“The very best, Ben. I can’t of a better gift than receiving your name. I’m Jemima Pedrick.”
“I can’t think of a better gift than knowing we’ll spend our lives together.”
They settled, both enjoying the quiet of their winter hideaway before their eyes drifted closed. Neither slept, but instead, they relished the peace and coital bliss they shared.
Chapter Eight
The 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 herodhnibefore 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 affordto 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.”
