was obeyed.
There was saltwater in the bilge of the skiff, and a coil of salty rope in front of her face, and a small boom waving above her head. Jack's arms left her body with almost tender reluctance.
"Don't blame her on me," said the younger man. "You should have made sure she didn't see you."
"We couldn't help it," whined Biddies. "She was lookin' right at us. What could we do?"
"Slit her throat," said the younger voice coolly.
"We charge more for killin', and you hadn't paid us yet. You wouldn't want us doin' somethin' extra you'd have to pay us more for, would you?" said Jack.
"That weren't it at all, Jack," said Biddies. "It's you, always wanting a woman. Comes in the way when we have a job to do."
Coins jingled. "That's ample," said the boy's voice, "for the botch you've made of the job." Light footsteps approached the skiff, crunching on the sand.
Before she saw him, Merry knew who it was. Seven months ago in a smuggler's tavern she had become acquainted with that cold adolescent voice when its owner had grabbed her and hurt her and threatened her life. She looked up helplessly into the hard blue eyes of Rand Morgan's reprobate companion, Cat.
The boy scanned her without pity or recognition or even much interest while the fog played mother-of-pearl patterns on the stark bend of his tall cheekbones. On one side of his face sparkled the engraved hoop of a silver earring as big as a bangle, and his pale hair ribboned neatly from chin to hip in a thick braid knotted with leather. His buttonless black shirt fell open to the low-slung waist of his trousers, exposing the bands of tanned maturing muscle that corded his chest and below. The collar of his buff greatcoat moved idly in the wind from the sea.
Without taking his eyes from her own frightened ones he said, "She saw you, so she has to die. I agree." He bent and pushed the skiff out from the beach. She felt it break free from the sand and slip into the water; his legs moved slowly against the waves. "I'll take care of it. 1 told you I would, and 1 will. But you two had better be far away from here when they find the body."
There was a shout from the beach. "You're not just keeping her for yourself, are you?" shouted Jack. "We want to hear her hit the water.''
The sail flapped as Cat took the sheets, and he swore under his breath at the shouting and shouted back to them over his shoulder, his braid streaming behind him. "You'll get your splash. Now get the hell out of here."
The dirty cambric nightdress was no protection against the cold wind that dug like nails into Merry's skin. Tremors began in her chest and rolled violently into her limbs, where the stiff wires of the jute ropes were methodically gnawing the living flesh from her ankles and her wrists, and her hair became fouled by the sloshing bilge water.
Indifferent as a stone, Cat was working the sail, and after a time there was the rhythmic slap of the bow against the waves as the small craft made the open water. Settling back, the boy looked at her and said in an abrupt way, "I can't help it. You'll have to go in."
Her resolution not to cry was broken as she begged behind her gag, tears running down her cheeks, choking her. A whimper tore from her throat, savage in its desolation. Cat hesitated for the space of a heartbeat and then said, "Relax. What's a little seawater?"
He let go the sheets, leaving the sails to luff under the punch of the wind. Bracing the tiller with his knee, the pirate reached for her arm.
Her brain flaring with terror, she fought him in a pathetic way, twisting and squirming like a trapped mink into the rocking bow. The boy watched her, allowing patiently her futile moment of resistance before drawing her out and into his arms. One strong and fluidly muscled arm curved tightly around her shoulders while the other caught her under the knees and spun her over the side with a splash.
The water was green and foamy and arctically cold. It rapidly discovered the raw spaces
There was saltwater in the bilge of the skiff, and a coil of salty rope in front of her face, and a small boom waving above her head. Jack's arms left her body with almost tender reluctance.
"Don't blame her on me," said the younger man. "You should have made sure she didn't see you."
"We couldn't help it," whined Biddies. "She was lookin' right at us. What could we do?"
"Slit her throat," said the younger voice coolly.
"We charge more for killin', and you hadn't paid us yet. You wouldn't want us doin' somethin' extra you'd have to pay us more for, would you?" said Jack.
"That weren't it at all, Jack," said Biddies. "It's you, always wanting a woman. Comes in the way when we have a job to do."
Coins jingled. "That's ample," said the boy's voice, "for the botch you've made of the job." Light footsteps approached the skiff, crunching on the sand.
Before she saw him, Merry knew who it was. Seven months ago in a smuggler's tavern she had become acquainted with that cold adolescent voice when its owner had grabbed her and hurt her and threatened her life. She looked up helplessly into the hard blue eyes of Rand Morgan's reprobate companion, Cat.
The boy scanned her without pity or recognition or even much interest while the fog played mother-of-pearl patterns on the stark bend of his tall cheekbones. On one side of his face sparkled the engraved hoop of a silver earring as big as a bangle, and his pale hair ribboned neatly from chin to hip in a thick braid knotted with leather. His buttonless black shirt fell open to the low-slung waist of his trousers, exposing the bands of tanned maturing muscle that corded his chest and below. The collar of his buff greatcoat moved idly in the wind from the sea.
Without taking his eyes from her own frightened ones he said, "She saw you, so she has to die. I agree." He bent and pushed the skiff out from the beach. She felt it break free from the sand and slip into the water; his legs moved slowly against the waves. "I'll take care of it. 1 told you I would, and 1 will. But you two had better be far away from here when they find the body."
There was a shout from the beach. "You're not just keeping her for yourself, are you?" shouted Jack. "We want to hear her hit the water.''
The sail flapped as Cat took the sheets, and he swore under his breath at the shouting and shouted back to them over his shoulder, his braid streaming behind him. "You'll get your splash. Now get the hell out of here."
The dirty cambric nightdress was no protection against the cold wind that dug like nails into Merry's skin. Tremors began in her chest and rolled violently into her limbs, where the stiff wires of the jute ropes were methodically gnawing the living flesh from her ankles and her wrists, and her hair became fouled by the sloshing bilge water.
Indifferent as a stone, Cat was working the sail, and after a time there was the rhythmic slap of the bow against the waves as the small craft made the open water. Settling back, the boy looked at her and said in an abrupt way, "I can't help it. You'll have to go in."
Her resolution not to cry was broken as she begged behind her gag, tears running down her cheeks, choking her. A whimper tore from her throat, savage in its desolation. Cat hesitated for the space of a heartbeat and then said, "Relax. What's a little seawater?"
He let go the sheets, leaving the sails to luff under the punch of the wind. Bracing the tiller with his knee, the pirate reached for her arm.
Her brain flaring with terror, she fought him in a pathetic way, twisting and squirming like a trapped mink into the rocking bow. The boy watched her, allowing patiently her futile moment of resistance before drawing her out and into his arms. One strong and fluidly muscled arm curved tightly around her shoulders while the other caught her under the knees and spun her over the side with a splash.
The water was green and foamy and arctically cold. It rapidly discovered the raw spaces
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