The governor’s hearty laugh frightened her. This couldn’t be. Bran didn’t mean it. Surely this was a diversion for another plan.
“A martyr,” Governor Flynn said. “How noble. You can’t even die without being gallant.”
“I knew you’d never give me a pardon, Flynn. Your hate for me is thick in your blood. And you’d deny the Sanctum purely out of spite.”
“Capt’n?” Kipp’s eyebrows gathered, grappling to understand. “You planned this?”
Bran cut his eyes to his first mate. “’Twas the only way to give you and the boys a chance at a reprieve. The ransom for Mrs. Montgomery was merely false colors to guarantee my real design.” He looked down to Elyssa. “That’s why when you landed in my lap, I saw an opportunity I couldn’t overlook.”
She couldn’t blame him. He was protecting not himself, but his entire crew. With many lives at stake, she’d be selfish to hold a grudge against Bran. Staring into his sincere eyes was more than she could handle. But Bran caught her chin with his fingertips and tilted her head up.
“You will never know, little one, how very difficult it was to see this through. I never meant to hurt you. You must believe that.”
She didn’t think it was possible, yet she was more heartbroken than before.
He squared his shoulders, raising to full height, and faced the governor again. “Do we have an accord, Flynn?”
“Oh yes, Blackthorn. To be free of you? We have an accord. You will hang by sunset.”
“Understood.”
“No!” She latched onto Bran. Her lungs constricted. She couldn’t swallow enough air—’twas thick with hysterics and closing in. Her mind clouded in a fog of turmoil. Bran would willingly hang? ’Twas insane. Insane! She couldn’t lose him now.
Commodore Christensen took Bran by the other arm.
“No. You can’t take him!”
“Elyssa.”
“No, Bran! No placating me.”
“Elyssa, my sweet. I meant every word I said to you up on the hilltop last night. You are a burning star in my dark night. You are worth more to me than all the treasure in the Spanish Main. Please, little one. Take comfort in knowing that I have given you my heart.” He swiped at the tears streaming down her face with the pad of his thumb. And leaning a little too much on her, kissed the crown of her head.
Bran righted himself. “Mister Kipp,” he said. “’Tis been a pleasure commanding the Sanctum with you. A word of advice, my friend. Stay away from those fluttering, squawking Frenchwomen, lest you swallow an anchor and get married.”
Kipp chuckled, staring at the ground.
“I have one last order for you.” Bran clapped Kipp’s shoulder.
“Anything, mate.”
“Take Elyssa away. Do what you have to, but take her away.”
“No. I won’t leave you.”
Bran peeled her off, winching from the pain in his effort. Fresh blood seeped from his wound. The pain he suffered was the only reason she allowed Kipp to drag her back. She crumpled into his chest, digging her fingers in tight fists on his vest. Her sobs echoed in the hollowed chambers of her soul. Elyssa was losing Bran. She was losing the man she loved. No! I won’t let him hang. She had to pull herself together, to stop crying. She had to do something. Oh God, give me strength!
“Shut that girl up, labberneck.” Flynn could have swallowed a fly by the looks of his disgusted frown. He rolled his eyes and mumbled. “If I wanted all this mawkish yammering, I’d go have tea with my wife.”
Bran nodded he was ready to Christensen. He took two steps and stumbled. Christensen caught him before his knees hit the sand. A lump lodged in Elyssa’s throat. She reached for him, but Kipp held her fast.
Flynn cursed. “You!” he pointed to Mac. “Fetch ahead for your ship’s surgeon. Bring him to the courthouse. I don’t want Blackthorn to die before I can kill him.”
“I like your thinking, lass.” Kipp retrieved another bottle of rum from a trunk in the corner of Bran’s quarters and sat down across from her.
The cabin smelled of the captain, a titillating scent of brine and musk. She had grown to adore his spice while nuzzling into his neck as he made her scream—right where Kipp sat. Heat flushed her cheeks. Thankfully, Kipp didn’t notice.
“Blackthorn would be proud of ya. But we’ve little time to gather the brethren for a rebellion.”
Kipp was right. Even if they could round up enough men, they didn’t have a plan well executed. Execute. A tremor of despair shook through her.
