Blackheart

by Raelle Logan

  Siren shoved his hand aside.

  With her defiance, Thorn stood. His scowl caressed her water-swathed body. “Remember whose life I squeeze in my heartless possession, Siren.” Twirling, he turned the door’s knob. “Who is your sovereign, lady?”

  Siren replied, “You are, Thorn.”

  “Remember your vow and your husband’s black heart beats another day, which means so shall your precious sister’s,” viciously spat Thorn.

  Tears encumbered Siren’s eyes while they peered upon the menace that disappeared in the dullness of the passageway. Oh, how she longed to shoot this animal in the heart. Seething, Siren retrieved the linen cloth from where it adorned the chair and dried herself. Recklessly, she slammed the door and locked it. Pain lanced her body. Siren collapsed on her knees. She caressed her stomach and groaned, not understanding why she’s enveloped by pain.

  Innocently approaching his quarters, Lochlanaire unlocked the door and found Siren writhing in agony. He fell to his knees and folded her within his arms, carrying her to the bed. Lochlanaire grabbed the sleeping powders that garnished a shelf and retrieved the water pitcher and a goblet, hastening to the bed. Water poured in the tin goblet, he stirred into it the powder that whitened the chalice. Lochlanaire offered the goblet to Siren, motioning for her to drink. Tearful eyes begged for a reprieve of pain as she drank the water until all the potion vanished. Siren eventually drifted to sleep.

  Lochlanaire removed the chalice of Siren’s grip, terrified to lose both his wife and the babe. He dragged the broad-backed chair to the bed and stared upon his unconscious bride, keeping vigil.

  Nightmares engulfed Siren…

  Gracing a copse of craggy trees, Siren walked, enchanted by the scene unfolding amid the grim guise of darkness…in the slight distance, two men counted paces, swirling fluffy fog, back-to-back, their pistols drawn. Turning, the duelers confronted each other. Siren noted that one of the men was her husband; the other was the slayer, Thorn. Grinning, Thorn shot his pistol. The ball struck Lochlanaire mid chest. The pistol tumbled from his grasp, and Lochlanaire crumpled upon his knees, dying. Screaming, frantic to run to her husband, Siren was brutally halted. Zore breached the darkness and his arm ringed her waist. Siren was dragged from her slain husband with Zore laughing at Lochlanaire’s folly. Zore’s insane cackle eerily resounded…

  Sweat-soaked, Siren lurched to a sitting position and realized she was not imprisoned by Zore. Lochlanaire sat across from her on the chair. One hand propped up his head.

  Lochlanaire approached the bed, noting her crazed eyes. “A dream?”

  Siren cupped her forehead. “No, a nightmare. A terrible nightmare. I saw you, Lochlanaire. You counted paces for a duel. As you turned, the viper that defiles your ship shot his weapon. He killed you. I ran toward you but Zore trapped me.”

  “It is quite the nightmare. I see why you are despaired.”

  “No, you do not. The monster despoiling your ship is starved to drain your blood, Lochlanaire.”

  He replied, “If what you suggest is so, Siren, why not just kill me? He, clearly, could at any moment.”

  “He’s ferocious for vengeance,” tolled Siren cryptically.

  “Vengeance? Did he profess such?”

  “In so many words, yes. Alas, before he achieves his revenge, he longs for you to be destroyed by your past assassinations, Lochlanaire.”

  “The blackguard is cowardly, Siren. You must arise faith for my survival. The barbarian lacks courage so tragically that he refuses to show himself to me. Obviously, he cannot triumph. Such is why he avails of you. It is the only power he brandishes.” Lochlanaire made light of the carnage trussing him, anxious to calm Siren.

  “He was here.”

  “Here?”

  Siren nodded, gracing the plump pillows behind her. “When I took my bath, I nearly fell asleep in the tub. The mercenary entered as I lay therein and strangled my throat.”

  Lochlanaire seethed. “Bloody bastard.” He dashed to stand.

  Siren halted him. “He told me about a duel you engaged against Elias Larnon. He said Elias was stabbed, disgraced. Are his words true?”

