She spooled her arm around his. “Yes, Captain.”
A strange feeling bloomed within his chest. ’Twas not easy to ignore, but he must try. She would be gone soon enough, and so would he.
“We’d better get back.” He helped her to her feet. “It’ll be dark soon and I’d hate to shoot anyone who might think to try their luck on robbing us.”
“Too bad. It is breathtaking here.”
“Not as breathtaking as you, my angel.”
Nighttime birds, frogs and insects had begun their choruses and the breeze carried in cooler air as they descended down the hill. He escorted her with his hand resting on top of hers, caressing her knuckles to alleviate any fear she might have of the dark now shrouding them. Blackthorn’s sense of duty to protect her from anyone or anything was fierce, more so than to his men or, at one time, his country. He would have it no other way.
They broke from the copse of jungle and strolled through the sands of the beach. Flaming torches marking the buildings to the pirate haven came into view. A cacophony of music and guffawing drunkards wafted over the waves rolling in. Instinctively, he kissed her temple. What had she done to him?
“I think it’s time to retire, Captain Blackthorn.”
A devilish grin rose to the impish sparkle in her eyes. Glory be, he had an insatiable lass. He now knew for certain Elyssa wasn’t a curse. Nor was she a blessing. The bonny girl was both. “I verily believe you are right, my dear. It is time to retire.”
She giggled. “Race you to the pier.”
Before he could stop her, Elyssa ran toward the dock. “No!” Tufts of sand kicked up from her heels. She was mighty quick of foot and Blackthorn, heavier than she, labored to catch up in the deep sand. “Elyssa, stop!” The fool girl. Had she forgotten she was on a cutthroat island?
A man stumbled out from behind a stack of barrels, smacking into Elyssa.
“Shit!” Blackthorn drew a pistol and was upon them in an instant.
The man yanked her into his chest and raised his pistol to Blackthorn. “Stay back!” he hollered.
“Get off her handsomely or get a bullet in your skull.”
Elyssa squirmed to get out of his grasp until she looked into the man’s face. “Mac?”
Mac? Hell, Blackthorn didn’t recognize the lad.
“Dear Lord, Mac,” she said. “You’re hurt.”
Keeping his pistol aimed at the paddy, Blackthorn walked closer to get a better look at him. Mac’s face had been mangled. His eyes were red and near swollen shut. Dried blood matted his russet hair and caked around his crooked nose. A crack split his bottom lip. Mac had taken a terrible beating.
Elyssa reached up to touch Mac’s face, but he flinched away. “What happened to you?”
“That Rathbone, he ambushed me.” He kept his stare on Blackthorn. Elyssa stepped free of him. “Put up a good fight, I did. Until the bastard came at me with an oar.” His speech was thick, slurred from his fattened jaw. “Has he harmed you, Elysen?”
“What? No.” Surprise surfaced as she realized her friend and Blackthorn still pointed their weapons at each other.
“Lay down your piece, son,” Blackthorn commanded.
“It’s all right, Mac. Captain Blackthorn isn’t going to hurt me.”
“That so.” Mac snorted. “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll decline.”
Blackthorn was certain the fellow sent daggers through his marred scowl. “Lay down your piece,” he repeated.
“I’ll not omit to tell you what that wretch Rathbone spouted about. The captain, here, got a ransom on yer head, Elysen. Sure and certain.”
“I don’t understand.”
“He expects to be paid for ya.”
Confusion hemmed into her brow. “What is he talking about, Bran?”
Blackthorn lowered his flintlock. Rathbone must have overheard his conversation with Christensen. Damn! And now, something she was never meant to know had been laid open. She was a pawn in a deadly game and she would never forgive him.
“Bran?”
“I’m sorry, Elyssa. You gave me no choice.”
“Me?”
“The daughter-in-law of Lord Samuel Montgomery on my ship, a pirate ship, offers an opportunity to act upon.” Why couldn’t he bring himself to lie to her? It would save her from the sting of the truth. “You must understand how complicated—”
“You used me.”
The tears welling in her eyes crushed him. Blackthorn couldn’t bear to witness her disappointment and chose to look to his shoes instead. He never expected his burdens could become heavier with the weight of guilt, but it had. It was a different kind of guilt. Not from the death of a fool-headed boy. Something worse. Hurting the woman who had brought his heart to its knees.
