Jon’s demeanor was hard to read. Treacher expected to be greeted by a privateer, an ally to the Crown and so that is what Captain Stag would show him. It was all an act. He intended to rob the Dauntless in broad daylight.
Bronwyn’s hand caressed the firearm she had stuck in her belt, reassured by its presence. Mr. Frame and Mr. Hawkins were not pleased to see that she had not worn the gown. It was a tremendous risk not to look the part of a lady but Bronwyn had another plan in mind when she boarded the Dauntless.
Roddy was at her side. She kept a tight grip on him; the foolish child seemed determined to join the other sailors at the rail. Treacher’s men could easily mistake the boy for one of Jon Stag’s crew and shoot him, if this ploy ended badly. For now, she was going to do as Jon asked and go along with the deception for as long as possible. She was going to trust him.
“Good day, sir!” Jon called across the bow as the gangplank between the two ships was set in place. “I have a passenger of yours, sir. You will be glad to get her back. She was to sail to America on Dauntless but missed the chance.”
“So I understand from your message, sir. But what is this about, Captain? I was not aware I would be transporting a passenger when we set sail from Penzance.”
“I beg your pardon, Captain Treacher,” Bronwyn said loudly. “The voyage was arranged in haste on my father’s orders. He is General Gage in Massachusetts. I suppose there was no time to inform you of the arrangement.” She clutched Roddy’s hand and climbed the short step to the gangway. Once she was aboard Dauntless, there was little Treacher could do to remove her. Thus far, he’d given no indication that he knew he was being deceived. No alarm had been raised, no accusations of her being an imposter—Bronwyn breathed a little easier.
The gap between the ships was wide. Roddy shrank back, pulling on her hand. “Don’t look down,” she instructed quietly. The officers on Dauntless reached out to receive her.
Though she told herself not to, she glanced over her shoulder at Captain Stag. His expression was grim, but in his eyes she glimpsed warmth and possibly even love. It was a look of farewell. Their eyes locked and Bronwyn paused, momentarily frightened by the intensity of his emotion. And then the look disappeared as if it had never been. He was himself again—arrogant and hard.
She turned back to the waiting officers, filled with frustration and uneasiness. What was the meaning of that look?
Captain Treacher received her with a puzzled air. “My lady, please accept my deepest apologies. I would not have left without you if I had known. You say your father is expecting you?” He examined her garb and his mouth pulled to a frown.
There was tension on board the Dauntless. British soldiers, clad in brilliant red coats were on their guard. Though none would defy an order, fingers twitched to lay hold of weapons and Bronwyn sensed their mistrust of the privateer vessel.
Into this powder keg, she led her young brother with a bright smile on her lips and a wealth of nervous chatter. “Captain Treacher, I am delighted to make your acquaintance at last. Please forgive my appearance. I have been on board the Black for a week and as you know, sir, one must pull one’s weight at sea. I have not been idle. Indeed, I cannot think when I’ve worked so hard. Hence, you find me dressed in this costume!” She laughed gaily as she imagined a lady might.
Before the gangway could be cast off, Mr. Hawkins and able seaman, Skinner advanced across.
“Hold there!” Captain Treacher shouted. “You do not have permission to board.”
“Sir, we have the young lady’s things. Her gown and such. Just a few bits and bobs that she’ll have need of on the journey.”
Captain Treacher gave the men a cool appraising look as Hawkins and Skinner boarded followed by two other men carrying a trunk. Bronwyn frowned. She did not have a trunk as Mr. Hawkins was well aware. She sought Jon’s face in the assembly poised to do battle on the Black. He was gazing fixedly at Treacher and the other officers.
Her nerves prickled. Something was about to happen. Skinner and another sailor were fussing with the trunk as though it were heavy. Bronwyn’s eyes went to Roddy who was hovering, wide-eyed, near the only escape route possible—the gangplank.
“It has been a year or more since I last saw your father,” Treacher was saying. “How is General Gage faring in Boston and has your brother enlisted? You must tell me everything.”
Her heart pounded in her throat. Words would not come. “I—I will be happy to, sir. If don’t object to long-winded glowing reports about dear papa.”
