Kent bowed graciously. "Milady."
"Master Kent." Charlisse wiped tears from her face and rushed toward him, casting an anxious glance at the door. "How did you get out of the hold?"
Kent fingered his mustache, his eyes alight with mischief. "The captain released me." He lifted his brows. "I suppose he saw the error of his ways."
His hungry gaze scoured her. Charlisse felt a twinge of apprehension, but wouldn't let it squelch the hope that had sprung upon his entrance. True, the man had challenged Merrick, but no doubt he had his reasons. Whatever they may be, they didn't preclude him being the gentleman he seemed to be. Should Merrick not reconsider his stance, perhaps Kent could help her escape when they got to Port Royal.
Charlisse swirled around, wringing her hands. "I'm afraid the captain is a bit angry with me at the moment."
Boots thumped on the wooden floor and two strong hands clutched her shoulders. "Indeed, he can be a brute, as you have no doubt witnessed. Quite a savage, if you ask me. Why you wouldn't believe the number of women he's enslaved in this cabin over the years. Ah, the atrocities."
Alarm spiked through Charlisse, sending her heart into a rapid beat. Somehow she could not believe that, not of the captain, not after the respectful way in which he'd treated her.
Kent leaned down. The scent of rum and leather assailed her. "That is why I'm hereto treat you in the manner a true lady deserves." His warm breath washed over her neck.
Jerking from his grasp, Charlisse stepped back. A lewd desire burned in his eyes that she'd not noticed before. "Perhaps you should leave. Merrick said he was returning shortly."
"Is that so?" He approached her, hand on his chin, staring off into space. "Hmm …" His eyes came alert. "I believe you are mistaken. I have just seen himquite inebriated, I might addup on deck singing into a bottle of rum."
Charlisse began to tremble.
"Surely he has passed out by now." Kent flung a jeweled hand in the air. "So unlike our pious captain, don't you think?"
Charlisse inched backward.
Kent's dark eyes perused her. His broad chest heaved, and his muscled arms twitched near the cutlass hanging at his side. He moved toward her. Charlisse's insides crumbled.
"I will scream." She leapt on the bed and darted off the other side then backed against the window.
"Go ahead, milady. No one will hear you. Everyone on this ship has passed out. Even your friend Sloane is fast asleep."
He pounced on her. Charlisse screamed. He covered her mouth and dragged her toward the door. She groaned and grunted under his heavy hand. Still no one came.
His skin pressed between her teeth and she bit down. Kent jerked back. He backhanded her cheek, sending her flying to the floor. "I'll teach you to bite me, wench!"
Heat radiated across her face. She tasted blood and stared at the floorboards, panting, a thousand terrifying thoughts passing through her mind.
He yanked her to her feet. Pain lanced her shoulder as he dragged her to the desk. Grabbing one of Merrick's scarves, he stuffed it in her mouth and tied it behind her head. She struggled, but he was too strong. Swinging her over his shoulder, he headed out the door and down the stairs.
They passed several sleeping pirates. Charlisse squealed, grunted, and groaned, but they did not even stir. She pounded his back, but she might as well be striking steel. Where is Merrick? Where is Sloane? This can't be happening.
At the bottom of the stairs, Kent carried her down a narrow aisle. He arrived at a closed door, kicked it open, dropped her onto a pile of lumpy burlap sacks, and slammed the door behind him.
"Hmm, you were more trouble than I expected," he said, loosening the neckerchief at his throat. He began to unbutton his doublet.
Charlisse's eyes darted around the room, looking for anything she could use to defend herself. Only crates, drums, and sacks met her gaze, and they were no match for Kent's weapons. Pulling the scarf from her mouth, she screamed.
Kent smiled, wearing a look of insolent victory. "They won't hear you down here." He threw his pistols onto a crate. They clanked against the wood, out of Charlisse's reach. "In fact, soon you will be screaming with delight, I assure you."
He slunk toward her. Charlisse backed away. How familiar this feeling was. How many times had she felt cornered, trapped like a fish in a net, weak and defenseless? How many times had she been unable to control what was happening to her, unable to hide, unable to turn off the horror?
Kent drew his knife and leaned over her.
"Please don't," she implored in a last-ditch effort to appeal to any core of decency within him. But his eyes were cold and intent.
"Maybe I can't have the captain's ship just yet, but I can have his woman." He leveled his knife at her throat and sliced her gown down the front.
