The Pirate Captain - By Kerry Lynne Page 0,289

catching her in the jaw. Her vision reduced to a tunnel, the pinpricks now a beehive as oblivion loomed.

Don’t pass out! Don’t pass out!

He came down on top of her. His hips grinding against hers, his eager hardness prodded against her legs. With limbs gone as heavy as sand, she shouted at herself to do something as he pried at her knees. She wanted to scream, but like in a dream, couldn’t. Against bands of iron that seemed to have seized her chest, she drew a breath and forced it out through frozen jaws. The result was but a pitiful mewling moan.

A shadow fell over them. Thinking it was another one came to join in, Cate tried again to cry out, but with the same pathetic result. The shadow shifted and a human form separated from the trees. She caught only a fleeting glimpse, but there was no mistaking Nathan’s outline as he loomed over them. He moved and a band of moonlight fell across his face to reveal an expression of somewhere between black rage and dead calm. So preoccupied with fumbling with his flies, her assailant didn’t look up, until Nathan drew back a foot and drove it into his belly.

The force sent the man tumbling into the dark. Nathan kicked again and again, rolling his victim, until he flopped like a rag doll. Standing over him, Nathan calmly drew his pistol, aimed, and fired. There was a crack, a blue spurt, a faint retort, and the acrid smell of gunpowder. The body bucked once, sending leaves and dirt scattering, and then went still.

So effortless, so quick, so clean, and a man was dead.

Heavy running and crashing brush marked Thomas’ arrival, pistol in one hand and sword in the other. In one glance, he assessed the scene. Stowing his weapons, he moved to the lifeless form, and poked it with the toe of his boot, until the face came into the moonlight.

“He’s one of yours,” Nathan observed dispassionately, stuffing his pistol back into his belt.

“Aye, pity,” Thomas sighed, equally impassive. “He was my best f’c’stleman. Leave him lie.”

Nathan came back to where Cate huddled on the ground. He helped her to stand, steadying her by the waist when her legs wobbled dangerously. Too stunned to cry, she stumbled next to him as he took her back toward the friendly light of the fires, Thomas’ heavy step behind them. She was sat on something—a keg or an up-ended log—near enough to the gangs of men for comfort, yet far enough for privacy.

“Get something to drink, now!” Nathan bellowed.

A water gourd arrived shortly, filled with bumboo. She hated rum, but the spices made it palatable, and she was most definitely in need of a drink. Cate fumbled, nearly dropping it, obliging Nathan to hold it while she sipped.

“I’m fine.”

Nathan’s mouth quirked. “Aye, as you keep insisting.”

Nathan steadied Cate by the arm as she continued to sway. Blinking stupidly, she probed through her fogged mind, trying to recall having said anything. She felt, more than heard, people speaking, their voices no more than dull thuds in her ears. She could hear Thomas fuming somewhere near, pausing periodically to peer over Nathan’s shoulder at her.

The bumboo went to work in short order. Cate’s head cleared sufficiently to put one thought in front of another. With it, the numbness gave way to sensations. The night air grew fingers of ice. Shock jolted through her body in rolling waves. Her face throbbed. The muscles in her abdomen spasmed at every breath. She twitched and jumped at hands that weren’t there. Nathan’s coat was wrapped about her shoulders, but she continued to quake. She hunched it higher and drank deeper, in hopes the blessed numbness might return.

In jerky, abrupt moves, Nathan plucked leaves and twigs from her hair and clothing. His inscrutable mask firmly in place, he checked her over again and again, confirming for himself that she was indeed fine. While he saw to her physically, it was notable that he didn’t look at her directly. The most unnerving, however, was his silence. Swearing, chiding, berating; anything would have been better than nothing.

“I’m sorry,” she said. At last, two different words.

“No worries, luv.” Nathan intently snugged the faded coat about her. “It would have been now or it would have been later. If a man’s taken a notion, there’s naught to be done about it.”

“I knew he was a treacherous bastard, but I had no idea…” Thomas said, looking on over Nathan’s shoulder. “Hell,