A sharp jab to the small of her back stole the last of her composure. She whirled on him, legs atremble beneath her quilted petticoats. His surprise flared as she thrust her own pistol in his leering face.
“Shall we have it out betwixt us first?” Her voice shook with heat. “I’m done with your threatening and demands.”
“A foolish move.” Their pistols were pointed at each other, only his hand was steadier. “My men are trailing us. If I say the word, ye’ll have more than me to reckon with.”
Could she believe him? She’d neither seen nor sensed anyone else. In the trice of her ruminating, he wrested the gun from her grasp, twisting her wrist and fueling her ire.
“Thou art unfit for any place but hell.” She spat out the Shakespearean slur even as she prayed for deliverance.
On they went, two weapons now trained upon her. She stopped atop a dune. The storm surge had swept this side of the island, doing far more damage than to their own rocky point. When she gestured to a patch of sandy ground, he tossed aside the weapons and began digging, a mistrustful eye upon her.
Wrist aching, she watched him, standing well apart from his feverish work. At a gull’s hollow cry, she scanned the surrounding brush and trees, searching, sifting. Wherry would soon tire of his fruitless search and turn on her.
Should she run?
Sleeplessness burned her eyes and left her cumbersome. A flicker of movement in the trees sent another tremor of alarm through her. His cronies?Someonewas there, crouched just beyond a tangle of seagrass.
Wherry threw down his shovel in disgust, a great mound of sand the proof he’d been digging for naught. “Ye’ve fooled me, and there’s but one fix for it.” Taking up the pistols, he waved her on to walk in front of him again. “Mayhap yer of more value to me than buriedtreasure. What would yer admiral father give, I wonder, to see ye safely returned?”
In minutes they were alongshore in the island’s smallest, most private cove, perfect for a hideout. Esmée stared at a sleek jolly manned by half a dozen crew. So Wherry hadn’t lied to her. The men watched their approach, their wariness turning to outright disgust at seeing them emptyhanded. Had they truly expected chests of specie?
Esmée slowed her pace, only to be shoved from behind by Wherry, both pistols waving as he unleashed a string of epithets fit for the basest waterfront tavern. Another man grunted a few words to him from the jolly as they readied to push off.
With her aboard.
The realization ricocheted around her head but gave no motion to her leaden feet. She was shaking now, and another shove from Wherry left her stumbling in the sand. Rain began pelting down, a grumble of thunder overhead. Where would they take her? What demands would they make of her father?
Oh, heavenly Father, help me!
One buckled shoe came off in deep sand, and she bent to right it. At that moment, an ear-splitting crack sounded. Something whistled past her head, jarring her with its nearness. Wherry’s pained howl stirred her to action. Grabbing up her skirts, she abandoned her shoe and started toward the nearest trees.
Another gunshot came, this one aimed at the shallop. A third shot sent a man overboard with a splash. Wherry’s crew scrambled in all directions to take cover even as they put out to sea. Dangerously light-headed, Esmée looked on from where she crouched behind a thick pine. Wherry got to his feet, scarlet streaming in wide ribbons down his shirtfront. Another shot took off the club of his queued hair. He weaved atop the sand, taking a few staggering steps toward the jolly before collapsing on the beach.
Who had been the answer to her prayer?
Spent gunpowder burnt Esmée’s nostrils as it carried on the damp air. An answering shot from the jolly hit a near tree, splintering the bark. The vessel withdrew into choppy water, minus two men.
“Miss Shaw!” A vaguely familiar voice bade her turn round even as the rustle of brush announced a man’s approach.
Nathaniel Autrey? He stepped free of the beach grass, staring at her as if to ascertain she was unhurt.
She put a hand to her throat. “I’ve never been gladder to see someone!”
“Would you had said such upon my pursuit of you.” His wry smile further reassured her as much as the smoking weapon in his right hand.
With a choked laugh, she stood on unsteady legs as he helped her to her feet. “You are unscathed, I hope, but understandably shaken.” At her nod, his attention returned to the beach where Wherry lay. “God forgive me, but I could see no other way to aid you but take him down. Clearly his intent was to do you harm.”
“He was bent on mischief. He threatened to harm the women and children.” She leaned against the pine’s trunk, winded. “However did you happen to be here at such a remarkable time?”
“Uncanny indeed. The Almighty gets all the credit. I was merely intent on paying a debt, the one I mentioned when I last saw you in the Drysdales’ parlor over Christmas.” He returned his gun to its holder beneath his frock coat. “I came over with the crew you sent to the mainland for lamp oil. And I bring good news from a trusted source. Captain Lennox’s return is imminent, so I hoped to see him again as well.”
Esmée’s spirits took wing at the latter.Henri home. Henri here.’Twas he who’m she’d be most glad to see when all was said and done.
Footsteps turned her on edge again till Cosmos and another crew member appeared.
“We heard the commotion from the tavern.” Cosmos regarded them, alarm stitched into his bewhiskered face beneath his Monmouth cap. “We came as quick as we could.”
“Which ain’t quick enough given the state I’m in,” the florid-faced master’s mate muttered in apology as he rubbed his gout-stricken leg. “Needs be we see to burying the bilge-swilling blackguard. Or take ’im out in the captain’s jolly at high tide.”
