by Lisa Olech
He and Ducky had left Weatherington and raced back to London. It took more than a day to track down his parents. James found them leaving the Tower of London as he was about to enter.
“Father!”
“James, my son.” His father slapped a wide hand to his shoulder.
His mother hugged him and cupped his cheek. “Darling.”
James looked between the two. They were his guideposts through his entire life. He owed his strength and sense of honor to them both. But standing in the shadow of the Tower with his future locked in a cell within its thick walls, he needed their guidance and wisdom more than ever before.
“Have you seen her?” James asked.
“Looks rough as hell. Did you have to be so bloody hard on her?” His father planted his hands on his hips and scowled.
“He’s not talking about your damn ship, Jaxon,” his mother chided. “I believe he was asking if we’ve seen Alice.” She turned back to James. “And the answer to your question is no. They’ve denied us any access to her. We can’t even get her a message.”
James shook his head. “The entire situation is in chaos. Finding Alice and returning the Scarlet Night is only part of it. What you don’t know is somewhere along the way, I’ve lost my heart.” He told them about Samantha. “If ever I needed your guidance….”
“Not sure we can help anyone.” His father scrubbed at his jaw. “I’ve appealed to everyone I can talk to. I’ve pulled every string I can think of, greased every palm, but I’m getting nowhere. Even if I could get to Tupper before she’s led to the gallows, my reach wouldn’t extend to Mistress Christian.”
“There has to be something we can do.” The muscle in James’s jaw turned to stone.
His mother gazed at him with sorrow in her eyes.
James took her hand. “I’m sorry. The last thing Alice wanted was to hurt you.”
“I only hope I can see her once more.”
“I want more than that with Samantha. I want what you two have. A lifetime.”
After watching her plead guilty, he doubted he’d ever know that kind of life, but he had one final card to play. He would need to wait a little while longer. When they issued her sentence, he could file the proper petition. But the waiting was torture, and there was no guarantee the appeal would be granted.
If only she would see him. James refused to give up. He went to her every day, twice a day, asking to see her. Each time she would deny him, telling her guards she didn’t want to see him. He wrote letters, notes. Each one was returned to him unopened.
He brought her fresh food and water, and a blanket to keep the chill from her. He paid a high price to the guards to deliver each item. Later they would jibe him, joking he should save his money. She’d be dead soon one way or the other. She refused to eat. Threw up anything she tried. No one had seen her sleep.
That made two of them. James hadn’t slept in days. When he did manage to drop into a fitful sleep out of pure exhaustion, he’d see Samantha in his dreams. They were twisted, disjointed dreams where he’d begin reliving the tender moments of their time together on the Lion. Nursing her back to health. Bathing her. Tending her. Then the pleasures of lying with her, tasting her kisses, stroking her skin, stirring her passion during long stolen nights.
But the dreams always ended the same horrible way, with the two of them standing on the scaffold. The crowd before them jeering and taunting Samantha before the rough loop of hemp scraped down over her haunted face. She turned to him, pleading that it had all been a mistake.
Only James himself was her hangman. As he tightened the noose about her neck, his hands seemed unattached to his body. They acted of their own volition, out of his control, moving over the lever, grasping it firmly. He could feel the firmness of the wood beneath his fingers and see the whiteness of his knuckles, but there the connection to his body’s actions ended.
In his dream, muscle fought muscle as the battle between his brain and his physical movements waged. Samantha pleaded. In his mind, he is screaming, begging for her forgiveness, ordering his body to stop. But his mouth remains shut. Then his mutinous hand pulls the lever and he shuddered awake. Sweating and shaking, his fear and heartache for Samantha fresh and raw.
A few agonizing days after Samantha pled guilty, James sat once more high in the gallery. Every seat was taken. Men lined the walls. News had traveled through the city like quick fire. Samantha Christian and Tupper Quinn were two lawless, morally bankrupt, cutthroat pirates. Their executions were to be a stark warning that the crown had no tolerance for their crimes. If they broke the king’s laws like men, they would hang like men.
The din surrounding him turned metallic in his head as the guards led Samantha back to the defendant’s circle, hands shackled in front of her. The heavy chain rattled as they moved her into place. Her clothing hung on her gaunt frame. She looked impossibly pale and weak. He could see her body tremble. Had she continued to be ill? Had her fever returned?
The scene before him was an exact copy of the last time, with one exception. Samantha kept her eyes locked to the floor. She didn’t look around. Didn’t scan the gallery. Was she hoping he wasn’t there? James silently willed her to lift her eyes and look at him.
Samantha flinched as the gavel struck its block. Still, she studied the boards at her feet.
“Mistress Samantha Christian.” The magistrate’s voice boomed over the crowd. A collective hush followed. “You have been accused and pled guilty to the charges of piracy and treason against king and country and have given up all rights to defend your action before this assembly. Do you now have anything to say to this court before we pass sentence?”
James clenched his hands into fists. The room seemed to hold its breath. Silence shimmered in the air. Samantha didn’t move. Didn’t lift her eyes. Refused to speak. A murmur began to encircle her. Damn it, Samantha, say something. Defend yourself. Fight, dammit. Fight for us!
