The wench was in Jonathan’s lap again, laughing at something Max had said. Rina gritted her teeth, eyes narrowing consideringly when she spotted a shadowed alcove near the open front door serving as a storage area for a few stacked crates.
If she was there, she could still keep watch and see and hear what was going on inside the tavern. It seemed a logical choice, much better than standing outside near a tree where she’d be of little use should something happen.
The wench wrapped a long strand of Jonathan’s hair around her finger. He winked. Sarina fumed.
Yes. It would be a much better position. Logistically speaking.
With a quick glance over her shoulder, she made her way to the alcove, slipping easily behind the boxes. From her position, no one could see her unless they were looking, but she could easily see the street, as well as Jonathan’s table inside the tavern. She could hear the laughter, the teasing comments, and for a moment she felt sick to her stomach when she thought about what had happened the night before.
What was she thinking? Obviously, their encounter meant little to the pirate. Things like that probably happened to him all the time—women throwing themselves at him, debasing themselves for him. She’d been ridiculous to think it could be of any importance to such a man.
She watched him sprawled in the chair, the blonde wench comfortably seated in his lap, and felt like such a fool.
A movement near the street caught Rina’s attention, and she stiffened at the sight of a group of men walking toward the tavern. The leader wore a red coat with brass buttons, a sword buckled about his hips and—of all things—a parrot sitting on his shoulder. He turned to one of his companions, and Rina caught the word Tremayne, eliciting a flash of panic in her chest. She ducked further into the shadows, wondering what to do.
“Are ye certain he’s inside?” the leader asked, the parrot echoing “inside” with a loud squawk.
“Aye, sir.”
The leader grinned. “Excellent. The reward on his head will be well worth my trouble. Is he alone?”
“Dunno. Jest heard the Arrow made port and Tremayne came straight here.”
“No matter. We’ll slip inside and see what’s what, yes?” The parrot squawked “Yes!” and the men went into the tavern.
Rina came out from her hiding place, quickly scanning the area in search of James. She could go find him, but by then, who knew what the man with the parrot could do? She fisted her sword, wishing she could signal Jonathan, but he had yet to spot her. Instead, she hurried around the side of the tavern, exhaling with relief when she spotted another entrance. She slipped quietly into the main room and took a seat in a quiet corner. She watched the man with the parrot circle the room, his men moving in the opposite direction. After scanning the faces, he nodded at his men and bellowed, “I’m looking for One-Eyed Jack!”
The room fell silent, the parrot’s echo of “One-Eyed Jack! One-Eyed Jack!” resounding in the quiet. She saw Jonathan’s fist tighten around his tankard as the wench quickly got up from his lap and hurried up the stairs. He exchanged a look with Max, and the parrot man smirked, approaching Jonathan from the front while his companions circled around behind, casually leaning against the wall. The man stood, legs splayed with his back to Rina, and her eyes darted about, coming to rest on the jug of rum on a shelf beside her. Quietly, she seized the half-empty jug, bringing it to rest on the table before her.
“You One-Eyed Jack?” the man demanded.
“I’d watch yerself, man,” Max warned.
He laughed. “Watch myself? I’d say yer captain here ought to watch himself. There’s quite a bounty on ‘is ‘ead, you know? And I, fer one, aim to claim it.”
A flurry of things happened all at once.
The parrot squawked.
The man in the red coat reached for his sword.
Jonathan reached for his.
And Rina emerged from the shadows, swinging the rum jug at the man’s head with all of her strength. He fell to a knee, the parrot alighting on a nearby table. The blow didn’t incapacitate him, however. Instead, he turned angry eyes on Sarina, rising up to his full height and raising his sword with a furious growl.
“Bloody hell,” she murmured, reaching for her own sword.
“Bloody hell!” the parrot squawked.
The man’s sword flashed toward her, and for a moment she thought it was all over. But with a mighty yell, Jonathan barreled toward them, boots clunking on the wooden tables until he flew toward the man, knocking him aside at the last moment. They landed on the floor in a tangle of limbs before Jonathan deftly leapt to his feet. He glanced at Sarina.
