Hidden Away (The Swept Away Saga, Book Three)

by Kamery Solomon

  Pointing the tip of his blade toward me, a dark mask fell over his face. “Now I know you’re lyin’,” he said, stepping forward. “Tristan O’Rourke and his wife are dead. Captain MacDonald has been found guilty of the murder of Grand Master Bevard. He and his Black Knight crew slipped away in the middle of the night, speeding off to claim the treasure they’ve been hoarding. And you’re in on it. Woman or not, I can’t let a Black Knight get away.”

  Jumping forward, he jabbed his blade toward me, missing as I spun out of the way. My response was a swift cut across his shoulder, the blade digging into him with much more force than I’d intended. Blood spurted from the wound and he howled, yanking away. Angry, he circled around, slipping slightly in the gore around us.

  Not wanting to waste any more time than was necessary, I leapt forward, our blades clanging against each other. We hacked and stabbed, each trying to get the upper hand, desperate to claim the spot of winner.

  Doubt crept into my mind as I fought. If what he had said to me was true, this man was not a bad person. He was a Templar who thought he was protecting what was most sacred to his cause. He didn’t realize his information was wrong.

  I couldn’t kill him, I realized. He was innocent. Killing him now would be no better than murder, even if it was in self-defense.

  Changing tactics, I shoved him, bringing the hilt of my weapon up and cracking him over the head with it. He slumped to the floor without another movement, unconscious.

  Out of breath, I turned, shrieking as another man came running at me with a sword. A gunshot sounded through the space and I jumped, watching as he fell to the floor.

  Dagger stood on the steps, a cut on his face and the smoking gun in his hand. “Are you hurt?” he asked.

  Shaking my head, I turned toward the lower decks. “Abella is. She’s in the secondary brig, unconscious.”

  “How many men between here and there?”

  “Maybe half a dozen of ours, eight or so of theirs.”

  “Good.”

  Looking back at him, I watched as he pulled one of the many blades from his belt and offered it to me. “Can you climb the rigging?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then take this and get up there. We have the fighting mostly under control, but we need more people working on the ropes so we can untangle ourselves without cracking the main mast in half. I’ll get to Abella, I promise.” He wore an expression of trust and I realized in that moment that Dagger didn’t just tolerate my presence on board; he accepted it without question. I was one of the people under his protection and guidance. It didn’t matter to him that I was a woman.

  “I’ll do my best.” Taking the blade, I nodded, moving past him to the main deck.

  Most of the fighting had stopped, as Dagger had said, a small group of the enemy gathered in a circle in front of the captain’s quarters. They’d been tied together and were being guarded by four men with rifles. A few other sailors aimed firearms over the railing and shot at the other ship, but it appeared most everyone was employed in trying to cut the vessels apart. Both sides had scores of men in the ropes, sawing and cutting away anything they could get their hands on.

  Grabbing the set of ropes nearest to me, I hauled myself up, climbing until I reached a spot where the two ships had become entangled. A sail flapped in the wind, which ship it was from unclear at the moment. It sounded like thunder, booming every time it blew out to its full capacity, and I shivered, suddenly scared.

  I cut through the lines with ease, marveling at the sharpness of the blade Dagger had given me, and moved on to the next spot. After a few moments, I felt the ship shift beneath us.

  “She’s movin’!” Captain MacDonald’s voice called as we started to pull away, the masts scraping against each other with a loud whine.

  Wrapping my arms around the ropes tightly, I closed my eyes, feeling like I was on some horrible ride at an amusement park. Something snapped beneath me, wood splintering into the air and stinging against my skin, and then we were free, standing straight in the ocean again.

  Shouts from the Iron Fist sounded across the way, someone ordering what men were left to abandon the fight and sail ship away. It didn’t seem like there were very many of them left to control the vessel, but it slowly started to fade away, leaving us alone in the night, with our damaged sails and rigging, and floors washed with blood.

  Captain MacDonald slammed his hand on his desk. “I want to ken who the dog is that accused me of bein’ a murderer! Where did yer orders to attack us come from? Eh? Answer me!”

