With her eyes on the door, Anne aimed her pistol at the lock, ready for the next time the stranger burst into the cabin. She wasn’t about to be surprised again.
CHAPTER 28
Teach
Weary, sore, and concerned, Teach stood inside the captain’s cabin with his back against the door, surveying the chaos before him. The hopeful rays of the early morning sun broke through the last lingering clouds, tinting the windows with bright patches of light. It was a sharp contrast to the storm from the previous night. Maps and papers littered the floor.
In the midst of it all, Anne slept peacefully in the hammock, with her head tilted to the side. Her long lashes created shadows on her cheeks, and her lips were relaxed in sleep. That same mouth could curve up in the most beautiful smile, or a thin scowl when she was upset or angry.
The sight of her was knee-weakening, and sometimes it frightened Teach how much he cared for her.
He approached the hammock, wanting to reassure himself that she was all right. Reaching out to brush a stray hair off her face, he wasn’t prepared for the pistol pointed at his head. Startled, his eyes held hers, and she cursed beneath her breath.
“I’m beginning to think you enjoy pointing that thing at me,” he muttered, his pulse driving in constant spurts.
After a brief hesitation, Anne lowered the weapon. “I wouldn’t point it at you if you didn’t keep sneaking up on me.”
“I wasn’t sneaking up on you.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “Then what, exactly, were you doing?” she whispered, her voice fierce.
“Coming to see if you were all right. What happened here?”
“Someone came looking for something.”
Teach scowled. “Who was it?”
“Someone I didn’t recognize. He was built like John, but his hair was dark brown or black.”
“Most of the men on the ship are built like John. That’s why they’re sailors.” His voice came out sharper than he’d intended. They spoke in hushed voices, not wanting to draw any attention, but Teach couldn’t hide his unease. Her description of the man only narrowed his hunt down to half the crew.
Anne grimaced as she shifted slightly in the hammock. “I tried to look for any marks or scars that would help to distinguish him, but it was too dark.”
“Did he see you?”
“Of course he saw me.”
Damnation! Teach’s instantaneous response was to find whoever had entered the cabin and remove his head from his body. “Did he hurt you?” he asked, his eyes running down the length of her. She was still dressed in breeches and one of his shirts, and aside from a thin scar on her shin, she showed no outward signs of abuse.
Except for her back.
“No. I think he was more surprised than anything.” Anne’s brow furrowed. “I just can’t imagine what he was looking for. When he saw the pistols, he almost took them, but I don’t believe that’s why he came.”
Teach could guess why the man had come in here. When Teach had spent the first few days of their voyage locked in the cabin, no doubt his crew had thought he was hiding something valuable. He was, but not quite what the men imagined. He didn’t think it had been anyone from the crew of the Deliverance. Those men trusted him and he had no reason to suspect any of them would be so bold as to break into the captain’s cabin. They’d been through too much together.
It was Kitts and his men Teach didn’t trust.
“Do you think he’ll tell anyone about me?”
“A lot depends on if he could tell if you were a woman or not. If he didn’t see you clearly, he might wonder who you were and what you were doing in here. In which case, he probably will come back, because he’ll believe I am indeed hiding something in my cabin.”
“Which you are.”
“Aye, which I am.”
“And if he did notice that I’m female?”
“He might tell the others. And he might come back.” In which case, Teach would most definitely remove the man’s head from his body. He hated feeling out of control, especially when it came to Anne’s safety. There were too many unknowns in this entire situation. “It could be that Kitts sent one of his men to search my cabin. And if Kitts finds out you’re here, when we get back to Nassau, he won’t let you leave this ship without an escort.”
“Then I’ll have to leave the ship before we return to Nassau.”
“First let’s concentrate on finding Easton. We can worry about the rest later.”
“You men are very narrow minded. That’s exactly what John said to me when I asked him about Webb.”
“What about Webb?”
Anne clenched the pistol from Teach, her knuckles turning white. “He cannot be allowed to continue to destroy people’s lives. Someone has to stop him.”
“He’s the bloody governor of Nassau. How exactly do you expect someone to stop him?”
“I haven’t gotten that far.”
“All right. Well, while you’re planning his downfall, I’ll make sure you’re not left alone. Between John, Benjamin, and myself, we should be able keep you company.” He’d expected Anne to be pleased, but from the look on her face, it was clear that she wasn’t. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said.
Only then did Teach notice that Anne still lay unmoving in the hammock. “Would you like to sit up?”
“No. I’m fine.”
She was not fine. She’d barely moved since he’d entered the room. Even before the storm had hit, she’d stood at the window with John. There was no storm now.
“Would you like me to open the window?” Teach asked, watching her closely.
“I can manage. I’m sure you’re busy,” she said.
“Remember when I asked you to be truthful with me?” he asked. Anne nodded, not quite meeting his eyes. “I’m asking you now to tell me what’s wrong.”
“It’s nothing I can’t take care of,” she said, glaring at him.
“Is it your stitches? Because if it is—”
“Go away.”
“—I need to take a look at them.”
