The Pirate's Duty (Regent's Revenge #3)(76)
This new fellow—this Regent—needed no enhancements. His foundation appeared structurally sound. His shirt laces opened at his throat, revealing his chest, and his trousers stretched over muscular thighs as he strode across the deck above them and then propped his boot on a barrel, waiting for Charles to comply.
“You’re surrounded, Carnage,” the Regent said, revealing a set of straight white teeth. “As we speak, my men are entering your gunports. You’ve got no choice but to surrender.”
“I always have a choice,” Charles spat. He turned to Oriana. “Isn’t that right, Sister?”
Oriana shivered involuntarily at the remembrance of the choice Charles had made to save her life over that of his lover and child. “There’s only one way to get your gold, Charles.”
“And ye’re goin’ to get it for me,” he said as his crew joined the Regent’s men in a skirmish of steel. “Take care of the Regent, Tom,” he shouted over his shoulder as he made his way to Oriana. “Kill him!”
Tom smirked and angled his way to the quarterdeck ladder. “With pleasure, Cap’n!”
Twenty-One
The HIND and HMS DRAGON patrolled Cornwall from LIZARD POINT to DODMAN POINT to LOOE ISLAND and RAME HEAD without a sighting of the BLACK REGENT. CAPTAIN G assures TREWMAN’S EXETER FLYING POST that the CAPTURE of CAPTAIN CARNAGE is nigh. KING GEORGE’S ￡500 reward for CAPTAIN CARNAGE and the BLACK REGENT has yet to be CLAIMED.
~ Sherborne Mercury, 27 October 1809
Dressed as the Black Regent, James Seaton withdrew his sword, the sleek metallic sound slicing the air and announcing his deadly purpose. Men launched to attack, but James outmaneuvered them with his footwork and prowess, while his brothers cleared away any who would spear him in the back.
Lanterns swayed back and forth as the ship listed on the ebbing and flowing tide. Tom Digby scaled the ladder to the quarterdeck, exuding confidence and grace while motioning forward and back with simple swipes of his sword in an attempt to trick James into striking.
While the two impostors engaged in a duel, Carnage grabbed Oriana, and terror settled over Walsingham, who was unable to race to her rescue. His heartbeat thundered in his ears and his lungs rebelled, squeezing off his breath. He’d sworn to kill Carnage, to rid the Earth of his depraved, nauseating presence. But Christ, he couldn’t. Not yet. First, he had to escape the men who had bound him. He let out a roar of frustration.
“You’ve always had a choice, Charles. Ye can choose to save your ship and your men’s lives,” Walsingham heard Oriana say.
“At the expense of hanging from a gibbet,” Charles argued. “No. Ye will not claim a king’s ransom for me.”
Walsingham struggled against the arms that were restraining him. Around him, in the face of overwhelming odds, men dropped their weapons and surrendered to the Seatons, though they did not know that was who they had been fighting. Several others jumped overboard, but the two men who continued to imprison him, forcing him to stand idly by and impotently watch the fight unfold, held fast.
He yanked at the ropes wrapped around his wrists, the twine digging into and blistering his skin. “Unhand me, damn you!”
The two men merely laughed.
He cut his gaze to the two Black Regents facing off on the deck within a circle of bloodthirsty men. Their swordfight leaped from shadow to shadow, light to light, across the quarterdeck and back. Steel sparked as their blades clashed, sliding and scraping and punching a hole in the darkness. The Regents parried, then countered, filling the air with an uneven tempo of booted footsteps and clanking swords. Ropes were cut and tarps slashed. Lunge and parry. Riposte and coulé.
James destabilized Tom at every turn.
“Let me loose!” Walsingham fought against his constraints again to no avail. But like many left on deck, his guards were distracted, watching the duel and placing bets. Distracted men ended up dead.
James pulled a dagger from his belt. Now armed with two weapons, he gave murderous chase. Tom scampered several feet, then boldly—or foolishly—rushed forward to strike a deathblow. James reacted instinctively, slipping effortlessly to his knees. He bent backward, arching his back until he was nearly flush with the deck. In one cunning move, he slashed Tom’s legs out from under him.
Tom yelped and crumpled to the deck, bleeding profusely.
“Get up, ye damn fool,” Charles shouted. “Or I’ll tear out yer liver and devour it whole!”
“Your impostor has been vanquished,” James declared, clearly enjoying his role as the Regent. He saluted the men who’d come aboard with him and offered his enemy a gallant bow. “Now, hand over Miss Thorpe. You’re surrounded.”
“Kill the Regent!” Charles thundered to his men, infuriated. “Now!”
Swords and dirks shrieked out of their sheaths, and a sortie erupted, fueling the bloodlust of Carnage’s crew. Pistols fired. Swords clashed. Men roared and then squealed with pain. The Seatons regrouped, taking on men of various sizes as more of their reinforcements arrived. Walsingham looked about the decks where sailing men typically operated the helm, rigging and sheets, and tackle and spars. In its place, there was now a broken, writhing killing field.
Oriana’s scream rent the melee.
Walsingham bucked against his restraints, fighting for his freedom, when a commotion behind him caught his sentries unaware. The man to his right let go of the rope about Walsingham’s wrist as he was cut down and his head plummeted to the deck below.