The Siren's Song Part 27

Machete appeared from a side door. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d wore a smug sneer and his full military regalia. Such apparent flaunts of his station hardly exacted respect or concern from Drake.

"I see you were expecting me," Drake said, thumbing at Machete's appearance.

"You should be honored, Capitan Drake," he answered. "I dressed for the occasion."

"What occasion would that be? Your death?"

Machete clucked and perched on the edge of his desk. "Your optimism is amusing. But, I am curious. How will you kill me?" The tinny sound of his sword sc.r.a.ping across the metal throat of his scabbard sliced through their verbal draw. He casually acted as though he inspected the sharpness of the blade. "You are unarmed and surrounded by my men."

"A minor detail," Drake said.

"Then an interesting evening we will have. Galo, what is this box you bring?"

"'Tis a gift," Drake said before Machete's crony could answer. "'Twas a pity the s.h.i.+p following my wayward lights off the Florida coast happened upon a reef. Imagine my delight when I discovered the many, finely crafted French furnis.h.i.+ngs I fished from the wreckage belonged to Commander Mancho Diaz of Havana."

Machete's eyes widened to the size of Spanish dollars. Laying aside his sword on the desk, he motioned for Galo's men to open the crate.

"Don't look so angry, Machete. I saved most of your precious things. Though, I suppose you won't be taking them with you to the afterlife. Don't you fret. I'll make a tidy profit off it all. Now, about those diamonds."

Machete grabbed a pistol from Galo's waistband and in two strides had the muzzle pressed to Drake's heart. "You play with me, hijo?"

Joelle was a crafty woman. Gilly had little doubt the pirate captain could free the men. By herself. Alone. Without Gilly's help. Gilly took two steps back and turned on her heel, sprinting down the corridor. She would find Drake. She would help him escape. She had to. How, she had no idea. But she couldn't let another moment pa.s.s without trying.

Each door she pa.s.sed down the hall had her question whether Drake was on the other side. Instinct drove her farther into the depths of the fortress. The pa.s.sage angled and down at the end stood an ornate door and she knew that was where she would find her captain.

Footsteps echoed behind her and were growing louder. Oh, dear Lord. No place to hide. She dashed to the only other door in the corridor and sent a hasty thank you above that it was not locked. Gliding inside, she leaned her back against the door. Her heart hammered in her chest as her hand tightened on the handle. The footfalls neared. Only after they faded did she dare open her eyes and breathe. Another prayer of thanks that the room was empty slipped from her lips.

Overstuffed chairs and chaise lounges littered the room filled with bookcases. A gaming table sat close to a wall of windows. But it was the open cabinet displaying many bottles of liquor that captured her attention. Beside a half-empty crystal gla.s.s of amber liquid sat her purple bag.

Gilly rounded the furniture but her joy of finding her beloved bag died. Loose threads and bits of velvet hung from where the rosettes had been slashed unmercifully off, the diamonds removed. Her heart broke at the terrible state of the bag. Perhaps she could have it repaired. She picked up the tattered pouch.

Oh, mighty heaven above! I couldn't be luckier!

On the silver tray where the bag had lain was her laudanum. Gilly wasted not a moment. She helped herself to a hearty gulp. The poison slid down her throat and warmed her belly. More, she had to have more. To give her the strength she needed to carry on this insane mission. But without realizing it she finished off what was left in the bottle. b.u.g.g.e.r.

She set the empty bottle back on the tray and a gasp hitched in her throat. Did her eyes deceive her? Could it be? Had she drunk too much laudanum and was now dizzy with fantastic visions? Was that gla.s.s filled with...with diamonds?

Gilly lifted the gla.s.s. Splinters of prisms sparkled in the light as she inspected the contents. Blood rushed to her head, her hands shook, and the gems clinked in the gla.s.s.

Voices carried from across the room. Another door nestled between two large bookcases was left cracked open. Gilly poured the gems into a napkin, shoved it into her bag and tiptoed to the door. She held her breath, afraid if she breathed in any air, she'd be spotted. The adjoining room appeared to be some sort of suite for conducting business. She recognized Machete's voice and angled for a better view.

Thayer! She bit her tongue to keep from calling out his name.

That was before Machete pulled his pistol and placed it to Thayer's chest.

Drake clamped his jaw tight and cracked his knuckles. His spine tingled with the excitement of death, be it Machete's or his own. "Do I anger you, Machete? You should know better than to steer by pa.s.sion."

The pistol's barrel pressed harder against his chest. But the commander wouldn't kill him, not at that moment. He would be unsatisfied by Drake's quick demise. Nay, he would want Drake to suffer first. It was the way of most undisciplined, vain men with power.

