Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

T he air grew chilly in the love nest as the logs burned down. Ben and Jemma stirred, having made love twice more before the fire. They’d both dozed after their last round, each time more forceful than the last. Ben kissed Jemma’s bare shoulder as his fingers trailed down her back to rest above her tailbone. The palm of his other hand caressed one buttock as she lifted her head.

“Tell the world to go away. I’m too comfortable.”

“I know, sweetling. But if we don’t return soon, they shall send someone to bring us back for supper. I don’t think you want our fathers to find us, and I don’t want any of your brothers seeing us.”

“I’m not eager for Steven to spy us either.” With a sigh, she pushed up and onto her knees. She looked around and began to dress. She watched Ben sort through his much larger pile of clothing and giggled. “Shall I be your valet?”

“I may need you to be.” He shook his head ruefully as he pulled his shirt on and began the long row of buttons. She helped him with his boots as he tied his cravat. He shook out her odhni before she draped it over her left shoulder. They donned all their outer layers after ensuring the fire was extinguished. They clasped their hands and turned back toward Rowe House. Halfway there, they decided not to rush. They left the estate and turned toward the sea. They took the more scenic path along the bluff, but they’d barley reached it when they heard voices.

A strident one bellowed orders, and soon there were running footsteps coming toward them. They were far enough from the cliff’s edge that they couldn’t see the natural inlet’s beach. Ben glanced over his shoulder, certain of what he would see. There were a hundred yards that separated them from the marauders rushing toward them. Ben drew the pistol he always carried with him. He and the other men stored theirs in a carriage during the ceremony, but he’d been quick to slip it back into his waistband once he and Jemma boarded their conveyance back to Rowe House. It was clear Jemma was accustomed to men carrying weapons, since she’d said nothing as they undressed.

“Run,” Ben commanded, pushing Jemma in front of him. She gathered her skirts, hiking them nearly to mid-thigh as she bolted. Fortunately, little snow gathered this close to the shore. A shot landed inches behind Ben, making him glance over his shoulder. It appeared like almost a full crew pursued them. He was confident he could outrun most of them, but he knew Jemma couldn’t. Neither of them could outrun a bullet. But he would do what he could to get them to safety. He charged forward, grasped Jemma around the waist, and flung her over his shoulder.

“Give it to me.” Jemma reached back, and Ben handed her his pistol. He didn’t hesitate after watching how steady her hand was when she held it to Zachary’s temple. He hadn’t doubted she would shoot if she felt she was without another choice. She accepted it and cocked the hammer, but she would wait until the last moment before firing. With only one shot and the dueling pistol being notoriously poor at long range, she couldn’t afford to waste the lead ball. She pressed her left hand against the center of Ben’s back, giving her leverage to see their pursuers.

They were closer to Polruan than Lantic Bay, so Ben ran toward that village. He wouldn’t bring the men to Rowe House, and there were more places to hide along the way to the village. But it wasn’t long before more shots were landing closer. When one landed by Ben’s ankle, and another whizzed so close to Jemma’s head she screamed, he knew trying to run only endangered them more.

“We have to stop, don’t we?” Jemma realized the same thing Ben had. The harder they tried to escape, the more desirable they became as targets. It terrified her to think what would become of them, since they wouldn’t walk away from this unscathed. Ben would die protecting her, and she would still wind up assaulted and likely dead. “Please, do as they say. Don’t fight. I need you alive.”

“I’m not letting them separate us, Jem. I’ll do whatever I must to stay by your side.”

“I love you,” they whispered together. It seemed wretchedly unfair that after seven years, they finally thought a future together was in reach. But on their wedding day, they faced separation and death. Ben lowered Jemma to her feet, taking back the pistol and turning to stand in front of her. He raised the gun but pointed at no one specific.

“You are smart to stop running.” A blond man stepped forward, towering over several of his motley crew. His blond hair fluttered around his shoulders, making him appear like a Viking. He walked with purpose, uncaring that Ben held a pistol now trained on his kneecaps. “Hand over the woman.”

