Christine Dorsey - [Sea 01]

by Sea Fires

  Grabbing the hilt, Jack plunged forward, impaling the soldier with his own sword. With a quick yank Jack turned to face his next adversary. The man hesitated, obviously affected by what he had just witnessed.

  Hefting the sword, feeling its balance as an extension of his limb, Jack grinned at his opponent, mocking his reluctance to do battle. Jack felt a rush of exhilaration followed by a glimmer of hope. One more man to get by and he had a chance... a chance to make his way to de Segovia and extract his revenge... a chance to escape and join Miranda.

  The soldier suddenly rushed forward, but Jack was quicker and thwarted the attack. He lunged, flicking the sword tip across the Spaniard’s chest and drawing blood. Fighting in the narrow hallway was awkward, but Jack was definitely the superior swordsman. He parried each thrust, backing the Spaniard down the hallway. With each step Jack became more aggressive.

  Then with a well-executed flick of his wrist Jack sent his opponent’s weapon spinning to the floor. Sweat broke out on the man’s florid face as he flattened himself against the stone wall.

  Jack leaned forward. “Where is de Segovia?” His sword tip played with the buttons decorating the front of the soldier’s jacket. “De Segovia?” he repeated, when the man showed no signs of understanding.

  The soldier broke to the side, lunging toward escape, but Jack followed, piercing the man’s body with a single thrust.

  In that same instant Jack felt the hair at the back of his neck bristle. He whirled about, frantic to prepare himself to face a new adversary. But he was too late to avoid the club already plummeting toward his head.

  Blinding pain exploded in Jack’s head, then rushed through his body. His knees buckled, and Jack tried to keep his footing; but it was no use. As realization of defeat permeated his brain, Jack felt the packed dirt come up to meet him.

  Just before blackness embraced him he conjured up a vision of Miranda. The picture etched on his mind was as he last saw her. She stared at him, her blue eyes filled with love and regret and shimmering with unshed tears.

  God’s blood, he hoped with all his heart she was able to escape.

  Ah, the wages of sin.

  Jack languished, racked with pain, certain he’d died and found his way into the depths of Hades. He was a pirate, after all.

  “I see you’ve finally arrived.”

  Jack stopped lamenting his final destination, and his eyes shot open. He recognized that voice. After ten years, and though he now spoke a heavily accented English, Jack knew. And though hell was a most appropriate place for de Segovia, Jack hadn’t had the pleasure of sending him there.

  Focusing his eyes, Jack picked out de Segovia seated on a wooden bench near the door of the cell. Gray now flared out through his dark hair, but other than that he looked nearly the same as that day long ago on the beach at Port Royal.

  With a primal roar Jack tried lurching to his feet. The bite of chain links gouging his wrists brought him to an abrupt halt.

  “You always were one to cause trouble, weren’t you Jack?”

  The scorn in the Spaniard’s expression made Jack tug against the restraining chains. The motion only caused him further anguish, but it amused de Segovia. He laughed diabolically, a sound that echoed through Jack’s head, mingling with the memories of the massacre at Port Royal. The Spaniard had laughed then, too... bared his teeth and guffawed at the lad sprawled at his feet.

  “You will not escape this time, Jack. I have you, and I won’t let you go... except of course to embrace a painful death.”

  “You sniveling—” Gritting his teeth, Jack yanked with all his might, but in the end he could only flop back, exhausted, defeated, and listen to more of the fiendish laughter. It seemed to reverberate off the dank walls and surround Jack, creeping beneath his skin.

  “I’ll kill you, you bloodthirsty bastard,” Jack hissed, when the tormenting cackle subsided.

  “You kill me? You have it all wrong. It is I who shall do the killing.” He leaned forward, bracing his satin-covered elbows on his knees. “And you have gall, calling me bloodthirsty. Pirates are known for that trait.”

  “Pirate I may be, but I’ve yet to slaughter women and children.”

  De Segovia’s expression hardened, and his thick, dark brows lowered. “Your crimes are the ones we are discussing. Thievery, murder, piracy.” The volume of his voice rose with each word, till he nearly screamed the last. “Foul deeds all. And all punishable by death.”

