Carried Away (The Swept Away Saga Book 2)
Page 19
The crew’s time in London had seemed as normal as any other. We’d taken the long boats in and went our separate ways for the few days we had to ourselves. There was no talk in the streets of any dueling or group fights and when we’d returned, everyone appeared to be in good health, hangovers aside. Frustrated, I was forced to accept that I had no idea if Tristan O’Rourke had met with anyone or not.
Through all this, my mind kept going back to the shipwreck in The Gulf of Mexico, a ship that would surely be the one I was on now. Having Sam on board and learning the few brief things I had from her, it sounded to me that someone would come for her, be it Tristan or someone else. The two ships would meet in the bay, and one would be burned and sink.
Looking over at my friend, I couldn’t help feeling a little worry over her. She’d curled into a ball and gone to sleep, her arms wrapped protectively around her stomach. Whatever trouble we were in to, it wasn’t a situation suitable for a baby. She must have been so scared, without Tristan and in the hands of their worst enemy.
Wrong, I corrected myself. She’s in my hands, now.
Smiling softly, I thought of her father, Michael. I was sure, if he’d been able to say it, he would have been happy that she at least had me.
Footsteps announced someone heading our way and I turned, jumping as the door shot open.
“Bring her,” the quartermaster said, his hulk like form turning to leave. “Captain wants to talk.”
Captain Randall’s cabin stretched across the whole backside of our ship, the cherry wood stained interior the only part of the entire vessel I ever considered fine. The large window in the rear showed the inky black sea outside, along with the stars glittering in the sky above. That was the only section of the room that conveyed openness and freedom, though.
The hammock bed, in the far left corner, gave the appearance of having never been used, the ropes hanging listlessly, as if Randall were some kind of being who could survive without sleep. A large desk was bolted to the ground in front of the window, a few other bookcases and trinkets lining the walls. The floor was bare, with scuff marks from the door passing over the entryway standing out as the only difference in pattern. Overall, it was a very bland place, but at least it had sufficient room for meetings.
Samantha stood before the group I’d often seen gathered here, her head held high, despite her obvious beaten state. Ignoring jeers and catcalls from the pirates, she had eyes only for the captain, her mouth pressed into a straight line.
Turning to leave, I planned to wait right outside the doors, in the hopes I’d be able to hear something of what they had to say to her. To my great surprise, I was stopped.
“We have a sort of club here, Snake Eyes,” Randall said, a knife in one hand, the point resting against the desk he sat at. Sitting there, with his wall of muscles around him, his red coat glowing in the light of the lanterns, he looked like a devil, sent to take my soul.
For an instant, I felt the longing for Devil Dancers, the Apache who would beat drums and shout during powwows to keep evil spirits away. However, I was sure that a few Indians wouldn’t be a problem for these men.
“We’ve been watching you,” Randall continued, digging the point of his blade further into the wood. “As you’ve been watching us. It would seem that now is the time to rectify the situation.”
Oh, damn.
“What do you mean, Captain?” I kept a straight face, trying to find my best Apache warrior impersonation to intimidate them with.
“You showed great . . . initiative today, with Legion. I had no idea that there was so much fire in you. I thought all of your promise had fizzled out when your doctor friend died. Truth be told, I expected you to be dead a long time ago. But you’ve surprised me in many ways now.” Leaning forward, he folded his arms, the dagger forgotten.
“Thank you.” Well, if this was an execution, he’d caught me off guard with his compliments.
“How would you like to join our club?” Randall asked easily. “There are certain benefits, of course. Two extra shares of any loot, information on where we’re headed, and, of course, kingdoms at your command.”
“Kingdoms?” Laughing, I looked between them, waiting for the others to join in the joke, but none of them did.
“Yes, Mister Eyes, kingdoms.”
Captain Randall rose then, striding around the desk and stopping in front of Sam. His expression was one of several emotions, rage and revenge among them. With one swift movement, he reached out and grabbed her around the throat, squeezing hard.
Gasping, her fingers instantly went to his wrist, scratching and clawing in an attempt to get away. Strength was on his side, though, and he lifted her in the air, holding her there for a second before dropping her to the ground.
“Where is the lost treasure?” he hissed, staring down at her. When she didn’t answer, he kicked her in the side, knocking her over as she screamed; he’d hit a spot that was already tender. “Where is it?” he shouted.
“I don’t know,” she wheezed, looking up at him, fury rolling off her.
“Wrong answer.” The growl made her blanche, and she tried to push away, crawling over the floor as his foot stepped on the back of her dress. “Take her,” he told the men around the desk.
It took all of my self-control not to lash out and protect her, my hands curling into fists at my side as I watched them haul her up and drag her to the table, bending her over it, her stomach pressed painfully against the edge, and holding her head and arms against the surface.
“Now,” Randall said, coming back to his seat and picking up the knife. “I will ask you again. Where is the treasure? I know you know—that senile Grand Master started something after you met with him. What did you tell him?”
“He was just showing me the Temple, you idiot!” Her reply was snarled almost, spat out as she struggled against those holding her. “If he started anything, I have no idea why.”
