Page 25

Twenty-Five

T he sun was at my back when we arrived on the beach, Rowan leading the way, Max to my right. Shrug was a few paces behind. Everyone except me was armed with swords and pistols. And, of course, Shrug had his rifle.

We made our way up the sandy beach to a narrow footpath leading to the fort. A crisp breeze cooled the back of my neck. I sighed, relieved that if we needed to tuck tail and sail away, the tide, or in this case, the wind, had turned in our favor.

Another gust of wind shuffled the palms overhead, counteracted the heat, and kept me from sweating like the pig over the spit. There’s nothing worse than being stuck in 1718 without your under-arm deodorant.

From my research, I recalled that Fort Nassau protects the western end of Nassau’s harbor. From the ship, I had spotted the square stone fort towering over the pirate republic. It stood high on the edge of the island with four bastions, one rounded instead of square like the other three. It reminded me of the Flak towers used in Berlin during World War II. Another jump I was happy to put behind me.

The narrow trail opened to sandy dunes. We navigated uphill toward a stone bridge. Rowan led the way. I followed Max. Halfway there, I stumbled on a craggy bush and stubbed my stiletto on a rock. “Fuck!”

Rowan stopped. He exhaled an irritated huff, as if I were a blister on his Achilles heel.

Max grabbed my hand, interlocked our fingers, and held tight, leading me forward in a Jack-and-Jill-going-up-the-hill fashion. Hopefully, there wouldn’t be any “crown” breaking today.

My fingers tingled in his firm grasp, but I didn’t let go. Was it his tight grip, my fear of falling down the hill, or was a time traveler nearby giving me a sudden traveler tickle?

Once we crossed the stone bridge and stopped like a troubadour troupe busking on the front porch of the fort, the tickle vanished. Max released my hand and pounded on the giant wooden gate.

A horizontal slat in the gate slid open, and dark eyes peered out. “State yer business.”

Rowan bent down and spoke to the eyes. “I’m the quartermaster of the Sea Storm . Captain Smith has arrived to serve counsel with Captain Vane.”

The clinking of chains against wood played like a medieval symphony, lifting the gate open. We walked through a courtyard and up a set of stone stairs. Cannons lined the outermost, harbor-facing battlements like protective gargoyles.

Once inside the interior of the fort, we walked down a long hallway. Sunlight filtered in through high, narrow arrow slits. Lanterns spaced along the walls hung from hooks, and the smokey tendrils of beeswax candles mixed with the scent of lantern oil made my nose itch.

The man leading us to Captain Vane stopped, gave a three-tap knock on a scarred wooden door, and waited.

“Enter,” a voice boomed from the other side of the door.

Five men sat at a long table. I recognized Jack Rackham in his calico coat.

A few men stood around the room, talking among themselves. The smell of stinky armpits, tobacco smoke, and years of blood, sweat, and tears almost knocked me over as I followed Max.

When we entered, all conversation halted. A man with coal-black hair slicked into a tail sat at the head of the table. He lifted his head and stared at me with dark, deep-set eyes that could give a girl nightmares.

“Captain Vane.” Max addressed the man.

Charles Vane didn’t look like any of the drawings I had seen of him or like the hunky guy that played him on that TV show Gertie and I binge-watched before I left home. He wasn’t a big guy. His white linen shirt showed the outline of muscles, but I pegged him more as a stealthy cat than muscle-bound bulkhead.

“Captain Smith. Whom do ye bring to our table?” Vane’s English accent rolled the words like loaded dice.

“Captain Vane, allow me to introduce my betrothed, Miss Jennifer.” Max bowed slightly to Captain Vane, then stepped aside, nudging me front and center.

A shock-like sensation zinged from my spine to my tailbone and something metal clashed against stone.

All heads snapped in the direction of the ruckus. Caiyan stood at the far wall, staring openly at me, a mug of spilled ale puddled on the floor.