  The four prisoners in front of him remained silent, staring at him with uncaring eyes. None of them had said a single word in the hour they’d been in the captain’s quarters, all of them choosing to glare at us like we were the scum of the earth.

  “Do ye honestly and truly think me a Black Knight?” Captain MacDonald frowned. “It goes against my own personal code! I’ve spent my entire time in the service trying to emulate all that was peace and fairness. Why would I kill Bevard? He was the man who recruited me. One of my oldest friends. Anyone with a brain could see that.”

  “Maybe that’s the problem with The Order lately,” Tristan grumbled. “It’s severely lacking in brains.”

  Smiling, I hushed him, putting my hand in his. He’d taken high offense to being listed as a member of the Black Knights and believed with even more conviction that Davies had been behind both the attack on us and now this one. Even Mark had come around and agreed that it had to be the new Grand Master.

  Staring at the prisoners, the captain grimaced. “None of my crew was supposed to die, not unless I’d done everything possible to keep them alive first. I was supposed to be the first one to fall. Now, because ye couldn’t be bothered to stop and explain why ye were attacking, I have five bodies I must put to rest. Five men who will never see their homes again, or their families. Five sets of people who will be in mourning, because ye were too damn riled to listen to reason. Keep yer pride if ye want, refuse to acknowledge ye did something wrong, but their deaths are on ye. Judgement will fall on ye eventually.”

  The men shifted uncomfortably, his soft words effecting them more than his earlier shouting. They all remained tight lipped and silent, though, refusing to speak to the man they had branded a traitor.

  He gave them a steely look, leaning on his desk. “If ye won’t answer me, I’ll have no choice but to turn ye in as pirates when we reach Hispaniola in a days’ time.”

  The men still didn’t respond.

  Sighing, the captain shook his head. “Get out. All of ye.” Waving his hand, he dismissed us all as he sat, gazing through his window in thought.

  Moving to follow the group, I sighed, wondering what else we could run into before we made landfall. What if there were more people waiting for us on the shore? What if the lie about MacDonald’s loyalties had spread through the entire Order? The Templars would do everything possible to try and stop him.

  “O’Rourkes, ye two wait,” Captain MacDonald said, catching us before we left. “I need to speak with ye.”

  Letting the door shut behind us, we waited for him to say whatever it was he had planned.

  “When we land in Hispaniola tomorrow, I want the two of ye to take charge of the prisoners and deposit them in the prison. Since most everyone thinks ye dead—”

  “It will be easier for us to get in and out unnoticed,” Tristan finished for him. “Aye, Captain. We can do that. Do ye require us to find someone to help fix the ship, too?”

  “No.” Pursing his lips, he intertwined his fingers, staring at us seriously. “I want ye to return as soon as ye can. I’ve no idea what force, if any, will be waiting for us in Saint Domingue, but I intend to disappear before they get the chance to attack us.”

  “You don’t think they will listen to reason?” I asked, surprised. “Or that we’ll be able to prove our innocence to them?”

  “The men we battled before were not interested in talking, so no, I don’t think they will listen.�
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  Tristan looked at him, curious. “What do ye mean by disappear?”

  “I mean we’ll go somewhere that they cannot. We will skip our last treasure meet up and go straight to the source with what we have. With the extra protection there, even if they did manage to find where the cache was, they would never be able to get in.”

  “And where is this impenetrable location?” I asked, skeptical.

  Captain MacDonald stared at us, as if studying everything we had to offer, and then nodded. “It is time to tell ye, I can see that. I canna rightly keep it from ye any longer. Or Bell and the maid. Ye’ve all proven yerselves many times over.”

  His mentioning of Mark and Abella caused me to think of them again with some worry. Abella’s shoulder had been put in place with little effort, but she was still in a lot of pain from being thrown around. Mark had been the one to doctor her, acting half angry and half worried about her as he worked. He was with her now, watching as she slept, making sure that she didn’t do anything to further injure the joint he’d tied down.