She said nothing.
“Very well,” the magistrate continued. “It is hereby decided at the hour of dawn on the morning of the eleventh day of the eleventh month, you shall be taken to the gallows and hung by the neck until dead. Your body shall then be striped, tarred, and placed in a gibbet to hang over the water of the Thames for a period of ninety days as a gruesome reminder to all who see it.”
James jerked like he’d received the first whip of a cat-o’-nine-tails. Around him, the crowd surged into life. The sound of the gavel echoed the hammering of nails into Samantha’s coffin. It rang in James’s ears, each rap piercing his heart. Even though he anticipated this outcome, the shock of the actual proceedings threw him. Had he not held the petition of appeal in his coat, he would have leapt into the fray, seized her, and tried to battle their way out. No doubt, they both would die in the attempt, but desperation drove men to do fatal things.
The guards flanking Samantha each grabbed an arm. Samantha twitched as if a small part of her had suddenly awoke. She looked up, stunned. “Wait.”
The magistrate was already on his feet, gathering parchments. “I’m sorry, you were given a chance to speak. You refused. Sentence has been passed.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Take her away.”
“No,” she pleaded. Samantha tugged against the guard’s iron grip. “No. Please. I have to speak. There something you must know.” Samantha called out over the noise of the crowd. “Please.”
The sharp beating of the gavel called for quiet once again. “Young woman, you’re trying the patience of this court. Say what you must, and be quick about it.”
“Yes, Your Honor. I did plead guilty, and I’m prepared to meet my punishment, but while I care little for my own life, I wonder if the good men of this court will sentence a woman to death and at the same time kill an innocent child.”
The immediate uproar in the room was deafening as everyone leapt to their feet. Members of the gallery shouted at one another. James stood frozen to the spot. He dragged his gaze away from Samant
ha and watched the gavel strike six, seven, eight times yet the noise in the chamber continued. Or was it the noise in his head?
Pandemonium surrounded him, inside as well as out. He looked back at her.
In the midst of the tempest, Samantha raised her eyes to his. If he harbored even a sliver of belief that this was a clever ploy to save her neck, it was dashed the moment her eyes locked with his. She was telling the truth. He could read it in her eyes. She was carrying a child. His child!
A wave of emotions capsized him. Disbelief, shock, utter indescribable joy, paralyzing fear, staggering determination to see her freed once and for all, and a welling of love for her deeper than he had felt for any other being. Deeper than the widest ocean.
The pounding of the gavel finally pierced through the chaos, and the magistrate shouted over the din.
“Mistress Christian, are you telling this court you are with child?”
Samantha’s eyes never left James’s as tears welled up and breached the edge of her lashes to roll down her pale, dirt-smudge cheeks. She nodded.
“Yes.” Samantha looked back at the magistrate. “Yes,” she proclaimed louder. “Kill me. I accept my fate. I no longer care about my own life, but I beg you, save my baby. You can’t kill this child.” She splayed a protective hand across her belly.
Chapter 29
Shouts of the crowd followed Samantha as the guards hauled her from the gallery and dragged her back to the tower. The magistrate, after turning a brilliant shade of crimson, had stayed her execution and ordered her back to her cell. It was agreed a physician would be sent to examine her. If she told the truth and she was indeed with child, she would remain in the tower until the child was born. The baby would be taken from her and her hanging would take place immediately thereafter.
Sitting within her stone cradle, Samantha spread her hands across her belly. She didn’t need the verification of a physician. She had all the indications. At first, she had discounted them. Faintness, nausea, the inability to hold down food. Certainly, mortal fear for her life would cause the same symptoms. But the calendar could not lie. She’d missed her monthly. As soon as she stopped to count days, then weeks, the truth filled her with a profound sadness.
It wasn’t sadness at the prospect of carrying a child—James’s child—but the thought of having a son or daughter she would never see grow. She would never see smile, take a first step, or hear the first words. She would miss it all. Their precious child maturing into an adult, finding their way in the world, watching them fall in love.
Would James claim the babe? Would he and Lillian raise her bastard? Or would they cast it aside? Send it to an orphanage? The thought churned through her. Perhaps she could write one of her sisters. Samantha buried her face in her hands. Could she bring that kind of shame to her family? Tell them the entire sordid story about Wessler and Tupper and James? For the sake of her child?
Samantha curled into her spot by the window and reached toward her scrap of blue sky. She had no answers, but thank God, she now, at least, had time.
As it had since she first spied it, the tiny bit of blue reminded her of James’s eyes. He’d been shocked by her news. She could read it on his face. It still hurt to think about him and his betrayal. She couldn’t look upon him with anything other than anger and humiliation, but the sharp edge of that hurt had begun to dull into a deep ache she was sure to carry with her, along with his child, for the rest of her days.
Samantha smoothed a hand over her belly. A child conceived in half the love was still better than no love at all. And she did love James. Past tense, of course. Loved. She’d laid with him freely. Given him what she’d never given any other man—her whole self. She’d believed him when he professed his love for her. Their joining had created this life, and for a few blissfully ignorant weeks she had basked in the idea of loving someone and having them love her in return.