The metal tankard cooled Elyssa’s palms. She stared at what was left of the amber liquor. ’Twas her second cup. She swallowed the rest in one quick gulp.
“B’sides, an uprising would revoke any pardon given, Mrs. Montgomery. His sacrifice would be for naught.”
Mac knocked and stuck his head through the door. “May I enter?”
“Yes, of course,” Kipp said. “Tell what’s chanced the captain. What does our man Stumps have to say?” He retrieved an extra cup, filled it, and handed it to Mac.
“Stumps said the capt’n lost some blood. He’s just needin’ ta rest and he’ll live. At least till his neck snaps.”
Elyssa winced.
“’Pologies, Miss Elysen.” Mac sheepishly looked to the floorboards and drank his rum. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he frowned. “The commodore said somethin’ strange to me ’fore sending me on my way. Said tarried responses yields enemy gains. What do you suppose he meant by that?”
Kipp shook his head. “Don’t know, mate.”
“I’m guessin’ he means we’re runnin’ out of time,” Mac said.
“Maybe.” Kipp scratched his blonde whiskered chin. “Might mean Commodore Christensen meant he’d give us time. Aw blast it, I don’t know if I trust ’im.” He groaned. “Blackthorn does. But I ain’t convinced. He’s a pirate’s enemy.”
To Elyssa, it sounded as if they were giving up. “Are you men going to just let him die?” Didn’t pirates have a code against letting their captain hang?
“Blazes, no.” The corner of Kipp’s lip coiled up. “We gotta try to do this right.”
Mister Kipp was a cunning man, not given to rash judgments. Elyssa saw why he was Bran’s second-in-command. She would take his lead and find another way to free Bran. Maybe with some careful planning…
“I could talk with Lord Montgomery’s officer. Surely he could help.”
“But would he?” Kipp retorted. “Can’t imagine he’d want to want to cast his lot with a horde of pirates.”
“He might feel threatened,” Mac added.
An idea niggled in the back of her mind. She wasn’t sure what it was or even if it was possible. Giddy excitement bubbled forth.
She glanced up at Kipp. “What if you and I use a little persuasion?” she said.
A glint sparked in his eyes. He was on to something, too. “Lass, you are as sly as any pirate worth his salt.” He leaned forward in his chair, his gaze sliding between them. “You go on and talk to this officer. Leave the rest to us. We’ll get the capt’n his freedom. With a few grenades and fire-balls, we’ll get his freedom.”
“Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Sterling.” Elyssa took the seat the elderly man proffered. The office was modest in size but not in the material of the furnishings. Dark wood bookcases as tall as the ceiling lined the walls. Scroll work and pineapples were carved into the arms of cushioned chairs. A gilded frame of Lord Samuel Montgomery hung from the wall along with other pictures of important-looking men.
“Yes, well, I certainly have a few questions for you, young lady.” He sat behind his massive desk. “Tell me your name again?”
“Elyssa Calhoun Montgomery.”
He puckered his wrinkled mouth, nodded, and turned his attention to signing documents on his desk. “As Lord Montgomery’s trusted agent of the Bahamas, it is not uncommon for whores and beggars to come knocking at my door claiming lineage or some other ridiculous lie.”
He looked down his aquiline nose over
the rim of his glasses to scrutinize. The pendulum of a tall eight-day clock clicked, ticking off her courage with each swing. She squirmed under his inspection. This man would be hard to convince the building was on fire, even as the flames licked up his chair.
“A terrible nuisance, I’m sure. But I speak the truth, Mr. Sterling. I am the widow of the late Samuel Dobbin Montgomery, daughter-in-law to Lord Samuel Montgomery.” She fished out the enamel portrait miniature of Dobie from the pocket of her skirt and slid it across the desk. “I’m not asking for money and you may thoroughly question my authenticity. You may have me jailed if you suspect I’m a fraud. But my relationship with Lord Montgomery is not why I’m here.”
“Ah, yes, this emergency.” Mr. Sterling studied the round portrait, focusing in, back, and in again over his glasses. “Governor Flynn and his hanging of a pirate.”
“Not just any pirate. Captain Blackthorn was once an esteemed officer of the Royal Navy.”
Bushy gray eyebrows rose, smoothing out the crow’s feet of aged years. “Captain Blackthorn, you say.”
