Chapter 23 #2
Annabelle did not think such a thing was possible. “Such as?”
“Such as being locked in a hanging cage over St. John’s Harbor.”
This was hardly the time for humor. “You’re teasing,” she said.
“I certainly am not.” There was an opening in the wall of the tunnel, and Hawke put the torch into it, leaning inside, but the path ended after only a few feet.
“How did you escape?” She still did not believe he was being entirely truthful but decided to play along.
“I befriended a crow,” he said. “The fellow was likely waiting around for me to perish so he could peck away at my eyeballs—”
“Hawke! What a ghastly thing to say.”
He chuckled and continued. “Most prisoners avoid the foul things thrown at them by an angry populace, but I fortunately caught a few pieces of fruit. It was rotten, of course, but the bird liked it well enough. I fed him slices, and in return, he brought me gifts.” He ran his hand along a smooth section of wall.
“Most were useless,” he continued. “A clump of straw, scrap of paper, that type of thing. But one day, the dear chap brought an iron nail. Dropped it right through the bars. I picked the cage’s lock and dove into the harbor, easy as you please. ”
The tunnel widened, and they began to walk around the edge of what seemed to be another cavern, albeit much smaller than the one they came from.
“That story cannot possibly be true,” Annabelle said.
Hawke put a hand over his heart, turning toward her, and adopting a solemn expression—though his teasing smirk still showed through. “On my honor as a buccaneer.”
Annabelle sighed, looking around the cavern. “A pity we have no crow,” she said.
“We have something far better.”
“And what is that?” she asked.
“You.”
Annabelle shook her head. “Stop teasing.”
“I am in earnest.” He clasped her hand, pulling her closer.
“A crow’s call is jarring, harsh, while I find your voice to be pleasant.
Especially when you sing.” He flicked her fingernails softly with his thumb.
“A crow’s talons are terribly sharp.” His voice was quieter.
“And one must avoid that beak at all cost.”
He nudged her chin upward, running his thumb over her lips.
Her heart jumped, and then jumped again when his mouth pressed against hers. A wave of tingling warmth flowed from his touch, and the despair she’d felt moments earlier was chased away.
Hawke drew back. “I was right. Your mouth is much softer than a crow’s.”
She swatted at his chest. “You did not kiss the crow.”
He shrugged a shoulder. “I was a lonely man, Belle.”
It was the first time he’d called her Belle.
The intimacy of hearing her nickname on his lips and the awareness of their impending fate made her bold. She took the torch from his hand, setting it onto the ground, then caught hold of Hawke’s lapels, pulling him to her as she rose up on her toes to kiss him again.
His arm went around her waist, and his hand cupped the back of her head, protecting it from hitting the stone wall as their bodies collided. If their first kiss was a spark, this was a roaring flame. She could feel his heart beating, hear her own drumming in her ears.
Annabelle pushed her fingers into his hair. His hat fell to the floor. Hawke’s arms tightened around her, as if neither could get close enough. His whiskers scratched her cheeks.
Annabelle poured every bit of her heart into the kiss.
She felt desperate, urgent, knowing their time was short, and wanting him to know everything that she’d never said: how he was the first person she wished to see when she woke, how his smug smirks and ridiculous stories made her indescribably happy, how she felt safe with him, how she trusted him, loved him, and how even though they were doomed never to leave this cave, there was nowhere she wished to be more than by his side. Until the very end.
When they drew apart at last, her breathing was uneven, and every bit of her felt hot. She didn’t trust her legs to support her, and so she leaned a moment longer against the wall.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” Hawke said. He brushed back her hair from her cheeks.
Annabelle smoothed her curls to cover her ear.
Hawke kissed the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her jaw, his touch slow and gentle.
“Why didn’t you?” She wrapped her arms around his neck and closed her eyes, wanting him to continue.
“An entire ship full of men would have torn me to shreds if I had even come close,” he muttered against her neck.
Annabelle pulled back, studying his expression. “They wouldn’t—”
His raised brows stopped her words.
“Well, perhaps they might have been a bit protective,” she admitted.
“A bit?” Hawke tipped his head, smirking.
She opened her mouth to answer, but something moved in the corner of her eye. The torch flame fluttered, and she heard a soft whooshing sound. Air was coming from somewhere.
“Hawke, do you see that?” She judged the direction of the draft and took the torch, searching for the source. At the far side of the cavern, she found it. Low to the ground, there was an opening in the wall—a wide crack where two stones came together.
Annabelle put her hand in front of the crack. Air was definitely passing through it. She crouched down, peering inside.
Hawke crouched beside her. He took the torch, pushing it into the opening. A narrow passage extended into the wall, but they could not see how far it continued.
“Might it be a way out?” Annabelle asked.
“It’s too small.”
“For you,” Annabelle said. She considered the dimensions. “I could squeeze inside.” A flicker of hope ignited in her at the thought of escape.
Hawke shook his head. “There is no knowing what you may encounter in there.”
“But we do know what awaits me here,” she said. “And all of us. This may be our only chance.”
“Belle . . .” He stood and offered his hand, pulling her to her feet.
“Hawke, unless the others have found a secret exit, we have no other choice except this one.” She put a hand on his arm. “If the passage ends or becomes too tight, I will squeeze back out, but at least I must try.”
His expression bore no indication of conceding.
“As per the Code,” she pressed, “every crewmember has a vote in the ship’s affairs”—Hawke’s eyes narrowed as she repeated his words—“and so we will ask the others.”
Hours later, Annabelle scooted on her knees through the darkness. She moved slowly, blindly, feeling the tunnel ahead before continuing forward. A nasty knock on the forehead and a sharp jab at her hip had taught her the importance of caution.
None of her friends had been pleased with the idea of her going into the passage, but once they saw the truth of her argument, they had all reluctantly agreed.
She’d held back her tears as she’d embraced each of them, fearing, in each case, that it may be for the final time; and then she had taken a deep breath and squeezed herself through the crack.
It had indeed led to a passageway.
At the beginning of Annabelle’s exploration, Hawke and the others had called out to her regularly for an update.
She had called back that all was well and she was continuing forward safely.
But their voices had become softer, and then muffled as the distance between them grew, and eventually she’d moved beyond the range of the familiar sounds altogether.
The loneliness she’d felt after calling out and hearing nothing in return had hit her like a blow, leaving her feeling empty and isolated, like a boat adrift in a dark sea.
Annabelle had experienced a full range of emotion since then. She’d been overcome by panic at the tight space and utter darkness, slipped deep into fear at not knowing what lay ahead of her—might she encounter spiders? Snakes? And despair was ever present, hanging over her like a fog.