Other Oceans

by Andrea Jones

  “Johann, you married a pirate.” Jill focused on the rivals’ faces, only a hand span apart. She aimed the dagger at one of them, and thrust it forward.

  And then a blast erupted from L’Ormonde’s bow. As the concussion thundered through their chests, two ships’ companies pulled away to gape. Their swords hung in mid-air.

  The kick of the cannon rolled it to strain against its tackle, and the scream of the cannonball arched away over the waves. The echo rumbled, and then came silence. All eyes stared at the cloud that covered the privateer’s prow.

  The white haze billowed to obscure the foredeck. Vague within it, an image began to form. Then a glint of sunlight. As the stench of gunpowder drifted aft, the tread of footsteps hit the boards. Two boots took shape, striding forward from the mist. The men gasped, their faces upturned and staring. The weapons sank in their slackening hands.

  LeCorbeau whipped around to find the offender. Guillaume yanked his captain from the reach of Yulunga’s sword. The gesture proved unnecessary. Yulunga, like every other man, stood frozen.

  Cecco and Hanover had ceased their contention. The gypsy jerked around to see. His eyes widened. His hand flew to sketch his banishing gesture. The surgeon staggered backward, a new cut on his face bright red against his pallor.

  Jill’s heart had stopped with the explosion, to start up hammering as she witnessed a wonder. By the smoking cannon stood her own Mr. Smee. A torch flared in his hand, and victory glowed upon his face. As Jill’s black glove clutched her dagger, her smile began, and brightened. The cloud of smoke dissipated. Gradually, Jill’s face grew radiant as the sun.

  From oblivion, Hook emerged, to plant his feet and stand, commanding, at the fore of L’Ormonde.

  Chapter 35

  Lies and Loyalty

  Like his legend, Hook lived. His single hand held his shining rapier ready. Sleek and black, his hair cascaded over his shoulders. On his face spread a dark growth of beard, unshaven and untamed. He was lean, the muscles of his tall frame pronounced, and the bones of his face stood prominently over the shadowed hollows of his cheeks. Sunlight edged the crescent of his hook, which he held poised at his side. Not an ornament graced his person. He wore a flowing white shirt trimmed in lace, perfectly polished boots, and breeches the color of coal. He wore, also, a look of determination. No man mistook his purpose. Hook had risen from the grave, with a vengeance.

  In a sweeping glance, he surveyed the scene. As striking as jewels, his sapphire eyes drew Jill’s own, and held her. She stood in her black silk gown, a smear of blood on her dagger, rapturous. The force of Hook’s gaze prized her heart open and spilled life inside her. The grateful tears gathered, but refused to fall. She didn’t dare to blink them away, fearing if she closed her eyes for only one instant, her captain might vanish again.

  But Hook was in no danger of disappearing. He was absolutely evident, his reality a palpable thing, arresting every soul aboard. Feared or revered, Hook’s presence made captives of them all.

  The company stood transfixed, awaiting the sound of his velvet voice. When it fell, it carried no hint of humor.

  “Widow’s black, Jill. An appropriate costume for this…marriage.”

  She answered softly, all her feeling concentrated into the word Smee had given her.

  “Hook.”

  Slowly, Jill tucked her dagger in her sash. Concealed in her glove, her crimson fingers rose to touch her lips. Noting their disguise, Hook marked her movement, then transferred his gaze to the groom.

  “Congratulations, Hanover. I have come to kiss the bride.”

  Hanover stumbled back. He didn’t feel the trickle of blood on his cheek. His gray gaze traveled up and down, taking in the existence of Captain Hook— the wretch whose remains the good doctor could have sworn must give up the ghost. How on earth had he escaped? By what infernal power was he standing? Hanover felt the wave of shock engulf him, a surge of cold that left his skin clammy but his mind, to his horror, chillingly clear.

  Hook had duped him. Somehow, some way, that wily pirate had manipulated the circumstances, again. Despite his chains, despite his deprivation, the man held even his own death hostage.

  And then another revelation raised its hideous head. Hanover’s every muscle tautened as the thought snaked its way, poisonous as a serpent, into his consciousness. Jill had warned him at the very beginning. Not only did Hook live— Hook held the surgeon’s secrets. Every damned and damning indiscretion. Blanching, Hanover shot a look to his daughter. His stomach twisted. Unless he acted to silence the man immediately, it wasn’t Hook, now, whose fortunes were endangered.

