Splendor

by Catherine Hart

  “Raw radishes,” she answered, as Jane erupted into peals of merriment.

  “Radishes?” Devlin echoed stupidly. Then he sighed. He should have expected as much. “That, I suppose, is the reason for your weeping. Lord knows, the small bit I sampled from your lips was strong enough to put hair on your chest, let alone a tear in your eye.”

  Eden nodded, turning her swimming turquoise gaze to his. “They’re very hot,” she admitted, her voice still husky. “Mother cautioned me to eat them with buttered bread, but I was too eager for them to wait that long. Of a sudden, I simply had to have radishes, or die wanting them.”

  Devlin looked perplexed, and Jane took pity on him. “Cravings, Devlin,” she explained. “Most expectant mothers experience them at some time during their term. For myself, I’ve had the strongest yearning for calf’s liver, though I normally don’t care for it.”

  He shook his head, as if still not able to comprehend this strange female phenomenon. “Liver I can understand to a point, but radishes? Sweet heaven! ’Tis a blarsted wonder she hasn’t set her stomach aflame, and the babe with it! At the least, she’ll have a bad case of indigestion to accompany her stomach upsets.”

  “Nay, Devlin,” Eden informed him, “the nausea seems to have disappeared entirely and quite abruptly. Now ’tis only this curious longing for radishes that plagues me.”

  “Well, I can only hope this leaves as well. And soon. I don’t mean to offend you, pet, but you have the breath of a dratted dragon. I expect to see smoke and flames erupt from your mouth at any moment. Certainly, it does not promote intimacy.”

  While Eden glared at him, as if to say she would be enduring none of this if he hadn’t gotten her with child in the first place, Jane commented with a wise chuckle, “Fear not, young lovers. This, too, shall pass.”

  “Until it does, I strongly suspect neither of us will get much rest at night for Eden’s complaints of a burning stomach,” Devlin predicted. “Why is it no one thinks to advise fathers-to-be of all these problems before they occur?”

  “Most likely because ’tis so much fun surprising you with them,” Eden told him with a smirk. “And because, if we have to suffer, you might as well share some of it right along with us.”

  Just when it seemed that the seas had finally calmed enough to sail after Stede Bonnet, two new pirate ships appeared at the mouth of Charles Town harbor. Rumors flew that the brigands intended to sack the town. Some wondered if Stede Bonnet was among them, intent on regaining his own ship and a bit of revenge in the bargain.

  While the two pirate vessels sat patiently at anchor, as if daring the first foolish merchant ship to cross their path, the town fathers quickly put a plan of attack into action. Four ships, the Mirage included, were hurriedly outfitted for battle and disguised as common traders, their cannon hidden beneath loosely constructed packing crates. When all was ready, they sailed as a group toward the mouth of the harbor, Devlin once more covered with the black hood that was fast becoming his trademark.

  He wondered why he’d allowed Colonel Rhett to recruit him so effortlessly. Was it simply because he had so little opportunity now to play the rogue that he missed the excitement of battle on the seas? Or was it his love for Eden that sent him rushing out on this rescue mission, to save her precious town from sacking and make her proud? He rather suspected it was the latter, and that somewhere along the route Eden had not only stolen his heart, but gone a long way toward reforming him as well—despite himself.

  Their ruse of disguising the ships worked. Mistaking the vessels for unarmed merchantmen, the pirates opened fire ... and were immediately met with an answering barrage. One sloop was hit broadside beneath the waterline and instantly began to take on water. She was easily boarded, her crew subdued and arrested in short order.

  At this turn of events, the second pirate ship took flight, heading toward the open sea where the brigands hoped to outrun any pursuers. It was only then, through his viewing glass, that Devlin got a good look at the captain on the bridge of the fleeing sloop. It was none other than the nefarious Captain Swift!

  Devlin immediately issued orders to give chase. For three hours, the Mirage stalked the enemy ship, forcing its crew to alter their course numerous times, until finally the brigands turned to face the challenge being offered them. There was hardly time for a brief exchange of advance volleys, with little damage incurred to either ship, before they drew alongside each other. Even as the grappling hooks found their marks, Devlin took the conflict onto the decks of Swift’s sloop, Nate and several mates close behind him.

