Siren's Song Read online

  He looked up at her, as if tempted to be distracted, but instead trailed the finger over a breast to her waist. She hid her relief that he’d missed the necklace, but felt the release of her knife belt as he swung it loose in his hand and tossed it to the other side of the room.

  “I first learned of the prophecy from a gambling man.”

  “Why does that not surprise me?”

  “Everyone needs to make a living, Miss Stafford.”

  “I prefer Captain Stafford, if you will. This is my ship that you unlawfully boarded. But you were saying?”

  Paxton sneered with pleasure. “So it is, Miss Stafford, so it is. Right. The gambling man. Yes, now … I ran into him in Barbados. He had just arrived from the diamond mines in Brazil, after stealing a map from his employer. Of course the map is a copy of the original.”

  “Or a copy of a copy of a copy of someone’s fairy tale,” Alex suggested.

  “Possibly,” Paxton nodded. “But if so, why so protected? I ask myself.”

  “What is the story of this map? What does it lead to?” Alex kept the questions going. She was certain Joshua and her men were not far behind her. Help was on the way. She would capture Paxton and put him away for a very long time.

  “The legend, Miss Stafford, is that there was a queen who lived three thousand years ago, maybe more. She was very powerful and had a great kingdom, but it was not enough. She wished to conquer her enemies and obtain complete reign over an empire that some say stretched larger than Alexander the Great’s.”

  “And? Did she conquer them?” Alex asked.

  “Yes. So it seems,” Paxton explained, enjoying his story. “There was a great battle, and it appeared as though she would lose, but suddenly the skies darkened, there was a great quake, and the sea rose up and devoured her enemy.”

  “Bad luck,” Alex said. “But very timely for her.”

  “It’s believed that upon sensing defeat the queen sold her soul—to whom, we can only guess—and gained the power to command the oceans. She then used that command over the seas to defeat her enemy.”

  “Uh-huh.” Alex arched a brow to indicate she was not a believer, though in truth, she was fascinated. He told the story well, she had to give him that. “You’ve collected quite a tale, Paxton. I’m all admiration.”

  “Ah! But the price she had to pay. As there always is one.” His finger lingered on her blouse again and expertly popped the second button. “Was to give her child back to the sea. Only she did not want to comply. And perhaps she thought she was strong enough to beat that which gave her the power.” He popped another button. “So she took the child of one of her captive enemies, and offered it as a sacrifice, thinking to outwit the gods.” He slid a finger across her collarbone and fingered the chain under her shirt.

  “Seems like a god would know,” Alex said, trying to distract him.

  “But of course. The innocent child died. Three days later, the oceans reared up and the kingdom disappeared. The queen died with all her subjects. Those who survived left the cursed place, but shared the story generation to generation, as a warning to all.”

  Alex felt the ship rock. Not the gentle movement of the river, but the subtle movement of weight. Her crew was boarding. She had only to keep Paxton a little longer. She tapped the arm around her throat. “Getting a little uncomfortable there, sir.” The man loosened his hold. “Better. Thank you.” Good manners could win even the nastiest antagonist, according to Aunt Maggie. She eyed Paxton again. Of course Maggie didn’t have Paxton in mind when she said that. “That’s a wonderful story, Paxton. But what does it have to do with you and me?”

  “Ah,” he caressed her cheek. She attempted to disguise her revulsion at his continued touch. “That, Miss Stafford, will have to wait for another day.” He opened the door to exit. “Assuming of course that you survive this one.” He gave a signal to the man behind her.

  The man released her hair and instead locked his arm around her neck. Alex’s vision darkened. She pulled down on his arm with her free one, turned her face, crushed his foot, and squeezed out of his grip while striking backward several times with an elbow, making contact before her legs gave out from the blood loss to her brain.

  Paxton wasted no time. “We need to go. Leave her.”

  She wobbled and fell to her knees as they escaped. Alex heard something slide across the deck on the outside. She tried the door. Damn! What was that? She was a prisoner in her own cabin. Scrambling, she hooked her knife belt, grabbed a short sword from her wardrobe, took the coiled whip on the wall and secured it over her shoulders, then pulled up the carpet by her bed and jumped down the secret trap door. She had customized her ship for all possible scenarios. A quick escape from her cabin was one of them.

