He raced to the edge of the deck, James Ceron close on his heels. Eyeing the dangling rope, then the growing number of crewmen stumbling from belowdecks, he realized there was no time to waste.
“We need to jump,” he told James, climbing onto the gunwale and strapping the cutlass across his chest. James clambered up next to him and slipped his dagger between his teeth. With a nod, the two men looked back quickly over their shoulders, then took a deep breath and leapt off the ship into the crashing waves. The cold water closed in over them, cutting off the chaos above as they kicked off and swam underwater, both men able-bodied and comfortable in the sea after years spent living on and around it.
They broke the surface a good distance from the Intrepid, treading water for a moment to catch their breath, and James pulled the dagger from his teeth. “So,” he said, “do you do this a lot?”
Jonathan grinned. “Often enough.”
James laughed, biting down on the dagger again as they continued to swim toward the Arrow, the commodore’s angered shouts carrying over the water. Jonathan glanced back, the moonlight enough for him to make out the form of the man standing at the bow of the ship, his head thrown back as he bellowed one word.
“Tremayne!” he shouted, and Jonathan knew this would not be the end of it.
The Black Arrow’s sails billowed at full mast just as Jonathan and James clambered on board, the former shouting orders that they evade the Intrepid at all costs, the latter taking in the surroundings of his father’s former home with a somber yet persistent gaze. The instant the captain’s boot touched down on the deck, the ship began to move, cutting through the waves with purpose as it picked up speed. The captain eyed the horizon through his spyglass, smiling as the Intrepid shrank in the distance, unable to keep pace with the smaller and more streamlined Arrow. The ship’s black sails would make it nearly invisible to the commodore, while the Intrepid’s white ones gleamed brightly under the light of the moon.
Tremayne wrung water from his long hair with one hand as he regarded his new guest out of the corner of his eye.
James Ceron’s huge form melded with the shadows, but he was far from inconspicuous. Under feigned nonchalance, his intent gaze missed nothing, and he scanned the deck with obvious concern, breathing a sigh of relief only when he saw Sarina coming toward him, apparently unharmed. He frowned, though, when he noticed her wrists still shackled together, her elbow held firmly by the quartermaster.
“Why is she a prisoner?” he asked the captain, who responded with a distracted glance between barking orders at his first mate.
“Because she is a thief and a murderess,” he responded through gritted teeth. “Well, attempted murderess, at least.”
Sarina apparently heard the comment as she neared them, because she quirked a brow. “Give me a chance, and I aim to rectify that situation.”
The captain glared at her. “Hence the shackles, wench.” His eye narrowed on Crawley as he added, “Why isn’t she contained?”
Crawley swallowed nervously. “She insisted on seeing you.”
“Oh, she insisted? Well, then, by all means,” he retorted sarcastically, waving a hand.
Sarina bristled. “I needed to make certain you didn’t leave James behind.”
Tremayne ignored her, growling at Crawley instead. “She is not a guest. She is a prisoner. You’d do well to remember that.”
Crawley nodded, his eyes dropping to the toes of his boots as his fingers tightened on Sarina’s arm.
For her part, Sarina turned all her attention on James, understandably tentative at first—the man was nearly a giant, with thick black hair dripping water from its tangled ends and a curving tattoo sweeping down the left side of his face. She took a small step forward, fingers twisting together at her waist.
James grinned, his teeth flashing in the moonlight, and Sarina smiled in response. “It’s good to see you’re all right.”
He tipped his head in an acknowledging nod. “And you, as well. I thank you for your help.”
Jonathan snorted.
James fought a smirk, turning to the captain. “And yours, of course, Captain.”
Jonathan simply turned about, bellowing, “Man the capstan! Heave-ho, lads! Stanton is on our stern, but the Intrepid’s no match for us.” He looked through the spyglass again. “Baines!”
The first mate relayed the orders and hurried to the captain’s side.
Tremayne lowered his head to his friend. “Keep to open water until we round Arahna Point,” he said. “We’ll dart into the bay and out the other side before Stanton knows where we’ve gone.”
