Hart's Passion (Pirates & Petticoats Book 2)

by Chloe Flowers

  Doreen teetered to her feet. Keelan pressed harder to stop the blood from seeping and glanced at her cousin. “Make sure you have someone inform Captain Hart or Captain O’Brien what’s happened.”

  Doreen’s head snapped around in her direction. Keelan stilled.

  She’d forgotten to lower her voice.

  Did Doreen recognize it? She quickly directed her gaze back to the doctor. The exchange between Orvis and Dr. Garrison had reaffirmed the decision to travel in disguise had been a good one. The pirates continued to seek her. She couldn’t risk for another to recognize her like Simon had. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she felt Doreen’s stare boring into her back.

  Her cousin paused a long moment before she responded, “I will.”

  Dr. Garrison had pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and was pressing it against his wounded head. Keelan wiped the blood from his eyes with the corner of it.

  Two emotions warred in her chest. First, anger at Garrison, who’d been in league with the same pirates feuding with Landon, and his shipping company. He’d conspired to steal from Landon and Captain O'Brien, and kidnap her. The second was a grudging gratitude. If Dr. Garrison hadn’t prevented Orvis from attacking her, she’d be dead. She’d panicked and it had almost cost her life. She glanced at the still, facedown form of Orvis Pike lying a few feet away.

  He grimaced as he readjusted the handkerchief. “Thank you. If you hadn’t distracted him, I’d probably be dead, and so would Miss Grey.” He glanced toward his side where her hand pressed. “Can you tell how deeply the blade went in?”

  Keelan lifted her hand long enough to peek. “It went in at an upward angle under your ribs.”

  He closed his eyes. “Not too much damage then, only pain. I can instruct Doreen—Miss Grey, to dress it. I will need whiskey and bandages.”

  “I’ll see you get them,” she replied.

  The sound of running feet interrupted their conversation, and Daniel’s voice rang out in the dim light, “Mahdi, where are you?”

  “Over here!” she called.

  Conal, Landon and Daniel rounded the large crate near her.

  “Are you hurt?” Landon’s gaze swept over her body as she stood.

  Keelan shook her head. “Dr. Garrison’s been stabbed.” She related the earlier conversation and events.

  Landon’s mouth was set in a firm line, and his eyes glinted with anger as she finished. “We’ll lock the doctor in the rear hold until we reach Harbour Town.” He gestured to Orvis and murmured to Conal, “It’s doubtful he boarded the ship alone. Until we find his cohorts, tell Johnny, Remus and Henry to be extra vigilant around the newest hands we hired and report any suspicions to us.”

  Conal nodded grimly. “There’s less than ten new hires, I’d figure. I’ll have them move their hammocks together. Easier to keep track of them when they’re off duty.”

  “I’m here! I’m back. I have the medicine bag,” Doreen’s voice warbled up and down as she scrambled around the crates. Her face was blood-stained and her hands shook as she brushed a handful of hair away from her eyes. She shouldered her way between the men, dropped to the other side of doctor’s prone form, and let out a shaky breath. “I’ve been assisting Dr. Garrison for the past several months. I know what to do.”

  Doreen removed a clean cloth and a whiskey bottle. She nodded to Keelan to remove her hand and when she did, Doreen doused the wound, causing the doctor to suck in his breath. A strong odor of spirits wafted in the closed air of the hold. Doreen immediately pressed the clean cloth over his wound. “Continue to put pressure on it,” she instructed Keelan, without glancing at her. Keelan complied and Doreen rummaged through the bag again.

  Garrison flicked his hand toward the bottle. “Whiskey. To dull the pain,” he said hoarsely before squeezing his eyes shut.

  Keelan reached for the bottle, but Doreen stopped her.

  “Wait, I have something better,” she mumbled, still rooting through the bag. “Ah, here it is.”

  She pulled out a small, unlabeled brown bottle and scooted closer to Dr. Garrison’s head, which she gently put on her lap, as if handling thin glass. “Everett, drink this.” She put the bottle to his lips, he opened his mouth, and took a gulp. His eyelids flew open.

