Blackheart (13 page)

Lochlanaire couldn’t agree more. “What do you know about Zore, Aynore?”

“Your brother?”

He nodded. “Aye.”

“Zore once courted a duchess, a woman who, upon meeting you, split from him. The moment you began to see her, you and he were woven in a rivalry to the death. Zore’s jealousy was merciless. He couldn’t contain his fury, havin’ lost the beauty. He, apparently, intended to wed the woman. He preyed on you, hungry for vengeance for your betrayal.”

Interesting. “Who is this duchess? Do you know the woman’s name?”

Aynore shook her head, her golden locks fluttering silk clad shoulders. “Grayson could tell you. He possesses the entire tale.”

Lochlanaire gravely mused, “Which begs the question, why did he not profess such to me?”

Aynore shrugged. “My deduction is perhaps he did not wish to strain your memory by portrayin’ the dalliance, for the courtship ended tragically.”

Lochlanaire excused himself of Aynore and advanced on Grayson, who spoke to the
Ranger’s
men. Gritting his brother’s arm, Lochlanaire urged him to a corner so their conversation could not be overheard. “Aynore just told me that Zore and I split after I courted a duchess of whom he was interested in marrying. Grayson, is this tale true?”

Grayson sighed. “Aye. The Duchess of Embry was an unrivalled goddess. Zore courted her prior to her meetin’ you at a ball she gave one wintry eve. For a year, Zore contrived to be an earl. He forged a name for himself along with the title, hopeful to mask his identity and gain a foothold with the duchess. At the ball, Zore innocently introduced you to Simone. She fell smitten, instantly possessin’ feelin’s for you, which Zore sensed. He caught you and Simone in a lover’s dalliance, days after the ball. Zore pulled his pistol and shot, intendin’ to kill you. Alas, the pistol ball struck Simone, for she stepped in front of you, desperate to protect you. She, however, did not swear a warrant for Zore’s imprisonment for the shootin’, saddened that she’d twirled him into seekin’ to wound you so grievously. Guilt tortured her. Abed, she lay, frenzied to squelch scandal. Her wounds, sadly, healed insufficiently, for she’d not consulted a surgeon and the pistol ball was never drawn from her festerin’ flesh. Simone succumbed to death a month after that fateful night, havin’ written a declaration for her family. In the letter, she confessed to takin’ her own life. Few, of course, were the wiser. Simone never let any family learn of her pistol wound. It was not discovered until her death. Naturally, the pistol the constables found for which she supposedly used to shoot herself with was false. The tale was designed so Zore would never be charged with the crime. Zore swore to seek revenge for her death, trustin’ that if you had not sullied her, Simone would have wed him. He’d have enfolded countless riches and a gorgeous temptress. Because of his bloodlust, I believe Zore invoked the duel you were to fight against Elias Larnon, or perhaps he twirled the offense that Wolf sputtered to the constable after he arranged the duel into a betrayal favored for your demise. Nevertheless, I’m convinced Zore bore somethin’ to do with your death sentence, Lochlanaire.”

“Why hide this horror, Grayson?”

“Your remembrances are meager. This tragedy I declared too enormous a vexation on your conscience. Nothin’ was there to gain in the tellin’. Zore’s revulsion of you I trounced aside as fury bid, for you became the king’s defender, which is sincere. Zore knew your prominence awarded you with favors he couldn’t ever earn. He was thrown into a jealous rage, for losin’ the duchess and for your favorable stature that you gained when he felt that everythin’ was stolen from him.”

Lochlanaire shook his head. “Zore’s repulsion appears warranted. I’m a cad who has defiled numerous maids with no thought to my triumphs or to whom I might wound. How callous and cold that, yet I instill no remembrance of the violations.”

“You, Lochlanaire, are little removed of any other man walkin’ this earth,” consoled Grayson.

“You believe my victories over women are just?”

Grayson affirmed, “Those women you victoriously seduced were aware of their lustful actions. These were not virginal maids who peered upon you, not knowin’ of your rakishness, Lochlanaire. Sure they were summoned to an enchantin’ seduction, but they were not virtuous.”

“A pirate’s plunder is lawful bounty, eh? What of Siren? Is she not innocent, a captive dragged amongst my immoral lair at my kidnapping of her? She’s sworn to bed me until she conceives my child, trusting I’ll never forfeit her to King William because my blood will mingle with hers, liberating her from a reaper’s noose. She’s innocently trapped. Siren was a virgin when I bedded her on the night we wed.”

