Every muscle in his body tensed and his mouth opened. He wanted to tell her to run, to hide, and would have but Entwhistle’s long, bony finger stabbed him in the back.
Porkchop glanced at the captain behind him and flinched. In the shifting beams of moonlight, the smile on his face appeared more demented and crazed than ever before. All he needed were horns growing from each temple, and the portrait of the devil would be complete.
The captain gave a slight nod of his head but said nothing. He didn’t need to; his meaning clear without words. They were to capture the women and the boy.
Despite his misgivings, despite his own sense of honor, Porkchop obeyed Entwhistle’s silent order and rushed from the shelter of the ferns, Toothless and Petey right beside him, Sanchez coming up behind him. He grabbed Caralyn around the waist, one hand covering her mouth to stifle any scream she would have uttered, the other digging into her tender flesh. She dropped the lantern in her hand. It bounced on the sand and rolled, casting a strange yellow glow on the pristine white. Toothless grabbed the other woman. Petey and Sanchez tried catching the boy, but missed. Agile and nimble, Jemmy darted through the trees, completing his escape. With a rough curse, the seamen took after the lad.
With surprise on his side, Porkchop didn’t expect the petite, filthy woman in his arms to fight as hard as she did. She bit his hand covering her mouth and kicked his shins. An elbow connected with his stomach as she wriggled and writhed to get out of his grip. “Settle yerself, Miss. I mean ye no harm.” He tightened his hold on her until she calmed.
“Who are you? What do you want?” Her body trembled with terror as she turned her head. The fear in her eyes struck his heart and he loosened his grip a little. Perhaps too much. Caralyn slid from his grasp onto the sand and tried to crawl away, back into the trees.
A black-booted foot appeared in front of her and pressed against her shoulder, stopping her progress, forcing her to sit back on her haunches with a sharp cry of pain.
Porkchop flinched.
Her eyes were wide with horror as Entwhistle roughly grabbed her by the arms and hoisted her to her feet. Her mouth opened and her chest expanded as if she prepared to scream, but not a sound issued from her throat. Porkchop cringed, seeing how hard the captain’s fingers dug into her flesh.
He glanced behind him and saw Toothless struggling with the other woman. A quick fist to the woman’s chin and she slumped in his arms. Petey and Sanchez had not returned with the boy, but he could hear the sounds of their pursuit through the lushness of the forest floor, hear the muttered curses of his crewmates.
“Who are you?” Caralyn asked, her voice low and shaking as she wrestled her arms free of his grip.
Entwhistle smiled, though it wasn’t pleasant. Indeed, Porkchop shuddered, having been on the receiving end of such a smile. He wanted to warn her, caution her against rousing the man’s ire in any way. “Winton Entwhistle, captain of the Explorer.”
The woman closed her eyes and drew in her breath. In an effort to stay calm? He didn’t know, but admiration for Caralyn McCreigh grew in Porkchop’s heart as she squared her shoulders. For one so petite, she had gumption. Courage. Nerve. But very little common sense.
“What do you want?”
“Why, Izzy’s Fortune, of course.”
“There is no treasure.” Though she said the words without a hint of guile, Porkchop knew she lied. Entwhistle knew she lied as well, judging by the glower on his face and the stiffness of his body.
She shouldn’t be talkin’ to him that way. The thought crossed his mind. One never knew what the captain would do, although most assuredly, whatever the consequences, they’d be sure to include pain and degradation. He prayed the captain would let her indiscretion pass but couldn’t help his involuntary jump or his shout of alarm as the scoundrel smacked Caralyn across the face, knocking her to the sand with the force of his action.
“Stop!” Porkchop shouted the word, unable to tolerate the captain’s cruelty one more moment. It was one thing to terrorize the crew of the Explorer, but another matter entirely to abuse a defenseless woman, a woman who’d found a place in his heart.
Entwhistle glared at him, surprise registering on his angry, ugly face. His eyes squinted, the gleam in them promising retribution and punishment for this outburst.