The attempt to distract Treacher didn’t work. He caught sight of Stag’s men moving to the master’s quarters with the trunk.
“Hold! Stop right there!”
Captain Treacher swung into action, signaling the redcoats. “Prepare to fire on any man who moves. What are you after, Captain Stag?” he shouted across to the Black.
“Parlay, Treacher! I request parlay and no one need get hurt. I have information that will be of value to you.” Jon vaulted to the gangplank and prepared to cross. In the distraction, his men slipped into the master’s quarters with the trunk to collect the gold.
Bronwyn had calculated every position, every possible outcome—with the exception of one. Mr. Hawkins was stopped directly behind her. Suddenly, she felt a ropey arm around her neck, squeezing it in a vise-like grip. Her pistol was yanked from her belt and pressed to her temple.
“I had a feeling you’d be carrying this,” Hawkins hissed in her ear. He yelled at Treacher. “Order your men to stand down or I will scatter Lady Gage’s brains all over the deck.”
“Hawkins, what the fuck are you doing?” Jon shouted. “This is not what we discussed!”
The old seaman twisted his neck and hissed. “I won’t let you do it! The Black Adder needs her captain!” He turned back to Treacher and pressed the barrel harder against Bronwyn's temple. His arm was choking the life out of her. “We’ll be taking your gold quietly, captain, or we’ll be murdering Lady Gage before your very eyes. When Gage gets wind you sacrificed his daughter and a regiment for the sake of gold, you’ll lose your commission, if not worse.”
“Stand down!” Treacher ordered the British soldiers who had aimed their weapons at Hawkins. “Damn you, Stag—you bloody pirate!—I’ll have you hanged for this!”
The minutes crawled past waiting for Stag’s men to reappear from the master’s quarters where the payroll gold was secured. The tension on deck was thick; Hawkins would not release his grip. Bronwyn heard Roddy laboring for breath.
“It’s all right, Roddy! I’m perfectly safe! Please—let me go to him. He can’t get his breath!”
Skinner and the other man came on deck burdened down with the trunk and pushed past the boy to scurry across the gangplank like a couple of rats. Once they were safely aboard the Black, Bronwyn lunged for Roddy.
“Uh, uh—no, you don’t!” Hawkins cackled. “You won’t be needing a cabin boy where you are going, my lady,”
Hawkins flung Bronwyn to the deck and then sprang for the gangplank. He scooped Roddy up like a loaf of bread and hauled him across the gangplank. The boy was blue from panic and trying to catch his breath.
Rough hands pulled her to her feet and she was dimly away of a searing pain in her shoulder. “Stop!” she screamed. “Stop, Mr. Hawkins! Please, don’t take him, don’t take him!”
A black look came over Bill Hawkins’ face, seeing something that Bronwyn could not. Jon lunged at the first mate in the very instant that Hawkins released the boy from under his arm.
Bronwyn watched in mute horror as her brother fell between the two great ships. Stag’s arm reached out, swift as a blade and caught the boy by his collar. His neck and shoulders strained to hold onto him.
Bronwyn dashed to the side of the Dauntless, gripping the railing, her eyes fixed on the scene. Roddy’s blue jacket was tight enough to hold him fast under the arms but he was a dead weight. Jon’s jaw clenched and he pulled with all his strength to get the boy over the railing. James and Mr
. Frame ran over to help their captain and soon Roddy was safe and sound—but on board the Black Adder.
Hawkins pulled up the gangplank before Treacher’s men could cross. The two ships were just far enough apart that vaulting the gap was impossible. Bronwyn clung to the railing, faint and ill. Roddy was on the opposite side, in Jon Stag’s grip.
“Do not feel ill-used, Captain Treacher,” crowed Bill Hawkins from the safety of the Black Adder. “We have your gold but we have left you a prize to take back to General Gage. Unfortunately, the poor man won’t know the lady because the lady is not General Gage’s daughter!”
Treacher leaned forward to catch the old sailor’s words. “You said you were giving me Lady Gage. If this lady is not she, then who the hell is she?”
“We’ve given you something far better, sir. Lady Gage is most likely in New York, safe and sound with her mama. That woman is an imposter. Oh, aye, she had us all fooled, including Captain Stag. Her name is Bronwyn Barlow.” Hawkins wheezed with glee. “She is a spy for the American colonialists!”