  “That…wasn’t whiskey! What did you give me?” the panicked pitch of his voice bounced off the wood hull.

  Doreen’s eyes shone with tears. “Don’t fret, darling. It’s the pain medication you purchased for Uncle George. The bottle you told me would take away the worst pain.”

  His face paled further. “No…”

  Doreen stroked his forehead, and reapplied the handkerchief to his head wound. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and dripped from her jaw. “You said it was terribly expensive and only for severe pain, but I can’t allow you to suffer like this. I care too much for you.”

  Everett Garrison’s face contorted as he struggled to speak. “That’s…not…”

  He convulsed and Doreen let out a startled cry. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong?”

  Garrison arched and thrashed, jerking away from her. Keelan grabbed the bottle from Doreen’s grasp and sniffed. It wasn’t whiskey or vinegar. Her chest constricted as she put together all the pieces.

  Dr. Garrison hadn’t just given Papa the wrong medication. He had instructed Doreen to administer poison to Papa the night he died. But why?

  The same realization also dawned across Doreen’s face. “Dear Lord!” she cried. “Why? Why did you have me give this to my uncle?” Her eyes were wide with shock and terror.

  “He killed my Rachel. My love,” he choked. “She and my family…were on the ship he sank….” He fumbled with the pocket of his coat and withdrew the tattered letter Rachel had written, accepting his marriage proposal. His hand trembled so badly, the letter almost fell apart. He pressed it over his heart. “My Rachel needed to be…avenged.” An odd gurgling sound emanated from his throat. He gasped and convulsed again then his chest stilled.

  “Oh dear God, please forgive me! Forgive me!” Doreen wailed, covering her face with her hands.

  “It’s not your fault,” Keelan said softly, kneeling beside her. “You thought you were helping him. You didn’t know.” Doreen collapsed into her arms and Keelan held her even as tears welled in her own eyes. “You didn’t know.”

  Keelan scurried through the hatch as fast as her quaking limbs would take her.

  She jumped up the steps and on to the deck. She had a desperate need for fresh air to clear her head. Her mind screamed in torment from the brutal realizations pummeling her. She paused at the rail and gulped in several deep jagged breaths.

  She’d had her suspicions, but deep down she didn’t want them to be true.

  Garrison!

  They had trusted him. Papa had helped and encouraged him to develop his practice. He’d preyed on them and their charity. Garrison killed Papa and hired pirates to kidnap her. Those actions had nothing to do with infatuation as she had errantly surmised. She had known the man for several months prior to arriving in Charleston. He had played the part of an awkward physician with ease. She shuddered.

  She had viewed him as a harmless, clumsy, gawk of a man, who tried her level of tolerance as would a pesky fly. How wrong she had been.

  She placed a hand over her heart and tried to will it to slow to a normal rate. How foolish of her to be so blind to his charade. She had been so concerned with her own problems and avoiding a marriage to Pratt, she had missed what was happening beneath her nose. She clutched her hand against her chest, pressing the locket and ring into her skin and reminding her of their presence.

  Keelan pulled the ribbon, lifting the two items from the crevice between her breasts. She stared at the signet ring, a welcome distraction from the grisly scene below deck.

  In the rosy, golden light of the setting sun, she gently traced her finger over the crest. Who was the man who’d sired her? Was he a good father to his other children, her half brothers and sisters? She had always pra
yed for siblings. Would they accept her? Probably not, but she would still wish for it to be so. What other secrets awaited her in the darkness of George Grey’s old trunk?

  The man in the miniature stared back at her. Whose family’s blood surged through her heart? What features did her true father’s seed give her? The eyes? Her father’s smiling green eyes sparkled at her as if they shared a secret. Her mother’s eyes were gray, so perhaps, yes, the eyes. What of her warm russet tresses? Her mother’s hair was a pale brown, her father’s a shiny black. From whence came the red curls? Perhaps another relative, a grandparent, maybe?

  She straightened. Pondering her heritage would not reveal her mother’s secret any quicker. The probable presence of another pirate spy aboard made her quest more dangerous. Even so, she would see it through to the end. If her father’s house did not welcome her so be it, but the desire to meet her kin would drive her there, in time.

