Isobel’s vision of the scene was obscured. They’d positioned her in the wagon to increase suspense and suggest docility and defeat. She kept her head bowed. When she could steal a glance, she saw that Phillipe Doucette looked much as he had seven years ago. Likewise, his pirate crew seemed largely unchanged. Their clothes were disheveled and mismatched, everything from ratty evening attire, to far-flung military uniforms, to kaftans and turbans. Long hair and beards prevailed, interspersed with a few shaved heads. There were no women, including no sign of Doucette’s Icelandic wife. To a man, they looked highly suspicious and anxious to fight.
Isobel took a deep breath, bracing herself. Since the kiss in the rowboat, North had, thankfully, set aside his hesitation and hand-wringing and regarded her with a professional detachment. He would deliver the performance of a lifetime, of this she had no doubt. He would seem overstuffed and out of his depth while Shaw and the other men would appear twitchy and uncertain.The pirates must be made to feel at ease. Isobel, when she was revealed, must come off as outraged and defiant. She would be flashy and difficult to control, a very exclusive prize they were lucky to have won.
The more appealing Isobel could look, the more the pirates would be ready to offload the captives, who had, no doubt, been a hassle to keep alive and held very little appeal.
After Isobel scouted the ragtag array of pirates, she took in the surroundings. Their pirate informant, Donatello Beddloe, had settled nicely into his role as “adviser.” They’d offered him thirty pounds and the promise of a lawyer back in Wales for an unnamed legal battle. After that, he’d sung like a bird. The tavern on the River Pjorsa had been his idea.
North and Declan Shaw had scouted the area and briefed Isobel on what to expect. Casting furtive glances, she saw the tavern, a stone structure half-buried in the sloped side of the riverbank, the rocky area that lined the river, the open plain inland, and, in the misty distance, the lip of the cliffs that dropped off into the sea. It was like most places in Iceland, desolate and untamed.
The pirates numbered eight or nine, but there would be more, she knew.
North’s great hope was that the pirates would bring no horses. The river had been strategic for this reason. Pirates always traveled by boat when possible.
At the moment, North was the only mounted rider in their party, not including the four horses that pulled the cart. This allowed him to appear vulnerable and plodding, even while a band of mounted horses had been secretly stabled at a missionary outpost nearby.
The amount of time Isobel must remain with the pirates depended primarily on the condition of thecaptives. If they appeared well enough to tolerate a bouncing wagon speeding away at a fast clip, she could begin trying to escape very soon, an hour at most.
If, however, the captives were in poor health, if the cart was forced to trundle away without jostling or jolting, Isobel would need to occupy the pirates longer.
Assessing the condition of the captives had actually been her first priority, but so far she’d seen only pirates. She wanted to glance at North, but that would be out of character. Instead, she kept her head bowed and listened.
“Captain Phillipe Doucette,” North called, speaking in tight, formal English, the English of aristocrats from a generation ago.
“I am the Duke of Northumberland. I’ve come to recover my cousin Reginald Pelham and merchants from the town of Grimsby in Lincolnshire, England.”
“So you have,” said Doucette, his English thickly accented. “Show me the girl.”
“You can see her there, bound inside the cart,” said North touchily. “And there she will remain until I see my cousin.”
“How did you come into possession of this girl?” asked Doucette.
“The same way you came to be in possession of these men. I captured her.”
“Where?”
“Greece.”
“But why?”
“Why capture a group of merchantmen from Lincolnshire?” North shot back.
“Because I hate the English. Now say your excuse.”
“I made a study of what you might value instead of the exorbitant five hundred pound ransom, and discovered that she was an answer. I am a negotiator at heart, you might say. I’m sorry I could not deliver one Mr. Peter Boyd, but I ran out of time.”
“Did you see him? Boyd?” blustered Doucette.
When Isobel heard this, she knew they had him. His voice burned with vengeance. His open desire for Peter betrayed any useful strategy or bargaining. He would take her. They were very close.
Swallowing hard, Isobel checked the dagger and the concealed apple seeds with her bound hands. He’d tied her in such a way that she looked constrained but could, in fact, free herself at any moment. That moment had not yet come. Close, but not yet.
“Bring me the girl,” Jason ordered Declan Shaw. He dismounted from his horse and squared off with the pirate captain.
Phillipe Doucette was like any pirate Jason had ever met, overconfident and undergroomed. He wasn’t fond of pirates on a good day. As if navigating oceans and skirting hurricanes wasn’t enough, pirates forced honest sailors to dodge cannon fire too. He viewed pirates as petty thieves who stole everything they possessed. Add the abduction of his cousin and their voracious interest in Isobel, and Phillipe Doucette ranked very low on Jason’s list of people he tolerated.
But now he must pretend not to care—not about piracy or about Isobel. He must pretend to have eyes only for Reggie.
“Show me the Englishmen,” North said, “or the girl remains in my possession.”