  Disgruntled, Lochlanaire tugged himself free and advanced on the window. “I remember little of the tale, Siren.”

  “But Grayson must have said something. He knows what occurred. Am I wrong?”

  Staring upon churlish waves, Lochlanaire nodded, not coveting to admit why he was imprisoned.

  Siren retrieved one of Lochlanaire’s lengthy shirts, donned the covering, and stilled by his stiffened back. “What happened at the duel?”

  Lochlanaire sighed. “Grayson says Elias intended to dishonor me. Elias secluded a man in the forest where he and I were supposed to duel. Elias decided that if he couldn’t pillage my life honorably, he’d do so shamefully. I heard the crack of the tree bough where the trickster assassin hovered in wait. I shot him dead. As the pistol sequestered only the one shot, I stabbed Elias for his betrayal. Wolf Larnon, Elias’ brother, sought revenge. He achieved his reward by swearing that his brother was slain in disgrace.”

  “What ensued with Wolf’s accusation?” Siren asked, not desirous to hear his forthcoming answer.

  “I was arrested for Elias’ murder, thrown into prison.”

  “You’re a condemned murderer?” Siren’s question revealed how stunned she was by Lochlanaire’s lifeless admission.

  “I killed him in self-defense, Siren.” Turning, Lochlanaire searched her forlorn eyes. “Although, I cannot wholly say that I’m assured of my innocence. Grayson, however, claims that it was fair for me to kill both men owing to their treason.”

  Siren understood. “The lashes scarring your body…?”

  “Are whip marks slashed for torture. They were executed by the guard who despised me as he applied the Cat O’ Nine Tails in the asylum,” Lochlanaire soberly replied.

  “Your bloodied wrists…?”

  “Shackles trussed me as an animal, because I am an assassin who cannot be tamed into submission unless wretchedness be affected,” Lochlanaire stated.

  “Your memory…?”

  “My memory was stolen, for I stood eclipsed in the blackness of a prison cell, withdrawn to lunacy.”

  “And the death knell song…?” Siren began to feel ill.

  Lochlanaire eerily sang… “ ‘Evil’s cast ye here. Hell has spat ye out. Heaven will not weather ye, prisoner shall ye be. Crazy, crazy, were Satan’s whispers, hang, hang, hang ye, dead, dead, dead ye be.’ It is the brutal chant an imprisoned creature sang in Heathgate prison where I was of late captive.”

  “How long…?”

  Lochlanaire reached for the wine decanter, poured a chalice full, and downed stinging liquid. “I was imprisoned for two years, Grayson attests. I was only pardoned so I could hunt you.”

  “I’m such a sinister creature that I require a condemned assassin to chase me?” Heartsick, Siren wandered to the chair, wilting upon its pump seat.

  “You were not hunted for being a sinister creature, Siren. Either the fact that you’re King James II’s daughter or the signet gracing your finger baits you to be chased.”

  Siren whispered, tears stung her eyes, “Have I…have I lost the child?” It was the first time that Siren admitted she was with child.

  Lochlanaire crouched at her feet. “I do not believe so. You’ve suffered a scare, one which urges you to caution.” He straightened. “The terrors the mercenary imposes brought about this horror. I must heighten the search for the scoundrel.”

  “I am his captive, Lochlanaire,” Siren coldly declared.

  “What?”

  Siren hesitated to speak, vilified that Thorn would declare her seditious if he unbridled her mutiny. “He said that if his identity becomes unmasked, he’ll kill you, Lochlanaire. Thereafter, Shevaun loses her life because Zore will kill her, for you’ll not be alive to grant to him for ransom. He implies that your death and hers will be sanctioned by my betrayal wielded against him.”

  �
��My God, what horror this rake exacts.”

  “Lochlanaire, promise me. Do not imprison him. He could have others woven in his trap, those who may be ordered to murder you should he be caught. We cannot risk your life.”

  Lochlanaire advanced on the window. “You’re asking me to allow him to haunt this ship without remorse, meting out his crimes at no opposition? Siren, are you mad?”

