Taking the lantern with him, he nodded to the four of us and followed the other two, going into the courtyard, leaving the room in darkness once more.
A stunned silence filled the space for a moment, the words of the captain setting in slowly.
“Tonight?” Samantha whispered. “Now?”
“You had five days,” Abella echoed, her voice flat.
Not responding, Tristan grabbed Samantha by the hand, pulling her into the hall after him. Their footsteps stopped just out of view, his voice murmuring to her gently—saying his goodbyes.
Realizing that I had no choice other than to follow my new captain and leave, or stay and be punished, I stared at Abella, the weight of our earlier conversation crashing down around me. Could I pick happiness for myself? I didn’t know. All I knew right then was that Sam was currently with her husband and I was with a woman who’d said she loved me. We wouldn’t see each other for who knew how long, and I could possibly die before we ever set eyes on each other again. It may have been the sudden urgency of the mission I was now sworn to follow, or even the rum I’d had at dinner, but I couldn’t find it in myself to listen to any of the reasons I had for staying away from her in that moment.
Striding over, I pushed her hair out of her face, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Forgive me,” I whispered, not knowing if I was talking to her, God, Samantha, or myself.
Pressing my lips against hers, I closed my eyes, savoring the feel of her skin on mine. I’d caught her off guard, her form freezing the same as mine had when she’d kissed me. Her hair was soft in my fingers, though, her cheek warm under my palm. Pulling away, knowing I had most likely already crossed a line I shouldn’t have, I looked at her shocked expression.
She grabbed me, pulling me toward her, our lips meeting once more. This kiss was different from the others, though. It felt alive and exhilarating, like I was taking the first real breath of my life. Every other thought in my mind melted away, until there was only her and her touch, her fingers on my face, her body against my own. When we finally broke apart, it seemed as if I’d been broken down to nothing and rebuilt entirely by her, a part of me now forever tied to her.
Resting my forehead against hers, I rubbed my thumb over her lip, breathing deeply. “Be safe, Abella,” I muttered. “Don’t get yourself into trouble.”
“You’re the one who needs to worry about trouble. I will be fine. Promise to write me, even if it’s only once.” She toyed with the kerchief around my neck, loosening the knot like she’d seen me do so many times.
“I promise.”
“Will it be like this when you return?” she asked, hesitantly. “With us, I mean.”
Sighing, I closed my eyes, grimacing. “I don’t know.” Stepping away, I frowned apologetically. “Time will tell, I guess.”
Pressing her lips into a thin line, she nodded. “I understand.”
Shaking my head, I took her face in my hands again, wanting to reassure her. “You don’t. Whatever this is, what we’re doing right now, I want it. There’s too much to deal with right now, though. I can’t answer every single question in your head and mine right at this moment. My captain is literally waiting for me outside. I need time to process this. You do, too.”
She smiled slightly, pleased with what I’d said.
“I will write,” I promised again. “And we will figure this out. I just need time first.”
The door opened again and MacDonald’s head popped into view. “Let’s go,” he ordered. “We’ll miss the tide if we dinna hurry our arses along.”
Releasing Abella once more, I grabbed her hand, kissing her fingers, and turned to leave, glancing down the hall at Tristan and Samantha. He was kissing her goodbye, wiping the tears from her eyes, and then he was striding toward me, a hard expression on his face.
She met my gaze behind him, her hand raised in farewell. For the first time since I’d found her in this time, I didn’t feel so helpless at the thought of being without her again.
Turning to the kitchen, though, I suddenly found myself wondering how I would make it by without Abella to talk to and reassure me of things. She smiled at me and I stared at her once more, my heart hammering in my chest.
“Move along, lovebirds,” MacDonald ordered, his voice gruff. “We haven’t got all night.”
Tearing my eyes away from her, I watched as Tristan turned away from his wife once again, leading the way out.
