Tristan had been through so much already because of me. Mark, too. Hadn’t I done enough? Why hadn’t I realized this was an option when I’d snuck on board?
It was because such a punishment never would have happened on a pirate ship, I realized, at least not the ones like Tristan and I had been on before. The crew would revolt and vote to remove the captain from office if any of them were physically harmed by his order. This wasn’t a pirate ship, though; it was a privateer vessel, which put it on par with the navy and their rules. The navy regularly punished their crewmates in this manner, if I remembered correctly. It was one of the reasons so many men turned from the military to piracy—they weren’t treated the way they thought they should be.
“You couldn’t have known, Samantha. I know they will not hold it against you. They both love you with all their hearts. Neither of them would have let you take those lashes, even if the captain had agreed to let you do so.”
Surprised by the sadness in her voice, I glanced back, watching as she wiped her face.
“I should have offered to take them.” Frowning, she peered over at me, lip trembling. “I couldn’t find my voice when I needed it—when you and Tristan and Mark needed it. All I could do was cry and be scared.”
Wanting to offer some comfort, I went to her side, sitting on the floor. “It’s okay to be afraid,” I reminded her. “It happens to everyone. I felt that way, just now.”
“But you said something,” she insisted, wiping her face angrily this time. “I said nothing! My own father almost succeeded in cutting my own hand off and I was too afraid to face the cad. My friends needed me and I wasn’t there—again.”
Wrapping my arm around her shoulder, I sighed, leaning my head against hers. “Tristan and Mark wouldn’t have let you take the punishment either. We were outvoted this time.”
Silence stretched between us then, Abella still sniffling as my mind swirled around a few key thoughts. How injured had the two guys ended up? Were they in a lot of pain? If not, why hadn’t either of them come here yet—or anyone, for that matter—to let us know the outcome? Was this part of MacDonald’s punishment, too, keeping us in the dark when it came to the wellbeing of the men we loved?
Glancing at Abella, I considered revising the last thought. It was fairly easy to watch her and know she cared for Mark, but did she love him? The few times I’d seen them together, I’d thought he was partial to her as well, which made me oddly jealous at times. I’d never returned his affections or encouraged him, but it still felt like I was losing him to her, somehow. Perhaps it was because we were such close friends, or the fact that we were from the same time. There would never be anything romantic toward him inside me, but I wanted him to be a part of my life still. Watching the way he smiled when she entered the room had made me uncomfortable for some reason.
I didn’t think he even noticed he did things like that around her.
Pushing the pair from my mind, I focused on Tristan again. He would come see me now, if he could. The ship’s physician would most likely examine him and dress his wounds, if Captain MacDonald had any sense of propriety, but he would come to me after that. More than enough time had passed for that to occur, though, and still he hadn’t arrived.
A tingling string of worry grabbed hold of me and I sighed, staring over at the empty cell across from us once more. Overhead, the sounds of rushed footsteps and orders being called to different people were muffled down toward us.
Would the captain keep them from coming to see us? Could he be that much more cruel than he already was?
“Batten down the hatches!” Dagger’s voice reached us clearly, as if he were standing right next to us, shouting. “And get to your stations! The wind is in our favor. We’ll be on the pirates within the hour!”
It was then that I realized the hurrying and talking I’d been hearing before wasn’t just normal ship chatter; a ship flying a black flag had been spotted and His Majesty’s Privateers were now on the hunt for their prize. Panic seized me for a second; Tristan was hurt. He wouldn’t be able to defend himself as well if things went south. The rest of the crew wouldn’t be concerned with watching after him. They would most likely shut him in a room and hope for the best.
Or, worse, they would expect him to fight in his weakened and pained state. Even worse than that, the blockhead would probably insist he fight because I was on board. He would want to protect me, without realizing that he was the one who needed protection right now.
Desperate, I strained to hear what else was being said. Would they let us out? Maybe I could convince them to let us stay with Tristan and Mark, where we could all protect each other. I didn’t care if I had to go back to the brig afterword, as long as I was able to make sure we were all okay in the meantime.
“What about the women?” It was a voice I didn’t recognize, just outside the hatch to the brig deck.
“Captain said to keep them in the cell. They’ll be safer there.”
The wooden door in the ceiling slammed shut without another thought, the sound of the latch securing tight echoing through the space. We were left in almost complete darkness, with only the light from the one torch that had been lit by our cell to guide us.
Swallowing hard, I tried to focus. Something had to be done, but what?
“Pirates?” Abella asked, seeming to have gained better control of herself. Rising from the floor, she straightened her shirt, taking a deep breath.
Nodding, I glanced at her. “We need to get out of here. They think they’re protecting us, but if the ship is overrun, we’ll be sitting ducks. Besides that, Tristan and Mark are hurt. They might not be able to fight at all. We have to help them.”
“How? We’re locked in and the bars are too close together to slip through.” She shrugged, but the way she held herself told me she was ready to do whatever it took to follow me in this plan.
Thinking quickly, I took in everything around me. There had to be a way to escape without the keys. The hinges proved to be impossible to crack, though, and there was nothing to try and pick the lock with. Finally, I landed on an empty torch, mounted on the beam beside us, just outside the cell.