“Stay away from my wife.” Ben thrusted back his shoulders, making an intimidating sight, since he was the same size as the advancing pirate.

“Or what? You’ll shoot me, and my men will take her, anyway?” The Viking-looking seafarer continued to progress toward them. “She’s in far more danger with them if I’m dead.”

“You do nothing to convince me she’s safer with you. Stay away from my wife.”

“I want my coin more than I want to rut your wife. I can’t say the same for the rest of my men. You have my word she’ll be untouched.”

“Then why take her?” Ben believed not a word.

“I told you. I want my coin.”

“Who paid you?” Ben had a sneaking suspicion. “Let me guess, he’s a knobbly kneed, whiny earl around my age.”

“You know your enemy. The Earl says he has a score to settle with you.”

“How much is he paying you?”

“More than the likes of you can afford.”

Ben’s brow furrowed. The longer he observed and listened to the man, the more familiar he seemed. He rarely saw any ship’s captain in the daylight, so he had to rack his memory for vague recollections, but he was certain he’d met this one before. The Viking-like marauder took three more steps toward them before he halted. Ben held the gun level to fire a shot between the man’s eyes. As their gazes met, he knew the man.

“Bloody buggering hell,” Ben muttered. “You’re the Blond Marauder. We’re bloody family.”

The man chuckled and bowed. “That was several generations ago, but yes. My however-many-back great-grandmother was your many-generations-back great-aunt. We share Caragh Pedrick in our family tree, but those branches have withered and snapped. I see you take after her as much as I take after my long-ago great-whatever-grandfather Rowan MacNeil. Alas, I’m called a privateer, though.”

The man turned his attention to Jemma, trying to peer past Ben’s shoulder. But the formidable smuggler was too large for the privateer to see the petite woman.

“My wife goes nowhere without me. You are not handing her over to that defiler, MacNeil. I can promise you I have more than enough means to pay whatever he is and more.” Ben’s eyes locked with his adversary.

“Gunpowder. That is what I will accept in exchange. His lordship talks too much when he’s in his cups. You keep your wife in exchange for gunpowder.”

“That is the one thing I don’t have.” It wasn’t untrue. There was none at Rowe House. He would have to travel to Bedruthan Steps for more. What he’d delivered to Theo weeks ago was likely in a lead ball buried in a Frenchman’s chest or an American’s skull. Another courier wound up taking Steven’s last shipment to William Abbington because Ben went back to Bedruthan Steps to inform his family of his impending nuptials.

“That is unfortunate.” MacNeil signaled his men, who charged forward. They jostled him and reached for Jemma as Ben fired his pistol, striking the privateer in the side. Blood immediately bloomed on the man’s shirt. In turn, the privateer raised his gun, but too many of his men shifted into the way. Ben lashed out, drawing a knife from his boot. He killed two men before flying fists beat him to the ground. He struggled against his attackers as Jemma scrambled to reach him. It took six men to hold him down as two men fought to restrain Jemma. MacNeil sauntered forward and pointed his gun down at Ben, who sprawled on the ground.

“Come with me, my lady, or you will be a widow on your wedding day.” MacNeil spoke to Jemma, surprising her and Ben with his acknowledgement of their special day, but he watched Ben. “This is no coincidence, Pedrick.”

“I will kill you.” Ben bellowed as men dragged Jemma from him. He wrestled the others restraining him, but they outnumbered him. Jemma twisted and writhed, making it difficult for the men. She threw her elbow back into one man’s gut and slammed her head into another’s throat. She was free long enough to dash back to Ben, but she soon found herself over MacNeil’s shoulder.

“My lady, cease, or you seal your husband’s fate.” The privateer shifted with a grunt, adjusting Jemma, and tugging on his wound. His gaze once more locked with Ben’s. “I do not molest women, nor do I allow men to do so.”

