Pirate’s Promise: The Girl Had Nowhere To Go But Into His Arms... Read online

  "Let's go, men!" Adam urged his men to action. Armed with pistols and sabers, the defenders attacked the superior force, desperately trying to drive the pirates from their ship.

  Even as Shark was angered by this continued, futile opposition, he felt reluctant admiration for the outnumbered and outgunned force. He had expected the crew to throw down their weapons and beg for mercy in the face of their invasion, but they showed no signs of giving up. Shouting encouragement to his own men, he led them forward in a brutal attack.

  The sound of gunshots echoed across the gulf, and blade met blade in a deadly clash. Though they were determined not to surrender, the Windwood's insufficiently armed defenders were no match for the well-armed, bloodthirsty plunderers. Adam and Beau fought side by side, but their efforts were largely futile as Shark's men drove relentlessly on, mowing down all resistance. In a final savage surge, they pressed the last tattered remnants of the crew ahead of them until they had cornered them near the bow.

  Beau went down, wounded by one of the vicious saber-wielding pirates. Adam, witnessing his friend's distress, fired at the man responsible, killing him instantly. He continued to urge his men to fight, pressing his own attack with reckless abandon. He had no concern for his own safety. All he could think of was Beau lying on the deck appearing mortally wounded and Elise below virtually unprotected. Adam knew he could not give up.

  When Shark heard Adam issuing commands he recognized him as the captain. Knowing that the embattled crew would surely give up if they saw their leader fall, he snatched a pistol from one of his crew and took steady aim. His shot was true and the bullet struck Adam in the head. The surviving crew of the Windwood stared in horror at the sight of their captain sprawled lifelessly on the deck.

  "Fools! Give it up before you're all slaughtered!" Shark called out as his superior force surrounded them. "Save your own skins! Lay down your arms!"

  Certain now that there could be no victory or escape, the demoralized men threw aside their weapons and fearfully huddled together.

  "A wise choice," Shark sneered. "Guard them, and if anybody moves . . . kill 'em!"

  "Aye, Captain Shark!"

  "The rest of you get below. I want anything and everything of value brought up on deck. Any man caught trying to keep something from me will pay a price greater than these . . ." Shark gestured to the dead strewn about the scene of the fighting.

  As his men rushed anxiously below to loot and pillage, Shark and Will moved off, away from the Windwood's crew. They stood alone together surveying the destruction they'd wreaked.

  Beau had only just regained consciousness when he heard the two men approaching. He went completely still. Though violent pain wracked him, he knew that even the slightest movement on his part would give him away. He almost groaned aloud when the men stopped near him and began to talk, gloating over their triumph. He was helpless to act. He had no weapon, and, even if he had had one, he didn't have the strength to use it. The knowledge filled Beau with impotent rage.

  "So you approve now, do you?" Shark's tone was smug as he spoke with Will. "I've never known you to be so lily-livered before."

  "It was a great risk . . ."

  "I'm a risk-taker, Will. You, of all my men, should know that," he mocked him. "What is life without risks? Without excitement? Without challenge?"

  "There would have been quite a bit of excitement if our ship had been damaged. You know your partner wouldn't have been happy if anything had happened to the blacks."

  Shark shrugged indifferently in response. "We're ahead of schedule. If anything had happened, there would have been plenty of time to make repairs before we're due in New Orleans. Besides, Will, what she doesn't know . . ."

  The agony of Beau's wound grew too overpowering for him as they continued to talk. With the last of their words echoing through his mind, he slipped into unconsciousness again, no longer able to resist its offer of blissful escape.

  The sound of shots being fired belowdecks alerted Shark that there might be something of even greater value on board than he'd suspected, and he and Will hurried off to investigate.

  Only minutes after the shots were heard, the terrified screams of the women resounded from the depths of the ship. The men of the Windwood heard the shots and cries and reacted instinctively, lunging forward to go to the ladies' aid.

  "Get back!" Shark's men shouted as they leveled their guns threateningly at them.

