The Pirate Captain - By Kerry Lynne Page 0,276

until after the terms were settled. Those who knew Nathan saw a storm gathering, and had begun to inch back, taking those who knew no better with them.

“Pistols or swords?” Biggins’ chin jutted in belligerence.

“Neither,” shot back Nathan. At the same time, he maneuvered sideways, allowing more space between Biggins and himself. It was could have been an effort to defuse the situation, but at the same time, he was distancing himself from Cate.

Biggins pressed closer. Planting his feet squarely before Nathan, he announced, “I’ll have my satisfaction, sir!’

Thomas’ blue eyes shifted from one to the other. In the flickering shadows, Cate thought she saw the corners of his mouth quivering, whether to keep from smiling or saying something the only question.

“Pistols or swords?” Biggins demanded, refusing to be ignored.

Nathan briefly regarded the lad. “Swords.”

“Are you sure?” Thomas rose to stand next to Nathan. He bent as if only for Nathan’s benefit, but spoke loudly enough for all to hear. “After that last time…?”

A suggestive lilt in Thomas’ query caused a corner of Nathan’s mouth to lift slightly.

“And that would be—?” Nathan said.

“Damnedest thing I ever seen,” Thomas said more loudly to the crowd. “The last one…well, two, come to think on it, but the last one most particular,” he added aiming a meaningful look toward Nathan. “One flick of the blade, the poor sod’s cock was cut off, clean as you please. Well, except the blood.” He frowned. “Bled like a stuck pig, he did. I saw him a year or so back. He carries it around in a jar o’ gin around his neck. His mates call him Pickle-cock.”

That brought a fair amount of laughter. The young challenger paled, and then went an interesting shade of green visible even in the moonlight. Cate found herself wondering what on earth the boy could have seen in Prudence—and so quickly—which could have driven him to this. Or was the lad just a natural raving romantic?

Young love.

“Then pistols,” Nathan cried.

Thomas’ countenance clouded. “Don’t you remember the last time—?”

“Lucky shot ’twas all,” Nathan said with a flip of the hand.

“Providence,” Thomas said significantly. He turned to the crowd. “One shot, square in the eye. Dropped like a stone. Least he never knew what hit ’im,” he finished with a brief display of compassion.

“Aye, regrettable, that,” Nathan said abstractedly. Then he brightened. “We could have a go at knives.”

“Noo…Remember Mahon? Oh, and then, there was Porto Praya. Slow deaths are ugly deaths,” Thomas said under his breath, though still heard by all.

Both gave a dramatic shudder.

“Then cudgels,” Nathan offered.

Thomas squinted a thoughtful eye. “You know, I saw that last one you fought in Maritan. Hit him square upside the head,” he said for the benefit of all, tapping a finger to his temple. “All he does is drool and cackle like a chicken.”

Cate averted her face to hide a smile.

Thomas crossed his arms and pensively propped his chin in one hand. “There’s gotta be something.”

“I know, I know,” Nathan grumbled. “Ease off and stand by. Blunderbuss? No, not that. Nasty mess, that was.”

Still deep in thought, Thomas nodded distractedly. “Difficult to look a man in the eye with only half a face.”

“Fisticuffs?”

Thomas chuckled. “Made such a mess o’ that one. He’s obliged to pay the blind whores extra just to have him.”

Biggins followed the conversation intently. Bold at first, his conviction faded with each description.

Chin, Mute Maori, and several of the larger Morgansers pressed to the front of observers, which had now formed into a loose ring. Weapons in clear evidence, they stood arms crossed, shoulder to shoulder, imposing with their presence. Biggins noticed and sagged.

“Pray, don’t mind them,” Nathan said, seeing the lad weaken. “They took some blood oath ages ago, pledging avenge the death of their captain, or some such nonsense. No basis to it a-tall.”

“Still there was…” Thomas warned.

“I still say ’twas a shark what got him,” Nathan shot back.

“Bloody difficult to tell with what little was left,” Thomas said with a dramatic roll of the eyes.

“Arm wrestle?” Nathan said, after a prolonged silent debate.

“I’m surprised you’d suggest that after Calcut. You swore never again, after his arm came off in your hand.”

They shuddered together.

“Boarding axe?” asked Nathan.

“Nay! Remember Ol’ Crossjack Johnson? One swipe and guts are spilling all on the beach, baking in the sun. Too quick; no justice,” Thomas concluded with a dismissive swipe.

Biggins’ dulled senses finally pricked, and he realized that the two captains were having a go with him. Many of the onlookers had long seen