Sapphire Dream by Pamela Montgomerie Page B

starved.
    “And my crew?”
    “They let us go. The lads are in town awaiting another ship to sign aboard.”
    “Hegarty?”
    Mr. Baker set a small leather pouch in front of Rourke that rattled with coins when it hit the table. A letter quickly joined the purse.
    Brenna glanced at the latter with dismay. She needed to find Hegarty. A letter was not a good sign.
    “He made me vow to wait for you here or he’d turn me into a toad. He said to give you these.”
    “Where’s the rest of it?” Rourke growled, his eyes suddenly narrowed, his expression fierce.
    The poor man paled and visibly shrank back in his seat. “ ’ Twas all he gave me, your—Captain. I vow it.” He leaned over and picked up something from the floor. “I brought your boots and weapons. You left them on the deck when you dove into the water.”
    Rourke traded the borrowed boots for his own, then shoved his own gun into his belt beside the waterlogged one he’d taken from the bluecoat when they first got to shore. As a serving maid set mugs of ale in front of them, Rourke grabbed his sailor’s oatmeal and began shoveling it into his mouth. When he was through, he picked up the letter and turned it over.
    “The seal is broken.”
    “ ’ Twasn’t me, Captain.”
    Rourke frowned as he pulled out the letter and read it. The frown turned into a scowl. “I’m going to kill him.”
    “Hegarty?” Brenna asked, drawing his cold gaze.
    “Aye. He’s left. We are to meet him”—he visibly clenched his jaw—“several days’ ride from here.”
    Brenna made a croak of dismay. Days? She couldn’t possibly stay here for days .
    “Captain?” Mr. Baker nodded pointedly at her. “The Earl of Slains’s soldiers were asking about your lady. They’re turning the town inside out looking for her.”
    Brenna’s mug stilled halfway to her mouth. “Why would they be looking for me ?” Unless they’d somehow figured out she and Rourke were the ones who’d killed the bluecoats.
    Rourke drained his mug in a single gulp, then rose and grabbed her wrist. “Come. We must be away.”
    Brenna glanced longingly at the few remaining bites of ham. “Do we have to—?”
    They’d barely taken two steps when the door burst open behind them.
    “ ’ Tis she!” Cutter shouted, two bluecoats close behind him. “Brenna Cameron!”
    Brenna’s jaw went slack as Rourke drew his sword, an icy numbness spreading through her. Brenna Cameron? How in the world did he know her name? She’d told no one. No one.
    Mr. Baker drew his own sword and moved between them and Cutter. “Run, Captain. I’ll hold them off.”
    Rourke hesitated only a second before pulling her through the kitchen and out the back door into the fog-shrouded sunshine.
    “Run, Wildcat.”
    Brenna tore through the narrow alley in her clunky boots, dodging a woman shaking out bed linens. A dog barked. Children shrieked and scattered.
    How did they know who she was? This had to be a joke. One huge, elaborate joke. It wasn’t real.
    And yet it was. She’d watched men die.
    Rourke drew up beside her and grabbed her arm. “This way.” He drew her right, toward the stables.
    “Hold!” a deep voice shouted from far behind them as they turned the corner.
    Ahead, a teenager led a sturdy-looking horse out of the stables. Rourke dug into his bag of coins, then grabbed the reins from the lad and pressed a coin into the startled boy’s hand.
    “I’ll return her when I’m through.” He leaped onto the animal’s back, then pulled Brenna up behind him as two soldiers rounded the corner of the stable yard. “Hang on.”
    Brenna locked her arms around his waist as the animal shot forward, the soldiers shouting behind.
    A shot rang out. Brenna flinched and grabbed the pirate tighter around the waist.
    “Now I know why you brought me,” she shouted over the sound of the wind. “I’m your shield, aren’t I?”
    Another shot exploded into the ground several yards to their right and she swallowed a