If he wanted her still, after what she had done. Perhaps this time he would not forgive her.
Her heart seemed to tear within her chest and she wondered if he could understand what she had done. She was afraid to return, she realized, and she wondered not only who she loved the more, the pirate or the lord, or, at the moment, who she feared the more. In the whole of her life no man had had such power over her; now she was storm-tossed between two men, ever battling, and seldom leaving the fray without some wound.
“I love my husband,” she said softly.
“What?”
He came up to her, spinning her around to see her face. His gaze was as sharp as his snapping voice, full of demand. Her eyes widened with surprise at his manner, but just then the door burst open again. Robert Arrowsmith had returned. “The men are heading to the longboats and await you. We’d best hurry. It seems that someone has spied a group of the lieutenant governor’s militia coming our way. I can leave the lady in their care, and find you as you sail.”
“Fine,” the Hawk said. He turned, captured her hand elegantly, and kissed it with courtly finesse. “Milady, I stand forever at your service. My promise is my vow, as I am sure that yours shall be.”
His eyes sought hers quickly, and then he was gone. She was left to Robert’s care.
“We should leave now, and quickly,” he told her. “The word is out that Spotswood’s men approach. This place is coming alive with scurvies afraid of capture and hanging. I must leave in safety, and see to my own continued life, if you don’t mind.”
She shook her head, certain that she never wanted Robert Arrowsmith to hang. She dreaded returning to Williamsburg, and even more she dreaded returning to her husband. Perhaps there was some way to explain why she had rendered him unconscious, but she was certain that she could not make him understand a promise such as the one she had made to the Silver Hawk.
She could never explain it. But then, neither would she ever be able to forget it.
“Milady?”
Robert offered her his arm and she took it and they hurried toward the stairs together. Once there, they were brought up sharply.
The Hawk’s men were gone, but many another knave was not. They awaited Robert standing in a circle at the foot of the stairs. He paused, shoving her behind him.
One fellow with a gold tooth and straggling dark hair stepped forward, grinning broadly. “Why, ’tis Mr. Arrowsmith of the Silver Hawk’s sloop, is it not? Alas, while the Hawk’s away…”
“What do you want, Fellows?” Robert demanded darkly.
Fellows lifted his hand, rubbing his thumb together with his forefinger. “What is it that we always want, good Master Robert? Gold, son, and that’s a fact.” Jeering, he pointed a finger behind Robert toward Skye. Nervously she pulled her hood further down upon her forehead. “There’s rumor in the common room that the Hawk was visited by a lady…and that the lady was none other than the Cameron bride. She’s a pretty thing, ain’t she? Nay, lads, more than pretty. She’s a beauty true and rare, and that’s a fact. She’s a ticket out of here to any man. She’s a very fortune in gold—”
“Let me by, Fellows. She’s been given the Hawk’s safe passage, and that’s a fact.”
Fellows cocked his head. “Why, the Hawk’s gone, Master Robert. ’E’s gone after Logan, so I ’ear, and this time, I daresay, they will kill each other at last. I fear the Hawk no longer.”
“Don’t you, then?”
The voice thundered across the room and all assembled at the foot of the stairs turned quickly to the doorway. The Hawk wasn’t gone at all, not yet. He was standing in the doorway with his greatcoat over his shoulders and his sword drawn. He lifted his hand, beckoning to Fellows. “Come, sir, let’s discuss this with our steel, shall we?”
“Get the girl!” Fellows bellowed out.
It was quickly apparent that he did not intend to battle the Hawk, not when a roomful of men stood between them. Some loathsome young man with filthy hands and rum-coated breath lunged toward Skye. She screamed, hurrying up toward the top of the stairs. Robert came against the young man, not reaching for his sword but jabbing his fist into the lad’s jaw. The young man went down, and then Robert drew his sword.
“Get her out!” the Hawk raged to Robert across the room.
Robert shoved her upward. They were quickly pursued. Robert dueled with agility and grace, but he had no less than three opponents at a time.
“I need a sword, Robert!” Skye called.
“A sword, milady?”
He lunged at an opponent. The man gasped, clutching his skewered middle. He fell forward, and his sword fell to his feet.
Skye could not take the time to look upon the ugly death with horror. She plucked up the enemy’s sword and swept her skirts behind her, anxious to parry their attackers along with Robert.
“Me! My hearties, ’tis me you must fight!” the Hawk cried, coming further and further into the room, battling all who came his way with a startling ferocity and trying to draw opponents from Robert and Skye.
He was strong, Skye thought, yet his brilliance at swordplay lay in his grace. No sword could touch him, for he could leap above the steel. No man could surprise him, for he would suddenly soar atop a wooden table and leap down upon his attacker.