Bronwyn’s eyes snapped in Hawkins’ direction. “That’s a lie!” she shouted. But it was too late and she knew it was too late. She met Jon’s fierce glowing eyes. “Liar!” she screamed.
Chapter Twenty
TREACHER WAS taking no chances. He ordered his officers to secure the prisoner and Bronwyn felt her status change in an instant. Now a suspected traitor, her arms were bruised by the grip of two sailors hauling her away from the side.
“Winnie! Winnie”
Roddy’s screams pierced her heart.
It was hard to say who fired the first shot or who gave the order. Smoke and noise filled the air in a terrifying exchange of cannon fire. A cannonball whistled over her head and smashed into the deck behind her. The redcoats holding her prisoner were forced to release their grip to defend their ship and men on both sides were consumed in a cloud of smoke and flame.
“Roddy!” The smoke was too thick to see what was going on.
“Get below!” Jon yelled across the gap at her. “You’ll be killed!”
“Where is my brother?” she screamed until she was hoarse. “Where is Roddy?”
The deck was smashed behind her by a volley; wood splintered and became missiles. Bronwyn felt a stinging tear in her shoulder. She’d been hit by a piece of shrapnel. She reached for her pistol reflexively and then remembered Hawkins had taken it. She had intended to use it to take Treacher hostage and take command of the ship. It was a mad plan, outrageous—but with Jon’s help, it might have worked.
The black smoke was clearing. Bronwyn scanned the Black for her brother and caught sight of him in the last second. “Get down! For God’s sake, get down!”
The boy heard his sister’s voice. He pulled his arms out of his jacket to escape Jon Stag’s grip and darted toward the gangplank, ducking and dodging the hands that reached out to stop him.
Jon gripped the rigging and leapt up to the side of the Black. A shell exploded behind him. He reached out to catch the boy as he was scrambling up to the plank.
“I am coming, Winnie! I’m coming!”
“Stop, Roddy—no!”
Bronwyn watched, unable to tear her eyes away from the scene.
Jon swung in a wide arc, one hand gripping a length of rope and the other reaching out to grab Roddy. In that instant, a musket shot sounded behind Bronwyn. She watched in horror as the shot pierced her brother’s chest and he stumbled at the edge of the gangplank. Jon snatched the boy back just as he was about to topple into the sea below.
Her screams cut through the smoke and noise—unintelligible, garbled wails that scraped her throat raw and halted the fighting for an instant.
Jon jumped down, holding the lifeless boy in his arms. A brilliant pool of scarlet stained Roddy’s shirt and was transferred to Jon’s. There was so much blood … so much blood from such a small boy. Jon’s gray eyes had widened, as if stunned that the tragedy had happened and so quickly. He pressed his hand over the red fountain of blood coming from the boy’s chest to stanch the flow. Roddy’s eyes blinked open, and then closed again for the last time.
He was gone.
Bronwyn’s voice failed. Her eyes met Jon’s and she felt as if time had slowed down. The news was written on his face; she did not need to hear the words. Her brother was dead.
Her legs gave way and she burst into hysterical tears. “Let me go! Let me go!”
She battled the hands that held her back, thrashing wildly against the restraint but it was no use. Treacher’s men dragged her away from the scene, shoving her below deck in the hold. Bronwyn was aware of a door being swung open and she was pushed inside a small cell and locked in before the men ran back to the battle in progress.
The last image she had in her mind before she lost consciousness was Roddy’s blood soaking into Jon Stag’s white shirt.
§
“SURGEON!” JON bellowed over the noise. The Dauntless had fired another cannon ball, striking the deck and splintering it to pieces. Treacher was aiming for the mast and thus far had missed.
Doctor Blakely hustled up to Stag, artfully dodging the flying shrapnel. Jon handed him the boy. “See what can be done. Save him at all costs.”
“You’ve been hit too, Jon. You I can save—there is no hope for the boy. Look, there’s blood coming from your side.”
Jon glanced down at his shirt where Roddy’s blood and his had mingled. “I’m all right—the boy—get him below.”
“I can’t operate in these conditions! I’ll kill the lad if he isn’t already dead. Jon, you know as well as I do, it is a hopeless case!”
