Showing him my bare hands, I shook my head. “Nothing. Are you wearing any?”
“No.”
Sighing, I rose, going to the box of medical supplies and getting some clean rags. Carefully, I wiped my face the best I could, feeling the small cut with my fingertips. It wasn’t very big or deep, but it bled a lot. All I needed to do was put pressure on it to stop the bleeding. It would be fine.
“I was cut by a ring in my dream,” I said slowly, thinking about the strange conversation with Randall. The nightmares were becoming less like torture sessions and more like a talk show where Randall would spout off all sorts of nonsense. I didn’t know why they were taking such a strange turn. Perhaps it was simply me trying to move on. The terrors had started as memories of what had happened to me, and then moved on to events that had never occurred. Now they seemed like visitations. It was like the Randall in my mind was getting weaker and scared, pulling away and keeping to himself. If anything, I was hoping it was a sign I would soon be done with the nightmares altogether.
“Sails, starboard side!”
The muffled cry from above kept Tristan from responding, the two of us looking up in surprise. Normally, the night watch didn’t call any ships they saw nearby, preferring to wait until morning to see what flag the vessel was flying.
“Hard to starboard!” Captain MacDonald’s voice roared. “She’s tryin’ to ram us!”
Footsteps pounded overhead, and sounds of the crew suddenly waking and rushing to their stations came to life around us.
“O’Rourke!” The door burst open, revealing Dagger standing there, his shirt undone and feet bare. “To the rigging, quickly! We’re being attacked!”
He didn’t need telling twice. In an instant, Tristan was disappearing up the steps as he took them two at a time.
Turning to me, Dagger motioned for me to come as well. “I need you to—”
The ship suddenly veered to the side, the force of the movement causing us both to stop what we were doing and hold on to the nearest object to keep from falling. I found myself in Dagger’s arms, the two of us holding onto the doorway in a slight panic, until the force of the motion lessened enough for us stand normally.
Releasing me and clearing his throat, Dagger straightened his shirt. “Go to the brig and warn the prisoners of what’s happening. They should all be awake after that. Take Abella with you.”
Nodding, I dashed through the rows of hammocks, dodging men and piles of things strewn everywhere as I hurried toward the galley. Abella slept in the hammock closest to the kitchen, as it had been empty upon our appointment to the crew. To my surprise, I found Mark with her, his palm on her cheek, fingers twisted in her hair as he whispered something to her. She was nodding, her own hands on his chest. She was out of sorts, and I suddenly realized she must have fallen when the boat turned. Mark was checking to make sure she was okay.
“Abella!” I called, not really caring if I interrupted them or not at the moment. “We have orders from Dagger to check on the prisoners below. Are you okay?”
Tearing her eyes away from him, Abella nodded. “Oui. I am well.” Disentangling herself, she darted toward the stairs leading to the decks below.
“She’s good,” Mark said as he passed by, headed for the rigging as well. “She fell out of the hammock and hit her head, but it’s fine. I sleep right next to her and saw the whole thing.”
“Oh really?”
“Yeah. Why do you think she’s so mad at me? She thinks I’m trying to babysit her.” He grinned over his shoulder before disappearing from view as he headed toward the main deck.
Everyone was shouting above as the cannons were being loaded in the darkness, which seemed to be pressing in from all sides. The only light was a dim glow from spontaneously placed lanterns, the rest having been dampened to conserve supplies. Stumbling slightly, I made my way to the gun deck, ducking out of the way as other members of the crew shot around me, hurrying to their battle stations.
Suddenly, the ship rocked again, breaking over a rough wave, and I felt my stomach turn unpleasantly at the sensation. This was no time to get sick, though, and I pressed on, finally joining Abella in the brig.
“His head is split open, Samantha!” she yelled, her hands thrust through the bars of one cell. She was desperately trying to stop the bleeding from a large cut on the pirate’s head, his mates not doing anything to help.
Glancing at the other men, I realized there were several injured. They hadn’t been warned of the turn and must have been thrown around like baby dolls, crushed against the walls and bars of their cells.
