He picked up the pistol lying in his lap and inspected it. “Aye, I imagine ya would.” His eyes drifted up to her body outlined by the blanket. “If I may make so bold, ya grew into quite a woman.”
Dressed in only her shift, there was an inherent urge to pull the covers up. ’twas far too late for modesty. Besides, ’twas another sign of weakness. Her eyes slid to the desk drawer with her pistol tucked inside.
“Shame ta waste that beauty on the likes of ya.” His gibe raked over her like serrated nails.
Any ideas of a quick death at the hands of Leviathan vanished. Should she make a mistake and let it come to that, Leviathan would surely torture her first. A new fear clenched her chest. What of her crew? Of Sloan and Valeryn? Where were they?
“How did you get on board the Rissa?”
An abominable grin twisted his mouth. “Yer boys were spent after dragging yer bucket off the shoals. Weary deadlights don’t see well in the murk o’ night. Slipped up in the longboats and took ’em by surprise.”
Damn it!
“Word is ya been doing well with yer buccaneer friends.”
“As well as any looking for fortune and fair winds.”
“I have been doing well too, Miss Quint. The Barbary Coast is a fine stretch of shore to make many an enemy, take many a life. Padded my strongbox aplenty and pissed it all away time and again.”
“’Tis a fine life for a pirate,” Joelle said. Her muscles tensed from sitting so still, waiting for an opportunity to go for her desk drawer.
“Aye, it is.” His mug seemed to shadow despite the glow of the lantern, but he continued to smile. “Yet there was something missing. Something that makes it all worthwhile, complete. Something that ya took from me.”
“Tolliver—”
“Leviathan.” His smile waned. “Do not call me by that name. That confounded man died when you stole my Catherine’s beating heart.”
“’Twas an accident what happened to Catherine.”
“Liar!” He snapped the pistol in her direction.
’Twas a horrible night. One she relived in her dreams and regretted upon each new day. Time had put distance between her and the hurt and guilt of what had happened. Like a scab torn open, old regrets bled anew.
She had warned Seamus that their villainy would go awry. She had often wondered if there was more she could have done to stop the inevitable.
Seamus and Tolliver had been partners. Fishermen who sold their catches along the European coast. Not friends really, as they hardly tolerated one another. Yet, they profited well together.
Joelle had met Seamus at a French street faire, and by the end of the evening had fallen in love. From that day forward, she never left his side. She sailed with him and Tolliver and their small crew of three. Tolliver was a moody sort, never approving of having Joelle aboard. He often made spiteful remarks and sideways glances at her. Seamus had advised her to ignore him, that he was jealous of their love. But Joelle couldn’t shake the feeling Tolliver’s jealousy would lead to a detrimental strife.
Then Tolliver had met Catherine, daughter of a French fish merchant, in La Rochelle. So, often they sailed to La Rochelle where Catherine lived. Tolliver was madly in love with her. Joelle could certainly see why. Catherine was a petite, dark-haired beauty equally enamored by him. Tolliver lived and breathed for his next visit with her, always speaking of giving her a better life.
Seamus had often whispered the same sentiment in Joelle’s ear. He needn’t have worried. She had all she ever wanted just being with him. All but the answers to her past.
It all changed on a spin of chance.
One night, the men were well into their cups at a seaside tavern after selling their haul. Pirates raided and the fellows got caught up in the ensuing chaos, looting several shops. They sailed away that night with none the wiser and sold the goods at the next port.
To assuage her concerns about their villainy, Seamus had bought her a new dress and matching shoes. She’d be the fanciest, most fashionable lass at the next street faire. His plan worked, of course. Joelle justified the crime as a necessary boon, as they also repaired the boat and replaced worn fishing nets.
Then the lads took to robbing wealthy landowners and town officials in ports they visited. Joelle had worried they were playing a dangerous hand.
She’d been right.
Their mistake came when they decided to rob La Rochelle’s magistrate. He was supposed to be at a dinner party. Joelle had spotted the judge and his wife leaving early and had followed them. He stumbled in on Seamus and Tolliver in his home. Not keen on being a victim, the man attempted to stop them. A struggle took place. Seamus wanted to tie the man and his wife up and leave with what they had. Tolliver wanted more, insisting the magistrate give up where he kept his wife’s jewelry. When the judge refused, Tolliver shot him.
