Page 9 of The Black Lion
The priest looked uncertain, but fumbled to pick up where he’d left off.
“Wilt thou obey him and serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health; and forsaking all others—”
Gasps rippled through the congregants as another gunshot interrupted the priest once more. A few men leaped to their feet, including her father, who brought one hand to the ceremonial saber hanging at his hip.
This shot sounded far too close, almost as if it had occurred on the front steps. A few gentlemen seemed ready to take it upon themselves to investigate, but were brought up short by Will’s booming voice.
“Stop!”
Arabella looked to him with a furrowed brow, fear stroking down her spine with frigid fingers. Whatever was happening, he seemed more annoyed that it was ruining their wedding than afraid.
“Whatever is happening out there is none of our concern. I’m sure the fine men of our militia have things well in hand. Please proceed, Father.”
Arabella shook her head in disbelief. Surely, they ought to take this more seriously. They might be in grave danger.
“Will, shouldn’t we—”
“I have waited too long for this,” he declared, his voice low yet still sharp with command. A fierce light crept into his eyes, reminding her so much of Drew it was uncanny. “We are getting married this minute, and I will not allow anything or anyone to put a stop to it. Father, if you please.”
The old priest had gone as white as a sheet and seemed torn between following Will’s directive and fleeing for his life. He chose the former, stuttering out the rest of his address to Arabella.
“And f-forsaking all others, keep th-thee only unto him as l-long as you both shall live?”
“I …”
Arabella muffled a cry of fear as a bloodcurdling scream rang out, penetrating the walls from outside. Her legs nearly gave out, sweat speckling her brow and between her shoulder blades.
“I … I …”
Will gave her a little shake, becoming more unsettled by the second. He seemed desperate, eyes intent as he watched her lips for the words that would commit her to him for life. Next would be the vows, and then the sealing of a kiss. She was nearly his.
“Say it, Bella,” he urged. “Hurry.”
She opened her mouth to try again, but no sound came out and her tongue rebelled, paralyzed by fear. Whether fear of what was happening outside, or terror over making their union solid and real, Arabella could not say.
Before she could force the words out, the doors flew open, slamming against the walls. Female screams tore through the church, as the outraged bellows of men preceded the slide of sabers from scabbards.
Arabella’s legs gave out, and she sank to the floor, skirts billowing around her as she took in the group of men storming the church. Sunlight framed them through the open doors, casting their intimidating shadows across the floor. They wore rough clothing, and some were quite indecently dressed in billowing white shirts hanging open to reveal wide swaths of chest, the absence of waistcoats or coats marking them as rough and common. Weapons gleamed in clenched fists, the menacing cutlasses, daggers, and blunderbusses sending an icy stone of dread sinking into Arabella’s gut. On first glance these men might seem like regular cutthroats, but the longer she stared at them, Arabella began to realize this was not the case.
Salt-stained boots and sun-weathered skin were her first clues, then she studied each of them and discovered more evidence of her premonition—brightly-colored scarves tied about heads and waists, gleaming earrings puncturing ears and some noses, the dark ink of tattoos showing on hands, necks, chests, and even one man’s face.
Pirates.
Bile surged in her throat as Arabella swiveled her gaze to the one standing at the forefront—he seemed to be their leader. Swathed in a black frock coat adorned with gold trim and buttons, he wore a tricorne with a blood-red plume, the brim shadowing his face. She was struck by the great stature of him, the menacing silhouette brimming with brutality and violence.
What were these pirates doing so far inland—and more importantly, why had they interrupted her wedding?
Will moved to stand in front of her, blocking her view of the leader, though Arabella did see the threat of raised weapons as the brigands started down the center aisle. A few well-meaning gentlemen attempted to engage them, sabers raised, but one was swiftly clubbed on the head with the butt of a blunderbuss, while another was cut down, his shout of rage dying off on a gurgle when a dagger swiped across his throat. Sobs and screams swiftly died away as blunderbusses were aimed at the crowd, urging them back to their seats in the pews.
“What the devil are you doing here?” her father blustered. “Youdareto enter this holy place and interrupt the wedding of my daughter? You brigands! You blackguards! You—”
Arabella clapped a hand over her mouth at the dull sound of a fist striking flesh. She peered around Will’s leg just in time to watch her father crumple, sword falling from his hand. One of the pirates took him by his lapels and dragged him to his feet.
“Quiet, you bilge rat!” rasped one of the pirates, shaking her father by the collar.
“Easy with him, Mr. Cutting. That one comes with us.”
“Aye, Cap’n.”