Baines nodded; it was a ploy they’d used countless times before. “And then?”
“The Intrepid will not be able to maintain chase with civilians on board. They’ll turn about soon enough to find port,” Tremayne replied. “We’ll stay hidden for the moment. Send Jenkins to the Point to keep watch.”
“Aye, Captain.” The first mate hurried off to find Jenkins and prepare him to go ashore at Arahna Point. The Arrow would circle around to retrieve him once he’d relayed the signal that the Intrepid had moved on.
He looked up to find James and Sarina standing side-by-side at the rail, talking quietly as they watched the burst of activity around them. Crawley had disappeared, apparently finding duties more suited to his liking. Ceron said something in a low voice and Sarina laughed, the light sound carrying over the shouts of the crew.
Tremayne frowned. He couldn’t explain the itch of irritation he felt at the sight of the annoying Miss Talbot so carefree, even while bound in chains. She should have been nervous, even fearful, given her situation. Instead, she smiled up at James Ceron as if she hadn’t a care in the world.
“Captain!” Max drew his attention, and his wide eyes indicated it hadn’t been the first time he’d tried to do so. “We’re nearing the Point.”
Jonathan nodded. “Hard to port! Drop the mainsail and douse the lanterns! Steady, men . . .” He nodded at Jenkins, who sat with one leg thrown over the gunwale. At the silent order, he lowered himself onto the rope ladder, and in a moment, Tremayne heard the light splash of the man hitting the water.
“Swing the lead,” he said quietly as the ship moved in the darkness, the light from the moon barely causing a reflection on the ship itself. A crewman lowered a lead weight off the side of the ship to measure the depth of the water, relaying his measurements every few minutes. The crew worked frantically, dropping the sails as Baines took the wheel, skillfully avoiding the shallow areas of the bay until they came to rest in a small inlet, hidden from the open water.
“What do we do now?” Sarina’s quiet voice startled the captain, who was unaware that she had moved to his side. He turned to find her squinting toward the point, just barely able to make out the land above the rippling waves.
“We wait,” he said gruffly. “Or I should say we wait. You will be taken belowdecks until I can deal with you properly.”
Sarina opened her mouth to argue, but quickly slammed it closed, her eyes narrowing on him calculatingly.
“Why do you do that?” she asked instead.
“Do what?”
She turned to face him, waving a finger at his mouth, the shackles clinking lightly. “Your speech . . . your accent. It . . . changes.”
Jonathan frowned. “I do not know what you’re talking about.”
“See?” she said victoriously. “I do not know what you’re talking about,” she mimicked. “One moment you sound like a regular ruffian—which you are—Heave ho the jib and whatnot . . .”
“That doesn’t make the least bit of sense,” he muttered.
She continued as though she hadn’t heard him. “Then the next, you sound almost like . . . a gentleman . . . all posh and proper.”
The captain huffed. “That’s ridiculous.”
“I cannot quite put my finger on it . . .”
“Crawley!” Tremayne barked, forgetting for a moment that the ship was in hiding, thanks to Sarina Talb
ot. The wench was nothing but trouble, and he needed her out of his sight immediately. He glared at the quartermaster as he ran to his side.
“Take Miss Talbot belowdecks and lock her in,” he said in a lower voice, holding up a finger when Sarina opened her mouth to interrupt. “One of the empty cabins,” he added. “Make sure there is nothing she might find useful as a weapon.” He glared at her, then turned in dismissal, ignoring her sounds of protest as Crawley dragged her away.
James Ceron eyed the captain carefully in the darkness. “Surely such a tiny thing is not a significant threat.”
Jonathan scoffed, touching at the lump on his head absently. “You’d think not, wouldn’t you?”
“You’ll not . . .” James cleared his throat, squaring his shoulders. “You’ll not harm her, will you? I know I’m in your debt, but I’ll not allow—“
“Miss Talbot is my concern,” the captain interrupted, rubbing his forehead as the beginnings of a headache pounded at his temples. “But no, I’ll not harm her. I’m not a beast, after all, despite popular opinion.”