Back at the quay, Seamus and Tolliver’s arguments grew into accusations and challenges. Joelle had pleaded with them to stop, but Tolliver threw the first fist. The fracas had drawn Catherine out. The poor lass was beside herself, screaming and crying. In Joelle’s heart, she knew the men would not stop fighting.
Not until one was soundly beaten or dead.
’Twas difficult to bring a fighting Irishman down, and Seamus had been getting the best of Tolliver. The next moments happened so quickly, yet unfolded harrowingly slow. Tolliver pulled a dagger and lunged for Seamus. In the sounds of her own distant cry, Joelle drew her pistol. She would never forget the sheer terror in Catherine’s big brown eyes.
Catherine threw herself in front of Tolliver just as Joelle pulled the trigger. She crumpled to the ground. The thunderous roar bellowing from Tolliver bounded through the docks.
With a dagger through Seamus’s heart and Tolliver sobbing over his beloved, Joelle fled. She, with the other fishermen, sailed out of La Rochelle, leaving a piece of her behind. She knew she could never return, so she did the only thing she could. She negotiated the sale of the fishing boat and sailed back to the Caribbean on a merchant, landing in Port Royal.
’Twas there she met a pirate, Captain Zane Fox, joined the brethren, learned her current trade.
And now her past had come full circle.
“A pity it is, alack, Catherine’s death was a tragic accident. This you know to be true.”
“Say what ya will, but now I’ve come for my revenge. Eye for an eye.”
“You’ve already killed Seamus.”
“Ah, but puss, I was going to kill him regardless. He did not take Catherine’s life. Ye did.” He wagged the pistol. “Get up. We’ve business to tend to.”
She planted her feet on the cold floor and took a moment to ready herself. She couldn’t let her weakened body keep her from staying alive.
“Get dressed.”
Leviathan scrutinized her as she donned her trousers. She did her best to hide her bare skin. But his roaming eyes flared when she inadvertently flashed too much flesh.
After lacing her corset and shoving her feet into her boots, she contemplated diving for the desk drawer.
He must have read her mind.
“Best ya not try it, puss, lest ya miss what I have planned for ya.” He stood. “Come along. They be waiting for us topside.”
A cool breeze rushed in as she opened the hatch to the deck. The morning skies had not yet awakened. Low clouds hampered the eastern sunrise.
On the dark deck, Rissa’s crew kneeled, hands locked behind their heads. Leviathan’s armed men lined all sides of the lads, weapons aimed to lay waste.
In front knelt Sloan, Valeryn, Kipp and Sam. A gun on each of them. Rage burned from the hooded stares of both Sloan and Valeryn.
As relieved as she was to see them alive, she knew that was provisional on the next few moments. Joelle wished she could wake from the nightmare. Prayed she lay in a delusional fever.
“I should formally introduce myself to ya weevils. So when ya are asked who delivered ya to hell, ye’ll be rightly educated. The name’s Leviathan.
Heed well. Yer captain—” He grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her closer to his side. “She’s who sent you there. She murdered my woman. Now she will suffer for it. Ya all will suffer for it.”
“Your greed killed Catherine.” Joelle sneered, ignoring the smarting at her scalp. “If you had not murdered that judge, she’d still be alive.”
“Nay, puss. Ya pulled the trigger. For that, I will take everyone ya care for, as ya did me.” A crazed spark lit his mug. “Starting with the traitor.” Leviathan raised his pistol at Kipp’s head.
“No, no!” Screaming, panic squeezed upon her lungs. He’s going to kill him. Oh my God. “You don’t have to do this!”
Kipp lifted his chin, took a deep breath, and looked directly at Joelle with sad, resigned eyes. “’Twas a good life,” he said. “May my Maggie forgive m—”
The crack of the pistol split her ears. Smoke from the flash clouded her view. “No!”
Kipp toppled. A spray of his blood splattered on those behind him
Joelle couldn’t breathe. Her heart was ripped from her chest.
This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. Dear God. No, no!
Silence, but for the reverberating gunshot, blanketed the ship.
Through the tears welled up in her eyes, she looked to Valeryn, then Sloan. She prayed neither would be foolish as to even so much as flinch.