“The lass does not have to be despoiled by you, Lochlanaire.
She’s
chosen the course,” reminded Grayson.

“The choice to survive or die?”

“Guilt has never defamed you, Lochlanaire, not in the past. You must not offer it a stronghold now.”

“Is not guilt the fodder for which to inflame the conscience, demanding that one profess one’s sins?”

“Allowin’ morality to burden is mutiny, Lock. Your future’s sculpted in stone. Revilin’ it in guilt simply drowns you in the immoralities the heart springs. You cannot walk inside that emotional catapult. You’re an outlaw who cannot shirk the trade. If Siren seduces you, wanton to spare her life, it is at
her
discretion,” Grayson protested.

“Is it my choice to reject her, to see that what I’ve inflicted is depraved? Because of me, she could die,” Lochlanaire insisted.

“Your guilt at providence eases no one’s actions. Siren’s birthright is regrettable. Zore’s lust for vengeance, Simone’s hunger to silence illicit scandal and assuage her guilt, her death prod by Zore’s pistol shot, Emerald Rain’s trifflin’ with a monarch she could never wed…you bore no power over their fates. To resume your assassin trade, you must wash your soul clean of all stains, Lochlanaire.”

Lochlanaire’s eyes fell and he saw ruby blood speckling his fingers. Shaken, he observed as Grayson gashed the midst of the celebrating crewmen. An apparition pierced his mind. He witnessed Simone’s shooting as though he stood in her palace’s immaculate gardens.
Parting the bushes, Zore lifted the moon-shimmering pistol, cocked it and shot the weapon. Simone screamed and hurled Lochlanaire from her, for she’d been cradled in his arms. The shot jolted Simone. She fell to the ground. Terrified, Zore ran, cuddling her body; blood dripped over his fingers. He glared at Lochlanaire, his black eyes deadly.
Ghostly the vision faded black. Lochlanaire returned to the ship, disgusted, for carnage cruelly bloodies his every footstep.

Lochlanaire snatched a rigging rope and he climbed the mainmast. He wilted on its highest canopy, his left leg dangling over its rim, the other he crimped by the knee, loosing himself in the starlit heavens, frenzied to renounce his barbaric past.

Eerily a voice haunted Lochlanaire’s mind, hushed at first, then louder it chimed
…‘Evil’s cast ye here…Hell has spat ye out. Heaven will not weather ye, prisoner shall ye be. Crazy, crazy, were Satan’s whispers, hang, hang, hang ye, dead, dead, dead, ye be…’

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Thorn

Aboard her ship, Aynore returned to the captain’s quarters where she searched the darkness, not seeing anyone prowling about at first. A flint lit the lantern farthest to sight and an imposing figure broke the trembling light’s halo, the tall man’s face haunting, his black clothing clung to his sinewy body.

Aynore ignored him and approached her mahogany desk. She retrieved the wine decanter and poured two chalices full. She raised a goblet to the advancing brigand.

He accepted the libation offered and inquired, “Did your reunion with Lochlanaire advance accordingly?”

Aynore leaned against the desk’s front, considering the viper who paced across her chamber, his gray eyes menacing. “Lochlanaire suspects little. He remembers nothin’ of our past, which favors us, I suppose.”

He asked, “Lochlanaire remembers nothin’… what of this?”

“He and Grayson insist that Lochlanaire’s memory is lost. Only jumbles of remembrances blanch his mind.”

“How intriguin’. Can you imagine bein’ gifted a void for which to replenish with lavish memories of only those dreams wanted, those that are unwarranted to a blood-lustin’ wretch?”

Discontent, Aynore asserted another subject, “Lochlanaire enchains a woman captive aboard his ship. She was Zore’s treasure. He apparently kidnapped her. Her name is Siren Rain. She bears a tie to King William. Neither Lochlanaire nor Grayson would reveal what a threat she divulges against the king. However, I suspect it is grave.”

“And what ‘bout Zore?”

Sipping wine, Aynore thereafter continued, “Zore hunts Lochlanaire for his ability to commandeer the woman. Grayson’s sure a duel to the death lies in the future between the two enemies for Lochlanaire’s past depravity and his current with Siren.”