No sooner did I step outside, did the exit close behind me, and I faced the carriage waiting for us to climb inside. Dagger sat beside the driver, a bored expression on his face. Valentine was peering at us from his seat inside, moving over as MacDonald climbed in beside him. Without question, Tristan and I took our places across from them, closing the entrance and remaining silent as we lurched forward, leaving the courtyard quickly.
“You’ve a beautiful wife, Monsieur,” Valentine said to Tristan, his voice surprisingly low. “She will miss you while you are gone.”
“Thank ye,” Tristan responded stiffly.
“And you,” Valentine continued, seemingly unaware of the uncomfortable air between us all. “Your companion is very beautiful, too, Monsieur Bell. Quite the fighting spirit. I was afraid she would bite my finger off before she realized I didn’t mean her any harm.”
“In the lass’s defense, ye did grab her in the black o’ night and try to keep her from screaming.” MacDonald grinned in the dim light, his eyes thoughtful as he watched the two of us. Silence surrounded us once more, the wheels outside clattering over the streets, the driver urging the horses on.
“I suppose I should explain myself,” he finally said, leaning back in his seat. “Though, ye both listened right well for having just joined the crew.” Laughing once, he crossed his arms. “It will do ye good to act the same in the future.”
“Captain doesn’t take kindly to rule breakers,” Valentine offered.
“No, I do not. Nor, do I spies.”
“We are no spies, Monsieur,” Tristan interrupted, his expression guarded.
“Any dolt could see that.” Waving a hand at him, MacDonald leaned forward again, lowering his voice. “The two of ye were only assigned to my crew as a punishment for the difficult time Davies had when he worked as one of my riggers.”
“Punishment?” Finding my voice, I raised an eyebrow. “We did nothing to the man.”
“Not yer punishment. Mine.” He snorted, shaking his head. “O’Rourke here is starting to get a reputation for losing treasures. Bell is a strange man who’s assisted the enemy. Davies thinks that giving the both of ye to me will somehow lead to my own demise and him discovering where my part of the treasure lies.”
At a loss for words, I stared at him, my mouth slightly open in surprise. After a beat, I gathered myself, clamping my lips together and sucking in a deep breath.
“If Davies was one of yer riggers, why does he not know at least the general area of your treasure port?” Tristan asked, choosing to ignore the slight insults that had been thrown at us. “He did ask where it was when we first met, did he not?”
MacDonald’s grin was one of amusement and annoyance. “Aye, he did. I dinna have access to the port when he was under me. We were only a layover for the treasure. Once every half year, we would meet with the flagship of our section and pass over the items we carried.”
“The Isobel is the flagship now, then?” Tristan pressed.
“We are.” The Scotsman sniffed, staring us down again. “I expect ye both ken yer places on the ship and have worked in the role before?”
“Yes,” I responded.
“Me as well.” Tristan still sounded as if he didn’t trust anyone around him, his body still next to me, a strange sense of nervousness and anger coming from him.
“Good. I run a tight ship. Everyone has their place and role. If ye don’t fill yer duties, ye will be punished. As riggers, ye’ll be expected to maintain the sails and ropes. On occasion, ye will assist in the galley and with swabbing the deck. Tho
se are chores every member of the crew takes part in, on a rotating schedule.
“It would behoove ye to know, coming from a pirate vessel, there is no voting on my ship. My word is law and will not be questioned. This is for two reasons, the first being that our legal papers to privateering are in my name and any vote that would remove me from office would make the vessel turn pirate in the eyes of the French government. The second is for yer safety. I have sworn to do my duty and protect my crew—this includes the two of ye now. If I give an order ye dinna like, ye’ll have to accept that it was for yer better good. Do ye understand?”
“Aye, Captain,” we replied, recognizing he was using his authority over us to address us now.
The carriage skidded to a stop, the sound of water lapping the shore outside reaching my ears. Grabbing the handle of the exit, MacDonald pushed it open, hopping out like a man much younger than he was.
Confused, Tristan went after him. “Are we sailing the river to Rouen?” he asked, stopping short as something in front of him caught his attention.
“Aye, we are,” MacDonald replied, laughing.
