Page 36 of Paid to the Pirate

“Smile like idiots, men! Let them think us merchant fools amidst a celebration. And when I give the signal,we’llattackthem.”

The crew cheered. I gulped again.

“They’re gaining!” came the shout.

“Conceal your weapons,” Colt ordered. “Wait for my signal. Charlotte!”

Colt turned to me, grasping my biceps. “Go to my cabin. Stay there no matter what you hear from above. Do you understand me?”

Nodding vigorously, I clutched my skirts and ran below deck and into the relative safety of Colt’s quarters. A strange sense of déjà vu fluttered in the corners of my mind, as if I’d hidden here another time. I locked Colt’s door and backed away, shaking. Determined to protect myself, I grabbed the heaviest candlestick holder I could find and held it aloft, bracing for an attack I imagined might come any second, before realizing I wasted my energy and let my arm slacken. Gripping the chairback, I waited, imagining the game of pretending above deck as each crew attempted to fool the other.

I heard the first shouts from above and a split-second later, pistols fired. I covered my mouth, straining my ears to hear every sword clash, every battle cry, every thud that might indicate a fallen man.

Colt,I thought, and it was as if my heart beat his name in time.Did I care? Didn’t I want him dead?

Then why did my heart pound in fear for him in particular?

My stomach flipped when I heard fast-approaching footsteps and my mouth ran dry as the door handle jangled -- then stopped. Nothing but my frightened breaths filled the quiet air for a moment. Then, a shot rang out and I jumped, knowing whoever was on the other side had blown the handle clear off the door.

I heard a kick and then a man burst into the room. He bore long, black hair to match his long black beard, nearly trailing to his chest. His grin resembled a snarl. He was too large to dream of fighting and winning.

That didn’t mean I wouldn’t try.

Having spent his shot on the doorhandle and seeing he only faced one unarmed girl, the intimidating man re-holstered his pistol, eyes never leaving me. He wasn’t as tall as Colt, but he was wider, muscle cording his sizable neck.

Lowering my head and narrowing my eyes, I gave my attacker the deadliest stare I could manage above my fear. His own eyes twinkled with malice. Through simple body language everything was communicated in seconds. He intended to defile me, hurt me, perhaps kill me after. I intended to fight him with everything at my disposal.

Sadly, that was merely a candlestick holder and grit, but I tightened my grip on my weapon and braced.

When the man advanced, I swung, but he easily blocked my blow with his own. Hard muscle crashed against my soft arm, feeling as if he could have cracked my bone without much more effort. I whimpered and dropped the makeshift weapon as the man grabbed my wrists and yanked me tight against his body.

I did the only thing I could do -- raked my nails down his cheek, drawing blood.

“You bitch!” He snarled, releasing me only to raise his hand and smack me across the face so hard I saw stars.

I was too disoriented to fight much when he shoved me to the floor and pinned me with his massive weight. My nose was assaulted with the smell of ale and body odor. I screamed for all I was worth as he forced himself between my kicking legs. Large, hairy hands clutched my skirts, raising and bunching them at my waist. With Colt’s neglect on providing anything beneath those skirts, I was left with nothing left to protect me from the man’s attack. He shoved both my wrists into one of his large hands, using the other to fumble with his breeches.

That disgusting hand brushed close to my intimate regions, as if ascertaining their location. Then he returned to grasping his cock, ready to rape.

This is it,I cried, tears spilling over my cheeks.It’s over. I can’t fight him off.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I prayed to God to save me.

But it wasn’t God who answered my prayer. It was the devil.

I heard a door slam wide, causing my attacker to turn his head. He had no time to fight as Colt was upon him, jabbing his dirk into the man’s neck. The man howled as Colt shoved him off me. Despite the blade grotesquely sticking out of his muscled flesh, my attacker found the strength to stand and face Colt, now weaponless.

What had happened to his pistol, his cutlass?

The bearded man withdrew his own sword and swiped at Colt, who was forced to jump back. I didn’t think -- panicking, I threw myself onto my attacker’s back, trying to keep him from the captain.

In a flash, he bucked me from his massive back and threw me aside. My head slammed into Colt’s desk and, crying out, I fell to my hands and knees.

Momentarily distracted, my attacker was left vulnerable to Colt’s attack, and the captain managed to pull his dirk from the man’s thick, corded neck, and plunge it into his flesh once more.

This time, he struck a vital artery.

The man fell to the floor in a lifeless heap.

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