“It’s the isle, sir. Right after we got your message, we heard a rumor that Yussef attacked—”
“Isla de las Riquezas,” Nick whispered. “No.” The ice pierced his heart, freezing it.
“We doan know if it’s true. And maybe it was just firing the cannons for show.”
But Nick knew better than that. So did Chante, but the quartermaster obviously hadn’t wanted to alarm the men before informing the captain.
“What’s Isla de las Riquezas?” Ashley asked.
Nick ignored her, addressing his men. “There’s no time to lose. Where’s the ship? What provisions have you made? I want to leave yesterday!”
“Aye, Cap’n,” Chante said. “I thought you’d say that. We’re more than eager to be gone. Had to wait for fresh horses.”
“The ship is docked in a cove not too far from here,” Red told him. The bos’n looked pale now and sober. “If we ride all night, we should be there by morning. We can sail on the next tide.”
“Make it so.” Without thinking, Nick released Ashley and headed for the door to the blacksmith shop. His heart was ice, gripped by the chilling knowledge that everything he had ever loved could be gone.
He had the door to the blacksmith shop open and was halfway through when Mr. Fellowes, his short, blond third mate, cleared his throat. “Uh, Captain, begging your pardon, but wot do you intend to do about her?” He hooked his thumb back at Ashley. “I—ah couldn’t help but overhear her say that she was”—he swallowed—“your wife.”
Nick clenched his jaw and turned to look at Ashley, who was, little as he liked the fact, still his wife. She was still standing in the blacksmith’s shop, the low fire in the hearth behind her and the unconscious priest at her feet.
Hell’s teeth!
He couldn’t leave her. She was his now. He had to protect her.
She glared at him. “Keep walking, Martingale. Don’t even think about it.”
He spread his hands in a gesture that said what-do-you-want-me-to-do?
“I’m not going.” She braced her feet and put her hands on her hips defiantly. “I’m not going on any pirate ship—”
“It’s a privateer ship. We have a letter of marque.” Somewhere.
“—I’m going back to London, and if you won’t take me, then I’ll go on my own.”
“I can’t let you do that,” Nick said quietly.
“Oh, yes you can.” She took a step back—toward the rear exit, Nick noted. A nod at Chante and the quartermaster was behind her, blocking her escape route.
“You just keep going your way,” she said, taking another step back, obviously unaware of Chante behind her, “and I’ll go mine!”
With that, she spun around and slammed into Chante’s broad chest. Nick’s man easily captured both of her arms and, though she fought him, he pinned them to her sides in seconds. “Come on Mrs. Cap’n.”
“Let go!” she screamed. “Nick! Make him unhand me.”
“Sorry, sweetheart.” Nick nodded to Chante, who grasped Ashley around the waist, lifted her, and tossed her over his shoulder. She screeched, more from surprise than anything else, Nick surmised, and began pummeling Chante with her fists.
Nick winced. He was definitely going to owe Chante for this one.
But a moment later, she was Nick’s problem again. He climbed on one of the five horses tethered out front, but before he could grasp the reins, Chante tried to hand him a kicking and screaming Ashley.
Nick frowned at her. “Mr. Chante, could I possibly persuade you to—”
“No, Cap’n. Mrs. Cap’n belongs with you.”
“I am not Mrs. Captain!” Ashley bellowed.
With a sigh, Nick took her, settling her in front of him.