Porkchop didn’t care what penalty would come. He’d been whipped before and had the scars to prove it. He’d been deprived of food and sleep and companionship, held prisoner in the dark hole in the bow of the ship the crew called hell. And he had survived. But this, this was different. For once in his life, he wasn’t going to be browbeaten, demoralized. If it took every ounce of fortitude in his heart, Porkchop was going to protect someone other than himself, no matter the consequences.
He ran toward Caralyn and helped her to her feet. His back stiffened and his hands balled into fists as he pushed her behind him and faced Entwhistle. “Ye’ll not be hurtin’ her,” he said, although his voice shook with fear. “I’ll not let ye.”
Entwhistle laughed, a cruel, demonic cackle that frightened him deep down in his soul. “Have a soft spot for the girl, do you?” he asked, his eyes blazing with rage and insanity before he released the cat o’ nine tails with a flick of his wrist. The thin leather straps, nine in all, each with a metal ball attached to the end, snapped in the air, cutting his ear and laying open the flesh of his neck.
Porkchop screamed, as did Caralyn. They both fell to the soft sand. Warm liquid seeped through the fingers he held to his neck. Blood. He glanced at her and saw the whip had caught her as well. Bloody gashes stained the sleeve of her shirt. Tears of pain filled her eyes and rolled down her cheek to drop onto the sand beneath her face and yet, she uttered not a word. Rage against the captain flared in Porkchop’s heart. He trembled with the force of it, and promised, at least to himself, Entwhistle’s cruelty would not be forgotten.
“Defy me again, either of you, and you’ll wish you’d never been born.”
• • •
Tristan and Stitch followed the path they’d trod so often in the past few days, one of the long trunks between them. The rest of his crew were far behind them as his quick pace and long-legged stride outdistanced them. He couldn’t seem to lose the smile pasted to his face. After years of searching, Izzy’s Fortune was his, and it was more than he ever dared dream. Caralyn would be his as well, damn the promises his father had made.
His Cara mia.
Without her, none of this would have been possible. His grin widened. He couldn’t wait to get back to the ship and show her, in so many ways, how much he loved her.
The decision to send her, Temperance, and Jemmy ahead to the Adventurer had been hard to make but had been the right one, if for no other reason than their utter and complete exhaustion. Indeed, the lad had been falling asleep on his feet. Caralyn, despite her excitement, couldn’t stop yawning, and Temperance, well, one look at her face and the grim set of her mouth expressed more than words ever could.
Tristan stepped out of the trees first, Stitch pulling up the rear, and stopped short, the long trunk bouncing against the back of his knees. The tableau on the beach took his breath away, made his heart thump in his chest. Every muscle, tendon, and sinew in his body tensed. Caralyn was in Entwhistle’s clutches, helpless against the man’s strength. Tears rolled down her pale face, reflecting the moonlight falling upon her. Blood stained her shirt, and pain radiated from her features.
Temperance lay on the sand a few feet away, a man’s foot on her chest, holding her still. She didn’t move, didn’t make a sound.
Another man lay on the ground, moaning and crying, blood staining the sand beneath him.
And Jemmy?
Nowhere to be seen.
“Temperance,” Stitch yelled, his voice sharp with fear, and dropped his end of the trunk. He sprinted across the sand, his breath coming in short gasps. With one smooth motion, he punched the man in the throat, pushing him away from his wife. The pirate dropped to his knees, cla
wing at his throat, coughing and gasping for air. Stitch glanced at the man, his hands still fisted, the threat clear before he bent over his wife and gently slapped at her cheeks. “Wake up, Lovey.”
“I see you have my treasure, Trey.” Entwhistle seemed to pay little attention and cared even less for his crewman. He stared at Tristan and squeezed Caralyn’s arm, his fingers digging painfully into her soft skin. Caralyn gasped. The tortured sound went directly to Tristan’s soul. “And I have yours.”
“You bastard! Let her go!” he managed to grind out between gritted teeth, and yet he didn’t move, couldn’t move. He knew Entwhistle, knew his capacity for cruelty, for brutality and malice. One false move on his part could see Caralyn suffering more pain, perhaps even death.
Entwhistle shook his head, his shaggy hair flying out in all directions, reflecting the moonlight, creating a strange kind of halo around his head. All he needed were some cannon fuses, lit and tied in his unkempt beard, to resemble Blackbeard. “Not until you give me what I want.” He tilted his head and grinned. “You see, I know you, Trey. You have honor, integrity, and veracity. I have none of those things, and yet I still don’t trust you.”