Sliding from my seat, I exited the ride as well, gaping as I looked at the river in front of us. “How did you get it all the way to Paris?” I asked, staring at the galleon waiting in the shallow harbor. “The Seine isn’t deep enough to bring ocean craft in this far!”
“As ye can see, it is. It took some work, and we canna leave until the tide comes in, but we got her in. We were trying to make the vote and I dinna want to leave her so far away, should something happen to her while I’m in the city on business.”
“It’s the rain,” Dagger muttered behind me, his blade still in his hand like a play thing. “There’s been so much of it over the past year, the river is flooded. We wouldn’t have made it otherwise. Captain knows this, which is why he decided to try it in the first place. He didn’t want us to miss having our voice heard.”
“I pity the fool who doesn’t possess yer understanding and tries his hand at it blindly,” Tristan said, a hint of admiration to his tone. “I never would have been able to do it with my ship.”
MacDonald made a Scottish noise, striding toward the gangplank and motioning for everyone to follow. “Tide waits for no man and we have no time to lose. Every man to his station!”
Staring at the wide, open ocean ahead, I sighed, feeling more at home than I had my entire time in Paris. There was something about the fresh air, sunshine, and the gentle rocking of the waves below that made my spirits lift and put my mind at ease.
“There she is,” Tristan said beside me, examining the expanse as well. “A sight for my sore eyes.”
“Bell! O’Rourke! Stop hanging around and get to work!” On the deck below, Dagger shouted at us, fulfilling his duties as Quartermaster in making sure we were holding up our end.
Unwrapping my arm from the rigging ropes I’d settled myself into, I began the climb down, stopping to check a knot here and there. It had been three days since we left Paris, moving slowly down the river and onto the ocean. Now, as we left the coast behind us, the wind pushing us forward with ease, I found myself wondering how long we would be gone and what treasures we would behold before we set our sights on France once more.
“Bell,” Dagger called, motioning me over. “You’re on galley duty tonight. Go and relieve Smithy, would you?”
Nodding, I adjusted my course, taking the stairs to the second deck. Hammocks hung across the space, this floor of the ship being the crew quarters. The ceiling was a large, metal grate, which could be removed if necessary, creating a pit in the center of the top deck that opened into the quarters. In the middle of the space, pushed up against the starboard side, the galley sat, dried meat and herbs hanging around the beams and tiny counter that blocked it off into its own little space. Coals from breakfast’s fire still glowed in the hearth, the wood around it blackened from smoke and flames.
Smithy—the man whose main job on the ship was carpentry and blacksmithing—was nowhere to be seen, but it was no matter. Striding into the place, I began glancing around, surveying what I had to work with for the evening. There were the normal staples of the ship, like oats, beans, and jerky, as well as flour and salt. Eggs sat cradled in a basket, the hen that had birthed them already dead and eaten. More livestock was held below, the crew’s source of milk and fresh meat for the foreseeable future.
Moving around the galley, I decided to make a skillet type meal, with the beans and some of the beef that had been brought aboard in Paris. I grabbed the dish I wanted to use and set it in the coals, ready to get to work.
Behind me, a pan clattered to the floor, catching me off guard. Spinning around, I looked to see what had happened, only to feel like the breath had been knocked out of me.
Holding a finger to her lips, Abella’s eyes begged me not to say anything. She was dressed like the other men on the ship, her hair tied up in a bun, her hat having fallen off in her attempt to catch the pan she’d knocked over. Crouched beside the table the fire sat on, she breathed quickly, staring me down with a determined expression.
“What are you doing here?” I hissed, crouching down as well.
She shook her head, staying silent, and then slowly reached up, taking some old bread off the counter. Then, smoothly and without sound, she slunk off into the depths of the ship, where I couldn’t see her.
Samantha O’Rourke
The hold stank, which didn’t bode well for the rest of the trip. If it was already smelly, and we had only been on board for three days, how much worse would it get over time?
