Chapter Fifteen #2
Samantha huddled in the darkness, cringing with each stroke of the oars. This was madness. Pure madness. Turn back. She wanted to scream it aloud, but her chest constricted to the point where even taking a breath took effort.
“Ho there!” Griff shouted the greeting and every muscle of hers went rigid. Her stomach churned and she took several short breaths. If she vomited, she’d blow their cover.
The little boat slowed and she pressed against the frame, willing herself to be as small as possible. Preparing herself for what came next.
Still, she flinched when the booming voice of one of the giants answered. “State yer business.”
Now, it was up to her crew to put on the performance of their lives. The longboat wobbled as someone stood up. Griff.
“We hail from the Golden Lantern.” A rowdy tavern they’d scoped out earlier. “A round of drinks has been purchased for your crew.”
She stilled, waiting for the man’s answer. It was true. Griff had sold a barrel of whiskey to the proprietor for a handsome discount, with the stipulation that Thorne’s crew got free drinks tonight. The man had barked out a laugh and agreed. Without haggling.
A frown pulled her lips down and her pulse sped up.
“We don’t drink.”
Silence fell around them and she closed her eyes. Of course. No wonder the barkeep had been so quick to make the deal.
To his credit, Griff improvised fast. “I’m sure the amount could be applied toward other activities. The ladies would be happy to oblige.”
The giant snorted. “We’ve no need for women to warm our beds.”
Griff nudged her with his toe. Her signal to get ready. But if they continued to approach with no good reason, they risked drawing the pirate’s ire.
Griff didn’t miss a beat. “Surely, there must be something? Don’t tell me you don’t eat as well?”
One of her crewmates sniggered. And then the gentle bump of wood against wood. Time to move.
Samantha pulled the canvas back just enough to slip over the edge of the longboat. Warm water enveloped her, soaking through her breeches and shirt, and she pressed against the ship. Here, the curve of the hull obscured her from view.
She kicked her feet and edged along the waterline, away from Griff and her crew who negotiated free meals with Thorne’s crew.
The anchor cable rose from the water off the bow and she swam to it with strong strokes.
Lifting herself into the air with waterlogged clothes proved harder than she’d thought.
Hand over hand, she ascended, wrapping her feet around the massive rope for more leverage.
When she reached the hull, she swung her feet over to the figurehead, a busty mermaid with an angry scowl upon her face.
Chest heaving, Samantha edged toward the railing as Griff and her crewmates rowed away.
Shadows began to cast across the bay and she flexed and unflexed her fingers. Not much time left.
Moments later, her feet landed on the deck of the forecastle. She checked that her hair remained pinned in place under Tommy’s hat and glanced down at her soaked clothing. Thank goodness she’d had the sense to bind her breasts.
“What the hell are you doing up here, boy?”
She stiffened before turning to face the giant. As a cabin boy, the forecastle would be off-limits to Skip.
Backing toward the stairs, she dropped her gaze to the deck and tugged her hat lower. “Wanted to get a better view of the visitors.” She jutted a thumb toward the retreating longboat.
“Why are you wet?”
“I fell in.”
He approached and she gulped. “Why didn’t you call for help?”
She stepped down onto the first step. “I didn’t want anyone to know.”
Silence.
She took another step.
“Why are you above deck in the first place? What time is it?”
Her gaze jerked out to the darkening sky and her surprise was not an act. She may already be too late. “I gotta go!”
Samantha turned and sprinted for the hatch, ready to dive out of the way.
But the giant didn’t chase her. She dropped to the gun deck and ran without stopping to the next hatch.
Once in the darkness of the hallway below, she reached out to the wall to steady herself.
Her entire body trembled and she took a deep breath before staggering down the hallway toward the galley.
She tested each door she passed until one opened into a small storage closet.
Perfect. In one corner, a broken mop leaned against the wall.
Even better. Leaving the door ajar, she peeked into the galley, where a large man bent over a steaming cauldron.
A platter of food and a wine goblet sat on a table near the door and she nearly doubled over in her relief. Not too late.
So where was Skip? Her gaze continued down the hallway and stopped at the open hatch on the floor. The brig. With a tight throat, she dragged her eyes away. No distractions. Not right now.
But a movement there made her suck in a breath. Skip climbed through the hatch and slammed it shut. When he bent to lock it, her heart leaped back to life. It could only mean one thing.
Christian was alive.
While Skip locked the chain, Samantha backed into the closet. Her fingers wrapped around the smooth wood of the broom handle. Before the cabin boy could enter the galley she leaned out.
“Hello, Skip.”
He skidded to a stop with wide eyes. “Who’re you?”
She grinned. “Your replacement.”
His face fell and for a split second, she almost felt sorry for him. He didn’t even see her swing the mop handle. The blow took him by surprise and he crumpled to the floor.
“Skip, is that you?” The cook. She grabbed the cabin boy under the arms and dragged him into the tiny closet.
Dropping him, she took out a vial. “Sorry about this.” She emptied the liquid into his mouth and he coughed and sputtered as it went down.
“Skip, you’re going to be late.”
