Page 3 of King of Rogues
Two hundred yards on and the narrow path ended at the edge of the forest. They stepped out onto the soft beach of Cable Bay. The light from the moon tinted the white and pink sand crystals a pale silver hue. Andrew had lived his entire life on the island, and yet, he still found the sight of the beach at night breathtaking.
But he didn’t have time to linger and enjoy the view. His uncle tightened his grip on Andrew’s shoulder, determinedly making his way toward a small rowboat which sat bobbing up and down on the water close to shore. Andrew’s gaze quickly shifted from the boat, settling on the large, three-masted British naval frigate which was anchored some sixty or so yards, further out in the bay.
Andrew's steps faltered at the imposing sight. He wasn’t used to being this close to one. His usual response to seeing a battleship such as this was to either hide in the forest, or if he was at sea, put every sail into the wind and make a run for it. The British navy were not known for showing pirates any sort of mercy.
This isn’t right.
Violently wrenching himself free of the two men, he went for his pistol. He pointed it directly at his uncle.
“I don’t need to go with you. It’s only seven miles around the coast to the town of Hamilton, I’ve walked it plenty of times. I know good people who I can trust to keep me safely hidden until the danger has passed. Then I will return home to my father.”
The duke sadly shook his head. “Andrew, you must know that there is every chance that your father is already dead. Which makes you now my heir. I sailed from England because James and I agreed that I would take you back to Monsale Castle with me. I shall raise you to become a gentleman. And when I eventually die, you will succeed me and become the Duke of Monsale.”
Leave Bermuda? This is my home. Father cannot be dead.
Andrew’s hold on the pistol wavered. “I don’t want to go to England.”
With his hands raised, William took a step forward. “My boy, there is nothing left for you here. Your future lies elsewhere.”
“They are coming!” yelled the duke’s aide.
A heavily armed mob crashed through the undergrowth a little further up the beach. Cries of “Kill them!” reached his ears.
Andrew had been in enough skirmishes and bloody battles in his few short years to know that these men meant business. They wouldn’t even consider sparing a young lad. Especially not with his reputation.
“Move!” he cried and sprinted for the rowboat. Their only hope of salvation was the heavily armed frigate. Andrew waded out into the water and climbed on board the boat. His uncle’s aide came next. The Duke of Monsale however remained on the beach. He was busy firing off both his pistols.
There was a riot of smoke and gunfire. The duke’s guns brought several of the assailants down. Then more of the mob approached, screaming vile threats. Andrew couldn’t make head nor tails of what was going on. His only concern was that his uncle wasn’t making any attempt to reach the boat.
“Run!” Andrew bellowed.
The duke finally dropped his weapons and headed into the water. He was waist deep when a shot rang out, and he suddenly stopped. William glanced down at his chest, then lifted his head, and met Andrew’s gaze. There was an odd expression of pained surprise on his face.
“Oh no. Your grace!” cried one of the crewmen.
The duke flinched as a second bullet hit him. He kept going, heading toward the rowboat; swimming as the water grew deeper. The crew raced to their oars, pulling hard, until they had drawn up alongside him.
It took the combined efforts of three men to haul him into the boat. As soon as he hit the bottom, all hands set to turn the vessel around and head out to sea.
While bullets fired from the shore continued to ping off the surface of the water, Andrew sat silent in the bow. He didn’t want to look at his uncle. Death was something to which he was well accustomed.
The duke’s man removed his jacket and placed it over the shivering William. It was night and the salty air of Bermuda was warm. A man could spend an hour or more in the water and still not feel a chill. But a wounded body would quickly lose heat as it went into shock.
“Andrew,” whispered the duke.
He gritted his teeth and moved to sit beside his uncle. “Yes, your grace?”
“Our family has held Monsale Castle for over six hundred years. The line of dukes unbroken. Do you understand me?”
He nodded. “Father said the blood must not fail.”
William tugged the jacket off his chest. Even in the pale moonlight, the dark patches of blood were clearly evident. There was little chance that William McNeal would survive the night, let alone make it back to England.
“Yes, it must not fail. That is the duty I now entrust you with, Andrew McNeal. Go back to England and make certain that our family survives. I’m sorry for the mess that the estate is in. Money has never been my strong suit.”
His father was dead, and his uncle was fading fast. Soon he would be all alone in the world. Andrew couldn’t remember a time when he felt such a sense of trepidation. Of fear.
“Please. Don’t leave me. I will have no one,” he begged.