  Rising from his seat, Captain MacDonald brought my attention back to the present as he pulled a roll of paper from one of the desk drawers and spread it open for us to see. It was a map of the Caribbean, with various marks here and there, but nothing striking that I could see.

  Pointing to the edge of Florida, he hummed, as if trying to decide what to say. “There is an area here.” His finger drew across the map in a straight line, out to a tiny island. He then dragged the point down again, toward the islands of the Caribbean.

  As he blocked out the triangle shape, I felt a light bulb of recognition go off in my mind. Without even thinking about it, I laughed, peering at him in disbelief. “The Bermuda Triangle?”

  Captain MacDonald raised an eyebrow, turning to me with a small smile. “I’ve never heard anyone call it that. Perhaps The Devil’s Triangle, or even Davy Jones’ Locker, but never that.” He stared at me for a moment, the map seemingly forgotten, and then sat back in his chair.

  “Ye are a well learned woman, Samantha O’Rourke. Perhaps the rumors I heard of ye were more than gossip, eh?”

  “That depends on what you heard,” I replied, blushing slightly.

  “Are ye a witch?” He asked in a very unceremonious manner, but with no condemnation. There was only curiosity in his tone and in his eyes as he waited for me to reply.

  “I am not.”

  “Pity. I kent a witch once. She was the most interesting person I ever had the privilege of knowing. I would suppose that means ye’re a time walker, then?”

  Staring at him evenly, I smiled, remaining silent.

  “Well. What do ye ken of this triangle, time walker?”

  Glancing at Tristan, I shrugged, suddenly feeling put on the spot. “Superstitions, really. Whole ships go missing and are never found. Airplanes, too.” Pausing at the strange expression the captain gave me, I opened my mouth to explain and then decided against it. “There’s a lot of theories on what happens, but no concrete proof. Magnets have been blamed, as well as clouds and ocean currents. Some think that there is paranormal activity in the area, or even extraterrestrial. Time loops have been suggested as an option, too. So many people travel through the area unharmed, though, it’s not really believed that something is actually occurring in the triangle.”

  “True. The triangle houses many shipping lanes from different countries.”

  “Is this the place Columbus mentioned?” Tristan asked, butting into the conversation. “Where he saw the fireball and strange lights?”

  Thrown off by the sudden change in conversation, I broke away from the explanation I’d been giving. “What are you talking about?”

  “When Randall took ye, I spent most of my time on the ship reading about the Black Knights who had gone in search of treasure in the Americas, trying to find some connection that would bring me to Randall faster. In one of Columbus’ journals, he mentioned a fiery orb that crashed into the ocean. The next day, he saw odd lights in the sky. I was only curious if this strange place was home to those occurrences as well.”

  “It is.” Pulling our attention to him, Captain MacDonald, tapped the triangle on the map again. “It’s also the home of our treasure port.”

  Staring at the map, I tried to wrap my mind around this new piece of information. “It’s not the craziest thing I’ve heard,” I finally said. “There’s not a whole lot more than water there, though, and all the shipping lanes, like you said. How do you hide it? Where in the triangle is it safe?”

  “It would appear that the superstitions ye carry in yer time are not all that untrue,” the Scot said slowly, glancing between Tristan and me. “But not necessarily right, either.”

  “Ye mean magic?” Tristan asked, not quite following.

  “Something like that.”

  Rising, the captain moved to his window, staring across the ocean. “The natives in this area have a story. They claim there is a fountain somewhere in these islands that can heal any wound and restore youth to those who drink from it.”

  “The Fountain of Youth, aye. I’m well acquainted with the tale.” Tristan watched him with complete focus, clearly committing everything that was being said to memory.

  Captain MacDonald looked over his shoulder to us. “It’s not a story.” Gazing through the window, he sighed, folding his hands behind his back.

  “That’s where the treasure is?” Shocked, my mouth popped open, my mind quickly trying to make room for not one but two mythologies that were now being changed to fact in my head.

