Part 23 (1/2)

And he got that distraction as the gun turret aimed in his direction. He ducked when it fired, shattering rock over his head. The Heirs' mercenaries added their rifle fire to the a.s.sault. Bennett wheeled away, flattening his back against the rocks of the cliff. More chips of gravel as bullets whined and slammed into the cliffs, barely a foot above his head.

He watched the caique slowly moving through the shoals. Halfway there. London was almost safe. But not yet.

He turned back to the strait and the Heirs' s.h.i.+p. Kneeling, he braced himself on one knee, and shot.

A man went down. Bennett never liked to kill, but he couldn't afford to be naive. If he had a chance to take out a threat-especially to London-he'd take it, and face the consequences of his conscience later.

None of the fallen man's comrades paid him any heed. They kicked the body aside as they sent a volley of bullets Bennett's way. The gun in the turret added its contribution.

More rocks tumbled down on him, blasted free from the cliff. He glanced up. Not only was the aim of the Heirs' mercenaries improving as their s.h.i.+p neared, but he'd be flattened by rocks as his cover crumbled.

He ducked back as several boulders crashed down. His mouth curved in a tight smile. The Heirs just provided him with more cover.

He repositioned himself behind the boulders before resuming his sniping. Bullets slammed into the boulders as he fired-the men on deck had already arrayed themselves to get a better angle on him. The gun turret wasn't as speedy as it swung around.

The cannons had almost completely decimated the stone pillars, which meant the Heirs could be even closer, could take better aim at the boat. He chanced a look back at the caique. Nearly there. London was nearly safe.

Something stung his cheek. He touched a hand to his face and it came away red. So much for his pretty face. But he really didn't give a d.a.m.n.

He took out three more men, but, h.e.l.l, none of them were Heirs. Doubtless Edgeworth had himself safely secreted away in the bowels of the s.h.i.+p, content to let others kill and die for him. Even Fraser and that vulture Chernock were nowhere to be found.

Just as he was reloading his rifle, London's voice carried across the water as she called his name. Even the sound of her sent his pulse speeding faster than it had been moments earlier, exchanging gunfire with his enemies.

”Come back, Bennett!” she called. ”We're almost clear!”

He fired off one more salvo before starting his sprint for the caique. It was a full-out run, racing not only the Heirs' guns, but the caique. In a moment, the sailboat would make open water. He'd rather be stranded than have them turn back for him, or he could swim for it, but he hoped he wouldn't have to pick between those options.

Another sting at his shoulder. h.e.l.l. He couldn't let himself be wounded. There wasn't b.l.o.o.d.y time for it.

He ran, legs churning in the water. The caique was half a mile off, but it felt farther out as he skirted the twisted opening in the shoals and dodged bullets.

Finally, lifetimes later, lungs and legs burning, he came alongside the caique. When London's face appeared over the rail, his heart gave a leap. Jesus, was he glad to see her. She and Athena reached down and, with groans of strain from everyone, hauled him up, just before the boat cleared the shoals.

The three of them fell onto the deck of the caique in a heap. For a mere moment, Bennett allowed himself the pleasure of feeling London beside him, her limbs tangled with his, her breath against his face.

She raised herself up on an elbow, and her eyes widened as she looked at him. ”You're hurt!”

”Kitten scratch.”

Her scowl was fierce and beautiful. Before she could scold him, Kallas's command sent them all hurrying to their positions. They adjusted the sails to let the wind carry them as fast as possible from the shoals and the island. And the Heirs, still negotiating the strait, continued to fire on them.

Kallas proved himself again, harnessing the wind and currents to speed them away. Bennett didn't allow himself a sigh of relief until the boat was well out of the cannons' range. Even when the Heirs' s.h.i.+p breached the strait, there was still the matter of the serpentine shoals. Not only was their vessel much bigger than Kallas's caique, they also didn't have his uncanny seafaring knowledge to see them through the dangerous sand banks.

”I think, for now, we have bested them,” Athena said. She strode to the captain and seemed to debate for a moment whether she should throw her arms around him. Instead, the witch settled for a congratulatory handshake. ”Nicely handled, Captain,” she said.

Kallas accepted it with a wry smile. ”And to you, Lady Witch.”

Athena released the captain's hand and went to Bennett. She tsked when examining his wounds, but said, ”These will heal quickly with a poultice.”

”Later,” said Bennett.

He watched as London carefully tied off the jib and then lowered herself to sit on the deck, hands pressed to the center of her chest.

Alive. She'd made it through alive. And only slightly bruised instead of crushed under a boulder or smashed to pieces by a giant stone pillar or shot by cannons. Or captured by the Heirs. Jesus. Bennett needed a drink.

”You'll need to repaint your boat,” Athena said to Kallas.

Bennett adjusted the mainsail, tied it off, then went to London. He needed to touch her, to hold her.

”I'm fine,” she said as he approached.

”I'm not.” He gathered her up in his arms and held her tightly, his heart beating against hers.

When he felt her shuddering, his heart wrenched. She wasn't a Blade, with danger an old, familiar friend. What the h.e.l.l was he thinking, dragging her into jeopardy? London was a woman bred to the salons of the gentry-cultured, erudite, not a gallivanting fool like him.

”Please, love, don't cry,” he murmured into her hair.

Then she looked up at him. And his heart stuttered then pulsed back to life.

She was laughing.

”That was exciting,” she said. Her whole body shook with laughter, her dark eyes sparkling.

Something melted inside Bennett. ”Exciting?” he demanded. Then, ”It was, wasn't it?”

His fear was gone, replaced by unbound happiness-not merely from cheating death again, but from London's joy, her limitless hunger for experience. His head spun with it; he felt his blood throughout his whole body, thundering to life.

At once, he hardened. He needed inside of her. Now.

She caught the instant need in his eyes. Her laughter quieted and was replaced by her own immediate desire. Her hips pushed against his so he felt the warmth of her cradling his pulsing c.o.c.k. Their kiss was a hot explosion, deep and desperate. She clung to him as he pulled her close, as close as possible. The wet heat of her mouth, her searching hands. Holy G.o.d, she was a h.e.l.l of a woman.

Without speaking, he broke the kiss, took her hand in his, and strode with her toward the quarterdeck house. They would go to his cabin. Or hers. He didn't care.

”Aphrodite and Adonis,” Kallas said, dry, ”before you run off into the woods, we've a few more matters to address.”

Growling, Bennett rounded on the captain. d.a.m.n it, Kallas was right. But tell that to his body, his body that wanted London so badly Bennett felt he could power dozens of steam engines with the heat of his desire.

”We sail east now,” London said. The husky undercurrent in her voice nearly undid Bennett.

”Toward what?” asked Athena.

Bennett glanced at the mirror, lying on a table in the quarterdeck house. Its surface cast a reflective circle of light onto the roof of the small structure. ”Toward wherever the Source wants us to go.”

London, holding the mirror in her hands, stared down at it. Her own face looked back at her with searching eyes. If she had been back in England, in some acquaintance's drawing room, her appearance would have qualified as an utter disaster. Hair in wind-tossed snarls, face dusted with freckles, gown stained with seawater.