Hann scrunched her nose and nodded.
“You’ll see him again. I’m sure of it.” Isabel bit into the fruit. “It’s not so bad being a woman when you have a man like Cutter to love, is it?”
Hann’s face reddened.
“Do you still despise your gender?” Isabel gave her a coy look. “For if you had remained a man, Cutter would have kept his distance.”
Hann snickered, drawing the attention of her father, who peered into the darkness, then shrugged and threw another log on the fire. Hann’s face fell and she looked away. “My apologies, milady, here I go on about my misfortune when yours is far worse.”
Isabel scanned the pirates, chortling and chugging rum. “So it would seem.”
“Do you think of the Captain?”
“Captain Carlton?” Isabel threw her shoulders back. “Why should I?” But she could not deny the man had consumed her thoughts the entire day.
“You do not lie very well, milady.”
Isabel tried to conceal a smile. “I only fear for his safety.” That much was true. Her heart froze at the thought of him hurt or dying, but it also froze at another thought—one she dared not admit—the thought of never seeing him again. The feeling shamed her. Wasn’t he the reason she and Frederick were enduring this torturous trek in the first place? Whether he was innocent or not of killing Johnny, it was his vile escapades that had brought disaster into her life.
“So you forgive him for—for…” Hann cast a sheepish glance at Frederick.
“For ravishing me?”
“Aye,” Hann said. “Though I can’t imagine him committing such an act—not the man I have come to know, anyway.”
“I must admit he has changed.” Isabel brushed the dirt from Frederick’s hand as he drew it to his mouth. She searched her heart for the hatred that had burned there for so long. “Truth be told, I suppose I do forgive him.” She swallowed as the memory of that night stormed through her mind. “’Twas a horrible thing he did. Yet who am I not to forgive, when I have been forgiven so much?”
“What have you been forgiven for?”
“Though I’ve not committed the same outward acts of a pirate, my heart ofttimes has been just as dark: filled with envy, selfishness, and pride. God considers those things no better than murder, rape, and thievery.”
Hann shrugged. “Then everyone is guilty.”
“Indeed.”
The darkness fell so suddenly it was as if a blanket had been tossed over the jungle. Save for the light from the fire that flickered over Hann’s face, Isabel could barely see the girl.
Morris stumbled to his feet and took another swig of rum. “Get over here, Annie,” he bellowed then let out a belch. “What did I tell you about speaking to that wench!”
Hann gave Isabel a confident wink before struggling to her feet. Then brushing dirt from her breeches, she marched to join the pirates.
Isabel fed the rest of the fruit to Frederick and gave him another wet sleeve to suck on while she changed his cloth. Tossing the sling around her neck, she placed him back inside and sang a lullaby. Soon, much to her relief, he drifted off to sleep.
Hours passed and the fire dwindled to a sizzling crackle, leaving the camp in complete darkness. Yet, with her eyes closed, Isabel forced her mind to stay alert.
She heard footsteps and peeled her eyelids a crack to see a dark frame approaching. Oh Lord, let it be Hann and not that lecherous Miles. But as the shadow approached, she realized it wasn’t tall enough to be one of the pirates and she released a sigh. Frederick lay asleep, snuggled against her chest—his deep breaths like sweet music to Isabel’s ears.
Hann knelt beside her. “It’s time.”
Isabel wrapped her arms around Frederick, tight in his sling, and struggled to her feet. Hann stood beside her, barely a shadow in the consuming darkness. She leaned toward Isabel.
“Miles was standing guard on the trail to the coast,” she whispered. “I waited as long as I could, hoping he’d fall asleep, but the stubborn oaf has the vigilance of a jaguar.”
Isabel peered across the gloomy camp. Dark, bulky shapes lay haphazardly around the remaining embers of the fire. Rhythmic snores rose to accompany the chirp of crickets. “Is he still there?”
“Aye, but no longer standing.” Hann grinned.
“What did you do?” Isabel whispered as Frederick stirred slightly. Rubbing his back, she prayed he would stay asleep. He made a gurgling noise, then snuggled his head into her neck.
“I didn’t kill him, if that’s what you mean,” Hann replied. “Let’s just say he should have a good night’s sleep.”
