Moonlight on the Caribbean
Chapter Eleven
Ships docked in Port Royal everyday. Yet no one could remember such an anticipated arrival for the past five years at least. Commander Shawn Douglas Brady had promised the first sailor to spot the Dolphin would be granted a full day's leave. Not to be outdone, Philip Kiriakis had advertised one hundred pounds to the captain of any private vessel that met the Dolphin on her way to port. With such incentive, it was no wonder the whole city knew of the Dolphin's whereabouts three days before it actually passed through the mouth of Port Royal. The cannons boomed to welcome it, and a surprisingly large crowd had gathered, considering it was merely a common merchant vessel.
Except to Shawn. For him, it was the carrier of all his hopes and dreams, his love, his future. He was on the docks before the rising of the sun, determined to be the first face Belle saw when she stepped off the ship. It had been four incredibly long months since he'd last seen her, since they'd pledged hands and hearts to each other. He was nervous, though he tried his best to hide it. He wanted her to love this place as much as he did. He wanted her to love him. Deep inside, he worried Belle's love for him was based on girlish fancy and would fade away when exposed to the cruel realities of life.
He pushed all such abstract thoughts away as he noticed the arrival of Philip's carriage. Shawn grinned. Even though he normally didn't care much for the obnoxious planter, he was in no mood to hold a grudge—especially against someone in precisely the same situation he was, waiting for a beloved fiancé to return to him. Shawn watched in amusement as the two footmen disembarked and lowered a platform before Philip would place so much as a toe outside. He stepped out carefully, his cream-colored suit already stained from the long ride from Titan Plantation. His face immediately wrinkled in distaste at the odor and look of the docks, and Shawn momentarily believed he would turn tail and run.
At that moment, Philip found Shawn's face in the crowd and beckoned him over. Resigned by now to Philip's imperious manner, Shawn obediently marched to the carriage. Kiriakis still stood on the platform, apparently unwilling to soil his boots with Port Royal's filth. "Well, Commander, today's the day," he drawled.
Shawn was appalled by his bored tone over an event he'd been counting the minutes for. "Indeed, sir. I can hardly wait to see my Belle's face again."
"We shan't have to, shall we?" Philip whined. Shading his eyes with a gloved hand, he made a show of looking out to sea. "I can't afford to spend a day idling here in this blasted sun. I was under the impression the ship would be arriving any moment."
Resisting the urge to push the prissy gentleman into a large puddle of mud just to see how he'd react, Shawn instead jerked his head to an approaching vessel. "No need to worry, Kiriakis. That's her now." He frowned as the boat passed by, and he caught a glimpse of the crew's grim faces. Where were Belle and the others? "Something's wrong," he murmured to himself.
"What's that?" Phil questioned disinterestedly. His eyes too began scanning the crowd assembled on the deck of the Dolphin. "Are you sure this is the right boat, Commander?"
Shawn graced him with a withering stare but chose not to respond. Increasingly worried, he rushed to the dockside as the Dolphin let down a small boat to carry a few men to shore. Any slight hope he was overreacting died the moment he saw the captain enter the rowboat. No captain would leave his ship while female passengers remained on board. "Dear God, let her be safe."
Philip's indolence ended as he witnessed Shawn's panic. Within seconds, he was by Shawn's side, dirty boots the last thing on his mind. "Where is she?" he demanded as the boat pulled up to the deck.
The captain and crew members rose slowly, their faces both solemn and penitent. The captain's eyes fell on the insignia on Shawn's uniform. "Commander, I am Captain Austin Reed of the H.M.S. Dolphin, and we need to talk."
~~*~~
"How could you let this happen?" Philip railed, pacing the small room that served as Shawn's office in navy headquarters. "Of all the bumbling, idiotic…I'll have you stripped of your command for this. You'll never captain another ship in all—"
"Shut up!" Shawn roared, causing Philip to stop ranting and fall into a sullen silence. Shawn rested his head in his hands, Belle's sweet smile passing through his mind. Trying to stay in control so he could do his job, he took a few deep breaths and looked up at both fools in front of him. "All right. Here's what we're going to do. Kiriakis, you're going to sit down and keep your mouth shut. If I hear another word pass your lips, you can wait outside. Understood?" Looking mutinous, Philip nodded and sat down in the vacant wooden chair across from Shawn's teakwood desk. "Now, Captain Reed, free from interruption, I want you to tell me the story again. Don't leave out anything. It could be important."
