Chapter 20
Hawke assessed the man in front of him. He was large, but size did not always translate into skill. He looked at the group surrounding them, taking stock. His crew were outnumbered, but they had a chance.
“Ah, ye don’t want to cross swords,” the large man said. He flicked his gaze over Hawke’s shoulder. “She wouldn’t fare well in a battle, I’m afraid.”
He was right. They had lost the advantage of surprise, and their scheme of stealing into the camp to rescue Courtney was foiled. And even the idea of Lady Annabelle involved in a melee was enough to make his heart race. The only thing keeping Hawke’s sword raised was his pride.
“Stand down, men,” Hawke said at last.
The crew was disarmed, and their hands bound. Blackham’s men were efficient, Hawke would give them that. And they had come prepared. They had not, however, found all of the weapons he carried. And he imagined some of the others of his crew might still have a few concealed.
Lady Annabelle’s hands weren’t bound. The pirates didn’t even bother to take away her sword. She wasn’t considered a threat.
The large man, who the others referred to as Falco, gave the order to march, and he grabbed Lady Annabelle’s arm.
Behind Hawke, Shadbolt growled.
“Unhand me immediately!” Lady Annabelle pulled her arm away, her tone making it clear that she may be dressed as a pirate woman, but she was a lady, accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed.
Falco laughed, grabbing her arm again and jerking her so that she stumbled.
Hawke tensed, but before he could react, Shadbolt pushed past, fury in his expression. The sight would have been terrifying had they not been on the same side. But he was stopped by a sword pointed at his throat.
“Fall back, ye dog,” the owner of the sword snarled.
“At ease, Mr. Shadbolt,” Hawke muttered. “We’ll bide our time.”
Shadbolt glanced ahead, and seeing that Lady Annabelle walked straight-backed, head held high despite the giant holding her arm, he returned to the line.
In spite of the situation, Hawke was pleased, not only by her ladyship’s ability to hide her fear and walk confidently, but also knowing she had a crew of men ready to defend her.
The crew of Calypso’s Quest trekked down the mountain, hemmed in by enemies on every side. There was no way anyone could slip away and disappear into the jungle.
After an hour, Hawke could hear the waves and smell the sea.
Another hour brought them to flat terrain, and soon after, they stepped from the trees onto a white-sand beach, and Hawke was a child again, filled with terror as he watched his crew fall ill one by one.
Nausea rose in his gut. But the involuntary memories were short-lived, as Hawke saw his own ship, The Cormorant, anchored in the bay alongside Leviathan.
He stopped cold, causing Shadbolt to bang into his shoulder as he veered around him. Hawke hardly noticed. His mind somehow raced and froze at the same time as he struggled to comprehend. Wilkes. Dread brought a sour taste to his mouth. As did anger.
An enemy sailor pushed him forward, and the group continued across the beach toward a cluster of tents.
Hawke pulled his gaze away from The Cormorant and assessed his surroundings.
The beach was filled with men—two large ships’ worth.
He recognized some from his former crew.
Groups played dice games or roasted meat over a fire.
Others carried barrels of what he assumed was water.
Still others, Hawke was pleased to see, carried baskets of fruit, cherries among them.
An enemy weakened by sickness would be a great advantage.
All stopped what they were doing to watch as Hawke’s crew was marched through the camp.
Hawke noted the layout of the site, assessing where he might do the most damage and what weapons were within his reach.
As they neared the tents, Hawke smelled the sick odor of vomit. More men sat with pale faces, and there were even cries of pain.
The memories returned along with a rush of emotions. Hawke shook his head, forcing them away and reminding himself of the bottles of tonic still hidden in each of their pockets.
Still holding Lady Annabelle’s arm, Falco called a halt. He ordered the crew to sit in a line in the sand, their armed captors standing behind. The intimidation tactic was quite effective. The crewmembers looked decidedly uneasy.
Falco went into one of the tents, leaving Lady Annabelle with another of their captors who happily took his place, holding tightly to her arm. A moment later, another man stepped out through the flap.
Blackham.
As always, Leviathan’s captain was splendidly attired. He wore a long velvet coat with a white frilled shirt beneath. Lacy cuffs hung over his wrists. On his head was a cavalier hat lined in velvet with lace trim and an enormous feather.
“You’re here at last.” Blackham spread out his hands and grinned. “Welcome. We did expect you earlier, but—”
“Court!” Lady Annabelle’s scream cut off the captain’s words. She tore her arm from her captor’s grip.
