A weird moan escaped Harripen’s lips, and the blade fell from his fingers. In horror he looked over his shoulder where the hilt of a small silver dagger stood out boldly. His gaze lifted, and he stared into the wicked bore of the small flintlock Shanna held. She faced them all in magnificent rage.
“Back off!”
Her snarl held a ragged warning, and Harripen stumbled back to seat himself unexpectedly on a large chest. The pistol was now trained on the huge mulatto. Seeing the sureness of her vengeance, he backed away carefully. Ruark sank a fist into the soft belly of the Dutchman and scooped up the loaded pistol before he drew the long, thirsty sabre. He went to stand beside Shanna, and his cold gaze swept the pirates slowly.
“It seems your own laws fail you, but if you have a taste for it, I’ll be glad to oblige.”
He raised his brow in a question and the blade in a threat toward Harripen. The Englishman shrugged and, having worked the small blade from his shoulder, now tossed it to Ruark’s feet.
“I am wounded,” he grunted and remained seated.
The blade moved on to the Dutchman who still held both arms across his gut. He shook his head with such vigor that his heavy sagging jowls seemed to flap. The mulatto frowned and might have accepted the bait, but he stared at the small pistol Shanna still held on him and backed slowly through the door. The others made haste to follow, but once out the door there was a dead silence in the inn.
Ruark stepped to one side of the door and unloaded the pistol through it, hearing the shot whine viciously as it ricocheted down the corridor. He laughed in satisfaction as the sound of running boots now filled the hall.
“You have lost more over this maid,” he shouted after them, “than over any other treasure you ever sought. Run, my good friends. Flee from her.”
Muffled curses drifted back as at least one of the brigands stumbled in his haste on the stairs. Ruark turned back toward Shanna. When she saw the concern in his eyes, she shook her head and stuffed the tattered corners of her blouse into the top of her shift.
“I have endured much better than they,” she assured him. “But what now, my Captain Pirate Ruark?”
Ruark sheathed his sword and surveyed the damage while he reloaded his pistols. The young pirate lay sprawled on his back, his eyes rolled upward; the door was a shambles and would offer no further protection. Another pirate was a shapeless heap in the hall.
“We must go,” he stated bluntly, “before they gather their wits and drink up their courage.”
Preparations had already been made. Ruark snatched the rope ladder from the chest and threw it over the narrow balcony outside the windows, tying the upper end in place with a knot that could be pulled loose from below; Shanna snatched the bundles of clothing Gaitlier had brought from the bottom of the armoire.
Ruark checked the courtyard below before he tossed the bundles to the ground. He gestured Shanna to the window and lifted her over the railing. As she climbed down, he slipped over the sill and closed the shutters behind him. It was a small misdirection, but it would compel the pirates to search the rest of the inn before setting out in pursuit. Shanna grabbed up the bundles and as Ruark directed, headed for the back of the inn and the edge of the swamp. Ruark tugged on the cord, and the ladder fell down to him. He let it trail in the sand behind him, erasing their footprints as he backed along, following Shanna’s path. Once well into the dense undergrowth with its stunted, wind twisted trees, he hid the cumbersome ladder in a crevice beneath a bush and joined Shanna, taking the bundles from her. Taking her hand in his, he led her at a breakneck pace across the brow of the hill and downward until they waded up to their knees in slime-covered water. The swamp was dark at this level, for, though the sun was high, little light filtered through the dense foliage above them. A fetid stench rose from the water, recently roiled by the storm, and Shanna, pulled along by Ruark, gagged on the suffocating odor of it.
There were strange splashings and slitherings, an occasional rapid fluttering punctuated by startled squawks or grunts as the creatures of this dark morass fled from these intruders who entered their domain. Shanna was gasping for breath, and her chest ached when Ruark finally stopped and lifted her out of the water onto the twisted bole of a huge cypress. He pulled himself up beside her, and they both rested, lying back against the trunk that rose behind them like a towering bulwark. It was a long time before they could breathe easily again. Shouts sounded on the hill high above them, and they waited in silence, brushing leeches and biting insects from each other. The noise of pursuit gradually faded as the pirates realized that an attempt to search for them in the swamp was hopeless.