LITMIR.BIZ

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Logan said, knowing he must sacrifice pride for the sake of his men’s lives.

      “What?” Jamie demanded. “Pirates have no honor.”

      “Aye, they do. More than many a supposed great man,” Logan said. “Send up the flag. Demand parley. I will negotiate with her captain.”

      “Negotiate?” Jamie protested. “There can be no negotiation—”

      “If not, we are dead men. Bring our flag to half-mast. I will deal our way out of this,” Logan said.

      “Deal with a pirate captain? He’ll skewer you through.”

      “Not if he wishes to keep the respect of his men,” Logan assured him. “For the love of God, man, we are running out of time. Do as I say.”

      Despite Jamie’s protest and the wary looks upon the faces of his men, in twenty minutes time they were broadside the pirate and not a cannon had been fired. Logan stood with his men, staring across at the handsome rigging of the pirate ship, while the crew of privateers stared at them, grinning, totally aware that they had the upper hand.

      Grappling hooks and strong rope bound them as tightly together as lovers locked in an intimate embrace.

      “Your captain, my fine fellows!” Logan shouted. “Where is your captain? I demand to see your captain.”

      “You demand?” one peg-legged man jeered.

      “Indeed. It is my right to demand negotiation, not even though you be pirates but because you be pirates. If you refuse me, you are cursed and damned, and well you know it.”

      He had counted on the superstitious bent of sailing men, and he had not been mistaken. The surly crew muttered softly and looked uncertainly from one to another.

      Then, through the crowd upon the deck, strode the captain, a slender young man, clean-shaven, with rich dark hair curled beneath a broad-brimmed feathered hat. His coat was red velvet, and beneath it, his shirt was white as snow. He was tall with features that belonged on a Greek statue rather than a rogue at sea. He wore great black cuffed boots, and despite the elegance of his countenance, he walked with assurance, and the pistols and knife sheathed at his broad belt meant business, as did the long sword that hung by his side.

      “Good heavens, men, don’t let this gentleman disarm you so quickly. He is cleverly attempting to save his own hide,” the pirate captain chided, stepping forward. “But not even because it is his supposed right to negotiate, but because he deems himself so clever, I am willing to take the time to have a word with the man.”

      “Whatever your reason, I appreciate it, good Captain…?” Logan said, waiting for a name.

      “My flag tells it all,” the captain said. “I’m known as Red Robert.”

      “You are an Englishman,” Logan said, as if to remind the pirate he had attacked one of his countrymen. Though the days of so-called privateering were behind them, many a sea robber still did not prey upon his own kind.

      “I am not an Englishman, I assure you.”

      Red Robert had apparently made his assessment already.

      His name, Logan reflected, was bandied about in many a tavern. It was one that caused even the brave to tremble, for the stories that went about were fearsome.

      He had not expected a man who looked so young. Then again, pirates rarely survived many years, at least, not at piracy. They were killed, or they took what riches they had obtained, changed their names and created new lives on distant islands or in out-of-theway towns.

      Logan spoke again, aware that he had to do so with a certain eloquence if he intended to achieve his goal of keeping his men alive, whatever his own fate.

      He took a step forward. “I, good Captain Robert, am Logan Haggerty, Lord of Loch Emery, with no emphasis on the title, for were it worthy of great land or riches, you’d not be finding me here upon the high seas. What I seek is the right of man-to-man combat.”

      “Hmm, do tell,” Red Robert said.

      “If you best me with your sword, you have gained a good ship and great riches without spilling an ounce of blood other than my own, or chancing the loss of treasure to the bottom of the sea, and without risking the lives and limbs of your men.”

      “And if you best me, m’lord?” Red Robert inquired with polite amusement.

      “Then we sail away.”

      Red Robert seemed to weigh his words with gravity. But then he said, “Surely you are jesting.”

      “Are you afraid?” Logan demanded, assessing the pirate captain’s slender frame and apparent youth, which made a strange contrast indeed against the hardened edge of the sea robbers surrounding him.

      “This is not a profession for one who is afraid,” Red Robert returned casually. “Don’t be deceived by my youth, Lord Haggerty. I am more than proficient with my weapons.”

      One well-muscled man standing at the pirate captain’s side—not much older, but far stronger and broader—whispered in Red Robert’s ear, causing him to laugh.

      “This may be some trick, Red,” one of the other men warned, a fellow with long gray hair, a large gold earring and his fingers twitching on the hilt of the knife at his waist.

      “No trick,” Logan said quietly.

      “No fear, Hagar,” Red said, acknowledging the man who had spoken. “And no deal.” He turned to Logan. “However, here is what I do offer. If you best me, you do not sail away free. After all, m’lord, you surely knew you traveled dangerous waters.” When Logan would have spoken, Red Robert raised his hand. “Your men live. They may sail away free with half the treasure. But you remain with us, a willing prisoner, to be held for ransom.”

      “I’ve told you. My title means little.”

      “And so the daring voyage you attempted today?” Red Robert mocked.

      Logan stood his ground without reply, though his heart seemed to shrivel at the thought of never seeing Cassandra again. Still, his men would live to sail away.

      If he could win.

      And, God help him, the fellow was lean, which would make him quick. Agile. A deadly foe.

      Though far broader in the shoulder himself, and not without a fair share of power in his arms, he was agile, as well. He’d trained with some of the finest swordsmen money could buy, since it was only recently that the family fortunes had taken such a sad turn.

      His men. He had to save his men, God help him. He’d had every right to gamble with his own life, but he had been wrong to risk theirs, as well. And if he could best this captain…

      “I will be your willing prisoner. But I would ask, then, that even if I lose, you take the treasure but give my men the tenders so that they might make safe landfall.”

      Red Robert shrugged.

      The tall, dark-haired fellow at his side protested. “No.”

      The captain turned on him with such a fierce look of displeasure that the man stepped back and hung his head. “Brendan,” Red said warningly.

      The captain had a curious voice, Logan thought. He seemed eternally soft-spoken. Strange, for someone who needed to bellow orders against the wind. There was a husky, almost whispered quality to his voice.

      “Aye, Red,” the man named Brendan replied, but despite his immediate acknowledgment that Red was captain and his orders stood, he was rigidly disapproving.

      “It is done,” Red Robert said.

      “This is madness,” Jamie protested softly to Logan. “A trick, certainly. They will not let us go. They will not forego half of such a treasure.”

      “It is madness,” Logan agreed. Madness from the moment he had agreed to transport

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