by Wilde, Tanya
“Wait,” she croaked as he hauled her to her feet. “Have you not destroyed enough of me?” Damn her words for sounding so pitiful, but she’d do anything to spare her some time.
“Not nearly as much as you destroyed me.”
And with that, he snatched her by the arm and dragged her from the room. She was powerless to stop him, but by the saints, she would not let death take her without a fight.
He led her through a narrow corridor and up a short flight of stairs to the deck.
A few sailors milled about, though not nearly enough to man a ship this size. Some of them had vicious scars marring their faces and arms, some had black designs on their necks, but they all smelled if they were in need of a bath and they all looked as cruel as her captor.
De Roux pushed her into the arms of a short, fat man whose smile revealed his yellow, rotting teeth.
“There, there beautiful, I’ve got ye.”
Belle pushed at his flabby chest, but his arms caged her in like an iron bar.
“Let me go at once! What are planning to do with me?”
They all laughed.
“You haven’t told her, captain?”
Belle stilled. She recognized that voice.
A man stepped out from the shadows. She could not place him, not until a pouch full of coins landed at her feet. Her pouch.
“You!” she accused.
“Aye, me.
De Roux chuckled. “Ah yes, you have met George, I believe. What was it you said? ‘It’s hard to imagine one can put a price on someone’s life, yet, to me his life is not worth a penny.’ Those were the words, George?”
“Aye, captain, word for word.”
Belle struggled against her hold. “You are vile,” she snapped at the both of them.
“Perhaps it’s time to tell her captain,” George said, his smile a nasty delight.
Tell her what?
“I was saving the best for last.”
The rotten beast started to drag her to the side of the ship.
“Lower the plank!” Edgar demanded.
Plank?
And then it hit her.
“Ah yes, what do you think, ma belle? I know. It’s a bit archaic, but your friends have given chase, not leaving me much choice. But, look at it this way, my dear, sweet, Belle, by walking the plank, we are giving them a grand show.” He glanced at his men as they put good work in readying the tool of her demise. “Now let us see whether they can save you, shall we?”
“You are despicable!” she spat, the instinct to survive sharp in her mind. She’d learned to swim as a child. If she could hold out long enough, her friends may get to her in time.
She dragged her feet as she was pushed toward the plank, her onlookers cheering in glee. De Roux stood silent, watching every nuisance of her expression. She schooled her expression, refusing to show fear.
“I admire the woman you’ve become, my sweet,” he drawled. “It seems such a waste to kill you, but admiration does not wipe out hatred.”
“Go to hell!”
She was pushed from behind as soon as the words left her lips and her knees hit the ground with a painful thud.
“Mind ye language, lass. That is the captain you’re speaking to.”
Belle grunted, lifting herself to her feet again. She shot Rotten Teeth a glare.
He motioned her toward the plank.
With an exaggerated sigh, she shut her eyes in an attempt to gather all her strength. Another push brought Belle back to her surroundings. She took a step forward, her gaze lifting to the sky. No stars could be seen tonight, no moon.
Another step.
The sloshing sound of water hitting the ship’s side should have caused her panic, but instead, it served to calm her frayed nerves. The ship was alight with fire sticks, but the waters were dark. Even if her friends did manage to catch up with her, how would they find her?
Rough fingers grabbed her waist and lifted her to the plank, shoving her further onto it.
Belle gasped as she almost fell forward, but managed to righten herself.
A pistol cocked behind her.
Fabulous.
She shot De Roux a glare of her shoulder. “Is that truly necessary?”
He shrugged. “You are as slippery as an eel, my dear. Just a precaution, nothing more.”
Precaution, her backside. It would be just like him to shoot her in the back once she reached the edge of the plank. She’d not give him the pleasure.
A glance into the black abyss showed a small, flickering light in the distance. A flicker of hope. As long as he did not shoot her in the back, or anywhere else on her person, and as long as she managed to stay afloat until her friends arrived, she may yet survive.
The cheers had grown boisterous by now and Belle took another step forward, bringing her to the middle of the plank. She may die yet, but Belle would be damned if she did not get the last say.
Glancing over her shoulder at De Roux, her lips stretched into a wide smile. “Until we meet again,” she said just before she threw herself off the plank, plunging into the ice-cold ocean.
On the ship, everyone fell silent as De Roux’s roar of fury echoed through the night.
It was hard not to surface the moment the coldness stung her skin but instead, Belle dove deeper, swimming away from the ship.
Popping noises, reached her ear, and Belle could only imagine them shooting into the ocean, but she did not plan to be shark bait tonight.
Belle finally started to push herself to the surface, her limbs exhausted and numb from the cold. When she broke through the water, the night air was not as chill as the sea.
Gasping for breath, she tread water. “Oh you’re in a bind now, Belle,” she muttered as she glanced up at the ship. She could hear that unoriginal and pathetic villain shouting obscenities over the side.
Good.
She noted with satisfaction she’d surface far enough for them not to spot her in the dark waters, not that it mattered. They’d have to make a quick escape if they wished to be gone by the time her friends arrived.
