Catherine swam up through a black pool of nausea. Her eyes reluctantly opened, and started to focus, and she was staring upwards at a sky going black to grey and back again. She lay on her bound arms, but could barely feel them.
The armory. O'Rourke's men had blown it up. Of course-how better to even the odds against Lefanu's troops than to deny them reinforcement and ammunition? The attack on the veranda had served to divert Lefanu's attention; the soldier's daughter had to admire the planning. Now, if she could be certain that she were still alive and in one piece, she'd admire it even more.
With painful effort, she rolled herself onto her side, and got up onto her knees. She shook her head, trying to clear it, the fuzziness in her brain matched by the clouds of dust, grey gunpowder smoke, and the billowing greasy black smoke of the burning buildings. Her bound hands useless, she staggered awkwardly to her feet.
The smoke had thickened to the point that Catherine feared she would choke, with the gag inhibiting her breathing to begin with. Lefanu's men were disorganized by the surprise attack, and the screen of smoke and battle was making it hard for her to get her bearings: how far had she been thrown by the explosion? Where was the house-if it was even still there! And what about Charles? She looked desperately around to find someone to help…
Unfortunately for Catherine, from out of the smoke came the bloody, staggering figure of the soldier who had been minding her on the veranda, and he had to be one of Lefanu's bravest, or stupidest, soldiers because while his master's world disintegrated around them, his sole thought seeming to be to drag the prisoner back to the house that, so far as Catherine could tell, might not even still be standing! He was clearly not too badly injured, as he was on her in a bound, tangling his fingers in the cloth of her tattered nightdress.
You damn fool! Catherine found herself cursing behind the gag as she strained against his hold on the collar of her gown, flames starting to lick closer and closer to them. You'll get us both killed!
The soldier turned his face to her, as if her pulling at his hand had reminded him that she was there, and his face was a map of indecision and terror.
No apologies, you stupid bastard. And she brought her right knee up into his loins; he grunted and started to lurch forward. Catherine didn't wait to see how much damage she had inflicted: she stomped down on his boot with one bare foot, inflicting little pain, but her weight holding him in place just long enough for her to slam the top of her head up under his chin; he gave another groan and fell back as though pole-axed, his hand falling limp and releasing her from his grip.
In what Catherine took to be another example of the cursed luck that had plagued her on this voyage, the smoke began to clear just as she broke from her groaning captor, and as the dirty grey clouds parted, she was staring straight into the sweaty, bloodied face of Pepin, not fifty paces away. His pale eyes seemed smaller now, meaner, desperate. He was facing two of Lucky San's pirates, and while he was far the stronger swordsman, Catherine could see him faltering under their combined attack. As their eyes met, Pepin seemed to hesitate, his sword arm poised. His weary face seemed to soften as their eyes met, and his shoulders seemed to lift in what might have been a gesture of humility.
My god, is he trying to apologize? Is he surrendering? We've won. We've won!
She had barely completed the thought when one of the pirates seemed to relax, also seeing Pepin's weakening posture…and the Frenchman's lifted blade sliced down and ripped the man's swordarm off, with the skill and pitiless eye of a butcher.
The man screamed, blood gushed, and Pepin suddenly leaped past him, the unwounded pirate staring horrified at his slaughtered companion. Pepin bounded through them, and his bloodshot eyes were fixed on Catherine. His boots pounded the earth as he suddenly halved the distance between them.
You stupid stupid woman! Catherine raged at herself. Don't watch! Run!
She turned her back to Pepin and sped madly away, no notion of where she was going or what she'd do when she got there. She was running in blind panic, arms still held behind her by her trussed wrists, dark tresses flying, her eyes scanning the ground in front of her lest she come undone on a protruding branch or root… until she happened to look up, and saw that she was nearing the stables, and tethered outside was the most beautiful horse in the world.
It was smaller than any Charles owned… it was dull in color… no longer young… a bit spindly… and probably terrified out of its mind. But it would be her salvation, and thus would be the finest mount any woman had ever had. Get aboard that nag, even with her hands tied behind her, and Pepin could whistle for her. In fact, she'd ride the bastard down and watch him crushed under the beast's hooves!