  But the Windwood's crews' emotions drove them onward. At their continued challenge, the guards fired without hesitation. Three men were killed instantly. The cold brutality of the act effectively cowered the other men and they fell back, outraged over their inability to save the women from the pirates' savagery.

  It was some time later when the crew of the Banshee transported the last of the valuables to their own ship.

  "This is the last of it, Captain!" one of his men shouted.

  "Good! You men have worked quickly and have earned your reward!"

  A raucous cheer went up, for they were drunk on the power of their murderous victory.

  "Will, lock the rest of their crew in the hold," Shark directed malevolently, "then torch the boat as soon as you're through."

  "What about the women?"

  The smuggler's glance was utterly ruthless. "Forget them. Let's just get done and get out of here."

  Will was surprised by this order, but did not question it. He hurried to do his bidding. With the help of the other mates, he quickly herded the men of the Windwood belowdecks.

  The blaze successfully started, Will led his crewmates back to safety aboard their own boat. Within minutes, the raiders had set full sail and were rapidly distancing themselves from what they thought was a funeral pyre.

  The acrid smoke from the feeding fire seared its way into Adam's lungs, forcing him back to consciousness. Convulsing in his need for air, Adam began to choke violently. He struggled to awareness, pushing himself upright and bracing himself weakly on one arm as the ship seemed to spin around him. He was dizzy and disoriented for a moment. Blood from his head wound stung his eyes, and he wiped it away with his sleeve. The pain in his head was excruciating, but he fought against it as his memory of the battle returned.

  Adam could hear the screams and shouts of his men, trapped as they were belowdecks. He staggered to his feet intent only on releasing them before they were roasted alive. Gasping for breath, he reeled unsteadily through the carnage toward the hatch. When his strength would have failed him, his resolve drove him ever onward. It seemed to Adam to take an eternity to reach the cover, but he finally made it.

  "Men!" Adam croaked, his voice hoarse from the smoke.

  "It's the captain! We thought you were dead, sir!" Came the resounding cry of the exultant men.

  "Hang on . . . I'll try to get this open . . ." He worked feverishly at opening the hatch unmindful of the blood still seeping from his injury. With a final valiant effort, he managed to throw the cover wide.

  In ecstatic jubilation, the crew scrambled from the hold. They banded together in earnest to fight the fire and try to salvage what was left of the ship. Only Harnett, the Windwood's physician, did not take up the fight. Instead, he paused to aid his captain, who was swaying unsteadily on his feet.

  "We thought all was lost, Captain. Thank God you're still alive," Harnett told him. "Sit down. Let me see what I can do for your head . . ." He would have examined the wound, but Adam brushed him aside.

  "No! There's no time," he argued selflessly, ignoring the throbbing in his head. "I have to find Elise and Beau

  "Mr. Hamilton's got to be dead, sir. The way he was cut . . ." Hartnett hung his head in despair as he mourned Beau.

  Adam broke away from him to rush to where Beau lay on the deck. From what the doctor had said, he'd honestly expected that it would be too late, but as he dropped to his knees beside Beau, he was stunned to find that his friend still breathed. Though Beau's pulse was weak, it was steady. Adam called out to the doctor as he began to appl
y pressure to the bloody saber wound.

  "Beau, damn it!" Adam spoke his name insistently. "Don't die on me! Fight!"

  Adam's voice came to him from what seemed like a great distance as consciousness slowly returned. Harrowing, agonizing pain burned through Beau's chest, and he groaned as he opened his eyes to see Adam and Harnett at his side.

  "Beau! Thank God!" Adam's hand tightened on Beau's arm in a desperately emotional grip.

  "What happened?"

  "They torched the ship before they left," he told him, "I've got to go below and find Elise!" He was a driven man as he lurched toward the companionway.

  Forgetting his own agony for a moment, Beau called out, "Adam! Don't go down there!" But it was too late to stop him. With a vile curse, Beau turned to Harnett who was trying to bind his wound. "Forget about it!" he ordered. "I've got to go with Adam. Help me get up."