“What’s going on?” one of them yelled. “Who is attacking us?”
“Someone tried to ram us,” I said loudly. “That’s all I know.”
“Good! We’ll be free in no time.” A few of the pirates laughed at that, some of them acting absolutely gleeful in the dim light.
“Or you’ll all be dead at the bottom of the ocean,” I yelled, effectively silencing them. “In the meantime, everyone with an injury, move to the front, by the bars. Abella and I will assist you the best we can.”
Thankfully, the prisoners listened, shuffling around until they were organized and I could better see what was wrong with each of them. Most seemed to have sprains or small cuts, but a few—like the man Abella was trying to help—and been badly hurt and needed assistance right away.
“Abella, go grab the needle and thread from the surgery. Grab the whiskey from the galley, too.”
Taking her place, I ripped the bottom of my shirt off, wadding it and placing it on the cut. “What’s your name?” I asked the older man.
“M-McGregor,” he stuttered, his hands shaking as he tried to help me hold the cloth over the wound. Blood covered his face, giving him the appearance of one going to meet Death.
“McGregor, do you know that head wounds usually bleed the worst?”
He tried to nod, his lip trembling, and I smiled encouragingly.
“You’re going to be fine, I promise.”
Abella returned a moment later, arms full of ratty bandages and other supplies. “Here’s the whiskey,” she said, handing the bottle to me as she passed. “I’m going to clean a wound a few cells away.”
We each worked quickly, stitching and administering whiskey for pain. After half an hour, it seemed we’d caught the worst of the ailments in time and the prisoners would survive the trip to Hispaniola, provided the rest of us did.
Rising, I wiped my hands on my pants, noting the blood under my fingernails, and sighed. “I think that’s everyone,” I said to Abella, joining her at the foot of the stairs. She’d been gathering all the dirty rags for washing, throwing them in the box we’d kept them in when clean.
“We should probably go check the rest of the crew, see if any of them were injured,” she stated. “See if there’s any more information on what happened.”
Suddenly, the cannons began firing in earnest, the sound deafening as each gun shot. The air overhead filled with smoke, and we were rolling again.
The side of the boat scraped and moaned, shaking and rocking, knocking everyone to the ground. Lamps fell from their brackets, darkening as they hit the floor or eagerly burning at the beams they smashed against. Above, guns rolled out of place, taking the men who manned them along for the ride. Beneath us, I could hear some of the cargo in the hold tipping over, smashing to pieces with a loud bang.
Ears ringing, I looked around, dazed, trying to understand what was happening. Prisoners were crying out, the men upstairs shouting and swearing. Abella was lying flat on her back beside me, staring at the ceiling like she’d never seen one before. Slowly, I realized we must have been rammed by the other ship, the collision causing us to spin in the water.
“Reload!” Dagger yelled overhead, his voice breaking through the confusion. “It wasn’t a direct hit! They’ve swiped the end of the starboard side. We’ve still got a fighting chance in this battle!”
Shaking myself, I pushed to my feet, tu
rning toward a small fire a few feet ahead. It wasn’t a bad blaze, but would become one if not taken care of. Desperate, I glanced around, trying to find something to douse it with.
Spotting one of the prisoners in a nearby cell, I ran over to him, pushing a hand through the space between the bars.
“Give me your jacket!”
“The hell with ye,” he said groggily, holding his head.
Frustration ripped through me and I growled, suddenly feeling very done with my whole polite, privateer manner. In the blink of an eye, the pirate side of me shone through, and I snarled, letting all the anger I felt drip through my tone. “Damn it man, give me your jacket or we’ll all burn into Davy Jones’ Locker!”
Surprised, he stared at me with wide eyes, his fellow cellmates reflecting his expression. After a beat, he shrugged off the coat, handing it over without another word.
Wasting no time, I tossed the heavy fabric on the flames. Stamping my foot on top of the smoldering pile, I coughed, covering my mouth and nose with my sleeve in an attempt to breathe easier. After a moment, the smoke was all that was left of the miniature blaze.