“So you’ve heard of him. Then you know he is admired by men on both sides of the law. You must understand, sir. If Captain Blackthorn is hung, peace and trade for New Providence will be compromised. Pirates will swarm the island.”
“’Tis not my affair.” He tucked Dobie’s portrait into his vest pocket.
“Forgive me, sir, but it will be your affair when Lord Montgomery feels the decline in Nassau’s profits and colonists leave for America or Cuba.”
The chair creaked under Mr. Sterling’s weight as he leaned back, his elbows on the arms and his interlaced fingers resting on his portly stomach. Elyssa hadn’t convinced him yet. She mustn’t become too desperate. She mustn’t panic.
“Please, Mr. Sterling. Captain Blackthorn is to hang in less than an hour.” She willed herself not to look at the clock, mocking her with incessant clicks and whirs.
An explosion rocked the office. Pictures rattled against the wall. Vibrations reverberated across her nerves. Elyssa followed Mr. Sterling to the stoop. In the harbor, a blaze engulfed a boat, wooden planks and bits of fire rained to the water.
“Pirates are amassing now,” she said. “They seek justice.”
More smaller explosions clapped. Swirling gray smoke drifted to the sky in pockets around town. Mr. Sterling was visibly shaken now. His jowls flopped as he swallowed, smacked, and frowned. If she were to admit it, Elyssa felt the rush of fear, too. ’Twas good she was on the pirates’ side. She hoped any she met in the building melee knew it.
“Perhaps you could persuade Governor Flynn to halt the execution and avert a catastrophe. At the very least, insist Captain Blackthorn receives a fair trial.”
“What is your involvement in this?” He pinned her with suspicion. “If you are not after money, why do you care what happens to this captain or to this port?”
Startled, Elyssa hadn’t prepared herself for such a question. Suddenly it seemed everything hinged on her answer. The fate of the world, her world, was on her shoulders. Mister Kipp and Mac depended on her. She couldn’t fail. What could she do but tell the truth?
“He’s a good man, Mr. Sterling. He hangs so that other good men are pardoned.”
Criminy. The longer he studied her, the smaller she felt.
“Very well, Miss Calhoun.” Mr. Sterling reached for his hat and cane. “Let us go to the square and see Governor Flynn.”
Another percussion boomed in the distance.
“Rot me. That better be a raid,” Blackthorn muttered aloud. He hoped Kipp was not behind the commotion. Yet, he knew well enough his friend was.
Shouts carried in from outside. A faint but distinctive odor of spent black powder and burning wood wafted in through the crevices of the mud brick stones. Christ. Blackthorn pounded his fist on the wall of his courthouse cell. The boys would never get that pardon.
“I admire you.”
Blackthorn turned to his visitor. Christensen shoved a key in the lock and opened his door. Two soldiers kept their respectable distance behind Christensen.
“Admire a man who’s about to hang by gallows and gibbet?” He patted Christensen’s shoulder. “You gone and hit your head, did you?”
“Not many would willingly sacrifice themselves to save another.”
“Ah, but you did, when you slipped me the key to escape my last liaison with death.”
“No, there was no sacrifice, only risk. And I did so with none the wiser. You…you are intrepid, unselfish, and honorable. Damn it, Bran. What were you thinking? You know some of those men pardoned will go back to the fighting man way.”
“’Tis true. I won’t deny that. But it is the opportunity I give them to start afresh that matters. Many of them found their way into the pirate trade due to circumstance. Not all are scoundrels.” He paused. “They’re not much different from you, with wives and children. I won’t let them die because of Flynn’s hate for me. ’Tis my burden and I alone will suffer the umbrage.”
Blackthorn held out his wrists to be shackled. Christensen groused and clamped on the iron cuffs. They weighed heavily. Much like the realization he would soon be dead.
“That is where you are wrong,” Christensen said. “You are not alone.”
“The men will be fine. And as flattering as you are,” he chuckled, “you’ve got Annabelle.”
“I speak of the girl.” Christensen leveled his stare. “I saw the fear in your eyes when your man told you she’d been abducted. You’ve never been afraid of anything, Bran. I saw love and pain, too, when you sent her away.”