  A jagged jolt of red, agonizing pain blazed through his side as the doctor helped him stand, but he refused to give in to it. Beau only gritted his teeth against it and directed Harnett to help him below. He was forced to move so slowly that by the time they reached Adam's cabin, it was too late.

  Adam was standing motionlessly beside his bunk. His quarters were in total disarray as if some great struggle had gone on there. Robby's body lay near the door, Adam's pistols still clutched in his hands even in death. There was a body on the floor near the windowseat that Adam had somehow already managed to cover with a blood-splattered sheet. But it was the woman lying on the bed that drew Beau's attention and rendered him momentarily speechless. It was Elise. Naked and curled in a defenseless fetal position, she lay completely still upon the blood-stained bed.

  "Adam, Elise . . . is she . . .?"

  Adam turned on Beau like a madman, his expression fierce. "It would have been better if they had killed her . . ."

  Then, mindless of his own pain, Adam drew a quilt over her and took her slight form into his arms. He sat on the bunk and cradled her to him, wanting to comfort her, wanting to ease the hell she'd suffered. But there was no answering response in her. Elise's eyes were dazed, her expression completely blank. Tormented by the thought that he'd been unable to protect her, Adam remained there, holding her in his arms and speaking to her in low tones as Beau and Harnett backed from the room.

  Chapter Two

  Four months later on the Gulf

  The captain of the clipper Merryweather stood at the helm as he watched the unidentified clipper that was swiftly angling toward them. Fine-lined and sharp-hulled, the sleek, fully-rigged craft was outfitted for speed, and he knew that whoever was in charge of her was a master.

  "I don't know what they want, but stay steady on course, helmsman."

  "Yes, sir, Captain Wright," the sailor replied.

  Ghosting through the smooth sea, the approaching ship gave the seasoned commander pause. Never in all his years at sea had he seen a craft move with such quickness and precision. Always an admirer of a fine-looking ship, Wright thought the boat quite innovative for the precise set of its sail and its obvious speed, but he grew a bit apprehensive as to the reason for its intersecting course. It was then, as the ship drew closer and then veered to a parallel path, that Wright saw the guns.

  "Blast it! We haven't a chance to outrun her! Bring her to heel, now!" Wright bellowed.

  The terrified crew of the Merryweather exploded into action. Scrambling as quickly as they could, they climbed aloft to take in sail. They were not fighting men, and they understood their captain's decision to surrender without a challenge. It was the only sensible thing to do. The Merryweather carried no guns to speak of, and, as fleet as the other ship was, there would be no outrunning them. The merchandise they carried could be replaced, but human lives could not.

  Almost as soon as Wright had issued the order to take in sail, though, the coming craft fired a threatening volley over their port bow. The captain cursed under his breath, fearful that he'd made the wrong decision in giving in so easily. What if he'd put the fate of his ship and crew into the hands of some bloodthirsty killers who wouldn't be satisfied with just taking their wealth?

  Wright momentarily considered trying to flee. But one last look at their closing assailant reaffirmed what he'd realized instinctively at the start. Escape would be impossible, and, as far as protecting themselves went, armaments on his ship were next to nonexistent.

  "Easy, men. There'll be no fighting. We'll give them what they want," he ordered judiciously.

  The captain hoped it was a good sign that the challenger had chosen to fire only a warning volley when it could have easily put them on the bottom. Keeping his men under tight control, he made sure they did not resist as the raiding ship moved in and they were boarded.

  The men from the attacking clipper swarmed aboard the Merryweather fully armed and prepared for a fight. A group of them separated to surround and guard the ship's crew and officers.

  Tensions began to mount as the captain of the invaders came aboard. Everyone fell into a stunned, frightened silence as he strode purposefully across the deck. Tall and leanly-built, the master of the attacking ship was dressed all in black and wore a concealing, ominous-looking mask. Behind the disguise, his dark eyes shone with a conquering fire, and, as he moved forward to speak to his men, he smiled ferally.

  "What is it you want?" demanded Captain Wright.

  The mysterious leader wheeled about to face him. Wright could feel a cold deadliness emanating from his unknown adversary even with the mask hiding his features. The pirate didn't respond to his question as his dark eyes bored icily into his own, and, after a moment, he turned back to direct his men.