Their ship was still a small flickering light in the distance. Belle was no seafarer, so it was hard to tell how far away they were. There was nothing to do but float in their direction until they reached her. Floating would conserve her energy at least.
However, it proved easier said than done. All too soon the numbness receded, replaced by tiny prickles of cold, stabbing at her skin. Her teeth clattered together and the energy she spent to fight away the cold was almost painful. Already her legs were sinking, refusing to stay afloat.
Damn that pox-riddled man.
If she died tonight, she would haunt that slimy weasel. Yes, she’d command her soul to go straight to him or…Simon.
But no, she was still mad at him for his insufferable maleness. Wasn’t she?
She’d kept so many secrets from her friends, so many things left unsaid. It bothered her. She wasn’t prepared to die. Not yet.
Nonetheless, she occupied her mind by imagining all the ways she would haunt her cursed enemy. She’d haunt in right into Bedlam, and she would haunt him there still. She’d haunt him for all the ways in which he haunted her. He’d unrepentantly sliced into her womb, the cruel bastard. It was his doing that she would never bear children. That she’d always feel pain where her scar was carved into her skin. That she’d always be damaged. And that she’d always remember her mistake.
That was, perhaps, the biggest burden of them all.
Every time she saw a child playing in the park, she remembered the reason why she could never have a family. Every time she felt pain, she remembered the reason she hurt.
Ah yes, her death will be bittersweet indeed.
“I hope you are ready for me, you bastard, I will haunt your vile hide straight into perdition.”
The dark, merciless ocean pulled at her.
But even after all she’d been through, she did not regret any of it. Not even her lackluster night with Simon.
Her clattering mouth attempted to smile as she recalled his shocked expression at taking her virtue. Sure, she’d been furious, but looking back now, it was rather comical.
She’d have to haunt him for that and for the hope he’d snuck into her chest, the hope that made it possible to dream of dreams she’d long since forgotten about—dreams of passion, and, perhaps, of love.
It seemed, however, that fate still favored irony above all. She had cheated death once, and fate, apparently, was not about to allow her to cheat it again.
Belle started to cough, swallowing water. Her eyes burned and it was becoming such a task to breathe. It was so cold. Every part of her hurt so much.
She’d done her best, saved all her strength for this. But she started to sink then; the ocean swallowing her into its dark depths. She felt one last thought bubble up before her face submerged under the water.
Hope was a damnable thing.
Chapter 11
Simon found it difficult to breathe. Bile rose in the back of his throat. They had failed. De Roux had taken Belle and he’d do unspeakable things to her—was likely already doing those things. The images his mind conjured terrified him, numbed him. Somewhere, deep in the back of his awareness, a voice admonished him that it was not the time to dwell on such things, that he had to stay strong and find her. No matter what.
“Simon, we will find her.”
His expression blank, Simon stared at his sister.
They had all failed her; she had believed herself safe under their protection. She’d placed so much trust in these pair of brothers, so much trust in them all.
Simon looked away way from them, not able to stomach their presence. He wanted to lash out at someone, but the blame did not only lay with Shaw. He should have fought harder against them. The plan had not been solid enough. They’d not taken into account that De Roux might retaliate so swiftly, that he might find a way to avert the trap. All of them were at fault. The bastard had been one step ahead of them since the start.
Simon leaned against the nearest building when nausea overtook him. In short order, he cast up his accounts. A gentle hand attempted to comfort him, patting his back. By nature, he wasn’t a mean person, but he would make it his personal mission to destroy Derek Shaw’s life if they did not find Belle in time.
The sound of hooves drawing closer drew his focus away from his churning stomach and to an approaching rider. His released a stifling groan.
Grey stopped a few paces away.
He took in Simon, crouched against the wall, probably deathly pale and Shaw standing guard before his steely gaze landed on his wife’s tear-streaked face.
Simon watched his Grey’s mouth pressed into a hard line before he jumped from his horse. Of course, Grey had forbidden Evelyn to get involved.
Grey walked over to Simon. “We will get her back,” he murmured, then cast a murderous glance Shaw’s way. “Won’t we, Shaw?”
Derek nodded.
“Get St. Aldwyn,” Grey ordered.
“There is no time for this,” Derek bit out. “We must find my brother; he followed them.”
“And St. Aldwyn is the only one who can snap Westfield out of his shock,” Grey snapped back.
Still hunched over, Simon rather took offense to that, but perhaps Grey had a point. After all, why wasn’t he speaking? It was as if his tongue had seized all movement.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Shaw hesitate, and in that moment, lucidity reigned. Simon turned a murderous glare on Derek Shaw. “I told you not to involve her. If anything happens to her, I will skin you.”
Derek only nodded, his eyes grim. “If Lady Belle dies, I will let you.” Then he turned and left, taking Grey’s horse.
A few minutes later a carriage rolled up and Grey directed Evelyn toward it, depositing her inside before he came back for Simon, who followed him on numb limbs.
“Matthew,” his sister started to stay to Grey.
“I told you not to get involved; it’s too dangerous,” Grey’s soft voice, harsh with emotion, made Simon happy he wasn’t married to Grey.
“Belle is my best friend.”
Belle. Was she even still alive?