Instead, both tried to lunge for Leviathan, only to be held back by blunderbusses in their faces. Please, stay calm.
Leviathan let go of her hair and tucked away his gun. “Shame,” he said, kneeling down beside Kipp’s body. “The cove was a good pirate.” He dipped his finger into the spreading pool of blood, stood, and faced her. “Tsk.” He smeared his bloody finger to her lips. “His blood on ya.”
She dabbed her mouth. Bright red stained her fingertips.
’Twas true. Kipp died because of her. She swiped the blood and her tears away with the back of her hand.
Anger mounted. Eye for an eye. “I’m going to kill you.”
Leviathan threw his head back in a hearty laugh.
“A brave sentiment.” His cheerful expression sagged into a scowl. He stepped in so close, she choked on his rancid breath. “But wrong.”
Leviathan paced in front of Sam, Valeryn and Sloan. “Which one of these fellas do ya wrap yer legs around, hmm?” He removed a large dagger from his belt. “Which one will I gut?”
“I don’t lay with anyone,” Joelle stated. She refused to look at anyone as that would surely ferry their demise.
The vicious pirate tucked the blade under Sam’s chin. “Is it ye?”
Sam’s dark face was as emotionless as a funeral mask.
Leviathan pursed his lips and nodded. “Perhaps.”
He moved to Valeryn, forcing him to lift his head higher with the knife to better look at him. A trickle of blood oozed down Valeryn’s neck. “A first mate is expected to be close to the captain. No doubt ya have warmed her bed.
“But, ye.” He stepped to Sloan, circling behind him. He grabbed Sloan’s head and yanked it back, exposing the thick column of his neck. Leviathan pressed the dagger to his throat. “I see how ya look at Miss Quint.
“Is this bloke the one, Jo? Is he the one ya love?”
Valeryn pierced Sloan with a menacing eye. Her answer was crucial, not just to save them from Leviathan, but to save them from each other.
“I do not love anyone, Tolliver. Not anymore.”
“Do. Not. Call me that.”
“You’ve taken Seamus from me. Catherine’s gone. This comes down to you and me.” She knew her words meant nothing to him. She just had to buy some time. Figure out what to do next. “Leave the men. Hell, drop them off on the next spit of land. Take the Rissa. She’s a prize sought by all in the Caribbean. Do what you will with me. But these poor bastards deserve another merry round.”
“Dear, puss. Where is the sport in revenge if I don’t make ya suffer before I kill ya? They must die.” He bent to speak into Sloan’s ear. “Ye first, lover-boy.”
He began to draw his blade across Sloan’s neck.
“No!” Joelle’s screech was so loud, so unnatural, it startled Leviathan long enough to pause. She sprang for him.
Simultaneously, Sloan leaned back into Leviathan, away from his blade, grabbed the wrist holding the dagger, and twisted. Leviathan cried out, dropping the knife. Joelle slammed into him, shoving the blackguard away from Sloan. Together they tumbled to the floor.
The entire ship erupted into combat. Rissa lads attacked Leviathan’s men. Gunfire popped. Steel clashed against steel. Battle cries and grunts added to the cacophony.
Sloan was on his feet, muscles coiled, and vying for Leviathan. The consequence, he took a blunderbuss to his chin. Valeryn and Sam, too, were fighting off their foes.
Joelle scrambled and faced Leviathan. She had to stay on her feet if she were to fight. She’d be easy to overpower otherwise. She mustn’t let him know how weak she felt. ’twas difficult to do with the bastard’s fist connecting with her face. Sharp pain shot into her eye socket.
She struck Leviathan back, rapidly cracking her knuckles into his bulbous nose once, twice, three times.
Surprised, more, angered, he bashed her using the back of his hand with enough force and she pitched into the bulwark. Her foot caught in a coil of rope. Joelle couldn’t clear the white, blinding light from her vision, the pain radiating in her head.
Leviathan snapped up his dagger from the floorboards, cut off a length of rope, and wrapped her wrists with it. She fought against the scratchy binding he tried to knot.
“Belay!” He dug his thumb into her bandaged wound. She stiffened against the overwhelming torment.
The melee on the ship’s decks was in full swing with no sign of slowing. No gains had been made on either side.