  "Search the ship," he commanded.

  The men who were not guarding the Menyweather's crew hurried off to do as he'd ordered. They boldly scoured the surrendered vessel. The men searched, but to Wright's confusion, they did not plunder. When they reported back to their captain and told him that they'd found nothing, he only nodded.

  The masked raider's presence was fearsome as he turned to Wright. Wright stiffened as he awaited his pronouncement. He didn't know what he was expecting from this ferocious, threatening figure, but it was not what came next.

  "My apologies for the inconvenience, Captain," the captain told him in an almost cordial tone that was at odds with the feeling of danger and tension that exuded from him.

  "What? he was stunned. "Who the hell are you!"

  "My name is Spectre. Remember it," the raider answered harshly.

  "Spectre . . ." Wright repeated. The tension eased from him a bit as he sensed that his ship and men were in no danger.

  "I'm searching for the pirate named Shark whose ship looks much like yours," he offered as an explanation for the search. "Have you seen or heard of him?"

  "I've heard of him," Captain Wright said. "He's a bloodthirsty bastard. Rumor has it that when he raids, he never leaves anyone alive . . ."

  "What you've heard is true, but mark my words, his raiding days are numbered. I intend to put an end to his murderous ways."

  "Why not go to the authorities?"

  "Shark is mine," the man known as Spectre declared, and smiled chillingly.

  Wright could sense the hatred Spectre had for Shark. A shiver of apprehension ran down his spine as he wondered what the killer pirate had done to Spectre to create such an unrelenting need for revenge.

  "Spread the word. I want it known that I'm after him," Spectre directed. "I want Shark to know what it feels like to be the hunted instead of the hunter."

  Before Captain Wright could respond, the raider was gone.

  The men of the Merryweather made no moves as they watched the raiders return to their own vessel. As the other ship sailed away and they were free to resume their original course unscathed, their talk was of the dreaded Shark and this strange man known as Spectre. The crew speculated on his reasons for keeping his identity unknown and for tracking the pirate. They knew when the confrontation did occur, it would be bloody and deadly.

/>   Spectre stayed on deck until they were well away from the Merryweather and then, after instructing the helmsman to continue plying the main trade routes into New Orleans from the south, he went below. As he slammed into his cabin, he tore off the mask and threw it negligently to one side. His shoulders slumped in frustration as he recognized the futility of his efforts. He had been searching for months now and had turned up nothing.

  Spectre went to his desk and sat down, raking a hand through the dark thickness of his hair in a weary gesture. He got out his charts and maps of the Louisiana coastline near the delta and began to pore over them for what seemed like the thousandth time. When the knock came at the door, he didn't even bother to look up.

  "Come in."

  His cabin door swung open and Beau Hamilton entered the room.

  "What is it, Beau?" he asked tersely, his temper stretched to the limit by the disappointment of the raid.

  "I want to know what you're going to do now, Adam," he told him as he came to sit in the chair before his desk.

  Adam's dark eyes glowed with an inner fervor. "We'll keep searching, Beau. We're going to keep it up until we find the bastard, and then I'm going to kill him."

  "But, Adam, you've been combing the Gulf for months now with no success!"

  "Don't you think I know that!" Adam came to his feet in an uproar. "Don't you think I know that this is like looking for a needle in a haystack!"

  Beau nodded in silent response as he watched his friend pace about the room. Beau realized that Adam was a changed man since Shark's raid, and he reflected on all that had occurred. They'd been rescued at sea shortly after the attack and returned home to Adam's plantation home in Charleston. Adam's sister, Becky, had taken charge and nursed his own and Adam's wounds personally, and she had quietly seen to Elise's desperate needs.

  Though Adam's physical wounds had healed rather quickly, deep within the heart of him the emotional wounds he carried were raw and agonizing. He blamed himself for what had happened to Elise. When the numerous doctors and specialists whom Becky had engaged to treat Elise announced that there was no hope for recovery, that she had withdrawn from life and showed no signs of ever improving, Adam had been devastated.