21. The Governor’s Mansion #2
Her throat closed against the impulse to start screaming. A few more moments, a few more seconds, and maybe—
“Per the governor’s orders, it is my duty to make an example of anyone.”
She exhaled at the sound of the voice that drifted down the hall from behind them. Though the deep timbre came with a lilting Spanish accent, its familiarity wrapped around her heart and sent a relieved, lovestruck flush over her skin.
A hush fell. The sun had set fully by now, and the moon was beginning to rise, illuminating a tall officer in the middle of the corridor behind them.
His hat was pulled low, shadowing his eyes but leaving the irritated cut of his mouth visible.
Deep scars ran over his face, slicing through his nose, his lips, his chin, his neck, as though some great monster had torn him apart.
She’d seen Jack dressed this way plenty of times, but she’d never watched him embody the officer. He was every bit as disturbing as the islanders said.
The captain was the only one who didn’t seem intimidated. “Officer Marín,” he said, like he greeted a friend. “It appears we have would-be thieves at our door. I was handling it.”
Marín’s lips curved down. “With all due respect, I was brought here for the sake of your guards and your thieves. I’d be remiss if I allowed you to do my job.”
Though he said nothing inherently violent, the promise of it hung over them like cold steel. He moved forward with slow, assured steps, and the guards parted to allow him through. Once he reached the captain, he stopped, standing directly before Cecily.
“It appears these men broke protocol and are bothering you with a matter that belongs to me,” Marín said. “Allow me contend with them, and neither of these oversights shall happen again.”
Cecily lowered her gaze, staring at the captain’s boots. She didn’t need to feign her apprehension. If Jack couldn’t get them out of this, there was no telling what punishments the governor would bestow on would-be thieves after six years of robberies.
The captain considered with pinched lips. Sternly, he said, “I’ll answer to the governor for this. If this isn’t handled perfectly…”
Marín smirked, and there was so much Jack in the expression. “I assure you the governor will have no complaints.”
The captain looked as though he wanted to argue further, and for a moment Cecily believed he might. But then he sighed. His exhaustion returned, deepening the dark circles beneath his eyes, and he waved his hand. “Do as you see fit, Marín.”
Marín gave a firm nod. The captain returned to his office, and Cecily hardly dared to blink in case it might break the spell and bring him thundering back with designs to punish them himself.
His door shut. Silence stretched for a few seconds, and when the captain didn’t return, the anxious bands around her ribs released.
But then Marín whirled on Cosme.
“Was it you who broke protocol?” he demanded in a low, lethal purr.
The guard recoiled. “Sir, if I may, this laundress—”
“That’s no laundress,” Marín hissed. He towered over the Cosme, and Cecily could feel him shaking. “That’s Hein’s girl. Or were you too witless to notice?”
“I-I didn’t—”
“You can’t trust any pretty face that comes to our gates,” Marín snarled, “especially if they’ve been with Hein. Have you not seen the kind of filth he cavorts with?”
The guards remained silent, the tension thick enough to crack.
“How did they get past the front gate?” Marín asked, deathly quiet once again. No one answered.
The gate guards were currently unconscious, thanks to Greyson and Frederick, who’d gotten to them before Killian could. Of course, none of the guards here knew that.
“How?” he demanded, so abruptly that some of the guards flinched. When still no one gave an answer, he angled his head toward Cecily, the motion unsettlingly snakelike. “You’ll tell me.”
She couldn’t see his eyes, but she stared into the shadow beneath his hat. He was very good at this, she thought. His mask was flawless, and were it not for the familiarity of his expression earlier, she might have wondered if it was indeed him.
He waited for her to respond, having challenged her on purpose and trusting that she would make the right decision to sell their ruse.
She wouldn’t let him down, or any of the others. So she twisted her lips into a scowl and spat at his boots. Beside her, Cosme stiffened, and with a low snarl, she said, “Go to hell.”
Many of the guards shuffled backward or shook their heads. Cecily didn’t take her eyes off Marín. His lips twitched, but he pulled the amusement into a cold grin.
His hidden gaze blistered over her skin, making her heart race. “Lock the trespassers in separate rooms,” he said. In a flash, his hand clamped on her upper arm, hauling her away from Cosme. “I’ll have the defiant one first.”
Her chest heaved as she glared at him, feeling light and lovely in his grasp, even as she spat, “You bastard—”
“You’re rather pretty,” he growled. “Maybe you’d like some scars like mine.”