Dutifully, Austin repeated everything he had spent the past twenty minutes explaining. He told how they had picked up some supposed castaways, how the black-masked man had come aboard and his men had been taken by surprise. "It's strange," he concluded. "The man's words to me about the Spanish sounded more like a warning than a threat. I half-expected us to be boarded by the guarda costa before we arrived here, yet we never were."
"Of course you weren't, you moron," Philip hissed. "It was an obvious set-up, but you fell for it. And now, these…these…kidnapping pirates have my betrothed. I'll see you hanged for this!"
"Enough," Shawn broke in, his voice deceptively quiet. "Don't speak of what you don't understand. There's something strange going on here. Pirates don't attack English ships. There's no reason they should. But this was planned and executed flawlessly. These men—whoever they are—knew exactly what they were doing. They boarded with the express purpose of taking Lord Black and the others. The question we have to answer is why." He turned to study the appropriately shame-faced Captain Reed. "Are you positive they were English? Accents can be learned. What did they look like?"
Austin shrugged. "They looked like average English sailors. Tanned and weathered by the sun, but light-skinned. The leader was masked, as I said, but his eyes were blue. The other man who spoke had blonde hair. There is no possibility they were Spaniards in disguise."
A leader with blue eyes. A second with blonde hair. A boarding and capture carried out without a single mistake. After three years in the Caribbean, Shawn knew of only one pirate crew capable of such a brilliant, dastardly act. "No," he choked, turning from the other two to face the map tacked to his wall. He pinpointed the location of the Dolphin's attack. With his other hand, he traced the path he knew the Vengeance was taking at that time. "Oh God, no."
"What? What is it?" Philip demanded, trying to see over Shawn's shoulder what had so entirely captured his attention.
Shawn staggered under the weight of his knowledge? Why? Why would Brady do such a thing? How could his friendship be so betrayed? He remembered their conversation at the tavern. Brady had looked so ill and left so abruptly; perhaps he did think the Spanish were going to take the Dolphin. But if so, why had Brady not come to him with the information? He knew Shawn's fiancé was aboard. Shawn cursed bitterly as betrayal and rage replaced his shock. "You'll be getting your wish after all, Kiriakis. I'm going to make sure Blackheart hangs for this!"
"Blackheart? What does he have to do with this?" Philip frowned, before realization settled on him. "You think Blackheart did this? How do you know?" He surveyed the naval man with increasing suspicion.
Shawn ignored his questions as he poured over his maps, his hands moving along a path incomprehensible to the other two. "There." He pushed a pin into a small island almost lost in the vastness of the sea. "That's where he'll take them. That's where Blackheart will meet his end."
~~*~~
"No! No! Mother! Let me see my mother." The small blonde child struggled helplessly against the hands that held him back. Finally, he kicked one man in the shin, while biting at another. "Mother! Mother!" he cried franticly as he ran down, down, down, round twisted staircases and darkened corridors. Screams—inarticulate cries of misery and pain—echoed off the walls, and most of them belonged to another voice. The boy ran on, his light, pattering feet flying towards his destination. "Stop it! Stop hurting her! I'm coming, Mama. I'm coming." Tall men pursued him, but they could not match the agility of the child as he ran.
One last heavy, wooden door was pushed open, and the boy stood atop a dimly lit staircase. He froze in terror at the sight before his eyes. His mother—the woman he'd considered pretty enough to be an angel—was virtually unrecognizable. Blood dripped from her mouth, from her colorless cheeks, from her bound wrists and ankles. Her body was stretched impossibly far on the machinery he'd come to know only as el Estante, the Rack. Her screams had ended. The task of drawing breath seemed to require all her effort. A strange rasping accompanied every inhalation.
