Page 91 of An Imperfect Scoundrel
Her breath caught in her throat, a shiver rippling down her spine, fear gathering in her stomach.
Mr. Evans was plotting something, and she doubted taking his keys would dissuade him from his evil desires. Her fearful gaze jumped to the door as a foreign word floated underneath the crack…keelhaul.
Boisterous yells followed this suggestion, which became a chant, echoing louder and louder. Then silence.
The cargo hold lock turned.
Mr. Evans shoved open the door and peered around the edge with a grin, then sauntered over to Alana’s cage. She backed away from him, pressing herself against the far enclosure wall, the bite of icy metal seeping through her shirt.
“Mr. Hayward will return any moment,” she said, hoping her threat was true.
“Mr. Hayward is currently preoccupied in the captain’s quarters.”
Terror bubbled up in her throat. “Where’s Captain Shaw?”
“With him. Apparently, they’ve become trapped in his cabin.” Mr. Evans leaned against the cage, twirling a metal ring around his finger, and clucked his tongue. “I do hope they’re freed soon. However, before that unfortunate incident occurred, I stole his keys.”
“If you touch me, Captain Shaw will murder you.”
“I’m not going to force you to do anything. You’re going to beg me to bed you.”
He selected a key from the ring, shoved the metal piece into the lock, and wrenched the key sideways. The lock clicked.
“I will not,” she replied, hoping her voice sounded strong, despite the terror coursing through her veins.
“Last chance, Mrs. Dubois. Either give yourself to me, or the crew will keelhaul you.” Pulling the cage door open, Mr. Evans chuckled, then leaned against the door frame. “Have you heard the word before?”
Alana pursed her lips, then shook her head.
“Very well,” he replied amiably, strolling into the cage. “Keelhauling is a favorite punishment among the crew. We bind your arms and legs, tie a rope around your waist, then throw you overboard.”
He stepped closer, trapping Alana against the slats.
“Once you’re in the water, we drag your body along the underside of the ship, carving up your delicate skin and clothing until they hang from you in ribbons. Afterward, we’ll haul you back up. If you don’t drown, you may survive your injuries. However,”—his hand grabbed her face, pinching her chin—“I doubt your pretty face will survive the ordeal.”
She swallowed.
Laughing, he swung his arm, smacking her head against the metal cage, and she dropped to her knees, the world spinning in dizzying circles. Kneeling, Mr. Evans laced his fingers through her hair, lifting her head.
Placing his lips against her ear, he murmured, “Do you want me to tell the captain you couldn’t have stolen the items found in your trunk because you were with me? I can do that for you.”
He twisted her head toward the corridor outside the cargo hold as the call for keelhauling began again, vibrating from the main deck, and echoing in her mind.
“I will save you from them.” His free hand slid under her chin, jerking her head back. “But you belong to me, to do with as I please.”
“No!” She rolled to her left and swung her right arm, striking him across the face.
Snarling, he leapt on her, issuing three sharp slaps. Her teeth snapped together, pain radiating through her jaw. Hauling her from the floor, he threw her over his shoulder and exited the cage.
She tried to grab onto the door, but her weak body refused, and she hung, unable to fight. Mr. Evans carried her into the corridor, up the ladder, and tossed her onto the deck, lit by the reddish-orange rays of the rising sun.
She blinked, momentarily blinded by the light.
Mr. Wickes yanked her arms together, wrapping a thick rope around her wrists. Bending, he wound the same rope around her legs, binding her wrists to her feet. Selecting another rope, Mr. Wickes lifted her torso, sliding the cord under her body, and wrapped the hemp around her waist twice. Securing the knot tightly, his irate gaze slid to her face.
“We don’t tolerate thieves aboard this ship. Perhaps this will be a lesson to you.”
Lifting her, Mr. Wickes walked to the starboard side. Chants followed his slow procession, growing louder as he approached the railing. Mr. Evans appeared next to him, picking up the end of the rope, which had been tied to the yardarm, pulling hard on the rope.