Gently detained in his scarred hands, he hauled her toward one of the doors.
Behind her, the others began to protest, and she barely caught sight of them being wrestled toward the other rooms before Marín steered her through a doorway, saying to the guards, “No one is to disturb me. Leave the keys.”
“No!” Cecily cried, but the door slammed behind them and the lock slid into place, leaving them alone with a single candle on the desk in the corner to burn away the darkness.
He stood in the center of the room, half of his face bathed in blue moonlight, the other illuminated by the candle. For a moment, they stood there, listening to the commotion in the hall as the others were taken to separate rooms.
Then Marín whispered with perfect English diction, “Well done, darling.”
She sank into a perfect curtsy. “Thank you, Jack.”
He took off his hat and tossed it on the desk, revealing another very real-looking scar through one eyebrow. He ran his hand over her arm where he’d gripped her, his voice low to keep anyone in the hall from overhearing. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head, her heart calming from their brush with disaster. “Not at all. Perhaps a little shaken, but we’re all fine.”
“Cosme’s an idiot,” he grumbled. The air felt cold against her arm when he pulled away, going to his desk to retrieve a bag filled with her knives and belts. “I had half a mind to throttle him when I found you all.”
When he returned, she lifted her skirt and began strapping them over the trousers she wore underneath.
“So you’re not terribly attached to your new position, I gather,” she said, aware of Jack watching her every movement.
“Not in the least.” Jack handed her knives one by one, no doubt remembering how he’d put them on her this morning. “These grunts are shit at their jobs, and nothing I do seems to make them behave. They’re supposed to keep out the riffraff, but look what happened—they brought you right in.”
“Poor Cosme thought he had a chance with me.” A quiet laugh slipped from her before she could help it. She didn’t miss the way Jack drank in the expression or how the corners of his lips lifted in response. “I was supposed to be abysmal at flirting, and I worried I’d ruined it.”
His gaze dropped to the low cut of her shirt and lingered for a second before returning to her face.
“Perhaps I shouldn’t have judged him so harshly.
You could certainly seduce me into breaking rules and letting you rob me blind.
That’s hardly the kind of quality they want for a man in my position.
” His eyes bored into hers, like he was desperately trying not to look lower. “You’ll likely be the death of me too.”
She finished clipping her knives into place and straightened.
Here, with Jack, safe and guarded after all the uncertainty of the last few minutes, a new confidence swelled in her.
One shoulder lifted, and she said, with only the smallest bit of chagrin over daring to say it at all, “You wouldn’t be the first.”
A moment of silence passed as the words settled over them. Then his bark of shocked laughter came louder than he probably meant it to. “Did you…?” His brows furrowed. “Was that a jest about your crime?”
She searched his gaze as he studied her. So much had changed so quickly, leaving her both dizzy and grounded, but not at all confused.
“You said I was enough,” she told him. “Even knowing what I am.”
He slipped a strand of hair behind her ear, leaving a line of warmth where his finger brushed her skin. “And what are you, Cecily Shoard? A murderer?”
It didn’t sound so awful coming from him, not now that she’d had time to get used to it. But that wasn’t what she’d meant.
She shook her head and said softly, “A pirate.”
It was her first time testing the identity aloud. After all these weeks with new friends and loving a Copson, it felt like a natural thing to call herself.
Though she’d wanted something different, the pursuit of a life beyond piracy would send her leaping into the unknown yet again. Hester had once encouraged her to find a life she could love, and with Jack, Cecily knew she could be happy—or at the very least, she was willing to find out.
Jack laced his fingers through hers, tugging her toward the door as he muttered, “What brave words you say to me. You risk me keeping you forever.”
“I’m well aware,” she said.
He stuck his head into the corridor. All was quiet, and soft snoring drifted from the captain’s office.
Jack grabbed the keys hanging by the jamb, and they started down the hall, unlocking the doors one by one. The others emerged quietly, congregating in the middle of the corridor.
“I’ve assigned guards away from the areas where we’ll be,” Jack said. He pulled a pocket watch from his coat and frowned. “We have forty-five minutes. Meet back here in thirty. I’ve stashed weapons in the rooms for you, in case you need them.”
“Aye,” Frederick said as Jack pulled four matchsticks from his coat. He held them in his fist. Maria stepped forward and drew one tipped in blue.