He squeezed tighter on Caralyn’s arms. She gave another gasp of pain and her knees gave out. She sagged against him, his bony fingers digging into her soft flesh, the only thing stopping her from falling at his feet.
What that sight did to Tristan! Rage made him see through a red haze. His fists as well as his stomach clenched. Bile rose to the back of his throat. Muscles, already taut and rigid with the need to move, to end this stalemate, tensed even more. And yet he hesitated. It wasn’t cowardice or lack of courage that stopped him from rushing to her rescue. It was concern for her, fear of what Entwhistle might do.
The crackling of dead leaves behind him drew his attention. He didn’t turn, didn’t make a move, but his pulse raced. Had the crew caught up? Did they wait in the darkness beneath the heavy canopy of trees for his signal? He listened harder and heard Socrates’s unmistakable voice lowered to a gruff whisper.
“We’re here, Cap’n. Jemmy’s with us. And we got Entwhistle’s men.”
Those words made all the difference for Tristan. Assured his son was all right, he knew what he could do. He glanced at Stitch, Temperance in his arms, and gave a slight nod. The man quirked an eyebrow, making it clear he understood. His gaze scanned the beach, marking the position of each one of Entwhistle’s men. One lay on the ground, crying, blood staining the ground beneath him. The other also lay on the ground, clutching at his throat, still coughing and gasping. Neither of them had pistols, although the knives shoved into sashes or sticking out of their boots gleamed in the moonlight. He didn’t think either one was a threat now. Entwhistle, though he had no pistol or knife, had a cat o’ nine tails and Tristan knew of his skill with the whip. At last, his eyes fixed on Caralyn. He stared at her . . . and winked. Her eyes widened.
Tristan drew breath into his lungs. “Here! You want it? You can have it!” With every ounce of strength in his possession, he tossed the long trunk in the opposite direction. The chest exploded upon impact with the ground, raining precious and semi-precious gems all over the sand. Entwhistle screamed a curse, one of the most foul words ever uttered, and did exactly what Tristan hoped he would do. He released Caralyn from his iron grip and ran toward the treasure, dropping to his knees as he scooped up emeralds and rubies from the sand while Tristan’s crew burst through the trees.
Tristan ran toward the Explorer’s captain; rage made his heart thunder in his chest, his hands ball into fists. His foot connected with the man’s side, the sound of a rib cracking and the scream that erupted from Entwhistle’s lips filling him with satisfaction. The man did not get up, did not even try to defend himself as Tristan punched him in the mouth. Blood spurted from his split lip.
“Tristan! Watch out!” Caralyn screamed.
Tristan stopped and peered toward his left. Surprised and amazed, he saw the man who had been moaning and crying on the sand leap to his feet and run toward him, a huge rock in his hand. Aware that Entwhistle could attack him from behind, Tristan took a few steps away from the captain. Muscles tense, fists positioned to throw the first blow, he prepared to fight this newcomer, but the sailor wanted nothing to do with him. He ran past Tristan, growled once, and brought the rock down on the Entwhistle’s head.
Entwhistle didn’t utter a sound as he tried to crawl away, but the sailor couldn’t seem to stop himself. Again and again, he smashed the rock against the Entwhistle’s skull until the captain stopped moving completely. The crewman took a step back, gasping for breath, and kicked the man twice for good measure. Tristan doubted Entwhistle would ever move again as the sailor dropped to his knees, seemingly drained of energy and the taste for revenge.
Tristan tore his gaze away from the bloody mess that had once been a man and ran toward Caralyn. “My God, Cara! Are you all right?” He breathed, the rush of air filling his lungs, hoping the simple action would calm his shattered nerves. He drew her into his arms and held her tight, his chin resting on the top of her head. She trembled within his embrace and burst into tears.
Seeing her in Entwhistle’s clutches, knowing the man was capable of anything, had stopped his heart from beating. And now, though his heart pounded in his chest, he still couldn’t shake the devastating emotions coursing through him. Relief that she was safely in his arms coursed through him, making him tremble as much as she. “If anything had happened to you, I don’t . . .” He couldn’t finish the thought. “I love you, Cara mia.”