A-ha! The scoundrel finally showed up. I kept my poker face, but Caiyan’s expression didn’t look like that of a man who had been following me. He looked surprised, like a man who’d told General Potts to keep me locked up so he could do my job.

The asshat.

I wished I’d removed my key and avoided the searing burn he sent straight to my doodah. Even angry, he made things stir.

“Captain Kirk, is there a problem?” Vane asked, turning toward Caiyan.

“Aye, ’tis a shock seeing a woman in our meeting place wit’ such important business at hand.”

Rat bastard.

“I assure you, Captain Kirk,” I paused with an emphasis on the filched name, “I’m here for a reason.”

Caiyan shot green daggers at me. I returned the heated stare with narrow eyes. A dark-skinned man scooped up the dropped mug and replaced it with another.

Vane stood, his attention focused on me. He walked over, lifted my hand, and kissed it. “My congratulations.” He shifted toward Max, slapped a hand on his shoulder. “’Tis aboot time ye made a man.” Was there a glint of anger in Vane’s eye? Was he after the Sea Storm ?

Was I screwing up his plans?

Max seemed oblivious to any ill feelings and soaked up Vane’s praise. By the irritated look on Rowan’s face, I assumed he wasn’t so easily swayed.

“There’ll be no woman in the meeting.” A man seated to the right of Vane’s vacated chair pounded a fist on the table.

Vane turned toward him. “I’ll decide who stays, Hornigold.”

I wasn’t familiar with the man, but I recognized the name. Another traitor. Vane needed better friends. Wicked enemies surrounded him.

The door opened, and Vane nodded approval at the new guest. “Ahhh, good of ye to meet with us.”

Tiny baby hairs on the back of my neck erected like spikes in an iron maiden. I turned to see Mortas walk into the room.

Mortas spotted me and stalled briefly, but his face didn’t acknowledge recognition. Only the slight stiffening of his spine told me he wasn’t happy.

I was here first. Get in line, buddy.

He took in the room, and his gaze landed on Caiyan. A smirk wrinkled the corners of his mouth. He returned his attention to Vane. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

“I dinnae believe you’ve met Captain Smith.” Vane jutted his chin Max’s direction. “He’s jest returned from a trading expedition. Captain Crunch has joined our fleet. He’s to Captain the Lark .”

Captain Crunch? You’ve got to be kidding. The poaching of fictional captains’ names was bordering on ridiculous.

“Good to make yer acquaintance.” Max nodded at Mortas. He stepped aside and introduced Rowan.

Rowan’s stoney expression mirrored my expression at seeing Mortas. The guy must have excellent evil spotting instincts.

After nods were exchanged, Max introduced me with a proud flush in his cheeks. “My betrothed, Miss Jennifer.”

“Your betrothed? How very interesting.” Mortas lifted my hand to his lips. Fire shot through my arm. I had to check my elbow to make sure there weren’t any flames.

Vane returned to his seat and motioned for Max to sit at the opposite end of the table and for Mortas to take the last empty seat. I wasn’t sure how Caiyan played into this meet-cute, but apparently, Mortas had one-upped him a rung on the pirate ladder pecking order.

Max didn’t take his seat. He stepped forward, addressing the men at the table. I moved to Max’s right, as far away from Caiyan as possible. I didn’t look in his direction but felt his eyes follow my every move.

“Before we begin,” Max addressed Vane directly. “I have become aware of a possible point at issue.”

Rowan’s giant frame seemed too big for the room. His head almost touched the ceiling. If he hadn’t removed his hat, he’d have had to bend. He stood behind Max, the threat unmistakable. Vane would listen.

“What issue?” Vane leaned in, forearms resting on the table.

“My betrothed has the sight.” Max looked over at me and sent a sly smile. “She has seen a vision with an unpleasant outcome.”

“She’s a witch!” A portly guy to Hornigold’s right jumped to his feet. He backed away from the table and sent me a deathly glare. I was surprised by his agile response. All eyes turned toward me.

“Shut yer hole, Yeates,” Rackham said, pulling his knife.