“I thought you were waiting outside.”
She swallowed nervously, the near-blow making her more than a little dizzy. “I thought you might need my help.”
The parrot man surged to his feet, swinging his sword at Jonathan, who deflected it easily. “Well, I appreciate the gesture, Smith. But next time, use a pistol.”
Sarina heard a shout, and the man’s companions came toward them, one intercepted by Max, the other dodging around them, lunging toward Jonathan. Sarina drew her sword.
“Behind you!” she shouted, swinging at the man and slicing his upper arm. Surprised, he turned on her with a bellow.
And that was when all hell broke loose.
Jonathan whirled about just in time to see Sarina strike the man on his flank across the upper arm. Blood oozed from the wound, and he turned on Sarina with an angry shout.
“Damn it,” Jonathan muttered, shoving his attacker back with a well-placed kick to the stomach. The man stumbled over a chair and fell to the floor, and Jonathan whirled about to help Sarina.
She clutched her sword with both hands, brow creased in concentration as she tried to remember what he’d taught her. She moved quickly, dodging and deflecting the man’s quick blows. Fortunately, he was no expert swordsman, and Jonathan felt a surge of pride that she was holding her own. Sarina spun around and slashed at the man’s leg, and he howled in pain when she hit home.
The tavern had erupted in chaos, fists flying and swords flashing in the light from the windows. Sarina clambered up onto a table, gripping the beam above her head with one hand as she kicked at her opponent’s face with all her might. With a mighty crack, the man’s head jerked back, blood spurting from his surely-broken nose. He clutched at it with his free hand, advancing on her with his sword held high. Jonathan stepped in and, with a few precise thrusts, disarmed the man and knocked him out with an elbow to his broken nose.
“I had him,” Sarina said, lifting her sword to deflect the blow from another drunken fighter.
“You’re welcome,” Jonathan replied with a cocky grin, lifting Sarina down from the table. Parrot man had regained his footing and came toward them with a determined expression. Around them, the fight had no rhyme or reason—aside from Max fighting off one of the parrot man’s accomplices, everyone was drunk and punching whoever came into range.
This was not what Jonathan had planned when he’d entered the Red Pearl. Pearl had told him a man named Hayward would bring the box to the tavern, but she had no idea when, exactly, he might show up. She’d shrugged apologetically and offered the comforts of her establishment while they waited.
Including Flora, of course. The wench wasn’t picky about her company, but she always preferred Jonathan when he was in town. He’d flirted with her out of habit, more than anything, and an attempt to remain inconspicuous. Inconspicuous, however, now seemed a bit out of reach.
“If anyone gets blood on my new coat, I will not be happy,” Sarina muttered, picking up her discarded jug of rum to smash it into a man’s face.
“Seawater’s good for blood stains,” Jonathan replied, his sword clanging mightily. Sarina handed him the jug—it still hadn’t broken, and she would later wonder at the sturdy nature of rum jugs—and he swung it at the man with the broken nose, who was crawling to his feet. He crumpled to the floor once again.
An ear-shattering c
rack filled the air and everybody froze, turning as one toward the stairway at the back of the room. Pearl stood on the landing in all her glory, fiery hair flowing wild about her head and a lace dressing gown hugging her every curve as she lowered a smoking flintlock, a second held in her other hand.
“That will be quite enough!” she shouted. Hutchins stood behind her, his shirt untucked and rumpled. Jonathan knew he was aching to join the fight, but Pearl would have none of it. Abruptly, she raised the gun, and Jonathan followed its aim to see the man with the red coat and his companions inching their way toward the door. Pearl cocked the gun and they froze at the sound.
“I take it you’re the ones responsible for this nonsense?” she asked.
When they didn’t respond, one of the drunken fighters spat on the floor. “He’s after the bounty on One-Eyed—“ At Jonathan’s glare, he corrected, “Err . . . on Captain Tremayne.”
The parrot fluttered his wings and squawked, “One-Eyed Jack! One-Eyed Jack!”
