Blackheart

by Raelle Logan

  “Aye. Ghosts of those who have been slain there walk the land, famished goblins seekin’ destruction, some formless, others wisps of fog. The muck hovers over a ship, draggin’ it to its bloody end. Mid island lies a druid ring of standin’ stones -- the spear, it is named. Some say here is where witches spelled ritualistic deaths upon the stone altar or conjured loves lost to arise of Satan’s lair. Others say it is the sanctuary outlaws employ. Nevertheless, those marooned off ships succumb to an agonizin’ death. They could never escape the island, for no ship sails dear enough for rescue. Zore knows the treason waged by lurin’ you to this hellish realm. He thirsts for you to meet your death, either by his sword thrust or with Poseidon’s treachery ere you land at the island.”

  Lochlanaire considered. “Where is this island?”

  “It is distant. It may take months to anchor there, Lochlanaire.”

  “Months?” Siren filled the doorway’s threshold, her voice strained, for she’d heard most of what Grayson said while he described Satan’s Labyrinth.

  Lochlanaire took a stride toward his wife. “Siren…”

  “No,” she interrupted, “I demand the truth. Is it hopeless to save Shevaun, Grayson?”

  Grayson rubbed his beard’s spiky stubble. “Zore’s lust for Lochlanaire’s death demands that he keep your sister alive ‘til our anchorage. Alas, since he’s oppressed by lunacy, I cannot say for certain, Siren. I’m sorrowful for such an offense.”

  “Our only option is to journey to Satan’s Labyrinth, discarding the risks,” Lochlanaire announced, resolute.

  Grayson agreed. “I’ll see to the ship and preparations for the venture.” Excusing himself, he swept around Siren, leaving Lochlanaire to comfort the lass.

  Siren flopped upon the chair. “God, what horror I have wrecked.” Tears sullied her voice.

  Lochlanaire shook his head. “Grief rises only guilt. Squelch it. Shevaun requires your strength, Siren, to do what’s best for her by being the courageous woman you are.”

  Siren scoffed, “Courageous, Lochlanaire? I ran instead of facing you as the brave woman you say I am. In doing so, I’ve lost the only person who is family -- my sister. I was so terrified of Zore I hid within the bushes while my sister was kidnapped. Such is far distant of brave. I should be captive aboard Zore’s ship, not Shevaun. My cowardice ordains that I yield myself to Zore once we reach him. Lord, who knows what agonies Zore could wield against Shevaun merely because I’ve eluded his reach.”

  “Zore may be a titan, Siren, but he’s no simpleton. He’s voracious for my blood, not yours, not Shevaun’s, do you see? You’re both pawns Zore’s availing of to capture me in his barbarism. He’ll not see my blood flow unless I come to him, which I will. Therefore, he’ll keep Shevaun protected as precious treasure. Even his own depravities he must withstand. We’ll free Shevaun, and you’ll never sacrifice yourself. Not for me,” Lochlanaire insisted.

  “Is your life meaningless, Lochlanaire?”

  “What life, Siren? My past is smothered by darkness and what little I’ve regained of it declares nothing but bloodshed drained at my destruction. I care not to witness that drawn blood tainting my nightmares for the rest of my days. With Zore’s end of my heartbeat, the world’s liberated of a disenchanted rake and good riddance to the fiend.”

  Siren hastened to the window and twirled, confronting Lochlanaire. “No one should die for anyone else to live, Lochlanaire. No matter what you’ve done, I do not crave your death.”

  He huffed. “You ought to, Siren. I’ve executed nothing for which to fire anything but your revulsion.”

  Siren approached him. “After my loving you last eve, you stand here and swear that I possess only revulsion for you?”

  “Do not look at me as you are, Siren.” Lochlanaire shuddered to his feet.

  She smiled, cocking her head. “Why, Lochlanaire, do you want to love me as ferociously as you did last night?”

  Lochlanaire throttled her arms, dragging her against his chest. “I ache for you as no others, Siren.”

  Her fingers tickled his satiny covered chest. “Regarding your sacrifice to Zore…if you die, Lochlanaire, King William would merely send another hunter to chase me so you, yourself, have stated. Can you see me bound in another man’s arms in the manner by which I have lain between yours?”

  “Never.” His lips dominated Siren’s in a sultry kiss. Her arms braced his neck, her body pressed provocatively, igniting.

