Red awoke gasping, stunned and frightened, but aware that someone was there, someone with strong hands, and a frantic and yet somehow reassuring whisper.
“Stop. Don’t scream.”
Red let out a shaky sigh, gulping for air, but remained silent.
“You haven’t had the nightmare in a long time.”
Red nodded.
“It was the fight,” Brendan said.
“I don’t know what it was,” Red said curtly.
“I do,” Brendan said. “It was the duel.”
Red was silent.
“Do you think he knows?” Brendan asked anxiously.
Red straightened and rose, escaping Brendan’s touch, to pace the confines of the master’s cabin.
“I don’t know.”
“You scared me to death, you know,” Brendan said, getting to his feet, as well. He caught Red by the shoulders and looked into those striking blue eyes. “You could have been killed.”
“I could have been killed a dozen times over the past few years,” Red said.
That was true enough.
Brendan released Red and began pacing himself. “The fellow is clever, too clever. I mean, what fool transporting such treasure would dare such a brazen ploy? God knows, most pirates would not have bowed to such a bargain.”
Red sank down on the elaborate sofa that flanked the handsome mahogany desk. “No?” The reply was dry. “I seem to recall successfully using a similar ploy against the great Blackbeard himself.”
Brendan paused and stared at Red. “Blackbeard told me he was amazed when he met you, fascinated, and that he thought you such a pretty boy it amused him not to kill you. He seemed quite baffled by his own response.”
“I beat even the great Edward Teach fairly,” Red told him indignantly.
Brendan shook his head. “Only because at first he was laughing so hard that he underestimated you. He knew you were a woman, Bobbie. He admired you tremendously.”
“A good thing, since he is still a friend and has kept my secret,” she said sharply. “And that is the thing, Brendan. Most the fellows we run into are vermin-ridden and desperate men, keen on making their fortunes—yet easily swayed by a bottle of rum and a whore. But even those filthy, rotten-toothed knaves usually have a certain honor. Honor among thieves, if you will. But they have shown more honor than most of the supposedly respectable noblemen with whom we’ve come in contact. They adhere to the pirate’s code of ethics. We did nothing less today.”
“I fear he knows,” Brendan said darkly.
“So what? Our whole crew knows,” she pointed out.
“The whole crew worships you. You saved them from certain death,” he reminded her. “An act you might have found yourself hanged for, by law.”
She shrugged. At the time, there had been nothing else to do. That had been her first act as a pirate. She had done exceptionally well, taking everything into consideration. “We might have died, as well. There was no guarantee for the future when we began. We were already impersonating others, even then.”
A quick smile curled Brendan’s lips. “You did go from being Lady Cuthbert to Red Robert with amazing speed. You could have done remarkably well on the stage.”
Red had been smiling, as well, but now her smile faded. “Aye, and what good would a life on the stage do me? I’d be considered no more than a harlot at that, either.”
“You would live to a grand old age, perhaps,” Brendan said.
“That wouldn’t be living. Brendan, I cannot forget…”
“That’s evident. Your screams are terrible. I thank God I was able to transform that closet around the corner into a first-mate’s chamber. If you scream so and I cannot stop you before you are heard, we will be in serious trouble.”
“The nightmare hasn’t come in almost a year,” she said.
Brendan went to his knees at her feet, touching her cheek tenderly. “We are living a dangerous lie. A very dangerous lie.”
She touched his face in return. “I’m all right. I swear it. I will not dream again.”
“You can’t know that! We need to—”
“Turn back?”
“Aye, Bobbie, we must turn back.”
Roberta stood again. “I will never turn back.”
“But, Bobbie…”
She stared at him, minus the dark wig, minus the boots and knives and pistols, the coat and the plumed hat. Her real hair was red, and it streamed down her back in soft glistening curls in the glow of the lamplight. She knew that, minus her trappings, she appeared almost frail and ethereal. She knew and loved her own crew, especially Hagar, who had been their friend before. They would never harm her, and they would die before they saw her harmed. But her facade was a strong one, because it was necessary. And no matter how she appeared in the dead of night, in truth, the ruthlessness she showed in pursuit of her cause, the strength and determination, were now the reality of who she was.
“There are no buts, Brendan. Now, beloved cousin, we both need to get some sleep.”
“I still fear he knows,” Brendan said dourly.
She smiled at him sweetly. “Then he’ll have to die.”
“I STILL SAY YOU take too many risks.”
Logan was startled, in his prison below the deck, by the words he heard so clearly. He’d spent the last two days in a small hold, walled away from the cargo. At some point it might have been private quarters for a ship’s officer, but now it was barren of anything—anything at all. It was a ten-by-ten wooden space, but there were two small horizontal windows, perhaps ten inches long and three inches high, and he had listened at them constantly, hearing whatever he could of the crew’s conversations.
They hadn’t said much. But after two days of solitude broken only by the arrival of a tray of food three times a day, along with fresh water and a small portion of rum, any conversation was, if not elucidating, at least momentarily entertaining.
He’d wondered frequently just how long his imprisonment would last. It was certainly not the worst punishment he might have received. No whips had been brought against his back, he hadn’t been starved, or threatened with death or mutilation…but the monotony, after only two days, was numbing. He’d spent his first hours seeking a means of escape, then sought for one again, even when he realized there was but one door and it was kept closed by a massive lock. The crew were diligent and took no chances. Several armed men came to the door each time food was delivered.
He spent hours mock-dueling with himself with no sword, hours pacing the small confines, and hours thinking. The thinking he tried to stop. It led him nowhere.
This time, though, it was very late in the night, and the ship had been quiet for hours. And the voices he heard now belonged to Red Robert and his first mate, Brendan.
Red let out a soft chuckle. “Ah, but what is life but risk?”
“Yes, but up until now you’ve had a plan, and now…now you’re risking your life.”
“Brendan, stop this obsession. We risk our lives every morning when we awake and take a breath.”
Brendan let out a sigh of aggravation.
“You shouldn’t have kept the prisoner.”
“I should have killed them all?”
“No.” There was a silence. “Damned good ship,