“Indeed?” Pearl hissed, eyes narrowing on the backs of the men by the door. “Turn around and face me,” she ordered.
The men did as instructed, hands held high.
“My place is a safe haven to all,” she said, flintlock never wavering. “But it no longer is for you. Come around here again, and I’ll fill you full of shot, is that clear?”
The men nodded, the one in the red coat mumbling, “Yes’m.”
“I’ll be speaking to my friends, as well. Others with business concerns on the island,” she warned. “And they won’t take kindly to greedy bastards such as yourselves bringing trouble to Tortuga. I suggest you set sail and don’t return to the island for a good, long time.”
She paused, then rolled her eyes in irritation. “Go on now!” she shouted. “Be gone!”
The men scrambled out the door, their colleague with the broken nose staggering out after them.
“You!” Pearl shouted, pointing at a couple of large men by the door. “Clean this mess up, and be quick about it.” She descended the rest of the stairs, making her way to Jonathan.
“You all right?” she asked, taking Sam’s hand and wrapping it around her waist as he moved next to her.
“Fine,” Jonathan replied, sheathing his sword. “Sorry for bringing you this trouble.”
Pearl waved a hand in dismissal. “All in a day’s work.” She turned penetrating green eyes on Sarina. “And who might this be?”
“Pearl McKinnon, Sarina Talbot. She’s a guest on board for a while.”
“A guest?” Pearl lifted a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware the Arrow was a passenger vessel.”
“I’m not a passenger,” Sarina replied, sliding her sword back into its sheath, and wiping her hands on her breeches. “Not really, anyway.”
“Sarina’s part of the crew,” Max interjected, smiling when Sarina shot him a surprised look.
“Really?” Pearl’s appraising gaze raked over Sarina, taking in her masculine clothes. Sarina shifted uncomfortably but raised her chin, looking the woman directly in the eyes.
“That’s right,” she said, squaring her shoulders in challenge.
Pearl studied her for a moment, then a slow, wide smile split her face. “Well, you certainly know how to use a sword,” she said admiringly. “Do you think you could teach me that?”
Sarina let out a breath, smiling back. “You seem to do all right with a pair of flintlocks.”
Pearl laughed. “All part of the job,” she said, reaching out to tuck her arm through Sarina’s elbow. “Come on, now. Let’s sit down and you can tell me all about life on a pirate ship.”
“Pearl,” Sam whined, glancing longingly toward the stairs.
“Oh, drat.” She glanced at Sam, then shrugged apologetically at Sarina. “Duty calls.”
“Hey!” he shouted, reaching out when she darted out of his reach.
“I’ll be back, Sarina, and we’ll have a good, long chat,” Pearl called as she raced up the stairs, Sam hot on her heels. “Until then, a round of ale on the house!”
Cheers rang out at the announcement, and Jonathan turned to Sarina with a questioning grin.
“You were right,” Sarina said, smiling back. “I like her.”
“No surprise,” Jonathan retorted. “You’re both stubborn wenches.”
Sarina took a deep breath, eyes scanning the disorder in the room and coming to rest on a puddle of blood on the floor. She blinked, her face growing pale—a little green, actually—and she swayed slightly on her feet.
“Smith? You all right?”
Sarina looked up at Jonathan, blinking quickly. “I’ve never . . . I just . . . the blood . . .” She began to gasp for air.
“Smith?” He reached for her as she lifted her hand, staring at the splatter of red across the palm.
“I think I’m going to—“
If Sarina had remained conscious, she might have been impressed by Jonathan’s rather colorful curses as he hurried to catch her before she hit the floor.
I live in constant fear that what I have claimed will be taken from me. And now I have learned that it is not only my fortune that is at risk, but that of my unborn child.
My dear Mary says he will come with the spring. His future is of the utmost import. For my heir, I must find a way to protect the treasure.
- The Journal of Simon Alistair Mellick, 2 October, 1665
Rina sipped her ale, more embarrassed than dizzy once she’d recovered from her swoon, and Jonathan finally left off teasing her to relay what Pearl had told them.
