Kathleen E. Woodiwiss(147)

Pellier snorted. “ ‘Od’s blood! Now you’ll see! He wants to see the little tart’s body again. ’Twas his game all along.”

Angry growls came from the group, but Ruark’s voice snapped like a whip.

“Aye, fool.”

Pellier drew taut in his chair at the insult.

“Will you send these to Trahern to tell him they know not if she is alive. Where’s the wench?”

“Where the bitch’ll learn to be a proper slave,” Pellier roared. “And ‘tis no concern of yours.”

“My need is my concern.” Ruark’s tone was acid. “When Trahern learns we have her and that she’s alive and unharmed, we’re safe but not until then. If he has a doubt, he’ll level this place and take the chance.”

The half-breed threw a foot onto the table and leaned back to sneer at Ruark. “You’re the fool if you think I’ll let you run this island.”

Ruark’s eyes narrowed dangerously. He was about to challenge the man openly when there came a splash and a muffled shriek. In that same moment Ruark saw his opponent’s glance flicker to the grating whereon sat a huge barrel. Ruark cursed as he ran across the room.

“You twice damned maniac!”

His face contorted by a snarl, his lips drawn back from gnashing teeth, Ruark kicked the barrel, sending it crashing to the floor where it rolled crazily until it reached the wall.

“You’ll see us all hang for your want of a night’s play!” he flung viciously.

His pistol was out and quieted any thoughts of interference as it wandered over the group. No one appeared anxious to stop him. Indeed, Harripen eyed Pellier and appeared to gloat in anticipation of some bloodletting. As if it were a gaming table, Ruark snatched the grating up and flung it aside. At his intrusion a scurrying and chittering came from below, then silence. Keeping a wary eye on the pirates, Ruark called down.

“Milady?”

A splash in the water and Shanna sprawled across the pile of rubble. A muffled groan of pain escaped her as she rolled over, and he could see her pale face in the dim light, pinched and drawn, twisted with fear. Her eyes sprang wide as she recognized him, and she scrambled to her feet, sobbing his name. A violent curse came from Ruark, and his angry gaze scornfully raked those at the table, most promisingly Pellier. There would be some payment for this, he vowed.

Dropping to a knee and resting the pistol against the edge of the hole, Ruark reached down a hand to hers which were raised in silent supplication. Shanna seized his wrist with both hands in a panicked grip of desperation, and Ruark knew it would have taken a bar of steel to pry her fingers loose. Lifting her as if she were of thistledown, he set her to her feet on the stone floor. Trembling she clung to him, sobbing softly against his chest. Then she saw the leering faces of the pirates as they watched her, and she resolutely pushed herself away from Ruark to stand on her own feet. However, the effort was too much for her quaking limbs, and, like a puppet whose strings had been suddenly severed, she crumpled weakly to the floor. Her muffled weeping burned through Ruark’s mind. He would not be satisfied until he tasted revenge.

“You see?” Pellier laughed jeeringly. “She has already lost much of her Trahern ways.”

The pistol in Ruark’s hand came around quickly, its single black eye settling on the corsair captain where it stared unblinkingly for a long, long moment. Beneath the cyclopean threat, even that brave fellow froze, and the gloating grin faded from his scarred face.

The cold fire in Ruark’s eyes bespoke the fury churning within him. He held himself in tight rein until the rage cooled. What was left was a gnawing wish to see Pellier at the end of his sabre. This was no man, but a rabid beast with a warped mind who had abused the wife of a Beauchamp!

“I see the simplest of plans escapes you,” Ruark taunted. “Is your reasoning, then, so shallow that you cannot see a valuable piece must be guarded with care?”

Pellier scorned the words and would heed no argument. “Step aside, knave. I would see how the Trahern bitch has fared.”

Shanna raised her head and favored the pirate with a glare of hatred that would have shriveled the swamp to dry sand.

Moving away a mere step, Ruark permitted the man a glimpse of the disheveled beauty but directed an appeal to the rest of them. “ ‘Tis sure Trahern will pay the ransom, but when he sees his daughter thus, do you doubt he will find a way to see you all hunted to the ground?”

The picaroons stared at him but carefully gave no hint of agreement. The danger of drawing Pellier’s wrath to them was a surety of the present. All else was in the future and thus doubtful.