by Georgie Lee
Richard lunged forward, struggling to see through the darkness to where the smoke hung in the air on the far side of the room. Captain Dehesa followed a short distance behind him.
‘Stop,’ Richard commanded. ‘You’re outnumbered.’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ Vincent hissed, the whites of his eyes glinting in the faint light coming down the passage from the kitchen building, the scrape of metal making Richard’s skin crawl as Vincent rammed the rod down the barrel of his pistol, packing his next shot. Richard levelled his blunderbuss at him, ready to drop the man when the floorboards behind Richard squeaked. He felt more than saw Mr Adams behind him.
‘Goodbye, Captain Rose.’
Another flash and blast filled the room. Richard shuddered, expecting the familiar burn of the bullet through his flesh but there was nothing. Vincent fled down the passage.
Richard whirled around. Mr Adams swayed on his feet, blood trickling out of one side of his mouth. His eyes clouded with his fading life before he dropped to the floor. Captain Dehesa stood behind him, smoke drifting out of his finely engraved pistol.
‘You saved my life, now I’ve saved yours.’ Captain Dehesa grinned.
‘We aren’t through yet.’
Vincent’s footsteps echoed up the stairs to the kitchen. Soon, he’d be free of the house and past where the soldiers waited for him. Richard could follow him down the passage, but in the narrow tunnel he’d be an easy target for Vincent’s single bullet. ‘Back upstairs before he gets away.’
They hurried up from the basement, meeting Cassandra in the hallway.
‘I heard a second shot. What happened?’
‘Mr Adams is dead, and Vincent is heading for the back and the river, but I won’t let him get away.’
‘No, we won’t.’ She held up the duelling pistols.
‘Well done, my love.’ He brushed her lips with a kiss before they rushed through the house and out to the lawn.
‘Follow us—Vincent’s gone through the kitchen,’ Richard called to the soldiers waiting there and he, Cassandra and Captain Dehesa hurried around to the rear of the kitchen. Richard reloaded his blunderbuss while they ran, too many fights at sea making him quick to ram the powder and shot home.
They reached the back of the kitchen outbuilding to find the door open and the surrounding night still.
‘Where did he go?’ Captain Dehesa asked. The woods behind them were dark and difficult to see through.
Cas pointed one pistol at the wharf. ‘There he is.’
Vincent, silhouetted by the reflection of the moon off the river, stood aboard the shallop moored to the dock, hoisting the sail and preparing to set off.
They ran towards the wharf, the soldiers following. They were halfway there when a burst of flame and a crack broke the stillness. Everyone ducked. The high-pitched whine of a bullet flew over them before shattering the bark of a nearby tree.
Richard, Cas and Captain Dehesa moved aside as the soldiers dropped to their knees and lowered their muskets.
‘Ready. Aim. Fire,’ the most senior man commanded.
A volley of musket balls hit the crates stacked on the dock, sending splinters of wood tearing through the sails and plunking into the water.
Mr Fitzwilliam cursed and grabbed his cheek, then struggled against the rocking shallop to fling off the line. The shallop began to drift away from the dock, caught by the current, the wind filling the sails.
‘Reload,’ one of the soldiers ordered.
‘He’ll be gone before you can fire again.’ Richard flew down the rise, refusing to allow Vincent to get away. He wouldn’t spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder each time he walked down the street, waiting for someone to stab him, and he wouldn’t worry about Cas every time he left her alone, afraid she might fall victim to Vincent’s wrath. That was how a pirate lived and he was no longer that. He was a gentleman again. Everything would end here tonight. He would make sure Vincent was arrested and tried, then he would stand in the square at Williamsburg and watch him hang, surrounded by society who would at last see him for the villain he really was.
Richard raced down the hill and to the dock, stopping and firing his blunderbuss the moment he thought he was in range. The ball missed Vincent, sending up a splash of water behind the boat. A lantern hanging over the dock swung in the breeze. It cast its faint orange light over the scarred wood, highlighting the line of red blood on Vincent’s cheek from where the splinter from the musket ball had hit him. He grinned at Richard from the drifting shallop.
