But as the hours passed without Hawk’s return, she grew anxious. The only weapon she had to fight the darkness was the candlelight.
Only when she’d noticed that the cabin had grown cold did she realize the fire in the stove had gone out. Pull yourself together, Marley.
She hastily swept out the little stove and built a fire, slowly adding more wood to the fire. In time, the cabin grew warm.
For lack of anything better to do, she found a cleaning towel and some polish and buffed the already gleaming table. From the linen closet she found clean dinner napkins. Unsure, she put down four. As she laid out the napkins, she noticed the trembling of her hands.
And then Marley remembered what Hawk had told her—the source of courage. She knew now it wasn’t nervousness snaking through her veins, making her shake; it was full-on adrenaline, ready for a fight, without release. Had it been not her fear, but her reaction to it, that had kept her at the mercy of creeps like Jimmy her entire life?
Unsure how to release—or bottle—the adrenaline, she did a bit of shadow-boxing, finding this useless and silly. Then she did a bit of shadow kickboxing which ended when her soft-shod toe encountered the base of the daybed.
The front panel fell away, broken, and she groaned. Now was not the time to be doing light carpentry.
She knelt to investigate the break, and she heard Hawk’s voice again in her memory.
Hide. The daybed is as good a place as any, as I’m sure you’ve discovered.
It was a false bottom, meant for hiding. This one hadn’t been as easy to open as the hidden panel of his safe.
The safe! She leapt to her feet, opened the safe and emptied it, then stashed all the papers in the bottom of the daybed. Hiding wasn’t called for yet, but taking the precaution of relocating the details of his escapades made sense.
She took a quick glance around the cabin, searching for something that might be perceived to be of value, were the safe discovered. She found his official ship’s log and stashed it there, closing the panel firmly. It was a simple ruse, but for now she hoped there might be no need for any of this.
She looked around the cabin, trying to imagine the worst. She noticed Hawk’s array of weaponry above the daybed and quickly dismantled it, pistol after pistol, sword after sword, dagger after dagger. This, too, she piled away under the daybed, stuffing it in tightly in case she, too, had to fit there.
The only essential piece missing was a possibles bag, which might have a supply of gunpowder and wad. Ironically so, considering the endless hours she’d spent learning to shoot over the past few years, at work and after work. It had started as a hobby, but she’d evolved into a crack shot.
At last, she heard clattering in the hallway. She thumped the false bottom back in place with some effort. Grabbing Gulliver’s Travels once more, she hopped onto the daybed and centered herself with four deep breaths.
Slow. Down. Breathe. Now.
As the door opened, she looked down at the book, noticing it was upside down, and calmly righted it.
She raised her eyes to the group who entered. She saw a flash of gravest warning in Hawk’s eyes before he turned, genial and generous, to the three men behind him, followed by one of the senior seamen—Conrad, they called him—his face without expression save vigilance. His hand rested over the stock of his pistol, hanging in a strap around him. His other hand rested at a knife in his waistband.
Hawk seemed as if he were hosting a dinner party; Conrad, an execution. Perhaps they were one and the same.
The strangers wore navy uniforms bright with copper buttons and stripes aplenty. They were faded, however, the cuffs frayed, a button missing. She couldn’t imagine officers in the British Navy presenting themselves so shabbily, and she was certain the uniforms were a pretense.
The man who entered first was taller and darker, his coloring and expression menacing for its utter pallor. He equaled Hawk’s size and physical beauty, but he was a lesser version, as if tainted and twisted by hatred and bitterness.
He seemed almost an otherworldly being, perhaps a vampire, if she believed in such things. He gave her the notice one might give a chair or a muddy shoe. Were it left up to her, he would’ve stayed under lock and key until they were safely on shore. Only her trust in Hawk’s judgment reassured her they were safe.
The second man gave her an unclean feeling of uneasiness. He had a soft, shapeless face, like a glob of dough thrown on a counter to rise. Colorless eyes noticed her as he entered, with a nervous friendliness—as if he feared being observed. That alone solidified her distrust of him.