She squirmed beneath his gaze, but remained silent. Frustrated, Teach ran a hand over his face. “Do you want them to become infected? If they do, you’ll have the devil of a time going after Webb.” Teach had cleaned the wounds before he’d sewn her up, but it wouldn’t take much for infection to set in.
A knock at the door interrupted them. Teach opened the door a crack. John looked back at him, his expression earnest.
“May I have a word, captain?”
Teach stood back, shutting the door once John had entered.
“How are ye? Did ye weather the storm?” John asked, glancing at Anne.
She gave him a small smile. “Yes, thank you. Was it terribly difficult on deck?”
“No, nothing that I couldn’t han—”
“What do you want?” Teach snapped.
John’s eyes widened. “I thought you weren’t mad at me?”
“Why would he be mad at you?” Anne asked.
For the love . . . “I’m not mad. I simply want to know what you wish to discuss. It had to be important, otherwise you wouldn’t have left your position on deck,” Teach said pointedly.
“The men have returned to their watches. First watch is on duty while the rest sleep.”
“Good. You should go and rest as well,” Teach said dismissively. Since he’d just spent the past five hours on deck, he could bloody well spend the next half hour with Anne, making sure she was all right. “You pulled your stitches.” He didn’t know for sure, but he had a sneaking suspicion that was precisely what Anne had done. Her next words confirmed it.
“Not on purpose.”
“They’ll have to be sewn back up.”
Anne shook her head, her eyes wide. “No.”
“Why not?” Teach demanded. “I did it once before.”
“Yes, but I wasn’t awake while you did it.”
Teach was astounded. She had endured a flo
gging. How could she be afraid of some stitches? “I’ll be careful.”
“If you come after me with a needle, I will shoot you. Just so you’re aware,” Anne said, tightening her grip on the pistol. As much as he liked the fact that she now favored the weapon he’d given her, he should have removed it from her grasp.
“I have a fine hand. I can sew her up,” John volunteered.
Teach shot John a dark look. “Then I’ll shoot you.”
“This is getting us nowhere. You’ve been awake for most of the night. You need rest as much as the others,” Anne said.
“In case you’ve forgotten, you’re in my hammock.”
Anne pursed her lips.
“Let me check your stitches. It’s too soon for them to come out, Anne. You have to be reasonable.”
The two of them stared at each other, neither one willing to back down. Looking between them, John shifted his weight uncomfortably. “He’s right, Anne. He should at least check them.”
Anne rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she muttered at length.
Clearly pleased that she’d listened to him, John turned to leave.
“Bring me a bottle of brandy before you go up on deck,” Teach said.
John nodded and shut the door behind him.
Folding her arms across her chest, Anne speared him with a glare. “If you think I’m going to let you get drunk and then try to stitch me up, you’re mad.”
“The brandy’s not for me, Anne. It’s for you.”
CHAPTER 29
Anne
The brandy left a trail of warmth in its wake. After two full cups, Anne felt as if she was glowing from the inside out.
“Lie down,” Teach said, indicating the desk.
“I’d rather sit.”
He muttered something under his breath, but Anne couldn’t hear precisely what it was. She sat on the chair while Teach pried the shirt away from her back. The blood had dried, sticking the fabric to her skin.
“How bad is it?” she asked, holding her breath.
“I’m going to have to cut the shirt a bit.”
Not quite an answer. Anne laughed nervously. “You’re going to run out of them if we continue like this.”
“I won’t have to cut much. The lower stitches are fine.”
“How many will you have to replace?” she asked, her stomach already churning.
There was no response. Perhaps it was better that way. Anne glanced over her shoulder at Teach, noting the tense lines around his eyes and lips. He didn’t enjoy doing this any more than she wanted it to be done. But he was right. The last thing she needed was for her back to become infected. This was all the Webbs’ fault. How many slaves had they whipped who had later died from their injuries? She could feel her hatred of the governor and his wife increase with every minute.
Anne stiffened when Teach sliced through the material with his knife. This time she didn’t bother pouring the brown liquid into the cup, but took a large swig straight from the bottle instead.
“Do you want me to warn you when I—”
“No. Just . . . no.” She knew she was being ridiculous, but she couldn’t help herself. When she was younger, she’d had stitches twice and it had been a painful experience, leaving her physically ill from anxiety afterward. And, with the recent crossing on the Providence, stitches signified death. It was one thing to sew someone else up, but to be on the receiving end of the procedure . . . This was the one fear Anne couldn’t seem to conquer.
“I’ll need that,” Teach said, taking the brandy out of her hands. Before she knew what he was about to do, he poured the alcohol over the wound. Anne shot up out of the chair and rounded on him, her back scorched beneath the fire of the brandy. She felt the watery sting of tears in her eyes. “The devil take you,” she hissed, looking around for her new favorite pistol. It was lying on the hammock, but Teach swept it into his hand and tucked it into his waistband before she could take it.
“I’m sorry, but you told me not to warn you.”
“Are you daft? I didn’t want you to warn me about the needle,” she said, looking around for her other weapon.
