The Bride of Blackbeard

by Brynn Chapman

  His hulking frame stood and he clapped his hands together like a schoolboy and, as if to second the notion, he pulled his pistol and rang off a shot into the air in a sort of odd celebration.

  Abernathy’s anxiety reached a new level. He was no longer on top of this situation and he knew it.

  ~ * ~

  “Faster, Pilot!”

  Constanza squeezed the horse's sides with her legs, urging the stallion on at breakneck speed. He was tired and she knew it, but cared little. His flanks sweated and he galloped slower. Her legs moved in time to his ragged breathing. She kicked him in the sides to pick up the pace. Winding the horse in and out of the stone paths, higher and higher, she drove him on until she reached the summit—where StoneWater was visible in all its glory.

  She glared down at the estate as if viewing an amputated limb. Hatred filled her soul, and she spit on the ground—the familiar dead, stony feeling encased her heart. It had tricked her, and nothing had ever tricked her before.

  That is what you get for letting your guard down, you stupid woman. He never really loved you. For all you know, he has women like that in every port he does business in.

  Full of despair, she wrenched the reins around and drove the horse on again, weaving through dangerously tight paths. Tree limbs smacked her in the face, but she didn’t even flinch.

  A fallen trunk lay across the path and she urged the mount to vault it. A momentary feeling of weightlessness engulfed her before horse and rider thudded heavily on the other side. The sound of rushing water ahead didn’t give her pause or make her halt Pilot. She charged the horse through the stream, feeling the water soak her up to her thighs. On the other side of the bank, the horse slipped and faltered, sliding backward down the slope. His hooves made a sucking sound as he struggled to extract them from the thick mud. She kicked him again, refusing defeat.

  “Come on, Pilot!” The horse stutter-stepped and continued his backward descent.

  Panicking, the horse’s ears laid flat to his head and he reared. Her body catapulted and rolled down the slope, her leg striking a rock. Wet, hot blood poured out as it ripped open a gash. She lay still—afraid to move—afraid to assess the damage. Sitting up, she saw a circle of blood spreading out on her stockings.

  Shaking her head, she fought the tears, but they came anyway. She wrapped her arms around her legs and rocked slowly back and forth.

  “Oh, Lucian...how could you?”

  Somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice whispered...he couldn’t and you know it.

  She dried her tears and sat up straight.

  For an irrational moment, fear gripped her, like when she’d been a child in the woods at home. Her mother was full of tales of sprites and goblins, and the woods in which she now sat with her bottom in the mud would be a perfect residence for one of them. Somewhere in the distance a branch cracked, and she thought of her most feared childhood creature, a Spriggan. They mislead weary travelers until they become lost in the woods and then lead them to fall into hidden wells—where they stayed forever.

  “All right, enough self-pity.”

  Whether Lucian did or did not, she had others to care for. At least three children depended on her—she couldn’t be taking risks such as riding at breakneck speeds. It was selfish and irresponsible.

  “And goodness knows I can’t be selfish even for a minute!” she snarled.

  Somewhat painfully, she stood, brushed herself off and went in search of Pilot, who had already crossed the stream, snorting his disgust at her behavior.

  ~ * ~

  “Nags Head. My favorite town on the Banks,” the man at the bar slurred, to no one in particular.

  Abe watched as the man squinted, evidently trying to focus his vision, the look on his face like one trying to decipher a curious puzzle. The young man attempted merrymaking, but with every guffaw of raucous laughter or bout of singing he seemed to withdraw further into himself. He cradled his mug in his hands tenderly.

  Abe blew his whistle in his pint. “Oi! Down ere!”

  A young girl tripped past his bar stool, and proceeded down the bar to stumble closer to the young man. Her fingertips traced across his wide shoulder blades as she passed behind him.

  “Ooowee, ain’t you a strappin’ one? Wat’s your name love?”

  “Lucian.” He bestowed a most beguiling smile on the drunken barmaid. He then continued, “Please have mercy, I cannot take another.”

