"I'll no’ cooperate with ye. Do what ye must."
"Are you mad? Your crew left you! What loyalty do you owe them now?"
"Ye can save yer breath with yer lies. My crew would only leave me if they had nay other choice."
"Don't be a fool,” Stevens persisted. “I can decide your fate. Give me what I want and I'll have you killed, quickly."
“It be better to die a man, than a snivelin’ dog.” Keldon purposely looked away from the captain and stared straight ahead. "We have nothin' more to discuss.”
Fury raged through Stevens like a wildfire, making him incapable of speaking for fear if he moved, he’d kill the man where he stood. He took a ragged breath, letting the black rage clear from his vision. He wanted Keldon’s death to be a long and agonizing departure from this world. He wanted him to beg to be killed. They had a long journey ahead of them. He’d make sure he broke the Highland Pirate before they pulled into port.
When Stevens finally composed himself, he replied in an even voice, "As you wish.” He turned his attention to Sherborn. “You heard the man.”
Nicholas paused and Stevens turned on him. “Do it now!”
Keldon braced himself as the whip came down on him over and over again. He’d already measured what kind of man Captain Stevens was and he had concluded the man a bully, taking great pleasure in seeing men suffer at the hands of his rank. Even if he were a man who would betray his crew, which he most definitely was not, Captain Stevens would show no mercy. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on something other than the tearing of his flesh.
One lash… two lashes.
Keldon surprised himself when Arianna’s sweet face came to mind. He left home to be away from her, but somehow through the unjust punishment he found solace in thinking of her.
Three, four, five lashes.
He remembered how it felt to slide his finger through her soft hair. He remembered how her voice sounded as she sang a lovely melody. He held onto the way her lips felt pressed to his, but the pain became unbearable. He thought he would disgrace himself by calling out, but again Arianna’s image floated toward him and gave him the strength to endure.
Seven…
His skin angrily pulled away from his body and he could hear the crew taking pleasure in his humiliation, their laughter ringing in his ears. Shut it out, he told himself. “Arianna,” he breathed her name as if she was his only salvation.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Changes were made to Blue Run and Arianna was proud of the accomplishments. She worked from sun up to sun down, ignoring Maeve’s fussing that she did too much. Work helped her forget for a while how much she missed Keldon and how she worried for his safety.
It had taken her awhile, but she’d learned every man, woman and child’s name. She knew all their responsibilities and what they entailed.
She wanted everyone to have a hire badge and started an apprentice program rotating the workers from the fields. She’d been appalled when she saw how raw the worker’s skin became from working in the flooded rice paddies. And the clothing they wore—horrendous. She chose four women, who knew how to sew. They would be in charge of making everyone on the plantation three changes of clothes. Three didn’t seem nearly enough, but it was better than the one they did have.
“Miss Arianna,” Sally Mae called.
She looked up and wiped her brow. She was hot and sweaty from melting tallow for candles and soap. “Is something wrong?”
“No, no. Maeve sent me ter tell you the Gud Intent has been spotted.”
Every emotion possible assailed her. Would Keldon be aboard? Was he coming back to her? Or would this be his last goodbye?
Her nerves were on edge, making her stomach churn. She looked down at herself and cringed. She needed to change. She hurried to the big house. She needed to brush her hair, too. The tangled mess wouldn’t do.
She grabbed Maeve on her way upstairs to help her. “I’ll wear the blue gown. Blue’s his favorite color.” She glanced down at growing midsection, knowing she couldn’t hide her condition any longer. She chewed on her lower lip.
Maeve frowned at Arianna’s expression of doom. She clicked her tongue. "Ef he comes back, it don’t matter.”
She looked at Maeve, willing herself to smile. “I know," she said the words, but they were hallow. “I’m afraid to hope.”
Maeve went over to her and took her hand. "Everything will work out. Now, let's not keep him waitin’."
