Page 81 of The King’s Man (Guardians of the Crown #2)
Barbados
‘ E st-il mort?’
Is he dead?
Daniel Lovell groaned, his fingers digging into the sand beneath him. A shadow fell across him and someone seized a handful of his hair, jerking his head up from the warm beach.
‘What’s your name, boy?’ This time the interrogative was made in heavily accented English.
Daniel struggled and failed to bring the bearded face into focus. He licked his cracked lips, tasting the metallic tang of blood. He could not even produce the spittle he felt the questioner deserved.
He considered his options. Beg for his life? Plead not to be returned to the plantation? Or he could muster what little strength and pride he had left and keep silent. He would die anyway, and here and now seemed as good a time as any.
‘ Qu’il soit !’ The second voice held the tone of authority.
The first interrogator, obedient to the command to let him be, released his grip on Daniel’s hair and let his head fall back onto the sand.
Daniel turned his face to the ocean where the gentle sea lapped on the shore. A ship’s longboat had been pulled up on the golden sand and beyond it, nestled into this hidden bay, a frigate, its sails furled, bobbed serenely on the azure water.
Such a beautiful place to die , he thought. God in his wisdom had sent angels to release him; strange angels, definitely from the rougher end of Heaven.
‘He’s more dead than alive,’ the first man said in French. ‘Reckon he’s a runaway?’
‘Look at the state he’s in. Bound to be,’ the second man responded and squatted down beside Daniel. He wore only a shirt and breeches and a pair of well-worn and unpolished bucket top boots. A short sword and a pistol had been shoved through his belt.
He pushed a shapeless, broad-brimmed hat to the back of his head and scratched his bearded chin.
‘Someone hated you, boy,’ he said in English.
‘Kill me if you must,’ Daniel murmured, ‘but if you’ve a Christian heart, don’t send me back.’
‘Ah, there we have a dilemma, my young friend,’ the Frenchman replied.
‘No man in my crew has a Christian heart, and a reward, if there is such a thing for your mangled hide, is tempting. However, it is fortunate for you that I’m not willing to risk putting my crew in the way of temptation for the sake of whatever paltry amount you would fetch when there is a reward of one hundred English pounds on my own head. ’
Daniel’s gaze drifted to the pistol in the man’s belt. He wondered if he had the strength to seize it. One shot to his temple would be all it would take and he would be free.
The man let out a heavy sigh.
‘Seems to me the choice is yours, boy. I can leave you here to die or, if you’re unlucky, the search parties will find you first. Or … ’ he paused, ‘ … I can take you with me, as an insurance, you understand, against such a time as I may need to have something of value to trade with the English.’
Daniel closed his eyes. ‘Whoever you are, sir, my fate is in your hands.’
The man chuckled. ‘My name is Broussard and I am the captain of L’Archange , a ship in the service of His Most Gracious Majesty Louis of France.’
He’d heard of L’Archange . Visitors to Pritchard’s plantation had lamented its attacks on their ships. His angel in unpolished boots had turned out to be a French privateer. A small spark of hope flared in his chest.
‘Take me with you,’ Daniel murmured.
The Frenchman rose to his feet.
‘ Allez!’ he ordered, and then added, almost as an afterthought, ‘and bring him with us.’