"Mama?" he whispered, his bottom lip quivering as tears threatened to choke him.
Her eyes, made pure and brilliant through suffering, rose to look once more on the face dearest to her. "My boy," she whispered brokenly.
All around them froze. Even the Inquisitors, their torturers, were spellbound and unable to intrude on this last moment between mother and son. The boy stumbled down the stairs, half-afraid to come nearer to the horrifying sight, but longing for the comfort of his mother's embrace. "Mama," he repeated, as he stood beside her and stroked the dirty, ratted hair out of her face—hair that had once shone with a fire to capture the heart of a viscount. "It will be all right, Mama. You'll be all right."
The beatific smile on her face was no longer marred by pain and sorrow. "Yes, Brady. I'll be safe soon. They can't hurt me anymore. But I have to go away now. Do you understand, Brady? Mama has to leave you."
Brady shook his head as tears plummeted down his cheeks. No, he didn't understand. He would never understand. He was only a little boy who needed his mother. She couldn't leave him. What would he do without her?
"My sweet boy…" Isabella's voice broke as she thought of the one who would be left behind. She knew her suffering was almost at an end. But what of her child, the child of her love? "you must be brave, Brady; brave and good for Mama. Even when you feel most alone, know that I love you. And Brady…" She winced as she felt her fractured ribs press even deeper inside her, cutting off breath. She had mere moments left on earth, and there was so much she still wanted to say.
"Yes, Mama?" Brady knelt by her side, resting his soft, blond head against her chained hand and feeling her fingers brush his hair weakly. Comforting fingers that had soothed his fears and his fevers late at night. Healing hands which would soon lie still and cold in the ground.
"Brady, your father…he loved you, too. If…if you ever get away, find him. I last saw him in the storm." Her expressive eyes filled with tears as she realized she would never again rest in the arms of the one who loved her, never feel his hands on her face or hear his deep voice whispering lover's secrets to her. "If we survived, maybe he did too. John Black, Brady. My John…my love…have faith…"
"NO!" The cry ripped from his own mouth as the child screamed, and Lord John Black flew up from his cot. He looked around, disoriented and afraid. His racing heart refused to slow even as he recognized the captain of the Vengeance watching with pity. He buried his face in his hands, trying to erase his nightmare vision. How could he dream such a thing? It couldn't possibly be true, could it? His thoughts had been dwelling more than ever on Isabella and Brady since this trip had started. Perhaps, subconsciously, he had associated Blackheart's tale of his mother's fate with his own tragedy.
So why had it felt so real?
"Are you all right, m'lord?" the masked man questioned.
"Fine," John returned coldly, unwilling to voice his strange thoughts to the pirate, even as he tried to find in him some resemblance to the son he had given up for dead.
"What did you dream of, m'lord?" Brady asked. He wanted to know his father better. Even though he knew he could never claim the relationship, he yearned for a bond with the man who had sired him.
John paused before replying carefully, "My wife." He searched for a reaction in the younger man, but no visible changes occurred to give away his thoughts.
"One would think dreaming about one's wife would be pleasant. Does Lady Black fill your heart with such dread?" The corners of Brady's mouth tipped up in a half-smile.
"It was not Marlena—my current wife—I dreamt about, but my first, my beloved, Isabella." Again, John perused him for any indication of feeling, but the bland expression of slight curiosity did not alter. Blackheart was obviously a master at playing his role, but the deep blue eyes behind the mask were his undoing. In them, John thought he saw a glimpse of the innocent child who had rested so peacefully in his arms so many years ago. Or perhaps he only hoped…
Brady willed himself to remain calm, to show nothing of his emotions. Yet his heart leapt as he discovered his father still thought of her after all these years. "What did you dream about her?"
The explanation would never be given, for at that moment, the approved knock sounded on the door. "Captain, it's me," came Kev's excited voice.
Irritated, Brady threw open the door. "What?" he hissed towards his second mate.
Kevin doffed his hat, appropriately deferential. "Sorry to disturb you, Captain, but Jase is wanting to see you topside. I'll watch his Lordship while you're gone."
