Hidden Away (The Swept Away Saga, Book Three)

by Kamery Solomon

  Sweeping across the deck, I searched for Abella, breathing a sigh of relief when I caught sight of her by the bow, sword in hand, her attention turned upward as well. She must have been with Mark, as I was with Tristan. The knowledge gave me comfort and I knew I wouldn’t have to worry about the two of them, as long as they were together.

  After a few moments, Tristan joined me on the deck again, soaked to his skin and watching the shamans attack the two vessels. Their brothers in arms hadn’t stopped to help them, the five remaining ships still heading our way.

  “Do you think Francois realizes they aren’t dead and will remember how he didn’t help them?”

  Tristan shook his head. “No. If what Bevard said about the man is true, he only has eyes for the treasure he thinks he’s about to conquer.”

  “Battle stations!”

  It was Dagger who shouted the order this time, his voice roaring over the noise, calling us to arms.

  “Time to show these knaves how well ye handle a blade, love.” Tristan smiled lightly, grabbing me around the waist with his free arm as he drew his sword once more. Kissing me firmly, he lingered for a moment, as if he were really trying to memorize what it was like to be with me like this. He then rested his forehead against mine, breathing deeply. “Stay where I can see ye?”

  “Always,” I responded, staring into his sparkling green eyes. “You as well.”

  “Ye have my word, Sam.”

  Breaking apart, we took our spots along the railing, watching with stony faces as the ships approached us. The rain pelted my skin, dripping into my eyes, and I shivered, wishing we could get the whole affair just done and over with. Glancing to the helm, I watched the captain once more.

  “Francois is at the head.” He had the spyglass held to his eye, his lips curling into a slight snarl as he watched the ship come toward us. “Good. I can take the wee bugger down myself.”

  A cannon fired from the deck of the flagship, narrowly missing the bow of our own. Suddenly, I felt the realization of the fight we were about to partake in become reality. If we didn’t prove we were innocent right away, we would be in the fight for the long haul. If any other ship had reached us first, we might have been able to reason with her captain and fellowship them to our cause. With Francois at the helm, though, we would be fighting the very man who besmirched us, the man who wanted us dead for his own designs. There would be no negotiating, no pleading our cause. The man knew we were innocent.

  He would do everything in his power to keep the others from discovering this.

  More cannons shot toward us, one of them clipping the front of the boat, spraying wood chips in every direction.

  Flinching, I glanced toward the captain, waiting for him to order a return fire. The order never came, though, even when the secondary ships began firing on us as well.

  “Captain?” Dagger asked, uncertain.

  Captain MacDonald shook his head, frowning. “They’re tryin’ to sink us instead of boarding. Easier on them—no casualties, and they can use the whole crew to claim the treasure. Remember, though, we dinna fight to kill.” Captain MacDonald spoke as he came down the steps from the helm. “Only to survive. Innocent blood need not be spilled this day, not at our hands.”

  “What do you order then?”

  “We fight.” MacDonald growled slightly, unsheathing his sword and raising Sheila from the ground. “Leave Francois to me. I’ll get a confession out of the rat, if it’s the last thing I do.” He paused for a moment, staring at the men opposite us, the men who should have been our friends and defenders. A strain of emotion covered his face for a moment, and then it was gone. “Hooks!” He roared. “Bring them in, lads. Let us show them what it means to face men of honor!”

  The men scurried about, grabbing the grappling hooks and ropes, waiting for the opportune moment to snag the ship and draw her toward ourselves.

  “Won’t that just make it easier for them to sink us with the cannons?” I asked Tristan, bewildered.

  “No.” He took the hook and rope that was handed to him by another and smiled. “If she’s anchored to us, she can’t fire without risking sinking herself. The other ships won’t fire either, for fear of taking out their leader.”

  I eyed the flagship as it came up alongside us, cannons sticking from their windows, ready to fire once more.

  “Now!”