  Her smile vanished. “No more females?”

  Tonight, Abe was heartily enjoying his people watching. Teache was back at Hammock House entertaining, so he had given himself a night off.

  The lad down the bar was drunk to be sure, but he’d been watching him and was exceedingly amused with his wry sayings.

  The more the dark-haired man poured into his mouth, the more hilarious the words that leaked out of it. His expression clearly showed he suffered something...so misery loves company.

  Abe pulled up a seat at the bar next to him. “Jim, one for me and my new friend here!”

  The young man regarded Abe with a critical eye or presumably as close as he could muster in his current condition.

  Apparently considering him no threat, he responded blearily. “All right, I’ll be your friend if you like. Jus’ keep ‘em comin’!”

  They both burst out laughing.

  “Lucian Blackwell.” He extended his hand to Abe in greeting.

  And throwing caution to the wind, he gave the man next to him his real name for the first time in more than a year. “Abernathy Hornigold. Abe for short.”

  “All right, Abe. What brings you to Nags Head?”

  “Umm...I am on an assignment.”

  “I see.” The young man stared him in the eye, momentarily becoming serious. “Is it a secret?”

  “Why, yes, it is.”

  Lucian’s mouth twitched. “Mine, too. But I will tell ye, ya seem like a nice enough sort. I am here to forget my troubles, and to complete the mission—become as drunk as humanly possible.”

  “So I observed! What seems to be the problem?”

  And so began a tale which Abe took as uncharacteristic flippancy for the young man sitting at his side—a sordid story beginning with Lucian’s hands reaching into the surf to retrieve a young woman, to slamming the door and leaving her, and now ending up in this bar.

  The bartender made his last call as Lucian finished his story, and as Hornigold had stopped drinking at about the third mention of Teache's name, he was beginning to feel quite sober.

  “Well, Lucian, you seem like an upstanding fellow, but putting it plainly, you have made a very serious enemy in Edward Teache. If he has set his sights on your wife, and he is a man not accustomed to being turned down no matter the situation, I am afraid her safety may still be in question.”

  Lucian blinked and shook his head fiercely. “Even though we are married, you think he is still going to pursue her?”

  “Oh, that means nothing to Teache. Any woman or object is game to him, regardless of their station in life. Well, let us reason this out. If what you say is true, and you are innocent of an infidelity, where do you think that woman came from?”

  A look of amazement dawned on Lucian’s drunken face. “No! If he did that, he will stop at nothing to get...and I left her and the children alone! I am so stupid!” he said, smacking his head to second the notion.

  He’d stumbled off his stool and reached for his overcoat when Abernathy reached for his arm. “Whoa, there, young fella! You are in no condition to head anywhere tonight. Where are your lodgings?”

  Lucian gestured a finger to the ceiling.

  “Then let’s get you to your room upstairs and I promise at first light, I will wake you and follow you to StoneWater. I want to ask your wife some questions, if it is all right with you.”

  “You were not jesting about your station, were you?” Lucian said darkly.

  Abernathy didn’t reply. He remained silent the whole way up the stairs to the sleeping rooms.
>
  “I am across the hall, in case of any disturbances. Just give a holler.”

  Sometime later, Abernathy was just entering a dream—a wonderful dream about his home when he heard shuffling and a commotion outside his door.

  Opening it a crack, Abe peered out into the hallway. A lady of the evening appeared to be attempting entry into Lucian’s room.

  Lucian was closing the door as gently as possible, saying, “Please, ma’am, there is some misunderstanding, I made no inquiry as to a visitor to my room.”

  As soon as Abernathy sensed the danger, it was too late. A pistol flashed out from under the woman's shift and she pointed it at Lucian's chest. Abe sprang across the hall, but Lucian managed to redirect the shot from his heart to his arm. Lucian was shirtless and Abernathy watched in horror as blood spurted from the gunshot wound.

  Abernathy restrained the woman. “Help! Someone call a doctor!”

