Page 88 of The Ladies Least Likely
Two short explosions sounded in a row, rattling the windowpanes. An enormous stench floated into the room, the smell of singed wood and sulfur. The trick with a dung bomb, Pen had explained, was not so much the mixture but the firing mechanism. St. Teilo’s toes, he was blowing up the boat, and they were still on it.
“Time to go,” Gwen said, urging Lydia and Prunella to their feet. Anne, looking scared and bewildered, helped her fumble with the knots of Daron’s ropes. “I think we’ll be taking our leave of his Houndship.”
“You’re not going anywhere.” The Hound gasped and reached for the table as he rose, then doubled over, clutching his gut. “I’ve—I’ve a score to settle.”
“Settle it with me,” Penrydd said from the door. “Stop preying on helpless women.”
Gwen wanted to melt at the sight of him. He wore a rough woolen waistcoat, no jacket, and his working trousers and boots. A clump of something very smelly had lodged in his hair. Hisexpression was thunderous and she wanted to kiss every inch of his beautiful face.
“Helpless!” was all she could think of to say.
“Get them to the main deck.” He glanced around the room, a brow lifting in surprise when he recognized Sutton. His gaze settled on Gwen, warm and steady. “Get off the boat now.”
“What about you?” Though she’d rather fling herself into his arms, she instead grabbed Daron Sutton’s arm and shook him awake.
Pen rolled up one sleeve of his linen shirt. “There’s the matter of my brother’s debt. I won’t leave until I’ve paid.”
“You can’t—” Gwen started to argue, but Anne Sutton grasped her arm.
“Gwen, can we please leave? Like he said?”
A series of explosions ripped through the hull. Pen’s eyes widened. The Hound clutched the table, dry heaving. “I—I didn’t harm them,” he gasped. “Leave the money and go.”
“Oh, I don’t have money.” Pen rolled up his other sleeve. His hands were filthy and he reeked as he stepped into the room.
Gwen slipped under Prunella’s arm as the woman sagged, close to another fainting spell. “Don’t get hurt,” she said to Pen. “I need you.”
His eyes met hers, and the flicker of heat, of promise, licked through her to her knees. “I’ll be there. Now go away, my love.”
Pedr and Minikin stood on the main deck, cranking up the yawl. Minikin gestured wildly as the women ran toward him. Another explosion rocked the boat, shouts of alarm following. From shore came the whinny of a horse. Gwen glanced over the side and saw the pony cart from the King’s Head waiting on the beach, the tired old gelding she recognized in its traces. It wasn’t an elegant carriage, but it would get them to safety before the entire boat blew up.
“Over the side with you now!” Minikin cried. Pedr picked up Prunella and slung her over the rail of the brig into the waiting yawl as if she were a sack of grain. Lydia slapped his hand away and tried to clamber over herself. Anne gave her dazed brother to Gwen as she flung herself into Pedr’s arms, nearly sobbing in relief as they reached the boat.
“Gwen?” Daron Sutton sagged against her, blinking in confusion. “Where am I? What are we—God, my head.”
“You,” Gwen said furiously. “You put us all in a fine pickle, and you’ll pay for it, Daron Sutton. Get them to shore,” she ordered Minikin.
“His lordship?—”
“I’ll be back with him in a minute!” Lifting her skirts, she sped back toward the stairway.
“Gwen!” Evans shouted. He hauled himself up from the hatch that led belowdecks, throwing his crutch onto the deck before pulling his body up. “Worked a little too well. We blew more than we meant to. We all need to clear this ship, now.”
“Pen is with the Black Hound.” Gwen watched without surprise as Ross, equally filthy, hauled himself up behind Evans.
“Then get him and get out! We’ll hold the last boat for you.” She turned as Pedr and Minikin hopped into the boat with the women and Sutton, while Evans and Ross ran to the winch to lower them to safety.
Another explosion ripped through the hull, and part of the desk exploded behind her as Gwen ran for the captain’s quarters. With a huge groan the brig rolled, rigging creaking as the masts tilted and the sails shifted weight. Gwen regained her footing and flung herself down the stairs.
“Pen, my darling! Time to abandon ship!”
The two men were locked in combat amid the wreckage of the walnut dining table and upholstered chairs. The mullioned windows had blown out, and a jagged hole had appeared in thefloor. Gwen smelled the flames before they danced through the opening. The rug caught fire at once.
“Pen!” she screamed through the boom of another explosion. The men weren’t setting bombs now; these were out of their control. The overhead chandelier with its burning candles swung precariously.
“That,” Pen roared, landing a punch, “is for Edwin. You killed my brother, you bastard. He never would have taken that bet if he hadn’t owed you!”
The Hound was larger and heavier by a stone, but the poison had clearly reached his guts, and Pen had trained for this. “For Prunella!” he shouted, landing a right jab to the man’s ribs. “For Lydia.” A left.