  The ship’s bell sang with a mellow tongue as it marked the end of the last dogwatch. Another shift of seamen would soon rouse from their hammocks and keep watch until the hourglass had been turned four times and the ship’s bell rung eight.

  A quiet voice rose above the creaking ship and gentle splash of the sea against the sturdy hull. “You’ve had a rough time over these past few weeks. How do you fare?”

  Keelan jumped then managed a small smile as Conal stepped forward and leaned his forearms against the rail next to her. His eyes were kind. She relaxed.

  “I’m alive. Considering the fate which has fallen on the rest of my family I feel blessed, but I worry about the other pirates amongst us.”

  “As the captain is also the ship’s master, I can see justice met for any offense aboard this craft. If we find them, I can have them put in irons and punished.” Conal shifted his position. “Since they’re likely wanted by the law, we’ll deliver them when we make port in Harbour Town and let them meet their fate at the short end of a rope.”

  The shoreline had become a distant black line, and the sun began its inevitable descent. Wind snapped the sails and the ship responded with a groan, ropes whining in the sheaves. “I want to express my sympathies on the death of your father,” Conal said quietly.

  “Thank you. However, the man was not my father," she said hoarsely, fighting back the tears threatening to spill. If Landon hadn’t already told him, he probably would soon. The two were fast friends. At least she’d be able to scrutinize Conal O’Brien’s reaction to the news.

  She continued, “Not truly by blood but he raised me as his own. I should have suspected Garrison was poisoning him. If I had paused to ponder the situation, I would have seen the entire puzzle laid out.” Anger welled in her chest. Why hadn’t she seen it?

  “He fooled everyone.” Conal put his hand on her shoulder and gave it a small comforting squeeze. “You can’t blame yourself.”

  Her throat constricted. Keelan shrugged her silent thanks, and wiped her nose on her sleeve.

  Conal chuckled. “You’re becoming used to playing the boy, Mahdi.”

  Realizing what she had just done was far from ladylike, Keelan gave Conal a chagrined smile. “So it would seem.”

  “Ye said something that confused me. And I beg yer pardon if it offends ye in any way…Ye said Commodore Grey was not yer sire?” Conal left the question hanging.

  A solitary tear broke free and began a lonely trail down her cheek. “On his deathbed, Papa told me he could not give my mother a child, so she went to another man…One who could…who could give her…” Her voice broke and she paused for a moment to gather herself.

  Stop being silly. Crying about it won’t change anything. She should be happier. Now, she had the opportunity to choose her own path, which provided a bit more comfort.

  After wiping her eyes, she showed him the locket, dangling on the ribbon with the ring. “My mother took a lover who sired me. And years ago, he looked like this.”

  Conal bent low and studied the miniature.

  A young man. Dark hair. Green eyes.

  Conal’s eyes widened with shock then hardened with fury.

  “Where did you get this!” he demanded, snatched the locket from her fingers. He stared at it, then his gaze followed the red ribbon to the ring dangling at the end.

  She stepped back. Why would he react so swiftly and with such indignation? Keelan eyed him curiously. “Papa gave it to me. He said my mother cherished it.” She studied Conal. His jaw was clenching and unclenching sporadically. “Why does it disturb you? Do you know him?”

  Conal stepped close and looked hard at Keelan.

  “Yes, I know him," he said.

  Her mouth dropped open. Could it really be this easy to find the identity of her sire?

  Conal stared at the locket, then shoved it back to her. “And now, I think I understand the purpose of Uncle Fynn’s meeting with Commodore Grey. He must have suspected this.”

  Of course. She met Landon and Conal when they visited Twin Pines to speak with Papa. Keelan’s mind swirled with questions. “Who was your Uncle Fynn?”

  Conal’s jaw tightened. “My mother’s brother.” He jabbed a finger at the miniature. “I have seen that portrait before, as well.”

  “You…you have actually seen this same portrait?” She stared at the miniature. “In God’s name—where?”

  “It hangs on the parlor wall in my parent’s home, next to my mother’s,” he stated flatly.

