Abigail wasn’t sure which was more troublesome, the terrible queasiness or the sense of having fallen into yet another time warp. How in heaven’s name had she gotten from Phoenix—or Regency England where she’d grown somewhat comfortable, for that matter—to the middle of the high seas in yet another era? No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t seem to come up with an answer to that one. She refused to believe that the Earl of Wilton had deliberately gotten her into this fix, then left her to fend for herself. As vexed as he’d been with her, surely he was a gentleman at heart.
Then again, she had told him most emphatically that she could stand on her own two feet. Perhaps he’d decided to test her. She really would have to have a most serious talk with him before they were wed, if this was the way he intended to treat her.
She sighed and abandoned her attempt to figure out why she was here. It hardly seemed relevant now. Perhaps it would come to her later when her head cleared, hopefully before these raucous men decided to act on those wicked glints she’d detected in their eyes. She did have to wonder where the devil the overly protective Riley or the impetuous Earl of Wilton were, when she had finally landed in the middle of a true adventure. The presence of one or the other of them would have been comforting, even if unnecessary, she amended.
But instead of her bold childhood friend or the dashing, if somewhat impatient Earl of Wilton, she had only this band of dirty pirates, led by a man who did not exactly inspire confidence in a lady. Gesturing to the others to stay back, the leader advanced on her slowly, his manner threatening enough without even taking into account the imposing sword he carried or the knife strapped to his leg.
Trying to tame her thundering pulse, Abby studied him intently. His red-striped shirt was torn, quite possibly from being stretched across an incredibly broad chest. His breeches were molded to muscular thighs. Her gaze lifted at last to his face. That was a mistake. She couldn’t seem to take her eyes off the ugly scar slashing his cheek. She had the oddest sense of having seen it before and under equally dire circumstances.
Unfortunately, her impolite stare seemed to incense him. He raised his hand as if to strike her.
Abby swallowed hard and hurriedly apologized. “I’m terribly sorry.”
“And what is it that ye are sorry for, milady?” he asked with a fierce scowl, though he did lower his hand to his side.
His voice, low and lethal, suggested mentioning his scar would not be prudent. Unfortunately, that left her without much of an explanation for the apology. She would just have to brazen it out.
“For intruding,” she said. “It was most discourteous. I’ll be going now.”
The comment drew a raucous round of laughter from the onlookers and another ferocious scowl from their leader.
“We are at sea, milady,” he reminded her, gesturing toward the distant speck of land. “I’m afeared ye will be going nowhere, unless it be to Davy Jones’s locker, should ye not prove cooperative.”
What was it with these men? Abby wondered irritably. It seemed no matter when they lived or what their station in life, they all expected their women to be cooperative or biddable or docile. She supposed that when it was called for she could be as cooperative as the next person, but just as a matter of automatic, inbred, feminine compliance? Not a chance.
It would probably be prudent to demonstrate rather forcefully that she would not back down from a fight, but the prospect of getting to her unsteady feet to do it held little appeal. Still, she had learned long ago that there was always strength and courage to do what must be done. Drawing in a deep breath, she finally managed to lurch up and cling to a railing with no assistance from the ungallant man in front of her.
“I think perhaps there are a few things we should clear up at once,” she said in the most imperious tone she could muster while having to swallow the bile rising in her throat.
“And what would those be, milady?” he inquired, casting an amused look over his shoulder at his men, who were regarding the scene with undisguised glee. Two in particular seemed ready and willing to join in the taunts. Oddly enough, they looked as faintly familiar as the disgusting man who stood before her.
“You may start by telling me who you are and explaining how I got here,” she said in the brisk, no-nonsense tone that had always worked on her younger brothers and sisters. The man’s leering expression caused her a momentary pang. He did not look quite so easily intimidated as her siblings.
“Me name is John, milady.” The leer intensified. “Blackhearted John, they call me on the high seas.”
Terrific! She had been captured by a pirate with a reputation to uphold. It did not bode well for her getting off this rolling boat in one piece.
“You brought me aboard?” she asked.
“Ye was aboard, when we captured the ship in the Caribbean. It seemed there might be some good in keeping ye.” He grinned, while the raucous laughter behind him intensified. “For a time, at least.”
Abby did not like the way this was going. Her prospects were so dim, in fact, that it hardly seemed to matter that she was much closer to the United States and home than she had been when she’d been in the Earl of Wilton’s care.
“Where will you dock and when?”
“What makes ye think ye get to
