“Ready, men!Aim!” their captain hollered from the helm.
Christ, this was it. Percy turned from his task, his heart in his throat.
“Fire!”
Boom!The explosion reverberated through his chest, which swelled with…hell, was that anticipation? He hadn’t engaged in battle in some time, and while he was terrified for Heather, part of him was desirous for a fight.
Boom-boom!One of theSapphire’s cannons fired, just as their opponent drew alongside them and fired theirs, the ball sailing through the air not far from Percy to glance off the far taffrail. Hell, that had been close.
A row of men stepped up to the bulwark between the cannons and carronades and lifted muskets to their shoulders, aiming at the opposing ship. Above him, the marksmen on the fighting tops took aim as well.
“Fire at will!” the captain called.
Crack-crack-crack-crack!
More gunpowder filled the air, shaking Percy from his momentary immobility. He’d been in countless battles before. But while there might be more at stake for him now, he knew how to fight, and he bloody well knew how to win.
Boom…boom…boom…
TheSapphireshook with the force of the cannon fire, and a ball sailed through the air to splinter the mizzen topgallant mast. Percy darted sideways as several topmen leapt for the shrouds, clinging for life to the ladder-like ropes, while a few others fell to their doom.Fuck.
Withdrawing his French cutlass, Percy hurried to the bulwark, where the men were either reloading the carronades and their muskets or preparing the planks to board the other ship. That’s what Percy was waiting for,thatwas when he would excel, his?—
All thought ceased as a wicked, keening laughter cut through the cacophony of noise.Hell’s tits, he knew that laugh. He’dheard it before, many times…for it was the sound of his nightmares.
Breath caught in his throat and his pulse fluttered like a sodding butterfly as he scanned their opponent’s ship. He knew what he’d see, and still he froze at the sight of the enormous Scotsman, his wild, greying red hair and beard visible even through the haze of gunpowder. Sunlight glinted off the insignia on the man’s pilfered Redcoat and, his experience notwithstanding, a tremor stole over Percy’s body.
The Butcher.
CHAPTER 9
Before he realized that he’d moved, Percy’s feet had carried him through the throng of terrified men and down the companionway to the gun deck. It mightn’t have registered in his mind yet, but his heart and body damned well knew what to do: reach Heather and get her to Butcher’s ship.
Boom! Boom-boom!The frigate shook, and men hollered. The scent of perspiration, gunpowder, and fear permeated the air, and Percy kept going.
No ship that Butcher came across was ever left sailing. No man was ever left alive. The man was his namesake: a butcher. And if Percy did not get Heather off theSapphire, she would perish as well.
His feet drummed against the tar-sealed wood planks of the deck before he descended the next companionway and ran to Heather’s cabin. Skidding to a halt, he lifted a trembling hand to knock, and swallowed the bile that had risen to his throat.
There was only one option for him, and—Christ alive—he hated it. He would do whatever it took to protect Heather from harm, however, and if his plan had the benefit of keeping more of this crew alive, then it was best.
He licked his dry lips. “Heather, it’s me.”
Stars sparkedbehind Heather’s eyelids as she rubbed at the dratted prickling that wouldn’t abate. She detested feeling helpless, and while tears were a good release, they gave her the headache and wouldn’t do her any good at the moment.
She took a deep breath and rested her chin upon her knees once more, listening to the thundering of footfalls, the shouts, and the rumble of gunfire. Tossing aside the lilac muslin of her skirts, she reached for her mother’s journal in her uppermost drawer and hugged it to her chest. She mightn’t be able to read it in the darkness of the room, but she took comfort in its nearness. And, of course, it contained those important pilfered documents…
She squeezed her eyelids shut and thought back to the masquerade…
Knock-knock,knock-knock.
Heather’s spine straightened. Who would be knocking on her door in the middle of a battle?
“Heather, it’s me.”
Percy.Her breath left her in a relieved whoosh, and she rushed from the bed to unbolt the door. The scent of gunpowder and perspiration confronted her as she swung it open.
The brief moment of relief that washed over her fled immediately at the sight of him. His usually pink-flushed and sun-kissed skin was pale and sweat-slickened. His hair was wild, and his dark eyes were full of…Lord, was it fear?