“Can you reach that?” I asked, pointing to the object. She was smaller than me and had a better chance of being able to grab it.
“Oui, I think so.” Striding over to the corner, she stretched her arm across, the tips of her fingers barely brushing the torch. Grunting, she struggled to get closer, this time almost hooking the very tip of it. She fell back for a moment then, brushing her hair from her face, a determined glare in her eyes as she stared at the empty container.
Trying once more, she pressed herself against the bars, her head turned to the side in an attempt to give her more reach. It still wasn’t enough, though and she growled, reaching as far as she could. “Push me,” she ordered, straining against the bars.
Responding instantly, I stood behind her, using my own body weight to push her into the rods. Just as I became worried that I was hurting her, she let out a victorious cry and knocked the torch from its bearings, watching as it rolled across the floor to us.
“It’s too big to come in,” she said, watching as I reached through and picked it up.
“That’s fine,” I responded, slowly moving toward the door, passing the object between hands as I maneuvered around the poles. “It doesn’t need to come in.”
Finally, upon reaching the door and the lock on the outside of it, I said a silent prayer to anyone who was listening and raised the heavy wood and metal carrier as high as I could. Slamming it down, I smashed it against the lock, trying to break it. A loud, clanging sound echoed, the lock holding strong.
“Damn,” I muttered. It always seemed so much easier in my head.
Raising the makeshift club once more, I continued to clobber the door, over and over again. If it hadn’t been for the ensuing fight above, I was sure someone would have come to see what we were doing. As it was, it seemed no one could hear us with the hatch closed an
d their minds on the enemy.
After ten minutes, a sweat soaked collar, and a few smashed fingers, the lock clattered to the floor, broken. A rush of adrenaline burst through me and I threw the door open, stepping into freedom and the planning phase of our next motions.
“We need weapons,” Abella stated, thinking along the same lines I was. “Do you think they found the ones we hid in the hold yet?”
“I don’t know. I hope not.” Grabbing the lit lantern off its peg, I led the way down the stairs and into the hold, looking around with a sense of urgency and confusion. It had always been dark when I was here before. I’d never really noticed the way things were stacked and tied, or where certain things were kept.
“This way.” Stepping around me, she made quick work of darting through the containers, not concerned with how different it all seemed now. She had been the one to hide the blades when we first snuck on, too, and knew how to get to them.
It had been a bit of a hassle, bringing the swords along, but I hadn’t wanted to be without one, should the need arise. I’d been in that situation before and didn’t plan on doing it again. In the end, though, bringing them on board with us had proved mostly easy, and Abella insisted they were well hidden without much effort on her part.
Stopping in front of a pair of barrels, she pulled the lid off one, revealing a large amount of rice. After dragging her hand through it a few times, she revealed the two weapons, handing mine to me.
“How long has it been, do you think” I asked, wiping some of the dust off my blade on my pants.
“Over half an hour?”
“They should be attacking soon. We need to find Tristan and Mark now.”
She nodded, taking a deep breath, and then closed her eyes, as if steadying herself. “Alright. I’m ready.” Glancing at me, she nodded, sliding her blade into the belt around her waist.
Zig zagging through the cargo, we made our way to the stairs, not bothering to be quiet or sneaky along the way.
A loud boom sounded overhead, the ship rocking slightly to the side before it leveled out, and we both froze on the steps, listening intently. Another crash went off, and then another.
“It’s starting,” I said, moving onto the brig deck. “They’re firing the cannons.” Hurrying up the next set of stairs, I undid the latch on the underside of the hatch, cracking the door open and peering into the world above.
I’d expected to see the same scene I’d lived so many times since my arrival in the past. The crew would be scurrying around, loading weapons, some even painting their faces, all readying to attack the ship that they desired to capture. There would be a sense of excitement in the air, anticipation on the faces of each man. Together, they would prematurely celebrate their victory, laughing and ribbing each other in glee.
Instead, I was greeted by a somber feeling. Every person I saw appeared grim and was frowning, almost reluctant as they went about their duties. Quick hands worked at the cannons, four men to a gun. On the steps leading to the crew deck, one man—who I assumed was a Mate—relayed orders from above.
“Hold your fire!” He shouted, his hand above his head, his attention turned to whoever it was that was yelling directions from above.
The ship bucked some, breaking through a wave as she sped through the water, and then leveled. To their credit, the crew didn’t even flinch, all of them steadying their cannon and weapons, silently waiting to continue.
“Fire!” The Mate dropped his hand, shouting with ferocity.
One after another, the guns were lit and shot forward, expelling the cannonballs with a surprising amount of force. The wheels on the bottom of the weapons rolled in reaction, pulling away from the small windows, until the ropes that kept them in place caught them and forced their direction to change. The men around them helped as well, pushing the cannons into place and loading them once more, ready to fire when ordered.
Carefully closing the hatch over my head, I shut out the precision planning and battle going on above us and turned to Abella. “We’re going to have to wait until they board the ship to leave,” I told her. “There’s a Mate on the stairs ahead of us and it’s more organized than I expected.”