The third man was dark, his face drawn; and far too interested in the details of the cabin. This man was not trustworthy.
“Make yourself at home, gentlemen. My steward is in the process of preparing our meal.”
Interesting how he’d referred to Jem as a steward, as if he were an older man. What was he up to?
Hawk removed tin cups from his liquor cabinet and poured a dollop of whiskey into each. He raised his cup, and the others followed suit.
“To old friends,” Hawk said.
The first man gave a short laugh at this, then drank.
Hawk refilled their cups. Standing on the other side of the table, he acted as if he’d only just noticed Marley seated in the daybed. “Seems I’ve neglected to introduce to you a passenger I have on board. He’s the son of a London lord who’s a friend of my father. We call him Master Terwilliger.”
She pressed her lips together, fighting her amusement at the yarn. The rest of the men turned toward her.
“I should warn you of his nerve disorder. He’s quite easily upset, and has the tendency to erupt in wild shrieks and flailing about if someone attempts to touch him. Other than that, tragically, he’s entirely mute.”
They gave her startled looks—except for the stoic Conrad. But from behind them, the look Hawk gave Marley was disturbingly intimate—even affectionate.
“Boy, this is Captain Falligan, our guest this evening, and his quartermaster, Mr. Snaveling. And this is Mr. Hayworth.”
She flashed crazy eyes from one man to the other, underscoring the distrustful loon persona he’d given her. Hawk pressed his lips tightly together and raised his cup in a private toast, then set his glass aside, untouched.
She edged backward into the daybed and opened her book. The rumble of thunder sounded in the background. At the same moment, the cabin began pitching, as winds buffeted the ship. A storm was upon them.
Jem entered and served the men, serving hers at the window seat. He met her eyes in warning before turning back to the room to finish pouring wine. He quit the room silently.
She saw that Padraig had served the same cold fish stew and biscuit they’d had hot for lunch, and she wondered if it had been selected to avoid arming the men with knives.
She ate quickly to focus her attention on the men, then held the bowl tightly on her lap.
Conrad made no move to eat, but merely sat at his place watching the proceedings with calm detachment. Hawk caught his eye and nodded toward his bowl, and the seaman tapped his biscuit on the table, watching his dinner companions.
The storm worsened, a moan rising from the windows.
“I see neither of us is making use of those sheepskins we earned at William and Mary,” Falligan said.
“Speak for yourself. My studies of maritime law serve me daily. No doubt yours in banking surely helps when calculating how many barrels of smoked herring will fit in your hold.”
“No need to calculate anything in piracy, I suppose.”
“Falligan, you of all people should know. It isn’t piracy if you have the King’s permission.”
“As I recall, you no longer have a King.”
“I no longer recognize the sovereignty of a tyrant to impose laws that supersede the Magna Carta and when leaders consider martial law a reasonable response to men crying out for relief from this tyranny.”
Falligan sighed. “God above, I’d forgotten how you
love the sound of your own voice.”
Hawk laughed. “Nor I how poor you are at rhetoric.”
“And this, the orator so gifted that he finds a living in roaming the seven seas to abscond the ships of the Royal Navy simply for the pleasure of it.”
His voice rose from a petulant rumble to a shrill shout.
Hawk tilted his head in perplexed amusement as he taunted Falligan. “You simply cannot let that prize go, can you?”
“Your theft of the Sharon cost me my commission—were it not for my father, I’d have been court-martialed and executed.”
Hawk sipped his wine and raised an eyebrow. “Stephen, ’tis high time you let it go. That bitterness will burn a hole in your gut faster than the scotch you love. It was a joke. How was I to know your Admiralty Court would take it so seriously?”
“And that old mulatto you had with you back then, tutoring you in your abysmal trade. I didn’t see him today. What happened? Did you sell him off to your father’s plantation?”
