“I have always wrestled with myself as it pertains to you, Father,” she said, her voice strong and her words sure. “I have felt affection for you, but also a great amount of wariness. How can a man who makes his fortune on the labor of slaves claim to love me, or have loved my mother?”
Archibald sobbed, his mottled face and chapped lips making him an unsightly mess. His balding pate had begun to redden and blister in the unforgiving sun.
“It was for love that I did this, poppet. He isn’t good enough for you, he never was.”
“That is for me to decide,” she countered with a shake of her head. “If this is what your love brings, then I want none of it. What you did to Drew was so cruel that my own pain can never compare. I do not know if I want you to die for it, but … you should suffer as he has suffered. You should know what it is to be helpless and preyed upon, to be hurt and not be able to defend yourself. Perhaps then you will learn compassion for your fellow man.”
“Hear, hear!” Rory called out, prompting a rousing cry of agreement from the men.
When they’d gone silent again, she turned to Will, her eyes blazing with fury. “As for you …”
Will met her gaze, his expression a muddle of derision and lust. “What a fool you are, Bella. You could have had a real man, but have chosen to give yourself to this degenerate. I pity you.”
Rory lunged for Will, but Drew held him back with a heavy hand on one shoulder.
“Let me at him, Cap’n,” his quartermaster growled, face as red as his hair in his fury. “I’ll have his foul tongue for that!”
“It is Bella’s time to speak, Mr. Walsh,” he reminded his friend, though he shared the sentiment. “We will have our time.”
To everyone’s surprise, Bella merely smiled at Will, the gesture heavy with her own derision. “It is you who should be pitied. Were you a real man, you wouldn’t have found it necessary to steal something from Drew that was never really yours. All the riches in the world weren’t enough for you, were they? You couldn’t stand for Drew to have the one thing that could never be yours. And for all your scheming and plotting, in the end you have lost. You will die—perhaps today—and face eternal judgment, while Drew and I will go on to be happy and forget about you entirely.”
Will’s mocking smile melted into a black scowl, embarrassment and rage twisting his features until he was nearly unrecognizable. This was his true face, the one he hid behind a mask of politeness, his forked tongue dripping honeyed words when it suited him.
“You ungrateful, spiteful whore! You could have been a grand lady, but you’ve chosen to be the bed wench of a pirate.”
Arabella backed away from Will and into the shelter of Drew’s body. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to his chest, resting his chin atop her head and giving his half-brother a mocking smile. His insults only gave truth to his true feelings. It ate him up alive to know that he’d nearly had Arabella only for her to slip through his fingers despite his best efforts.
“Better his whore than your wife,” Arabella said. “Death is far too good for the likes of you. These men could do with you what they pleased, and I would sleep just fine tonight. Damn you, Will. Damn you to Hell.”
A deathly silence fell over the gathering, all eyes turning to Drew as the men awaited his direction. He clung to Arabella while sweeping his eyes over them, meeting the gazes of the men who’d been at his back come hell or high water. Some of them had been part of the mutiny aboard Hannibal, while others had joined the crew over the years, proving no less loyal than those who’d first tasted the pirate’s life with him. They would now have their say.
“You heard my lady. Her father lives, though will not go unpunished. This bilge-sucking gutter rat may go to the devil, though we’ll ensure he suffers before he does. What say you?”
Cries and suggestions were shouted out at once, Rory chiming in loudest of all. It took a quarter of an hour to calm the men enough to take note of the possibilities and vote accordingly. In the end, it was decided that the two of them were to be marooned—if they could survive until The Sea Lion reached the next uninhabited island. Archibald was to be thrown back into the bilge, where he would live on a diet of hardtack and water until the time came for him to be left in the hands of Fate. As for Will … he would suffer a lashing, after which he’d be strung up from the mainmast until morning. If he survived the night, he’d be tossed into the bilge with Archibald. If he did not succumb to infection from his wounds, he would be marooned as well and left to his fate.