“Oh, God.” She hugged herself. “You and I…I thought you…thought I was…” Rivulets of tears flowed down her cheeks, her nose reddened. “You used me then, too.”
“No.”
“You bastard!”
Her words struck him hard. He’d been called worse, deserved worse. But coming from her lips, a cutlass through his gut would hurt less than the pain he felt now.
“You foresworn, envenomed bastard!”
Elyssa spun and fled toward the lighted buildings.
“Elyssa!”
He should have gone after her, he wanted to. But he didn’t. He just watched as she ran away. Perhaps, for the first time in his life, he was a coward. He was afraid for Elyssa. His selfishness had put her in grave danger. He was scared of keeping her close, and scared of letting her go. But mostly, he was terrified of his true feelings for her. By thunder, what had become of him?
Mac shook his head, pity and anger framed his downturned blistered mouth.
“Best go after her, son,” Blackthorn said. “She can’t be alone here.”
Mac turned to leave. He grabbed the fellow’s shoulder, stopping him. Blackthorn fished a coin from his waistcoat. “For board.”
The Irish lad looked to his hand. Incredulously, he nodded.
“And, Mac. Please keep her safe.”
CHAPTER 8
“You sure this is gonna work, Blackthorn? Comin’ here, without the girl?”
Kipp leaned against the white column of Nassau’s government building keeping a keen watch for soldiers and other enemies. He spun his knife over and around his knuckles, completely at ease and hardly putting any effort at all into it. Blackthorn, resting his hand on the cutlass at his hip, nodded to folks who chanced a look at him and his mate, quickening their steps as they crossed before them. Ah, their fear usually put him in good humor. Not today.
“Nay, Kipp,” Blackthorn admitted. “I’m not sure.”
In the square, people bustled in and out of colorful shops and around the many vendor stands. Hawkers peddling their wares called out to passersby. Hooves from horses pulling carriages clopped on the cobblestones. Fresh bread wafted through the air from the nearby bakery. From his vantage on the steps, Blackthorn had a clear view down the avenue to the docks—a good distance away should escape become necessary. Not that he planned an escape. Just so long as his men could make it to open waters if something were to go wrong. One shot in the air would alert his man down by the docks to send the signal for the Sanctum to set sail—without Blackthorn.
“Even if the lass crossed over from Parlay Atoll and found Montgomery’s officer, Flynn will not know I no longer have her. Not yet,” Blackthorn said.
“Awful risky, mate.”
“Just how you like it, eh?”
Kipp chuckled. “And it ain’t even Christmas.”
It took great effort to smile at his friend’s joke. Nothing would crack Blackthorn’s sour mood. After he had lost Elyssa last night, he could think of nothing but her. She invaded his every thought, lacerating him with visions of crestfallen tears. He had paced his chambers until he could take no more and drowned himself in liquor till he strayed from consciousness. Dear Neptune, he paid for it now. A dull throb grated incessa
ntly in his head and his mouth tasted of nappy wool. He couldn’t let that stop him from his mission.
“You should get down to the docks if you’re going to make it back to the ship.”
“I told ya, I ain’t goin’.” Kipp tipped his hat to a handsome woman strolling past. “Somebody’s got to cover yer arse.”
“It wasn’t a request, mate. It’s an order.”
“Guess this here is what ya call a mutiny, b’cause I ain’t goin’.”
“Stubborn fool.”
A valet, stiff from proper convention and dressed completely in white, exited the front door of the government house. “Governor Flynn will see you now,” he said.
Blackthorn leaned into to the man, a devilish grin crooking up his mouth. “Tell me, snip, how do you feel about showing a blood-thirsty pirate about? Make you nervous, does it?”
The valet shrank a step back “Uh. Ahem. C-C-Commodore Christensen is here, sir.”
Good. Just what Blackthorn wanted to hear, though he might have just asked the lad. Poor fellow looked as if he messed his trousers. With Christensen there, Blackthorn knew Flynn did indeed choose to meet with him instead of arresting him outright. “Well, show the way, then.”
The valet gathered the shards of his composure and led them around the porch.