For the first time in the weeks Marley had known Hawk, she saw deadly anger enter him. She’d seen him annoyed with her, she’d seen him irritated with her, she’d even seen him angry at her. But the rage she saw now was beyond compare.
His face lost all expression, and he leaned toward Falligan with an intent gaze. “Listen well.”
At that moment, a wave lifted the Adventurer, and every candle in the room flickered, then went out, doused in its own melted wax.
And a cacophony of confusion rang through the darkness. Hawk had gone silent.
Falligan, now: “Now you listen well. Snaveling has a knife at your bosun’s throat. Try anything, and you’ll both die.”
At the next crash of lightning, Marley kicked open the daybed panel and rolled underneath, slamming it closed in the camouflaging noise.
For only a moment, the darkness closed in on her—until she realized the scope of true threats surrounding her. She feared what had happened to Hawk—but she knew without a doubt that the tables had been turned. That now Hawk and his men—and she—were at the mercy of three men without conscience.
As she hid, she felt her pulse hammering with adrenaline, and she listened again to Hawk’s voice in her memory. That fear is naught but God’s invitation to courage. His power within us to do what we must. When you encounter it, take a deep breath to harness that power.
And she lay, quietly and calmly, biding her time. Closing her eyes, she listened for Hawk’s voice and she imagined she lay in his arms, staring up at a starry sky.
Chapter Sixteen
Hawk awakened with an aching head. And he remembered. Like a helpless infant, like the most shameful coward, he had delivered his ship into the hands of his worst enemy.
The expressionless face of Percy Snaveling came into view. In a moment, he struck Hawk across the face with a cudgel.
“Aside from your own savagery, what do you expect to prove by delivering me beaten?”
Snaveling sneered, proud of his rotting teeth.
“Where’s …” Hawk asked, looking around, then stopping short. If Marley had hidden herself, he didn’t want to ruin that.
“Falligan’s on deck, establishing the order of a good English ship—if it can be done on this foul tub.”
Hawk tasted blood; his lip was split. He spat into a plate. At least all his teeth seemed to be in place—for now.
The storm continued to pummel the ship, but the Adventurer was sturdy and heavy-laden, and this close to Boston, she would do fine. Under whose command was yet in question.
As for his own fate and that of the rest of his crew, his only chance was to outwit Falligan, for he knew the only mercy he could hope for was a quick death. With these two, that would be doubtful.
Had Raven yet figured out the truth? In the dark, with the storm, visibility between the ships was close to nonexistent. Yet Raven was sharp-eyed—and at the moment, his only hope.
Truth to tell, his greater hope was simply that Marley would stay hidden. He could not bear for her to watch the humiliation that Falligan was likely to put him through just for the pleasure of it. He was likely to drop anchor here and torture everyone to death, including Marley.
Snaveling checked his own knots again, fixing Hawk in place, then headed to the door. “I’ll be back in two shakes, so don’t try any tricks.” Then he snorted at the sight of the bound, helpless captain, turned and left.
A moment later, he tried to rock the chair and realized it, too, was fixed to a table leg, which was fixed to the deck. And as he attempted to loosen his numb fingers even a bit, he heard the false bottom of the daybed give way. Marley rolled out and leapt to her feet.
Hawk went pale. “Get back in there.”
“I won’t. I have your knives and pistols, hidden in the daybed. I’ll get you free.”
After a moment, he asked, “Are you all right, then?”
She raised her eyebrow. “Why would the well-being of an English spy matter to you?”
At this reminder, his humiliation was complete, and he had to look away from her, thinking of all the indignities she’d had to suffer in the past few weeks. “Not my cleverest deduction.”
She went digging for a knife and withdrew several. She quickly hid them with pieces of dirty silverware under a used napkin.
“You don’t have time. Hear that? He’s on his way back already. Close that up and grab some dishes, pretend you only just entered to finish your chores. Then go below with the women and lock yourself in there.”
“I won’t. I will save you.”