  Swift was awaiting him on the poop deck. No sooner had Devlin and his quartermaster landed before him than they were quickly surrounded by half a dozen of Swift’s men, all with weapons drawn and leveled at the two friends.

  “We meet again, Kane,” Swift said in greeting, a sneer twisting his lips. “As I told ye we would.”

  “What’s this, Swift?” Devlin replied, casting a curious glance about him. “Is your shoulder wound yet so bad that you cannot fight me yourself, but now need others to do the deed for you? I am flattered indeed, that you deem me so formidable that it would take so many men to accomplish the task.”

  Over the noise of the battle being waged around them, Swift gave a harsh, derisive bark of laughter. “Don’t exalt yer sword skills to such heights, my man.” His brow rose as he added, “Or should I say, my phantom? Which is why I am takin’ such drastic precautions now, though I’m not certain I truly believe such drivel as I’ve heard.”

  Momentarily taken aback, Devlin was still formulating the question in his mind when who should step into his view but Dudley Finster! “Ah, now the light begins to dawn,” Devlin drawled, eyeing the scrawny accountant with distaste.

  Evidently feeling safe with so many men guarding Devlin, Finster swaggered forward, the sun glinting off the lenses of his new spectacles. He stopped before Devlin and smirked up at him, his long pointed nose and protruding teeth giving him the look of the weasel he was. “Thought you’d seen the last of me, didn’t you?” he taunted. “’Twas my good fortune to encounter Captain Swift a few weeks back. The good man redeemed me from that lecherous old fart you sold me to.”

  “Of course, I would never have ransomed such a mewlin’ runt had he not possessed such interestin’ information about ye, Devlin,” Swift put in. “However, we acquired a pair of eyeglasses for the fellow, and he’s since been earnin’ his keep by tabulatin’ my treasure. So my coin was well spent”

  Devlin gave a contemptuous snort. “I’d take care letting the man so near my purse, were I you,” he warned. “He’s puny, but exceedingly greedy for his size.”

  Swift chuckled. “Aye, but he’ll soon have his sticky fingers out of my wealth. Once ye are properly dealt with, he intends to return to Charles Town and court yer lady, Devlin.”

  “My wife,” Devlin corrected, leveling a superior look at Finster. “Eden and I are wed, as are Nate and Jane. So you see, Finster, your schemes are all for naught”

  “Not so,” Dudley countered cunningly. “With both of you dead, your widows will once again need someone to look after them—and their business interests.”

  “Ye’ll not find ’em such an easy mark this time round,” Nate predicted.

  “Enough of this bickerin’,” Swift announced. Waving his sword in a broad arc, he indicated the ongoing fray between their crews. “Tell yer men to throw down their weapons and surrender, Kane.”

  “Nay,” Devlin replied. “I’ll not forfeit their lives with my own. They’ll fight or not, as they choose.”

  Again Swift gave a gruff laugh. “Still such an arrogant pup! And so absurdly noble! So be it, then. But before we send the two o’ ye to yer watery graves, let’s have a look beneath that black hood, shall we? I’ve yet to be convinced of Finster’s wild tales of specter pirates, but I do wonder what ye’re hidin’ behind that cloth. And while we’re about it, let’s see if ghosts can bleed like mortal men.”

  As his men stood read
y to strike Devlin and Nate down at their slightest move toward their own defense, Swift’s cutlass swung up toward Devlin’s face, the tip of his blade barely snagging the fabric.

  At the same time, the sky above them was suddenly rent with the hair-raising shriek of an enraged falcon. There came a mighty swoosh of displaced air as the bird swooped downward with a frantic flapping of huge wings and the savage rake of razor-sharp talons. All accompanied by the terrified screams of the big hawk’s victims as they raised their arms to fend off this invisible winged avenger.

  Taking full advantage of the unexpected aid, from such an unanticipated source, Nate and Devlin wasted no time in disabling a number of their guards. Nearly as surprising as Zeus’s attack, two of Swift’s cohorts now turned their weapons on their own mates, charging at their fellow brigands with astounding fervor, if little actual skill.

