He inhaled in heady appreciation, and then swiveled his attention to her father. “We require more!”
Corretja’s up-until-then red face blanched. He wiped it with a handkerchief—and such delicate, soft hands they were—which sported a monogram large enough to be seen at Cate’s distance. Nathan continued to smile admiringly, fondling the girl’s hair, her ribbon having come loose in her struggles. The drama continued to unfold. The pirates demanded. The mayor pleaded. Nathan’s irritation grew with each round.
Finally, Nathan gave Isabella a sharp squeeze, eliciting a yelp of protest.
“What are ye thinkin’, mates?” Nathan called to his rogues. “Hang our fair mayor by his thumbs or his balls? Shall it be sweating, carbonado, fuses ’twixt the fingers, or the rosary?”
The pirate captain canted his head, harkening to the raucous cheering, a myriad of grisly suggestions shouted, a cackling, half-maniacal laugh like the squawk of a chicken rising above the crowd.
“Very well. By the balls it ’tis,” he declared grandly.
Corretja was seized, flushing to the point of near apoplexy. A sword pressed to his throat elicited a startled “Eep!” giving the impression the man had just soiled himself. Sweat poured off him in a profusion that led one to wonder how his captors maintained their grip. Blood trickled from under the blade at his throat. Cate felt sympathy, reminded of her own pirate introduction. She hadn’t realized it then, but now, with the luxury of calm and distance, she saw the theater unfold and seamlessly executed it was: the leering looks, the brandished weapons, the knife at a throat. A well-practiced performance. It was riling to think she had been so easily duped.
“Silver,” Corretja shrieked, his voice cracking.
“Papa, no!” cried Isabella, in eye-stretching horror.
Corretja recoiled at his inadvertent disclosure. Nathan’s brows arched interestedly. Eyes rounded and fixed on the gleaming blade, Corretja’s mouth moved like a fish. Once finding his tongue, he babbled in a nonsensical tirade, until Nathan lost all patience and bellowed, “Your silver, if you please, sir.”
“But there is—”
“Silver!” Nathan’s guttural voice ripped the air, startling all to silence. “And unless your lovely wife and daughter, or any other sacrificial lambs you have at your disposal are encased in it, there shall be no further discussion, sabe?”
A cowering, mute nod was his response. Nathan jerked a satisfied nod. “Mr. Smalley, the glass, if you please.”
The directive was aimed toward the quarterdeck, where the ship’s hourglasses were kept. The ship’s timekeepers, there were four such glasses aboard, each measuring anywhere from a half-minute to four hours.
“One hour,” Nathan announced. “And don’t bother coming to us. We’ll come to you, torching what comes before us, so I shan’t advise secrecy. Mind, this bit o’ sweet loveliness will be staying here.” Nathan gave Isabella an emphatic squeeze, eliciting another squeak. “Whilst you…you…and you…” he said, pointing to the dueña and two others, “will remain as well.”
“You, Friar.” Nathan beckoned the priest with an irreverent hook of the finger. He waved them off toward the forecastle, pushing Isabella among them. “Stow yourself, the maid and your little flock over there. Mr. Pryce,” he called, shifting to English. “Guards, if you please. No one is to go near and no one is to step away.”
He shot a glare at his crew in final warning.
There was a tearful departing on the part of Isabella and the other hostages as they were torn from the departing townspeople. Her father offered nothing more than a perfunctory pat on the arm before taking his leave, moving with the wooden stiffness of the doomed to the entry port.
Nathan came into the cabin with Pryce on his heels. He curtly waved Cate back from the door, while instructing the First Mate in short bursts.
“We may be required to weigh fast. Set the kedges, t’gallants, and jibs, and lay ’er in irons. Prepare a landing party to depart within the hour. I’ll be leading this one.”
“It turns out that our fair mayor is also a distant relative to the Royal Family,” Nathan explained after Pryce’s departure. “Some cousin on his wife’s side, six or seven times removed, or some such nonsense. He holds enough esteem to have been entrusted with a sizeable sum of silver for safekeeping. An admirable decision, given he was willing to forfeit a wife and two daughters in its defense.”
He made a caustic noise. “If the good mayor was canny, he could have given us a token portion, and we would have put this blot on the chart to our stern in grand spirits. As it is,