“They’re coming around, hold steady!” Dagger yelled.
My mind was in a panic. Having never been faced with this situation before, I didn’t know what to do, or where I should go. I knew I could be of more help than standing here, yelling at pirates, though.
Moving toward the stairs, I helped Abella to her feet, motioning for her to come along. We darted along the steps, ducking out of the way of the gun crew, and surveyed what was happening on their deck.
A few of the cannons had rolled from their spots and were being pushed to their windows, while others frantically loaded the balls into the front, trying to peer over the dark waters and catch a glimpse of the incoming vessel.
Finally, I spotted Dagger, cramped into a corner, hastily trying to get a wick to light. He seemed annoyed more than anything, but I could tell the midnight attack had shaken him.
“Something’s wrong,” I said to Abella, still watching him. “Dagger’s worried.”
She frowned, studying him as well. “What do you think it is?”
“I don’t know.”
Pushing through the mass, we hurried to him.
“Dagger!” Catching his attention, I closed the distance between us, trying to ignore all of the questions running through my mind and focus on just the important ones.
“The prisoners are fine,” I told him. “A little beat, but we took care of it. What can we do now?”
He glanced at me as if he had no idea who I was for a moment and then shook himself. “Right.” Passing the wick he’d finally lit off to another man, he ushered us out of the way, speaking quickly. “Get to the hold and search for any damage to the hull on the starboard side, particularly around the stern. If we’re taking on water, find Smithy as fast as possible and show him . He’ll tell you what to do from there.”
“And if the other ship boards us?” Abella interjected, her tone calm and calculating.
He hesitated, glancing past us to the men nearby, and then came closer, whispering quietly. “I don’t know. It’s the Iron Fist—a Templar ship. They were our next treasure trade, but we were supposed to wait until morning, so we could feign the fight for any crew that aren’t members of The Order. I have no idea why they’ve attacked us for real or what their plans are, should they board us. At this point, I would say be ready to fight for your lives. Iron Fist won’t go down without giving us everything she’s got.”
Shocked, it took me a second to wrap my mind around what he was saying. First Bart’s ship had said there was no treasure and now our second meet up was attacking us? A sickening feeling filled my stomach. Was this the work of The Black Knights? Was their reach really that far, that they could destroy our entire route with hardly any effort at all?
“Go now,” Dagger said, breaking me from my thoughts. “If we’re taking on water, we need to stop it fast. Iron Fist is aiming for us again. We can’t sink before we discover what’s going on.”
Nodding, I turned, sprinting back to the steps. It didn’t matter what implications this whole affair could have—like the fact we could all be branded as traitors if we fought and couldn’t prove Black Knights had been involved. Right now, I needed to find if there were any holes in the ship.
Practically jumping the stairs, I grabbed one of the lanterns from the brig and threw open the hatch to the hold, halfway thinking I was about to find it already under water. A breath of relief passed through me as I set eyes on mostly dry wood. Everything seemed okay, if not a little worse for wear. Hopping to the floor, I held the light high over my head, looking in the direction of the stern. That was where the secondary brig was, lost in the darkness, waiting for someone to come and fill her dark cells.
Swallowing hard, I hurried down the tight aisles, stepping around crates that had fallen and items that lay askew across the floor. Finally, I reached the wall, the right side seemingly fine. There was very little water coming through, and anything that was leaking could be fixed with pitch.
Another great sigh of relief left me and I turned to Abella, laughing. “It’s fine,” I said. “You and I could fix it ourselves right now.”
A great crack sounded through the hold and I flew back from the wall, slamming against the bars of the secondary brig. My lantern broke on impact, showering me with glass, the fire going out and plunging us into darkness. The containers around me shifted, falling and crashing against each other. Abella screamed, and I heard her bang into the cell door beside me. It popped open with a loud moan, depositing her inside with a thud.