She redoubled her efforts. The horse would be salvation only if she got there before Pepin caught up to her, and he was gaining fast. Smoky breath ripped at her lungs, coming in harsh gasps around the pad of leather strapped in her mouth. She could try to remove the gag by snagging it on a tree branch, but she daren't pause for an instant. But the gag was slowing her, too: she was simply running out of breath. She sobbed into the vile thing, tears of rage streaking her face. She could hear those damned footfalls getting closer… closer… god, he's right behind me…
And the footsteps continued their pounding pace… right past her! She blinked her eyes against smoke and salt, trying to decide if she were hallucinating… but there was no question: the Frenchman's lithe form had streaked past her, freed the horse, and taken his place on the animal's back in a single bounding leap. He was turning tail and running!
Catherine stumbled, falling almost headlong before she steadied herself, slowing. Her body shook: with frustration that the swine would now escape, but also with a sagging relief that she was finally free of him…
When Pepin yanked back on the horse's mane, wheeled it about… and rode straight for her!
Pure reflex caused Catherine to turn her back and begin once more to run… nothing else remained to her. She had been through too much to even try to strategize an escape, to try to somehow elude her pursuer. She could only stagger numbly ahead, the hooves now thundering close behind her.
With the cord biting her wrists, the leather strap slicing her cheeks, the ground ravaging her bare soles, Catherine was sure she was beyond any new sensation of pain… until the top of her head seemed to catch fire.
AAAgghghhhhh! She wailed into the gag as her scalp exploded in wrenching pain that ran down into her neck and shoulders. Pepin had twisted his bloodstained fingers into her streaming mane, and pulled her up short, controlling her by a fistful of her long tresses. She raced along now, near to choking on the gag, desperate to keep pace with the horse lest the top of her head be torn off; but Pepin slowed the horse enough to take his hand from its mane, using the skill of his powerful legs to guide the beast, and seize Catherine by her bound arms in his other hand, using fistfuls of cloth and hair to lift her from the ground and throw her brutally face-down across the front of the horse.
The scant breath she'd been able to absorb behind the gag flew from Catherine's lungs as she landed, and her head swam as Pepin twisted his grip in her hair.
"You cursed English wench! You will pay back my pain and blood ten times over!"
He released her hair with a rough snap of his wrist, and as her head bounced against the horse's flank, through the lifting smoke, she looked back the way they had come:
Though it felt as though she had been running for days, it appeared as though she had covered barely a hundred yards from the fighting before he had captured her, and in the thick of it, among the flames that licked around what was left of the mansion, she was startled to see O'Rourke and Lucky San, standing back to back, their bright blades a ring of steel that Lefanu's men approached warily. O'Rourke appeared to have taken a cut over his right eye, and Lucky San was still naked to the waist, but both exhibited an almost gleeful bloodlust as they withstood the assault of Lefanu's men. The destruction of the armory seemed to have served its purpose, as the men had thrown down their empty guns, the fighting now hand-to-hand.
And now, about fifty yards beyond them, she could finally see Charles! Though he still wore the manacles about his wrists, the chain between them hung loose, with enough play that he was able to swing it about him, with all his body's coiled-steel strength behind it, making him as formidable any of the armed pirates. He sent one soldier topping backwards, raised his head… and across the bloodied field, he saw Catherine being borne away!
For an instant, their eyes held each other, and renewed strength filled Catherine's aching limbs. Her man was alive. Alive and punishing their foes, and he would come for her and kill this son of a-
And in the next instant, her husband was gone, borne back into the smoke and flame by a fiend from hell.
"Charles!" the despairing wail was a garbled groan into the gag, and all Catherine's renewed vigor drained from her. She had refused to despair, but now…?
For even as she was borne away from the sight, Catherine could see that it was the smoke-blackened coat and demented face of Colonel Lefanu, who had leapt onto Charles' back, and was wrestling him to the ground. The man appeared to have a knife, and through the haze she saw him raise it, and then they were lost to her vision.
But if Charles was lost to her sight, O'Rourke was not, and as the pirate took another cut at an enemy, he spotted Catherine and Pepin receding from view, and he knew there could be little time before the blackguard would be out of reach with his bound and gagged prize, and clear to the coast and escape. For an instant, he thought of what the woman had nearly cost him, and might yet do, and thought himself well rid of her: her beauty was a temptation that might yet get him killed. But as he felt the lithe body of Lucky San pressed against his back, smelt the powder and blood, and heard the screams of his foes, a laugh came unbidden from his throat: By god, this was what a man lived for: the fire of battle, a dangerous foe, and a fair maiden to rescue.
