Carried Away (The Swept Away Saga, Book Two)

by Kamery Solomon

  Tears washing her face, she stared down at the baby, caressing the fingers of one hand.

  Slowly, I got up and headed for the door, wishing I could block out the sounds of sadness behind me. It wasn’t just the baby Sam had lost; her fighting spirit had also faded from her gaze

  I didn’t know if it would ever be back.

  The coffin wasn’t much more than a small box I’d managed to craft out of a few pieces of wood, the lining a shirt I’d scrubbed with well water until it looked clean enough. It wasn’t even the size of a shoebox, and I hated that it wasn’t an actual, professionally made resting place for the baby.

  Sam, taking the care only a mother could, washed the little girl and wrapped her in a soft handkerchief from one of the shops in the city. As we stood together, beside the large tree she’d picked to lay her child to rest under, I could see her knuckles turning white, the grasp she had on the box so strong it almost kept her hands from shaking.

  Using a knife and a flat rock, I dug the deep grave, wanting her to have the comfort of knowing the tiny bundle wouldn’t be pulled up and destroyed by animals. It wasn’t hard, nor did it take very long, but it seemed like time was moving slower these days. The sun had risen high in the sky by the time we were ready to say goodbye.

  “Does she have a name?” I asked softly, staring down at the hole with her.

  “Rachel Dawn.” Fresh tears fell as she closed her eyes, hugging the makeshift box to her chest.

  Sensing she wasn’t ready to let go yet, I picked up the stone I’d been using and set to work carving her name into its surface. By the time I had it deeply etched, I could hear the crew gathering their things inside. Randall had given us most of yesterday and today to take care of this, which was a surprising show of compassion from him. We’d been joined by more men while we were here, which made me think it was probably more for his recruiting benefits that we’d stayed so long.

  Finally, hesitantly, Sam knelt on the ground, kissing the top of her daughter’s coffin, and bending over, she set it in the bottom of the hole. Shoulders shaking, she stayed there for a second, arm stretched out fully, her fingers still touching the box. It was hard not to kneel next to her and hold her, but I knew she needed to do this alone.

  Her strength was fading in the fight against her demons—battles I couldn’t finish for her, even if I wanted to. If she ever wanted to come out of this stronger than before—the kidnapping, beatings, losing her child—she had to pick herself up and find the power she’d let go along the way.

  “Rachel Dawn,” she said again, clearer, as she straightened. “Rachel Dawn O’Rourke. I’ll make sure your father gets to come here and meet you.” Grabbing a handful of dirt from the pile I’d made, she sprinkled it over the grave, grabbing another one as soon as she was finished. Eventually, she was sliding whole armfuls of the earth into the pit, burying her baby while she silently cried.

  Toward the end, I helped her, packing the soil as she moved it. A small mound appeared in its place, and I set the carved headstone at the head, shoving it into the ground deep enough to keep it from falling.

  We sat there for a long time, observing at our handiwork, and a silent heat in the air made it feel as though I were suddenly suffocating. The need to get away from all this sorrow was overwhelming, but I wouldn’t leave without her. When the sounds of the crew preparing for departure could no longer be ignored, Sam stood, turning her back on the gravesite, and headed toward the commotion.

  The crew, which had started with around thirty men, had doubled in size once we hit land. It was unclear how many of the newcomers were Black Knights before joining, but every new face I saw had a brand somewhere on his person. A few of the familiar faces, which had not been members of the society previously, now sported the marks as well. Of the original party from our ship, it seemed that only three or four did not know they were the minority in a band of brothers.

  Uncomfortably, I watched as they loaded our supplies and belongings into carts, ready to walk the rest of the way to Mexico City. They laughed and joked together, and there was an excitement floating around that I hadn’t noticed before. At sea, the men were worried the Templars would catch us. Now, it appeared they all felt relaxed and ready for anything.

