Pirate Wolf Trilogy by Marsha Canham Page B

Nor was he above a little larceny or piracy if the acts
were warranted. But to abandon a sister ship? Or to tuck his tail
and run for safety while someone else fought to the death? He had
not lost two fingers and half a leg because he went out of his way
to avoid confrontations.
    “Blow me,” he
muttered again. “I can well see why ye’d be wantin’ to chase after
the fellow. An’ with more guns than a mere merchant trader would
have to offer.”
    Dante shook his
head, causing his earring to glitter in the lamplight. “He has more
than a two-week start on us. Even burdened as he is, I have come to
believe over the past few hours, it would be sheer foolhardiness to
think we could catch him.
    Spence’s
brow pleated over a frown but it was Beau, still looking on in
silence from the doorway, who felt her spine prickle at the
implication that the Egret was too
slow and unrefined to merit the pirate wolf’s respect.
    “ I would
have you know, sir,” she said, striding briskly into the pool of
brighter light, “with a fair wind in our sheets we can run at
fifteen knots and better.” She dropped the platter without ceremony
on the table and leaned forward on the heels of her hands. “We have
sailed from Plymouth to the Tortugas in under six weeks. I doubt
even your Virago could
have outrun us.”
    Dante glowered
while Pitt stepped quickly into the breach. “You must have had an
excellent navigator and pilot.”
    “We did,” she
said evenly, turning to meet the smiling green eyes. “Me.”
    The smile was
startled off Pitt’s mouth. “You?”
    Spence settled
his weight back in his chair, balancing precariously on the two
hind legs while he folded his arms across his chest. “Best damned
pilot I ever had at the helm. Hell, she once took us through
Magellan’s Straits in a storm. An’ her charts? Ye’ll see none their
equal. If anyone can run us up the arse o’ yer rogue captain, it’s
my Isabeau.”
    “A woman,”
Dante muttered, still disbelieving, “at the helm of a ship? Has the
world gone mad?”
    Beau glared at
him. “Only the small portion with you in it.”
    “Well,
regardless,” Pitt interjected quickly, “it does work to our
advantage that we know precisely where Bloodstone is going.”
    “To London, ye
mean.”
    “To London.”
Pitt nodded. “He’ll waste no time boasting his prowess to the Queen
and her counsel, likely taking all the credit for the venture in
the same voice he uses to mourn the loss of Simon Dante.”
    “Aye, an’ he’ll
do it all with yer gold in his pockets.”
    “My gold,”
Dante agreed, finally tearing his gaze away from Beau. “Which could
be half yours if you brought me within striking distance of the
cowardly bastard.”
    “ Half?”
The tiny glands under Spence’s tongue squirted with more than
casual interest. And, looking at the hard gleam in Dante’s eyes, he
saw no reason to doubt the man would, indeed, pay the price gladly.
The Talon would be
doubly burdened and moving slower than a snail, taking longer
routes around known lanes of shipping in order to avoid being set
upon by scavengers. Two weeks of plodding could be made up in a few
days of spirited sailing with the wind in their teeth.
    “Beau?”
    She looked at
her father, amazed he was even considering the possibility. “What
if the zabras did make it back to a Spanish port? What if there are
a dozen ships out there right now hunting for a wounded
privateer?”
    Spence pursed
his lips and had to acknowledge the threat. The Spanish coast was
less than two hundred leagues off the starboard beam, and if they
had indeed sent out hunters …
    Something
else the Frenchman had said caused Spence to frown and turn to
Dante again. “Ye said yer mission was not yet finished after ye
left Vera Cruz. What more were ye plannin’ to do?”
    Dante drew a
deep breath and avoided catching Pitt’s eye. “We were planning to
make a small detour past the harbor at Cadiz.”
    Spence’s
chair thumped forward and