Ben canted his head. There was something MacNeil was telling him without saying it outright. Perhaps the privateer had a moral code of some sort, but what did he think would happen to Jemma when he handed her over to Zachary? The earnestness in the sea captain’s eyes gave Ben a moment of pause. Could MacNeil speak the truth? Or was he such a masterful liar he thought to fool Ben?

Before Ben could ask questions, a fist plowed into his temple. The last thing he saw was the privateer backing away with his wife held captive. Then the world went black as Jemma screamed his name. A moment later, there was nothing.

Jemma kicked and flailed as MacNeil carried her to the beach and onto his ship. She fisted both of her hands and drove them into his kidneys. She yanked at his hair. She tried to kick him in his bollocks. But nothing garnered any attention until she tried to stick her finger in his bullet wound. He roared and practically threw her across the deck. She landed hard, hitting her head on the wood planking.

MacNeil pressed his hand over his wound and bent over Jemma. “This can go one of two ways. You can be docile and not tied to the mast, or you can find yourself a real prisoner aboard my ship.”

“How do I know you’re not lying about either of those choices? You already lied to my husband. There is no way that degenerate won’t molest me. You claim I’m safe, yet you will hand me over to the man who tried to rape my cousin’s wife.”

“I said he would pay me good coin for you. I didn’t say I would actually hand you over. The man is a fool and is a kitten compared to this lion. He’s pompous enough to believe me. I will get my money, but he will not get you.”

“Then what will you do to me?” Jemma observed the privateer, and something about him seemed believable. Perhaps it was the nonchalance with which he spoke, as though what he said was too obvious to need stating. Or perhaps there was honor amongst thieves, since Ben was a smuggler, and she was the daughter of one.

“You shall sail with me for a few days before you find yourself on land near safe harbor. I’m certain you will reunite with your husband soon enough.”

“This makes no sense.”

“It will soon enough. So, your choice, my lady?”

“I will behave, but I’m no lamb. I’m not docile.”

“I believe that. Your husband is a lucky man.” He turned away but paused and turned back. “You remind me of someone I have only seen from afar.”

“Who?” Jemma wondered. “What’s your Christian name?”

MacNeil snorted but answered. “Keith, my lady.”

“Scottish names, yet you don’t sound it.”

“Diluted bloodline, I suppose. I’m as English as they come.” Keith MacNeil, the Blonde Marauder, bowed before disappearing below deck. He kept a watchful eye on her while they sailed for the next two days. She was certain she witnessed budding respect in his gaze, since she complained not once. She snapped and snarled at men who drew too close, but she never spoke against the captain. In turn, his punishment for men who approached her was swift and merciless.

When they finally dropped anchor, and she was allowed to walk to the rail, her mouth fell open. She spun to look at Keith. “What are we doing here?”

Jemma recognized the coastline. They were nearly to her cousin Lydia’s home in Lyme Regis. Lydia’s father wouldn’t tolerate her captivity if he learned of it. Keith played a dangerous game, but Jemma suspected it wasn’t his first round. Rather than receive an answer to her question, Keith ordered her into a rowboat. He draped a cloak around her shoulders and pulled the hood over her hair before sitting next to her. As they approached the beach, she saw men loitering. The call went out when the cluster spotted the approaching dinghy.

“Remain silent, my lady. If you wish to see your husband again, then do not speak. I have control, but if you do not behave, I risk losing it. Once I no longer have it, I cannot guarantee your safety. Do you understand?”

Jemma nodded without shifting her focus from the group on the beach. She recognized Zachary immediately. He marched to the water’s edge and stood with his hands on his hips, his haughty expression testing Jemma’s resolve not to make a peep.

“My lord, I have your cargo. She is yours once you pay.”

“No. I’ve paid you half. You get the rest when she is mine.”