  Hook’s gaze followed Hanover’s to Liza. Disdaining her as always, Hook spared the girl only a glance. The lovely dress she wore, he knew, proved a heavier burden than it should be. Supported by Nibs and Tom, the doctor’s daughter stood wilting against them, her eyes wild. But Hook’s stolen jewels were not the encumbrance that dragged her down; it was the weight of her secrets. Confident of those secrets’ impending exposure, Hook was done with her. He found the Frenchman.

  “LeCorbeau. Tell your men to put up their weapons.”

  LeCorbeau stammered, “Hook— Hook, my old friend…Mais…Quelle surprise! From where have you, eh, blossomed?”

  “From the filth of a soil I shall soon sweep away. But I see no need for slaughter. I shall slay only one of your company today.” His hook winked in the sunlight.

  A sickly pallor spread over the Frenchman’s face. “Alors, my comrade…of course I had no idea.…But, surely we can find a more civilized way to remedy this situation.” He swiveled to address the sailors scattered over the ship. His hands sketched frantic gestures. “At ease, men! At ease!”

  Smee strode forth to flank his captain. With the blazing torch in the bo’sun’s right hand and the rapier in the captain’s left, the two formed a formidable force, reminiscent of the first time Hook and his Irishman commandeered a ship— the Roger. His men recalled that fateful night. They conjured the vision of their long-ago leader, floating face down, and looked with doubtful eyes upon the little French captain who ventured to stand in James Hook’s way.

  Like a thunderhead, Hook’s infamous courtesy hung over the company. His sailors recognized the chivalry that preceded his wrath. “I am relieved, for our friendship’s sake, DéDé, that you choose to be reasonable. Any other response should prove so unpleasant.” Lowering his chin, he aimed his eyes at the surgeon. “Doctor Hanover. I challenge you, for the hand of the lady.” His rapier rose, gleaming.

  LeCorbeau supplicated, “But Hook! I have never known you to act in the heat of the moment— against your own interests. You must now be practical, for the welfare of your profits. Of course you cannot be aware— how could you know?— the doctor has entered into a partnership with the Roger.”

  “With the Roger, yes.” At last, Hook’s gaze rolled to Cecco. “But not with me.”

  Assured that this haunting was no ghost, Cecco had overcome his shock. His dark eyes watched Hook, and when he was convinced of the honesty of his own senses, Cecco dragged his gaze to Jill. For the first time, her lover was hesitant to look upon her.

  Her cheeks were rosy with emotion, her eyes bright— as bright as Hook’s. Never taking those eyes from her first captain, she stood between Cecco and Hanover, as still as the wooden Beauty that graced the Roger’s prow. Cecco lowered his weapon. To ensure she was still the warm-blooded woman of his heart, he laid his dusky hand upon her. He drew Jill to his other side, making his body a barrier to the surgeon.

  As Hook and the gypsy studied one another, a realization unfolded for Cecco— moment by moment— and he gathered the implications of his commander’s return. With his heart sinking in his breast, Captain Cecco steeled himself and faced Captain Hook— the one man who possessed the power to end his happiness. The power to end his life. With his sword in his hand and his woman in his arm, Cecco strode forward. “Captain.”

  “Mr. Cecco.”

  “I must make the truth k
nown to you. If you desire the hand of this woman, it is I with whom you must contend.”

  “I shall take you up on your offer, Mr. Cecco. After I have dispatched her husband.” Hook’s tone grew icy as he turned to Hanover. “Doctor. Let the terms be clear. We fight to the death.”

  “Agreed!”

  Jill breathed at last, in a gasp. She turned to see the surgeon. She felt Cecco’s hold tighten on her waist.

  Hanover smoothed back his hair. Sending one long look to his wife, he adjusted his grip on his weapon. “Madam.” With formal elegance, he bowed to Jill. Upon rising, the fire of hatred flamed in his eye, and he answered Hook’s challenge. “To the death, Sir. Indeed, you are behind your time.” Hanover hoisted his rapier and took up his stance.

  “Ah. Time.” Hook raised one eyebrow. “Thanks to your ministrations, I’ve enjoyed an abundance of that.”