  As soon as Zeus ceased clawing at Swift’s head and flew off as mysteriously as he’d come, the enemy captain quickly recovered his wits. While Devlin was yet occupied in another clash of swords, Swift came at him, leveling a broad swipe at Devlin’s head. Had the weapon met its mark, it would have severed Devlin’s head from his shoulders. A fortuitous lunge to administer a final blow at his current opponent was all that saved Devlin’s neck.

  Instead, Swift’s cutlass slashed through Devlin’s plumed hat and continued its hissing arc to find another, less fortunate target—the stunned accountant who’d lost his eyeglasses during Zeus’s attack and had not yet managed to find his way clear of the fray. The fatal blow caught the little man across the forehead, and with nary a cry from his bloodless lips, Finster pitched forward, dead before he hit the planking.

  Free now to engage Swift, Devlin met his rival eagerly. For long minutes they battled, steel ringing loudly upon steel as their swords clashed again and again. From the start, Devlin assumed the offensive, steadily backing his adversary across the deck before his relentless advance. Finally came the moment when Swift’s spine met the rail edging the top deck. He had no more space to retreat.

  “’Tis your choice, Swift. Either surrender to me now, and I’ll return you to Charles Town for hanging, or you can die here, on the blade of my sword.”

  In a desperate effort to avoid either fate, Swift made a clever attempt to launch himself over the barrier behind him. With little room to maneuver, and needing sufficient leverage to clear the rail, he lunged hastily forward. It proved a mortal mistake, as he sorely misjudged his ability to deflect Devlin’s weapon at the crucial moment. The point of Devlin’s sword wavered, flexed back again and speared full into Swift’s chest. On a pained gasp, Swift leaned sharply away, and tumbled backward to the deck below.

  Devlin peered down at his archenemy. The man had landed heavily and now lay unmoving, his neck bent at an impossible angle. A small pool of blood darkened his chest, just over his lifeless heart.

  Though Swift’s death did not cheer Devlin nearly as much as he’d anticipated, relief flooded through him. With a final look at the sinister man who had brought him so much grief, and would torment him no longer, Devlin turned away. He had more important tasks to attend to. Men to command and a ship to secure—a life to live.

  Little else was left to be done save for deciphering the curious business of the two opposing corsairs who had rallied to the defense of the Mirage. Come to discover, the pair had been impressed into Swift’s service much in the same manner as Devlin himself. Neither had chosen piracy for his career, one being an able gunsmith and the other a competent tailor, and both were grateful to be rescued. They begged transport back to Charles Town, where they hoped to be allowed to ply their true trades.

  So it seemed that once again, Devlin had had a hand in rescuing innocent victims from a vile brigand’s clutches. To his mind, it was fast becoming an annoying practice. Blarst it, this time it had even cost him his favorite hat!

  Chapter 31

  As soon as their surviving prisoners were bound and thrown into the hold for safekeeping, Devlin put a portion of his crew in charge of sailing the captured ship back into port. Then Devlin and the Mirage's remaining forces set out in search of Bonnet—who, unless the situation had altered in the past few hours, was still eluding the law.

  Since their pursuit had taken them south of Charles Town, they cruised the coastline on their return route home, thoroughly investigating every likely area along the way. They had reached the mouth of Charles Town Harbor, and were about to enter it, when they chanced to spot Colonel Rhett’s vessel to the north of them, traversing the seaward shore of Sullivan’s Island. Suddenly Rhett’s ship changed course, heading toward the far end of the island.

  Curious as to what the colonel had spotted, Devlin headed the Mirage on the same tack. They pulled alongside the sloop just as Rhett and his men were clambering into their jolly boats. Cupping his hands about his mouth, Devlin called out loudly, “Ahoy, Colonel! What goes?”

  Rhett turned quickly, almost tumbling himself into the water in his excitement. He pointed toward the island, where a battered, abandoned skiff had been washed up on the rocks, and bellowed back one word. “Bonnet!”

  It was all that was necessary to rouse Devlin and Nate to action. Into their dinghy they flew, rowing to shore mere seconds behind Rhett and his band.