“You’re lying, Sam.” He sighed as he spoke, almost as if he were bored, sitting down in his chair and looking at her. Suddenly, he lashed out with the blade, slicing across her right forearm.
Screaming, she fought harder, trying to pull away as the blood rolled over her skin.
Trying to conceal the trembling of my hands, I clenched my jaw; ignoring the red filter I was now viewing the interrogation through. My entire body was calling out for me to fight for her, to save her from her torturers, but I knew I would be dead the instant I tried. Who would protect her when I was gone? No, it was better that I did nothing. If Sam was still anything like the girl I’d known in our own time, she would understand.
“Where is it?” Randall roared, dropping the weapon and slamming his hands on the table. Grabbing her by the hair, he yanked her up, shoving aside those who had been restraining her, and slapped her hard across the face, practically plowing her into the ground with the force of it. “Tell me!”
She seemed to have barely any strength left as she pulled herself across the floor, laughing slightly as she stared at him over her shoulder. “Did you really think I would tell you?” she asked breathlessly, her features dark. Chest heaving, she turned her whole body to look at him, scooting backward until she hit the wall. Blood smeared across her face as she reached up and pushed her hair away, trying to see him better. “There’s not anything in this world that would make me do what you want, you murderous, lying bastard.”
I couldn’t see Randall’s face, but I could tell from his posture that he was positively seething as he watched her. His hands shook; her blood soaked into the sleeve of his jacket, and his breathing was labored, as if he’d just finished running laps. “You tell me what you told those filthy beggars masquerading as knights, or I will cut that baby out of you and eat it for dinner.”
Even some of the Black Knights behind him visibly recoiled, horror washing their features as they watched him. Sam’s eyes had gone wide, her body freezing as she regarded him, the blood still slowly dripping from the shallow cut on her arm.
“Nothing but the satisfaction of knowing you were dead,” he replied haughtily, motioning for one of his men to give him back his dagger. Slowly, taunting her, he came closer, the metal tip seeming to shine in the light, until he was kneeling right in front of her. “Tell me,” he ordered again.
She clamped her mouth shut in reply, kicking out and catching him in the arm. However, he’d been expecting that, his free hand clamping down on her ankle and yanking her toward him. The scuffle that ensued looked more like an attempted rape than anything else, his form holding her down as she screamed and fought against him. The fabric of her dress ripped more, the bodice falling open and revealing her corset underneath. With one swift motion, Randall cut the ties down the front, rendering the device useless and shoving it aside.
My foot slid forward, my heart pounding as I watched. One man noticed, regarding me with warning, and I bit my lip, trying to keep from yelling out. It was taking every ounce of strength I had not to run to her side.
Come on, Sam! Give him something, or we’ll both be dead come morning!
The blade drew across her stomach, barely even drawing blood, but she was screaming like she was dying, writhing beneath him, her hands clawing at him. “I don’t know!” she screeched, tears rolling down her face. “I told him a guess, that’s all!”
That was enough for him. Immediately pulling the knife away, he sat back, pinning her legs down. “Good.” The tone of his voice made me picture his sick smile, his lips twisting like any villain in a super hero comic I’d ever read.
“M-Mexico C-City,” she stammered, holding still under him, fear in her large, wide eyes. “In m-my time, they found evidence that Montezuma had his slaves bring the treasure back after the Spanish l-left.”
Captain Randall didn’t answer, instead standing and moving away from her. “Very good, Samantha. I knew your motherly instincts would work to my advantage.” He turned to face me then, his expression just as wicked as I’d been imagining. “What do you say, Snake Eyes? I have an opening in my crew. Join me—join us—and you will become a Black Knight of the Order of the Templars, the one and true faction dedicated to the liberation of the treasures of this world. When the riches are in our grasp, you will have the kingdoms I promised. In fact, you can have anything you wish.”
It wasn’t really that much of a choice. They would kill me if I said no, especially after what I just witnessed. Sam was also lying to them, which made me think it might be better if we had an inside look into the plans of the group. A quick glance to her form on the floor behind him confirmed as much in my mind.
“When do I start?” I asked easily, forcing a smile.
The group laughed heartily and Randall gestured for me to come over to the desk. “Welcome to the brotherhood.” He made a motion to someone and held the chair out for me, nodding in encouragement as I paused.
Sitting down, momentary panic grabbed hold of me as another crew member locked their fingers around my wrist, yanking my arm out. “Hey!” Surprised, I tried to pull back, but Randall put his hands on my shoulders.
“It’s nothing,” he spoke smoothly. “Just a mark, so others will know you’re one of us.”
The man he’d pointed to stepped forward, leaning over my arm to look at it. “There,” he said, his voice low and quiet. “Just above the elbow.”
“Good,” Randall cooed.
It was then that I became aware of something resting in the lantern, a long metal rod with a design at the end of it. It must have been there before we even came in, warming up for just this occasion.
The bastards were going to brand me!
“You said everyone has this mark?” I asked uneasily, trying to think of how I would explain to any of our rescuers that I wasn’t actually their enemy.