  Siren withdrew her lips from his, and wriggled loose of Lochlanaire’s hold. She sashayed to the threshold. “Coming, Lochlanaire?” she quipped, roaming through the corridor.

  As Lochlanaire soldiered amidst the boarding house, he fought to drown insatiable lust. He trailed Siren to the longboat, but his eyes never wavered from her swishing hips. Her curvy, pirate garbed body sizzled his to a ravenous hunger.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Bitter Conflict

  By mid day, Satan’s Victory cast sail for the island of Satan’s Labyrinth. Lochlanaire was disgruntled by the length of time it took to get the ship underway from Haviland, but now he commanded the ship’s tiller, listening to its sails whisper above. His attention fell to Siren, who roamed the diving ship unimpeded. Owing to her sister’s abduction, Lochlanaire trusted there was now no reason to truss Siren in the captain’s quarters -- she possessed every cause to remain aboard.

  Behind, the Ranger dipped in Satan’s Victory’s choppy wake. No slayings occurred while the two ships drifted at anchor. Lochlanaire could only surmise that the charlatan who coveted harm had decided to bide his time ‘til the vessels were long sea bound, then he’d resume the slaughter. Such presented unchaste opportunity for blood to be drawn.

  Lochlanaire nodded to Grayson, who assumed the helm, leaving Lochlanaire to retrieve two cutlasses, one he sheathed along his side, the other Lochlanaire clasped in his hand. Curtly he descended the stairs to where Siren lounged at port, calmed by waves that blanketed the ship’s crescent shaped hull. By her side, Lochlanaire halted, peering upon the infinite blue-green sea. “It is prudent to acquaint yourself with weaponry. Perhaps we ought to continue your sword fighting lessons.”

  Siren’s eyes briefly lifted to her conqueror, for she still held sorrow concerning her mother’s death. “I’m not interested in fighting, Lochlanaire,” she declared.

  Lochlanaire replied, “You require a distraction, Siren. Accustoming yourself with the weapons lying at hand could serve well in our desire to liberate Shevaun. I cannot guard you while threaded in the fray of battle. You’re an enrapturing distraction that might entice my death before I ever position a footstep in confrontation of my brother.” He gripped the cutlass’ hilt that embellished his hip and unsheathed the weapon. Lochlanaire offered it to her.

  Siren glanced off the glittery blade to Lochlanaire and considered refusing him. She nodded, accepting the cutlass. “I cannot swear that I’ll not pursue the opportunity to wound you, Lochlanaire,” she grumbled.

  He understood. Siren’s annoyance at him for secluding his position in her mother’s death demanded the need to wound, no matter that he was sworn to the assassination. “I shall yield to the knowledge that you seek my blood and duel accordingly, Siren.” Upward he lurched his cutlass. Their blades clinked against one another. He took several backward footfalls to mid ship.

  Siren challenged her husband, aching to crush his tug on her impassioned senses. She swooped the cutlass, thinking to slash Lochlanaire’s chest. He deflected; her blade never touched his flesh, drawing Siren to stride in a lazy circle. Brandishing the cutlass once more, Siren drew it from the side, straight up, trusting Lochlanaire wouldn’t be quick enough to deflect her attack. Alas, he defended so extraordinarily that Siren’s weapon jumped from her grip. The blade lacerated the ship’s wood deck, a telltale omen depicting her failure. Siren pulled the blade free of slivered wood.

  From where she’d previously opposed her captor, Siren admonished, “You’ve not beaten me yet, Lochlanaire.”


  “Your hold is slovenly. Grasp the hilt as if your life lies at stake. Employ two hands. I threaten your every footstep. I’m a cold-blooded pirate, having nothing to gain in this scuffle, Siren.” Lochlanaire plotted more precisely. “You must be starved to slay. Arise the phoenix that is my past. Think of your dear mother, that she was slaughtered for only loving an undeserving monarch. See me as the heartless rogue who ended her life.”

  Siren cocked her head, confused. “You want me to battle you while inebriated by rage, Lochlanaire?”

  “If fury arouses your ability to achieve victory, yes. Despise me for the terrors my hand has caused. I’m a callous rake who’s undeserving of the touch of so beautiful a woman such as you. I’m unworthy of the heartbeats that pound my chest. Strike me. Do it!”

