Kathleen E. Woodiwiss(134)

A slam of a door drew a frown from her, and she rose and, taking up a candle, passed through her sitting room to the hall. Hergus had stated that her father had taken all the men. If he had returned, then the servants would have come with him. But the house was dark and, for the first time in her life, seemed strangely menacing to her.

“Who’s there?” Shanna called down from the top of the stairs and tried to see into the shadows below.

No answer came, only a hushed and oppressive silence. Bravely she set her feet on the steps and began to descend slowly, listening, waiting for some familiar sound to ease her tensions. A muffled shuffle of feet broke the eerie quiet, making the skin on the back of Shanna’s neck crawl. Much the stranger to fear, she plucked up her courage and hastened her steps downward, shielding the candle with her hand.

“Who is it, I say? I know you’re there.”

She had only taken two steps from the stairs when a hairy hand reached out of the darkness and snatched the candle. Shanna gasped and whirled. The light was lifted until it revealed a pockmarked face; a scar running the length of it pulled down the corner of one eye in a curious pinch of skin. A leering grin displayed uneven, blackened teeth. In that moment of nightmarish terror, it seemed the devil had taken human form.





Part Two





Chapter 15




WHEN GUNSHOTS SOUNDED from the island, Ruark suffered an uneasy moment, expecting Harripen and the waiting crew to turn on him. They were clustered on the quarterdeck gazing off toward the island, and they seemed for the moment to have forgotten him. As no threatening moves were made toward him, he continued worrying at his bonds in an attempt to loosen the ropes looped tightly about his wrists. It was sometime later that he was again interrupted by Harripen, who called several of the men to join him and pointed to land. Ruark could see nothing of what transpired ashore but was relieved that no further attention was directed toward him. He redoubled his efforts, but the knots were stubborn and well tied.

Harripen resumed his pacing across the deck of the schooner, and Ruark made little progress with his bonds. The night grew still, the only sounds being the creaking of the ship, the slip-slap of waves against the hull, and an occasional muffled voice. There was no further activity from Trahern’s island.

Almost two full hourglasses had run when there was a shout from the masthead and word was passed that the landing party returned. Though it was far from his expectations, Ruark sighed his relief at the news. By the grace of God he might survive it all yet.

That thought, however, was short-lived, and he braced himself for the worst as Harripen dashed down from the quarterdeck, drawing his cutlass as he came. Ruark eased considerably when he realized the man’s blow was not for him but was, rather, a quick slash that severed his bonds and set him free. Quickly Ruark disentangled himself from the now limp strands as the pirate captain hurried hack to the rail, throwing a comment over his shoulder.

“ ‘Twould seem ye’ve served us true, laddie. Our men come now.”

The schooner was hailed by a whistle in the night, and soon the pirates were swarming aboard, hoisting with them bags and chests heavy with loot. Ruark seized upon the distraction and eased back into the shadows at the far side of the deck, waiting for a chance to dive overboard and swim ashore. He was slipping off his sandals to be free of them when a large, carved chest with an unusually ornate brass lock was sweated aboard. Apprehension raised its worrisome head as Ruark recognized it as the one which had sat below Georgiana’s portrait in the manor house. It took six of the deck hands to sway the ponderous piece over the rail, and it settled to the deck with a thud that bespoke its weight. Ruark stepped nearer, cold dread beginning to build within him.

From the boats below, a muffled screech suddenly pierced the air, raising the hackles on the back of Ruark’s neck. He waited tensely as the French half-breed, Pellier, climbed over the side of the ship and reached back to lift aboard a struggling form covered from top to knees by a heavy burlap sack that was firmly bound with cordage. Trim ankles and small, bare feet protruded from the bottom, with the trailings of a white garment twisting about shapely calves.

Ruark swore viciously under his breath and strode forward into the lantern’s light as the bonds were loosened and the sack was snatched away. Then he found himself staring into the most enraged green eyes he had ever seen.

“You!” Shanna gasped. “You—blackguard!”

She seized a short oar from the railing and, before any one could move, swung it with all her strength at Ruark’s head. He ducked easily, and the weapon splintered against the mast behind him. Shanna yelped, and the shaft fell from her numb hands. Fighting tears of pain, she could only glare her hatred.