  Hooks were flying through the air, catching on the railings and masts of the flagship, drawing her in with a surprising amount of ease. Peering over the edge of the boat, I saw several shamans who were also using their powers to pull the ship close.

  For the first time since I’d seen the fleet on the horizon, I thought we might have more than half a chance of winning this fight.

  A battle cry caught my attention and I looked up, seeing a man from the flagship swinging toward me on a rope. Others were scrambling to follow him, including several of the men on our side, each party boarding the other’s ship.

  The real fight had finally begun.

  Brandishing my blade, I shouted, turning to face those who had come over to meet us. Without a second thought, I charged one of them, swinging and spinning, engaging him in a fight he seemed eager to partake in.

  The man was larger than I was, by about one hundred pounds, but the added weight didn’t seem to affect his speed at all. He darted around the deck like a rabbit, meeting my every blow. For a split second, I thought I might not be able to beat him, but then he slipped, falling flat on his back.

  Remembering the captain’s orders to not kill any of the men, I slid down as well, pinching one of the sailor’s pressure points as hard as I could. He struggled, hitting me in the side with the hilt of his sword, and then finally slipped into unconsciousness.

  Grabbing him under the arms, I heaved him from the middle of the deck, laying him against the side railing. I saw Tristan doing the same to someone he was fighting. There was no time to speak or congratulate one another, though, as more men were flooding over the railing and attacking.

  Darting forward, I growled, meeting my next opponent. He fell much quicker than the previous one, as did the next man I faced. After a few moments, it occurred to me that we were still battling just the flagship. Glancing over the water, I saw the other four ships standing by, waiting.

  “They’ll only come if they think their ship needs help,” Tristan called to me, spinning and smashing his pommel against one man’s head. The enemy crumpled like a rock, his eyes rolling back. He would have a killer headache when he woke, but he was still alive.

  We were handling ourselves well. As far as I could see, none of our crew had fallen, though a few had bad injuries. I caught sight of Abella dragging one such man into a corner with her good arm, her free hand protectively covering the cut on his chest.

  At that exact moment, one of the other ships seemed to notice how well we were doing, suddenly moving forward.

  “Brace yourselves!” Dagger yelled a few men over, punching a Templar in the face. “More are coming!”

  The second ship pulled next to us, throwing her own hooks and drawing close. A flood of men jumped over the railings, beating us back. Some of them were plucked away by mermaids waiting in the deep, but there were so many sailors that it was impossible to keep them all from boarding.

  Feeling somewhat frantic, I slashed every which way, trying to keep anyone from getting too close to me. The fight was spread over all three ships now, but there were so many of them and so little of us by comparison, I felt any hope I’d had slipping away with the tide.

  The sound of a cannon firing made everyone glance toward the other three ships, watching in horror as the ball smashed into one of our masts. The wood shattered into a million pieces, the large pole falling in slow motion, it seemed. The ropes strained and pulled as it swung low, crashing to the deck and falling over the bridge of space between our ship and the flagship. It tangled with the ropes there, smashing through the railing of the other boat and securely latching us together.


  War cries came from the water, the shamans launching another attack on the ship that had fired on us. Men were plucked from her rigging and pulled through cannon windows, deposited into the water. The other two ships were left alone, though, giving a clear message—they wouldn’t be bothered, if they left us alone.

  My examination of the event was cut short as yet another Templar rose to greet me, a wicked smile on his face and a sword in his hand.

  Tossing my blade between hands, I smiled as well, ignoring the fact that I was out of breath and tired from my other battles. We stared at each other for a moment, and then, not wanting to give him the upper hand, I stepped forward, engaging him in the fight.

  The rain had made the deck slick and we both slipped as we moved around, thrusting and jabbing at each other. My desire to not kill him had me at a disadvantage, but I refused to give in and finish him. Captain MacDonald was right. These were our brother’s in arms, even if they didn’t see it that way. We were not the enemy and we did not need to act like we were for Francois’s benefit.

