Beloved Warrior by PATRICIA POTTER Read Free Book Online Page B

tried a riposte. He was weak but he felt a surge of strength as Mendoza was forced back. The retreat lasted only a second before the Spaniard lunged at him. Patrick sidestepped, but not quite quickly enough. Mendoza’s blade caught his forearm just above the knife wound he suffered on deck. A fresh trickle of blood mingled with his sweat. It enraged him that the captain fought as if he were the man being wronged. This man, this captain, had wronged every man aboard this ship.
    Their swords clashed, then disengaged, and Patrick’s breath became labored. His steps slowed. Mendoza met his every move with skill, and Patrick couldn’t find an opening. One small mistake would mean his life. He saw the desperation in Mendoza’s eyes, the hate that equaled his own. Patrick knew anger would affect Mendoza’s abilities. It would cause him to make a mistake. Survival, more than anger, was Patrick’s goal.
    An opening! He thrust once more, but Mendoza blocked it with his sword and with a sudden movement knocked Patrick’s sword from his hand. Patrick dived after it, rolling on the ground to avoid Mendoza’s blade as he grabbed the hilt and sprang to his feet.
    Mendoza looked startled, giving Patrick time to balance on his feet. Patrick feinted, then sprang forward suddenly, only to find his rapier parried once more.
    Mendoza was trying to wear him down, his fury directed at the man he obviously held responsible for taking his ship. Patrick was sustained by another kind of outrage, one built over months and years.
    Mendoza, obviously tired of taunting his opponent, wielded the blade as if it were a part of him, driving in. Patrick danced away from the sword and saw that his opponent was angered enough to make a misjudgment. Patrick sprang forward suddenly, his sword driving toward Mendoza’s heart. He felt it go into his enemy, and the man started to fall, a surprised look on his face.
    Patrick pulled the blade out as Mendoza landed on the floor of the deck. There was a moan. The captain tried to say something, but blood bubbled from his mouth. Then he stilled.
    Shouts came up from the men around him.
    Several took Mendoza’s body.
    “Overboard,” yelled one.
    Four of them headed toward the steep stairs up to the main deck, each carrying an arm or leg. The clanking of chains accompanied their every step.
    Others started into the cabin, grabbing anything they could.
    He wanted nothing more from Mendoza. He had everything he wanted. He started toward the hatch of the main deck, then turned back. There would be maps in the captain’s cabin. Maps he had to have.
    Just as reached the door, he heard a scream.
    A woman’s scream.

Chapter 6
    HER heart pounding in fear, Juliana waited inside the cabin as her uncle stepped outside and closed the door behind him. She held Carmita’s hand.
    “All will be well,” she tried to soothe the terrified girl, knowing her words were lies. Nothing would be well again. Although she tried to hide her own terror, she realized they had no hope. She also realized her uncle was probably going to his death, hoping he might divert the mutineers’ interest to himself and that Juliana might in some way be overlooked. At least, she wanted to think that of him. If she could avoid detection, perhaps she could later steal down to the hold.
    Illogical, si. Impossible, si. But she had seen in Tio ’s face that there was nothing else. A thin hope, indeed, against rape and pain and death.
    She’d never really cared for him, and she was certainly angry with him since she saw her uncle as the architect of this marriage, but sorrow mixed with terror as her uncle stepped out of the cabin and closed the door behind him. She left Carmita kneeling next to the bed and praying in quiet earnest. Leaning against the door, she listened, hoping that those on the other side could not hear her heart pounding.
    She heard her uncle’s angry words, the clash of swords, the grunts of men engaged in mortal battle.
    Then she