They were standing on the porch, when they saw the two men riding hard, dust flying around them like a cloud of smoke. Arianna knew immediately neither man was Keldon. There was no shock of dark hair. The riders’ shoulders weren’t broad and their stance not as powerful as his.
"He didn't come back." Arianna’s voice faltered.
Maeve took her hand in hers, squeezing it.
Leighton and Vincent were off their horse almost before their mounts had time to stop. Leighton's face flashed like a warning beacon with it on the verge of turning purple with rage.
Vincent grabbed him and held him back.
Arianna gripped Maeve's hand tighter.
"Ye witch!" Leighton spat at her as he struggled to be free of Vincent’s grip. "Are ye satisfied now? He's dead. Keldon is dead!"
Arianna paled. "Dead? No!” She leaned against Maeve for support, shaking her head in denial. He couldn’t be gone. Without thinking, she laid her free hand protectively on her abdomen.
Leighton laughed bitterly. "That is what killed him. Ye ken? He spotted Sherborn on the ship we took. All his concentration was blinded by hatred ye caused him. He dinnae see the fist that knocked him out cold. I knew it. It be true all along. Ye are carryin' Sherborn's bairn."
Arianna wanted to deny the claim, but she couldn’t because she didn’t know. Her gaze met Vincent’s questioning look. Clearly he hadn’t heard about her sordid deeds. She wanted to die from the shame of it. "I once told you that I had done things I was not proud of. Before the accident, according to Mr. Sherborn, we’d been intimate. I swear I don't remember any of it."
"How convenient ye bi—" Vincent squeezed Leighton’s arm so tight, that the words were lost in his screech of pain.
"We are not helping Keldon by making accusations against his wife," Vincent angrily berated him.
Arianna’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. "Help him? I thought you said—"
"We don't know of his outcome. We couldn't get to him and had to leave him behind."
"You left him?” She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "You left him to die?"
"We had no choice,” Vincent replied, his voice tormented. “We were out numbered.” He lowered his head not wanting to meet Arianna’s accusing eyes.
"You left him!” Her anguish peaked, shattering the last shreds of her control. She ran down the steps to Vincent. She threw herself at him beating at his chest. "How could you do that?”
Vincent let go of Leighton to fend off her attack. He wrapped his arms around her.
She desperately fought him, but he held her tight until her anger turned to a retched sob. "How could you leave him?"
"For the rest of my life, I will regret my decision.” Vincent held onto her.
"Weel..." Leighton clapped his hands slowly. "What a verra charmin' performance, Annabelle. But ye doonae fool me. Ye no more care aboot Keldon, than ye do one of yer slaves."
Maeve spoke in Arianna's defense. "Then Mista Leighton, we know dat she be lovin’ dat man of hers somethin’ fierce."
Leighton lost some of his composure, staring at Maeve as if she lost her mind.
Arianna pushed herself away from Vincent. She had to pull herself together. If Keldon was still alive, he needed their help. Straightening her shoulders, she glared at Leighton. "You may have every right to accuse me of not caring in the past, but I have changed. I, however, have the right to point the finger at you. You left Keldon defenseless against the enemy. You left him to die.”
Vincent put his hands on her shoul
ders, but she shook them off.
"Don't patronize me. I want action. I want to go back for him. Maybe, we're not too late."
Vincent shook his head and tried to approach Arianna again. He reached out his hand to comfort her, but her blue eyes impaled him and he let it fall away. With a deep sigh, he tried once again to explain. "Dear Arianna, we would like nothing more than to rescue him, but he would not want us to risk our lives to do so. Captain Stevens would be on the lookout for the Good Intent. Our men won’t brave a suicide mission.”
"Then we go after Keldon in the Spanish ship you captured and I'll ask Thaddeus if he would help."
"Thaddeus?” Leighton’s eyebrows rose.
"Miss Arianna?” Thaddeus had come around from the back and couldn’t help but hear the unpleasant exchange of words.
Arianna walked over to him. "Thaddeus?"