  Siren was so infuriated by his taunting she was not in control, her blade crashed against his. Lochlanaire’s weapon stripped from his hold, but he caught it in time to tear Siren’s from her clawing fingers. Siren’s cutlass stabbed one of the lesser masts where the spire rooted to the ship’s hull. Her head drooped. She lost the fervor for the conflict.

  Lochlanaire captured Siren and spun her, cradled against his chest. With his blade crossing her throat, he snarled, “You’re defeated too easily, Siren. A mercenary haunts this ship. Aye, you escaped the death dealer once, but the next time he grabs you, you may not be so fortunate. You must be prepared to spare your own life or die in his arms. Is this your want? Your sister requires your council, Siren, once we finally anchor at the island. What good are you to her dead?”

  Siren scolded, “I’ll never be victorious against you, Lochlanaire. It is not only because of your strength, but at your power to seduce me. What am I to achieve, battling an assassin who bears immense sovereignty over me? How do I war against my heart’s failings?”

  Lochlanaire pitched Siren in the direction of the felled cutlass. “If you’re unwilling to trounce me after every iniquity I’ve taken against you, Siren, how do you expect to fight Zore if you face him? You must bury your fear of him. Free your rage against me. Against him. Do whatever you must, for should you not, you’ll lose, and your sister will surrender her life. Trust that.”

  Siren stomped to her cutlass and yanked it from pierced wood. Confident, she confronted Lochlanaire, focused on gaining a victorious standing in the quest. Siren’s weapon sliced back and forth against his. She saw him as only a bloodthirsty foe. Gaining an advantage, Siren repelled Lochlanaire’s weapon, rushed to him, and then dashed her hand into his boot where she knew he masked a knife. She lunged the weapon’s tip to his throat. Lochlanaire froze. “You’re not so arrogant now, are you, Lochlanaire?” Siren inquired.

  He commanded, “Cut my throat, Siren. Spare the world my morbid crimes with your deadly lash.”

  She searched his sensual gray eye and then the frosty black. The knife quivered.

  Lochlanaire tossed his cutlass to the ship’s hull. His hand covered hers at the knife’s hilt, the blade poised closer to killing him. “It is the death warranted of a titan spawned by Hell, is it not? Slit my throat, Siren.”

  Siren freed her cutlass, releasing the knife and ran across the ship to the stem’s quarterdeck, halting beside the skeletal figurehead. Frantic to silence her rattled emotions, Siren gritted the brass rail, and lost herself to the enormous dips of the bow that plunged as the ship sailed rolling waters. Siren closed her eyes, feeling the water’s spray and the breeze, which cooled her heated body. Ebony hair fluttered over her shoulders.

  Lochlanaire knew he’d wounded Siren by ordering her to seize his life. Nevertheless, he retrieved both cutlasses, holstering the knife and one of the blades. The other cutlass he locked in hand. He resumed command.

  By his brother’s side, Grayson’s glance fell, enticed to the woman glorifying the bow. “You’re beatin’ her…emotionally, Lock.”

  Lochlanaire forced his attention to steering his ship. “She’ll survive.”

  “Aye,” Grayson continued, “the flogging, she’ll survive. But how does the lady survive the poisonous truth? She’s wedded her mother’s executioner. What a war to the death she must be wagin’. I cannot imagine the rippin’ at her soul, can you?”

  Indeed, Lochlanaire couldn’t. It was one of the countless reasons for him to maintain his distance, to keep Siren from falling too destructively for him. To Grayson, he admitted, “It is best that she and I remove ourselves of whatever bound we’ve gained, for Siren’s sake, her sister’s and for their mother’s memory. I only wound with my vile presence in Siren’s life. It’s wise for me to reject her feelings.”

  “What ‘bout your feelin’s, Lochlanaire? Have you stripped them apart?” Grayson wondered who it would wound the most disastrously, Siren or Lochlanaire, for he was beginning to see the truth -- Lochlanaire held deeper feelings for Siren than either of them knew. Such suggests disaster. Pirates must never fall for anyone and an assassin was even more direly threatened if he falls in love, love is a prophesy coiling ruin. His feelings could be exploited against him and the one he loves to a tragic death.

  “I’ll not flounder in the muck, Grayson.”

  ***

  At the carving of Satan, the ship’s figurehead, Siren stood. She could hardly think of anything but her growing love for Lochlanaire. Siren felt ripped to pieces.

  “You suffer feelin’s for your defiler?” ghostly murmured a voice. The slayer secluded himself beneath the great shadow of nearby wooden crates.