  The group split into sets of two and three men, and quickly spread out to search the small island. Devlin and Nate stayed together, heading into the dense, damp underbrush, employing their cutlasses as machetes to clear their path. They were making so much noise that there was no way Bonnet and his quartermaster could fail to hear them coming. Though they communicated by hand signals, the rattle and crackle of brush and branches announced their approach as loudly as a cannon report.

  They had passed a point perhaps a quarter of the way across the narrow isle when the back of Devlin’s neck began to tingle alarmingly. Without stopping to question his actions, he swiveled about, drawing his loaded pistol from his belt at the same time. From the corner of his eye, he caught a brief flash of movement in the nearby brush. He barely managed to shove the unsuspecting Nate aside in time to level his weapon and shoot. In that same instant, his enemy fired as well, and it was only thanks to poor marksmanship that Devlin did not receive a ball in his chest. Rather, the missile tore through the left sleeve of his shirt, leaving behind a thin, bloody groove the length of his forearm.

  His opponent was far less fortunate, for Devlin’s aim proved true. The man gave one hoarse shout of disbelief and pain, followed by the sounds of mad scurrying through the bushes. Weapons drawn, Devlin and Nate dashed forward, keeping carefully under cover now. Arriving at the place where Devlin had spotted the gunman, they found Herriot lying dead at the base of a tree, shot through the head.

  Leaving him there, the two friends took off after Bonnet, following the trail of broken branches and fresh footprints. It was a testimony to Bonnet’s desperation that they chased him for a full ten minutes before running him to ground.

  Immediately upon realizing that he’d been caught, Bonnet threw down his weapon and raised his hands above his head in surrender. Only then did he finally recognize his captors, and his flushed face turned hopeful. “Let me go,” he implored breathlessly. “For old times’ sake. I swear I’ll give up pirating. I’ll go back to my plantation, and my wife, if she’ll have me, and petition for special amnesty. I give you my pledge as a fellow Brethren.”

  “We’re no longer members of the same league,” Devlin reminded him callously. “Nor would I wish to align myself with the man you have become, Stede, a man who would hold an innocent woman against her will and ravage her repeatedly and without mercy. The old Devlin Kane might not have cared, but the new one does. Therefore, ’twill do you little good to plead for pity from me.”

  “Nor from me,” Nate concurred. “If ’twere left to me to decide, I would shoot you where you stand, and let the buzzards feast on your rotten innards. However, that’d be cheatin’ the good citizens of Charles Town out o’ yer hangin’, and they
’re lookin’ forward to the grand event. So, what say we get marchin’, and give them folks somethin’ to cheer about?”

  It was only after the two friends returned to the Mirage that Devlin became aware that he had lost his disguising hood somewhere amidst the dense tangle of underbrush on Sullivan’s Island. He’d gone to his cabin to examine the wound to his arm. As he stood at the washstand, he glanced upward—and caught his reflection in the wall-mounted mirror. For a moment, he thought nothing of this, as he had now become accustomed to being discernible for hours at a stretch. But then the truth dawned upon him. He had not been in contact with Eden since early morning. It was now sunset, and he was still visible!

  Though his hood was gone, probably lost hours before, Nate and Bonnet and Rhett’s men had seen him clearly. Devlin had no doubt he would have known immediately if any of them had viewed him as some freakish phantom! His breath caught in his throat, hope rising within his chest. Could this possibly mean what he desperately wished it did? Could he finally, at long last, be fully revived? Had Swift’s death somehow triggered his ultimate restoration? Or had something entirely different effected a cure?

  When Devlin reached home, cautiously elated, Eden was ecstatic. It was she who came up with the true test of the matter, and as much as it pained him, Devlin agreed. “In order to be certain, we must avoid touching each other for a few days,” she told him.

  “Drat it all, Eden, do you know what you’re asking of me? After all these months, ’tis second nature to me to be in almost constant contact with you. I don’t honestly know if I can stop myself from doing so.”

  “Well, you simply must, so we can know for sure whether or not you are really cured. Mayhap ’twould be best if you were to live on the ship, or move a cot into the warehouse office for a short time. That way, neither of us will accidentally ruin the experiment.”