Chapter 13

 

 

The noise of battle echoed through the ship to Vic’s ears. She watched through a round window as the Prometheus slipped closer on the waves until the Revenge collided with it. She sat hunched and tense on her bunk when the first cannon shots ripped into the hull, but she didn’t leave the cabin. What could she do out there, anyway? She didn’t know the first thing about fighting and was unarmed.

Her fingers clenched her skirts, released them, and tightened again. She swept her gaze back and forth over the ceiling in a desperate search to see something going on outside. The worst horrors played out in her imagination. What was happening out there? Were men dying? Was one ship destroying the other?

She’d grown up in an idyllic home and never experienced any conflict in her life. Now that she’d dropped into a dangerous war, she didn’t know what to do with herself. She couldn’t form a thought on how to defend herself in this horrible reality.

One torturous concussion after another rocked the ship. Piercing screams rent the air and crushed her spirits. What could she do? She had to do something besides just sit there, but she couldn’t move.

What a useless wreck her life turned out to be! She didn’t have one useful skill of which she could make use at a time like this. What would Ellen do in a situation like this? Probably nothing. Ellen looked the warrior part, but in the end, she wasn’t more than an executive, just like Vic and the rest of their friends.

Vic should have prepared for this better. Of course, she couldn’t have known she would get transported to Scotland, but the fact remained. She could have prepared for difficult circumstances better. She could have learned to use a gun or a knife. She could have learned some self-defense skills instead of spending her life with her nose stuck in a chemistry book.

A loud screech ripped down the companionway right outside her door. She bolted to her feet. Men’s bellowing voices echoed from one direction and then another. She tried to retreat from the sound but only succeeded in bumping into the bed.

She glanced around for any weapon, cursing herself for not doing this sooner. She knew they were going into battle. She should have asked Malcolm to give her a weapon.

At that moment, she understood something about him she’d never considered before. He would have done it if she’d asked. If she’d told him she wanted something to defend herself, he would have understood.

She couldn’t say the same about Boyd. In that instant, she realized the awful truth. Malcolm had been telling her the truth about Boyd. Boyd had brought her on this trip to use her, to manipulate her, and to deliberately put her in harm’s way. If she’d asked Boyd for a weapon to defend herself, he probably would have laughed in her face. He would have placated her with a bunch of nice words about how he and his men would protect her and take care of her. That realization rankled her the worst. She would have believed him and listened to him. His manner and his magnetic good looks would have soothed her into relinquishing control to him. She would have thrown her safety on his assurance.

Malcolm didn’t play that game. He would have given her a knife, a gun—whatever she asked for. He might even have shown her how to use a flintlock if she’d asked. He’d warned her about Boyd.

All this time, Vic had persisted in trusting Boyd and hating Malcolm. If she had half a brain, she would have done the opposite. She’d allowed appearances to lull her into a false sense of security and put herself in the wrong man’s hands.

The moment she made that connection, her cabin door exploded off its hinges. It smashed back into the bulkhead, and Malcolm backed into the room with his saber crossed against another man. The two tumbled into the cabin, the attacker tackling Malcolm flat on his back in front of Vic. The veins stood out on Malcolm’s neck and forehead as he strained to force his assailant off.

All at once, Malcolm broke one hand off the man’s grip and slammed his palm into his chin. He shoved the black-haired assailant’s head back, and Vic found herself staring at the contorted face of Ned Lewis.

The two wrestled all over the floor, but Vic didn’t have time to react before another seven men barreled into the room. In seconds, they filled the cabin and rushed at her. They caught her in their burly arms and hoisted her off the bunk.

Vic’s surprise evaporated in their powerful grip and she flew into a frenzy. She kicked and scratched and ripped at their hair, but they surrounded her with more and more bodies until she couldn’t move. Hands pinned her arms to her sides, and someone circled her legs. They heaved her off the floor and carried her thrashing and struggling toward the door.