  Sidestepping the stab he’d aimed for my thigh, I brought the hilt of my sword down hard against his back, shoving him against the railing.

  He cried, arching the wounded area, and then rounded on me, pulling a small dagger from his belt. The blade flashed in the lightning, coming toward me with speed I hadn’t expected from him.

  Stepping away, I leaned back, hissing as the blade nicked my chest, cutting a small space just below my breast. The Templar was even quicker after that, slicing across the back of my hand as he pulled the blade toward himself. The cut was deeper than the first, stinging badly as blood welled from the wound and slipped over the edge of my hand onto the deck.

  Growling, I brought my foot up, kicking him between the legs. He immediately dropped both of his blades, grabbing himself, and fell to the floor.

  I may have been a bit too rough with him when I kicked him in the head, knocking him out cold.

  “Sam!”

  Turning to Tristan, I saw him watching me with wide eyes. Confused, I glanced at my hand, realizing that it was now almost completely covered in gore and still dripping on the deck.

  “I’m fine!” I yelled, wiping the filth on my pants. All it did was make me seem like more of a mess, though, and I sighed, turning to find my next opponent.

  “Francois!”

  Captain MacDonald’s voice shouted across everyone, drawing their attention to his form as he crossed the fallen mast, Sheila in one hand and a somewhat bloody sword in the other. Someone had cut him on the arm, the filth soaking through the sleeve of his shirt, but he was otherwise whole. Everyone paused for a second as he advanced to the flagship, yelling at the top of his lungs.

  “I’m the one ye want, ye rat! Come and face me yerself, ye coward! Stop hiding in yer cabin like a wee babe! If ye’re goin’ to lie to all these good men and condemn us all to death, ye could at least be a man about it!”

  Some of the Templar’s hedged at that, seemingly surprised that the Scotsman would insist he had been lied about.

  “That’s right,” he said to them, stopping before he reached the broken railing of the flagship. “Francois has lied to all of ye. I’m no murderer or Black Knight. He is!”

  “Enough!”

  An old man appeared from the captain’s quarters, his body clothed in light armor and a sword in his hand. Rain spattered against his bald head, his wrinkled skin pale in the light, but there was a fierceness about him that made my breath catch. There seemed to be a dark shadow in his eyes, his lips turned into a frown as he stared at MacDonald.

  “How dare you stand there and accuse me of betraying our most holy Order!” Francois snarled, his French accent thick and strong. “You, who murdered Bevard! You, who planned to steal the treasures of Atlantis!”

  “If I’m the murderer and thief ye say I am, why do the Atlantians come to my aid?” Captain MacDonald shot back. “I have spoken with Bevard in the spirit realm and he has revealed to me that ye are his killer. It was he who warned us of yer approaching fleet and intent to take the treasures for yerself.”

  Francois froze, fury covering his face. When he finally did speak, he sputtered, so angry he could barely get the words to leave his mouth. “H-h-how dare y-you! B-blackening the g-g-good name of our d-departed Grand Master to f-further your own designs!”

  There was a flash of movement, and Francois raised his arm, firing the pistol he’d been concealing at his side. The shot missed the captain, but it had its intended effect; chaos erupted on the decks again.

  Something was different now, though. Many of the Templars were hesitating, looking around as if lost. Captain MacDonald’s speech had caused them to falter in their convictions and they no longer knew who to fight. Several of them stared at the water, watching the mermaids below, a slow acceptance appearing on their faces.

  And then it happened. The first of the Templars threw down his sword, shouting to his comrades. “He’s right! Why are the Atlantians helping them? Something isn’t adding up.”

  They were all hesitating now, turning to their leader, watching as he took on Captain MacDonald by himself.

  The two men dueled close together, swords flashing and clanging. Captain MacDonald was as impressive as ever, dual wielding his weapons, but Francois was absolutely stunning. I had never seen anyone, let alone a man of his age, fight as gracefully and expertly as he was. It was like watching a dance, their feet crossing and beating across the deck to music no one else could hear, eyes locked on one another.

