Revenge of the Siren Song (Rogues of Sea and Sky Book 1)
Page 6
“I might have let her come to her own conclusions as to Christopher's parentage,” Lizzie smiled triumphantly.
“You let her think your bastard child was mine! Why would you need to do that, woman? She would have done the same for the baby's sake, without a care about his father!”
“I wasn't about to take any chances, Liam. My neck is on the line.”
“So help me, I don't have Grace O'Malley's heart. I'd like to hang you from that treacherous neck myself. I most certainly will not suffer you aboard my ship a moment longer than absolutely necessary.” He stormed out of his own cabin without giving her the chance for another word.
Lizzie smiled at Pippa as if she had just won something.
Pippa held baby Christopher a little closer and wondered what kind of trouble she had borrowed for herself.
The crew of the Black Dragon watched from a cautious distance as their captain paced the decks of the ship. They had heard the bellowing fight and weren't about to approach him until he regained his senses. Within a few minutes of stalking back and forth, he blew out a frustrated sigh and seemed to calm, but the helmsman still cringed as Captain O'Shea approached.
“Adjust our heading; make for Nassau. I will not carry this cargo any further than necessary,” Liam growled and continued walking.
The passage to the Bahamas was tense for all aboard. Lizzie was intent on lighting Liam's short fuse at every opportunity. The crew did their level best to stay out of the line of fire, while Pippa sought out the relative safety of the galley. There wasn't a soul aboard who didn't pray for strong winds all the way to their destination.
They were very near New Providence when Captain O'Shea made an unexpected visit to the galley.
“Good evening, Hans,” he greeted the cook. “Is Pippa about?”
“Aye, sir, she and the wee babe are sitting near the stove.”
Liam grabbed a stool and sat down next to the lass.
“Quite an adventure you've had yourself,” he began.
“This is certainly not the end I had imagined when I started out, sir.”
“Life rarely works out quite as we'd imagined it, but we still keep dreaming.”
“True enough, sir,” she answered, unsure of where he was taking the conversation.
“Lass, how do you feel now about avenging the loss of your Thomas?”
“To be honest, sir, I think that fate will hand a deserving justice to that woman. She will bring on herself a far worse punishment than I ever could.”
“I will not disagree with you there. But what course will you steer for yourself? You are still welcome aboard the Black Dragon.”
“Aye, sir, I know. But, for Thomas' sake I need to see her come to that fitting end. And I feel an obligation to this wee fellow,” she added nodding to Christopher sleeping in her arms. “Thomas helped me when I could not really help myself. How much more does this little innocent one need someone to care for him? I think I honor the memory of Thomas and my Mum by making sure he is not left alone and helpless. So, if you don't mind, I think I will go ashore at Nassau.”
“You’re free to do as you please,” he said, and he got up and walked away.
The next morning at first light, Lizzie, her baby, her baggage, and her unlikely nanny were all put ashore. The Black Dragon then put back out to sea before any of the harbor officials had a chance to approach. They were Lizzie’s problem now.
Liam raced as fast as the winds would allow, making the Dragon fly back to the shelter of the Siren Song’s secret cove. Pippa had mentioned how wet and leaky it had been aboard the Ocean’s Whore. There was no doubt in Liam’s mind that Grace would have no choice but to take the wounded Whore home and deal with the consequences. He prayed every hour, like the pious, that he would find Grace O’Malley before his consuming desire for her burned up the last of his sanity.
By the rays of the first morning light four days out of Nassau, the man on watch spotted the tiny rock they sought. Liam willed the wind to his favor. When the cove came into view, though, Liam’s heart sank like an anchor to the bottom of the sea. There was only one small ship at anchor, and it was not the Siren Song. There was very little chance at all that Captain Grace O’Malley would send her ship off while she stayed behind, and an even smaller chance that the Siren Song would be back again anytime soon. Liam’s only hope remained in whatever information he could gain by dropping anchor and talking to the crew of the Ocean’s Whore.
Once ashore, Captain O’Shea found that Cutlass Lizzie’s miscreant crew had made free with the base’s plentiful food and copious rum. Apparently to the last man, they were all passed out and sleeping all over the village around the cove. His anger flared fiercely when Liam thought of how Grace had risked her life for this sorry lot of drunks.
He kicked the nearest sailor until the man finally came groaning back to wakefulness.
“Wake up you filthy dog! Where is Captain O’Malley? Where is the Siren Song?”
“Song, sir? I don’t know any songs, sir,” the poor fool answered.
“I’m not asking you to sing, you lout. I want to know what happened to Captain O’Malley and her crew. Where is Captain O’Malley’s ship?” Liam was yelling loud enough to be heard on the other side of the island.
The one man from the Whore’s crew who had the good sense to be sober came running toward them in response to the shouting.
“Who goes there?”
“The captain of the Black Dragon, that’s who. She’s been anchored in the cove all afternoon. Where have you been?”
“Hunting, sir, there’s some excellent game up in the bush,” the man answered as he straightened to attention in the presence of an authority figure.