The ship swayed from its second impact with Iron Fist, but remained tilted to one side, as if stuck on something. Thankfully, the starboard side continued to hold, despite the creaking and groaning. It appeared our attackers hadn’t been going fast enough to break us.
Gingerly, I pushed away from the bars, trying to get a clear footing in the tilted space.
“Abella?” I called, feeling around, blind. “Are you alright?”
She didn’t answer and my heart quickened, fear filling me.
“Abella?” I called again, louder this time. “Where are you?”
In the silence, it was as if I could hear my own heartbeat screaming at me, like a drum pounding in my ears. When I finally found the entrance to the cell, I practically threw myself in, using my hands to reach out and find her.
At last, my fingers brushed against skin, and I released a cry of relief. It was her arm, stretched across the floor at an odd angle. Gently, I felt up the bone, feeling her dislocated shoulder. The pulse in her neck was strong and steady, though, giving me all the comfort I needed in knowing she was still alive. Feeling the rest of her body, I searched for other injuries, but could find nothing other than a bump on her head.
“You’re going to be okay,” I told her, trying to shake off my own nerves in the pitch black. “I’m going to find some light and come back for you. You’ll be safe here.”
Moving as quickly as I could, still thrown off by the tilted position of the ship, it took much longer than I would have liked to find my way back to the stairs.
Pushing open the hatch, I was instantly assaulted by a barrage of yells from the prisoners. They were cheering a battle of their own, the two men going at each other with swords and insults. With a start, I realized it wasn’t the prisoners themselves that were fighting, but a member of my crew and a man I didn’t recognize.
Suddenly, I knew we’d been boarded by the Iron Fist. A fight for our lives was taking place, and if what I was watching now was any suggestion, it was going to be a brutal one.
Ignoring what was happening, I made my way to the gun deck, staying close to the walls. I’d left my sword in the surgery—a rookie mistake, damn it—and was desperately trying to get there without being noticed. A few men were dueling here as well, the hull of the Iron Fist visible through the windows. It was so close I could have reached out and touched it if I
wanted. Starting once more, I realized the reason the ship was still tilted on its side. Our mast must have gotten caught in the rigging of the other ship, anchoring the two together. It would be impossible to get free without sending someone up to cut all the lines.
Frowning, I thought of Tristan and Mark, both riggers. If anyone was going to try and cut us loose, it would be one of them.
As I came to the crew deck, I slipped, landing hard in a puddle of blood. The dead eyes of the man that the gore belonged to stared at me with an emptiness that made my soul seem to chill. He was a member of my crew, one of the able bodied sailors, I thought. Someone had run him through and cut his throat, leaving him on the ground without a care in the world.
“What do we have here?”
The sneer made my blood boil and I turned to look at the man who had chosen to call me out.
He appeared the same as any other man who would have been on this ship. Plain clothes, a single sword, and a gun to defend himself with. He didn’t have the cruel air I’d seen exhibited by so many other Black Knights. In fact, he seemed taken aback by my presence, as if he were horrified to find me in such a position.
“A lady?” he said in surprise. “That changes the narrative somewhat, doesn’t it?”
“Not in my book,” I replied.
Taking the dead man’s sword, I got to my feet, making sure to never glance away from my opponent.
“I don’t want to fight you,” he said hesitantly.
“I’m a member of this crew. If you’re here to fight them, you’re here to fight me.”
He laughed, thinking I was joking, and then stilled. “You’re serious? Blimey woman, do you not know who you’re sailing with?”
Taken aback myself, I raised an eyebrow. “The Order of The Knights Templar. Do you know who you’re sailing with, Black Knight?”
He snorted, offended by what I’d said. “Watch your tongue. I’m no Black Knight. It’s the men on your ship who are the traitors.”
“What?” Staring at him like he was stupid, I laughed. “You’re kidding, right? None of these men are Black Knights. I should know, I’m married to one of them. Tristan O’Rourke. Perhaps you’ve heard of him and the endlessly long list of things he’s done to fight back his enemies and keep the Templar name clean?”
Hidden Away (The Swept Away Saga, Book Three) Page 25