid.”
Abigail stayed rooted to the spot as he walked away, her breath catching as he moved with quiet intensity among his men, each small gesture of command precise and deliberate. Even in the aftermath of battle, he radiated danger and authority.
The soft cough beside her shattered her daze. Abigail turned and caught Samantha in a fierce hug. “How did you find us?”
“I’ve been tracking Thorne’s frigate from New Orleans. Your handsome rescuer complicated things, so we kept our distance to see how Thorne would react. But when he closed in on you, I knew it was time to step in.”
Heat flooded her cheeks, but worry tightened her chest. “Samantha—what’s happened? Christian’s with Thorne. Why?”
Samantha glanced toward the wounded men and back again, her jaw rigid. “It’s a long story.”
Abigail searched her face, but Samantha only shook her head—a quiet warning that now was not the time. She bit back the questions clawing for release and crossed her arms. “Something tells me there’s more than one story to tell.”
Her gaze traveled over Samantha’s bold outfit and settled on the shiny rapier still clutched in her hand. “First, you show up at my house dressed like this; now you arrive leading a crew and calling yourself captain. What on earth have you gotten yourself into?”
Her friend grinned. “If you must know, I’m a pirate.”
Abigail blinked. “Surely not.”
“Don’t listen to her.” Josephine joined them. “She’s an ex-pirate.”
Eyes flicking between her friends, Abigail stumbled back a step. “I don’t understand.”
Samantha’s grin faded, replaced by a subtle tension. “All those times I went sailing with my uncle? I was helping him pirate.”
Abigail’s stomach knotted. Her pulse raced, a swirl of admiration, fear, and betrayal crashing over her. “You’re telling me all this time… you were—” She faltered, searching Samantha’s face for any hint of jest.
Samantha’s eyes softened, but the weight of truth lingered. “I had hoped you’d never have to find out.”
Mr. Moreau returned, boots crunching against the sand, and Samantha faced him. “What are your plans, Captain …?”
“Moreau. I’ll get my men back to my ship and recover her, get her out from the sandbars.” He nodded toward the retreating Vengeance. “And you…” He furrowed his brow. “Exactly who are you?”
Samantha laughed, the abrupt sound raising heads around them. “I told you, I’m Captain Thompson.” She gestured to the men on me beach. “This is my crew. And this…” she set a hand on Abigail’s shoulder, “is my best friend.”
He shifted on his feet as he studied her. “You’re from Savannah?”
She nodded.
“Will you be returning to Georgia, then?” His gaze swiveled to Abigail, intense and unreadable as he asked the question, and her breath caught. The question carried more than strategy—she felt it, in the tilt of his jaw, the steady depth in his stare.
Samantha shook her head. “No. I’ll be going after my errant husband… and the increasingly bothersome Thorne.”
Lucien’s jaw tightened as he studied the retreating frigate, his hands curled into fists at his sides. “I will come with.”
Abigail’s pulse spiked as Samantha raised a copper brow. “No need. My crew is more than capable of handling him.”
“I have well-trained men with me,” he said evenly, his gaze firm on Samantha. “More hands will only improve your odds. And I know these waters—every shoal, every island, every curve of coastline. Knowledge your crew doesn’t have.”
Abigail swallowed, stomach churning at the thought of Mr. Moreau and Samantha putting themselves in danger. Samantha’s brow lifted, skeptical but intrigued. After a long pause, she nodded. “Very well. You come, but only as an ally, Moreau. I captain the Siren.”
Lucien inclined his head. “Understood.”
Abigail shifted uneasily, tugging at her skirt. “What about me?”
A slow smile spread across Samantha’s face. “Guess you’re coming on a pirate hunt.”
*
Cold water poured over Abigail’s shoulders as she sat in a shallow basin. Josephine held a rough cloth, helping wash away the last two days of grime and fear. Samantha worked to brush and untangle her hair, her hands sure and quick.
Once clean, Abigail rose with some effort, shivering. Her friends wrapped her in a coarse towel, patting her dry. Samantha nodded toward the garments laid out on a bench. “Here. This is what you’ll wear for now.”
Abigail stared at the pile of clothing. Breeches. A white blouse. “That… is that… what?” Her voice came out in a croak.
Samantha shrugged, unfazed. “We can wash your dress and dry it properly later, but this is practical. Besides, it’s all we have.”
Abigail took a deep breath, letting herself surrender to the necessity of it, though her mind raced with dread at the thought of wearing them. She clenched her teeth as she set the towel aside and began dressing, fumbling with the unfamiliar clothing.
Desperate for something familiar to anchor her thoughts, she turned to Josephine. “Where’s Lola?”
Her friend smiled at the mention of her pet parrot. “She’s back in Savannah. Our housekeeper has developed a soft spot for her and will keep her safe.”
Abigail blinked. “Our?”