The Daredevil Snared (The Adventurers Quartet Book 3) Read Free Page A

they’re all gathered as they are, distracted with eating, would have been a good time to attack.”
    Caleb shrugged. In days gone by, he might have leapt precipitously at the chance and rushed in, but for today and the foreseeable future, he was determined to adhere to the script of a reliable and responsible commander. He could almost hear the voices of his three older brothers, all of whom would lecture him to take his time and plan, and find and secure every advantage he could for his men in the upcoming skirmish, which was guaranteed to end as a bloody massacre.
    He, Phillipe, and every man in their company knew and accepted that they would need to kill every slaver in Kale’s camp. That Kale and his men were engaged in trading in others’ lives—men, women, and children, too—had made the decision, the resolution, that much easier to make. The men gathered around the fire pit ranked among the lowest of the low.
    Kale spooned up the last of his stew, chewed, swallowed, then looked across the fire pit at the large man Phillipe had earlier noted. “Rogers—you and your crew can rest up, then head back to the settlement midafternoon. If you don’t find a message from Muldoon waiting—no suggestion of who to grab next—use your own judgment. See if there are any more sailor-boys we can snatch. Dubois, at least, will be grateful.”
    Rogers grinned and saluted. “We’ll see what we can find.”
    Phillipe shifted to whisper in Caleb’s ear. “We need to attack before Rogers leaves.”
    Caleb studied the group, then replied in the barest murmur, “They’ve just eaten their main meal for the day, and it was stew. Heavy.” He glanced at Phillipe. “In this heat, an hour from now, they’re all going to be half asleep.”
    Phillipe blinked his dark-blue eyes once, then he grinned wolfishly and looked back at the camp.
    Several minutes later, after having seen Kale retreat with three of his men into the main barracks while the rest of the slavers spread out in groups, quietly chatting, Caleb tapped Phillipe on the shoulder, then carefully crept back to where their men waited.
    Phillipe followed. At Caleb’s signal, the group moved farther back, away from the camp and deeper into the concealing shadows.
    They chanced upon a natural clearing big enough to hold them all. Most of the men had been hauling seabags and packs containing their tents and supplies; Caleb waited while they shed them, then at his intimation, they all hunkered down in a rough circle. He looked around, noting the expectant faces and also the confidence—in him and his leadership—conveyed by their steady gazes; all had fought under his orders before, and his own men had been with him for years. “Here’s how we’re going to approach this.”
    Not recklessly but responsibly—with all due care for the safety of his men and prospective success.
    Clearly and concisely, he laid out the elements of his plan—in essence a version of divide and conquer. He invited input on several aspects, and Phillipe and a number of others made inventive suggestions that he readily incorporated into the whole. In less than half an hour, they’d hammered out a solid plan, one to which everyone was ready to lend their enthusiastic support.
    “Right, then.” He looked around the circle, meeting each man’s eyes. Then he nodded decisively. “Let’s get to it. Move into position and wait for my signal.”
    The men melted away in twos and threes, some going west, others east, ultimately to encircle the camp.
    When all others had left them, Phillipe dipped his head in wry acknowledgment. “That was well done.”
    Caleb knew Phillipe wasn’t referring to how he’d made the plan but to the way he’d doubled up the less experienced, less strong fighters among their men. Five of his men and five of Phillipe’s, as well as himself and Phillipe, were well able to take care of themselves in any company—even against slavers of the ilk of Kale and his crew, all of