Flynn sat at a table overlooking a rose garden, sipping tea. Overdressed for the heat in a heavily embroidered cream coat, mountainous white-wig, and flaunting his wealth on burnished fingers, Flynn was a disgraceful sight bloated on self-importance. Blackthorn acknowledged Christensen, who stood close by, with a nod.
“Captain Blackthorn.” Flynn addressed Blackthorn without the courtesy of looking at him. Nor did he offer him a seat.
“A fair morning, Your Honor,” Blackthorn said, perhaps a little heavy with sarcasm on Your Honor.
“Tell me Captain, what do you think of my roses? Stunning, aren’t they?”
“If you don’t mind the thorns, I suppose,” Blackthorn said.
“I sit out here everyday to enjoy them. The reds, yellows, whites, quite elegant, wouldn’t you say?” The governor didn’t wait for Blackthorn to answer. “They must be cared for meticulously. Spent flowers should be pinched off, branches trimmed, water maintained. Do these and the garden will flourish. But the flowers are susceptible to pests and left untreated would destroy the plants. Pests must be eliminated for the sake the garden. Do you understand?”
“Sounds as if you are threatening me.”
Flynn finally looked up to Blackthorn. “Take it as you like, pirate.”
The governor said pirate as if the very word tasted bitter and repugnant on his lips. Hypocrite.
“My occupation is just a worthy as yours, Governor, and, given how you acquired your position, more honorable.”
“Gentlemen.” Christensen stepped forward. “Threats and slander will cause a stalemate. Let us remember why we are here.”
“Ah, yes. The matter of a pardon.” Flynn took a sip from his delicate porcelain teacup. His cool apathetic manner set Blackthorn’s teeth to grind. He wanted to shove that teacup down his pompous gullet.
“For the Sanctum.”
“And to ensure I give you—”
“The Sanctum,” Blackthorn corrected.
“—the Sanctum a pardon, you will hold this,” he twirled his hand in the air, “girl ransom.”
“We both know Samuel Montgomery is a Lord Proprietor of the Bahamas. He has the power to pull the purse strings shut on New Providence. And remove you from your lofty throne as a powerless governor. Do you want to risk denying my request for a reprieve?”
He shrugged. “There are other financiers.”
“Who would trust their money to a man who cannot make diplomatic decisions? Who offers pardons discriminately and in doing so risks the whole of the Coast Brotherhood bearing down on you? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten how unforgiving the brethren can be when one of their own has been wronged. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten what happened in Petit-Goâve, the hangings, the roastings. Nassau will burn. What will become of your precious roses then, Flynn?”
Kipp chuckled. At least his quartermaster found the humor in the irony. Flynn didn’t seem to appreciate it as much.
“Now it is you threatening me.”
“Take it as you like, brother.”
If the wastrel could summon the elements, Blackthorn had no doubt Flynn would have a black, swirling tempest bearing down upon them. Lucid hate roiled off him in crashing waves.
“I could have you executed.”
“And I could kill you where you sit.”
“’Twould solve nothing,” Christensen interjected. He looked directly at Blackthorn. Severity leveled his brow but his eyes pleaded for Blackthorn to proceed carefully.
So be it. “Make a decision, Flynn.”
A potted palm at the corner of the porch crashed to the white painted floor.
“You, sir! Stop!” Flynn’s valet screeched. “You can’t go back there!”
Blackthorn, Kipp, and Christensen drew their pistols aiming for whoever came around the corner. Flynn grabbed the arms of his chair, wide-eyed and frightened and ready to make a run for it. Porcelain clinked as his knees hit the table. Criminy. Being governor had made him softer than Blackthorn originally thought. Of course, with all the enemies Flynn had accumulated throughout the years, he should be frightened.
Mac stumbled up short, his hands raised to show he was unarmed.
“My apologies, Your Honor,” the valet said. “He wouldn’t listen to reason.”
“Capt’n Blackthorn,” Mac said between gasps for breath.
“Damn near got a plug in your brisket, son,” Blackthorn said.
“He’s one of yours?” Christensen asked.