‘You missed again, as all your strikes against me have.’
‘Not this time.’ Anger filled Richard, blotting out all rational thought of the law and a proper hanging. ‘I will have you and you will pay for the wrongs you’ve done.’
Vincent’s grin turned to horror when Richard tossed away the spent weapon and thundered down the dock. The wood quivered beneath each fall of Richard’s boots until he launched himself off the end, arching above the water to land in the stern of the shallop. The vessel pitched and rocked violently, knocking Vincent off balance, and Richard grabbed the side to steady himself.
‘Richard!’ Cassandra jerked to a stop at the edge of the dock. Captain Dehesa caught her by the waist and pulled her back before she could fall into the cool water. ‘Take these!’
She tossed the duelling pistols to Richard. One landed in the boat between him and Vincent. The other he caught before it was lost over the side. Vincent lunged at the weapon, taking it up and levelling it at Richard, who pointed his at his old friend.
‘Surrender, Vincent,’ Richard commanded, as he would any captain of a captured vessel at sea, Captain Rose descending over him. ‘You’re outnumbered and you can’t escape.’
The wind died down, making the sail sag and the boat, caught in the current, began to drift back towards the bank. The soldiers gathered there beside Cassandra. The shallop was in range of their muskets, but if they fired, they’d hit Richard and Vincent.
‘What do you think will happen after tonight?’ Vincent sneered. ‘Do you think Williamsburg society will welcome you back like some prodigal son? No matter what you do, you will always be a pirate, a thieving scum reviled by everyone.’
‘It didn’t have to be like this.’ Richard kept his arm steady, aiming at Vincent and working to keep his balance as the shallop rocked with the current. ‘You were my friend. You didn’t have to turn on me. I would’ve helped you if you’d told me the Virginia Trading Company was in trouble. You never gave me the chance.’
‘Yes, you were such a saint with your glorious ideas about serving your country and a father who’d sell his soul before seeing his precious son suffer as a mere solicitor. My father left me to twist in the wind while he escaped the problems he created by taking the coward’s way out. He wasn’t content to ruin his own life, but he tried to crush mine, too, after destroying my mother.’
‘And you think ruining the lives of innocent men to save yourself isn’t cowardly or makes you any better than him?’
‘I did what I had to do to survive, just like you, Captain Rose. The Virginia Trading Company was my mother’s legacy to me and I vowed to her that I would see it thrive again and not let my father fritter it away. I wasn’t about to let it go, just as you couldn’t let go of me. You could’ve disappeared to some remote port, reinvented yourself as a fat planter, but instead you wanted your revenge. Tell me, how many men have you killed in your crusade against me? How many passengers aboard ships have you terrorised? You want to condemn me, but you’re no better than I am.’
‘We’re nothing alike.’ Richard slid his finger along the curve of the trigger, ready to pull it and send a musket ball through Vincent’s smug face.
‘Aren’t we? Look at the lengths you’ve gone to, the sad depths you’ve sunk to in order to chase me.’
‘I did it to see you bro
ught to justice and for innocent men to have their names cleared.’
‘You did it for yourself and all for nothing because I won’t hang. I know too many influential men and their secrets. I will best you in this matter as I did when you attacked my ship. When I walk free, and I will, you won’t be able to chase me and your failure will haunt you for the rest of your life.’
Richard cocked the hammer of the pistol, his finger against the trigger shaking with the effort to hold it steady. Every wrong this man had ever done to him, all the venom that had urged him on through every hurricane and fight at sea and every wretched pirate town in the islands hardening his heart and demanding he act. ‘Then I’ll kill you now.’
‘Richard, don’t do it. He isn’t worth it,’ Cas pleaded from the dock, her voice as light as the calls of the night birds.
‘I won’t let him escape or be freed by corrupt men.’