  Siren recognized the cold voice of the man who once threatened her within the ship’s hull, the monster who held a knife against her throat. “My feelings are not your affair. Who are you that you butcher without cause aboard this ship?”

  “Alas, I’ve a loaded pistol, cocked, pointed at your back, lady, I’ll ask the questions. And do not entice attention to that somethin’s amiss, or you’ll surrender your life to me this instant. My pistol ball will strike your heart. Keep your eyes forward.”

  Siren’s heart thudded. “You’re unadulterated evil. I refuse to answer your questions.”

  “Then I’ll shoot you and salvage the answers elsewhere. Your sister will be discarded, havin’ suffered terribly at Zore’s stranglehold, perhaps bein’ violated by him and his lecherous pirates. You’ll not be there when she requires you most. A pity.”

  “I’ll answer.”

  Thorn replied, “I thought you might. You sail where, precisely?”

  “Satan’s Labyrinth.”

  “Why?”

  “Zore commanded in a letter, shot into the sand by crossbow, for us to journey to this island. Or rather, for Lochlanaire to venture to this island. If he refuses, my sister dies.”

  “Your sister’s bait. Lochlanaire’s the treasure Zore hunts,” clarified Thorn.

  Siren nodded.

  “He shrouds secrets from you still? You’re unaware of why Zore demands Lochlanaire’s lifeblood be shed.”

  “I have asked. Lochlanaire denies me the answer. I presumed that he might not hold the memory of why Zore seeks revenge,” confessed Siren.

  “Untrue. Lochlanaire secludes the knowledge. He was relinquished it by Aynore and Grayson. Do you think it shrewd to uncover why your sister’s life is jeopardized owin’ to Lochlanaire’s crimes?”

  “What crimes?”

  Thorn snickered. “I ask the questions.” He rubbed his chin. “As for you, Siren, have you told Lochlanaire what you feel for him?”

  “No. And I’ll not.”

  “What grievance did Lochlanaire execute that makes you veil your love for him?”

  Siren hesitated.

  “The pistol’s aimed.”

  “Lochlanaire killed my mother.”

  Thorn reiterated, “Lochlanaire assassinated a woman? I cannot believe such an affirmation.”

  Siren wrathfully chided, “His declaration to never slay a woman obviously was not sacred enough for him to refute the ruling of a king. Lochlanaire shot my mother while he attended a masquerade. Hundreds bore witness to his terror,
although they were not aware.”

  “What was your mother’s offense for this sacrilege?”

  “She courted King James II, my father, as I told you previously. I know of no other crime she might be guilty of committing that demanded her death at Lochlanaire’s pistol ball which stole her heart’s beat.”

  “You must be horrified. You’ve taken in wedlock the insufferable villain who spilled your mother’s blood for such a meager desecration. How disastrous. Oh, my, and you’ve feelin’s for the rogue. It is traitorous, lass, traitorous, indeed.”

  To hear this bloodthirsty beast speak of her treason so sarcastically crushed Siren’s heart. “I am innocent...”

  Thorn interrupted, “Of all crime Lochlanaire’s implemented, aye, but to embrace love for your mother’s slaughterer, to bed him lustfully, to surrender your soul to him, such is a defamation. Now I see how you’re so devastated. You must, as well, despise Lochlanaire for his lies. Do you?”

  “I…” Siren paused.

  Thorn announced, “Go, Siren.”

  Siren raced down the stairs, and to the doorway that would guide her to Lochlanaire’s quarters. Heartsick, she rushed inside his cabin, throwing herself across the bed of her mother’s merciless killer.

  ***

  Snickering, Thorn watched the woman he’d trounced as she disappeared, and then his gray eyes wandered to Lochlanaire where he manned the helm. Siren’s defiler observed her every footfall, quite clearly grieved upon seeing that she was so injured. “Lochlanaire, you bloody wretch, you love her,” Thorn muttered to himself. “You’ve tangled an atrocity, Lochlanaire. It is a depraved labyrinth that I intend to take full advantage of, dear brother.” An unscrupulous snake, Thorn slithered behind more stacked crates and to the ship’s abyss, no foes witnessed. As he entered the ship’s inner sanctum, he manically laughed, remembering his conversation with the gorgeous Siren, a woman of whom he trusted could serve him greatly in the future.

  Siren Rain is a luscious treasure worthy of the hunt.