Chapter 36
“Jack!” Anne screamed, kicking the carriage wall as James held her away from the window.
“Stop it, Anne,” he said, settling in beside her. “You’re making a scene.”
A soldier thumped on the door with his musket, and the carriage pulled away with a jolt. The crowd stared after them, but Anne could no longer see Jack.
Anne cursed. “I’m the one making a scene?”
James—no, Bonny, for he deserved no familiarity from her anymore—slumped against the seat and loosened his cravat.
He refused to look at her. This stranger wore gentlemen’s clothes and a newfound confidence like a too-pungent perfume.
The carriage shook as it picked up speed.
Anne craned to look at the street, the white sandy road she’d have to return by.
Study the path, she vowed. Think.
She remembered the knife under her dress, in its usual place. She moved her hand to feel it under the fabric.
Anne could jump. But she wouldn’t get far. Soldiers on horseback flanked the carriage.
She could stab Bonny in the eyeball for all she cared. He deserved no less. But that, also, would not get her far.
“You’re a scoundrel,” Anne said, biding her time. If he wanted a pleasant carriage ride, she’d give him one to remember.
“Oh? For doing exactly what I said I would? Returning for you and hoping you’d learned some manners? Some of us hold true to our word.”
“You didn’t honor our bargain.”
“You changed the rules on me, Anne. So I did, too.”
She punched the door and Bonny grabbed her wrist. “I told you, Anne. Enough.”
He said her name with such casualness. Like he owned her. Glaring at his white-knuckle grip, she remembered what Read had taught her. With a sharp, circular movement, she broke the hold. “Don’t you dare touch me.”
Surprise etched his brow, but it disappeared in an instant. He snarled. “I could beat you. I’ve never hit you, never abandoned you for any other woman—can’t say you’ve demonstrated the same degree of loyalty. I’ve protected you as I’d promised, been a good husband.”
She scoffed. An image of Nathaniel flashed across her mind, and she pushed it away. Bonny was scum, but it was true that he had never violated her.
Would he this time? She wouldn’t stick around to find out.
For the remainder of the ride, Anne didn’t speak.
They cleared a stockade—another barrier to any immediate attempts to escape—and then the coachman announced their arrival as the carriage stopped in front of a grand government estate.
Palm fronds framed the entrance. Anne fought her way out of the carriage and stormed inside.
What devilry had landed him this new situation?
“Rest will do you good,” Bonny said, his tone softening. He pointed to a door. “That’s your room. By dinner, I hope you will be ready to apologize.”
She spun on him, her boots scuffing the tiled entry.
“Oh, and what of your apology?” she retorted.
“For threatening to get my friends hanged for piracy, abandoning me with no means, and kidnapping me in front of a gawking crowd today?” Anne spat, marched into her room, and slammed the door behind her.
“Good day, Mrs. Bonny.”
Anne startled at seeing a middle-aged maid holding a platter of tea. A new dress lay on the canopy bed. Flowers sat in a vase on the mahogany bureau.
Gifts?
From Bonny?
Bloody hell, why? Again, she wondered how he came by this money. But she knew. The traitor. How many people had he turned in by now? The rented estate and guards signaled he was under the thumb of Governor Rogers.
“That won’t be necessary,” Anne said. “I require privacy. Don’t disturb me until supper.” They were the words she imagined a noblewoman, accustomed to being waited upon, might say.
The stout woman stood there, unmoving. “Mr. Bonny said you’re not to be left alone. He also said—”
“I have to piss. I don’t give a damn what he said!”
Anne pitied the woman, who retreated in a hurry. The second the door clicked behind her, Anne looked around. She rifled through every drawer of the ebony-edged trousseau. Not a coin or jeweled necklace in sight. Nothing that could be of use to her.
She gritted her teeth and reached for the knife under her skirts. Her eyes flicked to the window. A dense woodland of ferns and mossy branches loomed ahead.
Punching the hilt of the knife into the window, the panes gave way, shards of glass falling into the hedge outside. A fragment nicked her finger, but she didn’t stop her work to suck off the blood.
Once there was enough room to crawl through, Anne lowered herself onto the dirt below and pushed her way into the forest. A twig sliced her cheek, and her courage hitched.
Pretend, she breathed. This is emerald heather and green grass along the River Bandon.
She ran, knife raised, like her life depended on it.