The Pirate Captain - By Kerry Lynne Page 0,176

only iron and bellows.

“Smitty woulda been a-workin’ by this time o’ day,” Pryce observed, eyeing the bare wisp of smoke curling from the chimney, a forge yet to be stoked.

“Why the blacksmith?” asked Smalley.

Cate answered before she thought. “Shackles and chains.”

A bitter bile rose. In cold evaluation, the smithy was a wise choice: close enough to the house for convenience, and yet removed enough for privacy.

A low growl emitted from the others.

“Bastard.”

Cate couldn’t disagree with Chin’s assessment.

“Belay, ye bunch o' cod-headed swabs! Wasted hate is wasted energy. Let’s be sure o’ what’s afoot here.” Pryce’s calm was betrayed by his knuckles, white on the hilt of his sword.

So much now made sense. Cate’s suspicions had been correct, but there was little satisfaction to be gleaned. Ambition had its price; someone as advanced in rank as Harte, at his young age, had to be consumed by it. His hunger, however, was not yet sated. Arresting someone as renown as Nathanael Blackthorne still alive would deny him his personal justice. Bringing Nathan in “accidentally dead,” would supply Harte with both his pound of flesh and the prestige of ending the pirate’s reign of terror.

“Now what?” sighed Ogden. The snake tattooed on his head peered down with an equally puzzled look.

At that early hour, neither of the Marines struck an imposing figure: one slumped on a barrel, the other on an overturned bucket. Leaned against the barn, both were asleep, judging by the gaping mouths, oblivious to Beatrice’s boisterous proclamations from overhead.

“Pride o’ the King’s Navy,” Pryce snorted contemptuously. “You stay.” He drilled Cate with one of his most piercing looks. “The rest o’ ye’s watch her, whilst I go see what’s what.”

With a final warning glare, Pryce crept away. He made his way to the back of the barn, his path marked by glimpses of him behind a bush or abandoned cart. Quaking with anxiety, Cate contained herself until he had disappeared around the building. She broke away in a hiss of protest from those left in her wake. Following Pryce’s darting path, she caught him up. He whirled, reaching for his sword, and then gave her a withering glare. She pressed a finger to her lips, smirking at his displeasure.

The back of the building offered no access; no windows or doors, not even a loose board. They separated to investigate further. Cate discovered a crack in the weathered siding and urgently waved Pryce over. He stood while she squatted, and they put an eye to the split. They jerked back at the sight of red coats inside: five, maybe seven Marines, clustered in irregular groups. Judging by their actions, there were more out of their narrow line of sight. Pryce thumped her on the arm and pointed.

It was Nathan. He sat in the straw, slumped against a post. His arms were held high by shackles on his wrists, suspended to a beam overhead. Head lolled between his arms, his body curved in a defensive inward arc, as if expecting another blow, or God knew what else.

Fury shook her and she swore under her breath, Pryce nodding in avid agreement. She vibrated with the urge to tear away the boards, Marines be damned! Pryce’s hand on her shoulder steadied her. A silent argument ensued, a pantomime of gestures and expressions, offering and negating as to what should be done. The only thing they could agree on was to retreat, where they could argue further.

“He’s in there,” Pryce reported grimly upon their return. “Bastards ’ave him strung up like a slaughtered pig.”

“We have to get him out of there.” Cate only uttered what everyone else was thinking. Her hot rush of anger had ebbed, the cold calm of calculation settling in.

The first suggestion was an outright frontal attack; after all they were pirates, and were eager to do what they did best.

“There has to be nigh a dozen o’ them red-bellies in there, plus them what’s posted guard,” Pryce said. “We can take ’em all, well ’n’ good, but one shot and we’ll have the whole mess on us. The Cap’n appears in no condition to show a leg.”

“We need a diversion,” Cate said, more to herself. A few seconds more and she snapped her fingers. “I’ve got it.”

Their lack of confidence was obvious, but with no option at hand, a decoy was necessary.

“Just wait for the cue,” she said, with a sly smile. “I promise, you’ll know it.”

Cate crept away, leaving Pryce to grumble in protest. The men worked their way to