With the laugh still on his face, he spun to face Lucky San, who had just finished dispatching the last of their immediate circle of foes; behind her, he could see another knot of soldiers rushing from the back of the estate, swords at the ready. He placed a hand on her shoulder.
"A measly three or four. Surely you can handle them?"
She blinked, startled at the mad glee on his face, then matched him grin for wolfish grin.
"Swine about to meet their butcher." She swung her sword, and nodded in the direction of the retreating Pepin. "Go get her."
O'Rourke laughed again… and slid his hand from her shoulder down her back, pulling her hard against him, and trapping her lips with his mouth; and not even the night she had spent in gagged captivity could mask the heady spice of her taste. Before she had time to react, he'd broken off the kiss, and was astride one of the other horses, a cry of triumph sounding as he made off in pursuit of Catherine and her captor.
For her part, Catherine felt her heart lift at O'Rourke's gesture, but she feared it would be for naught. It took but a hundred yards to make clear that the pirate was no horseman, and that Pepin's ease astride his own animal would make up for his needing to keep one hand on Catherine's back to hold her in place. O'Rourke urged his beast onward, now narrowing the gap slightly, but falling back just as often.
And then, she felt the horse beneath her start to slow. She could see O'Rourke in the distance, finally starting to close on them. Was Pepin's beast foundering, winded? But there had been no change in the smooth rhythm of the animal's gait, just the slowing of the pace, and as Pepin flexed his thigh muscles, and shifted his weight, she could see that he was no longer attempting to leave O'Rourke behind: instead, he was watching the pirate's approach, while reaching into his tunic, and pulling out the repeating pistol! He was now using only his legs to guide the horse's progress, one hand keeping Catherine in place, and raising the pistol with the other. He was so easy and steady astride the horse that Catherine had no doubt that he'd be just as deadly a shot as if they'd been on solid ground. O'Rourke must see this… he must veer off.
But he didn't! With one hand lifting his sword, a savage cry ripping his throat, the pirate came on, as though he would rescue Catherine or die in the attempt…
Which, to the prisoner, seemed highly likely. And even if Pepin failed to hit O'Rourke, he'd simply dig in his heels and resume his headlong flight, and inevitably outdistance her rescuer. For all his reckless bravery, O'Rourke's position was hopeless. It was up to her.
And it's not as though I haven't had to do this before! She remembered being carried off a prisoner in Lefanu's coach, in England, and the way she'd had to intervene to keep him from shooting Charles. They're all alike: cowards who hide behind their guns!
It seemed as though every muscle screamed in agony as Catherine twisted her body. Though her wrists were bound, her arms had not been fastened to her torso, and by stretching herself painfully, she was able to scrabble behind her to get her fingers in the horse's mane. With her shoulders feeling as though they'd pull free from their sockets, with her neck aching from being dragged by her hair, Catherine took as deep a breath as the gag would permit… reckoned that she was as likely to end up with a broken neck as anything else… closed her eyes and saw England… and Father.. and Charles… and with all the strength left in her body, gripped the mane and threw herself up and over the horse's back, her feet colliding with Pepin's arm, and sending horse, rider, and captive sprawling.
Pepin gave a bellow of rage and surprise; reaching to steady himself, his fingers grasping at Catherine's hair again, the pain redoubling. Stars spun in front of her eyes as she tumbled, with Pepin's fingers still locked in her hair, the force of his fall making his grip more agonizing than ever. She heard him curse, then shriek, as the horse stumbled, the pistol exploded above her head, and the world around her spun like a pinwheel.
Catherine wailed into her gag as she collided with, and then slid across the hard ground, spinning over and over. Her hair was now free of her captor's grip, and it blanketed her face, winding around and protecting it from the punishment of her fall, and also blinding her once more in the process.
She came to rest on her back, bound arms beneath her again, so numb that she couldn't feel them. She couldn't push the hair from her face, couldn't call for help behind the gag, and was still trying to decide whether she was alive or dead when she felt herself propped up by a man's strong hand. Slender fingers gently brushed the hair back from her face, and her weary eyes looked into the rakishly grinning face of Diego O'Rourke.
For a moment, she studied his bright green eyes, saw the rougish light behind them, and knew that she had been right: this man could steal any woman's heart… and he'd spend it just as easily. But he wasn't here to steal her… that moment had passed, and they both knew it.