"Sorry ter intrude, but dis here letter came by messenger. He says it was important dat you sees it right away.” He handed it over to her.
Arianna turned the envelope over in her hand, but other than her name, there wasn't any indication of who sent it. She hastily tore it open and scanned what was written.
“Oh God.” She sat down on the porch step, resting her head in the palms of her hands. Vincent approached her and she handed him the letter.
CHAPTER FORTY
The man meant nothing to Nicholas and yet here he was taking a chance with his own life. He moved painstakingly toward the back of the ship. He kept telling himself that he was doing this because Buchanan had saved his life; he owed him. He hated owing anyone, especially a man he worked so hard to despise. He almost hoped that Keldon would refuse his help. Then he could wipe his hands clean of the whole mess.
He suspected Keldon had found out about his transgressions with his wife. There was no missing the hatred that blazed from his eyes before Brock had knocked him out cold and he was captured.
Nicholas experienced a gamut of bewildering emotions as he wondered why it mattered so much what Keldon Buchanan thought of him. Somewhere down the line, he had grown a conscience. To add to his transgressions against the man, he’d publicly humiliated Keldon when he’d been forced to flog him. However, he worried more about the wounds he inflicted on the man’s heart than the ones on his back.
The Waterfront was seaworthy again and they would set sail in the morning for home. Once they set foot on British soil, he had a hunch Stevens would make sure Keldon never made it to Newgate, but would meet his end much sooner. Nicholas was determined to see this didn’t happen.
The captain left one guard on duty. He was arrogant enough to believe they wouldn’t have any trouble from the captive since Keldon had taken on a fever from the lashings he received three days ago. Nicholas prayed Keldon was lucid enough to travel or his efforts were going to be for naught.
Arnold Davenport, a young man in his early thirties with red hair and slightly overweight, drew the short straw tonight and stayed behind. He leaned against the post and looked like he was about to fall asleep. Without a moment’s hesitation, Nicholas was upon Arnold before the man realized what happened. With a single blow to the head, he fell to the ground. He’d have one hell of a headache when he woke up.
Sherborn took out the keys he had secured earlier from the captain’s cabin. He opened the door to the storage room and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Heat fetid with sweat and sickness hit his nostrils, making him gag, but he walked in anyway.
He spotted a still form in the corner of the room. With careful steps, he approached not sure what he would discover. Keldon had been weak after the flogging, but Nicholas hadn’t seen him since. He only happened to overhear the surgeon tell the captain Keldon was feverish. He didn’t dare inquire further about his welfare or the captain would become suspicious.
He cautiously knelt down beside Keldon, gently placing his hand on his lower back to see if he was still breathing, a mistake which almost proved fatal. Keldon rolled over so fast Nicholas didn’t have a chance to react as the man’s fist plowed into his face. He had clearly under estimated the Scotsman.
Nicholas managed to separate himself from Keldon's fist and move a safe distance away. He knew if he didn’t talk fast, he was going to find himself beaten to a bloody pulp. "Keldon.” Nicholas tried to draw his attention, hoping he would be able to reason with him. "I've come to help you."
"Help! Ye have helped me plenty already.” Keldon spat. “I’m aghast that ye have the audacity to suggest ye are helpin’ me. What? Are ye plannin’ on finishin’ the job ye already started?”
"I’m aware of what you’re thinking, but I don't have the time to convince you of my sincerity. If you want to live, I suggest you use your fists to fight your way out of here.”
"I thought that was what I was doin’.” He took a menacing step toward Nicholas, who immediately stepped back.
"You don't have much time,” Nicholas told him. “We have to act now before the men return from their night out on the town.” This seemed to catch Keldon’s attention. He hesitated and Nicholas hurried to explain. “I know these parts. There are enough uninhabited areas that we could easily lose ourselves in its folds."
"How do I know this isnae a trick?"