Isabel followed Hann across the dark camp. Every crunch of the leaves beneath her bare feet sent her nerves quivering. Halting, she glanced toward the sleeping men. They didn’t move.
At the head of the pathway, Hann disappeared into the brush, and Isabel took a deep breath of the muggy air and tiptoed after her. The damp soil clung to her feet. The hum of insects vibrated from all directions. Up ahead, a mammoth shape lay across the trail. A chill raked over her.
“’Tis just Miles.” Grabbing Isabel’s hand, Hann helped her step over the unconscious pirate. “Quick, this way.”
With a sigh of relief, Isabel followed Hann’s shadow down the trail. They were free! Thank you, Lord. She kissed the top of Frederick’s head, refusing to worry about how two women were going to traverse the jungle and make it to shore.
Hann halted.
Isabel crashed into her.
“Not so fast, my dear Annie.” A familiar voice snaked over them. “Where d’you think you’re going?”
“Father.” For the first time, Isabel heard fear in Hann’s voice.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Of Fools and Frogs
Kent tore off his tricorn, wiped the sweat from his brow, and gazed up at the sun directly above his head. He didn’t know if it was better to keep the hat on for shade or allow the breeze to run through his damp hair. He decided on the latter and tossed the brown tricorn to the bottom of the longboat.
The oars struck the water in unison, sending the craft speeding across the choppy sea toward the coast of the Spanish Main—land under the jurisdiction of the Viceroyalty of New Spain. Kent studied the shoreline, looking for enemy ships, but saw nothing save a ribbon of brown and green extending in both directions.
Sawkins’s loud grunts drifted back to Kent from where he’d placed the scoundrel at the front of the boat and ordered him to row.
Cutter grinned. “I fear his lordship is not accustomed to physical labor.”
Kent chuckled. “If I am forced to bring him along, he will earn his keep, which I believe, for him, will be a first.”
After defeating Morgan, Kent had wanted nothing more than to toss Sawkins and his traitorous followers into the sea and allow the Caribbean to have its way with them, but Kent’s determination to keep his promise to his father had been further emboldened by his allegiance to a God who always kept His.
Cutter raised a single brow. “Remind me, Captain, why exactly did you bring him along?”
“He says he knows where Morris has taken Isabel, Frederick, and Hann.”
“And you believe him?”
“No, but I cannot afford to ignore his assertion either, for without it, I have nothing to go on.” Kent hated depending on the word of a man who made more efficient work of lying than any other endeavor, but what choice did he have? Without Sawkins and the half truth Kent prayed existed within his lie, Kent had no idea where to start searching for Isabel. Sawkins had been able to describe with extreme accuracy the layout of the coast, the inlets, the natural harbors, and the mountainous regions south of Cartagena, informing Kent he had accidentally seen a map Morris had in his possession. Whether the bumbling lout could actually find the spot and whether it was where Morris had taken his captives were two other matters altogether. Yet after Kent had spent all night in prayer, he had an inner peace that, despite Sawkins’s possible treachery, led him to believe he
was on the right course.
Kent swung a glance over his shoulder. The white sails of the Restitution floated like balls of cotton on the horizon. Not knowing how long they would be gone, Kent didn’t want his ship tarrying along the Spanish Main where los guardacostas roamed ready to attack any vessel daring to venture into Spanish waters. He’d put Caleb and Logan in charge, trusting them to sail by the coast every few days to check for his return.
Facing forward again, Kent grimaced. He’d never trusted anyone before—especially not with his ship. Yet what choice did he have? Isabel’s and Frederick’s lives were at stake and he trusted their fate to no one else.
A gleaming white beach fanned out from a fortress of green, then dove into the turquoise waters. Beyond the towering walls of the jungle, mounds of ascending treetops stretched as far as the eye could see. Were Isabel and his son somewhere within that prison of green? Fear clipped his heart. Morris had two days’ lead on him. They could be anywhere by now.
The longboat rode on the swell of an incoming wave, and the men flicked the oars and angled the craft to keep it upright. Water splashed over Kent, failing to cool his ill humor, as more waves carried them to shore. Hoornes and Sparks tumbled out of the boat and sloshed through the frothy water, dragging the vessel onto the sand. Kent jumped over the side with a splash. A wave struck him from behind, soaking his breeches. He trudged onto the dry sand, Cutter behind him. Sawkins lumbered to his feet, and with much grunting, followed.