“I do not believe you understand how this works, my lord.” Keith’s voice patronized, his feigned annoyance sounding real. “I have what you want. I can sell her to anyone. She’s beautiful and mostly unsullied. I am not desperate for your coin, so I have the patience to find someone else. However, you cannot replace her since you wish to satisfy a vendetta. Pay, or I leave.”

Jemma heard oars splashing in the water behind her, but she didn’t dare move. The sun had set, and the stars were still appearing. The moon cast enough light for each party to see one another, but she doubted Zachary realized more men approached. Jemma questioned whether more pirates was a blessing or a curse. She observed as Zachary withdrew a purse from inside his cloak. He jangled the coins.

“I will give you a third. You get the rest once she is on dry land.” Zachary tossed the bag, and MacNeil caught it with ease.

“Very well.”

Jemma didn’t believe Keith’s easy capitulation. But she soon found herself being dragged from the boat. She stumbled as the boat rocked beneath her, smashing against her shin, before she was pushed onto the sand. One of the men moved to shove her toward Zachary, but Keith’s arm whipped out and blocked her way.

“She’s on dry land, and I have reached the end of my patience.” Keith drew two pistols before Zachary understood what was happening. Keith fired each, killing a man on either side of Zachary. The young earl jumped and appeared ready to pish himself.

“Give it to him.” Zachary signaled by flicking his hand over his shoulder. A man Jemma recognized from the night of the assembly carried a small chest. Keith pointed to the dinghy, and the man placed it in the bottom. Then the privateer whistled.

Gunfire pierced the night air. Keith pushed her to the ground as a crew member handed him two more pistols. He hovered over her as he fired at a man loading a musket. He dropped the spent gun before he aimed and shot another. The skirmish was over within seconds. The only opponent left standing was Zachary.

“My lord, you should have asked why I agreed to help you so easily.” Keith sauntered toward Zachary. “You didn’t do nearly enough investigating about me. You would have discovered my distant relationship to Pedrick. I descend from the legendary Blond Devil and am named for the notorious pirate’s first mate, Keith MacLean. The Devil’s wife was a Pedrick. You should have also learned about who I do business with. I’ve traded with the lady’s father for years. But you didn’t. Instead, you approached a man who should haunt your dreams and asked him to harm a lady. I am a man who values his fortune. I am not a man who molests women or tolerates men who do. You shall be a guest in my home. But do not expect accommodations to which you are accustomed.”

“You knave.” Zachary shook his fists, at which Keith laughed. His men followed suit. Jemma could only stare.

“Come, Lady Jemma. The night grows cold.” Keith wrapped her arm around his and led her to a cave. They entered through a crag in the rockface and waited while men lit torches. It was surprisingly dry and warm in the subterranean hideout. She looked around as she spied crates, barrels, and chests lined along the walls. They continued walking until she believed they reached the far end. Keith pressed a stone, and a door swung open. As Jemma passed through, she realized rocks were nailed to the wood portal to disguise it. She walked beside Keith as they climbed a flight of stairs.

She was unprepared to exit the tunnel into a lavishly furnished library. There were several chairs and two settees. A massive desk made of acacia wood surprised Jemma. She hadn’t seen furniture of its like since she left India as a young girl. She looked up quizzically at Keith.

“You are not the only person with relatives who once worked for the East India Company.” Keith offered nothing more but continued to lead Jemma until they reached a hallway, then the main stairs.

She looked up, shocked to realize she was in a castle. The high ceilings were made of giant timber bracing. The stairs were narrow and steep, making Jemma wonder if anyone had fallen to their death. As she assessed her surroundings, she realized everything else seemed updated. Oil paintings of bygone eras hung on the walls, and there were candelabras in the sconces. Indian rugs ran the length of the hallway, leading where, she did not know. She sensed the building was far larger than she could tell. There was an air about it that brought her alternating senses of peace and suffering.

“Where are we?”

“My home, Lady Jemma.”

“Might you be more specific?”

Keith grinned and nodded his head at a most patronizing angle. “Forde Abbey.”