While it was typically Big Jack’s job as bosun to deliver lashings, the large African had turned to Drew with a sober expression on his dark face, his mouth a grim line as he extended the nine-tailed whip to his captain.
“Your enemy, your right, Cap’n,” the man said as Drew released Arabella to take hold of the weapon.
Drew glanced down at the knotted tendrils of the whip, his hand tight around its handle. He had been content to stand back and watch as Will received his comeuppance, but as Bella and his men looked on, waiting for him to begin, Drew realized this was how things had to be. Big Jack was right; Will was his enemy as much as he was Drew’s brother. He would lash his back to ribbons with relish, and not just because of what Will had done to him. As he looked into the tear-filled eyes of Bella, he vowed to make this especially painful as retribution for what had been done to her. She claimed to not have suffered as much as he had, and while that might be true, Drew would rather she’d never have suffered at all. He could not change that, but he could make things right. He could make the man who had attempted to use and manipulate her pay for it.
With the whip hanging at his side, he reached out with his free hand to cup Bella’s cheek. “You should not witness this.”
Blinking back her tears, she squared her shoulders and met his gaze with determination. “Yes, I should. I will not turn away, Drew. Do not ask it of me.”
He wanted to press the issue, knowing she couldn’t possibly understand how brutal a lashing could be. The healed scars on his back were ugly, but not nearly as terrible to look at as the open wounds they’d once been. But, the look in her eye told him she would not be swayed. Deciding she had earned the right, he gave her a slight nod and then released her.
“Strip him.”
Three of the crew fell onto Will at the command, while Drew handed the whip off to Rory to prepare himself. While Will was unshackled and divested of his shirt and stock, Drew peeled off his own coat as well as his tricorne. He handed the items off to Arabella, who clung to them as he swiftly stripped off his shirt and gunbelt. She cradled it all in her arms as he turned to accept the whip, while Will’s wrists were bound with ropes. Two of his crew stood to either side of Will, pulling the ropes taut and spreading his arms out wide.
Drew circled his brother so he could look him in the eye, the heat of his previous rage freezing over into a solid, icy mass of contempt. Will made a pitiful sight, despite the effort he made to keep his chin raised. Fear was evident in his eyes, as the reality of what was happening seemed to finally settle over him.
“I loved you once,” Drew said, his voice low enough that only the two of them heard. “Then, for a long time, I hated you. I’ve hated you right up until this moment. As of right now, I no longer feel anything for you. You are less than nothing to me.”
And how liberating this realization was. His hatred had driven him for so long, but now he felt as if a ponderous weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He was now free to move forward with his life, with Arabella at his side.
Will seemed to have nothing left to say, his mouth tightly pinched as he stared at Drew with resignation in his eyes. There was nothing left to do but begin.
Drew circled him again, urging Arabella and his crew to give him a wide berth. Then, he raised his arm and took the first swing. The cat o’ nines landed squarely in the middle of Will’s back, the knots digging in and leaving angry red circles at the end of each crimson stripe. Will flinched, but re
mained silent, his arms shaking in the snare of the ropes. That stoicism would not last. Even the strongest of men could not endure a lashing without crying out in agony.
It took six strokes to produce the desired result, Will’s torturous screams ripping through the air like a sudden crack of thunder. The skin finally broke on the seventh lash, blood welling in the wounds and trickling down his back. The Sea Lion had gone eerily silent, only the sound of leather against flesh and Will’s screams breaking through the quiet. Drew worked with cold resignation, finding that even this did not stoke him to passionate anger. It was no longer something he did to make himself feel better—for Bella had already soothed the wounds of his past and given him what he needed to heal. This was something Drew did simply because it was what needed to be done.
He took his time with the task, the tails of the whip licking at every inch of exposed skin, wrapping around Will’s sides and ripping flesh from ribs. Will sobbed until his voice grew hoarse, violent tremors wracking him from head to toe. By the time Drew had finished with him, his back had been made a gory mess, and his blue silk breeches had been stained with crimson gore. Bits of flesh clung to the whip, pools of blood soaking the deck of the ship. Sweating and panting from his exertions, Drew finally allowed his weary arm to rest.