“Help the men stow the boat behind that thicket of palms,” Kent ordered Sawkins.
“I will not.” Sawkins pressed a strand of hair behind his ear and smirked, refusing to look at Kent. “Such tasks are not for men of my station, but for these men.” He pointed with disdain to Hoornes and Sparks. “They were born for it.”
“We don’t want his lordship’s help anyways, do we?” Hoornes spat and slid a finger over his rat’s head before setting him on his shoulder. Then grabbing Sparks, he and the young sharpshooter hauled the boat over the beach and hid it among a clump of trees.
Kent swung a stern gaze to Sawkins. “’Tis bad enough I must suffer your company, but I’ll thank you to not bore us with your insolent opinions.”
“Perhaps I should cut out his tongue.” Cutter offered.
Sawkins snarled at the doctor. “Then how shall I tell you where your precious little pirate girl is? Though why you’d want to seek her after she betrayed you is beyond me.”
“She didn’t—”
“Enough! Half the day is gone. Let’s be on our way,” Kent ordered. “Sparks, Hoornes, grab the packs.” Drawing his cutlass, he plunged into the jungle. Cutter pushed Sawkins after Kent and then fell in line behind him. Hoornes and Sparks took up the rear.
After hacking through a web of thick vines for nearly fifty feet, Kent emerged onto a narrow trail that ran parallel to the coast. At least Sawkins had been right about the location of the path. He faced his brother. “Which way?”
Sawkins’s expression soured as he swatted a bug from his face. “Who’s to say you won’t kill me after I’ve led you to Lady Ashton?”
“As I told you, if you indeed find Isabel and my son, I’ll set you free. If you do not, I’ll tie you to a post in the center of the nearest Spanish town with the words British Pirate burned into your chest.”
Cutter’s laugher echoed across the trees.
“You wouldn’t dare.” Terror quaked in Sawkins’s voice. “You know they would kill me.”
“Kill? Egad, no, my daft brother.” Kent ran an arm over the sweat on his forehead. “They will torture you for months until you will beg for death.”
“If not for the precious lives at stake,” Cutter said, “I would pray that you have indeed lied to us once again, your lordship.”
Hoornes chuckled.
“Fortunately, the wishes of a mangled doctor mean nothing to me,” Sawkins spat.
Kent clutched his brother by the sleeve and yanked him to the front of the group. “Now lead the way, Brother, for you know what’s at stake.”
Sawkins inched beside him with a groan. “I’ll need an ax to chop away the branches.”
“But you’ll not get one, so I suggest you use your traitorous body to forge through the greenery.”
“But what of snakes and poisonous bugs?” Sawkins shifted his eyes over the shrubbery. “I hear these savage jungles are teeming with them.”
“Why do you think you’re in front?” Kent grinned.
Cutter snickered and Sawkins glared at him, then swung about and stormed down the trail, mumbling curses in his wake.
Sawkins threw up his arm to push aside a vine dangling in the midst of the path, careful not to touch it with his hands, lest some creeping beast slither upon him. He hated bugs—had always hated bugs. He’d known a man once who was been bitten by a poisonous spider that had left him paralyzed from his waist down. Sawkins cringed remembering the last time he’d seen Lord Riley being carried into his mansion by a servant as though he were but a child. Sawkins would rather be dead. And now his brother forced him to be the first among them to encounter any noxious creature hidden in the foliage.
His brother. Hatred bubbled in the pit of Sawkins’s stomach, driving a rancid taste to his mouth. Why did the blasted man always have to beat him at everything? Sawkins cursed as he tripped over a root, eliciting snickers behind him. Faith, he’d had Kent’s ship, his woman, and all the treasure in the hold. If it hadn’t been for that lying cur, Morris, double-crossing him, he’d be the new captain of the Restitution and a member of the Brethren of the Coast.
A vision of his father’s gruff, swollen face swirled in his mind. “Ye’ve got noble blood in ye, boy,” he had said as he took Sawkins aside one day. “Yer brother’s naught but a whoreson. Yer smarter than he is and stronger too. I’m counting on you to make somethin’ of yerself—show the world who the son of James Carlton Bristol is. Power and wealth, boy. That’s what ye needs to gain respect—power and wealth.”