“At least there is someone around here who not derelict in his duty. What do you know about Captain O’Malley and her crew?”
“Captain O’Malley ordered her ship resupplied as soon as we arrived here, sir. It looked to me as though they were planning a long voyage.”
“When did they leave?”
“Not more than two days ago, sir. You said captain of the Black Dragon? Would you be Captain O’Shea, then?”
“Aye, that’s correct.”
“I have a letter for you, then, sir. That should explain things well enough.”
The man trotted off to a nearby hut and returned quickly with a long handwritten letter for Liam. The contents drowned the last of Liam’s hope. Grace was gone and had no intention of returning.
* * *
First Mate Hawkins launched the longboat as soon as they heard the signal gun from the little ship beyond the reef. He had no doubt that Captain O’Malley was aboard. It was her signal that was fired, but he was not certain if she was in control or being held under duress. He and the crewmen with him were armed in case of the latter circumstance.
To his relief, Captain O’Malley was aboard the Ocean’s Whore and absolutely in charge. Lizzie’s rag-tag crew operated with an efficiency they had never before thought possible. Under her command, the Ocean’s Whore slipped through the eye of the needle that protected the cove from intruders. As soon as Hawkins was aboard, command was given over to him, and Grace was ferried back to the beach aboard the longboat.
Bartolo had been waiting anxiously for his captain’s return. His heart broke to see how weary and forlorn she looked. He offered her a steadying hand as she disembarked from the boat, but she refused without a word. He had no choice but to follow silently behind her as she made her way to her private cottage.
“Draw the curtains and leave me be for a while,” she addressed him as soon as they were inside. “I am bone tired.”
Bartolo dutifully did as he was bidden and left her to rest. He would have to get his information from among the crew of the Ocean’s Whore. Various members of the crew gave him piecemeal details about Captain O’Malley’s kidnapping and the skirmish with the Navy, but none of it added up to an explanation of the melancholy that gripped his captain. As certain as the tides rise and fall, h
is captain’s heart had been broken.
The next morning, Bartolo could hold his tongue no longer.
“If I may speak freely, Captain,” he began as he set out a simple breakfast, “there is an old proverb my sainted grandmother often quoted that I would like to share with you.”
“You may speak,” she answered, albeit half-heartedly.
“Las fortuna non sempre comportare danni…not all misfortune results in harm. My grandmother always liked to remind us that there are many things in life that we cannot control and do not like, but very little of it can truly break us. Most pain is temporary. I do not pretend to know what it is that has caused your heart so much pain, but it is not good to continue to wallow in it, my lady. The crew is beginning to talk about your ability to continue to lead.”
“And what, oh man of wisdom, do you propose?” she sniped sarcastically.
“Perhaps a change of scenery? We have all become too complacent in these easy waters.”
“I have no wish to go anywhere, Bartolo. Leave me be.”
“But mistress,” he began, but the object nearest her reach came hurtling at his head.
“I said leave me alone,” she bellowed.
Bartolo left her, knowing there was no reasoning with her until her fury had passed.
As soon as he left the cottage, Grace rolled herself in her blankets and sought to escape her pain in sleep.
She slept like the dead for days, losing all track of time. The brief waking moments were so steeped in heartbreak that she would immediately roll over and begin the descent back into nothingness. If it were not for an incessant tapping upon the glazing of her cottage window, she would not have had the will to rise from her bed at all.
“Go away,” she growled, but the random tap, tap, tap continued.
“Get away from my window,” she shouted from under the pile of covers.
Still the noise continued.
“I swear if I see the face of the fool at my window, I will blow it off his worthless head,” Grace threatened as she hauled herself out of her bed.
By the time she could take the couple of steps to the window, there was nothing or no one to be found.
“And stay away,” she yelled at the void.
She walked back to the bed and dropped into it like a sack of grain. She had barely gotten her feet back under the blankets when the tapping began again.
“If you don’t stay away from that window, I will not be kind enough to give you a quick end!” she called out as she once again made her way from the bed.
She was irritated enough to want to catch the fool this time, so she crept more stealthily to the sill. She caught sight of a large black crow just before it leapt into flight from the ledge outside her cottage window.
“Damn that bird to oblivion,” she muttered as she crossed the little room back to her bed.
As soon as Grace crossed back into the deeper shadows of the room, she heard the rustle of wings and the tapping began again. She realized she would have to figure out what the stupid crow was after before she would get it to go away. Wary of startling it again, Grace turned around slowly and spoke softly.
“What is it that you think you will gain by all this constant annoyance?” she asked the crow.
Instead of immediately flapping away, the crow paused in its tapping, cocked its head to one side, and seemed to look at her with its glossy black eye. So long as Grace remained motionless, the staring contest continued. When she took another step closer, the crow flew off.
“What in the world could that crow want so badly?” she wondered aloud as she approached the window.
For the first time since the return to the Song’s cove, she peered at the world outside. She noticed several crows roosting in the trees a few yards from her cottage, but did not take in the clear blue sky or the dance of the trees in the breeze. She refused to open herself to any more sensation than was absolutely necessary to get that crow to leave her window alone. She rummaged around the things sitting near the window, looking for something that might be shining in the sunlight and drawing the crow’s attention. When she was satisfied that she’d cleared the clutter, Grace padded back to the bed.