James smiled slightly. “All right, then. What are your plans for her?”
The captain turned a scrutinizing gaze on the man. “Why such concern?”
James shrugged. “She was kind to me.”
Jonathan huffed, opting for the simplest answer. “The wench stole from me. She tried to kill me. I simply mean to make her pay a bit.
“As for you, Jamie Ceron, if you’re in need of a ship, I could be in need of your services.”
James blinked. “What kind of services?”
“You know these islands better than anyone,” he said in a low voice. “I’m in need of a guide.”
“Guide to what?”
Tremayne shrugged. “You’ll know that when the time is right. But be assured, a handsome reward awaits us, and as a member of my crew, you’d be guaranteed your fair share.
“As for now, you’re welcome on board, but I’ll need to know your loyalty lies with me, and not the wench.”
James considered that for a moment. The promise of treasure was a tempting one. “But you said you’ll not harm her?”
Tremayne snarled slightly. “I do not like to repeat myself, Ceron.”
James huffed, but held out a hand. “All right, then, Captain. You have a guide.”
Tremayne shook his hand, his mouth splitting in a grin. “Welcome to the Arrow.”
Sarina fumed as she stumbled behind the quartermaster down the dim hallway leading below the deck of the ship.
“Really . . . this isn’t necessary . . . “ she managed through gritted teeth.
“You heard the captain.” He stopped before a door and unlocked it quickly, then pulled her inside, scanning the room to ensure it was empty of all possible weapons. Satisfied, he left the room without another word and locked it behind him.
Giving in to her fury, Rina followed him and pounded on the door with her shackled fists.
“Let me out of here!” she shouted. “Hello?” She kicked the door, wincing at the pain in her foot, and let out a frustrated shriek.
“I really hate pirates!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, hoping somehow that the words would carry to the target of her current frustration.
One-Eyed Jack Tremayne. The bastard.
She kicked the door one more time for emphasis, then turned to examine her newest prison. As Tremayne had ordered, the room was empty, save a couple of large casks and a pile of discarded canvases in the corner. She had to admit to a bit of disappointment at the lack of a chair or table . . . something she could dismantle and possibly use to smack One-Eyed Jack on the head.
Again.
Rina sighed. She felt like a failure. She’d set out to kill Tremayne, but the fact was, she knew she couldn’t. She wasn’t a murderer. The sight of the blood flowing from his head—even now—sent a squeamish twist through her stomach.
No, she couldn’t kill him, as much as she’d like to. Sarina hoped her father wouldn’t be too disappointed in her lack of mettle.
Her only alternative was to try to make Tremayne pay in another way. Her mind spun with the possibilities. She could gain his trust . . . get close to the man, as much as the thought turned her stomach. And once she’d found the answers she was looking for, she could finally fulfill her mission and avenge her father’s death. Perhaps . . . perhaps she could gather evidence against him—enough to turn him over to Commodore Stanton and see Tremayne imprisoned for the rest of his natural life.
Or hanged. Rina shivered at the thought but did not waver in her resolve.
And once she presented herself to the commodore in her own clothes, rather than the rags of a cabin boy, and handed him One-Eyed Jack on a silver platter . . .
Well, Commodore Stanton would have no alternative but to believe her tale and dismiss all charges against her.
Yes. The situation definitely called for a new plan.
An improved plan.
Rina was nothing if not adaptable. She would gain Tremayne’s trust, and when the time was right, he would pay.
She sighed in dejected frustration when her stomach growled. In the meantime, she was stuck in a windowless room in wet clothes with nothing to eat.
Perfect.
She walked over to the pile of canvases—sails, she realized—and picked up an edge between two fingers to peek underneath. Seeing no evidence of vermin or something equally distasteful, she sat down on the pile, pulling a corner over her shoulders as a chill set in.