Brady trusted Jason implicitly and knew if his first mate was calling for him, there was a damn good reason. With a curt nod in his father's direction, he made his way out of the brig and along the familiar passageways until he emerged on deck. The sun was beginning to slip below the horizon, casting a myriad of orange, purple, and red shadows on the sky and over the water. Jason stood by the starboard rail, studying something with a telescope while crew members talked around him. Their agitation was plainly discernable, and they parted to make way for their captain.
"Captain," said Jason respectfully, well aware their conversation would be eagerly attended by every man on deck. He handed the telescope to Brady. "We've spotted a ship, sir. It's Spanish, and it's making its way to the Mainland."
Brady quickly spotted the vessel. His trained eye could perceive immediately that it was no galleon sailing to Peru for another load of silver, nor was it the feared guarda costa on patrol. No, this was the Vengeance's favorite target, a slave ship bearing more heretics, political prisoners, and native peoples to mine the silver for the Spanish king. Brady let the telescope fall from his eye, his face grim. The greater part of him wanted nothing more than to ready his men for attack, but he was acutely aware of the precious cargo they already bore. "Let it go."
Loud murmurs of surprise and disappointment swept through the crew. Jason silenced them with a wave of his hand. Even in the waning light of dusk, his disapproval was evident. "It's an easy mark, Captain."
"We can't risk it, Jase; not with the women aboard."
"Is the fate of four women worth more than the lives of the hundred souls we can save? The Vengeance has never been defeated in sea battle, and we won't be taken by a poorly-manned, scarcely-defended slave ship." He put his hand on Brady's shoulder and drew closer to him, shutting the others out from their discussion. "This is why they sail with us. You know that. You're the only captain in the Caribbean who has put the destruction of the Spanish ahead of acquiring riches. If we don't keep faith with our mission, the men won't keep faith with us."
Brady nodded, seeing not only the truth in his friend's words, but the justification he needed to wage battle upon blasted Spain. "Ready the men. I'm going to take the women down to Lord Black. I don't expect trouble, but if it comes, they'll at least have Kevin and the viscount to defend them. I'll be back before we reach the ship."
"Aye, aye, Captain," Jase saluted, before he turned on his heel and began barking orders to the men.
As Brady made his way below, he could see his crew hurrying around the decks, loosening rigging, sharpening swords, lowering boats. A sadistic smile darkened his face as his hand touched his sword hilt. Before the night was over, it would once again fulfill its purpose and spill the blood of his mother's murderers.
~~*~~
Chloe hadn't looked her in the eye all day long. Come to think of it, nothing about Chloe seemed right today, Belle mused. She rarely spoke; when she did, it was with an air of furtiveness. She jumped and blushed anytime someone spoke to her, as if caught in the middle of some sinful thought. Not once had she left the cabin or even made mention of wanting to, a first in their time aboard the Vengeance. Belle was confused by this, but Mimi seemed to understand. At least, her pitying gaze rested often on Lady Wesley. Belle would have liked to ask her maid about it, but she hadn't had a moment free of Chloe and Jan all day. Now, Mimi was gone to the galley to fetch their supper, since their captors seemed to have forgotten about them.
"Chloe, is something wrong?" Belle pried softly, when she couldn't take it anymore.
Yet again, Chloe reddened and looked startled. "Wrong? No, nothing's wrong, Belle. What makes you think something's wrong?"
"You've been acting strangely all day," she pointed out. "If something is bothering you, you can tell me. You're my best friend, Chloe. Surely, you know you can share anything with me."
"Not this," Chloe mumbled under her breath. She could not forget what had happened last night. She had been as brazen as a common harlot. Belle would never understand the kind of madness that had come upon her, an uncontrollable passion that lived within her blood. Even more humiliating was her shame had nothing to do with her actions and everything to do with his rejection of her. She had thrown herself at him, and he had turned her away.
"I wager I know Lady Chloe's secret," Jan spat out, her dark eyes glittering with malice and cruel amusement at Chloe's look of panic. "And I'm sure Mr. Kiriakis will be overjoyed when I tell him what I've seen."