He downed the wine. “What hear you regardin’ me?”

“Grayson’s not told Lochlanaire you exist. He trusts Lochlanaire’s memory would be too strained. He, too, did not inform Lochlanaire of what occurred with Simone and Zore until I portrayed the shootin’,” confessed Aynore.

He huffed. “Grayson’s become the little guardian of Lochlanaire and his violations, eh? This woman, how stands she with Lochlanaire?”

“She’s said to be his prisoner. However, she’s married Lochlanaire. Grayson said the marriage was a union derived by lawless gypsies. Lochlanaire does not abide his weddin’ vows. He condemns the ritual false. Siren, on the other hand, is adherin’ to her marriage bed and suffered jealousy with my appearance. She conceals feelin’s for Lochlanaire, those he does not return, although he confesses to stirrin’s for her.”

“Love devastates, does it not? Hum…Zore kidnapped the woman first. Lochlanaire was cast on a blood quest to track her for King William. Siren, obviously, is a great treasure to the men surroundin’ her, a woman who’s beginnin’ to signify somethin’ to Lochlanaire. Of course, never would he have fallen under a woman’s spell prior to his supposed memory loss. And his incarceration in Britain, what did you learn concernin’ it?”

Aynore watched him step before her, a shark primed to bite. “It’s said that Lochlanaire was falsely jailed for murder, havin’ dueled Elias Larnon. Grayson says Elias sequestered a shooter secluded in the forest intended to slay Lochlanaire as he and Lochlanaire counted paces for the duel. Lochlanaire somehow heard a branch break among the forest and he shot the trickster. He killed Elias for his deceit. The brother, Wolf Larnon, insisted that Elias was wrongly slain. Therefore, Lochlanaire was imprisoned for two years until the king’s recent pardon. Grayson thinks Zore plotted the duel so he’d be awarded vengeance for Simone’s misfortunate death.”

“Ah, Zore’s carnage has eclipsed with Simone’s ruination, as though he ever possessed a chance at marriage to the duchess. Ridiculous.” To the desk, he roamed. “Where do they journey? Lochlanaire’s not sailing to England, why?” His jagged fingernail clicked his perfect teeth.
  Aynore rubbed her pointed chin. “They seek to locate somethin’. I was not given a reason or where they venture precisely. The treasure, nevertheless, must be of supreme importance or Lochlanaire would be sailin’ with haste to Britain, grantin’ Siren to the king for her execution.” Aynore poured herself another goblet of wine. “Regardless, the longer the sorceress is seduced between Lochlanaire’s arms, the more he’ll feel for the woman. She’ll twirl him ‘round her finger, so Siren conspires. I question that he’ll be able to discard her upon his return to King William.”

“How disastrous, for him. Lochlanaire will be beheaded himself if he defies his assassin post. His death would indeed bequest to Zore his bloodshed and at no hand risen. Still, we must expose what Siren signifies to the king and why Lochlanaire sails in the wrong direction. Did you assure them of your continued alliance?”

Aynore leered. “Lochlanaire accepts my allegiance as you suspected he would. Why not? Aye, they merely think I sail alongside them, seekin’ fortune and adventure.”

“Flawless.” He grinned. “When presented the chance, see what further you might glean in information concernin’ the woman and Lochlanaire. I’ll take shelter aboard ship, bidin’ time. Afterward, Lochlanaire and Grayson will find themselves ruinously betrayed. Grayson will have protected Lochlanaire to their failin’ demise. This maskin’ of my presence bestows a prospect to conduct a mischievous game, with the avenger seizin’ some of the scallywags walkin’
Satan’s
Victory’s
decks. A wee bit of malice lies in the future, I think.”

As he laughed, vanishing in the cabin’s cloak of frail darkness, Aynore mulled on her foolishness in allying with this titan, thinking she may have trusted him to
her
failing. She drank more wine, squelching terror.

He dropped onto the bed, which was anchored inside the captain’s quarters. Viperous apparitions formed bloody agonies to be harvested under his supreme rule. Enthralled, he brandished the knife sheathed within his thigh high boot. He severed the flesh of his left palm and ruby blood meandered along the slender cut. Never did he feel any pain at his wickedness.

Clenching his fist, blood droplets splashed his shirt, and all the while Thorn Blackheart menacingly leered.