The sound of a key in the lock startled her, and Rina realized she was lying down and must have drifted off. She had no idea how long she’d been in the room, or what time of day it was. Her clothes were damp but no longer dripping; her stomach more vehement in its protestations, suggesting it had been at least a couple of hours since she’d been locked up. She stood quickly, wincing as the shackles chafed at her tender wrists.
She squinted in the darkness to see the captain’s first mate come through the door.
Baines, she remembered. Maxwell Baines.
“Captain wants to see you,” he muttered quietly, waving her forward.
Her chin stuck out stubbornly, but she didn’t refuse the command, not wishing to spend any more time in the tiny room. Not to mention the fact that if she were to gain the captain’s trust, she first needed to gain access to the captain.
So, she brushed past Baines airily, blinking as she emerged into the brighter passageway. She could make out light coming from the stairway leading to the deck, and realized the sun was up, the ship rocking slightly, obviously under sail.
“What’s happening?” she asked, unable to temper her curiosity.
Baines frowned. “The captain will tell you, if he finds it necessary.”
Sarina bit her lip. “You don’t like me much, do you?”
Baines chuckled humorlessly. “You lied. Tried to kill my captain. Took a chunk out of my arm, and laid me low, kicking me in the bollocks . . .”
Rina winced.
“So, no,” he continued, “I’d say you’re not my favorite person.”
“Sorry about that.”
Baines grunted, then added after a moment, “He didn’t do it, you know. Kill your father.”
Rina said nothing, not surprised that the first mate would defend his captain. She felt his eyes on her, but after a moment, he turned away and they emerged on the deck, his hand closing around her elbow as he led her across to the captain’s quarters.
Rina squinted in the bright sunshine, scanning the horizon but seeing nothing more than endless rippling waves. The sails billowed overhead as the ship clipped along, and she stumbled slightly as the deck rolled.
Baines smirked. “Still need to find your sea legs, it appears.”
A smart retort died on her lips as the hair on the back of her neck stood on end—a shiver of awareness that she was being watched. She scanned the deck just before passing through the doorway to the captain’s quarters, her eyes finally landing on the black
ened, cocky grin of the master gunner. Rafferty’s beady eyes passed over her form slowly before coming to rest on her face. He winked, spitting a slimy glob out of the corner of his mouth before wiping the excess from his chin with the back of his hand. Rina shivered.
“What’s the matter?” Baines asked, tugging on her arm. She hadn’t realized she’d stopped.
Rina tore her gaze from Rafferty, but knew instinctively he hadn’t done the same. “Nothing,” she replied, her voice cracking slightly. “I’m all right.”
The first mate shrugged and dropped her arm as they reached the captain’s door. He knocked quickly but didn’t wait for a response before opening it, obviously aware that Tremayne was waiting for them. Baines stood back, extending his arm toward the door with a gallant half-bow, and Rina rolled her eyes at the gesture. She stalked into the captain’s quarters, her gaze landing on him where he sat sprawled behind his desk, her father’s cutlass balanced atop his palms.
He ignored her, running his hand along the cool metal, his eye following the movement. He picked up a cloth and rubbed it on the gleaming blade until it shone. His long fingers wrapped around the hilt, testing the sword’s weight as he stood and swept it through the air in a large arc.
Rina jumped. The captain smirked slightly but still did not look at her. Instead, he addressed his first mate.
“Release her.”
Baines reached for a set of keys in his pocket and quickly unshackled Rina’s wrists, nodding once at the captain before he left the room, the door shutting quietly behind him.
All the while, Tremayne continued to play with the sword—her sword—brandishing it gleefully as Rina looked on in anger.
“Aren’t you afraid I’m going to attack you?” she asked.
The captain’s gaze finally flicked her way briefly. “Not particularly.”
Rina stiffened, annoyed that he would dismiss her so easily. She rubbed at her tender wrists, but quickly crossed her arms over her chest when she saw Tremayne notice the movement.
She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
Cutlass Page 6