  “The people who lived nearby the fountain kent what a precious and sacred thing they held in their possession. They believed it to be the blood of their gods that saved them and gave them eternal youth. But, as with all things, the power was craved by those who should not have it.”

  His words streamed into an effortless retelling, creating a picture of the civilization that had dedicated itself to guarding The Fountain of Youth. They grew a large navy, fought neighboring peoples, and conquered much of the world around them. While they were feared among their enemies, the civilization lived in a practical utopian society, advancing farther than the rest of the world in the areas of science and mechanics. It seemed that they would forever reign in peace and with a strong fist.

  “However,” Captain MacDonald said, moving to his seat. “It is God’s will that there be opposition in all things. The civilization was met with a force so strong and evil, it destroyed everything they thought they knew about life. Realizing what danger they were in, and still wanting to protect the fountain, the people did the only thing they could. They asked the gods to sink their city into the ocean. It is said that in a single day, the entire civilization was swallowed by the sea, never to be seen again.”

  “Hold on,” I said, unable to keep from interrupting him any longer. “You’re not talking about the city of Atlantis, are you? Because that might be the craziest thing I’ve heard.”

  His smile said it all.

  “Let me get this straight,” I said, feeling like I’d been slapped repeatedly and was now trying to win a spelling bee. “The treasure port is in The Fountain of Youth, in The Lost City of Atlantis, in The Bermuda Triangle?”

  Shaking his head, Captain MacDonald held his hand up for me to stop. “The Fountain of Youth is the treasure the Atlantians protect. It is considered part of the wonders housed in the city, but is separate from the items we bring them.”

  “The people are still alive?”

  Tristan made a sound of surprise next to me as well, clearly having not expected that tidbit of information.

  “How?” he asked. “If their city is at the bottom of the ocean, how can the people still be living? How can we get the treasure to them?”

  “It’s a tricky thing to describe.” Sighing as if he were suddenly very ready to go to bed, MacDonald sat in his chair, rolling the map shut and placing it in its drawer. “And one I dinna ken if I can adequately sum up. It will all make sense when w
e arrive, though. Can ye trust me until then?”

  Nodding, I remained silent, thinking of all the things he’d said to us and what I’d learned. The Knights Templar were turning out to be a much more invested and mythological group than I could have anticipated. For a moment, I wished for the simpler time when I’d thought Oak Isle was the only treasure cache they kept.

  “Tristan?”

  Glancing at my husband, I saw him watching the captain with a questioning expression.

  “Ye said there is a gatekeeper,” he started. “Have ye ever even been in to the city, Captain?”

  MacDonald frowned, sadness crossing his features for a split second before he cleared his throat. “I haven’t. There is . . . a complication. It keeps me from passing through the gate and into the city.”

  “Have any of yer men? Or any of the crews before ye?”

  “No Templars have set foot in the place, if that’s what ye’re getting at.”

  Surprised yet again, I stared at him. “How do you know the treasure is truly safe, then?”

  “As I said, lass. It will all make sense when we arrive. Ye’ll just have to trust me until then.”

  I couldn’t quite place the strange, gurgling noise I kept hearing. It was like someone was choking on something, but I was the only one here.

  Warm lamplight washed the deep brown wood of the surgery with light, making it feel almost homey. A few tall crates were stacked in the corner, the long table I often used for examinations resting in the middle of the floor.

  The gurgling noise sounded again and I rose from my pallet on the floor, the hem of my shift brushing across the top of my feet. The white fabric was warm and hugged me around my hips and breasts, tank top sleeves leaving my shoulders bare. I loved the feel of it. Clothes weren’t like this in Tristan’s time. They were rough and scratchy, unless you paid really good money for them. Even then, it never quite managed to feel like the clothing from my own time. Apparently, manufacturing the items in mass amounts did something to the fabric that made it seem softer to me. Whatever the difference was, though, I could tell this shift was something I could have picked off a shelf at a name brand store. It was so smooth and silky, with the faint scent of strawberries and crème on it. It made me think of mornings when I would make oatmeal and watch cartoons, while Mom was still alive.