  He stood and walked toward Jack, careful to keep himself out of the pirate’s limited reach. “You’ve caused me anguish since the day I first laid eyes on you. I should have run my sword through you then. But I spared you, more fool I.

  “Spared me to slave in your quarry, cutting coquina, or to labor from sunup to sundown digging the moat.” Jack remembered vividly the two years he’d spent as a prisoner under de Segovia’s cruel thumb. “Tell me, de Segovia. Was I spared to give you practice with the whip?”

  “You couldn’t be trusted,” de Segovia stated simply.

  “Aye. And you can’t trust me now.” The venom in Jack’s voice made the bulging vein in de Segovia’s forehead pulse, but he laughed heartily.

  “Brave words from a captive.” De Segovia roamed about the small cell as if to point out the confining walls. “I shall not make the same mistake I made before. There will be no pirate ship’s guns to conceal your escape. The castillo is complete now. And it can easily thwart any attack by sea.”

  De Segovia came to stand in front of Jack, and his smile was evil. “Ten years ago, when I realized you were gone, I had hoped the pirates had killed you, or if not, that the swamp would do the deed. I left for Spain believing you dead. Then I began to hear tales, tales of a pirate who roamed the Spanish Main at will. A pirate by the name of Jack Blackstone.”

  “I was seeking you, de Segovia.”

  “And now you’ve found me.” The Spaniard seemed to find this highly amusing. “Fortunately it shall do you no good.”

  Jack’s fingers fisted, and he longed for the chance to wrap his hands around his captor’s thick neck. But Jack could only kneel in the squalid straw; enduring the Spaniard’s rantings. De Segovia seemed to truly enjoy Jack’s plight, for he paced back and forth, his bulldog body jerking about, facing Jack now and then to make a point.

  Jack grew almost anesthetized to his words till he heard the mention of Snebley’s Creek.

  “Ah, I see that gained your interest. I almost had you there. Unfortunately, you slipped through my fingers. But not this time.”

  “That was your galleon at Snebley’s Creek? But how did you know —”

  “Of your secret hiding place? Your safe harbor?” De Segovia chuckled. “I don’t suppose there’s any harm in telling you now... now that it’s too late for you to do anything about it.” He tilted his head. “I had a message. From someone you would never suspect. You have more enemies than you can imagine, my pirate friend.”

  Jack listened with a sickening sense of betrayal as de Segovia droned on, finally revealing the traitor. How could he not have known?

  The pounding of blood in his ears nearly drowned out the Spaniard’s words as Jack thought of his Judas. And de Segovia was right. Now that he knew, it was too late to do anything about it.

  It was too late for everything... even revenge.

  Dawn tinged the musty cell a dingy gray. Dawn of the day he would die.

  Strange, Jack thought as he leaned against the rough stone wall, there was no itch at the base of his neck. The tingle that had bothered him since the day he became a pirate was gone. He would have thought today of all days it would be unbearable. Not that he was going to hang, as he had always feared. That was the English punishment for pirating.

  The Spanish method, though similar, was more fiendish. Or perhaps it only seemed that way because de Segovia took such relish in describing it in agonizing detail.

  Garroting.

  They would place him in a chair, wrap a rope around his neck and slowly twist s
crews that tightened the hemp, strangling the life from him.

  Jack took a deep breath, again wondering why he didn’t have the urge to dig at his neck. Perhaps the worst part of dying was the worry, the anticipation. Within hours that would be over.

  Shutting his eyes, Jack wished he could die with a clear conscience. Wished, too, he needn’t die full of regrets. But he had them, and they gnawed at him like the rats that shared his cell.

  He had failed. Failed to bring de Segovia to justice, even if it was his own form. Failed to rescue his sister. Failed to recognize the viper nestled close to his breast.

  That was his hell.

  Jack shuddered, forcing his thoughts away from the morbid. He smiled to himself when they settled on Miranda. His only regrets from that quarter were that he had exposed her to danger, and he didn’t know for certain that she had escaped. But he prayed she had. Miranda was resourceful. He’d go to his death hoping against hope she was safe.

