Page 47

“Is there someplace this bastard can be held until the magistrate arrives?” Bryston asked, plucking the dagger from Le Sauvage’s fingers.

Bayu lowered his weapon, but Jabir kept his sword tip nestled against the pirate’s jugular.

“Oui.” Nodding, De La Beche said, “There is a windowless servant’s accommodation with a stout door below.” Once more, he turned to his fussing butler, in the process of gingerly stepping over scarlet droplets.

Appearing about to weep upon spying a broken clock, he touched a knuckle to the corner of one eye. “It was a Religieuse,” he bemoaned beneath his breath.

“Tasse, please show the captain’s men where they can secure Le Sauvage,” directed De La Beche, sympathy softening his timbre.

Shaking his head ruefully, Tasse exhaled an exaggerated sigh. “This way, please.”

After tying Le Sauvage’s hands behind his back with De Le Beche’s swiftly proffered neckcloth, Jabir and Bayu towed the struggling, foully swearing, Le Sauvage from the room.

“He will hang, of course,” De La Beche stated dispassionately, toeing aside a blue and white ceramic shard. “I will see to it as retribution for my daughter’s murder.”

Delphine would’ve liked her father, had she ever met him.

Bryston held his gaze for an extended moment before dipping his chin in acquiescence.

“I should hope so,” Branwen said vehemently as she helped Scags into an upright position. “He’s too vile to live.”

Two bright spots of color tinted her cheeks.

Bryston noticed she studiously avoided meeting his gaze, and he burned to tell her what she’d longed to hear. What he’d only just discovered himself when it was almost too late. To whisper the words into her delicate ear and watch the joy transform her features.

Nae yet.

Nae in a room full of dead and wounded men.

De La Beche wiped her dagger blade clean, then extended it to her. An approving smile tipped his mustached mouth upward.

“I am most impressed at your skill, mademoiselle. Mon Dieu, never have I seen a woman throw a blade with such accuracy.” He winked, and jealousy winged through Bryston’s middle again. “My wife would’ve fainted when the pirates burst in. Ever so gracefully, of course.”

“I dinna faint.” Flicking a glance at the shattered French window, Branwen chuckled. “My guardian believes it is important for women to be able to defend themselves.”

Her expression sobered, and she eyed the weapon with distaste before sighing and grudgingly accepting it and returning it to the sheath hidden in the folds of her skirts.

“I must concur. Perhaps I can persuade my wife to permit our Solène to learn the art.” De La Beche narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. He turned to Bryston. “You must stay here tonight, mon ami. It will be hours before the magistrate arrives, and our captive is dealt with appropriately.”

“Nae.” Bryston declined with a slight shake of his head. “Have the magistrate call at the Hôtel De La Rouen on the morrow to take our statements. However, I would appreciate ye seein’ to my wounded men and their transport back to Rouen. I’d like to weigh anchor as soon as possible. Miss Glanville’s guardian is most anxious for her return.”

Something akin to pain flashed across Branwen’s features before she schooled her features and shifted her focus from him. Damn, she probably thought he was eager to see her home after their quarrel in the carriage.

Impatience chafed him. He couldn’t explain anything with extra people about, listening in. When he revealed his feelings, it wouldn’t be surrounded by death and gore. She should be courted and wooed. Made to feel cherished and adored.

“Is that safe, McPherson?” De La Beche queried, bending to pick up a white Madonna marble sculpture that had incredulously survived the destruction.

“Jabir and Bayu will return with us. I doubt the rest of Le Sauvage’s crew is as loyal as these curs.” He dropped his gaze to the dead and wounded pirates. “The scunner who fled will tell them of their captain’s capture and imminent execution, and I’d wager they commandeer the Hell’s Siren for themselves,” he told De La Beche.

“Hmm, you have a valid point,” De La Beche acknowledged.

“Do ye have capable men who can guard Le Sauvage?” Bryston asked.

De La Beche swung his gaze to look out the broken door. “I do. I’ve already sent for them. As Tasse mentioned, they should’ve arrived by now.”

Then why hadn’t they been in place beforehand?

Perhaps De La Beche hadn’t thought there wasn’t a need. It might’ve saved a degree of bloodshed.

As if reading Bryston’s mind, he said, “Madame De La Beche would prefer no reminders of my former life, or else I’d have a half-dozen guards ensconced in the house and stables. I considered sending for my men this morning, but rightly assumed you’d bring your own.” He lifted his shoulder as he ran his gaze over the demolished room. “I didn’t think a man who would warn me I was in danger would then cause me harm.”

De La Beche had become too trusting in his retirement from piracy, but Bryston refrained from saying so.

Just then, a quartet of very capable, burly men plowed into the room. De La Beche crossed to them and spoke in soft tones. After casting inquisitive glances at Bryston and Branwen, they departed, led by their employer.

Bryston took Branwen’s elbow, and she didn’t flinch away from him, but she did give him a doubtful look.

“Come, let’s return to Rouen. We’ve much to discuss,” he said quietly.

Angling her head, she searched his face while disengaging her arm from his hand.

“Nae, Bryston. We’ve had our discussion already. There’s naught else left to say.”

Without a backward glance, she sailed from the room.