Belle glanced from Jan's smug expression to Chloe's suddenly pale face. "I don't understand! Would someone please tell me what's going on here?"
A knock on the door proved Chloe's salvation. She rushed to answer it only to draw back again when she saw the face on the other side. "Begging your pardon, Lady Wesley," Brady bowed, entering the cabin, "but it is of the utmost importance that I escort you ladies to Lord Black immediately." He had no time to focus on Chloe's mortified expression. Although something deep inside him grieved for her tattered virtue, she was the least of his worries at the moment.
"Why? What's the matter?" demanded Belle. "Has something happened to my father?"
"Your father is alive and well, m'lady. This is for your own protection. We are about to attack a Spanish ship, and as much you may want to be rescued, falling into Spanish hands would be descending into a hell you can't even imagine."
Belle studied the pirate's grim face for only a moment before nodding her agreement. Despite herself, she trusted this man. He had kept his word to her father to keep her safe. He had saved her life when she was ill. If he said she would be protected, she believed him. Besides, she would feel safer with her father. "As you say, Captain. We will gladly follow you to my father."
"What about Mimi?" Chloe interjected, though her eyes remained rooted to the floor. "She's in the galley."
"I'll send someone to find her," Brady promised. "For now, come with me." He led the three girls back down to the brig, noticing sadly that Chloe kept as much distance as possible between them. It was for the best, he knew. Why then did it hurt him so? He pushed her out of his thoughts the moment he stood before his father again. As Belle and John exchanged greetings through iron bars, no one noticed Brady walk to a cupboard and pull out two objects.
Only when the determined footsteps placed Brady directly in front of him did John noticed the sword and key he carried. "What's this?"
"I told you before, Your Lordship; you were imprisoned for your own protection. Now, in the interest of your safety and your daughter's, I release you."
The rattle of the key in the lock struck them all through the heart in the silence of the room. No sooner was the door open than Belle rushed in, throwing her arms around her father's neck. John wrapped one arm protectively around her waist, but his eyes remained fastened on the pirate, respect and something more shining through. "Thank you, Captain."
Brady barely acknowledged the thanks, instead holding forth the rapier in both hands. "Your sword, my lord. I doubt you'll need it, but should the occasion arise…"
John stared at the proffered weapon but did not reach for it. "What's to stop me from using this to kill you or your men?"
"Nothing, my lord, save our own skills," was Brady's glib reply.
Slowly, the viscount reclaimed his sword, bringing it to his temple in a sign of respect. "Go fight your battle, Blackheart. The ladies are safe with me."
Brady bowed low and then turned to leave, confident Kev and his father would keep Belle and Chloe safe.
"Captain," Belle's voice stopped him. He looked over his shoulder to see the petite blonde with such a striking resemblance to him. Her face was softened with gratitude and joy at having her father back.
"Yes, m'lady?"
She smiled at him, blessing him with her goodness. "God go with you."
~~*~~
The smooth, almost silent movement of the Vengeance through the waves didn't change, even as they approached their target. Yet an expectant silence had fallen over its crew. Some already had their pistols at the ready. Six men were positioned at the ship's three cannons. Still more had grappling hooks at hand. Brady and Jase themselves stood at the forefront, their hands on their sword hilts. They wouldn't draw them until the last possible moment, lest a flash of silver against the moonlight give them away.
The Spanish vessel sailed on, its crew unaware of the fate awaiting them. After all, those greedy English dogs always went after the treasure galleons. No one ever bothered with small prison ships like this one. Well, no one but the terrifying Capitán Corazónnegro, but last word on him was he had taken temporary refuge on Jamaica.
The waning moon was with the Vengeance that night, hiding behind the clouds until the very last moment. They were within a hundred yards of the Spanish ship, and no alarm had been sounded. Jason held his breath, as though so light a thing as the exhalation of air could give them away. Not a sound was heard on deck as they drifted ever closer. Seventy-five yards. Fifty. Twenty-five.
