Landon’s dark hair gleamed a blue-black in the firelight, several strands had escaped from the queue during the scuffle. The firelight flickered in his light blue irises along with something else. Gone was the cold, distant countenance of a stranger. In its place was the familiar look of appraisal and admiration she’d grown to love. The shift in his demeanor radiated to where she stood.
“I love you,” she said.
“I remember,” he stated, as the noose dropped around his neck.
Keelan’s breath froze in her throat and tears burned in her eyes. Did he truly remember her?
“I remember you, sparring in the meadow,” he continued softly. “And I remember kissing you in the garden. Your hair was tangled in a bush and I remember thinking that you were the most impetuous woman I’d ever met. And the most beautiful.”
The tears dripped from her jaw to her collarbone; her heart filled with a rush of joy. They were both about to die, and she should be weighted down with fear, but instead she was light and jubilant.
He remembered her. He remembered them.
“I love you, Keelan Hart.” Landon said in a firm and clear voice. The shocking blue of his eyes held hers in a gaze that pulsed with confident strength and boundless love.
Hawkins barked a scornful laugh in her ear. “It don’t matter who she is, Keelan Grey or Hart, she’s no longer yours. She’s—” The press of the blade against her throat ceased and she whirled away from him, ready to fight. Hawkins dropped his knife and stepped back, and raised his hands.
“It’s about time! Where in the hell have you been?” Ronnie’s voice cracked. The last word was nothing more than a squeak.
Keelan peered into the darkness surrounding the fire and blinked. The crew from the Desire, all eighty of them, surrounded the clearing. The glint of sabers and pistols in the moonlight was a welcome sight indeed.
“Well, it took us a bit longer than we expected,” Gus grumbled, walking up and pulling the noose from his captain’s neck. “When ye didn’t make it back, I struck out for the Desire to get some help, but ran into Marcel before I’d gone a couple of miles.” He cut through the other bindings with a dagger, then turned his weathered face to Landon, before staring hard at her. “Who is Keelan Hart?” he asked. “And why in the hell is Mahdi dressed up like a woman?”
The tender early rays of dawn had almost pierced the horizon by the time they neared the outskirts of Charleston. Landon removed his handkerchief to peer at the wound under Keelan’s jaw as their wagon rolled toward the city. Gus held the reins and Ronnie rode behind them on Orion. Simon and Ruth were laying in a hidden compartment beneath the wagon’s floor, battered, but alive, another dozen sailors sat on the wagon bed to help hide the two of them.
“What do you think the crew did with Hawkins and his men?” Keelan plucked a twig from Landon’s hair. There was something in the shifting of the men’s eyes that had led her to believe that the men had no intention of simply letting them go.
“It’s probably best we don’t ask,” Landon murmured, glancing behind them. “I don’t doubt they made use of those ropes and nooses first.”
Keelan followed his gaze and peered at the glow in the distance. Was that the sunrise? Wait, the illumination emanated from the southern part of the sky.
Pratt’s plantation was burning.
“Chances are, that our part in this won’t be discovered by the authorities for some time yet, if at all, depending on who survives and who might be willing to talk. Still, we’ll not grace Charleston with our presence ever again.” He turned his attention back to her and brushed a curl from her face. He leaned forward until their foreheads touched.
“Can you forgive me, Keelan, for the hell I’ve put you through these past few days?” he said, the anguish in his voice like lead coating his words.
“There’s nothing to forgive,” she whispered.
He cupped her face in his hands. “I should have protected you better. I promise you, I’ll never put you in that kind of danger ever again.”
She pressed a finger over his lips and smiled. “Landon Hart, don’t make a promise you can’t keep,” she said before she kissed him.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Gus pulled the carriage to a halt with a short, clipped, “Whoa.”
Landon and Keelan hopped down to the narrow alley behind the Whistling Pig. Dawn was upon them and they moved with a quiet intensity. Simon and Ruth were whisked up to the third floor to join Yanda, and her family. They’d been moved off the Desire in case Pratt managed to have Landon’s ship searched. Keelan hoped Pratt would be too busy putting out fires to send word to the harbormaster demanding such a search. She and Mrs. Schoen spent some time with them, treating cuts and bruises and then it was time to say goodbye.
Keelan hugged the softly weeping cook. “I’ll miss you, Ruth. I pray you, Simon and Joseph find a better life in Canada.”
Ruth sniffled and squeezed her a little harder. “Thank you, Miss Keelan.” She stepped back and wiped her eyes with her apron and cleared her throat. “Now don’t you forget the way I taught you to make my lemon scones and ham patties.”
Keelan smiled. “I won’t. Nor will I forget how to make your bannocks or Indian meal cakes.” She reached down and gave Joseph’s shoulder a little squeeze. “You watch after your mum.”
“Yes ma’am.”
