Cara was on the far side near the kitchen door, smiling and chatting with a young sailor, who had his hands at Cara’s waist. Coyle watched his sister with a frown on his face and took a few steps in her direction, oblivious to the tension in the room.
Knowing it was up to her to approach the table, Anne hoped the four men didn’t cause her any problems. There was something different about them, an air of confidence that many others in the room didn’t possess. Here, at last, were pirates. “What’ll it be?” Anne asked.
“Four ales,” a feminine voice replied.
Anne’s mouth fell open, shocked to discover that one of the four was actually a young woman. She had tanned skin and deep brown eyes, and she wore her dark hair in multiple braids, pulled back with a thin strip of leather. Her waistcoat and shirt revealed curves that were not immediately noticeable.
Anne had focused on the two men with wigs, and she hadn’t paid much attention to the shortest figure in the group. Recovering from her surprise, Anne nodded, flushing as the four of them laughed at her expression.
“She thought you was a lad, Reva,” one of the wigged men said.
Instead of being insulted, Reva’s smile grew. “I’m a far prettier lad than any of you would ever make.” She had a slight Spanish accent.
Anne had never seen a woman wear breeches, not even in the slums of Bristol. She left them to go and place their order.
“Get into the kitchen,” Benjamin said, appearing at Anne’s elbow beside the bar. His face was hard. Anne followed his gaze, only to discover that he watched the door, not Reva and her trio of friends. “And take Cara with you. There’s going to be—” The door to the Fox opened and several men rushed in, their pistols drawn.
Anne finished Benjamin’s sentence in her head. Trouble.
Benjamin drew his own weapon and Anne rushed behind the bar while the first shot rang out. Crouching low, she searched for Cara and Coyle as chaos erupted around her. People scrambled and overturned tables while the men in the doorway shoved their way inside the crowded tavern.
Coyle dragged Cara toward the kitchen, his eyes frantically searching the room. Clutching the tray in her hands, Anne ducked as a tankard smashed into the wall above her head. Beside her, the barkeep pulled out two pistols of his own. Anne had only a second to drop the tray and cover her ears as he shot into the air. If he’d hoped to gain some kind of control over the fray, he was sorely mistaken. He vaulted over the bar and narrowly missed kicking Anne in the face.
Peering up from her hiding spot, Anne saw Alastair thundering down the stairs, shouting above the commotion, but the breaking of glass and the frenzied cries of the throng drowned out his words.
Coyle dropped unexpectedly to Anne’s side and she stifled a scream. His shirt was ripped and blood dripped down the side of his face from a gash in his forehead. Heedless of his appearance, he caught her to his chest as glass rained down around them.
“I’m all right,” she said, her voice muffled. He didn’t release his hold. Pushing against his muscled torso, Anne pulled back. “I’m all right. Go help Alastair,” she yelled.
Coyle’s brown eyes were conflicted. It was clear he wanted to make sure she was safe, but he also needed to help restore some semblance of peace. With a quick nod, he vaulted back over the top of the bar.
Anne crouched low, prepared to race to the safety of the kitchen, but her way was blocked. The sounds of fists striking flesh reverberated in the room, with Benjamin and Coyle in the thick of it. Anne couldn’t see Alastair amongst the twisting figures.
Reva was on the ground, struggling against a man kneeling on her chest, his hands around her throat. A wicked-looking knife lay beside them. Wide eyed, Anne watched as Reva’s face turned red. Anne’s own breath came in short, fast breaths, like she was trying to compensate for the other girl’s lack of air. Intent glistened in the man’s grim expression as he clenched harder around Reva’s throat. He was trying to kill her.
Unable to sit by and watch the girl die, Anne snatched up the nearest bottle and rushed at the pair. She stumbled over her own skirts, barely managing to stay upright before smashing the bottle over the back of the man’s head. The glass shattered and the amber liquid rained down on Reva.
The man froze for a moment, before toppling to the ground like a felled tree.
Reva gave Anne a grateful smile as she scrambled to her feet and disappeared through the door to the kitchen, with Anne close on her heels. Cara shrieked as Reva dashed past her and headed out into the moonlit night. Anne braced her hands on her knees, her breathing harsh.
“Was that a girl?” Cara asked.
“It was.”
Cara shook her head. “This place is madness.”
Anne was glad the pirate had escaped. Living in Bristol, Anne had once accused all pirates of being scoundrels and crooks, but after seeing Reva, Anne had felt a tinge of grudging respect. Something had obviously happened in Reva’s life to cause her to wear breeches and carry two pistols. It didn’t necessarily mean she was a thief. It meant she was desperate. Perhaps that’s why men turned to piracy. They did what was necessary in order to survive. Anne could certainly relate to the feeling.
The girls listened as the commotion in the next room slowly died down. It seemed as if Alastair, Benjamin, and Coyle finally had things under control. The majority of law-abiding citizens had long fled the island, leaving behind only a small number of plantation owners determined to make their sugar crops succeed. The rest of Nassau’s inhabitants were a collection of brigands and bandits who were quick to anger and use violence. Anne had heard from sailors on the Providence that there were nightly brawls and fights in the streets or taverns. It appeared those reports were right.
“I think I might like to have a pair of breeches, especially if we’re to stay here for very long,” Cara whispered, a mischievous smile on her face. “Can you imagine what my brother would say?”
Anne laughed, having thought the same thing. “Perhaps you should sew some so we can find out.”
? ? ?
A trickle of sweat ran down Anne’s back as she pulled out the sliver of glass piercing her palm. The crimson shard caught the morning sunlight streaming in through the windows of the Fox.
Cara sat beside Anne on the floor as they sorted through the unbroken bottles of alcohol. Cara glanced over her shoulder and frowned. “Is that another one?” Cara asked. “I’m sorry, Anne. I thought I swept them all last night.”
More than half of Alastair’s supply of alcohol was gone, but he expected a new shipment in a few days. They’d cleaned up the majority of the glass and splintered wood the previous night, but Alastair had insisted they get some rest. “This mess will be here for us in the morning,” he had said.
And what a mess it was.