  ~ * ~

  Lucian had been gone only a few days, but it seemed like an eternity to Stanzy. It was amazing how she hadn’t realized the extent to which he had colored her life. A note lay open on the cottage table. She’d just returned from checking on another of the ill slaves, when she sat to read it.

  It was in Sarah Hopkins’ hand:

  “Constanza.

  “Your presence is formally requested tonight at the Manor to dine at five in the evening. We are expecting guests and Ian insists that you attend. Wear your best.

  “Mrs. Hopkins”

  The absolute last thing I wish to do is feign politeness and sit in a room with a bunch of tittering women who wouldn’t know substance if it introduced itself to them.

  Knowing that refusal was useless, she relented to the task of making herself presentable.

  As she walked slowly toward the main house, she felt like she was being led to slaughter instead of a party. On approaching the porch, she noticed one of the men arch an eyebrow when he saw her. Looking down at her dress, she flattened it self-consciously. Did men actually find her attractive?

  Maybe I will wave to him with my left hand, and watch his expression change.

  The party consisted of three women and three men, all of whom were equally vapid. Their names escaped her, though they had been introduced only moments before. Her brain was fixated on Lucian.

  All sat to dine, and her face flushed so violently she thought she might faint when none other than Edward Teache slid into the empty chair next to her. Everyone in the room greeted him as if he were a long, lost brother. Her stomach churned to see every female eyelash in the room bat at him.

  He, however, didn’t take his eyes from her. “Allo, Constanza! How are you? I bring greetings from Bath.”

  After his hand accidentally brushed hers for the fifth time, it became apparent he was trying to touch her in any way possible, and it made her skin crawl. It became increasingly difficult with each passing second not to scream and run from the table. She quit speaking after about five minutes, not trusting what might burst forth from her mouth.

  After dinner the men retired to the drawing room for brandy, and the ladies for tea in the sitting room.

  Stanzy excused herself. In the hallway she leaned against the wall, willing it to hold her up. She cracked open the front door and deeply breathed in fresh air.

  “I think the salt air would be preferable to the smell of manure,” said a deep voice from down the hall.

  The shadows hid his face, but she knew it was him. It was glaringly obvious he’d been waiting for her to leave the company of the women to confront her.

  He ambled up beside her, cockily propping his arm against the wall and peering down into her face. “I have something for you.”

  For one wild moment, when he reached into his coat pocket, she was certain it would be a pistol. But no—he extracted a tiny silver box and opened it for her to see what was inside.

  Stanzy had never seen a piece so beautiful. The ring was encrusted with every jewel she’d ever seen and some she hadn’t. Plucking it from the box, he held it up to the light, the flickering candlelight making colored prisms dance around the entryway.

  “I wanted to be sure that you had not changed your mind, and wanted to ask you to reconsider being my bride.”

  What a clod! She wanted to scream at him and pummel that bloody barrel chest with her fists—but he was huge and could snap her like a hollow reed, if so inclined.

  “I thought your heart belonged to my sister, Katrina? She has told me that you have asked for her hand.”

  He looked straight in her eyes. “She is just a substitute for you, Constanza. But you know that already, don’t you? Never met a woman as shrewd as you before.”

  She dropped her eyes, her brain frantically weighing all of her options. “You know I am already married.” She held up her ring for him to see, its tiny stone glimmered faintly.

  “To a man who would so easily cast you aside for another woman? Like a common whore?”

  “How dare you! You do not fool me. You may fool my sister, because she is young and was born foolish, but I see you for what you really are. And even if my husband did lay with another woman, he is still a greater man than you could ever hope to be!”

  Half expecting to feel a lead ball in her back, she turned and, head held high, strode straight out the front door. When it didn’t come she bolted full force toward her cottage.

  ~ * ~

  Stanzy sat at the hearth in the cottage by the fire. Unable to sleep, she held the musket on her lap.

  Ben and Will were in bed, sound asleep. After she was sure all of the guests had departed from the manor, she’d checked on Megan. Satisfied she was all right, she’d returned to the cottage. Megan hadn’t protested being taken to the manor instead of the cottage—probably anywhere was better than the asylum.