Ruth’s soft brown face broke into a smile, even as another tear fell. “God is good,” she whispered, “God is good.”
After a short discussion, Landon and Gus decided that it would be best for the Schoens to hand Simon and company off to another Freedom Runner due in to port within the next couple of days. Landon would take the Desire back south again as a decoy, in case word made it from Pratt’s regarding Landon’s presence at his house last night.
The change of plans meant that they could turn their attention back to finding Conal. She missed her brother and worried about his welfare at the hands of the pirates who took him and his ship to Jamaica. She worried too, about Slaney, who’d left Charleston for England with the mission to secure information from an old trunk in Keelan’s childhood country home. There was no need to do that now, since the discovery of Uncle Fynn’s journal and the revelation that she was an O’Brien by birth.
Slaney’s ship would have deposited her in Philadelphia, where she would have sought a vessel bound for Boston. Keelan took the time to pen several letters to the maid, who’d been more like a mother to her, telling her about the recent events. She sent them to various harbormasters in Philadelphia, New York and Boston, hoping one of them would reach Slaney before she set off from America to England. It broke her heart to write about Daniel’s death, because it would break Slaney’s heart, too. She even sent a letter to Commodore Hall’s attention, in case he could find her.
“The Desire is a fast ship when she needs to be. She’s stalwart and brave. Most of her cargo has been offloaded, so she’ll ride light and nimble.” Landon kissed her forehead. “It shouldn’t take us long to reach Jamaica.”
“And you have a strong, loyal crew,” she added, thinking back on the dark expressions she’d seen on their faces when they’d captured Pratt’s men.
“Aye to that.”
Keelan, Landon and Gus sat in the empty common room of the tavern and waited for Ronnie to return. The Blue Peter waved atop the mizzen mast of the Desire, calling all hands on board. Ronnie, however, had dashed away, as soon as they arrived at the tavern.
She smiled her thanks at Mrs. Schoen when she entered with a pot of tea and three cups. “Are you certain Ronnie didn’t say where he was going?”
“Nein,” the woman replied. “Only to tell you dat you must vait for him here.”
“That seems odd,” she said. “He knows no one in Charleston, except us.”
Landon shrugged and shook his head, reaching for the tea. His hand stilled immediately when a tankard of ale was plunked down in front of him. Mr. Schoen gave him a quick grin then spun back toward the bar.
The door to the tavern burst open and a frantic clergyman dashed in.
Mrs. Schoen jumped, pressed her hand to her chest and blurted something in German that caused Mr. Schoen to pause and raise his eyebrows.
“Am I too late?” The priest gasped for breath; his wiry, white hair stood at all angles, either due to being abruptly roused from slumber without time for a comb or perhaps buffeted that way by an early morning dash through the streets of Charleston.
“Late for vhat?” Mr. Schoen reached for an empty tankard.
“The boy said it was urgent. I’m here to perform last rites to a sorry soul, God save ‘im.”
Ronnie slipped into the tavern and paused behind the priest. He gave Landon and Keelan a sheepish nod, then tapped the priest on the shoulder and whispered loudly. “I din’t say the man was dying, Father. I said that you can save him from burning in hell.”
“What’s that you say?” The priest’s wizened face wrinkled even further with confusion as he turned toward Ronnie.
The boy pointed to Landon. “That man has cleaved unto that woman without the holy blessing of God and the church, Father. The woman is my cousin and I fear for both their mortal souls. Only you can save them. Will you?”
For a moment, neither Keelan nor Landon moved a muscle. Whether it was from shock or complete disbelief, all they could do was stare at Ronnie. Gus broke into a sudden fit of coughing. On the trip back to town, Landon had explained to him that Mahdi was not a Persian boy, but instead his wife by a handfast ceremony, and it was a full minute before Gus’s dropped jaw closed back into place. During the real of the ride to the Whistling Pig, he’d occasionally cough out a spontaneous chuckle and shake his head.
“Oh, dear Lord.” The priest pulled out a chair and sat down with a thump. “My hearing is not as good as it once was.” He caught his breath and licked his lips. “Mr. Schoen, would you see your way clear to parting with a tankard of that fine beir of yours? Just a small amount, a bit…a tankard to moisten my parched throat. It’ll do these two children of God no good if my words are too dry reach the good Lord’s ears.”
Already anticipating the clergyman’s needs, Mr. Schoen placed a tankard on the bar and Ronnie put it in front of the priest. After the man had quenched his thirst, he lowered his brows at Landon and sent a slightly more benign smile in her direction.
“Now then,” he picked up his bible and opened a page marked by a red ribbon then looked sternly at the two. “Let’s get about saving your souls from the devil’s greedy claws and marry the two of you before it’s too late.”
Landon was grinning, his eyes sparkling with mirth and love. She laughed and kissed him.