  How many more recruits waited for us in the city? Judging from their carefree attitudes, it was obviously enough that the crew believed they could win the fight if the Templars arrived.

  Glancing over at Sam, I saw her climbing onto the front of one cart, sitting down carefully. She hadn’t delivered a fully-grown child, but was still sore, understandably. The bleeding had slowed considerably, as well, allowing me to breathe a little easier on her behalf. It seemed that she would survive—just as she always had.

  I couldn’t help grimacing when an image of her husband, or how I pictured Sam’s Tristan, flitted through my mind. As I made my way to her, set on driving the cart she’d picked, it reminded me that she had gotten along with his help.

  “Snake Eyes!”

  Turning, I frowned at Flanagan and his dark green shirt, his arm waving me over energetically. The woman I’d seen him with our first night here was hovering in the background, seeming unsure of what to do. Her demure, almost virginal looking, white dress was somewhat misleading, based on the thoroughly sexed appearance of the rest of her.

  Grumbling under my breath, I changed course, making a beeline for him. They were standing under an archway, hidden halfway in shadows, giggling and whispering together as I came upon them.

  “What?” I asked, trying to ignore the strong stench of alcohol wafting off the pair.

  “This is Francesca,” he told me, hiccupping slightly and laughing as he threw an arm around her shoulder.

  “Pleasure,” I responded dryly.

  “She’s comin’ with us. Joining up! What say you to that?” His eyes narrowed and he stilled for a moment, like my answer was truly important for some reason.

  “Uh . . .” Glancing between them, I caught a slight expression of determination I’d missed before, something that told me it was probably a very bad idea for her to come with us. “What does Captain Randall say about her coming?”

  “He doesn’t care.” Flourishing his hand, Flanagan bent and picked up a bottle on the ground near his feet, draining what was left of it in two seconds flat. “Women always join the caravan to the city.”

  “Well, then I guess it’s fine.” Giving him a look of disgusted confusion, I moved to leave, surprised when he put a hand on my shoulder and yanked me back.

  “Good. Great man.” The words were slurred. “I need a man on my side in case old Capítan decides to come after her.”

  “Capítan?” Further lost on his meaning, I peered between them, trying to figure out just what it was he was asking I volunteer for.

  Just then, a breeze ruffled through the area, and the sun shone down on us for a brief moment. A dazzling light emanated from Francesca’s side, instantly drawing my attention to the gaudy ring on her finger. Putting the pieces together, I felt my stomach turn with anger and worry.

  “You didn’t!” I hissed, backing them further into the corner, making sure no one else was paying too much attention. “The captain of the guard’s wife? Are you trying to get us all hung?”

  “Relax, Snakey. I ain’t done nothing. She’s here of her own free will.”

  “It’s true,” she said with almost too much sincerity, speaking to me for the first time. “I ‘ate my husband! ‘e beats me sometimes.” She presented her cheek, showing me something non-existent, and then turned her big doe eyes on me, pleading silently.

  “No offense, Madam,” I replied coolly. “But if your husband catches you with us, he’ll do more than deliver a beating to every single person here.” Glancing over my shoulder, I felt a chill go through me at the sight of Sam. She was already in so much danger; being caught by law enforcement with pirates would brand her as one of us, and she could be hanged as well.

  “How about a trade, then?” Flanaga
n asked, his own eyes on Sam when I glanced back at him. “You help me keep the men off my woman and I’ll make sure they don’t bother yours.”

  “Captain Randall has already told them to leave her alone,” I answered, practically snarling.

  “She was pregnant then,” he pointed out. “She’s not now. Half the men here weren’t around when he said to leave her be, either.”

  His words seemed to zap right into me and I visibly recoiled, staring at him in horror. “She’s just delivered a baby!” I said, aghast. “They’re more civil than that.”

  But they weren’t. Even as I said the words, I knew it was a lie—one I had to tell myself to keep me from turning around and gunning them all down, one by one. I would do it, too, if it would keep her safe. One against sixty didn’t sound like great odds, though.