Grey’s foul curse snapped Simon’s head up. He cast a frown at his friend.
“You are carrying my child, Evelyn. I cannot believe you’d endanger him or her.”
“I am not!”
Simon’s ears perked up, though his thoughts were still lost in misery. Trust his sister not to realize she was with child.
“Yes, Evelyn, you are. Your body has started to round and you’re devouring everything in sight. That is what happens when you are expecting.”
Evelyn’s mouth formed a silent “O” and she glanced down at her figure, patting at her middle before groping her own breasts, no doubt trying to feel the roundness her husband was referring to.
Simon groaned. “Please do not do that in my presence.”
She shot him an apologizing stare. “I do not feel any different, and I haven’t been sick. You are supposed to become sick, right?”
“Perhaps you are lucky in that regard,” Grey said with a sigh, no doubt exasperated by his wife at this point.
“Congratulations, sis,” Simon murmured, managing a slight smile. “Soon you will be casting up your accounts, as well.”
“Ugh. I can only hope I will do so with more style.”
Simon did not laugh at her attempt to lighten the mood. Instead, he looked away. He still clutched at his stomach as it started to churn once more.
He was supposed to protect Belle, and now she was gone. She could be screaming in pain. Or bleeding to death, counting on them to save her and they sat in a damn carriage, exchanging heated looks.
How long had it been since she disappeared? An hour? Two? One moment she stood there, talking with the man who’d hurt her, and in the next moment, two men dashed from the shadows, drawing their attention away for but a moment before the dynamite exploded and she’d vanished.
He couldn’t breathe. Choking noises tore from his throat.
Simon shot out the door, hitting the side of the road with a painful thud, heaving. His sister’s cry of alarm came from a distance, as Grey’s command for her to leave him enough room to breathe. Terrible noises started emerging from his throat. Were they moans or keens? He wasn’t even sure. Then he heard it. Belle, belle, belle. He was chanting her name like a prayer or like she was already dead.
Hard hands gripped his shoulders, hauling him upright.
Those hard hands then gripped his face.
St. Aldwyn.
“Saints brother, you are a sight for sore eyes. And ears.”
“Sod off.”
St. Aldwyn cursed. “Listen, we will find Lady Belle, and when we do we will string that son of a bitch from his limbs. But first, you must get a grip on yourself. Even if I have to tear England apart, we will find her, because I’d rather not have my wife declare war on France, and she would do that before she gave up on finding her friend.”
Simon rather thought she’d do it, too. The only reason she wasn’t here clad with armor was she’d sprained an ankle earlier that day and hobbling about in the dark seemed foolish.
He gave a single nod, fighting to take control back from his body and mind. Not an easy task, but he managed to find renewed strength the moment his determination to save Belle outweighed his fear.
He glanced at his brother-in-law. “You should take Evelyn home. We will start to track Belle and find the others.”
“I am not going anywhere. Belle is my friend, I will not abandon her,” Evelyn replied, her jaw set.
“This is no place for a woman with child! You will do as you’re told,” Simon barked, sending her a stern look.
St. Aldwyn’s gaze dropped to her middle, a low whistle leaving his lips, while he shook his head disapprovingly.
Grey shot them the briefest of grateful looks before leading his wife back to the safety of the carriage.
“We
must stop anyone who may have seen her,” Simon said as he watched the carriage depart with hardened eyes before he turned to St. Aldwyn.
His friend nodded. “James saw her being tackled and rolled off the dock and into a boat. He followed, I do not know how, but I was tasked with informing the captain of the Mary Jane that we will be making a hasty departure. They are waiting for us now.”
Simon felt his gut clench at the thought of Belle on a ship, bound for Christ knows where. The thought of her gone, forever from this world, his life, was incomprehensible, inconceivable and utterly devastating. He would not allow it to happen. It could not happen.
They took off at a run. The anchored ship was not far. Simon refrained from asking questions, like who the hell was this captain and what his connection to James Shaw was. None of that mattered. The only thing that mattered was that they possessed the means to save Belle.
On deck, men were running around and shouting orders. Derek Shaw was at the helm, James Shaw nowhere in sight. A few minutes later, they were on their way and heading out to open sea.
“Do not worry, old friend, she’s as tough as nails, if you recall.”
That she was. “They have a good head start on us.”
St. Aldwyn nodded. “True, but The Mary Jane here is the lighter, smaller and quicker if the captain’s boasting is to be believed.”
Simon did not reply, his gaze roaming the dark abyss staring back at him.
“Here,” St. Aldwyn murmured, placing a flask in his hand. “Drink that.”
He studied the flask; the St. Aldwyn crest was engraved in the center. “Did someone steal your bourbon that you would engrave your family name onto it?”
His friend shrugged. “It’s never been taken again.”
With a chuckle, Simon swallowed a good measure of the stuff, the liquid burning down his throat. Never had he wanted to punch a Shaw as much as he did then.
A small flickering light in the distance brought his attention back to the ocean. How much time had passed? Moments later, shouts rang and cheers went up, but Simon and St. Aldwyn did not share their joy. Finding the ship was not enough. They needed to recover Belle.