  Alex opened another secret door, one deck down, and ran up a ladder to the upper deck. She and Paxton were both surprised when they ran smack into each other. She swung instinctively and he countered, sword in hand. He was stronger, taller, and struck fiercely, the vibration of blade on blade jarring her muscles. But she was fast, agile, and determined. And he had underestimated her.

  Alex vaguely recognized the sound of Joshua’s voice not far off, but dared not turn. She tossed the whip to the deck for more freedom. Paxton was bearing down on her. Her shoulder burned from effort, and she sought to distract him. “You defend well for your age, Paxton.”

  “I’m not too old to teach you a few things.”

  “I’ll pass,” she retorted.

  He grinned, but advanced like a predatory beast. He thought he had her. She stepped back and feigned fear, allowing him to move in. When he did, she stepped aside and arched her weapon, surprising him with a slash to his sleeve, drawing blood, and pushing him back.

  “Sorry about the face, by they way,” Alex taunted. She moved sideways to avoid the heat of his next fury-driven strike. “I didn’t mean to injure you.” Her sword clashed with his dangerously close to her heart and she used both arms to stop the blade, shoulders and back straining. “I meant to kill you.” Quick feet aided her as she danced to the right before he parried sharply, his blade cutting the air with a swoosh, then colliding again with hers.

  “No one’s perfect, Miss Stafford, least of all you.” He kicked out and sent her sprawling backward. She rolled to her feet and took cover behind some barrels on deck separating her and Paxton. They eyed each other, assessing. Just then there was a loud whistle, and another man came hurtling onto the deck. “Go!” the man shouted.

  Paxton nodded to her as if to politely say good-bye and ran after the man. Panic filled her. They must have learned about the dynamite. Oh, God. Two more men followed Paxton. Neither interested in her. She turned in time to see Joshua crush one of them with his fist. She hurled a knife to take down another. The first of her crew were climbing the Jacob’s ladder aft.

  Alex ran to the men, shouting. “Get off the ship! Get off the ship!” The sailors’ faces looked confused until she screamed at the top of her lungs, seeing her brother and some others in a rowboat not far from them. “Get back! It’s going to blow!” The sailor let go of the ladder, and she heard a splash. He knew about their cargo. They all did. They scrambled for distance. All except the duke.

  “Get off the ship, Joshua! Please!” She ran past him, leaping down steps to the farthest cargo hold, worrying the entire way. She opened the door fully expecting an explosion in her face.

  Instead, she found two bodies. And one of her three crates of dynamite was open. Panic and horror increased. She held her breath and listened. There. To her right. A sizzling sound. She searched, spotted the rapidly shortening fuse and leapt. With her bare hand she extinguished the light, heedless of the burning sensation. She looked up at the sound of thundering footfalls, and Joshua was there. From her prone position on the floor, all she could do was lift a finger to her lips, hoping he would be silent. She could hear another faint sizzle.

  “Over there! Quick.” She scrambled to her feet next to him. Paxton’s men had set a lo
ng fuse to get off the ship in time. She could still hear it.

  Joshua picked up the two bodies and tossed them. Without thought he squashed the fuse that had been underneath with his wet boot, pressing firmly and holding it an extra long time.

  “Any more?” he whispered.

  “Guess we’ll find out in the next couple of seconds.” She gave a wan smile, sorry that this might be their last moment together.

  He reached out his hand, and she took it, grateful for the squeeze of comfort. Then he too stood silent, listening. For what seemed like a full minute.

  Finally Alex pulled her hand away, and inspected around the crates.

  “Shopping again?” he asked.

  Amidst the recent danger and stress, he managed to make her laugh. A couple of tears edged out with it, the shock of seeing her men lifeless taking hold.

  “I got a great deal,” she answered. “And a buyer in Dover willing to pay double my cost and expenses.”

  “Perhaps you could start trading in safer commodities. Shoes, Miss Stafford. Have you considered shoes?”