Withdrawing a handkerchief from his pocket, Sawkins wiped the sweat off his brow and moaned. A baron should not have to endure this infernal heat. His rank and title afforded him certain considerations, ones which Kent had never granted him. Even after their father had sent Sawkins overseas for a noble education, upon his return, his brother had never bowed to him—never deferred to his status.
Then soon after their father died, and Kent had decided to make his fortune in the Caribbean, Sawkins had shoved him out the door, shouting after him that he would never amount to anything—that he’d soon return with his tail betwixt his legs.
As it was, Kent acquired ships, wealth, and women while an unfortunate streak of bad luck at the gambling tables had relieved Sawkins of their father’s shipping business. Kent had also become a coveted member of the Brethren of the Coast—well, up until that fateful night when Sawkins had hired a man to kill him aboard Henry Morgan’s flagship, the HMS Oxford. Sawkins hadn’t instructed the assassin to blow up the entire ship—the fool. Only ten people had survived, and of course Kent had been among them. Pity about the hundreds who had died that night, but how was Sawkins to know the man he’d hired was a buffoon? It wasn’t his fault. A chuckle crossed Sawkins’s lips as he skirted the trunk of an enormous tree. If Captain Morris only knew who’d really killed his son.
But Sawkins had been able to use the incident to his advantage by spreading rumors that Captain Carlton had been at fault. Hence, his brother had not only been ejected from the Brethren of the Coast, but had to constantly keep a weather eye out for Captains Morgan and Morris, who both sought him for revenge. Sawkins grinned. It had been a brilliant way to recover from a plan gone awry.
Yet still Kent had succeeded. While his power and fame spread throughout the Caribbean, Sawkins’s reputation had been reduced to that of a drunken gambler. And each time his brother had paid off his debts, Sawkins’s fury had burned more intensely.
Things would have turned out differently if Sawkins’s luck hadn’t gone awry
. Instead, his thieving brother had stolen the life that rightfully belonged to him.
He halted, his breath coming in quick spurts. “I must have some water.” He turned and Kent nearly barreled into him, his mind obviously elsewhere.
Grabbing the pouch hanging from his belt, Kent handed it to Sawkins. “How far is it?”
“A few days.” Sawkins tipped the water bag and guzzled the warm liquid.
“Hold up there,” Hoornes complained. “Save some fer the rest o’ us.”
Cutter grabbed the pouch from him, wiped the nozzle on his sleeve, and took a sip, then passed it behind him. “Are you sure you know where you’re going?” He smirked. “If I recall, you had trouble discerning stern from bow on the ship.”
Sawkins frowned. “Of course I know where I’m going.” What he wouldn’t do to be rid of that malformed doctor and his caustic quips.
Turning, he scanned the jungle—a tangled labyrinth of greens and browns that wove together into an indistinguishable mass. He had no idea where he was or in what direction he should head. Only from bits and pieces of remembered conversations with Morris had Sawkins been able to recall some mention of an Indian tribe that lived inland, south of Cartagena. And to that vague destination, he now led these men. If they found Morris, all the better, for he knew Kent would enforce a strict enough punishment on the treasonous captain to satisfy Sawkins’s own need for revenge. If they did not find him, Sawkins would still have a better chance of escaping his brother out in the jungle than locked in the hold of a ship.
“Get going.” Kent poked him in the back with his knife.
Lifting his gaze in a pretense of gathering his bearings, Sawkins plodded down the trail, keeping a keen eye out for slithering creatures dangling from the treetops.
If he did manage to get away, Sawkins’s only regret would be not having the chance to see Lady Ashton again. Ah, the beautiful Isabel. What a delightful surprise she had been. It was no wonder Kent had become so enamored with her. Sawkins’s own feelings had taken him quite by surprise—and she would be his if not for that blackguard, Morris. If he ever saw her again, Sawkins hoped to make it up to her, hoped to persuade her of his sincere devotion and absolve himself of any involvement with Morris that might cause harm to her and her son. Part of that was true, after all. But despite the hideous fate that awaited her, if he was presented with a chance to escape, he intended to take it.
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