Hawke followed her frantic gaze.
Falco had come out of the tent, pushing Captain Courtney ahead of him. The captain was thin and pale. His hair and beard were long, his clothes ragged and hanging from his slender frame. Hawke assumed he must have spent months in the brig.
Seeing him, the crew cheered, and Lady Annabelle started to run toward him.
Her guard caught her, holding her back, and she strained in his grip.
At Blackham’s nod, the man released her.
“Court! Court!” Lady Annabelle sobbed as she threw her arms around him. “We’ve found you at last.” She held his lapels and cried against his chest.
Grieg sniffled. He wiped the cheek beneath his eye with the back of his hand.
“My precious Belle.” Captain Courtney’s eyes were wet. He took her hands, kissing her cheek. “My dear, you should not have come to this horrible place.”
“We came to rescue you,” she said, motioning to the crew behind her.
Captain Courtney looked at his men and winced, fear and guilt flashing over his face.
He hid the expression quickly, giving Lady Annabelle a tender smile. “Is that my hat?”
She laughed, putting the hat onto his head before cupping his cheeks, gazing at the man with such adoration that even Hawke’s eyes were damp at the sight.
“Such a touching reunion,” Robert Wilkes said as he joined Blackham.
Hawke had hoped never to hear the voice of his former first mate again. Every muscle clenched in fury, and his core heated to an alarming temperature.
The two men before him could not have been more different.
Where Blackham had an air of genteel elegance, -Wilkes was rough.
His body was squat and blocky, his face marked by a long scar that ran from his temple to his jaw.
His nose had been broken more than once and now bent at strange angles.
Hawke didn’t have to hate him to think him the ugliest man on the high seas.
Although Wilkes looked like a thug, Hawke knew better than to underestimate him.
He was intelligent, but completely motivated by his own self-interest and felt no loyalty to anyone.
He was entirely untrustworthy. Something Hawke had learned far too late.
The mistake had cost his ship, his crew, and his freedom.
Wilkes looked at Hawke and grinned. He clamped Blackham on the shoulder, making the other man flinch. “You were right. I shouldn’t have doubted you.”
Hawke was furious to be before his enemy in such a vulnerable position, sitting impotently in the sand, sword at his back, and hands tied.
Wilkes strode toward him. “We expected them.” He motioned to the crew.
“And her.” He lifted his chin toward Lady Annabelle.
“But I was certain nothing could convince you to return to this place.” He looked at Lady Annabelle again, tipping his head and smirking.
“Though, I suppose you could never resist a pretty face, could you, Hawke?”
Lady Annabelle frowned, and Hawke’s rage flared into an inferno.
“I’m surprised you even know what a pretty face is, -Wilkes,” Hawke said. “Certainly your mirror does not.”
Wilkes sneered, and his hand went to his sword. But his intended retribution was disrupted by the sound of Blackham clapping.
“Oh! Right on time!” Blackham cried out. “I do love a dramatic entrance.”
Hawke twisted to follow the man’s gaze. His heart dropped at the sight of Calypso’s Quest entering the bay.
“I am delighted to have such a beautiful ship in my flotilla.” Blackham put his hand on his heart and sighed theatrically.
Wilkes scowled and his lip curled.
That was interesting. A flotilla consisted of at least three ships. So Blackham must consider The Cormorant to be under his command as well as Leviathan. Was that the reason for Wilkes’s annoyance? Or was it simply irritation at Blackham’s flamboyant manner?
Blackham strolled slowly toward Lady Annabelle and Captain Courtney. She held onto her godfather’s arm but shrank back from the pirate.
Captain Courtney pulled his gaze from the ship, watching his enemy closely.
“How do you do, my lady,” Blackham said politely. “Lovely to see you again. Though perhaps you don’t remember me. I certainly remember you.”
Lady Annabelle’s only response was a scowl.
Hawke was surprised by the man’s words. He had not known Lady Annabelle and Captain Blackham were acquainted.
Captain Courtney shifted, putting himself in front of his goddaughter.
“I knew you would come.” Blackham continued to address Lady Annabelle.
“You told me yourself, do you remember? You vowed to protect Courtney until the day you die.” He said the last word slowly, emphasizing it, and shook his head, smiling like a proud father.
“You kept your word. How admirable.” Blackham held out his hand for hers.
A silent request. His eyes tightened when she did not respond in kind.