  Glaring back, I saw the pirate’s grin curling over his face, his arm around his prize once more. In the shadows, he seemed like some kind of devil, here to make a deal with me that would never work out in my favor.

  “Deal,” I told him roughly, moving away. I couldn’t leave her alone for more than a few seconds, now that I’d realized what kinds of thoughts were being spread around.

  “That’s my man!” he laughed, the sound echoing off the stones behind me, replaying in my ears as I climbed onto the seat next to Sam and took the reins in my hands, slapping them across the backs of the horses tethered to our cart.

  Calls of protest broke out as we began to move, both from men still trying to load the wagon and from those in front of us, scurrying to get out of the way. Further up, I met Randall’s eyes as he watched, astride on his own steed, his gaze pointed and a frown on his lips. It took me a second to realize his scrutiny wasn’t for me, but for those trying to catch up behind.

  “Get on the road, you sea rats!” he roared, drawing a pistol and waving it over his head. “We have a treasure to find!”

  The men cheered, along with the few women who were riding along, and everyone surged forward, suddenly ready to be gone.

  “Are you okay?” I asked Sam, falling in line behind the captain as we rode out into the jungle-like terrain in front of us, the well-worn road wide and ready for our travels.

  She didn’t answer. Peering over, I felt a stab at my heart again, watching as she turned and stared in the direction of her daughter’s grave until the church was long gone from view.

  I should have been used to the heat, especially after living in the desert for so long, but it felt like I was drowning in my own sweat. Bugs buzzed in my ears and around my face, causing me to swipe at the little monsters every half-second as I pushed through the foliage. The mountains we were currently camped in lay just outside Mexico City, which meant our week-long trip would soon be over, and I would be able to go to the bathroom without worrying about leaving Sam out in the open.

  At the moment, Sam was with Flanagan and his runaway, though, allowing me a moment to slip away, further than I normally would have gone, seeking silence from the never-ending party that had been carrying on every night. Flanagan had kept his promise, making sure both women were left alone, except for those whom they wanted to see.

  Having finished what I set out to do, I turned and started back toward the loud, boisterous camp, when I heard the voices.

  “Did you think you would get away with it?” Randall’s voice was low and clear, the malice present in it so strong that I froze, thinking for a moment that he was talking to me.

  “I knew there was a chance I wouldn’t.” The strange voice with a South African accent I hadn’t really heard before, replied with ease, despite the hate in it that matched Randall’s own.

  There was another noise, one I’d come to recognize as a pistol whip, and a groan from the unknown man.

  Carefully, I inched toward the sounds, eyes straining in the darkness, until I saw the group. They were in a clearing, the moonlight shining down on them just enough for me to make out features. Randall stood with a gun in his hand, flanked by two men—White and one of our newest to join the crew. In front of the captain, a man knelt with his hands tied behind his back. He was someone we had just picked up, his face not one I was familiar with.

  “Who did you tell?” Randall asked calmly. “When did you send word that you’d joined us?”

  The African man didn’t respond, hanging his head in response, as if he were waiting to be shot.

  “Tell me!” The shout rang out and I flinched, unprepared for the murderous tone he spat out.

  Still, their captive did not respond, this time looking Randall in the eye and smiling. With a flash, Randall pointed the gun and shot him in the thigh, breathing heavily in anger as the man cried out and fell over, squirming in agony.

  “Tell me, or so help me God, I will hang you from this tree and leave you here for the birds to peck at. No one will ever find you—any family you have will forever be tormented, wondering what became of you. Who knows how long it would take you to die? You could starve for weeks, begging death to come for you.”

  “Or I could talk and you’d give me the mercy of a quick death now, is that it?” The man’s chest was heaving, his eyes full of pain, but he’d managed to stop writhing. Taking a slow and steady breath, he rolled back onto his stomach, struggling to his knees. As he rose, he spat on the ground in front of Randall, laughing a crazy, half maniacal cry of pain. “You might as well shoot me. You’re not getting anything from me.”