“I’m not a witch.” I glanced at Caiyan. His lips pressed together, and he shook his head slightly, warning me not to continue. I lifted my chin. He couldn’t tell me what to do.

“Go on.” Vane sent a warning glance of his own to the pudgy man.

I stepped forward, my shoulders back and my tone firm. “I’ve had a vision. The new governor of Providence Island is sailing here with many ships. He’s going to offer every pirate on the island a pardon.”

The men laughed. “A pardon, did ye hear that?” One of them mocked me.

Vane didn’t laugh. “We know this already.”

“His ships will blockade the harbor; if you refuse the pardon, you’ll die. He’ll hang the lot of you.” I gave myself a mental fist bump for sounding very piratey.

The men grew quiet.

“What does this witch know?” Hornigold was the first to speak up.

“We should take the pardons.” Mortas shook his fist of solidarity in the air.

“We could be free to go about our business,” another pirate added.

“What business will that be?” I stared around the table, meeting each man’s eyes. These men didn’t have a plan after they took the pardon. They were scared shitless. Saving their hides sounded better than starting a war. “You’ll no longer be able to plunder and pillage ships. What will you do? Farm? Grow grass?”

The pirates looked dumbstruck, all except for Captain Vane and Max. They were going after treasure, and a blockade would slow their adventure until all pirates were pardoned or hung by the neck.

“When will these ships arrive?” Vane asked.

I took a deep breath and released it slowly, hoping Ace got his facts straight. “Tonight.”

Loud rumblings between the men circled the table, some for, some against the pardon.

“Sit, Captain Smith.” Vane gestured toward the empty seat. “Weel discuss the message yer betrothed brings ta us.”

Max motioned for me to stand at the far wall, away from the men’s discussions. Where Caiyan currently stood.

I walked to the alcove, knowing the look on my face threw daggers at Caiyan.

The trim he had the last time I saw him was gone. His vessel had transformed his hair into sexy waves that curled around his face and trailed into dreadlocks. I squinted to identify tiny seashells woven into each braid.

He appeared aloof, leaning against the wall, not a care about the blockade. But I knew him. His muscles were taut, ready for action.

“How?” I started, keeping my voice low. Before he could answer, I shot an angry, “Why?”

“Those should be my questions.” Caiyan balanced his forearm on the wooden post next to me.

“I came for Marco.”

“Yer supposed to be at headquarters.”

“So it was you who had the transporters locked up.” I rammed my finger into his chest. “I knew it. You rat bastard!”

“Careful, yer drawing attention from yer admirers.”

I glanced over my shoulder at the table of men. Rowan and Max lifted their heads, eyebrows raised, and stared at us.

I gave them a thumbs up. Their expression of concern changed to brow-knitted confusion. Thankfully, Vane drew their attention back to the table.

Caiyan chuckled. “Yer oot of yer element, Sunshine. Go home and let me find Marco.”

“He’s not your top priority. You’re after Sasha. Or a key. Or both.”

“Should I be worried that Marco’s your top priority?” Caiyan shifted, possibly fighting the urge to clench his fists.

“I will always choose my team over a key.” I crossed my arms over my chest and stared stubbornly at him.

“And ye think I willnae do the same?”

Honestly, he would, but he’d find a way to take care of his team and get what he was after.

“How did ye manage to get on the crew of the Sea Storm ?” He eyed Rowan, and a flicker of worry showed in his eyes.

“Didn’t you hear? I’m to marry the captain.”

“’Tis strange. I thought ye were to marry me.”

“That ship sailed after you had us locked up at Gitmo. It wasn’t the real deal anyway.”

“Jen, I did?—”

The door burst open, and Black Bard rushed inside.

Vane sprang to his feet. “What is the meaning of this intrusion?”

“Dare’s man-o’-war. Four of d’em blocking da exit to da harbor.” Black Bard scanned the room until he found me. “Da witch was right.”

“Indeed,” Vane said.

“But no her timeline,” Caiyan muttered.

Gee, Thanks.