“Now, who gives this woman?”
“I do!” Ronnie said and hurried to pull Keelan to her feet. He licked his hand and ran it over his hair, then glanced down and quickly tucked in his shirt. He straightened, giving the priest an earnest nod.
“And who will stand by this man?”
Gus squirmed in his chair, then cleared his throat. “I’d be honored to stand as witness, if you’ll have me.”
Landon rose and clapped Gus on the shoulder. “Thank you, Gus.”
She looked down at the soiled skirt and blood stained shirt she wore before wrinkling her nose at Landon. “We must be a sight to behold.” Although most of the blood had been washed away from their hands and faces, their clothes were still dirty and torn, their faces bruised.
“God loves all his children whether in rags or riches,” the priest mumbled, running his finger over a page in his bible.
A warm hand squeezed Keelan’s arm and she turned to find Mrs. Schoen pressing into her hand a small bouquet of tea roses circling a creamy white magnolia blossom, all held together by a tattered piece of creamy silk.
“Tea roses,” Mrs. Schoen said, “mean remembrance. Magnolia means…” she searched for the right word, “…perseverance.”
The love shining in her Landon’s indigo eyes warmed her soul. Her eyes glistened with joyful tears. She touched the familiar silk and smiled her thanks to Mrs. Schoen. The woman touched the corner of her apron to her eye, and then bustled over to stand by her husband and sniffle.
And so, Keelan and Landon were legally married on an early July morning in 1811. The Desire promptly departed the port of Charleston for Jamaica (after reporting to the harbormaster that she was bound for Boston, just in case anyone was keeping track).
In the following years, stories were passed around, mostly in hushed tones and whispers, even rumors were tossed around the Whistling Pig that among the small band of pirates who had stolen Conal O’Brien’s ship, the Seeker, was a pirate heiress. She sought a treasure hidden almost a hundred years earlier by her great-grandparents, Calico Jack Rackham and Anne Bonny. The rumors were never confirmed (since the Ahern-Hart Merchant fleet wisely never returned to the port in Charleston) but neither were they denied.
Other Books on Amazon by Chloe Flowers:
Author Page on Amazon: http://author.to/ChloeFlowers
Pirates & Petticoats Novels:
Hart’s Desire http://mybook.to/HartsDesire
Harts Passion http://myBook.to/HartsPassion
Hart’s Reward http://myBook.to/HartsReward
Pirate Heiress (August 2016)
Pirate King (November 2016)
Coming Fall 2016!
The Bridal Veil Falls Series
A contemporary romance set in a small town in upstate New York that boasts it’s “The Town of Happily Ever Afters.”
Dear Reader,
As always, I am humbled and honored that you have read one of my books. This is my third published novel, and I’m working on two more in this series as well as a new contemporary romance series; Bridal Veil Falls. I’m having an absolute riot writing the characters in this new series!
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Chloe Flowers
Flowers & Fullerton
3593 Medina Road
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Medina, Ohio 44256.
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Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for reading!
Fondly,
Chloe Flowers
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Before you go…enjoy this sneak peak of the first draft of the next Pirates & Petticoats book:
Pirate Heiress
Pirates & Petticoats
Novel Four
CHAPTER ONE (rough draft)
Letter from Anne Bonny to her father William Cormac:
3 March, 1718
Dear Father,
I bid you farewell. I know you disapprove of my choice for a husband. True, he’s but a simple sailor. However, I refuse to marry any of those milksops or fortune hunters who continue to darken our
door. I love James Bonny and he has sworn his life to me. I have taken my leave and ask nothing more from you than your prayers for my health and well-being.
Your daughter,
Anne
July 1811
What the hell, his sister was about to marry his best friend, so he might as well take a bath.
Conal dragged out the copper tub from the pantry closet and poured in several buckets of tepid water. He wasn’t a soft man, nor was he hard, but somewhere in between, he supposed. If his sister was willing to say her wedding vows before the sun set this evening, he was willing to bathe without the added luxury of warm water. He’d found a piece of lye soap, so at least he could make the bath well worth the effort.
The galley stove had been allowed to wane to the lowest of coals, and he, Conal O’Brien, the captain of this vessel, had neither the time nor inclination, (or rather patience) to heat the water for his bath himself.
Better to just duck the head down and be done with it. Right?
As he expected, the water was brisk, the soap elusive, the suds painful to his eyes and the whole notion of soaking in a tub remained annoying, to say the least. Yet, as always, Conal’s stubborn tendency to fight being bested by anything, including the temperature of his bath, won out in the end and not only did he submerge, but he also scrubbed his head and body thoroughly. He had to hold his breath longer than he’d have liked, but there were areas that had needed extra attention, thanks to Gampo and his damned crew of pirates.
Hart's Reward (Pirates & Petticoats #3) Page 13