She held him tighter, her body shuddering. Wetness seeped through his shirt, and he knew it was from her tears, but her voice was strong as she whispered, “I love you, too.” Those words filled his heart, made his blood sing through his veins. He pulled away and gazed into her eyes. “No one will ever hurt you again. I give you my word.”
“Papa! Papa!” Jemmy raced out of the forest, his feet flying over the sand. Tristan turned just in time as the boy launched himself into his father’s arms. Tristan’s heart swelled even more. “I did good! I didn’t let him catch me, an’ I found Socrates!”
Tristan laughed with pride and relief as he hugged his son. “Yes, my boy, you did good.”
“Well done, lad!” Stitch said to Jemmy as he and Temperance joined them. The woman had a colorful bruise forming along her jawline but otherwise seemed fine as she embraced Caralyn and held her tight. Tristan saw the tears shining in her eyes behind the lenses of her glasses.
“I have never been so afraid in all my life,” she said, her voice shaking. “When can we leave this godforsaken island? I long for civilization.”
“Let me look at that arm.” Stitch took Caralyn’s hand in his. With a well-practiced move, he ripped the sleeve of her shirt, tearing it along the seams until it came off in his hands. He inspected the raw gashes in her flesh, tsked a few times, and then walked toward the shoreline and dipped the torn sleeve into the water. He came back, wringing the piece of cloth between his hands then snapping it open. “Now, this is going to sting a bit.”
Caralyn yelped as the salt water did more than just sting as he started cleaning the bloody stripes. She gasped and kept her gaze on Tristan while Stitch tore her other sleeve and used it as bandage. “That should hold until we get back to the Adventurer.”
“Beggin’ your pardon, Cap’n, this man would like a word with you.” Mad Dog, his face a mask of anger, a cut over one eye still trickling blood, held one of Entwhistle’s men by the arm.
Tristan glanced at the man Mad Dog held in his grip, the same one who’d repeatedly slammed the rock against Entwhistle’s head until he was dead. His eyes widened as recognition became clear. He knew this man. Or at least he’d seen him before. At Finnegan’s. And at the Salty Dog so long ago. Entwhistle’s henchman. Now he knew how Entwhistle had found them.
The man lowered his gaze and shuffled his feet. “I’m sorry, Miss,” he whispered, his words slurring from the fat lip he’d re
ceived from one of Tristan’s crew. “I never meant ter hurt ye.” He raised his head. Tears shimmered in his eyes as he addressed Caralyn directly.
“It were me who stole yer book, but I were followin’ orders, Miss, from the captain over there.” He glanced behind him toward the dead man on the beach and shuddered. “He ain’t never gonna come after ye again, ain’t never gonna hurt anyone again.” The man sighed. “I be humbly beggin’ yer forgiveness.”
Tristan glared at the man and scowled. He felt no pity, no remorse or mercy for the sailor, even though he had killed Entwhistle. Death would be a blessing to him.
Caralyn lightly touched his arm. Tristan said nothing as he gazed into her eyes, but knew in his heart, she had more compassion and sympathy in her than he ever would.
“He did try to help me,” she said, her voice soft and full of understanding.
She turned toward the sailor and smiled. Tristan groaned, his hands balling into fists, his muscles tensing once more as he moved closer to her. Stitch and Mad Dog flanked her as well, offering protection. “What is your name?” she asked.
“Thaddeus Bing, Miss.” He returned her smile with a shy one of his own. “But they call me Porkchop.”
She nodded once then reached out to touch his round face with the tips of her fingers. “I forgive you, Thaddeus, but you must promise me you’ll be a good man, a kind man, from now on.”
“Thank you, Miss.” Fresh tears filled Porkchop’s eyes as he gazed at her with adoration. “I knew ye were an angel the firs’ time I saw ye.”
“Cara,” Tristan started, but she held up her hand and stopped him.
“It’s all right, Tristan. He won’t hurt me or come after us, will you, Porkchop?”
A Treasure Worth Keeping Page 24