A revelation came to me then, and I laughed, locking the epiphany away for future moments when I thought I knew how this ship worked.
“What is it?” Abella asked, confused by my reaction.
“I keep thinking this is like the ships I was on before, but it’s not. These men aren’t pirates. They’re privateers. I’d always thought privateers were a form of legal pirate, people who’d sworn to help the crown but they were just trying to escape the noose. These men aren’t that way, though—Captain MacDonald isn’t like that. He has a commission from the King to fight in his name and to try and keep order on the sea.” Smiling, I shook my head, several thoughts tying together the more I thought about it.
“But the captain is a Templar Knight. Isn’t he a pirate in that right, and in the fact that he must rob the ships he takes to secure his treasure?”
“I don’t think so.” Sitting on the steps, I folded my arms, watching her. “He’s the only member in the entire Order who has privateering papers. That says to me he is concerned with following the law. I imagine The Order had a hard time getting the papers as well, seeing as how MacDonald isn’t even French. Someone had to convince King Louis to sign him into navy service. Why go through all that trouble?”
“The Order must find him very valuable,” she supplied slowly, thinking about it herself now. “Otherwise, they would have found someone else to be a captain for them. He must have done something, or know something important to them.”
“And he would follow his rules with absolute authority.” A tinge of bitterness crept into my tone and I mentally kicked myself. “He can’t risk losing his Marque of Authority from the king. The laws he sets here can’t be forfeit for any reason.”
It took her a minute to digest that, her eyes suddenly widening as she realized what I was saying. “The lashes were a mercy.” Wonder filled her tone. “If the Navy finds stowaways on board, they either press them into service or get rid of them. We can’t be pressed because we’re women—”
“And disposing of us would have caused an uprising in the crew, with Tristan and Mark at the head of it.” Pressing my lips into a thin line, I sighed, angry with myself for not realizing all of this before. Had Tristan? Was that why he was so calm about the whole affair?
“He must have known that they would fight back if he tried to lash us,” Abella added, chuckling slightly herself. “So he gave the sentence to them, to appease the need to follow through with punishment, to save us from harm, and to give Tristan and Mark the peace of mind brought by knowing he hadn’t harmed us.”
I’d come to the same conclusion myself. While I would have preferred to keep thinking of the Scotsman as a horrific brute who loved to abuse power, I had to admit that these revelations had cleared his name somewhat in my mind.
“That explains why everyone is so grim up there, too,” I finally said, standing and putting my hand on the latch, hoping to catch another glance at the action above. “They’re navy men. I never thought to ask, but they might not all be Templars. If not, we’re sailing with a group of soldiers ready to lay down their life for King and country. I don’t think they take much pleasure in killing.”
Pushing the door open a smidge, I took in the scene on the gun deck. It was a fair amount busier than it had been a few minutes ago, owing to the fact that the enemy vessel was now close enough for a boarding attempt. Both sides had stopped firing on each other, the up and down motion of the water swaying the boats from side to side.
Faintly, I could hear shouting above, the words floating down softly as the men loaded their own pistols and pulled swords from scabbards.
“Surrender now and yer lives will be spared,” Captain Macdonald shouted, addressing the other ship. “I imagine ye’re low on supplies and it’s been a cold few years. I give ye my word that ye will
be treated kindly on my ship, with food enough to fill yer bellies, blankets to keep ye warm, and a promise that ye will face a fair trial in Saint Domingue when we make landfall in Hispaniola.”
There was a moment of silence and I thought the pirates might have been responding to him, shouting over the waves. Suddenly, the sound of a cannon firing blasted through the air and all the men standing in my field of vision hit the deck, covering their heads.
Dropping the door shut, I grabbed Abella and cowered, flinching as the ball from the pirates cracked through the hull above us, scattering wood chips across the floor with a pattering noise.
Another beat of quiet followed, and then the world exploded into action above us.
Shouts and gunshots were exchanged overhead, feet slapping against the floor, the entire crew suddenly moving. With a surge of energy, I threw the hatch open, not worried about being seen, and hurried into the chaos.
This was like my fights with pirates. Instead of being grim and mellow, Captain MacDonald’s men were fierce and ready for battle, charging the stairs and through the cannon windows with vigor, ready to finish what they had started.
The pirates from the opposing vessel were boarding the Isobel as well, splitting the groups in half, skirmishes taking place on both vessels. MacDonald had been right about them being low on supplies, though; the men I could see appeared to be wasting away, their forms red from the cold and faces pinched from hunger.
“Don’t kill anyone you don’t have to,” I said over my shoulder to Abella, drawing my sword. “I think the captain wants to help as many as possible.”
“All right.”
Without another thought, I ran forward, bringing up the rear of the crew. We flooded the steps, charging through the crew quarters and onto the main deck, where we scattered, each person finding their own opponent. It seemed that many of the privateers had taken to swarming the other boat, while the pirates amassed on this one. They were vastly outnumbered, but were putting up a surprising fight.
Hidden Away (The Swept Away Saga, Book Three) Page 20