  At her curious stare, Conal inhaled and then continued.

  “That man is my father.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Conal braced his hands wide along the rail and leaned forward, letting his head drop. “Uncle Fynn must have suspected you were sired by my father. It was probably why he wanted to meet with Commodore Grey…to confirm it.” He gave Keelan a sideways glance. “The Commodore told us he didn’t know Fynn, but thinking back on it, neither Landon nor I felt he was being entirely…forthright.”

  Keelan wasn’t sure what to say. While she was euphoric because the search for her father was completed so quickly, Conal had to deal with his obvious anger toward the man as well as his desire to protect his mother.

  “If ye hadn’t had the ring, I wouldna of believed ye. My da has always worshipped my mum. I canna believe he…” He looked away and stared at the sea flowing quickly past the hull. Bursts of spume sprayed in their wake.

  It was easy to understand the turmoil of emotions swirling in Conal’s gut. The same ones had assaulted her the night Papa died. Keelan untied the ribbon around her neck and removed the ring. She held it out to him. “This belongs to you, then. It is your family’s signet ring, your crest.”

  Conal opened his hand and she placed it on his palm. He held it up in the fading light and studied it a moment. “The four lions represent deathless courage in battle by four brothers. The wheat is a symbol of plenty. We are a clan descended of sea warriors, you see.” He gave her a small smile. “And more recently, sea merchants.” He slipped the ring on his finger. “Thank you for returning it.”

  “May I keep the miniature?” Papa said her mother treasured it because her father gifted it to her. It was the one thing she had which connected both her parents.

  Conal nodded, his nostrils flaring. “My mother has one of her own, more recently painted.” He dropped his head again. “I’m sorry. I shouldna have spoken to ye that way.”

  “Don’t apologize.” She wanted to comfort him, but wasn’t sure he’d welcome her pity. She touched his shoulder with her fingertips. “I understand how you feel. It’s been difficult for me to…digest…all this information as well. My life is suddenly not what I thought it was.”

  Conal swallowed and lifted his head to check the sails. “Tis no fault of yours. It shouldn’t be held against ye.”

  She looked out over the ocean at the sun, burning red near the horizon, uncertain how to ask the question burning equally hot on her tongue. There was no easy way to ask it. Perhaps she should simply blurt it out.

  “Why would your Unc
le Fynn need to confirm my existence with Papa—Commodore Grey? I can’t think of a reason why such information would be important to him.”

  Conal shrugged. “Fynn was never one to comply with popular opinion. He followed his own compass. There were many times I challenged his reasoning, but he always had a firm plan and in the end, it usually worked his way.” He glanced at her through long, auburn lashes. “He and my father were tight as kin, although he was my mother’s brother. I want to believe his interest in the commodore wouldn’t cause my mum pain in any way.” Conal pushed away from the rail. “There’s no telling now. He took his reasoning to the grave with him.” Conal bid her a good evening and excused himself.

  The cow lowed forlornly from her pen. A nanny goat bleated a sympathetic response.

  Keelan stood alone, still in shock.

  The ocean waves broke against the ship’s stern, the sails clapped and inhaled the breath from the wind. The sun had descended closer to the horizon, as if fleeing the thick clouds chasing it.

  Her mind swirled with the rush of recent events.

  Everett. Murderer. Monster.

  Conal. Captain. Friend. Half brother?

  Her father…his father? How? What wicked, twisted trick of fate was this? How could the world be so small?

  How could it be so cruel?

  Her musings were interrupted by the dogwatch’s cry.

  “Sail, ho’!”

  “Where away?” Conal’s voice boomed a short distance away.

  “Near two points off the starboard bow, sir!” came the reply.

  Conal strode across the deck. “Johnny, Take the glass and go aloft. Try to make out what she is.”

  A few moments later, an impatient Conal yelled up to Johnny. “What do you see, man?”

  “Aye sir, ’tis a schooner with dark sails…looks like the the Dragon!”

  Conal’s voice barked through the evening mist. “Call all hands and make sail for her!”

  A sudden flurry of motion arose from the deck.

  “Mahdi!”