  Groping to her feet, Siren hurried to him. “Lochlanaire, for your life and my sister’s you must not hunt this man, no matter his cruelties. He’s brandished a pistol on you from afar. You were never aware. He can cut you down at any second. I cannot live if you’re slain because of my infraction.”

  Lochlanaire warred against the dread sparkling in her eyes. “He butchers without end, accosts you with no burden of disgrace, nearly forces you to lose our child at his ghoulishness, yet I cannot challenge him. What injustice.”

  “Please.” Siren pleaded, “Please.”

  Damned, Lochlanaire was defeated. “I’ll not seize the bloody cad.” ‘Which’, he thought, ‘is precisely what the beast craves with his cunning depravity.’

  “And the search?”

  “I’ll order Grayson to suspend it immediately.”

  “Since he’s not murdered in quite a lengthy time, this may stall the phantom of his hunt.”

  Lochlanaire appeared cynical. “For a time, aye, then he’ll loose whatever poisons he’s spelled for me. Butchers are rarely renounced of tyranny for long.”

  “We must have faith that he’ll not forge maliciousness against you if he’s not trapped. Such purchases time.”

  Lochlanaire shrugged. “Time for what? Either Zore or this bloody titan will kill me.”

  Siren portrayed, “No. With our own spun wickedness, we’ll cage both Zore and the slayer.”

  Lochlanaire felt raw and bloodied. He left Siren to rest, having ordered her to bed. Soon after, he posted a guard outside his cabin door, assured that Siren was protected from the mercenary.

  Gracing the billowy mattress, Siren thought of just how to entrap two malevolent executioners.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  The Aching Heart

  The ship dipped toward Legend Island under the sluggish lapse of time. Siren endured no more pains afflicting her stomach and finally confessed to herself, if to no one else, other than her husband, that Lochlanaire sired their child.

  Brooding, Lochlanaire kept distant.

  Captaining the ship until too fatigued to think, Lochlanaire only returned to his quarters once convinced that Siren was enfolded in deep slumber. Sometimes he did not return at all. He took solace upon the highest mast’s canopy, craving to smother his insatiable passion for his seductress wife. He was agonized, certain his lust for her could wound Siren or the child. Beastly possessed, he, as well, took comfort in the fray of sword-fighting, engaging crusades against his brother or anyone who would brandish a sword on him. He prayed for extreme exhaustion to assuage his wantonness.

  He failed…miserably.

  ***

  This night, Siren roved across the main deck unknowing where her husband retreated to in his selfish torment. She observed glinting stars scattered across the beautiful heavens. The sky’s darkness reminded her of Lochlanaire, for she summoned to mind his unique, silver and black gaze. She coveted to permit Lochlanaire his ridiculous evasion; however, Siren simply couldn’t tolerate his treachery. She trudged over the bridge stairs, and advanced on Grayson, who presently captained the ship. “Where is he?” she demanded.

  Grayson engrained his attention on the ship’s stem. “Lochlanaire’s taken refuge among the sacred stars.”

  Siren groaned. “He avoids me without cause for his malice.”

  Grayson nodded. “Lochlanaire is wounded by fear. Those terrors force him to tumble inside himself.”

  “What terrors other than those regarding me?” Siren broached.

  “His violated past, admittin’ to you that he was condemned for murder, his jailin’ for the treason plotted against him, and those tortures which were executed against him while in the asylum. These haunt.”

  “Out of belief that I cannot understand?”

  “No, he’s convinced you’ll damn him for his iniquities. How does a woman comprehend an assassin’s wretchedness? It is an unfathomable sin. Is it not, Siren?”

  “I must say, Grayson, it did distress me to hear that he was imprisoned for the crime of murder. However, I never damned Lochlanaire for his past,” insisted Siren.

  “Not even for shootin’ your mother? Can you defeat that travesty? It’s an unforgivable crime, is it not?”

  Siren felt heartsick. “I have accepted the truth. Lochlanaire was under a king’s rule and his oath required for him to surrender.”

  “Aye, Lochlanaire couldn’t do otherwise. Alas, my question stands unanswered, Siren. Can you defeat the truth that he shot your mother to death?”

