The BRITISH BLOOD TRILOGY (Loving Her Duke - First: Hating Her King - Second: Saving Her Prince - Third)
March 1822
Fire tore through the ship, setting the night in a blaze of chaos and destruction. The ladder leading down into the vessel had collapsed, cutting off the descent, and ascent of the pirates. Shouts erupted around them as smoke billowed upward, darkening the sky.
Brand stood frozen, paralysed by agony and fear—fear not for himself, but for the man that was beside him, bent over, clutching a bleeding wound at his side. The agony was his own though. A blinding pain shot through the gash across his chest, and his skin still seared from where a burning beam had struck him as it fell, landing on his shoulder.
"Stephen," he managed, his voice trembling.
"No," Stephen replied, shaking his head as he pushed Brand toward the ship's edge. "Go!" The word strained against the man's lips, barely more than a rasp. "Go now! Get to the starboard!"
Brand came again to him. "You are wounded."
"I am very much aware." Stephen gasped, his breaths shallow. "Go now! And make certain Balfour is made to answer for his transgressions."
Brand gritted his teeth, the pain in his leg sharp and undeniable as it tore through him. He clutched it, beginning to realise it was likely broken. "I cannot leave you here."
"And your_ your dying would serve what pur_ what purpose?" Stephen wheezed, forcing his words between laboured breaths. "N_now go!" He made to push Brand away but only relented to lean on him for support. When he tried to speak again, he coughed up blood.
Brand's eyes widened. "Stephen…"
"Go!" Stephen continued, refusing the help that was being offered. He managed to stand upright. "The king rides even closer as we speak. Escape now, and you may reach him before Balfour reaches you."
"I cannot leave you here."
"He should be just a few hours away."
"Stephen…"
"Now Brand!" He yelled. "I am through. There is no remedy for my wound, not for the amount of blood I have lost." He held onto Brand's shoulders, seeking support and Brand was all too ready to offer it. Blood pooled at their feet.
"I do not want to leave you here."
"But you must." He groaned. "When I was taken many years ago, I wished for my family to pay the ransom," his voice shook, "when they would not, I prayed a rescuer would come. I find myself now in the position of a rescuer, let me do this."
Brand did not want to leave him behind, tale or not, he did not wish to leave the man who had saved him from the hands of those worthless men.
But before he could respond, a shout echoed from behind. "There they are! They are heading to the starboard!" The distant voice rang out, urgent and close.
They turned.
The sound of pounding footsteps rushed towards them, heavy against the wooden boards. Brand gritted his teeth, struggling to stand tall and support the swaying man, despite the agony in his broken leg. He pulled Stephen's sword, gripped it tightly, ready to fight. He surely was not trained in the ways of war, but he would fight to protect his life. His heart pounded wildly, threatening to burst from his chest. Fear gnawed at him, but he steeled his expression, refusing to let the vile men see it. They would not rejoice over his defeat. Against him, Stephen groaned.
The man he hated the most, their captor came to stand before them. Balfour Finlay.
"The boy wants to fight me," Balfour sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. The men behind him laughed, their eyes gleaming. "Do not throw yer life away, boy. Surrender now, and spare yourself. Resist, and I shall take ye by force, and ye will suffer for it."
"I have no wish to surrender." Brand declared, frightened even by his own boldness.
"A mighty mistake," Balfour replied coldly.
"I think not." Beside him, Stephen gruntled, pushing himself to stand upright.
He was still clutching the wound on his side. "It is time to set him free, Balfour."
Balfour scoffed, waving off the plea. "I shall approach yer deceit and betrayal later." He declared and took a menacing step forward, his eyes hard.
In a swift motion, Stephen snatched the sword from Brand's hand, and he was pushed back against the starboard. "Stay back," he warned the approaching man.
"Do not be a fool, me good man," Balfour spat, his face twisting in disdain. "Ye're wounded and dying. Do ye truly believe ye can stand against me? There is one of ye—and four of us."
"One?" Brand's hand tightened at his side. He might not be a warrior, but he could still defend himself.
"I do not care." Stephen returned. "I might die here, but bloody hell, I shall not be alone."
Balfour let out a low, mocking laugh, but sobered up immediately. His eyes turned cold. "I shall dance over yer body."
"You should have freed him long ago." Stephen coughed. "All was settled."
"I wished for more," Balfour sneered.
"The king would have our heads if he ever finds us."
Balfour's expression darkened. "I shall have yers first, ye fool," then pointing at Brand said, "and then his." At once, he lunged forward with ruthless speed, and rendered a blow that made Stephen double over, gasping. Another blow hurled the injured man effortlessly to the ground, sending his sword clattering away from him.
"Stephen!" Brand stumbled forward, pulling his injured leg along. "Stephen!" he shouted, falling by his side.
Stephen spluttered, struggling to turn onto his back. His face was red with pain. "I still live." He spat.
"You bastard!" Brand yelled, reaching for Stephen's sword, but before he could close the distance, a hard blow came at him, connecting with his face.
Pain exploded across his cheek, consuming him. His vision blurred and he staggered backward, collapsing to the deck. His head felt near exploding, the voices filtered through the dark haze.
"Ye destroyed me ship! Setting it ablaze! For this boy?!" Balfour yelled loudly and in fury.
"He is a prince. A child only, when you took him."
"It matters nothing."
"His ransom was paid!"
"It was not a ransom that was paid, yer fool!" Another yell. "It was payment for his arrest."
A pause.
"Where is your honour?"
Balfour gave a short, mirthless giggle. "I am a pirate. I care not for honour."
"The king would have offered more if you had but asked. His coffers overflow with gold." Stephen murmured. Clutching his side, a cough accompanied a pained gasp.
"Perhaps I should have, but an arrangement was made with his life." Balfour said, pointing to Brand. Then he turned his head slightly and chuckled. "I suppose I do possess some honour."
Dazed and battered, Brand struggled to his feet, his limbs trembling as he fought against the throbbing in his temple. His vision swam, but he forced himself upright. "You were paid? But not for ransom?"
Balfour turned to him, a sneer twisting his lips. "I was promised business and freedom to do as I will."
Promised freedom? By Alexander? It could not be. Brand's face twisted in pain and disbelief. Alexander would never risk the kingdom and his throne to protect his life. He would have paid as was demanded, double even, but would offer no freedom to the enemy of his people. Except it was a ploy to capture his trust and later destroy him.
Stephen struggled to sit, his voice strained. A mighty pool of blood surrounded him now. "Let the prince go, and the king might yet spare you."
Balfour's eyes hardened. "There is no other outcome, but his death or mine." He spat on the ground and grabbed Stephen's sword. "Ye care for the boy so much, then protect him as ye must, but in death."
No!
Brand started for them, but another man grabbed him roughly, sending him back against the ship's side. Balfour's sword lifted above his head, its blade gleaming in the firelight before it plunged mercilessly into Stephen's chest. Brand's eyes widened as a cold wave of horror swept over him. Silence smothered the crackling flames and roaring chaos so much so that the only sound he could hear was his own laboured breathing.
Slowly, Balfour pulled the sword free, and Stephen's body slumped to the side, his lifeless gaze staring into the void. Soon enough, his eyes rolled back into their lids and his lashes fell on his cheeks.
Silence reigned, heavy and suffocating.