He saw her working to steady her slender hands, to take a deep breath, and that stirring he’d come to know as hers alone began deep within him. How proud he was of this terrified girl.
“Marley, these men are savage. Falligan is a threat only to me and the men, but Snaveling is a degenerate who rapes boys. I know you’re an innocent lass who can’t imagine how that could happen, but it can. Why he hasn’t been—”
The doorknob jiggled, and she collected herself and began stacking the dinner dishes in the dim light. She’d placed the concealed knives in one bowl to the side. As the door opened and Falligan entered, he was taken aback by her.
“Forgotten all about you. Well, you’re harmless enough. Stay out of the way.”
She continued to stack the dishes, more slowly now, lingering likely to learn something of his plans.
Falligan drew close, and Hawk recognized his own dirk as it came near, just nicking the flesh at the base of his throat. He felt the slide of a drop of blood there.
“Kind of you to leave your weaponry in such good condition. My thanks.”
Hawk looked at him mildly. “Don’t mention it.”
“Snaveling thinks you’ll try to escape, though I cannot see how. Captain, your crew is compliant in my command and wouldn’t mutiny even should you attempt an escape.”
Hawk’s father had raised no fool. He didn’t start a knife fight armed only with wit, and Marley’s juggling knives at this point only worried him more. If she dared try anything with Falligan, she would be overpowered and slain before she so much as cut him. Fortunately she seemed to understand that.
So he ignored Falligan’s goading. No need to say what they both knew. His crew—skeleton though it was—were already plotting a mutiny, and the rest would likely aid them. Men like Falligan and Snaveling inspired no loyalty.
Hawk dropped his head to his chest in an act of defeat—and a convenient guise for refusing to respond.
“What might the rewards be on the heads of the infamous Hawk and Raven, the colonies’ most ruthless privateers? Might this be enough to inspire the Admiralty Court to reinstate me? The pair of you have been a thorn in the side of this navy for a dozen years now.”
Hawk was silent. Marley continued to work diligently, as if preoccupied with stacking the dirty plates just so.
When she had collected every plate, bowl, utensil, and tankard back onto the large serving tray, she set it aside and went about cleani
ng and polishing the table again.
“You must have some redeeming value,” Falligan said.
“You know how wealthy my father is. He would pay a king’s ransom each for my partner and me.”
“Surely you’re joking. Your field hand? The African? A ransom. I believe the going rate for such a buck is $250. And I recall your father already owning several hundred on the plantation he inherited from your dead brother.”
This host of lies was too much.
But even as Hawk’s head jerked up, Marley dropped a tankard to the floor, blessedly distracting both men. As she fell to her hands and knees to wipe up the spill, she caught Hawk’s gaze, and the steady encouragement there calmed him.
“You know I will be of much more value to you in helping keep the ship afloat in this storm,” Hawk said.
Falligan brought the tip of Hawk’s knife lightly across his knee, slicing open his breeches and his skin for several inches. Hawk saw Marley recoil, but when he refused to react to Falligan’s bloodletting, she went back to her polishing.
“I’ll not free you; I’m not the fool you are. But you are right about the storm. I don’t wish to drown dallying here with you. I’ll send Snaveling back. Take your tray and go, boy.”
She hesitated. Beyond the logistics of making it down the ladder with the heavy tray, she knew her courage was wrapped up in Hawk’s strength. She could no more leave him now than she could free him.
“Now, boy.” Falligan waited, and she lifted the tray and walked out. She looked back at Hawk. As their eyes met, he saw something in her that made him unable to hold her gaze. She read his dejection and humiliation as the door closed.
Only then did she begin to comprehend his sense of failure. In his mind he’d failed to protect his ship, his men, and his cargo. What he thought of her, she did not know. She was, at best, a stowaway and liability. But she knew him well enough to know he would’ve given his life for anyone on that ship. Now, she knew they would do the same for him.
Immortal (The Trelawneys of Williamsburg Book 2) Page 14