Nicholas hoped he wasn’t making a grave mistake, but he had to convince Keldon that he could trust him. He slowly crouched down, careful not to make any sudden moves. With his forefinger and thumb, he pulled out his knife that had been concealed in his boot. He then put the knife on the floor and slid it toward him. "If I betray you, use the knife to cut my bloody throat.”
A chill ran down Nicholas spine as he watched a slow smile spread across Keldon’s face. "It will be my pleasure to do so, too,” he replied all too readily.
Nicholas had no doubt Keldon meant the statement as a promise. He wiped the blood from his lip on the back of his shirtsleeve. He nodded before he headed for the door, knowing Keldon would follow.
Nicholas was relieved to see Arnold remained unconscious. He glanced back at Keldon and for the first time really noticed his attire. He frowned. Keldon was a man who stood out in a crowd without questionable attire. He still wore the kilt. His shirt was filthy and blood stained. "You’re going to have to change out of the garments you’re wearing.” He looked at the unconscious man and without speaking Keldon already knew what he’d suggest.
They quickly stripped the man and Keldon slipped into the uniform. The fit wasn’t perfect with the sleeves too short and the pants even worse, but it would have to suffice. He left his blood-soaked shirt, which was beyond repair, but he refused to leave the kilt. He folded it and concealed it against his chest.
While Keldon had been dressing, Nicholas dragged the guard into the storage room and locked him in.
Nicholas’ brows rose in amazement that Keldon could even stand after his ordeal, let alone punch him with the strength he exhibited. He touched his sore jaw, still feeling the sting.
"Are ye goin’ to stand there all night or are we gettin’ off this ship?” Keldon grunted as he left Nicholas gaping at his departing back.
Nicholas followed as he shook his head. He wondered who was rescuing whom.
They hadn’t gone far when they spotted two of the crewmen. Keldon and Nicholas quickly hurried to conceal themselves behind the boxes lined on the deck. Keldon pulled out the knife Nicholas had given him. They waited until the men moved on by before they crept slowly toward the plank. They were almost there when one of the crewmen called out.
"Who goes there?"
“Bloody hell,” Nicholas cursed beneath his breath and quickly stepped in front of Keldon as he turned to face the man who strode toward them.
"Brock,” Nicholas greeted him. “Do you want to join us at the tavern?”
"Just come from there. I've had too much to drink as it is.” Brock chuckled as he rubbed his large protruding belly. "I think I'm going to turn in. You two have a good night of it.” He turned and walked away.
Nicholas breathed a sigh of
relief. "Let's get out of here,” he said, taking over the lead.
Traveling proved slow through the foliage, but they had to put as much distance from the ship and them as possible. Nicholas knew Captain Stevens well and he wouldn’t let his captive go so easily. He would send out a search party and if they were caught, he had no doubt they would both be swinging from the nearest tree.
They traveled in silence, Nicholas glancing behind him every so often to see how Keldon held up. He looked wretched. Sweat poured down his face and his breaths were labored. The man needed to rest before he collapsed.
"We're stopping," Nicholas announced.
"Why? Are ye tired?” Keldon barely puffed out.
Nicholas swallowed his pride, deciding it wasn't worth the man dying before he could rescue him. "Yes. I need to rest."
Keldon’s lips thinned. Sherborn lied, but he knew he couldn’t continue at this pace. He needed to sit down, even if it was only for a moment.
Sweat drenched him and yet he found himself shivering. He knew this was the effect of the beating he took. The only medical attention he received had been a quick look over by the ship’s surgeon, who ended the visit by dousing his wounds with salt water.
Pain riveted up and down his spine, his flesh burned from the infection raging through his body, and his stomach ached from lack of nourishment. He didn’t know how much more he could take. Every step he took was an agonizing feat, but he would never let Sherborn know this.
Nicholas eyed Keldon closely, obviously making his own assessment. He took out a flask he had in his inside pocket of his jacket. He handed it to him. "Drink some of this. It'll take the edge off the pain.” Keldon didn't argue. He gratefully took a swig, savoring the burn as the liquid ran down his throat.
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