‘He won’t be. He will face justice, but not like this.’
Richard curled his finger around the trigger, his eyes never leaving Vincent’s. This was the moment he’d plotted for years and he would not let it slip away.
‘Richard,’ Cas urged. ‘Don’t throw everything away again because of him.’
The sweet tone of her words cut through the hate he’d carried for too long, the one urging Richard to pull the trigger. If he shot the man in cold blood, then he was no better than him and he never would be. Revenge had brought him here but he needn’t carry it any further. He’d freed himself and his men tonight and put an end to Captain Rose. He wouldn’t step outside the law again and lose himself to more years of futile searching and running, and being separated from Cas. She’d offered him a future; it was time to let go of the past and seize it, and her love.
Richard took his finger off the trigger and slowly lowered the hammer. ‘It’s over, Vincent. You don’t have the money to buy your way out of these charges, and the evidence I have against you will mean no man of standing in the colonies will risk his reputation to defend you. There’s nowhere for you to go and nothing for you to do but face the charges, and you will. And then I’ll watch you hang and never think of you again.’
The hopelessness of his situation began to dawn on Vincent’s face and the scowl on his brow lengthened to a look of wretched defeat, but still he didn’t lower the pistol or surrender. ‘You think you’ve won, but you haven’t. You think you’ve taken everything from me, righted some wrong, but you’ve failed. I’ll see you suffer. You’ve stolen from me the one thing I cherished the most, my last connection to my mother, just like my father tried to do. I will see you suffer for it by taking away something you cherish.’
Vincent whipped his pistol around towards Cassandra. He thumbed back the hammer, the hesitation fatal as Richard pulled the trigger of his weapon. His shot slammed into Vincent’s chest, jerking him around to face Richard as his gun fired. The bullet winged Richard’s arm, slicing his coat and shirt and the skin beneath.
Red spread out from Vincent’s chest to stain the blue brocade of his frock coat, and a strangled whisper escaped his lips before he dropped to his knees, his eyes meeting Richard’s one last time before he pitched forward against the thwart board, dead.
Richard opened his fingers and the pistol dropped to clatter against the wooden hull. He stared at his childhood friend, relief and regret flooding him. They’d spent many warm nights like this one sailing these waters together as boys, dreaming of the future. Neither of them could have imagined it ending like this.
‘Richard?’ Cassandra called out, her voice more beautiful than a safe port in a storm.
He took up the line and tossed it at the dock. The soldiers caught it and hauled the shallop back in.
‘Are you all right?’ Cassandra rushed to him as he climbed out of the boat. She shoved his frock coat off his arm to examine the wound in the dim lantern light.
‘It’s only a scratch.’ He smiled, too enamoured of her to mind the pain.
‘I hope you won’t take such risks when we’re married. I won’t be made a widow again.’ She slapped his broad chest, not as amused as him by the near miss.
‘The most I’ll risk is a missed dance step or two.’ He pulled her back against his chest, and she melded into the curve of his body.
She rested her hand on his shoulders, her touch hesitant. ‘It’s really over, isn’t it? The last five years, everything?’
Her disbelief matched his. He glanced past her to where the dragoons pulled Vincent’s lifeless body out of the boat. His old friend and greatest enemy was dead and he could never threaten or come between them again. ‘It is, all of it, and there’s nothing to stop us from being together.’
‘No, there isn’t.’
He cupped her cheek with his hand, bringing his face so close to hers he could feel her breath on his neck. ‘I love you, Cas.’
‘I love you, too.’
He covered her lips with his.
At last, he was home.
Epilogue
The candles burning in the candelabras of the Butler Plantation sitting room danced with a draught, making the light waver over the wainscoting on the walls and the thin and nervous reverend’s solemn expression where he stood before the fireplace.
‘I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride,’ the reverend said in a small voice hampered by meekness.