Charlisse thrashed beneath him, kicking and clawing. She pounded him with her fists. But he only laughed at her efforts. A trickle of blood stained her bodice as he cut through the lacings.
"Now look what you've done." Kent's smile faded.
Grabbing her by the remnants of her gown, he lifted her and ripped it from her body, leaving her clad in only her torn petticoat. He pushed her down and climbed on top of her, pinning her arms to the floor with his weight. His rum-drenched breath fanned over her face. His eyes were filled with rage.
Charlisse couldn't move. She was going to be ravished, and there was nothing to be done about itno one here to rescue her, no one who even knew where she was, except perhaps God. If he existed. Yet hadn't she cried out to him more than once since she'd left London? Somehow, she had survived each of those treacherous events. Had he answered her prayers or was it merely luck? "God, help me," she whispered.
A blast exploded. The door burst open, slamming against the wall. The splintered floorboards vibrated beneath Charlisse's back. Terror screamed from Kent's face before he was lifted off her and thrown backward. He hit the wall with a thud. His knife flew from his hand. Merrick charged him, holding him against the wall by the sheer force of his wrath.
Charlisse sat up and covered herself with the remnants of her gown.
Merrick threw Kent across the room. He tumbled over a crate but quickly righted himself. His furious eyes scanned the room, searching for his knife. He whipped out his boarding ax and barreled toward Merrick with the fury of a wild animal.
The captain drew his cutlass to stop the oncoming blow and sliced Kent's hand. The ax flew through the air. Weaponless, Kent rushed toward Merrick and slammed his shoulder into Merrick's body. The two men careened against the far wall. Merrick's cutlass fell from his grasp and clattered to the floor.
Kent pummeled Merrick in the stomach. He slugged him in the jaw. The captain doubled over.
Terror gripped Charlisse. Get up, Merrick! Get up! Please don't leave me alone with him!
The first mate stood over his captain, panting and gloating. He raised his hands to land a final blow on Merrick's back. The captain, in a burst of rage, sprang up and struck Kent hard across the face. His head swerved, spurting a circle of blood.
Merrick backed him against a tall stack of crates. He clutched the first mate's shirt and thrashed his head over and over against the hard wood.
"I didn't do anything to her!" Kent yelled.
Sloane burst into the room, a look of horror on his face. Merrick continued pounding Kent's head against the wall. The first mate's body flopped lifeless with each thrust, but Sloane made no move to stop him. Charlisse had to do something. No matter what kind of monster Kent was, she could not watch him be battered to death.
She grabbed one of Kent's pistols still lying on the crate. Dropping her torn dress, she lifted the heavy weapon with both hands and pointed it at the ceiling. Turning her head, she closed her eyes and squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. The pounding continued and Kent's moans grew softer. She shook the pistol and tried again. This time it exploded with a loud crack and a burst of flame that forced her backward. The weapon flew from her hands and landed with a clank, still smoking. The sharp smell of gunpowder filled the tiny room.
Both the captain and Sloane swerved around ready to face a new opponent. Sloane grabbed the hilt of his cutlass, ready to draw, but stopped when he saw Charlisse. She retrieved her dress and stood trembling.
Kent slid to the floor. Merrick's breath heaved as his gaze moved from Charlisse to Sloane and back again.
"How did he escape?" Sloane asked.
Merrick shook his head and took a step back. "Don't know," he huffed. "Take him and lock him up. Post a guard this time."
Nodding, Sloane lifted the battered Kent and helped the man stagger from the room.
"Are you hurt?" Merrick rushed to Charlisse and reached for her, but she retreated.
She could not stop her body from trembling. She had so resigned herself to the fate of Kent's violation that even when Merrick tossed the fiend from her, her mind could not accept her deliverance. Too many times had she cried out to God for help and too often been disappointed. Now, surely she must be dreaming.
Her champion stood before her, but she could only see the unrestrained rage in his eyes that had almost killed Kent. It did nothing to comfort her.
His breath came hard. Sweat glistened on his chest. Fury shouted from his eyes. Every muscle strained taut, ready to strike. He took a deep breath and shoved his hair back before holding his hand out to her again. "I won't hurt you."
Charlisse hesitated, searching his eyes, wanting to trust, needing his comfort and protection more than anything, but still so unsure. Holding her torn dress up to her chin, she shivered, feeling her legs begin to give way.
Merrick's eyes, normally mischievous and taunting, now carried a warmth she had not seen before. But was it genuine? She could not survive trusting another man only to be betrayed.