Page 97 of Barbarous

As dusk approached, Malcolm gathered his nerve and asked the questions Daphne wished she might, but did not dare.

“The men have not returned. It would appear Ramsay has not tried to go to the authorities or plan any kind of ambush. It will be dark soon, what should . . . what should I do?” he asked, his confidence visibly dwindling the longer he had to endure the demented pirate’s stare.

Calitain heaved himself up from the table and went to the small alcove behind the hearth. He returned with two weapons, one of which he tossed to Jean-Paul, who caught it handily, although he’d appeared to be dozing in the ragged chair beside Malcolm’s mattress.

“I am going to prepare to greet Standish, milor’. And Jean-Paul will prepare to greet whoever he brings along. I hazard he’ll bring his boy-whore and whoever else he keeps with him at that big house. If your hired hands have done their job, he should not be bringing the entire crew of the Batavia’s Ghost with him.” Calitain drew a wickedly curved blade from an ornately decorated scabbard and turned to Malcolm wearing an utterly chilling smile. “But really I do not care who he brings or how many. We will be ready no matter what, eh?” He looked at Jean-Paul, who was running a stone along the edge of his blade.

Malcolm, who appeared to have learned nothing about their captor’s uncertain temper in the past day, had more questions. “But what if my men have failed to notice and Ramsay sent a message to his ship? What if all his men arrive to help him? How can you two possibly fight them all?”

Calitain laughed, punctuating the sound with a long rasp of stone on metal as he sharpened the wicked blade.

“We have you on our side, don’t we? That should be worth at least a dozen men, eh?” He and Jean-Paul laughed so hard they had to pause in their sharpening. Once he’d caught his breath he looked up. “Don’t you fret, little man, my men will be here; we will not be overmatched.” He eyed Malcolm scornfully before turning his attention back to the dangerous metal in his hands.

Malcolm opened his mouth just as Calitain sprang to his feet.

“Shh!” he hissed, cocking his head and listening.

They sat perfectly still and Daphne heard the low keening of a horn.

Calitain’s mouth curved into a triumphant smile and he grabbed his sword belt from the table, strapping it around his waist before sliding the blade into the scabbard.

“What? What is it?” Malcolm demanded.

The pirate ignored him as he and Jean-Paul readied themselves. Calitain lighted the only lantern while Jean-Paul picked up two rough torches from a bundle that lay on the floor and lit them at the hearth. The two men headed toward the door.

“Come,” Calitain said, beckoning to Malcolm. “You hold the girl—you can do that much, can you not?” He yanked open the door.

Jean-Paul followed closely behind him, stopping long enough to place a torch in each of the metal rings set in the wood pillars beside the door.

“You arrogant, insolent scum,” Malcolm murmured, leveling a look of sulfurous hatred at the backs of the two sailors. “Come on!” He grabbed Daphne’s upper arm. “Don’t try anything on me, precious, because I’m in the mood to cut your bloody throat without thinking twice.” To illustrate his point he held up the small knife he’d menaced her with inside the coach.

Daphne followed him willingly, grateful to leave the confines of the wretched shack. It was immediately clear why the cottage was so dank and damp; a small inlet lay not two hundred feet from the building. The rank smell of rotting vegetation filled her nostrils and told her the little cove was marshy and would be too shallow for any but the smallest of boats.

Daphne saw a flicker of light some distance from the shore and realized a rowboat was approaching. Whoever it was, they carried only a small light, which they flashed briefly before concealing it again, as if to avoid detection.

“Ho there!” Jean-Paul called out. The four of them stood frozen in suspense, waiting for some response; but there was nothing but the faint sound of oars in water. Jean-Paul cupped his hands to his mouth to call again when a familiar voice sounded behind them.

“Ho there!”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Daphne spun around. “Hugh!” Malcolm’s arm snaked around her neck and jerked her back, his knife against her throat.

“Move again and I’ll cut you,” he hissed in her ear, the cold metal scraping her skin.

“Standish!” Calitain’s voice pulsed with excitement as Hugh rode into the small circle of light cast by the torches and lantern. “You are early, my friend. You must be eager to see me.”

There was Hugh, so impossibly huge on Pasha. Daphne’s eyes searched frantically behind him—but there was just one other figure. Only Kemal attended him. Her heart, which had just been leaping for joy, froze. How could two men fight Calitain’s entire crew?

“Hugh! It’s a trap! There are more men in the—”

Malcolm’s arm tightened and cut off her air along with her words. Daphne struggled against him, feeling the point of the knife beside her eye. “You’d better shut your mouth, you slut!”

Calitain turned to look at them, making a tsk, tsk, tsk. “Come now, lordling, that is no way to treat a lady. Loosen your grip and lower the knife. We don’t want you slipping and perhaps poking out your own eye, do we?” His words were polite but his tone was menacing.

Daphne felt the internal struggle in Malcolm, but he lowered the knife and loosened his arm, allowing Daphne to gasp for air.

Calitain turned back to Hugh. “There, you see? Nothing to worry about now; she is safe.”