"Go on, Machete, lose control. Kill me." Eyes locked in a battle of wills, Drake egged him on, pus.h.i.+ng for him to make that fatal mistake. "Kill me, you filthy p.r.i.c.k."

A muted squeal caught Machete's attention. His deliberating eyes flickered and Drake reacted to the fleeting breach in Machete's concentration. Drake grabbed Machete's wrist, but the b.a.s.t.a.r.d antic.i.p.ated the move. His ears rang from the deafening blast before the sharp pain sliced through his gut. The floor rose up to meet Drake. Swallowing hard, biting back the agony ripping through his body, he breathed deeply through his nose. Mustering strength, he pushed off the floor and sat back on his knees. Drake felt his side fast becoming numb and when he brought his hand into view, blood, slick and bright, covered his palm. He choked on the laughter burbling in the back of his throat.

Screaming, he heard screaming. A woman's cries shut out the buzzing in his head. He slowly raised his head and focused on Gilly who was calling his name, struggling against Galo.

"Senorita. What an unexpected surprise."

Drake wasn't in enough pain to not notice Machete's sour tone. Nor was he any more pleased with Gilly's appearance than his enemy.

"You." Machete pointed to one of his lackeys. "Find the other woman. If this one is free, so is she. I want her waiting for me properly in my room. Check the sepultura. The woman might be bastante absurda and try to free her friends."

Machete sneered down at Drake. Obviously finding him no longer a threat, he turned on his heel and strode over to Gilly.

"I must say, I am mildly disappointed not to find you waiting for me in my chambers."

"I'd rather die than be a part of your depraved sport."

"Many have, mi pequena." He cupped her chin, leaning in close to her lips. "I do not think you have many options. But no matter. I have a new task for you. The entertainment you will provide me will be even greater than squirming beneath me. This I am sure."

Machete squeezed her face as she tried to pull away. He kissed her. Drake growled. Fire raged in his blood. Machete would pay for kissing his woman. The wretch snapped back, as if bitten by a viper. In fact, he had been bitten. Machete dabbed the blood on his lips and laughed. "Spiteful. This is good. The more you fight, the better the show, no?"

Drake tried to stand again. The effort burned his side, his leg buckled, and his knee hit the floor hard. A new pang shot up his thigh. Blazes! Breathe. Get a hold of the pain. She needs you.

Machete yanked her bag off her wrist and tossed it to his desk. "I must be frank," he said, walking behind his desk. "Taking your woman, Capitan, on my writing table for you to witness appeals to me. However, I cannot squander this, how do you say it, occasion. I will like it very much to watch your face as she dies before you."

"I won't let you kill her," Drake growled.

"No, no, mi amigo. You are mistaken. I will not kill her." His grin unfurled like a toothy crocodile. "You will."

"You're mad."

"Si, quite mad."

Machete retrieved a pistol from a drawer and a rondel dagger from another. He held up the dagger for display. Its wooden, cylindrical handle was carved in a weave pattern and the blade was long and thin. "Impressive, no? It is three hundred years old and, I am told, once owned by a knight." He laid the dagger on his desk and came back around to stand beside Drake.

What in all h.e.l.l was Machete up to? Drake needed to clear his mind, calculate any measure he might be able to take to turn the tables in his favor. Ignoring the pain, Drake again tried to stand. Machete placed a hand on his shoulder, forcing him back to his knees.

"Galo, let the woman go."

Apprehension fanned out across Gilly's lovely face, as it should. Machete had conjured up an evil design. But Drake wasn't going to kill Gilly no matter what tortures the b.a.s.t.a.r.d had planned.

"Pick up the dagger, mi pequena."

Gilly looked to Drake. "It's all right," he said. "Do as he says."

With hesitation, Gilly did as she was instructed.

Machete chuckled. "You have feelings for the capitan, no? So much that you risk your life to come here. Let us see how much you fancy him." He placed his pistol to Drake's head.

Saint's blood! Drake suddenly knew his foe's wicked scheme. His chest tightened, his mouth became dry, his heart beat in his throat. It was happening all over again. Helpless. He was helpless once more to change the situation.

"If you don't want to see him die, senorita, you must take your own life. You have until the count of ten, and then I blow his brains out.

"One..."

Chapter Twenty.

"Two."

Gilly's heart pounded faster than she could breathe. Her mind muddled with a fury of thoughts. Machete holding a gun to Thayer's head was more than she could endure. Her legs grew weak beneath her and she had to steady herself with the edge of the desk.

"Three."

"Don't listen to him, Gilly," Thayer said. His face was drawn and his eyes pleaded with her to heed his demand. "He won't do it."

Machete cracked the b.u.t.t of his pistol upon Thayer's skull. Gilly cringed, swallowing back the knot of sobs burbling up in her chest.