Malcolm jerked back his head, and when he saw them carrying her off, he erupted in rage. He hauled back his fist and smashed Ned across the jaw, flattening him to the floor, then pounced on top of him and raised his dirk to strike as another man charged up behind him. For one terrible instant, Malcolm towered over Ned’s prostrate form with his dirk poised on high. The blade glittered ready to impale Ned through the chest.

The next moment, a crushing blow struck him behind the neck. His broad shoulders collapsed on top of Ned, and his weapons clattered to the floor where they couldn’t do any harm.

Vic stared in horror at the sight. No other members of the merchantman’s crew came to help her. They must all be fighting the Lewises over on the other ship, or else they were dead. Malcolm alone remained to defend her, and now he lay unconscious on the floor.

These pirates would kill him. They would take her prisoner and maybe kill her too. They dragged her shrieking and enraged onto the deck. She twisted every which way, but she couldn’t see Boyd anywhere. No matter how much she screamed, no one came to her rescue.

The men grappled her into the open air, but they didn’t take her near the rail. They set her on her feet near the steering wheel but never slackened their grip for an instant. They forced her to stand up and face her fate.

She rasped for breath through her parched throat, her disheveled hair hanging in her eyes. She glanced right and left for any sign of a way out of this, but she didn’t see anybody she recognized or even one red coat.

Highlanders crisscrossed her view in all directions. One of them stood behind the wheel of the merchantman. Over on the Prometheus, more barefoot Highlanders pitched dead Redcoats over the side.

A tall figure emerged from the companionway. Ned drew himself up to his full height and eyed her up and down. His long hair hung free from the ponytail behind his neck. His kilt swayed around his knees when he walked, and blood stained his arms and his saber.

Vic shrank before his piercing stare. She’d always thought he looked nice back in modern-day San Francisco. He gave everyone a welcoming smile and always had a kind and encouraging word. No one could think of him as nice now. His shoulders bulged under his shirt, and his kilt gave him a warlike appearance. Then again, maybe that was the blood and sweat clinging to him all over.

He halted in front of Vic. For some reason, his Scottish accent didn’t surprise her. “Who are ye, and what are ye doing here?”

She braced herself against her captor’s grip. “That’s none of your business. You have no right to take me prisoner.”

“We’re pirates, so we’ll do as we please with ye,” he returned. “Ye’ll be lucky to make it off me ship alive, the way me men have of treating the women who fall into their hands.”

Vic narrowed her eyes at him. She didn’t come up to his chin, but he didn’t scare her. He might be immortal, but he was still the same Ned Lewis. He couldn’t be kind and considerate and encouraging in 2018 if he was a total douchebag in 1740. She couldn’t bring herself to believe this wasn’t all bluster.

“You wouldn’t dare harm me,” she snapped. “I demand you release me immediately.”

“Release ye!” His eyes flew wide. “I cannae release ye when I mean to sink this vessel. Ye have a choice, lassie. Ye can come aboard me ship, or ye can go down with this one. Those are yer choices.”

Vic stiffened but refused to back down. Being dragged out of her cabin like a sack of potatoes had ruffled her feathers, and now she wanted to peck his eyes out. “If you sink this ship, you’ll be a murderer. You will have killed everyone on it, including that man you just fought down in the cabin.”

“The Gunn, ye mean?” he asked. “Aye. He’ll go down, and I hope he makes a muckle great meal for the fishes. All the Gunns belong at the bottom of the ocean, and that’s where ye belong if ye dinnae pull yer tongue in and learn to behave.”

Vic cast one last glimpse around the ship. She didn’t see Boyd anywhere. He must be dead. While she watched, the pirates manhandled the remaining crew on board the merchantman. They shoved them into a huddled mass around the mast to await their fate.

Ned turned to one of his men. “Go below and chop a hole in the bilge, then clear everyone off.”

The man started to walk away.

The sight of this disaster happening before her eyes sparked a chain reaction in Vic. She launched herself forward and seized Ned by the arm to spin him around. “No!”

At that moment, something hit her over the head and she buckled to the floor, collapsing into a black void.