  Comforted everyone was in bed safe, yet tonight it felt tainted, like the taste of cider in your mouth right before it turns rancid. She shot up and paced back and forth. At this rate she would wear a hole in the floor by year’s end. She felt if she had to stay in the house tonight she would go mad. Hastily, she scribbled a note so, if the boys awoke, they would know where she’d gone. She propped it against the bowl sitting in the middle of the table.

  Angry at herself was an understatement. Never had she permitted someone to see inside her mind, making her thoughts vulnerable, even admitting she could be vulnerable.

  Pilot protested at being taken out in the dark, but she saddled him anyway. She rode him through the fields, where Lucian toiled every day with the slaves he considered and treated as brothers.

  She rode past the manor to the stone wall surrounding all the acres, and began to trace her way along it. She had to sort out her feelings.

  Do I still love him?

  Unfortunately, yes.

  She thought of Aunt Rose, and the way she spoke of him. A forthright woman, very much like herself. Reflectively, she considered what she would say to a woman if Stanzy knew Will were being unfaithful. No question in her mind, without hesitation she would tell the woman and give Will a what for. Stanzy would let him know in no uncertain terms she’d raised him better than that.

  For the better part of an hour she rode, coming to the conclusion that Rose most likely would have done the same for her. Now she’d misjudged him, possibly undermining their relationship in her lack of ability to trust him.

  When she saw the sun rising in the east, she knew her responsibilities would not wait. Self-indulgently permitting herself a dream, Stanzy wondered what it would be like to refuse to take the correct and proper course, and just return home and stay in bed all day.

  As she came up the lane to home, the mail rider approached. One letter was addressed to her. She ripped open the envelope so quickly, she tore part of the letter off in her haste.

  “Dear Mrs. Blackwell,

  “I am writing on behalf of your husband, Lucian, whom I have had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of in Nags Head. There has been an accident and your presence i
s requested...”

  ~ * ~

  Stanzy couldn’t believe it. She checked out the covered coach window again, trying to assess how much farther it was to Nags Head. Her stomach reeled with anxiety and on several occasions, she had to talk herself through not forcibly removing one of the team horses and riding it bareback to speed up the trip.

  During the night she’d obsessed over the whole situation—cried, gotten angry, cried again. Now, she was just plain anxious. How could she have thought Lucian would do such a thing? He was the most openly honest man she’d ever encountered. The more she thought of it, Lucian would have admitted committing adultery before trying to deceive her.

  The coach pulled up at the SeaWard Inn, and she practically bolted from the carriage, not waiting for the driver to help her out.

  Why start being conventional now?

  “Just leave my bags in the lobby!” she yelled over her shoulder to him. She could barely breathe as she bounded to the top of the stairs. A gentleman she guessed to be in his late forties stood waiting for her.

  “Constanza Smythe?”

  “Blackwell, sir.”

  “Well, it is a good sign you are still acknowledging you've taken my last name…” issued a voice from behind a partially closed door.

  “Lucian?” She tore into the room and flung herself about his neck, where he lay supine on a cot.

  “Are you all right?” Immediately she started to unwind the bandages covering his gunshot wound.

  “They just dressed it!” He grabbed her face with his hand and kissed her hard.

  She broke his hold to regard him, her eyes glistening, and she realized his were too. Each acted as stubborn as the other and refused to speak first.

  She capitulated, her voice barely a whisper. “It wasn’t yours, was it?”

  He met her eyes and shook his head.

  “I think I always knew that.”

  ~ Chapter Thirteen ~

  The sun was just a sliver in the east as Stanzy made her way across the plantation. She pulled her wrap tighter, the weather having turned colder by the day. Oh, it would be wonderful to experience a few days of peace, but she was sure that wouldn’t happen anytime soon. It seemed she was only permitted precious few weeks out of the year where she could be happy. Since Lucian’s near death experience with the whore, she awoke each morning with unbidden anxiety.