"Now!" The scraping of steel as Brady's cutlass was set free was drowned by the simultaneous blasting of the cannons and the whipping of rope across the chasm. The skill of the men could not be disputed as every hook hit its mark. The guns had done their work as well. Two of the ships masts cracked and fell, draping sails down on the disoriented Spanish crew. Panic swept through them, and Brady discerned more than a few Castilian curse words among the screams. His grin was cold and deadly as he signaled his men forward. A dozen men pulled the ropes taut, bringing the ships within touching distance.
With the names of mothers, wives, and children on their lips, the crew of the Vengeance swarmed the deck of the Spanish ship, meeting out death and judgment on all the Spaniards unfortunate enough to escape the sail's shroud. Winters grabbed a torch and set fire to the canvas, adding the stench of burning flesh to the usual smells of warfare. No guilt struck Brady's heart as he plunged his cutlass through a lad of twenty. Blood and entrails splattered onto his clothes, his arms, his face. He hardly felt their sickening warmth. The reek of death was in the air, and—as so many times before—emotions were lost in adrenaline, conscience in the dark pleasure of revenge.
Jason held back, choosing his victims more carefully. Unlike his friend, he couldn't fight purely on instinct, couldn't be satisfied by the indiscriminate shedding of blood. It seemed an inadequate payback. He needed to pierce the heart of some wealthy Spanish Don, some pig who was responsible for the murder of women and children. He grinned as he saw his first mark, a portly, goateed man emerging from below decks in his dressing gown, a pistol in one hand, an old military saber in the other.
Weaving his way through the battle and quickly dispatching the two foolish guards who tried to block his path, Jason confronted the coward, bowing mockingly low. The man shouted something in Spanish. Jason didn't need Brady's translation to know the devil was pleading for his life. Jason raised his cutlass, unmoved by the display. The Spaniard rose his shaking hand to fire his pistol, but his marksmanship was as non-existent as his courage. The shot hit the railing far to Jason's left. Backed into a corner, the Don had no choice but to fight.
Jason could have run him through with one simple thrust, but he gave his unworthy opponent a chance. Stepping back, he waited for the old saber to swing. He deflected the first blow easily and made a half-hearted one of his own. Back and forth it went, Jason always restraining his hand. The fat man was tiring; sweat poured down his face and slicked his hands, making his parries even wilder.
Finally, bored of the game, Jason caught the Don's wrist, stopping his sword midair. "For Maria," Jason breathed, the words accompanying every kill he'd ever made. He spat in the man's face and pushed him against the cabin wall. Using all his strength, he forced his cutlass the width of the Spaniard, pulling back only when he felt solid wood.
The dying man slipped to the ground, only two words upon his lips. "Por qué?"
Jason didn't even hear. He had already turned away, to kill again.
~~*~~
It wasn't a sight Chloe had ever expected to see. Jan Spears knelt in a corner, her elbows resting on a chair as she silently mouthed a prayer. Chloe wasn't even sure what she was praying for. She couldn't possibly care about the pirate crew. She had, from all appearances, loathed every moment spent aboard the Vengeance. Still, something about the fervent piety of the girl disturbed her. She watched as Jan rocked back and forth, praying as though she'd never cease. This was a woman she'd considered beneath her, a common spy sent from her fiancé to dog her movements. Yet even she had more right to talk to God than Chloe did. After what she'd done, she doubted God would even listen to her prayers.
Unable to look anymore on the depressing sight, Chloe turned her head away, only to catch Kevin also watching Jan. The moment he felt Chloe's eyes upon him, he turned back to his vigil by the door. Chloe only shook her head. The taciturn second mate of the Vengeance held no great interest for her. He was a strange, silent man and—she feared—rather boring.
His captain, on the other hand…but no, she refused to let herself think of him. Her gaze traveled to the ceiling, wishing she could see the battle going on above. She imagined it must be dreadfully exciting. Except for one blast almost half an hour ago that shook the entire ship, she had yet to hear a thing. It was driving her mad. She knew Brady was a man to reckoned with, that it was unlikely anything would happen to him. Still, she worried. She hated herself for worrying. Why couldn't she hate him, or at least be coolly indifferent? But despite her humiliation, she still cared for him, longed for him. Most of all, she wanted him to live. And she couldn't even pray for it.