O'Rourke lifted the tormented woman to a sitting position, and the exhausted Catherine allowed herself to lean against his chest as he carefully used his sword to cut the bonds from her wrists. His strong fingers fumbled in her disarranged tresses as they found the knot of the leather strap holding her gag in place, and plucked the knot apart. He pulled away the leather strap, and Catherine sobbed air into her lungs as the foul pad was pulled from her mouth.
She fell back against O'Rourke's arm, bracing her up, and he looked down into her face. With her mouth free of the gag, he could see the cruel marks the leather had left on her soft cheeks, but her bruised lips were still as full and red as the cherries of the Orient. He lowered his face to hers, their eyes meeting… and he paused, the wolfishness fading from his smile. He gave the slightest of nods, as if acknowledging an unspoken agreement… and pressed his lips to her forehead, once, softly. He pulled back and the warmth and kindness that she read in his face would have brought tears had she any left to cry. Instead, she whispered a hoarse "Thank you," closed her eyes, and let sleep claim her.
+++
Catherine had no memory of O'Rourke managing to get himself, and her dead weight, up onto his horse; she awoke as the horse was pacing in front of what remained of the battlefield, and she was cradled gently in O'Rourke's arms. Those of Lefanu's troops not killed had fled, and the members of the two pirate crews were busily looting the bodies, with the furnishings of the estate doubtless soon to follow, assuming any had avoided the fire. Catherine had recovered herself enough to step down from the horse, and go to her husband's side.
Charles sat on the ground, scowling. The chain between his shackled wrists was wrapped around the throat of a clearly-dead Lefanu: not that Catherine was an expert, but the splayed posture of the man's body left little doubt: that and the gaping swordcut that had nearly removed his heart from his chest. I wasn't sure he even had one, she found herself thinking.
As they approached, Lucky San was contentedly wiping blood from the blade of her sword; she was still stripped to the waist, though Catherine noticed that she had allowed her long black hair to fall artfully either side of her face, the dust-covered tresses hiding her breasts just enough to make her near-nakedness even more insinuating. The woman looked up at their approach, and favored Catherine with a look of outraged indignation.
"Your husband is too soft, wench."
Before the confounded Catherine could reply, Charles growled.
"We should have bound him over for trial--"
"Bah!" the Indian beauty spit on Lefanu's corpse. "Once you threw him off your back, and got that chain about his neck… well, in your place, I'd not have hesitated. Though perhaps I should thank you for leaving his final reckoning to me." She wiped a bit more blood off the blade.
"Doubtless." Charles was studying her with a look of fascinated horror… at least, Catherine hoped that was its source. The little blacksmith looked equally shaken by the woman's bloodthirsty matter-of-factness as he went to work removing the shackles from Charles' wrists.
"Anyway," O'Rourke changed the subject. "That's the both of them. Your good lady," he nodded at Catherine, "put paid to Pepin."
"He's dead?" Catherine croaked out.
"Broken neck from the fall," O'Rourke said with surprising seriousness. "Lucky you didn't suffer the same." He turned to Charles. "Your wife is as brave a woman as I've met. You're a lucky man. As for myself…"
His tone lightened as he turned back to Lucky San… only to have his head snap sharply to the left as the palm of her hand collided with his cheek with a report like a gunshot.
"There is a time and a place for man and woman to fight, and for them to kiss!" Lucky San's face was flushed and stern. O'Rourke didn't answer, a hand to his cheek, and after a moment, the lovely pirate's expression softened. "You'd best learn the difference, for both our sakes." And before he could consider the implication of her choice of pronouns, she had seized him by the hair and devoured his mouth with a hunger that shot through him to his toes.
"Charles…" Catherine whispered, and she started to slump again; he caught her in his arms, and she raised her face to his to receive a kiss of her own. And with that assurance that her world was once more as it should be, she allowed her husband's arms to once more place her in the care of Morpheus.
+++
The sun was once more rising, slanting low over the scorched remains of Lefanu's estate. The motley force of pirates, now consisting of the men from both crews, was loading trunks and cases onto a wagon: spoils of war to be hauled back to the ships. O'Rourke and Lucky San were standing beside one of Lefanu's coaches, as they prepared to take their leave of the man and woman who had first been their prisoners, then allies. Like Charles and Catherine, the two sported a few bandages and bruises, but all four had come through their travails in amazingly good health.
