Page 97 of An Imperfect Scoundrel

“Certainly not,” Cedric replied, his voice even. “I’m suggesting the penalty chosen doesn’t suit a woman.”

“Then what would you suggest?”

“I will slit her throat and throw her off the ship.” Spinning around, he raised his voice, addressing the entire crew. “Would that satisfy your desire for justice?”

Murmurs of ascent followed his question. Turning to Mr. Evans, Cedric raised his eyebrows.

“I want to watch.” He folded his arms, his eyes flicking down to Alana.

“Would the rest of you like to witness as well?” Cedric spun around, extending his arms to the crew.

Pushing away Mr. Wickes’ hand, Alana flipped onto her stomach, sliding her knees under her. She climbed to her feet, wobbling as she regained her footing, and glowered at Cedric with naked hatred. Her clothing, shredded by the keelhaul, hung in bloody strips from her shoulders.

He couldn’t see her skin; every inch of her body was covered in scarlet. The amount of pain she had endured to survive aboard this ship broke his heart. He’d do everything in his power to spend the rest of his life apologizing to her… if she ever forgave him.

With a shriek, she threw herself at him, her hands curved into claws. He caught her easily, spinning her around to face the crew, locking her in his arms.

“She’s a feisty one.” Laughter met his statement. Leaning forward, he rested his chin on her shoulder. “Are you going to give me any trouble? Do I need to tie you up again?”

She snapped her teeth at him.

“I trusted you,” she hissed.

“You trusted a pirate. That was your first mistake.” He smirked, his voice dropping to a menacing growl. “Then you stole from one. That was your last mistake.”

A coil of rope landed at his feet. Leaning over, he hoisted the hemp above his head, and the crew cheered. He tied the rope around her arms, pinning them to her sides, then wrapped the cord around her, forming a crude cocoon around her torso.

Running his fingers softly over the back of her neck, he slid his fingers through her hair, then tightened his grip and yanked her head back.

“We’ll have no more of your lies, thief.”

Extracting a handkerchief, he shook it out, then wound the cloth around her mouth, fastening a knot at the back of her head, gagging her. Placing his palm on her neck, he shoved her toward the stern of the ship.

She stumbled, and his arm whipped out, catching one of the rope coils and preventing her from falling. Her head twisted toward him, but he stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge her.

“Think about Patrick,” she said, pleading with him, but the words were garbled, lost in the folds of the handkerchief.

She stumbled again.

Sliding his arm around her waist, he drew her into his hip, his eyes locked on the ocean. When they reached the stern of the ship, Cedric rotated her toward the crew, who had gathered in a half-circle around them.

“Mrs. Dubois, you have been accused of theft. Several missing items were found in your possession. What do you have to say in defense?”

“Mmph!”

“Pardon?” He cupped his hand to his ear, leaning toward her in exaggeration. “I didn’t understand you.”

“Mmph!” she yelled around the gag.

“She has no argument.” Shrugging, he released her, stepping forward. “What is the decision?”

“Death,” the crew chorused.

“I volunteer to kill her.” Mr. Evans stepped forward, a knife glinting in his hand.

“I appreciate your enthusiasm, Mr. Evans. However, she stole from me as well.” Cedric extracted a penny knife from his waist.

Unfolding the blade, he waved the knife under Alana’s nose.