Chloe looked up as footsteps approached and found Lord Black had left his daughter's side for the first time since they'd been brought here. Belle lay sleeping on the solitary cot in the room, her weak health prevailing over her desire to speak to her father. Chloe sat on the floor, leaning against the wall, her knees drawn up to her chest. To her surprise, Lord Black joined her, without a word slipping into a similar position.
He sat silently by her side for several minutes before reaching over and giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. "He'll be all right, Chloe. Don't worry," he whispered, so quietly there was no way others could have heard.
Chloe's head shot in his direction, open-mouthed in her astonishment. "Wh-what? Who do you mean, m'lord?" she stammered back, managing to keep her voice almost inaudible.
"Don't be coy with me, young lady. I've known you since you were a child. You're practically a second daughter to me. I would have to be blind not to see the way you look at him…or avoid looking at him, as the case may be."
"My lord, I…I hardly know what to say." She bowed her head again, properly shamed. "There is no excuse for it, I know."
"Chloe, it's all right," John stopped her confession. "I didn't come to chastise you, only to comfort you. Blackheart's a strong man; a good man, I think." A fleeting frown passed over his features. "He has had a hard life. He knows how to survive."
Chloe could barely conceal her surprise as she listened to the man who had been a second father to her describe a murdering pirate with such praise. Perhaps, deep down, he sensed Blackheart was his son. She certainly hoped so. "I know, my lord, but it does not make the waiting any easier."
John allowed a dark chuckle to pass his lips. "No, it wouldn't, would it? You've chosen a hard life for yourself, Chloe. Harder even than my Izzy's. A sailor as least has a home, though he must leave it often. A pirate cannot risk one."
She marveled at John's understanding. He seemed to know this was more than a passing fancy of hers, that the whole course of her life had changed over the past few days. "Am I mad to feel this way about him?"
A soft smile crossed John's lips, as he lifted a hand to stroke her dark hair. "If love is madness, Chloe, then we should all go insane. The world would be a better place for it."
Their conversation was cut short as Belle began to stir, and John returned to his daughter's side. Belle sat up, yawning. She blinked her guileless blue eyes open and looked around. "Where's Mimi?"
~~*~~
She had meant to go to the galley when she left the cabin late that afternoon, but halfway there, she spotted her assailant from the other night—the man Jason had called Winters—and quickly changed her plans. Despite that fact that she had Jason's claim to protect her, Mimi didn't feel safe around that stupid, drunken ox. So she wandered the passageways of the Vengeance, growing to know her by heart. She knew she should return either to the cabin or the galley, but it was such a relief to have time to herself for the first time in weeks.
Mimi had lost track of time when she noticed a change in the ship's crew. Always before, they had seemed laidback in their duties. The few times she had passed a man in the corridors, they had offered either assistance or an insolent remark. Suddenly, pirates were rushing by at break-neck speed, not even noticing her as she stood in a vacant doorway. A buzz of excitement was in the air, and footsteps thundered above deck, shaking the ceiling above her.
Then, just as dramatically, all the commotion ceased. Not a man walked past her, not a movement could be discerned from above deck. Intrigued, and never one to shy away from curiosity, Mimi began to make her own way topside. She had just stepped onto the final ladder when an explosion rocked the ship and sent her tumbling. Jumping back to her feet when the shaking stopped, she rushed up the ladder and peeked onto the deck.
Bedlam met her eyes. Everywhere, men were running, screaming, fighting. The clash of metal against metal sounded in her ears, along with the occasional roar of a gun shot. The fresh sea air was polluted with the acrid smells of sweat, blood, and smoke. Like a sickening dream, Mimi found herself approaching the epicenter of this violence, unable to run or look away, though bile rose in her throat.
Across the slim divide of ship railings, dozens of men lay dead and dying. A man was stabbed to her right, and she stumbled forward, sure she was going to be sick. She leaned on the railing for support but pulled away again when her hand touched something wet and sticky. By the light of the flames, Mimi saw the unmistakable crimson color of blood. Her horror caught up to her then. She screamed, but her cries were lost among the dozens of others raised by the wounded and victorious.