  “Dynamite is safe,” she defended. “Except for when you cap it with a fuse and light it.”

  “Exactly.”

  She ignored him and continued to inspect. It appeared safe. She counted how many were missing in the opened box.

  “How many?” he asked.

  “Five,” she said, worried. “They come in packs of five. We only got two.”

  “Hell.”

  Regretting that she couldn’t stop for her two dead crewmen, she pushed past Joshua and raced up to the deck. It was empty. She ran forward and found Paxton being rowed away to the opposite shore. He stood up in his craft, aimed, and threw. The dynamite landed at her feet. Joshua instantly tossed it back and it exploded midair. A second one hit the rail, and exploded, sending wood shattering near them. Joshua grabbed her and turned away, shielding her with his back, while she fought to be free in order to detect a third stick.

  It took a moment. Then it came.

  She cursed loudly. It landed in the foresail and got stuck in the rolled-up material, the bottom end sticking out. She ran for it, swiping her whip from the deck on the way, thinking to stop the inevitable. Catch and release. No problem. She flicked her whip, aiming carefully. The next instant she was thrown forcefully to the ground.

  “Have you lost your mind?” he shouted.

  Alex wasn’t sure what hurt most—knowing her ship would be damaged, the explosion assaulting her ears, or the crushing power of being thrown to the damned hard deck by two hundred pounds of wet male. She winced, pressing her head into Joshua’s throat while debris shot up and landed around them, grateful that at least the big pieces would hit him first.

  Finally, it was silent.

  Joshua lifted his head, and moved an arm gingerly to the side, lifting up on an elbow. “Bloody hard decks.”

  She grunted agreement. “Southern live oak. Only the best for Stafford Shipping.” Alex didn’t move. She was certain several ribs had been cracked between him and the hardwood deck. And her clothes were becoming damp. “Did you swim all the way to my ship?”

  “Not exactly,” he answered, inexplicably.

  “You stink of the Thames.”

  He rolled to his side. “I’ll take that as a kindly, ‘Thank you, Your Grace.’ ”

  “I didn’t ask for your help. You could have been killed,” she added, furious at him for taking the risk of following her. “And you know what? Everyone would have blamed me.”

  He rolled back on top of her. His eyes blazed a hot blue, the intensity of them sharpening her awareness. They were both on fire with postbattle energy, so she wasn’t surprised when he grabbed a fistful of her hair like he was going to shake the life out her, and spat his words with barely concealed passion. “You chased down a man. Alone. Down a dangerous alley in the docks of London. You were nearly shot, leapt from a ship—the fall of which should have knocked some sense into you. I’m not sure what happened before I arrived. Honestly, I’m too afraid to ask. Then you went down into a hold of live dynamite, knowing it was about to go off.”

  “And?” Alex couldn’t help herself. She said it cavalierly, just to aggravate him.

  “And I don’t know what you were thinking just a moment ago!” He squeezed her hair more tightly, forcing her head off the deck. “You’ve been lucky before, Alex. You should be smarter now. You risked your life for a damn ship!”

  If he did not have her arm trapped she would have slapped him. As it was she struggled uselessly under his weight. Giving up, she elucidated on what he did not know. “It’s not just a ship,” she choked. “It’s all I have—my home, my family, my livelihood. Who I am. The only place I belong.” Alex felt the emotional stranglehold around her throat from so many losses. “Today I lost three of my crew. Three men who entrusted their lives to me. Men who were like family. And one a dear friend of Stephen’s.” Her eyes burned. “He was only seventeen. And I have to tell Stephen. And Whitley’s family. And when I do, I want to be able to tell them I did everything possible to capture the ones who did this.” A single drop of moisture slid from her eye down her left temple. “If you can’t understand that, Your Grace, then you have no hope of ever understanding me.”

  Their eyes locked. Each, she thought, trying to conquer the other. He shook his head. “Damn the Thames.” And he crushed her lips with his, as if to punish. As if she had done something to hurt him and he wanted revenge. A thought skittered across her consciousness that this wasn’t at all how she had long dreamed their reunion would be.