  Using time again, Hook strolled forward to meet his opponent, assessing the surroundings. Smee stood sentry behind him. More lovely than ever, Jill looked back over Cecco’s shoulder as he guided her reluctant footsteps to the shelter of the stern stairway. LeCorbeau and his mates gathered amidships, across from the table and its wine-stained cloth. Nibs and Tom restrained Liza, who struggled in a panic to free herself until Yulunga secured a grip on her, dragging her to the foremast. Granting the deck to the duelists, Cecco’s other officers ranged along the portside. The rest of the Roger’s men settled on the periphery of the scene as LeCorbeau’s sailors shinned up the rigging, seeking viewpoints along the shrouds.

  Hook smiled. The layout of L’Ormonde appeared exactly as he envisioned it, over and again while he lay shackled, preparing himself for this fray. Hook recalled every cannon, every hatch and hurdle. Thanks to his captor, he’d had plenty of time— to make ready.

  Although astonished by the turn of events, the surgeon disciplined his energies toward his task. He considered his tactics. He’d crossed swords with Hook before. He knew the man’s approach, his unscrupulous methods. Hanover would bar no maneuver. He had learned a lesson in his affiliation with pirates. No trick was too low, even for a gentleman. He launched his attack, driving his rapier at Hook’s throat.

  With a powerful swing, Hook repulsed it. Unprepared for the strength in his prisoner’s arm, Hanover was jarred, and he nearly lost his grip.

  “Have a care, Doctor. Things are not always as they seem. Those who call themselves gentlemen, for instance.”

  “Yet you, I find, remain exactly as I first believed you.” Striking again, Hanover put the force of his shock to work.

  “On the contrary, Hanover.” Hook had parried. Now, with a smile, he said, “I am stronger.” He charged.

  Released at last, Hook followed his strategy. Breathing the scent of sea air, with the warmth of sunshine on his shoulders, he felt the pent-up energy flow through his arm. He enacted strokes he’d had days to dream, pressing the surgeon without mercy. Hook didn’t try to hide his gratification. He was in his element— his feet on the deck of a ship, a sword in hand, and an enemy at its point. He’d imagined this scene many times, rebuilding his strength there on the foul mattress of the surgeon’s keeping. Using his chains and his own body weight, he had employed his hours of isolation, toning his muscles in every conceivable way. The new freedom of his limbs thrilled him. He moved them now, lashing out, slashing at his foe.

  Hanover felt the captain’s ferocity. He countered with a fury of his own. On the outcome of this contest balanced not only his life, but his reputation, the legacy he had striven to build, the brilliant career. His wife. His daughter and her— progeny. All squeezed in the one-handed grip of a devious sea dog. Unless he killed this man, immediately, irredeemable disgrace awaited the doctor. His sword spoke his torment for him, in words shrill and sharp.

  Watching beside the aft stairway, Jill felt Cecco pull her into the protection of his hold. With her back against his chest, she gripped his arms, bolstered by his concern and hardly knowing how to justify it. Hook was home. Hanover was as good as dead. Soon enough, Cecco’s own trial would commence.

  But she wouldn’t— she couldn’t think about that trouble now. The men’s blood was up. Just as she had done when Hook disappeared, she must do on his resurrection. She must remain calm, to determine what action to take. Unwilling to tear her gaze from her captain, she forced herself to do so, casting about the deck. A moment later, she caught Nibs’ eye and gestured. His gaze darted after hers, and he nodded.

  Hanover was in a hurry, but Hook was not. He conserved his strength. As the surgeon delivered a barrage of blows, Hook stood each one, giving way a step here and there, only to swing with his hook and force his adversary back again. Hanover redoubled his effort. Hook whirled, swiping again. This time the doctor’s blade crashed into the iron curve, sending shudders through Hook’s arm. As pain shot to his shoulder, Hook wrenched his claw and sent Hanover’s sword flying. It clanged to the deck, and Hanover backed away. Lifting his empty hand, he turned a shocked face to L’Ormonde’s captain. LeCorbeau shoved his mate forward and, within seconds, the hilt of Renaud’s rapier filled those manicured fingers.

  Tom advanced just far enough to retrieve the fallen blade. Smirking now, Hanover tested Renaud’s sword, swishing it in a crisscross flair.

  Hook flexed his shoulders, attempting to shake the damage the doctor’s blow had caused. It left a nagging ache in his biceps, but he knew the remedy for that: victory. Hook thrust his weight full forward. With his iron hand threatening, he drove his enemy down the deck.