“The Cistercian monastery? You live here?”

“No monks roam the grounds anymore, my lady. I fear not God smiting me nor a priest flinging holy water at me. Perish the thought as it would likely sizzle.” Keith chuckled. Jemma was tempted to laugh, but a draught wrapped around her ankles, almost as if it wished to draw her feet out from under her.

“Why here?” Jemma turned in a full circle, taking in more of the architecture. She’d seen the former abbey from a distance when she visited Lydia and the rest of her mother’s family. She’d never imagined a pirate would call the sanctified land home.

“I am not only related to the Pedricks and MacNeils on my father’s side, but I am a Gwyn on my mother’s. The residence has been in our family since Queen Anne.”

Jemma nodded. It meant his ancestors received the estate from the Crown over a hundred years earlier. She’d never thought to learn who lived here. As she considered what she’d heard about the grounds, she recalled it was renowned for its gardens. She flicked her gaze to Keith, unable to reconcile the brutal man before her with someone who ensured the gardens were majestic. She opened her mouth to ask him about it when a door slammed. It made her jump. She swung around, expecting a servant or sailor to appear. It remained just the two of them.

“Likely a draught.” Keith shrugged. “Or Margaret Gwyn.”

“Margaret Gwyn? It was her husband who received the estate. She can’t possibly still be alive.”

“She’s not. This way, Lady Jemma.” Keith spoke nonchalantly about the dead slamming doors, and it disconcerted her. She glanced in the door’s direction as he led her up the stairs. She wished to believe he was teasing, but she was unconvinced.

“Do you have many servants?” Jemma wondered if that was the true explanation.

“I am an unmarried man who is frequently away from home. Do you think I need many servants?”

Jemma pursed her lips and inhaled a staying breath. “Do you have any servants, Captain?”

“A few. Villagers who come to work when I’m in residence. I hadn’t planned to return home this eve, so I beg your forgiveness that there isn’t a fire in your chamber. A maid will lay one for you in the morning, unless you know how to do it yourself.”

Jemma glared at him. She could build her own fire, but she believed setting one for her was the least he could have done. But then she reminded herself she dealt with a glorified pirate. The Crown might condone his right to plunder, but he was the marauder he was named. They reached a chamber, and Keith pushed the door open. It surprised Jemma to find it well-appointed and clean. It was a little musty, so she assumed no one regularly occupied it, but it was as though it awaited someone. She wondered if perhaps Keith kept a mistress from time to time. As she gazed at the bed, a wave of exhaustion crashed into her. She cared not whose room it was, as long as she could sleep in the plush bed before her.

“Sleep, Lady Jemma. I don’t doubt your husband shall arrive soon.”

“Ben?” Jemma spun toward Keith, the cloak she still wore twirling around her.

“He recognized me. If he didn’t already know this was my home, a few questions to your father or cousin would quickly inform him.”

“You hide in plain sight.”

“I have no reason to hide. I have letters of marque from Prinny himself.” Keith shrugged his right shoulder. “There’s wood beside the hearth, a chamber pot behind the screen, and food belowstairs in the kitchen. I bid you goodnight, my lady.”

“What? How do I find the kitchen? Where’s the flint? I see no candles.” For the first time since disembarking Keith’s ship, she felt panic welling in her chest. She’d built a false sense of security while Keith watched over her. Now she feared falling apart.

“The flint is by the wood pile. There are candles in a crate beneath the bed. And you can reach the kitchen by going back downstairs, turning left, then right, then right, and down another flight of stairs. Goodnight, Lady Jemma.” Keith didn’t wait for her to say anything else before he departed. Left alone, Jemma hurried to build a fire. She lit several candles, placing them in a candelabra on the bedside table. She swept her gaze around the chamber before locking the door. She crawled into bed, drawing the cloak around her since the fire hadn’t taken all the chill from the air yet. She calmed her mind by picturing Ben coming for her. She was asleep before she realized it.