“Everyone,” Randall replied, showing me his own wrist. The mark was a cross with a spot in the middle, just like the gold ring he wore.
And the one the journals at the Mission had said he’d been wearing.
“It will only burn a lot,” the brander said, snorting as he pulled the rod out and advanced toward me.
“If you say so.” That earned me a few laughs, and I steeled myself for what was about to come. When the hot metal touched my skin, I drew in a deep breath, suddenly feeling many hands on me, holding me steady. It must have only lasted a few seconds, but it seemed like hours, my body begging for me to make it stop and soon. When the rod was finally pulled away, it was if all my energy had been sapped and I slumped in the chair.
“Here.” There was a ripping sound, followed by a curse from Sam, and another member of the group passed over the strip from her dress. I watched as they tied it around my raw flesh, feeling slightly dazed and in shock.
“Today, you became a member of the elite,” Randall was saying. “You swore to support the new world order and all her riches. Your life is now devoted to the gods and the power that man has stolen from them.”
“Aye!”
“Amen!”
“Praise be to the gods!”
Every single member of the group congratulated me then, one by one, helping me to my feet and moving me toward the door. They pushed Sam along behind me, until Randall finally called for quiet again.
“Get some rest,” he told me, as if I were his best friend. “Your orders are still the same. You know how important she is—do not let her die, or your life will be forfeit.”
Feeling thoroughly dismissed, I nodded, grabbing her by the arm and yanking her out the door with me.
I’d never felt so afraid of a cult before, and now I was a willing member.
My brand was a third degree burn with flair, the edges of the mark burning horribly for days to come. All I had to doctor it with where herbs, which weren’t as good as modern day antiseptic and soothing lotion might have been, but they helped some. The little bit of lavender I’d picked up in London had to stretch a long way, which meant I would have to use less than I wanted. Had I chosen to receive such a mark in my own time, I probably would have thought it looked awesome, displayed proudly on the same arm as my skull and crossbones tattoo. However, the sight now gave me an uncomfortable feeling, as if I’d somehow mistakenly sold my soul.
Sam, on the other hand was both unlucky and fortunate in her healing. It was like every place someone had touched her left a bruise, her skin turning a dark purple and yellow that made her look like a zombie when I saw her in the dim light. However, there was plenty of tobacco to chew and place on the worst of the marks, which seemed to be helping to ease some of the pain, if nothing else. Her dress had been too destroyed to try and piece back together, so I’d rounded up some clothes for her, bullying the smaller members of the crew into handing some of their things over. As I watched her now, standing on the deck, the wind blowing the hair away from her multicolored face, I frowned at her state. Brown pants bunched around her waist, tied clumsily with an extra rigging rope, her white shirt looking more like a nightgown as it puffed out around her. She appeared to be drowning in the fabric, her feet bare and dirty on the planks beneath her.
A few of the crew heckled her from all sides as they went about their duties, the quartermaster doing nothing to stop them. I hadn’t expected him to, but it would have been nice if someone showed her a little compassion. Every time a Black Knight crossed her path, she covered her stomach protectively, dropping her head so she wouldn’t have to make eye contact. Preferably, I would have kept her inside at all times, but Randall insisted she come out and get some sun. In my mind, it was partially because he wanted to torment her, and also because he really did want to keep her alive and healthy for his purposes.
Watching her closely, I felt she had already lost some of the strength she’d arrived with. The defiance she’d
shown her captors was astounding, but the longer she remained with them the more it dwindled. It was as if she had forgotten the fire inside herself, the flames dimming to those of barely warm coals.
Three days had passed since we left France. I knew she only agreed to come out because she wanted to stand and watch for her husband’s ship. Her belief that he would come strengthened me some, and so, with her in mind, I went into the captain’s cabin for a meeting I’d been called to.
“She’ll be fine, aye?” one of the other men said, watching as I glanced over at her hesitantly. “No one will bother her while the captain wants her.”
Nodding, I shut the door, trying to steel myself for whatever it was we were going to talk about.
The man, Flanagan was his name, smiled a gap-filled grin at me, leaning up against the wall by the entrance. He’d either lost his shirt somewhere, or had abandoned it willingly, his bare chest streaked with sweat and grime from climbing the rigging to the crow’s nest several times a day. Spots of curly, red hair brushed across his pecs, matching the short crop on top of his head. His striped pants would have made him appear somewhat comical, if it weren’t for the sword at his waist and the pistol belt slung over his shoulder.
Turning my attention away from the Irishman, I peered around the space at the rest of the room’s inhabitants, feeling intimidated by them. Sam hadn’t said much to me in the way of what they all wanted out of this treasure they were going after, but I knew it couldn’t be anything good.
“I say we ask ‘im, that’s all,” one of the other pirates, a man called Greybeard, was saying. “Captain’s done nothing but support us. What difference does it make if we don’t know the whole plan?”
“And I say it’s not right to follow a man in the dark,” the man across from him spat. He was a newer member, someone we’d picked up in London and I didn’t know his name yet. He looked much cleaner and wise than the others around him, though, which immediately made me think he might be the right one in this argument.