Drums of Autumn - Diana Gabaldon [81]
“Six,” I said. There was no reason not to answer; I could see Fergus on the shore, hands raised as a third pirate herded him at gunpoint toward the boat; Jamie had materialized out of the darkness beside me, looking grim.
“Mr. Fraser,” Bonnet said pleasantly, at sight of him. “A pleasure to be renewing our acquaintance. But did ye not have another companion, sir? The one-armed gentleman?”
“Not here,” Jamie replied shortly.
“I’ll have a look,” the short robber muttered, turning, but Bonnet stopped him with a gesture.
“Ah, now, and would ye be doubting the word of a gentleman like Mr. Fraser? No, you’ll be after guarding these fine folk here, Roberts; I’ll be having the look around.” With a nod to his companion, he vanished.
Looking after Rollo had distracted me momentarily from the commotion going on elsewhere on the boat. Sounds of breakage came from inside the cabin, and I leapt to my feet, reminded of my medicine box.
“Here! Where you going? Stop! I’ll shoot!” The robber’s voice held a desperate note, but an uncertain one, as well. I didn’t stop to look at him, but dived into the cabin, cannoning into a fourth robber, who was indeed rummaging through my medicine chest.
I staggered back from the collision, then clutched his arm, with a cry of outrage. He had been carelessly opening boxes and bottles, shaking out the contents, and tossing them on the floor; a litter of bottles, many of them broken, lay amid the scattered remnants of Dr. Rawlings’s selection of medicines.
“Don’t you dare touch those!” I said, and snatching the nearest vial from the chest, I popped out the cork and flung the contents in his face.
Like most of Rawlings’s mixtures, it contained a high proportion of alcohol. He gasped as the liquid hit, and reeled backward, eyes streaming.
I pressed my advantage by seizing a stone ale bottle from the wreckage and hitting him on the head with it. It hit with a satisfying thunk! but I hadn’t hit him quite hard enough; he staggered but stayed upright, lurching as he grabbed at me.
I drew back my arm for another swing, but my wrist was seized from behind by a grip like iron.
“Beggin’ your pardon, Mrs. Fraser dear,” said a polite, familiar Irish voice. “But I really cannot allow ye to crack his head. It’s not very ornamental, sure, but he needs it to hold up his hat.”
“Frigging bitch! She hit me!” The man I had hit was clutching his head, his features screwed up in pain.
Bonnet hauled me out onto the deck, my arm twisted painfully behind my back. It was nearly light by now; the river glowed like flat silver. I stared hard at our assailants; I meant to know them again, if I saw them, masks or no masks.
Unfortunately, the improved light allowed the robbers better vision as well. The man I had hit, who seemed to be bearing a distinct grudge, seized my hand and wrenched at my ring.
“Here, let’s have that!”
I yanked my hand away and made to slap him, but was stopped by a meaningful cough from Bonnet, who had stepped close to Ian and was holding his pistol an inch from the boy’s left ear.
“Best hand them over, Mrs. Fraser,” he said politely. “I fear Mr. Roberts requires some compensation for the damage ye’ve caused him.”
I twisted my gold ring off, hands trembling both with fear and rage. The silver one was harder; it stuck on my knuckle as though reluctant to part from me. Both rings were damp and slippery with sweat, the metal warmer than my suddenly chilled fingers.
“Give ’em up.” The man poked me roughly in the shoulder, then turned up a broad, grubby palm for the rings. I reached toward him, reluctantly, rings cupped in my hand—and then, with an impulse I didn’t stop to examine, clapped my hand to my mouth instead.
My head hit the cabin wall with a thud as the man knocked me backward. His callused fingers jabbed my cheeks and poked into my mouth, probing roughly in search of the rings. I twisted and gulped hard, mouth filling with saliva and a silver taste that might have been either metal or blood.
I bit down and he jerked back with a cry; one ring must have flown