Elyssa’s kicking and screaming as Kipp carted her away skewered him through and through. Her tears had seared gaping holes into his core. He hated himself for the pain he had caused her. Hated that he tainted the angel with his designs.
“She’ll find peace and happiness. You’ll see to that, won’t you, my friend?”
Christensen nodded, offering him a sad smile. “I’ll make sure Flynn stands by his decree.”
Gunfire popped nearby. The soldiers tensed, readying for action should Blackthorn attack. They needn’t worry. Blackthorn had no intention of thwarting the gallows. Not with so many lives at stake.
“Let’s get this execution under way,” he said. “Before more necks are fitted for the noose.”
Warm westerly winds feathered across Blackthorn’s face as he exited the courthouse, winds which rushed in under the dying afternoon. The sky, though still bright, had bronzed with the sun’s trek to the distant horizon. He scanned the square. Soldiers had strengthened both in the plaza and at various points leading down to the docks. Beyond, in the harbor, several ships had dropped anchor, well within cannon shot. He hoped Elyssa was in a safe place. Trouble was sure to break loose.
Flynn joined them on the porch. “Damnation! Where’s that gunfire coming from?”
“Men are fanning out, Governor,” Christensen answered. “We’re isolating the incidents.”
“Well, string him up,” he waved a dismissive finger at Blackthorn, “and get this port under control, Commodore.”
Blackthorn’s one great regret in his miserable life—not beating the shit out of Flynn. Better yet, not killing him. Nay. That wasn’t entirely true. He had another great regret, hurting Elyssa.
He marched ahead of the two soldiers, their bayonets at his back, to the gallows. The gibbet’s skeletal arm reached out, dangling a hempen rope, beckoning with its hand of death for Blackthorn to come closer. A few onlookers braved the pockets of ensuing chaos of the port attacks and gathered around the platform. They wore curious expressions and none in the faceless crowd hurled the angry curses usually reserved for his ilk. One filthy lad, perhaps a dockworker, stopped Blackthorn. A tense moment passed. Christensen poised to strike down the man, but the fellow stared directly at Blackthorn and handed him a tarnished flask. Grateful for the offering, Blackthorn accepted the bottle. The shackles biting his wrists clanked as he took a swig. The liquor burned a trail to h
is gut. ’Twas nothing sweeter than to meet his maker with the taste of rum on his breath. He thanked the fellow and continued on to the gibbet where the executioner and priest waited. A priest…how absurdly redundant.
The executioner slipped the rope over his neck and tightened the noose. His skin prickled under the scratchy rope.
“I understand why you did this, Bran,” Christensen said. “But I fear Annabelle will never forgive you.”
“You take care of that sweet woman, Robert. Tell her I will be at peace.” In hell.
Christensen smiled that pitiful smile again and stepped aside for the priest. Blackthorn tuned out the man reciting worthless prayers and mercy. He stared across the square at Flynn. The bastard’s grin was much too large for his mug. Blackthorn returned a smirk of his own. Flynn’s smile faltered. Even in his final moments, Blackthorn rankled his half-brother.
Closing his eyes, he conjured up images of a chestnut-haired beauty with radiant tawny eyes. An angel on his mind was a good way to die.
CHAPTER 10
“Stop!”
Fuck! What is she doing here? Blackthorn craned his neck in his uncomfortable collar. Elyssa parted the crowd, making her way to Flynn. Where was Kipp? By thunder, one order, one goddamned order, and Kipp bungled it.
A dapper, hoary fellow managed to keep up with Elyssa. “Governor Flynn,” he said, mounting the steps. “I must speak to you regarding this execution.”
“Ah, Mr. Sterling, worry none. Pirate Captain Blackthorn will be justly hung in moments. Nassau will be rid of this scourge that for years has vexed our trade.”
“There is no justice hanging a man simply because he is what you are not. Magnanimous,” Elyssa said.
“What in the name of George is she doing?” Blackthorn said to Christensen. “And who is that old fellow she’s with?”
“Lord Samuel Montgomery’s officer.” Christensen shook his head. “I thought your boys were going to keep her clear from here.” He pointed to a group of soldiers, and motioned them to the government house.
Romancing the Pirate 01.5 - Beneath The Water's Edge Page 11