Kathleen E. Woodiwiss(186)
Voices from the village rose into shouts as a huge ball of fire separated from the rest and ponderously rolled down the hill until it stopped, showering flames full against the side of the powder-filled blockhouse. Loud cries of alarm rose as the entire citizenry of the island ran to quench the blaze. Bucket brigades from the nearby stream were formed and smoking blankets were used to flog the smoldering brush.
No one noticed the man who helped the girl into a dory by the pier. Casting off they began to row out toward the schooner. As the guards aboard the Good Hound went to the other side of the ship where the pair approached, the two slumbering beneath the tree leapt to their feet, sailed hats in the brush, kicked sandals after them, and began to run down the beach.
Ruark had freed the sabre and had made a sling of the unsound cloth so that it now rode between his shoulder blades with the hilt close behind his neck. Realizing he was alone, he halted and turned back in exasperation to find Shanna frantically pulling a long piece of cloth from beneath her skirt. He would have taken her arm to pull her along but she jerked away.
“I can’t breathe,” she gasped, “let alone swim like this.”
With a last hearty tug, the cloth came loose, and Shanna took two deep breaths while Ruark stamped the rag into the wet sand at their feet. Clasping hands, they ran into the water, dove, and cleaved the surface as one. They swam rapidly until they neared the ship. Then they slowed and took care to make as little noise as possible. Beside the hull, Ruark reached up, dragging himself slowly and carefully, with sheer strength, into the chains. Then he crouched down until Shanna’s hands caught his wrist. The muscles in his shoulders and arm bulged as he raised her gradually, easing her from the water so no splash would alert the guards. Her toes found a chine, and she leaned safely against the tumblehome.
Ruark climbed upward until he could look over the edge of the railing. Two guards were leaning over the edge on the opposite side, refusing the argument of Gaitlier and his repeated pleas that they were needed ashore to fight the blaze. Ever so cautiously Ruark lifted himself over the rail and set his feet quietly on the deck. With the silent tread of a woodsman, he closed the space between them. Without warning one man suddenly felt a shoulder at his back. He shrieked as he spilled headlong over the side. The other spun around in surprise, met a crashing fist, and in a moment joined his companion. He came up sputtering and gasping, and the two of them struck out with hearty strokes toward shore.
Catching the rope attached to the bow of the dory, Ruark pulled the small boat to the side of the ship. He secured the line and kicked the rope ladder over the side. Shanna shrieked his name and he whirled about. He followed her gaze to the quarterdeck. The huge mulatto, naked but for a pistol and a cutlass in his hands, was running from the captain’s cabin. He raised the pistol, and Ruark drew his sabre, realizing his own guns were wet and useless. The pirate aimed to fire just as a form tried to jostle past him in the doorway.
Carmelita’s voice rang out. “Eh, what the bloody hell is going—”
The shot exploded, but the ball whistled harmlessly through the rigging. The dark man roared his rage and swung his arm, knocking the unclad Carmelita back into the cabin. The mulatto shouted again and charged with his cutlass.
Ruark knew the shot would draw the attention of all ashore, so there was no time to engage in a duel. He drew a sodden pistol with his left hand and hurled it into the mulatto’s face, stunning him. Ruark raised the sabre high and swung with all his might. The pirate barely met his blow and stumbled back, dropping the cutlass from a numbed hand. With hardly a pause, the man turned, hurled himself over the rail and splashed into the water below.
Ruark leaned against the railing as the mulatto also struck out for shore. He gazed beyond—the shouts of the two seamen had drawn many others to the edge of the water. Some ran toward a shed on the pier where Ruark knew four old cannons sat, well protected and always loaded.
A sound behind him made Rurak whirl, ready to do battle again, but this time it was only Carmelita, a linen sheet half wrapped over her body and trailing behind. She saw the cutlass on the deck and the threatening sabre and imagined only the worst. She began to back toward the other rail with her hand raised before her pleadingly.
“I’ve done ye no harm. Spare me!” she begged. Then, with a flash of broad, pink posterior she whirled. The sheet flapped from the rail as she departed like the rest.
Gaitlier had helped Dora on deck and hastened to obey Ruark’s shouted order:
“Cut the forward cable! Set her free!”
Ruark himself raced to the quarter deck. Seizing an ax, he took a mighty swing at the aft anchor cable. Raising the ax, Ruark swung twice again before the heavy hawse parted. The ship began to swing and then rode free as, with a final blow, Gaitlier also accomplished his task.