“This man bringing the box—Hayward. Can he be trusted?” she asked.
“Pearl said she paid him well. For enough coin, anyone is trustworthy.”
“I don’t know about that,” Rina said doubtfully. “This whole thing makes me nervous.”
“Me, too,” Max muttered.
“Well, we don’t have much choice at this point.” Jonathan sat back, swirling the ale in his tankard before taking a long drink. “Hayward says he has the box, so all we can do is wait.” He studied his mug for a moment, then turned to Rina. “Where is Ceron, anyway? How did you get in here without dragging him with you?”
She flushed, embarrassed that she’d completely forgotten about James in the melee. “He thought he saw someone suspicious down the road. He went to check it out, but he should have been back by now.”
Jonathan stiffened, and Max stood immediately and hurried out the front door. He returned a few minutes later, looking much relieved.
“He’s out front,” he said. “Everything is fine.”
“Oh, good,” Rina said with a heavy exhale. “I can’t believe I forgot—“
At that moment, the blonde serving wench propped her hip on the table, leaning forward on her arm as her breasts all but fell out of her gown. “You boys need another round?” she asked with a suggestive wink. “Or maybe a bit o’ entertainment upstairs?”
Rina ground her teeth in irritation. “No, thank you,” she muttered.
The girl turned to Sarina, eyes widening in surprise. “You’re no boy.”
“Brilliant one, aren’t you?”
Jonathan raised a brow, but Rina reddened and looked away.
“Thank ye, Flora, but no more ale at the moment,” he said to the girl, pouring on the accent. “We’ve business t’discuss and need t’keep our wits about us.”
Flora pouted, toying with Jonathan’s hair again. “Oh, that’s no fun, Jack. You used to be much more fun.”
Rina fought the urge to gouge her eyes out.
Jonathan, however, was much more diplomatic. He nodded toward a man watching the exchange from across the room. “There,” he said. “That lad looks more than willing to sample yer charms.”
Flora followed his gaze, then patted her hair, shooting the man a smile. “Aye,” she murmured. “And he looks like he has a bit o’ coin as well.” Without another word, she stood up from the table and sauntered over to the man, slipping into his lap with a laugh.
“Rather fickle, don’t you think?” Rina muttered.
Jonathan laughed. “Flora’s all right,” he said. “The girl has to make a living.” He leaned across the table, running a finger along Rina’s flushed cheek. “Why, Smith, I do believe you’re jealous.”
“I am not!” She took a gulp of ale and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. When Jonathan fixed her with a smug stare, she added, “I simply think you should keep your mind on business, that’s all. There’s no time for dalliances.”
Jonathan raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t seem to mind last night.”
Rina gasped in outrage, and Max stood up abruptly, his chair scraping across the floor.
“Right then,” he said, not looking directly at either of them. “I’ll just . . .” He waved a hand toward the back of the room. “Outhouse,” he muttered, turning on his heel.
“How dare you!” Sarina hissed. “Perhaps for you that was a mere dalliance, but for me—“ She blinked, embarrassed at what she’d almost revealed. The last thing she needed was for Jonathan to realize how much it had meant to her.
Jonathan took a deep breath, his gaze softening.
Too late.
“I apologize,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to belittle—“
“It’s nothing.”
“It wasn’t . . .” Jonathan fixed her with an intent look. “Nothing.”
“Jonathan—“
“Smith!” Jonathan shook his head, as if trying to find the right words. “Sarina,” he corrected. “I owe you an apology for last night. I never should have taken advantage—“
“You can’t be serious,” she snapped. “You’re going to take the blame for last night? Like I am some weak-minded female who couldn’t help herself?”
“I’m trying to be chivalrous!” Jonathan replied, affronted.
Rina snorted. “You’re being ridiculous!” When Jonathan stared at her, stunned, she added, “I knew what I was doing last night, Jonathan. For you to try and take the blame . . . Well, it’s insulting, that’s what it is.”
Cutlass Page 28