The melancholy captain tried to tuck herself back into her bed, but as soon as she’d settled in she knew she was too awake to drift off easily again. She remained there with her eyes closed, searching for the deep body relaxation that would lead to sleep, but it would not come. She got back up and milled about the room in a numbed daze until she began to yawn.
She wandered back toward her bed, but no sooner did she reach for the blanket than the crow began pecking at the glazing again.
“What is it? What do you think you want so badly?” she growled to herself more than to the crow.
Again the crow stared her down from the other side of the thick wavy glass. It grew accustomed to her presence and began to peck at the window.
“You bloody pest of a crow, stop that!”
The fiendish crow pecked away at the window with even greater resolve.
Grace lunged at the window and pushed it open with the intent of scaring off the crow. Instead, the crow took advantage of the opening and flew boldly into the interior of Grace’s little cottage. It flapped in wild noisy circles just out of her reach before settling high in the peak of the thatched ceiling.
Unable to reach the intruder, Grace gave up and sat on the bed. The crow sat there looking at her as if it expected something of her. For the longest time, nothing at all happened. Grace sat on the bed with her face in her hands. She could take on a ship of skilled sailors, but was utterly defeated by a persistent black bird.
She finally looked up and began to measure up her foe. The crow was a bit larger than average, shiny tiny beads for eyes set above a sharp black beak. The bird was covered in glossy blue-black feathers except for the very edge of its wings. An oddity of nature had caused the feathers at the tips of both wings to turn white. It hopped deftly from beam to beam in the ceiling well out of reach, seemingly in anticipation of some sort of action on Grace’s part.
“You did all of that just so you could come inside,” she finally asked the crow.
The crow cocked its head and stared.
“There’s nothing in here to interest you. There’s nothing in here that interests me either, for that matter. Why don’t you fly back out the way you came and leave me alone?”
The crow tipped its head as if it were trying to be sympathetic.
“Curiosity is a very dangerous thing, little bird. The next house you fly into may contain a raving lunatic.”
The crow paid no heed to her advice.
“Saints preserve us all, the lunatic is me; I’m talking to a crow as if it understands me.”
The crow hopped nearer and made a clicking sort of sound.
“Oh, so you do think you understand me? Is that it? You’re a crow. I doubt you would know anything about love, affection, or heartbreak.”
The crow cawed softly.
“What business is it of yours if I do not wish to deal with the pain I’ve caused myself? I certainly can’t blame anyone else for it,” she whispered to the bird, to herself. “I certainly can’t claim that I had no idea what a no-good mangy sea dog Liam O’Shea is. I knew, and I still let him sweet talk his way back into my heart. He seems to know every one of my weaknesses and never misses an opportunity to exploit them all. I’m the foolish one for letting him touch me that way.”
“As much as I hate to admit it, Bartolo is right. The crew will eventually abandon me if I don’t find a way to get my bearings again. What do you think, crow?”
The crow hopped up and began to fly about the room.
“Oh, so you’ll take Bartolo’s side on this? You think we should leave, too. You would, so you can have this island all to yourself again, selfish crow. Well I can tell you this, if I do leave, I don’t ever want to see that scurvy rat, O’Shea, again.”
The crow cawed loudly in response to that idea.
The idea of sailing away and leaving the whole mess behind was growing in appeal. Old thoughts she had never given herself the time to ponder resurfaced.
“I've always wanted to ply our trade in the Orient,” she told Bartolo through the window as he came running up to the cottage. “Perhaps a voyage south around the Horn and into the south Pacific would do us all some good.”
“Aye, mistress,” Bartolo smiled with great relief.
“Tell Hawkins to make ready. We leave the cove as soon as the Song is provisioned.”
Activity did wonders for Captain O'Malley's demeanor, as it always did. Soon she was able to accept the realities of the situation with a level head. The morning of their departure for waters unknown, Grace sat at her little writing table one last time to pen a note to Captain O'Shea.
“Dear Liam,
Even the fiercest fires cannot be fueled forever. In time all raging flames cool to weak embers. Whatever torch you bear for me cannot last, therefore a decision must be made.
I will admit that you do stir a passion, a life, in me that no one else has ever managed to touch. But that alone is not enough to claim my heart. Master O’Malley always said my heart was as wild and free as the wind upon the waves. Maybe he knew me best of all, for I am beginning to believe Fate intends for me to remain as wild and untamed as the seas.
There is a woman with a far greater claim to you than I could ever have. Do what needs to be done and leave me to my wild ways.
Farewell, O’Shea. It was a grand adventure.
Grace”
“Now, if love seeks to ever try to tame my wild Irish heart again, it will have to search the vast Pacific to find me,” she said to the crow that had become her new companion as she folded up the letter.
“Bartolo,” she called.
“Yes, Captain,” he answered hoarsely. He was out of breath from running all day, constantly beckoned from one side of the cove and back again.