  When the heavy wooden door creaked open, Jack struggled to his feet. He brushed the prickly straw from his breeches as best he could and straightened his shoulders. He was Gentleman Jack Blackstone, by God, and he’d go to his death with as much dignity as the Spanish would allow.

  There were three guards. This time two of them had pistols trained on him while the third unlocked his leg irons. His shackled wrists had momentary relief when the metal bands came off. But they were quickly replaced by twisted hemp. With his hands tied behind his back Jack was prodded forward.

  After three days in semidarkness the sunlight hurt Jack’s eyes. He blinked, then forced them open. The courtyard was filled with people. A carnival atmosphere seemed to permeate the air. Then, suddenly, someone noticed him, and a hush descended on the gathering. More soldiers joined the guards. As they surrounded him, Jack wasn’t certain if they were to protect the crowd from him, or him from the crowd.

  The soldiers prodded Jack forward and the throng aside. Slowly, reluctantly, they moved, forming a corridor of humanity. Their faces were filled with hate, and though Jack couldn’t understand what they said, it obviously wasn’t sympathy for his fate.

  “The good people of St. Augustine hate pirates such as you,” de Segovia had told him yesterday. “They will declare the day you die a holiday.”

  His words had sent shivers down Jack’s spine. Seeing the proof now made him lift his chin higher. He fixed his eyes straight ahead. And that’s when he saw it. A high wooden platform, empty save for the chair and post behind it.

  He hesitated only a moment before striding forward to meet his fate.

  De Segovia stood at the foot of the platform. He was dressed in full military regalia. The tropical sun reflected off the silver and jewels adorning his short, bulldog body, and the breeze fluttered his plumed hat.

  But it was the look on his face that caught Jack’s attention. He was obviously very pleased with himself, puffed up and gloating. And Jack would give his last minutes to wipe away that expression.

  Instead, he stood there tall and stoically while de Segovia spewed taunts that moved the crowd to a high pitch of excitement. When they were shoving against the soldiers that encircled the platform, de Segovia gave the signal for Jack and the hooded executioner to ascend the crude wooden steps.

  De Segovia followed. He stood to the side as Jack was shoved into the chair. Then he turned, a smirk on his face. “Knowing you do not ascribe to the true religion, I thought it a waste of time to provide you with a priest.”

  Jack said nothing.

  “Have you no final words? No thoughts on this momentous occasion?”

  “Only that I shall await you in hell.”

  Jack took a modicum of satisfaction in watching the color drain from de Segovia’s face. The Spaniard nearly trembled with rage. He turned toward the crowd and lifted his hand. “Let the execution of the despised pirate Jack Blackstone commence!” he shouted, before descending the steps.

  Jack forced himself to return the stares of the people as the rope scratched around his neck. They were a mix of peons and gentry, men and women, and Jack briefly wondered if one of them was his sister. But the thought of Elspeth watching him die was so abhorrent, he quickly pushed it from his mind.

  His gaze flicked from one face to the next until it met a pair of dark blue eyes. His breath caught.

  “God’s blood.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Before Jack could begin to fathom what Miranda’s presence in the crowd meant, the rope tightened painfully about his neck. He gasped for a breath, thinking it his last. But no sooner had the hemp grown taut, than it loosened and fell away. Jack jerked his head around when he heard a familiar voice muffled by the executioner’s hood.

  “Ain’t nothin’ to worry ‘bout, Cap’n.”

  Then all hell broke loose.

  Several explosions rang out almost simultaneously, sending sand and palm fronds flying. People screamed and panicked, running helter-skelter within the confines of the courtyard. The soldiers shouldered their firearms, but were obviously caught up in the hysteria.

  Jack’s wrists were cut free and a cutlass jammed against his palm. His hand molded about the hilt, and Jack whipped it around, slicing the polished steel through the air.

  Another blast sounded, and Jack leaped from the scaffolding, Phin by his side. Pirates, who moments before had passed for haggard peons, flung aside their raiments, brandishing pistols and swords. Jack’s crew had positioned themselves near the soldiers, and now fell upon them with fierce abandon.

  “Raise the drawbridge!” The order screamed by a Spanish officer was his last.