Turning to nod at Rory, he stepped back while his quartermaster accepted a bucket of seawater from Big Jack, which was promptly upended over Will. The man’s horrific screams had several of the crewmen wincing and swearing under their breaths, for they could hardly fathom the agony of the salty water seeping into those grievous wounds. The ropes were released, and Will collapsed in a dead faint, landing in the massive pool of his own blood soaking the deck.
“String him up to the mainmast and leave him,” Drew commanded, thrusting the whip back into Big Jack’s hands and turning toward Bella.
Her skin had gone ashen as she stared down at Will’s prone form. She looked as if she would be sick, but kept her composure as Drew accepted his articles of clothing back one by one and put them back on. His boots would need a good cleaning, as splattered as they were with Will’s blood. But he thought only of Arabella, who he took under his arm and guided back toward his cabin, putting the limp form of Will being raised up to the mainmast behind them.
Chapter 8
That evening, Drew hosted a dinner for the ship’s officers in his cabin, a celebration of sorts. He had told Arabella that since she was now to become a permanent part of his life, he wanted her to get to know his men. Most of them called Île Saint Marie their home, and she would be seeing a lot of them. While it seemed uncivilized to feast with Will hanging from the mainmast, his occasional sobs and cries of torment ringing out through the night, she couldn’t bring herself to feel sorry for it. Will had inflicted pain onto others, and had been repaid for it. With his fate decided, what else could she and Drew do but celebrate being reunited and on their way home?
Home. What an odd concept that was, for while Falmouth was the land of her birth and the only place she’d ever lived, she had never truly felt she belonged there. Standing between two worlds, she had despised her place in her father’s house while bemoaning the fate of the slaves who toiled to make the Abbott family wealthy. It was for that reason she’d begun to train herself to think of Île Saint Marie as home. Even without ever having laid eyes on it, she already loved the island for the beautiful picture Drew had painted for her.
She smiled as she sat at the end of the long dining table in his cabin, observing Drew sitting at its head. She still wore her green sari, enjoying the freedom and luxury of the sumptuous silk—though at Drew’s insistence she had added jewels to the ensemble for dinner. Her wrists and ankles were clasped with golden cuffs, and her ears and throat dripped emeralds that sparkled in the light of the tapers.
Drew had changed for the occasion, donning a pair of loose-fitting black trousers and a long, sleeveless robe of rich velvet trimmed with decadent gold thread. He wore nothing beneath it, the parted sides of the robe proudly flaunting his lion tattoo. He had tied his long hair back from his face, displaying the gleaming gold hoop he had affixed into his pierced ear. Flutters of desire spread through her belly as she watched him eat and drink and laugh with his men, the black ink on his fingers catching her eye every time he lifted his wine goblet to drink. She wanted those tattooed hands on her, stripping off her clothes and plundering her naked flesh. She wanted to be alone with him so they could take up where they’d left off this morning. Despite being exhausted from the events of the day and sore between her legs from several rolls in the sheets, she found herself as insatiable as he seemed to be. There was so much lost time to make up for.
Drew met her gaze from across the table as if he read her wandering thoughts. A slow smile spread across his face, and he played his fingertips over the rim of his wine goblet, fire in his eyes and a promise in the subtle movements of his fingers. Soon, his eyes seemed to say as they traveled from her face to her jeweled throat, down to the swell of her breasts against the sari.
Clearing her throat, she tore her gaze from his and attempted to engage their dinner guests. If they kept making eyes at one another, she wasn’t certain Drew would be able to keep from casting his men out and dragging her to the bed.
“How did you all come to be aboard The Sea Lion?” she asked with genuine interest, her gaze sweeping over the motley collection of officers.
Rory, who was seated at Drew’s right, set his fork beside his plate and grinned. “As ye may know by now, I was a Royal Navy man like the cap’n.”