“Time to make our departure,” Leviathan said. With that, he shoved Joelle overboard.
Before realization set in, she smacked hard into the unforgiving water, the air rushing from her lungs. Down she plunged under the cool waves. Joelle fought to recover from the sting to her skin and the urge to breathe.
With her bound wrists reaching above her, she kicked for what she hoped was the surface. She hadn’t any breath to hold. Oh, God. She broke through, choking on the seawater she gulped down with life-saving air.
’Twas nearly impossible to stay above the surf without the use of her arms. Her hair covered her face, and salt stung her eyes. Where was she? Could she swim to a boat? She kicked and pumped her arms, but her muscles cramped and she was tiring quickly.
Someone snapped up her bindings. “Come now, puss.” Leviathan dragged her into his longboat. “Ya didn’t think I’d let ya drown, did ya?”
Joelle retched over the side of the boat, her body taking on too much, too soon.
“Not yet. I’ve other plans for ya. First, ye’ll watch yer men die.” He paddled out a stone’s throw from Rissa. “Look. Look at yer driveling friends.”
Rays from the morning sun broke through a bank of low-slung golden clouds, illuminating the fighting in a grand presentation. Most fought with their fists, some with cutlasses, and still some devised with any item not nailed down that could be wielded as a weapon.
A gun fired. A man fell overboard.
Her crew were at such a disadvantage, ill-prepared and clearly caught by surprise by the ambush. She prayed their experience and hardiness would see them through.
Bile rose from her gut again. The boys were hardly holding their own. A favorable outcome seemed fleeting.
She caught a glimpse of Valeryn and Sloan, surrounded by the enemy closing in.
“How does it feel, Jo? To watch those you care about die. To be the reason?”
She mustered up enough strength to mask her fear, her hopelessness, and leveled anger upon him. “They’re not dead yet.” She chuckled. “My conscience is clear, Tolliver. You can claim I’m responsible, but you and I both know this, all of it, started with you. You ki
lled Catherine.” She spat. “You!”
Leviathan slapped her. The sting was sharp on her raw flesh. She smiled again anyway. Pain reinforced that she still lived, still had options. Even if that meant choosing to die now or die later.
“What will you do with yourself once you’ve killed me? What vengeance will shepherd you? What will you have to live for once you avenge Catherine? Hmm? You will have nothing, be nothing.”
He slapped her again. “Shut yer sauce, bitch.”
She was long tired of his maltreatment. This time, the son of a bitch drew blood. A small sacrifice for getting under his skin. She blotted her lip. She wanted to anger him further. Anger caused mistakes.
“Does the truth bother you?” she jeered.
A crooked grin split his whiskered mug. “Nay. Just would hate to mutilate the goods before I deliver your body.”
Deliver my body? To who?
A grenado exploded on the Rissa.
Through the smoke and flash, Sloan and Valeryn now stood back to back. Someone—she could not distinguish who—threw the boys each a sword. Regardless of the weapons, they were gravely outnumbered. She shut her eyes against the grim sight, unwilling to lay witness to what would happen next, and turned away.
Leviathan’s guttural laugh shook the small dinghy. She opened her eyes and something in the distance drew her attention. Was that? Hang it! Things just got worse.
“Expecting company?” She tilted her head toward the ship riding the horizon. Joelle didn’t need to see the standard to know it was Captain Watson. The naval ship was not sailing, rather it seemed to be...watching.
“Princock,” Leviathan mumbled. He slapped the oar into the water and paddled.
“Watson is an acquaintance, then?”
He grunted. “Let us assume that I share the same interests as the pestiferous lick-spittle. We both want to wipe you from existence.”
* * *
The acrid smoke from the grenado watered Ricker’s eyes. But he didn’t need to see clearly. He counted out how many clinks his cutlass blade made as he swept it out before him. Three foes in front. Possibly another to his right. Valeryn likely had several as well.
It had been some months since Ricker had fought that many at once. He used to keep practice with that hen-hearted offal, Jackson. When they were attacked by the corsairs, Ricker quickly learned Jackson had never once been in a real battle. Hence the cowardly act of denying he was captain, claiming Ricker to be the skipper instead. Never mind that. The sword felt heavy and deadly. Perfect for retribution.
Mutiny of the Heart Page 15