  “This way, Cap’n.” Phin yanked at his arm, motioning toward the gate now jammed with humanity trying to push through. “Don’t need ta worry none ‘bout them closin’ the bridge. Her ladyship done seen ta that.”

  “Where is she? Where’s Miranda!” Jack yelled above the din. “I saw her in the crowd.”

  Phin shrugged his scrawny shoulder. “On her way ta the ship, I’ll wager.”

  But Jack wasn’t about to wager on her life. Breaking free of Phin’s hold, he rushed toward the crowd, most of whom fell back as he approached. It seemed none of the civilians wanted to take their chances against the pirate captain.

  “Miranda!” Jack thought he spotted her shiny head, and he ran toward the spot.

  Miranda glanced up as he approached, taking her attention from the man at her side. “I have him for you, Jack. I have de Segovia.” In that instant the Spaniard knocked her arm, grabbing the gun she’d had trained on him, and proving her words false.

  With his arm locked around Miranda’s throat, de Segovia aimed the pistol toward Jack.

  Hesitating only a moment, Jack lifted his cutlass, pointing the tip toward de Segovia’s chest. “Let her go, you bastard!”

  “I’ll kill her.” In a wave of panic the Spaniard started moving the gun around toward Miranda.

  “De Segovia!” Jack yelled as Miranda rammed her elbow into the Spaniard’s side. The spark from the flint exploded in the priming pan, firing the pistol just as Jack lunged forward.

  His cutlass met resistance of flesh and sinew, and Jack plunged harder. It wasn’t until the echo of the shot faded that Jack realized he wasn’t wounded. De Segovia lay sprawled, faceup, the sword centering a blossom of crimson on his jacket. But Jack gave little thought to the man who’d spurred his years of revenge. All he knew was that Miranda lay motionless, her fragile body partly covered by the Spaniard.

  “Oh, God, Miranda.” Jack dropped to his ,knees, praying the shot hadn’t killed her. He shoved de Segovia’s body onto the sand, relieved when Miranda lifted her head. She stared at him, her eyes wide.

  “Jack... Oh, Jack.”

  “Are you hurt?” Jack ran his hands over her arms and hips. When they reached her legs she winced. “God, what is it?”

  “Nothing really. I just twisted my foot.” She attempted to stand and lost her balance. Without waiting for another try Jack bent down, scooped her over his sh
oulder and took off toward the castillo’s gate. He elbowed his way through the crowd. As Phin had predicted the drawbridge was still down. A fleeting memory of digging the moat crossed Jack’s mind as he pounded across the wooden bridge. Once on the beach he spotted some of his crew and raced toward them.

  Farther down the stretch of sand, near a stand of palmetto, Jack saw King, Scar and No Thumb. They were situated behind a hastily constructed barricade of logs. They fired their muskets, and Jack glanced behind him to see several Spanish soldiers pursuing him. One of them dropped to the sand. Another turned on his heel and ran back toward the castillo.

  “Little farther, Cap’n. Beyond that spit a land: there be a longboat.”

  “Aren’t you corning?” Jack slowed and shifted Miranda.

  “We’ll be along. Just waitin’ to give ye a bit of a head start.” Scar fired his musket at yet another soldier, causing him to dive to the ground. Scar looked up and grinned. “Get her ladyship outta here, Cap’n.”

  Jack didn’t hesitate, promising to come back as soon as he saw Miranda safely aboard. He found more of his men on the beach of a small cove. The Sea Hawk was riding at anchor just off shore, and one longboat was already heading across the placid water toward her. Another ketch was pulled up on the sand.

  “There ye be, Cap’n.” Phin rushed over as Jack settled Miranda into the boat. “Is her ladyship all right?”

  “I’m perfectly fine.” Miranda took a deep breath and swept hair from her face.

  “It’s her foot,” Jack said, refuting her words. “Take care of her; I’m going back for King and the others.”

  “No need, Cap’n. See fer yourself.” Phin pointed to the three pirates in question hurrying across the beach toward the boat. “Now, come on and get yerself in here, so we can get off this here heathen shore.”

  As he stepped into the boat, Jack noticed Miranda’s face. She was staring past his shoulder. She touched his arm. “Jack,” was all she said, but the way her fingers tightened made him wary.