Arabella’s tight grip on the bouquet of hastily picked roses from the garden cracked the stems. Evander Devlin turned to her. His dark brown hair was tied in a red ribbon at the nape of his neck and his black frock coat made his wide shoulders and towering height even more impressive. At one time she’d vowed never to fall under a man’s control. Tonight she’d sold herself to this one to keep from losing everything.
‘Ahem...’ The reverend cleared his skinny throat. ‘You may now kiss the bride.’
‘Yes, I know.’ Evander adjusted the tricorn under his arm, but did nothing else.
Arabella raised her chin to the man who was now her husband, refusing to reveal any hint of the nervousness twisting her insides. She’d made a deal with Mr Devlin and she’d see it through, all of it.
Mr Devlin studied her, more intrigued than besotted. He was lean but coiled tight, like a venomous serpent, and she guessed just as lethal if provoked. Judging by his languid expression, it would take a great deal of prodding to make him strike.
‘This is where you kiss me,’ she insisted, waiting for him to finish the ceremony, to claim her as his wife as he now held every right to do. She hoped the tales she’d heard of his carnal skills, the ones the maids used to bring back from Williamsburg along with the market proceeds, were true. It would make the delicate terms of their arrangement more enjoyable.
‘No, I don’t believe I will,’ he replied in a long drawl, as if rejecting wine at dinner.
She dropped her arms, making the rosebuds brush against her ivory-silk gown.
The rector tugged at his collar. ‘Sir, it’s customary.’
‘So is bedding the bride on her wedding night, but I have no intention of doing that either.’ He arched one eyebrow at her as if he expected a challenge. She couldn’t disappoint him.
‘I will be your true wife.’ She tossed the bouquet on a side table, the fake pearls wound through the curls of her coiffure clinking together at the movement. He wouldn’t disrespect her the way her father had disrespected and debased her mother. Nor would she fail to gain some pleasure from surrendering her freedom to this irritating and too-handsome man.
‘Some day, but you’re too young to risk becoming a mother just yet.’
‘I’m sixteen.’ Half the respectable young ladies in Williamsburg were already wedded and bedded at this age.
‘And as I said, too young.’ He cuffed her under the chin, and she wanted to stomp her foot in frustration. What kind of insolence was this? It made no sense.
T
he elder Mr Devlin, the only witness to this wedding farce besides the reverend and Mary, Arabella’s lady’s maid, snored from his place in the stuffed chair behind her, his long legs stretched out in front of him.
‘I’ll wake him and have him and your maid sign the licence,’ the reverend offered, eager to leave the newlyweds to their quarrel. He stepped around Arabella and Evander, visibly relieved to have something more to do than debate their conjugal relationship.
The reverend tapped Mr Devlin awake.
‘What? Who?’ The older man snorted. ‘Oh, it’s over? Good, need to be getting on to Charleston. Congratulations, my dear, welcome to the family, such as it is.’
He touched the tip of his tricorn to her, then followed the reverend and the maid out of the room, scratching his stomach while he went.
‘We’re going to Charleston?’ Arabella wasn’t prepared to leave Butler Plantation. For all the hateful memories, there were good ones with her mother, too, and now that it would be hers again thanks to this strange marriage, there was so much she wanted to do to it.
‘No. My father and I are going to Charleston. You are staying here.’
‘You’re leaving me? Already?’ Why had he married her if he was going to abandon her minutes after the ceremony?
‘I have business to deal with,’ he stated as if telling her the price of cotton.
‘When are you coming back?’
‘Not for some time.’ He withdrew two papers from his frock-coat pocket and held out one to her. ‘This is the deed to Butler Plantation as I promised you when we were betrothed.’ He offered her the other. ‘This is the patent for the Virginia Trading Company the court awarded us to pay your brother’s debts. Consider it my wedding present to you.’
She took the patent, stunned. It was unheard of for a man to give his wife a business, especially one like this. Assuming she remained his true wife.
‘I’m hardly a bride if...’ she flapped the papers in the air, losing her grip on her usual steadiness ‘...the rest doesn’t follow.’