“I’m sorry. I misunderstood.” And from the look on his face, she could see he truly was repentant. His hands shook slightly and he took a gulp from the bottle before handing it back to her. Leaning forward, he gave her a swift kiss and she tasted the fruity flavor of the brandy on his lips. “Forgive me.”
With a shuddering breath, she nodded and sat down, her back tensed, deciding another swig couldn’t hurt. “Do you see this scar?” Anne asked after she swallowed. She lifted her left leg and pointed to the thin white line on her shin.
“Aye.”
“I had to have stitches—” She jerked away as the needle punctured her skin.
“Be still. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Then don’t—”
“Finish your story.”
She turned her head slightly, not trusting herself to move for fear of bumping the needle. “Has anyone ever told you, you sound just like your father? So commanding,” she muttered, tilting the bottle to her lips. Teach waited until she was still before he moved again.
For a second, Anne’s vision clouded as he tugged on the thread. Feeling slightly light-headed, Anne was sure she was going to be sick.
“Would it help to know that I understand what you’re going through?” Teach asked.
Once again, the needle pierced her skin. One stitch complete. She was afraid to ask how many more were needed. “You do?” Focus on his voice. Focus on his voice.
“Aye, I do. The captain of the Deliverance had me flogged when I disobeyed a direct order.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s healed.”
“But there are scars,” Anne said.
“Wounds always turn into scars, but that means the pain is over.”
“No, that just means the wound has closed. Every time you see the scar, you’ll be reminded of the pain.”
“If you choose to be. But if you’re able to move on, you’re stronger for it.”
Anne bit her lip and Teach worked quietly. His breath, slightly faster than normal, fanned the nape of her neck. Sparks of awareness chased along her nerves as his fingertips brushed lightly against her skin. Anne stared straight ahead, her heart lurching in an unsteady rhythm. She closed her eyes against a wave of dizziness that had nothing to do with her fear of needles. “May I see them?”
His hands stilled. “My scars?”
“Yes.”
She could practically hear his indecision. She suspected his injuries had been worse than he let on.
“All right,” he said at length. “Once I’m done with you.”
By the time Teach finished, Anne was much more relaxed. The alcohol had worked its way into her head like warm clouds, diluting the pain, but also dissolving any self-consciousness.
Anne stood and turned, meeting Teach’s eyes. She raised the bottle to take another drink, but Teach quirked a brow at her.
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”
Unperturbed, she took a sip. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she motioned for him to turn around. “Show me.”
Teach’s color heightened as he stared at her, his green eyes darkening. “I should go up on deck.”
“You said you’d show me your scars.”
Teach was motionless as a flush burned across his cheeks. With unsteady hands, he reached for the bottom of his shirt and pulled it over his head.
His broad bronzed shoulders sloped down, flowing into the powerful lines of his arms, and Anne could feel the heat of his skin. Somehow she managed to drag her mesmerized gaze away from his chest. He didn’t turn.
Anne paced around him slowly, her head buzzing with more than the alcohol. When she saw his back, she realized why he’d been so hesitant to show her.
He claimed he no longer felt the pain, but she certainly did. Tears slipped from beneath her lashes, even as she tried to blink t
hem away. Her fingers traced the thick, uneven scars crisscrossing his back. Teach shivered beneath her touch.
She didn’t know what was worse: having suffered under the sting of the whip herself, or knowing that Teach had suffered as well, and she’d been helpless to do anything about it. Whoever had sewn him up had done a terrible job. There were jagged edges of skin that would never lie flat or smooth again. She covered a scar tenderly with her palm. The gold band on her finger winked up at her and she realized that she’d never answered him. “Yes,” she whispered.
Teach turned. “Yes, what?” he asked, his voice low.
“Yes, I’ll marry you,” she murmured, tilting her head back to meet his eyes.
Teach’s lips lifted at the corners. His hands skimmed down her sides, careful to avoid the wounds on her back. Taking the bottle from her, he placed it on the chair before returning his palms to her waist. He used his grip to bring her closer until she listed against him, his mouth briefly touching hers. Anne responded to the tender kiss before she turned her head and leaned her cheek against his chest. For several moments they simply held each other, their connection strong and unshakeable.
Someone knocked on the door. Reluctantly, Anne pulled away. She put her hand to her midriff, her nerves trembling.
Teach fell back a step. “What is it?”
“It’s important,” John said, his voice muffled. “Otherwise I wouldn’t bother you.”
Teach opened the door and peered out before allowing John to enter.
John quirked a brow at Teach’s state of undress. Anne hid a smile at John’s expression as Teach hastily donned his shirt.
“What’s wrong?” Teach asked, his voice slightly hoarse.
“We spotted a sail. From the same direction I saw the light last night. In the next cay.”
“Do you think it’s Easton?” Anne asked.
“Can’t be sure, since we only saw them through the spyglass. Their sails were torn and it looked as if they might have to repair one of the masts. We lowered our canvas and dropped anchor. I simply came down to see what the captain wanted us to do next.”
“Well done,” Teach said. “How far away are we?”
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