Thought and action returned to Mimi as she forced herself to look amidst the rage-distorted faces for the one she knew would keep her safe. Jason was not to be found anywhere, but in the chaos, she discovered the form of Captain Blackheart, nearly bathed in blood. With the fire flickering upon his masked face, he seemed some horrifying specter of death. All the fear of him which had been slowly disappearing returned double-force as she watched him disembowel a man, then calmly turn around and begin dueling another.
This man must have been a better swordsman than the last, for Blackheart seemed to struggle with him. As their swords met, sparks erupted between them, and Mimi stood watching, spellbound with terror. Blackheart forced the soldier back, with a ringing blow of his cutlass. Not to be defeated, the Spaniard struck back, slashing open the pirate's forearm. Mimi felt herself grow ill at the wound, but Blackheart seemed unaware of his own injury. He fought off the next attack with an even greater fury. Blood was dripping onto his hand, slicking the sword hilt and making it harder to get a firm grip. Still, he battled, striking blow after blow upon the unfortunate soldier. With one final effort, he ran his cutlass through the man's heart, before dropping to his knees on the surface of the deck.
Unaware where her courage came from, Mimi began running towards him, wanting to help him. She could at least stop the bleeding. Hands reached out and grabbed her roughly, bringing another scream to her lips. She was twisted until she looked upon the sweat-soaked face of a Spanish sailor. "Cómo usted consiguió aquí?"
She shook her head, trembling. "I…I'm sorry. I d-don't speak Spanish."
His hold on her tightened, as he demanded, "Usted sabe una manera de escapar este massacre?"
"I don't know what you're saying!" Mimi panicked, struggling to free herself as she felt his hot breath on her face.
"Un bar—" The man froze suddenly, his eyes widening and his mouth freezing mid-word. He fell forward into her, and Mimi nearly collapsed under his weight, before she felt other arms pulling him off of her.
Mimi stumbled backwards as her frightened green eyes looked straight into the fierce emeralds shining in Jason's dirty face. Her gaze drifted down to the Spaniard lying dead at her feet, a bloody wound in his back. Slowly, she brought her focus onto the gleaming, blood-soaked weapon by Jason's side. "You…you killed him. You—" Her breath caught, her eyes rolled back, and her knees gave out, all conspiring to make Mimi Lockhart faint for the first time in her life.
Jason wrapped her in his arms before she could collapse. Without apparent effort, he swept her up and wove his way out of the fighting masses. The flames had already begun to die. Most of the Spaniards had been murdered, and the battle was over. He caught sight of Brady, still kneeling on the ground, a pile of dead men around him. Jason knew if he had been close enough, he would have seen silent tears streaming down his friend's cheeks. In the midst of the combat, Brady lost sight of the horror. It was only after the damage was done that his guilt threatened to choke him.
Jason pushed Brady out of his thoughts, as he brought Mimi safely back to the Vengeance, setting her down only when they had reached the other side of the boat, and the ruins of the Spanish ship were blocked from view by a large tarp. He patted her cheek lightly to revive her. "Mimi, Mimi, it's all right. It's me, Jason. You're safe now."
Mimi blinked her eyes open slowly, rubbing her face. The moment she did, she shot up, staring in horror at her red hands. "Oh God, oh God, oh God…"
He caught her shaking hands in his and held them still. "Mimi, it's over," he told her gently. "It's all over."
She nodded, though the appalled look remained on her face and the wretched knowing remained in her eyes. She would never, as long as she lived, forget what she had seen that night. It would haunt her all her days. "Oh God, Jason," she breathed, finally coming to herself. "Hold me. Please, just hold me."
In a moment, she was wrapped tightly in his arms, her face buried in his shoulder as she cried. His hands ran through her hair, as he whispered reassuring words to her. Neither could see the blood streaks left behind in her auburn tresses. Tears continued to stream down her face, wetting Jason's torn shirt with a substance far purer than the ones already soaking it. They clung to each other, trying to forget the monstrosities they had witnessed—and in Jason's case, participated in. The battle was over. The memory of it would never go away.