  Hanover gave ground under the power of Hook’s assault. In a sudden movement he sidestepped, swerving into the protection of a cannon. Hook’s blade slashed across it, rasping along the barrel. Hanover ducked. Hook’s momentum carried him aft past the cannon, then he spun, stopping just short of Jill, with his back toward her.

  Behind her, she felt Cecco stir as Hook neared. She noted the knife sheathed in Cecco’s belt as he held her, bearing against her back. A treacherous possibility occurred to Jill. She remembered his words, that first evening when she warned him of Hook’s wrath. Do not underestimate me. Pushing against Cecco, she backed him deeper into the stairwell, willing him away from Hook. She gripped his arms more firmly, knowing even as she did so that, if Cecco chose to act, no one could restrain him.

  Jill saw Smee at the fore of the ship, watching Cecco. On guard for danger to his captain, he took swift steps closer. Alerted, Hook himself glanced around. Jill felt the force of his gaze again, and Cecco’s hands strengthening his hold on her. As if Hook could see her leather bracelets, Jill became aware of those straps that bound her to her gypsy lover. Hook faced the surgeon again, but under her gloves, the bindings pressed into Jill’s flesh. Once more, she had no choice but to place her trust in Cecco. Captain Cecco.

  Hanover knew the haven he’d found would soon become a trap. Quickly, he slid along the big gun’s barrel and readied his sword. Jill read the confidence in his face, the loathing for his foe. His savage passion chilled her and fired her all at once. She knew that the same look animated Hook’s face. No shame; no fear; no compunction. And Jill understood, now, what grasp the surgeon held on her. Why, for all her scheming, she had never broken free of him.…

  Like all her lovers, he was every inch a pirate.

  Hook set his teeth and heaved forward, his hook glittering in the sun, his sword harassing Hanover’s. The electric air carried the sound of metal smashing metal.

  Amidships again, abreast of Cecco’s officers, Hanover stood his ground, dodging the claw. As opportunity presented, he darted glances at Jill. The light in her eye emboldened him. Thinking like her pirates, he wheeled to pluck the dagger from Mullins’ belt. Mullins grunted, his hefty hand rushing to clasp his sheath, too late.

  Beckoning with his stolen blade, Hanover urged Hook to attack. “Come, Captain. Your fate awaits you.”

  “Yes.” Hook’s eyes glowed as he stood, legs apart. “A glorious victory. Unlike the ignoble ending you designed.”

 
“Hell wouldn’t have you. But I’ll send you down again, to knock on the devil’s door.”

  “I’ll down a drink with him, and offer him your daughter.” Hook tilted his head. “Or, no, that’s been done. You saw to it personally.”

  Hanover’s smirk dropped from his face. “You vile defiler!”

  “Your mirror image.”

  “No more discussion. Your reprieve is at an end.” With a weapon in each hand, Hanover tossed his hair from his forehead and rushed him.

  As Hook evaded the assault, Hanover overshot his opponent, pulling up to turn and charge again. Hook bent, his sword tip swaying like a snake before a charmer. He backed toward the bow. “Miss Hanover, your father is a compelling man, is he not?”

  Liza lurched, her maroon skirt wrinkling in her fists. Her bare feet peeked beneath a froth of petticoats. She looked frantically from her captain to her father. With her heart divided, she strained against Yulunga’s grip.

  Hanover lunged. Hook swung his blade like an ax, catching the surgeon’s sword square. The force of the blow knocked Hanover off balance, and he stumbled. Hook took up his stance again, seizing his chance. “Come, now, Miss. You possess a lovely voice. Let everyone hear it.” The company exclaimed, and all eyes turned to Liza.

  Her father regained his foothold. “Hook— you have stolen quite enough from my daughter. Leave her some dignity.”

  “Fair is fair, Hanover. You and your concubine have stolen my treasure. Mr. Yulunga, weigh that gown you gave her.”

  The sailors looked puzzled, but at Hook’s choice of words, Hanover’s soul filled with dread. He hadn’t been certain before. Now it was clear. Hook knew— everything. As foreboding cinched Hanover’s heart, he thought fast.

  Yulunga hunkered down to grasp Liza’s hem. Finding a fistful of something, he looked up at Hook. “Sir! It’s jewelry.”

  Hook advanced on Liza. Perspiring, Hanover attempted to divert the blame before the dam burst.

  “Don’t dare touch my daughter…again!”