Only With Your Love (Vallerands #2)(10)

Pounce was a hulking giant, with a shaggy mane of dirty brown hair. Griffin ducked underneath the arc of a knife swing and aimed a kick at his midsection. As his opponent tumbled to the ground, Griffin launched himself forward. A booted foot caught him squarely in the chest, and he let out his breath as he hurtled over Pounce’s head. Rolling as soon as he hit the ground, Griffin scrambled to his feet. They faced each other once more, breathing heavily, their clothes soaked with sweat.

“The great Captain Griffin,” Pounce muttered. “When I finish with you, you’ll be nothing but a smear on the floor.”

Griffin did not reply, his blue eyes focused intently on the man’s scarred, mocking face.

Pounce attacked with a series of knife thrusts, and Griffin leaped backward several times to avoid the bite of the blade. Shifting their weight with lightning speed, the opponents advanced and retreated in a fight that proved to be a game of balance. Griffin blocked one deep drive with his left arm, twisted in an unexpected move, and plunged his knife into Pounce’s back with chilling precision. The other man died instantly, his large body crumpling to the floor.

There was a moment of astonished silence. Then the onlookers began to cheer and exclaim.

Laughing exultantly, Risk gave Celia a friendly jostle. “Now, darlin’, ye know for certainly ye won’t be ridden by André Legare tonight!”

Celia took a shuddering breath and looked away from him. Her face was stiff and drained of blood. She wrapped her arms around herself. From her point of view, Griffin’s victory was hardly cause for rejoicing. There was no difference between him and the men who had killed Philippe. He was a cold-blooded murderer who would destroy anyone or anything that stood in the way of what he wanted. Perhaps his tortures would be more refined than André Legare’s, but he was no less a monster.

Across the room, André Legare burst into a tantrum, his skin purple against his orange beard, his veins standing out in his puffy face. “I will have her. Dominic, I will…I will!”

Gently Dominic hushed his brother. “Of course, mon frère. You know I would not let him take away my gift to you.”

André quieted. Dominic stepped over Pounce’s bleeding body to Griffin, who had just extracted his knife and wiped the blade clean. “You proved yourself quite handy with the blade,” Dominic remarked in a low voice, while the excited roar in the tavern refused to subside.

Griffin looked at him sardonically. “It was not my intention to prove anything.”

“You did, however. And as we agreed, the woman will be yours. But tomorrow morning, not tonight.”

Griffin was very still. “The woman is mine now.”

“Unfortunately André will be inconsolable if he does not have one night with her.”

A sneer twisted Griffin’s lips. “She wouldn’t survive one night with him. Your brother’s practices with women are no secret, Legare. And she’s as weak as water.”

“I’ll see to it that he is not overly rough with her.”

“You misunderstand,” Griffin said softly. “I’m not open to bargaining.”

Suddenly John Risk interrupted them, having hoisted Celia in his arms and carried her through the crowd. “Here, Cap’n—a prize well-won!” He dumped her frail body into Griffin’s arms.

Griffin looked down at the exhausted woman. Her gossamer hair spilled over his shoulder and chest. Strain had caused her skin to take on a brittle whiteness. The brown eyes were blank, as if she had retreated to an inner world where no one could reach her. It was obvious that the delicate strength he had admired before was fading quickly. He tried to assess how much more she could take before the ordeal broke her.

Dominic Legare gave him a smile of malicious amusement. “You’ll have her at dawn, Griffin. But tonight she will service André. And if you care to begin a quarrel…so be it.”

Griffin cursed inwardly. The crews of both camps were already eager for an excuse to battle—their small jealousies and rivalries had simmered a long time. An argument between their two leaders was all it would take to begin a war.

“Remember that my men outnumber yours,” Legare pointed out. “And you would not risk the deaths of a goodly part of your crew in order to satisfy your desire for a mere woman, would you? Your men would not forgive that—nor should they. In short, Captain Griffin, you know as well as I that you cannot afford the prize you have won.”

Risk’s exuberance dissolved as he listened to the short speech. “What the hell is this?” he demanded.

“Now, about the money—” Legare continued.

“Not a cent until she’s in my hands for good,” Griffin said slowly.

“Bien sûr, we’ll settle it in the morning.”

Risk gaped incredulously. “Cap’n, ye’re not going to let that drunken pig André have ’er for the night! Ye know what he’ll—”

“Quiet,” Griffin said tersely.

“But…” Risk saw the warning look in his eyes and fell silent.

Lowering Celia’s feet to the floor, Griffin sent her stumbling toward Legare with a careless nudge. Dominic caught her by the shoulders. “Tell your brother to restrain himself with her,” Griffin said coolly, “or I’ll have his head.”

Dominic’s smugness vanished. “No one threatens André.”