  She grappled with unspoken feelings and pitched her eyes toward the sea, then twirled them to Grayson again. “I’ve no choice but to pardon Lochlanaire. I must see her death as contrived by others who were guilty of the cruel act.”

  “It is apparent that you’ve not seen beyond Lochlanaire’s mutiny that he inflicted against you and your mother. Do you damn him guilty as well for your sister’s plight? At his brutality, Shevaun lies in the arms of Zore, for if Lochlanaire had not hunted you, she’d not be kidnapped. Can you disagree?”

  “Grayson, I’ve not faulted Lochlanaire for anything that’s occurred against Shevaun. I blame only Zore for his ruin. As for my mother, I shall contend with my feelings and I do not condemn Lochlanaire. I blame those who cradled in their heartless possession bloodlust, which ordained her death because she fell in love with a king. Lochlanaire is innocent.”

  “Ah, but it was his pistol shot which silenced her heart. Do you absolve the truth so easily?”

  Siren was not certain she could, and this question brooded in her mind for a lengthy time. Now, she wondered if it would ever be possible for her to forgive Lochlanaire for shooting her mother and whether or not she could forgive herself for loving him. “I…”

  Astounded by stark realization, his eyes broadened. “My lord, you love Lochlanaire.”

  How Grayson saw through to her feelings, Siren couldn’t say. “I, yes, I do.” Crestfallen, having spoken of her love, Siren drifted to the port side of the ship. She floundered with raw emotions, clenching the vessel’s rail.

  Grayson permitted another man to assume the tiller and he approached Siren. He leaned against the ship’s flank. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

  “You’ll not reveal my feelings to Lochlanaire?”

  “Such is a confession you ought to utter, Siren. Why hide the truth from him?”

  “Oh, Grayson, as you’ve said, there’s much between us that we must absolve. My mother’s death is an enormous phantom encumbering us and his past…Lochlanaire cannot remember the executions forged by his own hand. What he does remember is far more hideous than can ever be imagined. It is difficult to defy what eclipses us.”

  “And the child?”

  Her hand rose to where Lochlanaire’s babe grew. Siren was unaware that Grayson knew about the child. “The child complicates.”

  “Aye. You carry the babe of your mother’s killer, and you’re in love with him. What wounds must rip at your heart.”

  Siren nodded. “I am anguished, yet elated that I’ve married Lochlanaire and bear his child. Nevertheless, the fact that King William still awaits my execution plagues.”

  “Blood insists on enslavement. You knew this. It is why you craved to seduce and why you were determined to conceive Lochlanaire’s child,” reminded Grayson indelicately.

  “Yes. Blood instills Lochlanaire’s loyalty, but what of love? I cannot suffer it if he rejects me because he refuses to love me.” Desolate, Siren hung her head.

  Grayson poised a finger beneath Siren’s chin and forced her to explore his eyes. “You’ll never learn if he loves you if
you do not declare your love for him.”

  “It’s too soon. Lochlanaire’s so troubled by the blackness of his past that my declaration would only command fright to ensnare his heart.”

  “Perhaps. Or it could be everythin’ required for him to see that he cannot surrender you to a king or anyone else, and he can courageously stand against whatever depraved soul menaces your life and his. It might draw Lochlanaire to see that he loves you, and you and your love are the one treasure, which will heal all the wounds defamin’ his past. It could give Lochlanaire a future by which to fight for.”

  “Do you seclude something I know nothing about?” Siren prayed for a shred of hope.

  “No, it is conjecture.”

  “Conjecture will not soothe my aching heart, Grayson.”

  “It is all I have to offer, my lady.” Grayson regained the ship’s helm.

  Siren’s eyes faltered to the mainmast where Lochlanaire presently took refuge. Stalking to the stairs, she approached the mast and searched its highest canopy for her husband, noting his dangling leg swaying back and forth above. Siren grasped the nearby rigging and began a cautious climb into the night-blackened heavens. No longer would she permit Lochlanaire to reject her.

  Confronted by his reproachful wife, Lochlanaire stood and offered his hand, for Siren stilled at the canopy. “No one said you should climb up here, especially in your delicate condition.”