"Let us see," Machete said. "Four."

No, Machete would indeed kill him. Thayer only meant to spare her. Deep inside, she knew she would never leave Machete's fortress alive, no matter what choice she made. She couldn't let Machete murder Thayer. She would be lost without him.

"Five."

Tears pooled in her eyes. Gilly's hands shook so, she feared she might drop the dagger. Oh, what could she do? Her life for his.

"Six."

Stop counting! I can't think! Dear Lord, help me. Give me the strength.

"Gilly. Look at me."

Thayer's voice, sure and dominant, stilled her mind. Coaxed her to look at him, really look at him. He was ever strong, ever courageous. She should be more like him.

"Seven. His time is running out, senorita. Will you have his blood on your hands?"

"Put the dagger down, Gilly."

She glanced at the weapon quivering in her hand. 'Twould be easy to puncture her skin with the slim blade. All it would take was one good thrust. She lifted her other hand, gazing at her bandaged wrist. How much more pain would this dagger cause?

"Eight."

Gilly remembered the scars on Thayer's body. All the suffering he had shouldered in his life, it wasn't fair. He deserved more than the short straws drawn for him. He deserved peace. She would give it to him, give him a fighting chance.

"Nine."

Gilly gripped the knife with both hands and poised the tip to her chest. "Forgive me, Thayer."

"No!" Thayer jabbed his elbow back into Machete's groin. Machete folded, and Thayer followed with an upper blow of his fist. He then threw himself back, pushed off the floor and landed on his feet.

Machete recovered and pointed the pistol at him, but Thayer blocked his aim with his arm. Grabbing Machete's arm and twisting into him, Thayer aimed the gun toward her and fired. Gilly screamed as Machete's crony crumbled at her feet. Blast that was close.

The two men traded swings one after another. She feared for Thayer. How long could he keep up the fight with his wounds? Powered by such hatred, neither gained an edge over the other. No time to worry over him, Galo was coming for her. Quickly, she put the desk between them. Each time he tried to reach her, she scampered to the opposite side.

"Come here, ya little bunter."

"Kiss my a.r.s.e."

They circled the writing table once more and came to a complete standstill. Galo was no closer to catching her and Gilly was no farther from getting away. The sword Machete had laid down earlier to examine the crate's chandelier could give her an advantage. 'Twas unfortunate Galo had come to the same obvious conclusion. Both s.n.a.t.c.hed at the sword. Gilly grabbed the hilt first, but Galo nabbed her hand. He was too strong-she couldn't pull free.

Galo chuckled, but his grin faded when Gilly offered him a smirk of her own. She sliced the rondel dagger down upon his arm. Unwieldy with the knife, she didn't achieve the desired effect of goring him. He let go all the same.

"You b.i.t.c.h, you cut me!" Galo attempted to staunch the blood flowing over his fingers from the sizeable gash.

She poked at him with the c.u.mbersome sword, needing to hold on to it with both hands. Not an easy task while also holding the dagger. "I'll do it again if you come any closer," Gilly warned. The sword wobbled, but she managed to keep Galo at bay.

Thayer crashed into the desk from a resulting blow. Sweat trickled down his brow and coated his upper lip. His eyes, rimmed with redness, blazed with anger and h.e.l.l-bound determination. But his injury took its toll and he struggled to keep up with the fight.

"Take this!" Gilly handed him the rondel dagger.

Giving Thayer the knife allowed her to hold the sword better, yet she felt only marginally more confident. She was much too clumsy with the long rapier. Gilly kept the sword poised outward to avoid dropping it and slicing off her toes. Galo, eyeing her fixedly, waited for his chance.

Thayer twirled the dagger around his fingers in an impressive show of speed and dexterity before shoving off the desk and charging Machete with renewed vigor. He slashed through the air left, then right, coming fast at Machete. Machete stepped back, leaning away from Drake's swings. Drake's blade hummed with his swings, shaving through their grunts redoubling off the walls.

With his back against the wall, Machete latched on to Thayer's arm. The dagger quaked, poised at Machete's neck, as the men struggled. In a sudden s.h.i.+ft of strength, Machete let one grip go and slammed his fist into Thayer's wound. Thayer bellowed through clenched teeth, staggering away.

Gilly gasped, and the distraction cost her. Galo sprang over the desk, wrenched her wrist and disarmed her of the sword.

"Machete!" Galo tossed his boss the weapon.

"Let go!" She bit Galo's arm, sinking her teeth deep into his sour flesh.

"Crazy chit!"

"That's the truth of it." Gilly socked his jaw.

He smirked, working his jowls from side to side. "You hit like a wee girl."