“I picked him up recently.” He holstered his gun. “But he’s done no wrong.” Blackthorn wanted it known the Irish lad was free of any crimes, if only because Elyssa trusted him. He would be a free man unbound by a pirate creed, regardless of what happened to the Sanctum crew.
Christensen gave Blackthorn a subtle nod. The man was astute and understood him perfectly.
Flynn relaxed back into his chair. “Get this rubbish out of here.”
Mac shook his head excitedly and sidestepped around Christensen. “He got her, Capt’n.”
Blackthorn didn’t have a good feeling. What was Mac doing here? Why had he sought him out? Was he talking about Elyssa?
“You’ve got to help her.” Sweat beaded on the wrinkles of desperation pleating his brow.
Kipp scowled. “Speak plain, lad.”
“Rathbone.”
Blackthorn’s chest grew tight. His vision constricted, as if he wore blinders. Everything around him, the roses, the tea set, the other men, faded into a blur. Elyssa!
“Rathbone,” Mac repeated. “He took Elysen.”
Kipp spouted profanity.
In two strides, Blackthorn grabbed Mac. “Where?”
“Is this the Montgomery girl?” Christensen asked.
“Aye, Commodore,” Kipp replied.
Blackthorn glanced to Christensen. Concern hemmed across his forehead.
“Where?” Blackthorn shook Mac. “Where did he take her? When? Answer me.”
“I…I…”
Thoughts of rape and murder ran rampant in his mind, darting out between dark recesses and muddling his reasoning. Rathbone’s filthy hands on his woman, his woman, were too much to brook. He had to get to her. Now! “Answer me!”
“Ease off, Blackthorn.”
Blackthorn shrugged off Christensen’s hand on his shoulder.
“It’s all right, lad,” Christensen said, undaunted by Blackthorn’s trenchant gesture. “Tell us what you know. What happened to Mrs. Montgomery?”
Wild-eyed, Mac swallowed, looking between them all, before he settled back on Blackthorn. Blackthorn let him go and Mac shuffled a step back. “We were in the square, on our way to the Montgomery office. She saw you and Mister Kipp up here on the porch
like you were waitin’ for someone. She wanted to speak to you. But as we got near, Rathbone popped out of the alley, stole her away, he did. I’d tried to give chase, but lost ’em in the crowd.”
If ever Blackthorn practiced control, this was the time. “Which way did they head?” he managed to ground out.
“The docks.”
Blackthorn shoved Mac to the side.
“You’ve got to help her, Capt’n!”
Blackthorn was already gone by the time Mac finished his last word. Kipp, Christensen, they called after him, but he didn’t stop. By thunder, would he stop. Flynn and his pardon could go to hell. It no longer mattered. Only Elyssa mattered. He ran, not bothering with porch steps, jostling past people strolling along the streets, knocking over the cart a fruit vendor had pushed in his path.
He paused at the docks, his heart drumming against his ribs. To his right were the wharves, dockyard, and warehouses. Men milled about loading and unloading ships. Sawing and hammering from the shipyard added to the noise of creaking windlasses and shouted orders from overseers. To his left, just beyond the chandler, beyond the fishing crates and nets, a sliver of beach disappeared into a craggy rim of a lagoon. There! Rathbone had to have taken her there. No one would hear a woman scream on the other side of the rocky wall.
Blackthorn jumped over a stack of crates and followed the wooden dock until it ended. His boots sunk into the soft sand slowing his progress. Only once he reached the rocky barrier did he stop. His lungs burned from the exertion and he needed to catch his breath, to harness his sensibility. He could not be undisciplined. Elyssa’s life depended on it. He had to hunt down Rathbone, assess the situation, and save his bonny lass. There was no other option.
Voices carried over the embankment, Blackthorn had to move.
To get around the wall, Blackthorn would have to wade out into the surf. That was not favorable, as he would likely be seen. He’d have to find a way around through the dense tropical jungle. Vines and mangroves were thick. Aggravation at having to tramp through the leafy tangle unfurled his prudence. Burn this! He began to climb the rugged wall. The jagged stones cut into his fingers and stabbed his palms and his waistcoat hindered his hand over hand ascent. His boots scraped against the rock, slipping until a toehold could be found. By God, he would get to the top.
Romancing the Pirate 01.5 - Beneath The Water's Edge Page 9