  At first his lips tasted of salt, their movement harsh and cruel. He used his power to remind her that she was not as strong as she thought. At least that was how it felt. But then it changed. A different power took over. She recognized a pained curse from him. A regret. And just as suddenly, he softened his grip, his mouth explored, and he took possession, branding her with increasing heat. Her skin pulsed to life, responding to the coaxing movement of his lips on hers. Her mouth opened with a hungry gasp, and her body arched to be closer, all of her wanting all of him, reveling in his control, welcoming the unexpected freedom she felt in his arms.

  When he lifted his face from hers, Alex opened her eyes, slightly bereft. Then on guard, as she saw a shutter come down over his. A hardening against her. It hurt.

  “My apologies for not coming to you sooner. There were unexpected circumstances, but you seem to have fared well.” He paused. “And clearly there is little room in your life for anything or anyone new.”

  He should have slapped her. It would have hurt less.

  “But—” Alex stopped and started again, “Fire.”

  He nodded, mockingly, “Yes, we have that—”

  “No,” she corrected, looking past him. “Fire!”

  Forgetting her aching muscles, jarred joints, and bruised flesh, she shoved the giant off her and ran for water.

  Joshua stood up like he couldn’t believe there was more. He took off his damp shirt, and walked to the smoke, ruined boots still squeaking annoyingly with each step. Wearily he put an arm out to have her step aside. “The Thames and I have this one, madam.”

  Alex watched as he climbed to the smoking sail, and used his shirt to put out the threat. Not a bad scene all in all. She should enjoy the moment while she could. The next week was going to be awful. She needed to meet with the crew, gather information on Paxton, bury her men, deliver the dynamite, repair the ship, and talk with the authorities. Explosions in the Pool of London would not go unnoticed, and if the authorities could track Paxton, she would accept their help.

  Exhausted by the thought of it all, Alex went to the portside rail to wave her crew aboard. For a long moment she stood staring in astonishment at the sight before her, barely registering the duke when he joined her side.

  “Joshua?” she queried.

  “Yes?” he replied with a bone-deep sigh.

  She pointed to a beast swimming through the water. “Isn’t that your horse
?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Alex met the crew of her second ship, Sea Fire, four days later in Portsmouth. Stephen and some of her other crew joined her to participate in the spreading of the ashes.

  Alex liked Portsmouth. It was smaller and friendlier than London, and closer to the open sea. She felt contentment walking toward her ship in port, taking pride in the vessel she had designed almost wholly on her own. There was another sleek ship docked just ahead of hers, and she couldn’t help admiring its elegant lines. She estimated it could capture some speed. Not as fast as hers, but worth the match.

  She had sent a trusted Stafford mate to Dover with the damaged ship, to deliver the sealed dynamite, then continue to Portsmouth for repairs. At least most of the dynamite. She was keeping a little for herself. Port authorities had a warrant for Paxton, but she guessed him long gone. Either that, or he used another name, as he was nowhere to be found. Neither was Joshua. She assumed he was back in Kent, beginning repairs on Worthington. She tried not to think about him. It was too confusing. And she needed to be clearheaded.

  The crew was ready. Stephen came toward her, ready to board. She reached for his hand and squeezed. He nodded. He hadn’t spoken much since Whitley’s death. She had little enough explanation for the reason behind it all. Stephen didn’t know about the prophecy or the map. He thought her study of ancient sea lore merely a hobby. She would need to tell him something. Perhaps sooner than she wanted. Especially if danger still lay in wait.

  Alex noticed Stephen’s attention directed behind her, his mood appearing to lift.

  “Joshua!” he announced, astonished but pleased.

  She turned. The duke stood before her in all his ducal glory. Well, not that bad. Actually, quite good. Definitely distracting. He was garbed more casually than she had seen him of late. More like the first night she had met him in Morocco. His gaze wasn’t hostile, but neither was it welcoming. He took Stephen’s hand, then amazingly pulled her brother in tightly and slapped him twice on the back before releasing him. Alex was stunned at their man hug. It was unexpected. Her brother, after his initial surprise, welcomed it. Joshua had a way of comforting. It seemed her brother felt it too. She nodded to him, grateful for his compassion toward Stephen.