Page 65 of Bloody Black

Did he… try to warn me? On my wedding day, did Robb write me that note?

Why tell me I was in danger if all along he wanted me dead?

If he had plotted every step of my ruin?

The memory of that night scratches across my mind, and I scramble to remember every other detail.

I dig deep, and think of the dark-haired stranger. The man on the terrace who attacked me.

Don’t scream. Was it him? Was that Robb? Had Robb wanted to change the strategy?

My heart trembles, unsure, balanced on the knife’s edge of hope and despair. There’s no way to get assurance now. I cannot possibly ask him what the truth is.

You’re either brave enough to trust someone, or you aren’t.

I hear his words in my head.

And even though it seems crazy, I let myself feel it–his hand cupping the back of my neck, his lips on my shoulder, his arms around me. Steady. Permanent.

I trusted him. Trusted him as much as any of my crew. Maybe even more, for reasons I couldn’t quite put a finger on. Even when it seemed ill-advised, even when he didn’t deserve it. I put our lives in his hands and trusted my enemy.

And it’s strange, but I trust him still.

No matter what William just revealed, no matter what the past might be. I trust his words and his hands and his surety. Because Robb has always helped me; he’s done his best to heal me. At every chance, he made sure I knew how he felt.

I would break every oath. Kill and steal and lie.

You’re safe with me. You’re safe with me .

He’d made me speak the words aloud, as if saying them would make them real.

In some ways, however, it’s not even about him. It’s about me. Anne and Blackbeard. I am no longer that naive girl, because I have been through hell. I have seen the worst of men and learned to trust myself.

I’m not wrong, not this time.

Robb Maynard loves me. He is my friend. I feel it in my bones and every fiber of my being, with absolute certainty.

His arms were a harbor, and I’d entered them broken and limping.

All he’d done, from that moment on, was let me lean on him.

Even if he made mistakes, even if he was the source of all of it…

He’d been trying to show me that he was sorry.

I am sure of this, as sure as I have ever been. Sure of myself, and sure of him. I’ll give him hell later, undoubtedly, but I still trust him.

Robb feels the relaxing of my body. Hears my soft exhale.

He knows me intimately, and the perceptive bastard that he is, he knows exactly when.

Behind my back, in between us, he presses something into my palm.

My rose dagger. Hidden. Shielding it from William’s sight, he places the weapon squarely into my hands.

And he releases me.

My body lunges forward, blade gripped tight. It’s a strike aimed directly at William’s heart.

But my husband is fast. Still so terribly fast.

He jumps back and left, quick as a cat, and I miss. Damn the gods, I miss. Instead of his heart, the blade strikes low in the shoulder and glances off his bone; it likely won’t even slow him down .

William clutches at the wound, shocked by the turn of events. “You’re taking her side?” he asks, enraged.

Robb stands at my side, cutlass drawn. “Surrender, Will. You can’t beat us both. Not injured as you are.”

“I’ll kill you first.” He spits at Robb’s feet. “You bloody traitor. She killed your family. My family. Our entire village, slaughtered. They locked our families in their homes and burned them . We vowed to avenge them. Remember that?” His blue eyes blaze.

“Like I’ve told you before: that was her father, and we were at war. A war waged by kings always ruins the lives of men.” Robb doesn’t take his eyes off William, but touches me lightly. “Sweetheart?”

“I’m fine,” I lie, gritting my teeth as I straighten. “Also, I’m going to kill you later.”

“Well, that’s something to look forward to.” Robb returns my sword.

William points at me. “The woman standing in front of us has killed countless sailors. Burned ships to cinders. Sent me the heads of our soldiers. Tell me how she is any less of a monster than her father —”

“If she’s a monster, then you made her that way! I made her that way! She was innocent until our revenge ruined her!”

“All I want is justice,” William argues, raising his voice again. “Justice for my sister. My mother. My father. My friends. My—don’t you even care about what they did?”

How strange that it’s the same thing that drives us. That William’s reasoning is identical to my own. That our fates are tied in such a toxic, looping way. His wounds have never healed, and maybe mine wouldn’t have either, if not for my friends.

Robb rests his hand on his sword’s pommel. “You already killed her once. Wasn’t that enough? Can’t you walk away, and call it even?” He, of course, intends to try and convince him.

William studies us, his wife and his best friend. One long, thoughtful, considering look.

“No. I can’t.” There’s a blur, a shriek of steel, as William’s sword runs him through.