Breaking the Rake's Rules. Bronwyn Scott

Чтение книги онлайн.

       Chapter One

      The Caribbean—June 1836

      ‘Protect the rum!’ Kitt Sherard raced forward on the beach to throw himself between the oncoming attackers and the newly unloaded cargo of precious barrels. ‘It’s a trap!’ A pistol flashed in one hand, his knife in the other as the words left his mouth, the cry carrying down the line to be taken up by his men. ‘Protect the rum! Protect the rum!’ He felt his men surge behind him, his first mate, Will Passemore, at his right, digging his bare feet into the sand, ready to take on the thick of the fighting.

      Anger fuelled Kitt, pumping through his body over the betrayal. This was supposed to have been a standard trade done in the light of broad day; rum for farming supplies. The afternoon sun beating down on them was proof enough of that, but somewhere, something had gone wrong. There was no time to sort through it at present.

      Cries echoed throughout the deserted cove as the first of the attackers emerged from the pack. Kitt took aim at the man’s shoulder and fired, hoping the draw of first blood would cause the bandits to retreat. He meant business when rum was on the line, especially when that rum belonged to a friend, but he never liked to take a life.

      The man clutched his arm and fell back, only to be overrun by his fellow outlaws. So much for deterrence. ‘Get ready, this means war,’ Kitt muttered under his breath. ‘These bastards won’t go easily.’

      ‘We’ll manage them, Captain.’ Beside him, Passemore’s jaw was set with grim determination.

      The horde was on them, then. With one roar, Kitt’s men met the mêlée. Kitt threw aside his pistol. This was knife work now. He stabbed wherever he could, quick, sharp jabs to shoulders, thighs, an occasional belly when there was no choice. Sweat ran in his face and he fought the urge to wipe it away with a hand. The bandits were tenacious, Kitt would give them that. At last they began to fall back—the sight of their fallen comrades was persuasion enough that whatever they were being paid wasn’t worth it. ‘Come on, boys, we’ve got them on the run!’ Kitt yelled over the fighting, leading the charge to drive the bandits from the cove.

      They fled with relative speed, dragging their wounded with them. Will was ahead of him, firing a pistol into the fleeing rabble. A man went down and Will leapt on him, blade drawn. ‘No!’ Kitt swerved to Will’s side. ‘We need him alive. Get him back to the ship and get him patched up. I want to know who is behind this.’

      ‘Aye, aye!’ Will said with a relish that made Kitt grin. The younger man reminded him of himself six or so years ago when he’d begun this adventure. Will hefted the man over a shoulder with a grunt. ‘C’mon, you stupid bastard.’

      With Will headed back to the bumboats with the wounded man and the bandits scrambling the island hills to protection, Kitt organised the beach. ‘Let’s get the barrels back on board, men! Look lively—we don’t want them thinking about organising a counter-attack.’ Kitt doubted they would. His men had given them quite a drubbing, but he knew from experience one did not take chances in this business.

      Even though he’d not expected trouble this afternoon, he’d come armed, just in case. Kitt helped roll a barrel towards the bumboats, his thoughts chasing each other around in his mind. There’d been reports these last four months of bandit crews operating in the area, stealing rum and sugar from small merchant trading ships that sailed between the islands.

      For the most part, Kitt hadn’t taken those reports seriously. Small merchant ships, many of them more like boats and not in the best of shape, were often unarmed and undermanned when it came to fighting. They made easy targets, unlike his ship, Queen of the Main. Small-time bandits would prefer small-time targets. Only today, they hadn’t.

      Kitt ran a hand through his hair, surveying the beach. All the barrels were loaded and the men were ready to go. Kitt gave the signal to shove off and leapt into the bow of the nearest boat. It had been the worst of luck the bandits had chosen today, when he’d been hauling his friend Ren Dryden’s rum. Ren would be disappointed.

      Kitt had protected the rum, which was no small thing in this part of the world where rum and sugar were still the currency of the land. But on the downside, Ren had been counting on this trade to purchase much-needed farming supplies. Now, Ren was without a sale and without the goods he and his wife needed for the upcoming harvest. He didn’t relish telling Ren he’d failed.

      Ahead in the water, Kitt could see the first boat bump up against the side of the Queen. He could make out Will hauling their prisoner up to the deck in a rope sling. Kitt hoped the prisoner would provide some answers.

      Aboard ship, Will had bad news. ‘I don’t think we can save him, Captain. He took the ball in the back. It’s lodged in his spine. You’d better come quick. It’s beyond O’Reilly’s skill.’ Not surprising news given that O’Reilly’s ‘skill’ was relegated to stitching knife wounds.

      The СКАЧАТЬ