“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 nearlyenough 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 thebrutal 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.”