  Randall paused, his eyes narrowing as he studied the man, and then he turned to his companions. “Get them,” he said simply, putting his gun in his belt.

  The henchmen ran off, thankfully neither in my direction, and returned moments later, carrying some rope and a few other unidentified things. Randall stared around the clearing, seeming to pause slightly as he glanced over to where I was.

  Breath catching, I froze, not knowing if he’d seen me lurking or not, and waited for him to move on.

  “There.” Pointing at the tree a few feet in front of the one I’d chosen to hide behind, he nodded to his men, going to untie the hands of their prisoner.

  Moving slightly to get a better view of what was going on, I tried to think if there was anything I could do to help the man. I didn’t know what he’d done, but it was clear Randall hadn’t been very pleased about it. Showing myself would risk meeting the same fate. I wasn’t ready to die, as horrible as that made me feel for not intervening.

  “You’re going to tie me to a tree and leave me?” The man scoffed, rubbing his wrists as Randall guided him along with the barrel of his gun.

  “Does that seem like a fitting death for a Dog, White?” Randall asked.

  I strained to hear exactly what they were saying. If the man was a Templar, did that mean others were close by? If they were, why weren’t they coming to save him?

  “No, it doesn’t,” White answered happily. “Too easy.”

  “I agree.” Randall thought for a moment, staring at the Knight as he leaned against the tree. “I do believe he should have the holiest of executions.”

  Laughing, his men began stringing their ropes around the Templar’s arms, tossing the ends over the branches above and hoisting him into the air. The African screamed as he was stretched, his back scraping up the trunk of the tree, his shirt ripping on the rough bark. It was a miracle that his arms didn’t simply tear off, the strain he was bearing visible even in the dark. As soon as Randall motioned that the man had been raised high enough, the extra rope was tied securely around his ankles, pinning him to the tree in true crucifix fashion.

  Horrified, I watched on, frozen to the spot in fear. They were leaving him here to either starve or suffocate to death, the position he was in making it difficult for him to get a full breath.

  “The Order will come for me,” he rasped out, staring down at the three men like some avenging angel who had been thwarted.

  “Let them. You’ll be dead before they ever find you.” Randall pointed the gun up one more time, firing a single shot into the man’s
chest. From his gasping, it sounded like one of his lungs had been punctured, blood soaking the front of his shirt. The captain had aimed well, though; he wouldn’t bleed out too quickly, allowing for the torturous death Randall had wanted him to suffer through.

  Heart pounding, I turned from the scene, hurrying back toward the camp as fast as I could. They would be returning soon, and I didn’t want to be discovered missing. The man was as good as dead anyway.

  “Best to not end up the same,” I muttered to myself. As the light from campfires appeared through the trees, I breathed easier, knowing that I would be safe from Randall’s fury.

  For a time, at least.

  Coming into camp, I did my best to not look like I’d just seen a secret execution of a Templar Knight, arranging my features into a passive expression. Anyone who did notice my return quickly ignored me, their present company and conversations much more exciting than that of a man who had just returned from taking care of his needs.

  “Is everything alright?” Sam asked as I sat by her. “You were gone a long time.”

  “Got the shits, Snake Eyes?” Flanagan asked, much less delicately.

  However, the comment made Sam laugh and I stared at her in surprise. She hadn’t truly made a sound like that in several weeks, and her eyes were shining with mirth. The sensation faded quickly, but it lightened my heart to see it.

  “I’m fine,” I told her, smiling. “I was looking at the stars, that’s all.”

  I couldn’t tell her about what I’d seen, and as I caught sight of the captain and his team returning to camp, I decided not to tell her at all. The knowledge would only trouble her, as it troubled me. The man hadn’t said anything that really told me what I didn’t already know, except for the fact that the Templars had managed to get a spy in our midst.