  Swinging the hammer, MacDonald smashed its head into Francois’s shoulder, the old man crumpling like a piece of paper as he cried in pain. The armor he was wearing had saved him from being hurt too badly, though, and he rose again in an instant, slicing across the captain’s leg.

  Captain MacDonald bellowed in pain, falling to one knee, his form disappeared from my view for a moment, Francois circling around him triumphantly. Then, he got back on his feet, shoving the Frenchman to the side, growling viciously, and their battle began anew.

  “Do ye not see yer men hesitating around ye?” MacDonald spoke loud enough for all to hear, a smile on his face as he limped slightly, the two of them pacing together. “They dinna ken who to trust. Makes one think they kent their trust in ye was flawed from the beginning, no?”

  Shouting, Francois rushed him, shoving the Scotsman against the wall of the captain’s cabin. “You are a murderer and a traitor. Confess! All you have done here is make yourself look like a fool. These men will never believe you. Why should they, when their Grand Master has told them the truth of your deeds?”

  Captain MacDonald laughed, a breathy, pained sound, and shoved him away. “The Grand Master you cheated into power, ye mean? The one ye’re blackmailin’?”

  Francois recoiled some at that, surprise crossing his features for a second before he covered it up with cool indifference. “Lie all you want, MacDonald. God will take his revenge on Bevard’s murderer this day, no matter what you say.”

  “He’s telling the truth!”

  The shout came from the other Templar ship, a hooded man standing on the railing, looking across at all the Knights ahead of him. Slowly, he removed his hood, revealing his face. Shocked gasps and cries came from the men, all of them instantly turning to stare at him.

  “Davies!” Tristan sounded as surprised as the rest of them, staring at the man with an open mouth.

  “That’s the Grand Master?” Shocked at the full weight of this turn of events, my own mouth popped open.

  “You are supposed to be in Paris!” Francois voice cut through the air like a knife, hissing from him like a snake. When I looked at him, I could practically see the hate seething from him, murder in his eyes. “You stupid, stupid boy!”

  “It is you who are the stupid one, Francois!” Davies tone was like a whip cracking in the space. “Did you honestly think that I would stand idly by and let you steal the treasures of The Knights Templar? That I would let you condem
n an innocent man and his crew to death, just to cover your own tracks? You may have gotten me this seat in our Order, but I am still the Grand Master. I will do what is best for my men, no matter the cost to myself!”

  Dropping all appearances of being an honest and faithful member of The Order, Francois snarled. “You will never see your wife and child again.”

  Davies flinched, nodding. “I know. Truth be told, I have long suspected that you have already killed them. If that is not the case, I will be happy simply knowing that they are alive. There is time yet for me to look for them. You, on the other hand, will not live to see another day.” Motioning to Captain MacDonald, Davies sighed. “Take him.”

  Lurching to the side, Francois grabbed a gun from one of the men standing closest to him. Taking aim, he fired just before Captain MacDonald tackled him to the ground. The shot rang out like a gong and the Grand Master flinched, grabbing his chest in surprise. Then, slowly, he crumpled, falling off the railing and disappearing to the deck of the ship he’d been hiding on.

  An outraged roar filled the air, all of the Templars rushing to his aid. A few remained with Captain MacDonald, holding Francois down as he writhed beneath them, shouting curses and all other sorts of profanities at them.

  Still somewhat shocked, I remained where I was, jostled to the side by those trying to check on Davies. Right before my eyes, the deck of the flagship emptied, as if there had been no fight happening there moments before.

  “We . . . did it.” Staring at Tristan beside me, I blinked, caught off guard by how suddenly everything had changed.

  “Aye, we did.” He appeared somewhat dazed, but he also craned his neck, trying to see what was happening on the other ship with the Grand Master. Slowly, a mournful cry began to drift over to us and his face went pale.

  “What’s happened?” He called, to no one in particular, still trying to see what was happening.