Page 187 of Storm over the Caribbean
Just then I noticed: all the guns that had previously been pointing at us, were now exclusively pointed at him.
Blast! That daft, blockheaded son of a bachelor! How could he do something so stupid, so insane, so…
…loving?
Shut up, stupid inner voice.
But what exactly did he mean to achieve by putting himself between me and two dozen loaded guns? Was he planning to block all the bullets with his body? Did he think he was made out of rock?
…
On second thought, cancel that question. He might actually have a point.
Not that this made me worry any less, though. Carefully, I positioned myself in Mr Ambrose’s shadow in such a way that I could slip my hand underneath my tailcoat without being seen. Inch by inch, it moved closer to my pistol. I wasnotgoing to just lie down and die for a Frenchman! The Duke of Wellington would turn over in his grave!
“You…!” The word that escaped Lachance was nothing more than a hiss. “Do you know what I do to people who betray me?”
“Pay them even more money?”
The Frenchman’s entire body jerked, as if he were barely resisting throwing himself at my husband. And not the same way I did on my wedding night.
“Maybe I won’t finish you off immediately,mon ami.” The man’s dark eyes flashed. “Maybe I’ll leave your remnants for my men to take care of. Would you like that?”
“I doubt very much that will happen.”
Lachance stepped forward. One gesture to his men, and they tightened the ring around us. The Frenchman smiled. “You’re awfully confident for a man about to die.”
“I am not about to die.”
“Oh?” Lachance’s smile turned into a sneer. “You’re two against two dozen. Do you have reason to think you can win?”
“No.” Mr Ambrose shook his head. “Not yet.”
“Huh?”
That was when Mr Rikkard Ambrose pulled a pocket watch out of his tailcoat pocket and let it snap open. What the heck was he doing?
“Three…two…one…”
“Aaarrr!”
That sound. That sweet, sublime, piratical sound. A broad smile spread across my face as dozens, no, hundreds of raggedly dressed men armed with sabres, pistols and cutlasses flooded around the corner of the path leading to the beach, roaring their heads off. Before anyone could even blink, the first gunshot sounded and the first of the Frenchman’s goons went down. The next fell over with a cutlass in his back. The others whirled around—only to get another round of lead in the face. A mere few seconds had passed, and, aside from us and the pirates, Lachance was the only man left standing.
“Now…you were saying something about me dying?” Eyes glittering coldly, Mr Ambrose stepped towards the suddenly rather pale Frenchman. “I do not like these conditions. Let’s renegotiate our contract.”
Did I mention that I have a badass husband?
***
Ten minutes later, we were safely on the high seas, and Monsieur Lachance was tied to a mast with a gaggle of grinning pirates around him. To judge by the look on his face, he very much did not appreciate the view.
Hm…I had no idea that pirates were this useful. Should I bring some of them back to London?I grinned.I know a few people who would benefit from being tied to a mast on a pirate ship. My twin sisters, for instance…
I was abruptly torn from my fantasies of standing cackling over Anne and Maria, armed with a cutlass and wearing a suitably piratical eyepatch, by a muffled growl coming from the direction of the mast. Glancing up, I caught sight of a certain Frenchman trying to chew through the gag in his mouth.
“What was that?” Mr Ambrose cupped a hand behind his ear. “I didn’t quite catch that.”
The pirates all around burst into laughter.