She nodded between bites of a delicious roast pork—which she’d been surprised to learn had come from a pig slaughtered just this morning. Apparently, the cargo hold of the ship also included cattle and chickens for the production of fresh eggs and meat. Drew had warned her that the meals would become less grand as they got closer to home and their rations of supplies ran low, so she was determined to enjoy the sumptuous fare while she could.
“Yes, he told me about the Hannibal mutiny. Were the rest of you there as well?”
“Only I,” said a blond man seated near the middle of the table, half his face marred by scars left over from a nasty burn. His accent was that of England. “Half the crew were, too.”
“And you?” she prompted, glancing at Big Jack, who sat at her left side.
The bosun had a fearsome aspect, but had proven to be kinder and gentler than she’d have thought a pirate could be. The man had spoken of his son over dinner with pride and fondness in his voice, and was clearly a devoted papa.
“The cap’n rescued me, my wife, and my boy from The Enterprise … how long has it been now, Cap’n?”
“Three years now, Jack,” Drew supplied.
Jack nodded and smiled, turning back to Arabella. “The Enterprise was a slave ship. Your man overtook her after a fierce battle, findin’ her holds crammed to the brim with starvin’, sick, and miserable slaves on their way to Barbados.”
Arabella’s appetite suddenly fled, recollections of what she’d read about the conditions aboard slavers coming to mind. Many of her father’s slaves had come to Greenhill malnourished and barely recovered from their arduous journeys. She’d heard rumors of such ships losing half their slaves due to harsh conditions and disease, and other tales of people being thrown overboard to ward off the depletion of food and fresh water.
“My God,” she whispered. “How horrible that must have been for you.”
Big Jack nodded, his expression grim. “When the Cap’n found us, he put the officers to death and took the ship for himself. Most were already dyin’ from typhus or wasting disease—including my wife. But those what could be saved were saved, and the Cap’n gave us all a choice—be taken to Île Saint Marie where we could live free, or join the crew of his ships and make our fortune as pirates. With my boy to think of, there was only one choice for me.”
Arabella leaned toward him, brow furrowed as she reached out to place a hand atop his. “And your wife?”
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His dark eyes grew mournful as he shook his head. “Dead, ma’am. She never recovered from wasting disease.”
Her heart ached for the man, her fingers tightening around his. “I am so very sorry.”
Jack nodded in acceptance of her condolences, but then smiled. “The Cap’n gave us our freedom, so we gave him our loyalty.”
She turned her gaze to Drew, who merely sat in silence and observed the exchange. He seemed to conceal whatever he felt at being the object of such praise, merely bowing his head at the bosun.
“I didn’t give you freedom, as being free was your right at birth. I merely gave you a chance to expand your horizons. Any slaver who crosses my path will go to a watery grave.”
“And I’m grateful, Cap’n.”
“To the Cap’n!” Rory said, raising his goblet, his eyes now heavy-lidded from drink. “Down with the slavers!”
Cups were raised and shouts of ‘to the Cap’n!’ and ‘to hell with the slavers!’ rang out amongst them.
Dinner resumed, and Arabella learned the stories of the rest of the officers—all of whom had been liberated from terrible situations by Drew. Freed slaves and indentured servants, abused seamen, poor beggars, and even a disgraced priest. They would hardly seem to belong together in the eyes of those who didn’t know them, but being in their midst Arabella experienced the tight bonds of their brotherhood. The world would call them criminals, but they only stole from those who stole from others—those who traded in human cargo or exploited slave labor for riches. That they’d all become wealthy as a result, with Drew living in the manner of a grand lord on his private patch of the island, seemed just after all they’d endured.
Several toasts were made throughout the course of the meal—to Drew, to her, to the success of their mission in Falmouth and their impending return home. By the time the men excused themselves, Arabella was languid with contentment. Her belly was full, her mind and heart were at peace, and her head swam just a bit from the effects of drink. The Madeira and sherry had flowed like water, and she had allowed herself the indulgence of several goblets with no one here to remind her that good young ladies did not over-imbibe.
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