Page 94 of Barbarous

Hugh gritted his teeth at the other man’s disrespectful mention of Daphne. “Who are the three men?”

“I dunno. We was in the pay of the littler one, but we never know’d his name. The other two was dressed strange and didn’t talk like they was from here. Frenchies, maybe. The one said he was waitin’ for his ship and would kill the swell and the mort if he didn’t get his money before tomorrow night,” he added, giving up on opening his swollen eye.

A chill ran down Hugh’s spine at his words. He turned to Will and Martín. “You know where the dungeon is, I presume?”

The man’s head jerked up at the word dungeon.

“Aye.” Will’s expression was fierce as he glared down at the kneeling man.

“Please take our guest there and make sure he is kept safe and secure.”

“With pleasure.” Will grabbed one arm while Martín grabbed the other, and they marched their prisoner from the room.

Hugh turned to Delacroix and motioned to the small table laden with cold pies, meat, bread, and cheese. “Eat while you tell me what you found out about Calitain.”

Delacroix did not hesitate to load up a plate. “We found the Scythe a few hours west, my lord. We’d been looking in the wrong places—searching all the smuggler hideouts and coves. Instead she was anchored not far from Plymouth, just as bold as you please. Calitain must have bought himself some bona fides. I left the Ghost just a few miles east with instructions to follow the Scythe if she goes anywhere. We’re only awaiting your orders.” He sank into a chair and commenced to eat.

Hugh tried not to grasp at the faint spark of hope in his breast. He picked up the glass of brandy and swirled it in restless circles while he considered the situation.

“The Scythe will have to leave no later than tomorrow afternoon if its crew is to meet Calitain at dark.” Delacroix nodded. “You will be waiting for the Scythe when she moves.”

Delacroix gave him a smile that did not bode well for the crew of the Golden Scythe. “Aye. It is long past time we finished with this, Captain.”

There was a gentle knock and Kemal entered. He looked at Hugh and then at Delacroix, his eyebrows raised.

“My lord?” he asked, the two words speaking volumes.

Hugh felt his lips pull into a grim smile. “I have the beginnings of a rather lovely plan forming in my head.” He poured another brandy and handed it to Kemal, his smile growing the more he thought about the next twenty-four hours. He lifted his glass in a toast.

“Here’s to concluding our business with Calitain, once and for all.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Daphne felt an odd tickling sensation against her lips and brushed her hand across her mouth, drowsily annoyed at the disturbance. A deep chuckle shot arrows of terror down her spine and she bolted upright and encountered the solid body of a man. Two strong hands grabbed her shoulders and pushed her back down onto the bed. A pair of bottomless eyes bored into hers, only inches away.

“Now, now, my lady. You needn’t be alarmed,” Calitain said, gently brushing back the tendrils of hair that floated around her face. His eyes pinned her more firmly than his hands. “I won’t hurt you.” He stroked her jaw with the back of his fingers. “I came to see if you wanted to break your fast.” His eyes lingered on her bodice and then he laughed. “Actually, I came to see if you would make us food, but then I recalled you are a fine English lady and do not know how to do such lowly things as feed yourself.”

He was right; Daphne had never cooked a meal in her life. Like most women of her class, the extent of her culinary skill was the distribution of tea and biscuits.

“It is no matter,” he said, continuing to study her closely while stroking her hair. “Jean-Paul is not a bad cook. Come.” He grabbed her hand and yanked her up. “You are sleeping away your day. And it might be your last, eh? You must enjoy every minute of it and tell me how it feels. Not everyone is fortunate enough to know when they are living their last day.”

He took both her hands in his and pulled her close, until her body touched his from chest to thighs. “You see,” he said, smiling down at her, “I am giving you something most people will never have when they die. You will be able to consider what your life has meant before you go to your higher reward.” His gaze was rapturous and Daphne could almost hear his unstable thoughts clattering and clanking around inside his skull.

He was absolutely insane.

He released her as quickly as he’d grabbed her and Daphne followed him without hesitation, not wishing to annoy or upset him in any way. They entered the larger room and she glanced from the small table with three chairs to the mattress where Malcolm’s unconscious form lay sprawled.

Calitain followed her gaze. “Ah, you look at the little lordling. Are you concerned for him? Don’t be. He is fine, just a little bit the worse for drink. I think the gift of consciousness on his last day is not something he can appreciate at this point. Perhaps later in the day he will come around, eh? But for now, sit. Jean-Paul will make us a breakfast worthy of your last meal.”

The other man was bent over a smoky hearth, stirring something in a large metal pot that smelled awful.

Calitain, who must have been very observant indeed, noticed the quivering of her nostrils.

“Oh, for shame!” He grinned at his partner-in-crime. “I fear your humble food is not good enough for my lady, Jean-Paul. Do you not have something else to offer? Perhaps a croissant or a bowl of strawberries and cream?” The two men laughed unpleasantly and Daphne resolved to do a better job of hiding her thoughts.

“Don’t worry.” He was beside her, moving in the disconcertingly quick way he had, standing no more than an inch away. “Jean-Paul’s food is an acquired taste, but I feel sure you will acquire it soon enough.” He tore a chunk of bread off the large black loaf that sat on the table and slammed it down in front of her.

“Eat,” he said, his voice no longer amused.