Ruark stepped down from the rigging and faced the silent group. “Unless you fancy a long night’s swim, my hearties, I suggest you get underway.”
Harripen was more a man of decision than the others and bellowed, “ ‘E’s bloody well right.”
The Englishman set the seamen to action with a flurry of commands. “Get those boats aboard. Ahoy there, Pinch,” he called to an elder seaman who mounted watch on the forecastle. “Hoist the bloody anchor. And, Barrow, set every inch of dark sail you can find.”
Then he turned in a calmer manner to Pellier and grinned into the scowling, scarred face.
“Excuse me, Robby. ‘Tis your ship. If ye’d care to set the course for Mare’s Head, we’d be only too ’appy to be on our way.”
The Frenchman took a mean swipe at one of the men who had gone ashore with him. “We could have gone unnoticed had you not let that other bitch escape the manor.”
His victim squawked, stumbling backwards under the man’s assault. “ ‘Tweren’t me ’oo let that tonguelashin‘ Scottish biddie go. It were Tully! She kicked him in his jewels and struck out fo’ the village.”
“I’ll see him gelded,” Pellier threatened, going aft.
Tully, a sparse man, peered after his captain doubtfully. “Why, cap’n, if it weren’t fer her,” he called after Pellier, “we wouldna caught ye these three who come running at her call.”
His words were ignored as the pirate captain set his crew into motion. Soon the dark schooner had a bone in her teeth and was racing away in the night. It was not until the square, white sail of the brig was lost on the horizon that the picaroons turned again to counting the booty. A weighty iron box was opened and was found to contain gold coins. This was hastily transferred to the captain’s cabin, where it was stowed in a larger chest for division later. There were several huge bags of silver and gold plate to be valued and shared and a barrel of fragile porcelain carefully packed. The latter, of no value to the pirates, was marked for the mayor of Mare’s Head for his tithe, as were some crates of finer wines and food. Then only the one large chest remained, and all held their breath, for this promised to be the greatest treasure.
Pellier leered and boasted loud. “The Trahern wench says this has a wealth no man can count.”
Shanna stepped closer, a wry and twisted smile curving her soft lips. Ruark read her face and knew full well that mischief was brewing in her beautiful head. For the sake of caution he waited nearby, watching the proceedings but taking no part. A blow of an ax crushed the lock and freed the pawl. Pellier shouted and threw open the lid. His dark eyes gleamed at the tray filled with small leather pouches.
“Jewels!” he proclaimed. “We’ll all be rich!”
Greedily he snatched a sample, pulled open the cord, spilled the contents in his hand, then stared in mute amazement, for he held no greater wealth than the trigger, lock assembly, and the butt plate of a musket. Frantically he rummaged through the bags and found only the hard clink of iron. He and Harripen lifted the heavy tray and pulled aside an oil skin to reveal beneath it tier upon tier of long, slim musket barrels stacked neatly in place upon notched wooden strips.
Harripen lifted one in bemusement and turned it in his hands. “ ‘Pon me saints,” he remarked as he hefted one of the pouches. “ ’Tis not but muskets—without butts even. Useless bloody muskets!”
Shanna could contain herself no longer and laughed in derisive glee. “Of course, you fools. What else?”
The sound of her mockery rose above their murmurs to ring against their pride, reducing it to shattered shards.
“And should you have the butts,” she jeered, “you’d find them useless still, for you see the chest was dropped on the dock, and all the barrels are bent. My father kept them as a reminder of his one failure at profit. It always pricked him, but now I’m sure he’ll find the memory of it tickles his wit.”
Ruark groaned inwardly at her foolishness, recognizing that her words might well draw real blood before the hour was gone.
Pellier whirled on her with a curse. “But you swore it held a wealth no one could count.”
“Of course,” Shanna answered sweetly. “And does it not?” She tossed her head, sending her hair flying over her shoulder.
In a rage Pellier snatched Shanna’s arm, cruelly twisting it until she cried out in pain and fell to her knees before him. Drawing a dagger from his boot, the Frenchman held it close in front of her eyes, which now betrayed a first hint of fear.
“Then I’ll carve the price from your precious skin, bitch.”