“Get off me!”
The pirate eased back. He laughed at her. You think I am afraid of your knife. I’ve fought men armed ten times over.”
He could easily overpower her.
Claire inched off the bed. Suddenly Le Trompeur flew at her, grabbed her wrist and wrenched it back. Pain shot up her arm. She lost her grip and the knife clanged on the floor.
A flurry of feathers blackened the air. Abu Ajir!
With talons and beak, the bird attacked him. Its needle-like claws dug into the pirate’s head, its piercing beak pecked into his eyes. Le Trompeur cried out and his weight lifted from her. The bird screeched its offensive, rushing the pirate with no let up. Le Trompeur fought a black blur. His hands smacked air, his target elusive. Abu Ajir struck everywhere. He slapped the bird. Abu Ajir settled on the windowsill and cawed. Le Trompeur staggered bloody and dazed.
Joy surged in her soul. If Abu Ajir was here, Devon was here.
Claire recalled the superstitious nature of Le Trompeur and jumped from the bed, backing toward Abu Ajir.When up against overwhelming odds, use your strengths to exploit your enemy’s weaknesses. “He is a demon of hell, a prophetic omen of your impending death. A crow on the thatch, soon death lifts the latch.”
Le Trompeur leveled his pistol at the crow. Claire shooed the brave bird away. The deafening report of the gun rang in her ears. She scanned the sky and sagged in relief. Abu Ajir flew on into the night. The rough hemp of rope encircled her neck and cinched tightly. Le Trompeur’s maniacal laugh grazed her ear. She clawed at the rope. He hauled her from the room.
“What kind of man is this Le Trompeur?” Admiral Norreys whispered.
“He knows as of much of honor as of mercy or decency. He dared to kidnap my wife.” Armed with sword, knives and pistols thrust into his belt, Devon and his band moved through the streets of St. Martine, blending into the fabric of the night. “Of what to expect, you’ll observe the worst of humanity.” He kept his line of sight on Abu Ajir. He lost the crow for a minute, but after a pistol shot, he reappeared and roosted on top of a tavern. Claire would be there.
“Would it not be more prudent to wait for the English fleet?”
“I’ve found−” Devon bit out, irritated with the English Admiral’s conservatism, “−that it is sometimes safer to thrust an arm in the lion’s mouth rather than to run away.” His only thought was to get to Claire. They paused at the edge of a knoll.
“All of you wait here with Admiral Norreys,” ordered Devon. “Young Johnnie, go to the bell-tower and light the lanterns in five minutes.”
Robert came up alongside.
“Are you up for a fight, Ames?”
“Aye. I promised Lily and Cookie we’d bring Claire back to Paradise.”
Devon moved to the tavern and peered in the windows. French soldiers caroused in drunken merriment with pirates. Sir Jarvis sat with Sir Teakle cozy with French officers. Le Trompeur shared a mutual joke with a French admiral, both in their cups. Claire sat proud and beautiful at the head table. Her misery choked him. But she was alive.
He narrowed his gaze. Claire sat tethered. Le Trompeur jerked her to him. The rope sawed on her delicate skin. A red welt showed on her slim neck. Le Trompeur laughed with the horde of pirates amused at his antic. Blood raged through Devon’s veins.
He heard the click of a pistol before he felt its cold barrel weighed on the side of his head. “It’s best to come with us, Monsieur.” A trio of heavily armed guards relieved him of his weapons.
Inside the tavern, Devon threw aside his guards and swaggered boldly to Le Trompeur. “Tis good to see you.” Devon laughed, a bitter sneering note. “I’ve come to fetch something that belongs to me.” He glanced at Claire. Her golden eyes sprang wide, and she scrambled to join him. Le Trompeur yanked on her tether. Devon cursed. His raked a scornful gaze over those at the table, most promising Le Trompeur.
“Who is ‘dis man?” demanded the French admiral, spreading his hands in a deprecating gesture. “What does he want?”
Silence combed the air. Murmurings fired through the crowd, recognition of the latest arrival, the Legend of the Caribbean. Le Trompeur stiffened, and drew himself up, one of his eyes bleeding the other eye blazing. Blood dripped from his head.
Le Trompeur cursed. “So the Black Devil dares to invade the French capital?”
“I couldn’t think of a better nest of vipers to entertain. No quarter will be given to you Le Trompeur. The rest of you have a chance if you leave now. All I came here for was my wife.”
The French Admiral smiled, his face in repose was repulsive, his mirth made it revolting. “You are not in a position to make threats. As you English say, all’s fair in love and war.”
Devon laughed. “Fas est et ab hoste de-ceri. It is right for you to be taught, even by an enemy.”
Rolls of fat around the French admiral’s girth waved from his amusement. “So you’re the infamous Black Devil. Le Trompeur is a buccaneer like you, eh? He knows your ways I think. Dog eat dog, they say. You come to entertain? How about a duel? What say you, Le Trompeur?”
Devon embraced the satisfaction of seeing his nemesis’s face turn a deathly pallor. “Your last attempt to best me remains burned into memory.” His words provoked the Frenchman.
Le Trompeur whipped out his sword and flicked it at Devon’s shoulder. “Your death awaits you. You would be wise to rest content with it. I believe you will find it less distasteful, I hope, than to find yourself swinging from the yardarm. That is not at all amusing.” He pulled Claire’s tether until she was an inch from his face then released her. She stumbled backward. “You see?” Le Trompeur jeered. “She is trained like a bitch to answer my commands.”
