Abigail hurriedly backed away, slamming into the deck’s railing and almost pitching herself overboard into the dark, churning sea. Apparently he took the insult as it was intended, because his gaze narrowed. He moved closer yet, and this time there was no place to which Abby could retreat from his foul scent and worse intentions.
“So, is it that ye think ye’re too fine for the likes of me?” Blackhearted John whispered now, his breath hot and disgusting against her face. His hand closed around the nape of her neck and before she realized what he was about, his mouth was on hers.
Incensed and sickened, Abby drew back and slapped him with every ounce of strength she had in her. He clutched his jaw and stared at her, and a gasp rose behind him. Silence fell as the men waited to see what their leader would do. That instinctive slap had been a very big mistake, she realized belatedly. If she had relied on her wits and her charms, perhaps she could have talked her way out of this mess eventually. Now, though, her goose was cooked for sure.
For the first time she began to get the tiniest inkling that this was not exactly the rollicking adventure she’d halfheartedly hoped it might turn out to be, despite the very solid indications to the contrary. Now it was clear that her faint optimism had been unfounded. She had no idea where she was, how she’d gotten here or even what damned century she was in. For a woman who prided herself on being in tight control of her life, her present circumstances were not only disconcerting, they were downright irritating.
Fortunately the self-defense course she had passed with flying colors had taught her a thing or two about taking men like Blackhearted John by surprise. It helped that he’d apparently been indulging in sufficient rum to provide a round of drinks for the entire state of Arizona. She watched and waited for his next move. She knew he wouldn’t allow that stinging slap to go unpunished, not with his crew looking on.
He lurched toward her, hand upraised to box her ears or perhaps to clasp her neck and drag her to him for another unsavory kiss. Abby caught his hand in midair and flipped him. He landed unsteadily on his feet, a look of stunned surprise on his face. Then, with a roar, he attacked.
Abby was ready this time. With a couple of deft moves, she managed to snatch the lethal knife he had strapped to his leg, while dumping him firmly on his rear. He landed with another outraged roar and rebounded with far more alacrity than she’d anticipated.
His roar had also caught the attention of his previously idle, but evidently fascinated shipmates, who suddenly rushed to his aid. They surrounded Abigail so tightly she worried she would suffocate from the lack of oxygen or from the stench.
Her only hope, she feared, was to slip away during the ensuing chaos and find someplace below deck to hide. She doubted anyplace would offer much protection from Blackhearted John’s murderous intent, but she could think of no alternative short of diving overboard and swimming to that island, which she could no longer even see. That was a poor option considering she had never learned to swim.
She hunched down, scooted between legs, until at last she broke free of the mob. She paused, gasping for breath by the rail, taking in great gulps of salty air. All the while she scanned the ship looking for the passageway that would take her below deck.
She had spotted it at last, when suddenly a pair of filthy, callused hands roughly grabbed her arms and hauled her close. The scent of rum and sweat was overpowering. There was no mistaking the source. She’d been offended by that exact combination all too recently.
“Ye are a feisty one, milady,” Blackhearted John said approvingly, laughing in her ear. “It shall be a pleasure taming you.”
“Let go of me, you fool,” she said, landing one kick squarely in his shins.
“How dare ye call Blackhearted John a fool, milady! It is clearly ye who are the foolish one. If it is tempting fate ye want, then let that tongue of yours wag a bit more. I shall wait until ye finish, then I will set about showing ye how a lady can pleasure a man when she’s of a mind to.”
“I am not of a mind to pleasure you or any man,” she snapped. “From what I’ve observed quite recently the whole lot of you could do with a few lessons in chivalry. Now put me down!”
She tried to wrench herself free, but his clasp was like iron, and his temper had clearly been tested beyond its limits.
“Damn you to hell!” she shouted as she pummeled him with her fists.
“Aye and ye’ll be joining me there,” he said gleefully.
Abby was still fighting like a hellion when he dumped her unceremoniously onto a bunk in some dark, dank cabin below. She had a feeling that as bad as things had been so far, the worst of their battle was yet to come.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Abby thrashed against the pillow, muttering incoherently. It was as if she were struggling against some unseen enemy.
“Shhh,” Riley soothed, keeping a worried eye on the monitor, expecting it to protest at any second. A caress of her brow seemed to quiet her. “It’s okay, Abigail. You’re coming back to us. I can tell. You’re getting more active every minute. Try a little harder, sweetheart. We need you.”
“Finally admitting it, I see,” Jared said, strolling through the door at an inopportune moment, his perpetually smug expression firmly in place. He’d paid twice-daily visits since the ordeal had begun, and each time he’d had
