Page 98 of Barbarous

Daphne raised her eyes to Hugh and he gave her one of those smiles that melted her heart, before gracefully sliding off Pasha. He handed the reins to Kemal and walked toward the two men, keeping his eye on her as he came closer. He moved with a lazy confidence that breathed new life into her. She was no longer alone; she now had somebody to fight beside her—her eyes flickered to Kemal, who smiled reassuringly and nodded—two somebodies.

“You’ve come far enough,” Calitain cautioned him.

Hugh stopped. He was no longer wearing his eye patch and his mismatched eyes were so beautiful it was almost painful. He was dressed in a way she’d never seen before. Everything he wore, from his caped coat, shirt, and gloves to the leather of his thin-soled boots, had been dyed the deepest black and fit his body like a second skin. The only part of his ensemble that wasn’t black was the monstrous sword slung over his shoulder. Daphne gaped; it was so big it was like something out of an Arthurian legend.

“That is a very fine horse you have there, Standish,” Calitain drawled, his tense stance belying his casual words. “Perhaps I will take him with me after I kill you.”

“You can try,” Hugh said, the amiable rumble of his voice at odds with the contemptuous look he cut the other man, “but I think he might have other ideas. You see, he has no tolerance for treacherous slaving trash.”

Calitain looked amused rather than insulted by Hugh’s words. His crazed eyes were the only part of him that betrayed his unease as they jumped nervously between Hugh and the rowboat, which seemed to be creeping toward the shore at a glacial pace.

“I want my money. Where is it?” he asked, no longer bothering to act amused.

“Money?” Hugh chuckled. “Why the devil would I bring you any money?” His laughter filled the night air.

Calitain’s hand settled on the hilt of his saber. “I’ll not play word games with you, Standish. Give me the money or his lordship here”—he tossed his head toward Malcolm—“will kill the whore.”

Daphne met Hugh’s gaze. He stared at her, pointedly looked at the ground, and gave a slight nod. The message was clear: she should drop to the ground. Malcolm tightened his arm, but, thanks to Calitain’s earlier words, he didn’t raise the knife. It was now or never.

Daphne opened her mouth wide and sank her teeth into Malcolm’s hand.

Malcolm gave an earsplitting howl and yanked away his arm, shoving her in the back to get away. Daphne stumbled and caught her foot in the hem of her tattered gown. She struggled to free her slipper and Malcolm buffeted her in the head, knocking her to her hands and knees.

“You bitch!” He stared from her to the bloody bite on his hand and drew back a booted leg to kick her. Daphne threw her body sideways as his foot came her way, closing her eyes and wrapping her arms around her head to protect it.

But the blow never came.

She peeked out between her forearms and squinted up at her tormentor. Malcolm still stood over her but his eyes were no longer fixed on her. Instead, he was staring at a sharp point sticking out of his chest, just above his breastbone. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. His wide eyes flickered from the metal point that spitted him to Daphne.

He blinked. “I—”

Blood spilled over his lips and dripped down his chest to join the stain that was spreading out from the wicked metal point like a vivid sunrise. He plucked at the arrow convulsively as his eyes rolled back in his head and he crumpled like a cow felled by an ax.

Daphne wasn’t the only one staring in openmouthed surprise. Calitain and Jean-Paul began to back away. As if waking from a daze, they simultaneously drew their weapons, eyes darting and searching frantically for the source of the arrow.

Daphne pushed herself to her feet and lurched toward the cottage, expecting any moment to feel the cruel bite of an arrow through her own chest. When she collapsed against the wall, still unscathed, she turned to find Kemal crouched beside her, his usually inscrutable face smiling.

“Come, my lady.” He slid his arm around her and pulled her toward the safety of the trees, where he’d tethered the two horses.

Hugh had watched her escape and winked at her before turning to the two men, his movements those of a relaxed, leisured man. Calitain and Jean-Paul, on the other hand, were back-to-back, circling and craning their necks toward the men in the boat. The skiff hit the rocky shore and the men who poured out of it threw off their dark cloaks.

Daphne didn’t need her spectacles to recognize the giant figure of Two Canoes as he advanced on them, a massive bow in his hands, another arrow nocked and ready to release.

Calitain turned from the men converging on him, a grudging smile on his face. Daphne could only see Hugh’s profile; for once, he was not smiling.

“You”—Hugh pointed to Jean-Paul—“throw down your weapon. This is between me and him.” One of his hands was at the hilt of his sword while the other held the scabbard; a hiss filled the air as he freed the giant weapon and tossed the belt to the side.

Jean-Paul and Calitain looked at one another for a long moment. Daphne could not see well enough to say what passed between the two men but at the end of that lingering look, Jean-Paul threw down his sword and pulled out three more knives, one from the back of his belt and one from each boot. He threw the knives into the dirt at Two Canoes’s feet and swaggered toward the armed group of men with his hands in the air.

Calitain smirked at Hugh. “It has been a long time, eh? Not since I killed the last owner of that fine sword, Wüstenfalke. Tell me, what have you done with my crew?” He sounded curious rather than concerned.

“They have been redistributed.” Hugh held his own blade almost negligently.

“And my ship?” Calitain’s voice was tight and a violent twitch pulled at his left eye.

“Your ship?” Hugh chuckled. “Why it seems to have fallen into the hands of someone better equipped to keep hold of it. You might recall Martín Bouchard? The man who made such a mess of you and your crew the last time he ran across the Golden Scythe?” Hugh didn’t wait for an answer. “He’s been hounding me for some time for a ship of his own. Nag, nag, nag! So when we found the Scythe just bobbing about, waiting to be taken—actually begging to be taken with that pathetic crew you left in charge—I decided to give in to his infernal nagging. The last I saw of Martín, he was moving his possessions into your cabin.” He grinned. “He was complaining the wardrobe was not large enough for his needs.”

All day long Daphne had seen Calitain move quickly, but she’d not seen him move with the intent to kill. If she had been standing where Hugh was, she never would have moved in time to block the savage man who launched himself with such lightning speed.