Which was why Catherine was surprised to see her husband so uncomfortable as they bid farewell to the two pirates.
"You'll not accompany us, then?" O'Rourke asked Charles. "Plenty of room."
"No, lots to do." Charles was brusque. "There will be claims against the estate, and my brother was once Lefanu's partner, so I have some responsibility."
"Let the scribblers and solicitors handle that," O'Rourke laughed. "Come with us!"
"And there are the people here." Charles waved a hand. "Servants, hands, slaves. They will all need someone to help them rebuild their lives."
"But not you!" O'Rourke chided. "Come, Redmond. Come with me and I'll make a first-class pirate of you." He grinned at Catherine. "And your good lady has all the fire and grit of the hardiest sea-dog, but would be infinitely more pleasant to look at."
He grunted as Lucky San jabbed an elbow into his ribs, but Charles wasn't joining in the spirit. Instead, he spoke awkwardly, avoiding the pirates' gaze.
"Captain, I'm pleased to have given you a share of the estate as loot for you and your crew: it may not be strictly legal, but no one can say that you've not earned it." He paused. "But I am an Englishman, with responsibilities before the law that can stretch only so far. Of course we'll say nothing of your presence to the authorities until you're well away from here." He hesitated. "But… but if we should meet again, in British waters… I would… most reluctantly… of course… have to… do my duty… and turn you in."
"Hah!" Came an unladylike outburst from Lucky San. "As if you could. Well, then, let me tell you, that if you two should ever be foolish enough to venture again into pirate waters, I'll have you both stripped and tied down to my bed and then--"
"Oh, shut up." Catherine interrupted wryly. She put her hands on the surprised Lucky San's shoulders, looking into her face. "All four of us owe each other our lives. Even if I never see the two of you again, I'll not forget that… and I know you won't either." She embraced the lovely pirate, murmuring in her ear. "Besides, don't disparage the pleasures of being tied to a bed until someone's done it to you--the right someone." And as she ended the hug, she could have sworn that the dark face was blushing furiously.
She turned from the stunned Lucky San to offer a hand to O'Rourke.
"Captain."
O'Rourke's first impulse was to see if she had a hug or kiss to offer him as well… and then decided that he'd rather not have Charles Redmond and Lucky San taking turns skinning him alive. He took Catherine's hand with all the elegance he could muster, and bowed low over it.
"Your Ladyship."
The smile she gave in return was filled with warmth, and in its own way, with love. Not, perhaps, love as O'Rourke was used to thinking of it… but he was pleased to think that this beautiful Englishwoman was not likely to forget him.
Lucky San and Charles Redmond had, meanwhile, exchanged a wary handshake, and the two pirates entered the coach, slamming the doors behind them. As the wagons with the pirates and their loot trundled off after it, O'Rourke leaned from the coach, calling back to them one last time.
"Remember--there's always room in our crew for two such accomplished adventurers!"
And in the next few moments, the coach was gone from sight.
Charles turned away first, surveying the efforts being made to restore the estate to some sort of order.
Catherine took his arm, and they walked in silence for several minutes, toward a small workman's cottage that had escaped the flames, and where Charles had set up a kitchen and bedroom for them to use.
Finally, he cleared his throat and spoke.
"The letter to your father will go on the mail packet that leaves today. Doubtless he'll welcome the explanation of our delay."
"Yes." Catherine was silent a few moments more, anticipating her reunion in India with her father; her thoughts then turning to O'Rourke and Lucky San.
"It seems strange, doesn't it, Charles, after all we've been through, to think that we'll probably never see the two of them again."
Charles snorted. "Strange? I'd call that good fortune. It's not as though you'd want them as house guests when the vicar comes to call."
"Perhaps you're right," she sighed. "Still, you can't deny that every moment we spent with them was an adventure."
"Adventure, is it?" Charles interrupted her progress by slipping behind her, and tenderly drawing her arms behind her back, crossing her small wrists and encircling them in the fingers of one hand. His other hand glided up into her silken hair, and lightly grasping a thick fistful of it, gently pulled her head back so that his lips brushed her ear. "I seem to recall that this all began when I had just finished adventuring with you in our cabin. Perhaps m'lady needs a reminder." And he nudged her to resume walking forward.
And Catherine allowed herself to be "forced" into the bedroom of the small cottage, her hands "trapped" helplessly in her husband's hands… and her heart equally helpless in his.
The End