Sniffing delicately, I glanced up, certain I was right below where they were holding the animals. The stench from their feces was strong and I suddenly wondered if the small amount of salt water I’d been crouching in was pee.
Grimacing, I quickly moved to the side, holding onto the large, tied down boxes stacked around me for balance. Of course I was under the animal pen. Nothing had been stored beneath it, but cargo lined the entire area, leaving the perfect place for Abella and I to stow away. We were hiding among shit, literally, but it would have to do.
Suddenly, Abella appeared through the small crack between the containers. There was bread in her hand and the bottle I’d given her to fill with water sloshed around her neck, held in place with a rope.
“Were you seen?” I whispered, meeting her in the middle of our tiny space.
She grimaced, answering without saying a single word.
“Damn,” I muttered under my breath.
Silence stretched between us, the faint sound of a goat filtering down from overhead. What were we going to do now? There was nowhere for us to hide that they wouldn’t be able to find. We could lock ourselves in the brig, but that would simply make it easier for them to catch us. France was only a day behind us. It wouldn’t be too difficult for them to drop us on a random shore like the stowaways we were.
Finally, I sighed, rubbing my face. There was nothing to do but accept it and prepare to defend our decisions to the captain and crew. Hopefully, they wouldn’t be as angry as I expected them to be—Tristan, especially. Turning to Abella, I resolved to be ready for anything that could be thrown our way.
“How long till they find us, do you think? I was hoping we wouldn’t be discovered until we were too far out to sea for Captain MacDonald to turn around and drop us off.”
She shook her head, looking past the boxes and in the direction of the brig. It was dark, here in the bottom of the ship, but the bars of the ocean prison could dimly be seen, thick and menacing in the background. Neither of us had been on a ship with an actual brig before, not one that we’d seen anyway. It was a constant reminder of all the laws we were breaking, and a promise of what would happen to us if we were caught.
“It was Mark,” she finally said, turning her attention toward me again. “In the galley. I’d waited until the cook left to use the head, but Mark showed up before I could get anything to eat. I’m sorry, Samantha.”
Shakin
g my head, I laid a finger across my mouth, falling silently into thought once more. After a few beats, I spoke again. “He recognized you?”
“Without a doubt. He asked what I was doing here, but I didn’t answer.” Leaning against the container behind her, she thumped her head against it in anger, frustration on her features. “All of that work and they’re going to just take us back.”
“I’m not so sure,” I replied slowly, still thinking. “Mark might not say anything about it. He would know how much trouble we would get in. He might be punished for it as well, if they think he helped us get on board.”
“How could he have? He was with the captain the entire time.”
“Trust me,” I said, smiling grimly. “They never think a woman managed to do something by herself. They’ll blame him, or Tristan.”
The thought of my husband made me pause. It was very likely Mark would tell him he’d seen Abella. My presence on board would be assumed, as well. I would probably see both before the sun rose tomorrow, whether we were caught or not.
“What should we do?”
Peering at the cargo around us in the dim light, I sighed again, feeling like there had to be something we could do to keep from getting caught, even if it was just long enough for us to be thrown in the brig for the remainder of the journey, instead of returned to France. As I examined everything, a slow sense of despair and acceptance settling over me, my eyes finally landed on our salvation.
“We’ll make it that much harder to be discovered.”
Motioning for her to move aside, I went to the box she’d been leaning against, touching a slat that was sticking out slightly further than the others. With some effort, I managed to pull it away from the rest of the container, revealing the inside. It was full of cloth, and I smiled.
“Help me with these other boards,” I said quickly. “Pull them away, but make sure not to break them.”
After a few moments—and more than a couple winces over how much noise we were making—we removed the boards on the bottom of the container, opening a space just large enough for the both of us to sit inside. Once we removed some of the fabric, stowing it between two of the other cases, we began working on a way to quickly put the boards back in place. The process took longer than the undoing of the thing, but finally, after half an hour, we had managed to climb inside and close the opening. Anyone who came searching wouldn’t even know we were there.
Hidden Away (The Swept Away Saga, Book Three) Page 17
