A loud boom hit the shoreline from down in the harbor. Jarvis jumped and so did his guards. Like a horrific thunderclap another blast rent the air, followed by a series of volleys. All of them stared seaward. Bells pealed in Port Royale echoing through the hillsides. Burning in the night, parts of the harbor caught fire. In the brightness of flame a great ship emerged, her topmasts appearing ghostlike through a haze of smoke. In a flash, the British Jack descended from the mainmast and up went the gold and crimson colors of Spain.
“Pirates!” shouted Jarvis. His face paled with fear and disbelief, the maniacal gleam gone from his eyes, his countenance drawn to the color of clay. “Hurry now,” he instructed his guards, arm yourself. As commander of the militia, I must make haste to guard the town from these vermin.”
Spanish pirates released their larboard guns on the unsuspecting fort, pummeling it to the ground. Drums beat frantically, a trumpet bleated to warn the citizens. Off went Jarvis with his band of guards armed with muskets for the ruthlessness of Spanish pirates exceeded all in legendary proportions.
From their vantage point, Devon waited with his companions and in bursts of light watched as the militia was torn into bloody shreds, totally ineffective against the superior strength of the Spanish. Several long boats lit with torches rowed ashore. Devon imagined the worst kind of mayhem, looting, feasting, drinking and ravaging, the horrific nature of their kind.
Claire touched the flanks of the carriage horse with her whip. If only they could solicit Governor Stark to stop Jarvis from harming Robert Ames in time. Lily pressed beside her, wringing her hands. At eleven o’clock the town laid eerily quiet. The citizens of Port Royale had long sought their beds. In the gloom, she negotiated the labyrinth of narrow streets.
Cannons boomed. The horse reared. Glass shattered. The carriage flipped. Lily screamed. Cobblestones scored Claire’s hands. The horse ran down the road dragging the overturned carriage. Claire sat up and checked her limbs. Bruised, she scrambled to her feet and touched Lily’s shoulder.
“I’m fine,” Lily said.
Claire pulled her up. More cannons fired. A ball whizzed pass and exploded into the apothecary. Houses splintered. Flames spurted from the rooftops. “Pirates.” Residents flooded the street, clutching satchels and terrified children.
“What do we do?” Lily whimpered.
“We get to Governor’s House. Win or lose the pirates will have to negotiate with the Governor. We will be safe there.” Claire bit her lip. Governor House sat on the hill above the harbor. Should she risk traversing the town? Claire set her feet in motion. The militia would restore order. She had to save Ames. If only the light from the fires did not illuminate the street and make them visible. Her legs felt like wood. Best to keep concealed in the dark. She crawled behind fallen casks and urged Lilly to follow. At the end of the boardwalk she hitched her skirts and ran across the street. She tripped into a mud puddle. The liquid soaked her skirts. Lily helped her rise.
Claire rested against the side of the pewter’s shop and assessed the shortest route to the governor’s house. The whole town burst into flame. Sparks scattered. Smoke billowed and obscured her path. Claire coughed. Pistol shots and screams of women rose from the next street. Chills rattled down her spine.
A cry emitted from the front. Claire peeked around the corner. The pewter merchant’s widow and children cowered in a doorway. Flames shot out from the shutters. Claire stumbled, her wet skirts clinging to her. “You must leave. Get your children to the safety of the mountains.”
Paralyzed, the woman’s eyes roved wildly. Claire slapped her. The widow recoiled.
“Go.” Claire shoved her off the steps. “The pirates will kill you and your children.”
The widow grabbed her children and sprang over the rise.
Women shrieked. Pistol shots drew near. Lily snaked her hand in Claire’s. “Which way?”
Claire ducked into an alleyway. So far she had not seen a single pirate. She placed her free hand on the walls to guide her through the shadows. Compared to the blood curdling sounds in the next street, the alley came hushed and oppressive. She set her feet on the cobblestones and moved slowly, listening, staring into the darkness. A muffled shuffle of feet broke the eerie quiet, making the skin on the back of her neck crawl. Lily’s hand grew clammy and she shook uncontrollably. Claire plucked her courage and hastened her steps. At the end of the alley, she peered out into a deserted street. Claire exhaled. No one. She had only taken two steps when a hairy hand reached, caught her and swung her around. She was ripped from Lily’s grasp.
“Run.” Claire screamed to her cousin.
Firelight fell into shadow. A pockmarked face hosted a scar that pulled down one eye in a ghoulish pinch of skin. A leering grin displayed uneven, blackened teeth. In that moment of nightmarish terror, it seemed the devil had taken human form.
At great risk with the Spanish, Devon ventured down into the town to gain information for a different purpose−escape. Rape and slaughter abounded. Hardened from the wars he’d fought, even this rivaled in lust and cruelty. He plucked a sword from a dead Spaniard, moved forward in haste to check his wherry. But before he reached the harbor, a terrified girl ran into him.
“Lily!”
She looked at him in disbelief then rose to her senses. “You must save Claire. We had come to see the governor—and all of a sudden, pirates were everywhere.”
Devon gritted his teeth. He should leave Claire to the mercy of the pirates for what she did to Ames, but he could not leave her to such fate. Devon pulled Lily across the street. He pushed her in a dark alcove. “Stay here,” he ordered. With stealth he moved through the darkness. He sidled up to a house Lily pointed to and listened. He counted two male voices. He peered through the window to confirm his suspicions. A single lantern from above lit the terror on Claire’s face. Her eyes blazed with indignation. She swung a long brass candlestick, holding them at bay, her long hair streaming down her back. Devon’s eyes took in her dress torn at the bodice. Rage heaved in his stomach.How dare they touch her. The two pirates toyed with her. They would be dead in seconds. Devon crashed through the door. With a flash of his sword he dispatched the one closest to him with skillful ease. The man sank in a hideous heap. Devon stepped over him. Only a tick in his cheek revealed his true emotion. A drunken pirate, a huge mottled brute snarled at Devon’s weapon.
“You English dog. You dare to intrude with that puny thing?”
Devon smiled easily. “Let’s see if the iron can be wrought into silver, my friend,” he challenged. The drunken pirate sped toward him, cutlass in hand. Devon knocked his heavy blade aside then plunged his sword tip into his heart.
Claire stood white-faced. Her hand flew to her mouth. “I am glad you killed him.”
“I wish him a thousand deaths and more,” Devon spat then wiped the blood from his sword on the man’s vest. “Why are you here?” He didn’t wait for her answer. A ribald group of pirates approached. He grabbed her wrist and sped down an alleyway, retrieving Lily.
Claire stopped. “I’m going nowhere with you.”
Devon swung around to her. “Are you mad? Have you not seen the horrors done this night? Do you think they will have mercy on you?” And then he calmed and said icily, “Surely now, you think those other two oafs planned a tea party for you this evening?”
“Claire, he saved your life,” Lily pleaded.