The cook’s voice jerked her into action. She tugged the boy’s shirt off and ripped her wet one free. No time to change anything else. Pulling the dry garment over her head, she sent up a silent thanks it fit well and checked her hat once more before darting into the kitchen.
The big man didn’t even turn from his pot. “You’ll be getting a whipping if you don’t hurry.”
She grabbed the tray and goblet. If her timing was right, there were only minutes to spare. Once back in the hallways, she balanced the goblet on the tray and emptied the other vial in it.
None of the crew seemed to give her more than a passing glance as she made her way back up to the main deck.
Still, her heart slammed against her ribs and the tray trembled in her hands.
A moment later, she stood in front of Thorne’s cabin.
Too late to back out now. She took a deep breath. Knocked. Opened the door.
He sat at a desk, his back to her. His quarters were clean and tidy and she blinked in the darkness. Thank goodness he only had a few candles lit at his table. Still, she’d expected . . . More. He was a notorious pirate. There should be treasure adorning every nook and cranny.
The plate clattered on the tray as she shut the door behind her.
Click.
“You’re late.”
He snapped a pocket watch closed and swiveled to face her with raised brows. Right. His dinner.
She rushed forward and set it on the table, clearing her throat to lower her voice. “There you are.”
As soon as she released the tray, she pivoted and headed back toward the door. But she only made it a few steps before Thorne cleared his throat.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” She turned to stare at his outstretched hand and her stomach dropped.
“The keys, Skip.”
The keys. The ones still on Skip’s belt.
Thump.
Thump.
Her heart slammed inside her chest.
“I—I . . .” His eyes narrowed and she backed away another step.
“I left them in the kitchen.” Her words came out in a strangled whisper. “I got distracted. I swear, I didn’t mean to. I’ll go get them right away.”
“What could possibly distract you from the most important job on this ship?”
She swallowed and wracked her brain for a worthy excuse. “The prisoner.”
Thorne’s gaze zeroed in on her. “What about him?”
“He said something. It was nothing, really. Doesn’t matter,” she mumbled. Stop blabbering and get out. She took another step toward the door.
The captain drew a dagger from his boot and studied the pointed blade. “Tell me.”
She said the first thing that came to mind. “He threatened my family.” She winced when her voice cracked and coughed to cover the higher tone.
“You don’t have family.”
Blast.
She straightened her back. “I know. That’s why it doesn’t matter.”
He studied her for a moment and she leaned into the shadows along the wall. That piercing gaze cut into her and her stomach sank. She dropped her eyes to the ornate rug on the floor. No way she was getting out of this.
The knife clattered to the table and she flinched.
“Go and get the keys. I’ll mete out your punishment when you return.”
She jerked her head up. He held the wine goblet in his hand and swirled it before taking a drink. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed her.
Tears sprang to her eyes as she dashed out. When the door shut, she slumped against it. Too close. Too damn close. Darkness had fallen and she spread her hands against the wood, letting her feet absorb the almost indecipherable rocking on the gentle waves while her pulse pounded in her temple.
Blowing out a long breath, she steadied herself and ducked behind a barrel. Kneeling so that if anyone passed it would look like she was lacing her boot, she waited. And waited.
The trill of tropical frogs drifted through the air and Samantha’s heartbeat slowed. She leaned her head against the barrel and counted out the minutes as they stretched by.
A soft thud came from the other side of the wall and she jumped to her feet.
Finally.
With a quick glance around, she opened the door and slipped inside. Thorne lay on the floor, the goblet upended at his side. A small puddle of crimson glimmered in the candlelight. Now, to find the map.
She turned a slow circle around the room and stopped when she faced the desk. Moments later, she had all the drawers open.
Nothing.
No false-bottomed drawers.
Wait. There was one false bottom after all. She found the latch and wiggled the compartment open.
And blinked.
“What the . . .?”
She reached out and picked up Christian’s compass. Why in the world would Thorne have taken the worthless thing? And even more confusing, why stash it in a hidden compartment?
Her hand tightened around the instrument and she turned back to Thorne’s prone body. The map was his most prized possession. So he must keep it close.
Her eyes widened.
Of course.
Dropping to her knees, she let her hands hover above his chest. “More pockets than one would have time to search,” Skip had said.
She ran her fingertips over the fabric, up and down, until she found a stiff rectangle sewn into his upper sleeve. Yanking her dagger free, she made a slit until a corner of waxed parchment popped free. Sliding it out, she held it to the light. Her lips tugged into a grin.
The map.
Thorne’s chest rose and fell in even breaths and she glanced at the blade in her hand. If she killed him, she could end it all. Make sure he never bothered her family again.
Samantha pressed the sharp steel above his heart. One quick thrust and it would be over. Her hand began to shake.
You can do this.
She increased her pressure and the blade cut through the pirate’s shirt. Pierced his skin. A few drops of blood blossomed crimson on the white fabric.
Bile burned her throat.
A frustrated growl rumbled in her chest as she tried and failed to push deeper. Her hand wouldn’t cooperate. If she killed him, unarmed like this, it would be murder. She would be trading one evil for another. Tears blurred her vision.
The dagger clattered to the floor.