“Goddamn you—say that again and I’ll throw you over the side! Take him below and do what you can. Mr. Frame, hard to starboard—in full retreat!” He gave the order and then doubled over in pain. The shot had passed through Roddy and nicked Jon in the side, not enough to kill him but enough to hurt like the very devil.
The Black responded; the sail took hold of the wind and bore them out of range of the Dauntless’ cannons. Jon had to get into calm waters if Roddy was going to have a chance.
§
THE SHELLING sounded like thunder. The sides of the thick hull shook and vibrated with every blow. She knew they had taken on water from the sounds of panic outside the cell. Perhaps they would all drown.
Bronwyn rolled to her side and clutched her knees to her chest in keening agony. The instant of Roddy’s death played over in her mind and she wanted only to go back to the moment when he was alive and there was still hope.
The awful knowledge of his death—the permanence of it—tormented her to tears and she wanted to die. He died because she was stubborn and arrogant. She knew the danger and she led him by the hand right into it.
There was nothing to fight for anymore. He was gone and so was her purpose.
The pain returned and the wrenching hollow agony of his loss.
Roddy is dead.
“Oh God, please take me too,” she whispered. “Let a cannon ball find its mark in this cell and put an end to this dreadful misery.”
§
JON CHARGED up the stairs to the top deck and assumed command of the helm.
“We have the gold!” Hawkins gloated. “The Dauntless will limp into Boston Harbor. She took a hell of a beating. Treacher is done for.”
Jon ignored his first mate. “When we’re well away, Mr. Frame, set a course for America. Keep well out of sight of the Dauntless.”
Hawkins protested. “The risk is too great, Jon. There’ll be a price on our heads. Set a course for the South Seas—Tahiti! Remember our plan.”
“I would better remember the man who broke faith with me and disobeyed my orders.”
Jon moved on Hawkins menacingly. “I wanted no bloodshed. You put Bronwyn in danger and you tried to kill one of your shipmates, the cabin boy, Roddy Barlow.”
“I dropped him. It was an accident.” Hawkins’s eyes shifted to the men who were assembled below listening to every word. �
�I did it for us, for the ship and every man aboard. Any fool could see that Treacher wasn’t going to let that gold off his ship without a fight—and a far more serious fight it would have been too without my intervention.”
Stag flew in a rage at Hawkins. “I told you we were not going to tell Treacher about Miss Barlow. I gave you a direct order to keep your mouth shut.”
“We have the gold and Treacher has something of value. He would have come after us, Jon. Why do ye think we got off so easily? And what’s more, he’ll not give chase with a traitor to occupy him.”
“I gave you an order!”
“For the good of this ship, I disobeyed it! You know as well as I that Treacher is only interested in his reputation. I provided him with a means to save face with his superiors. He’ll bother us no more. You’d have done the same thing if you were not besotted with that girl.”
Hawkins squared his narrow shoulders belligerently. “You’ll not get an apology out of me. You fell under her spell. She is a spy, accustomed to turning the heads of men. You’ve had a lucky escape and we have the treasure of our dreams!”
Stag lunged and plowed his fist into the first mate’s face, knocking him off his feet. He hauled him up by the scruff of his neck and threw him in the direction of the midshipman. “Put that man in irons and lock him in the hold. I cannot stomach the sight of him. You will be made to walk the plank, Mr. Hawkins. I will not be lenient. I haven’t got it in me. You know the rules aboard the Black—obey your captain or leave the ship. You have made it clear where your loyalties lie.”
Hawkins did not bother to mount a defense. His old scruffy face closed, hard and filled with contempt. “I might have known whose side you would land on. I might have known you would choose the wench over me. I’ve stood by you for nine years, boy, and this is how you thank me.”
“Thank you!” Jon thundered. His fists closed, fighting against the desire to throttle the man. “How should I thank you for disobeying every direct order I have given you? For putting the crew in danger and taking the life of an innocent boy! Should I thank you that Miss Barlow is no longer on this ship and that the entire Royal Navy will hunt us to the four corners of the earth for the deception?”
The Pirate Lord: Aristocrat. Rogue. Spy. Page 13