Perhaps he had been a master manipulator. He could be the most cunning and accomplished liar she’d ever known, second to Damian Wessler, but together they’d created this child. If nothing else, she would focus only the purest love on its tiny soul.
Samantha drew up her knees and curled protectively around the baby growing inside. Closing her eyes, she imagined it was a boy. He would have chubby legs that never stopped running, a beautiful smile that lit up the world, and two pieces of the sky for his eyes.
Tears choked her. There’d been too many lies. She couldn’t do it to herself as well. She still loved James. Present tense. God help her. Beyond all the hurt, there it was… She loved him and his child growing within her. Loved them both with her whole heart.
* * * *
Later, as darkness fell, her guard carried in a lantern with yet another small basket heaped with fresh food. There were fruits and hearty bread free of crawling creatures, cheese wrapped in cloth, clean water. Gifts from James again, no doubt, but she hesitated refusing it this time. It would do her and the baby well to try and eat something.
She lifted an apple and smelled its sweetness.
“Ye’ve a visitor,” grumbled the guard.
“Don’t you tire of saying that? You know my answer. Thank him for the food, but I still don’t want to see him.”
“It ain’t the muleheaded captain brought this. Not this time. Came to his senses finally. First day he hasn’t wandered the place like the blasted ravens. Nay, it’s a fine lady brought the food, daring to soil her hems. Says she wants te talk.”
Samantha stood. Could it be Tupper? She frowned. She didn’t know if she’d describe Tupper as a “fine” lady in skirts, but who else could it be? No one else knew she was here. “Does she have dark hair, with a silver stripe? Green eyes?”
“I’m afraid not.” The lady in question came in behind the guard. “I’ve always wished my eyes were green, however.”
She lifted her skirts and moved into the cell. In the dim light, her eyes looked almost golden. Who was she? Lovely, with almost a regal air about her, she wore a cape the color of copper over a stunning gown of green.
Her hair was silvered around the edges of her gentle face, softening its bright penny coloring. She carried another bundle.
“I’d heard you were slight. I hope I guessed your size correctly.” She handed Samantha the package.
Samantha took it from her outstretched hand and held it to her chest. “I don’t understand. Who are you?”
“My name is Lady Annalise Steele. I believe you’re carrying my first grandchild.”
Samantha needed to step back. Suddenly lightheaded, she needed to sit back on her rocky ledge to keep from fainting. “L-lady Steele?” She caught the package before it fell into the muck and held it in her lap.
“Yes, my dear, are you all right?”
Samantha placed a hand over her pounding heart. “Surprised is all. Why? Why are you here?”
The lovely woman smiled. “My son asked me to do him a favor.”
“What kind of favor?”
Lady Steele held up two gloved fingers. “Two actually. The first was to secure you the gown you’re holding.” She pointed to the package.
Samantha stared once more at the parcel in her lap. She lifted her gaze. “And the second?”
“Why, to get you to agree to open the door, of course.” Annalise Steele pulled open the thick cell door that still stood ajar.
“Thank you, Mother.” James kissed his mother’s cheek. His gaze never left Samantha. “I can take it from here.”
Annalise placed a hand on her son’s chest. “Anytime, darling.” She smiled back at Samantha. “I wish I could stay longer, but there is another matter needing my attention tonight and I really must rush. I hope you’ll excuse me.” With that, she swept out of Samantha’s cell as simply as she’d swept in.
The sight of James standing in the glow of the lantern stole her breath. He wasn’t in his uniform. Instead, he wore rich evening clothes. The light caught at the silver threads edging the black sil
k of his beautifully tailored waistcoat and shown in the polish of his tall boots. For all the anger and hurt, this was the real reason she hadn’t wanted to see him. The ache of loving him and not being able to have him was more than she could bear.
“Please…I can’t…”
“I have one more favor and another request.” He hadn’t moved.
Samantha closed her eyes to the sound of his voice. She pulled in a shuddered breath before opening them again, steeling her heart against the desperate pull of her emotions. “What’s the favor?”
He held her gaze for a long moment before whispering, “Forgive me.”
The air rushed out of her lungs. She covered her eyes as those two words propelled her back to their first kiss. Back to the second she fell in love with him. When the only thing good in her world was the taste of his lips and the safety she found in his arms.
James didn’t wait for her to respond. He told her about his meeting with Admiral Marcus. “I couldn’t reach you in time to explain. All I kept thinking was you trusted me once, I prayed you’d trust me again.”
“I did trust you, and they still dragged me away. How could I have known? I was alone and scared to death. You promised me, and then you just stood there and watched them take me.”
“I know, and I’m so incredibly sorry. You have to understand, I had no choice. Marcus saw to that. It was beyond my power. If I fought what was happening, they would have arrested me as well, and you’d not be standing there with a gown in your hands and an open door awaiting you.”
Her head and her heart were playing tug of war. She lifted a hand to her forehead. “How does a gown and the door have anything to do with this? What are you talking about?”
