My Bonny Heart (Pirate's Progeny Book 1) (20 page)

“She’s had some adjusting to do, but I believe she’s coming around.”

“Excellent news, Lord Blackhurst. I must admit I had worried you would find her lacking. Or, at the very least, not find her temper much to your liking. She was always a spirited child.”

Addison frowned. So, the man knew his daughter could be difficult and failed to mention it. Of course, he’d figured that out right from the beginning, but the misinformation on Cormac’s part nagged a bit. Deciding to put it to rest, he nodded, meeting the man’s eyes.

“She is definitely spirited, as you call it. However, I feel this contract has been very beneficial for all involved, as I’m sure was your intent.”

“Aye. So, you’ve not married her yet?”

“Henry Iles and his wife would like us to perform the ceremony at their plantation in a couple days.”

“I was beginning to worry that perhaps Anne had found a way to deceive me, yet again.”

“No, sir. I believe we’ll be saying the vows. There were a few minor obstacles. But, I believe those have been removed from the situation.”

Cormac nodded, a grim smile playing about his thin lips. He could only assume Anne had received her beauty from her Irish mother.

“But, you’ve not said the words. I will not feel comfortable that our contract is binding until the marriage has taken place, Lord Blackhurst. For the boy’s sake, I trust you’re planning on following through no matter the
obstacles
.”

“Aye, sir. I plan on following through. You’ve already signed over the lands, and as we speak, the funds have already been put toward the acquisition of a shipment of goods in the West Indies.”

“Excellent, excellent. I have to admit, my boy, when I’d heard you coveted my land, and craved to expand your trade, I could not have asked for a better opportunity to ensure my daughter’s past could be put behind her for good.”

“Opportunities like this are hard to come by, and I’m certainly grateful our paths were able to cross.” He nodded at the pensive look on Cormac’s face. Reaching out a hand, he leaned forward to shake Cormac’s. “You can consider this contract fulfilled, sir. You have my word on it.”

“Contract?” Anne’s voice sliced through the air like a cold breeze. She stood in the doorway of his office, her eyes narrowed upon him. Her once, creamy, pale skin turned a bright, fuming pink. “You are marrying me for land and money? I can’t say as I’m surprised, being that you’re an arrogant, English
lord
.”

She nodded in her father’s direction, a touch of fury in her voice. “Goodbye, father.”

Without another glance toward Addison, she spun on her heel, exiting the office.

Chapter 22

“Bloody Englishman.” Hurt settled around the once-content piece of her heart. He’d not agreed to help her escape her past, or given her children a home, out of the goodness of his heart, of course, simply because her father had asked him. No, he’d had to sign a contract, to crave land and money for his trade.

Anne stomped, nay, breathed fire, as she jerked open the carriage door, a satisfying crack echoing in the crowded street as it slammed against the carriage.

Once inside, tears burned her eyes. Dashing them away, she tried to convince herself they were tears of anger, but hurt seeped through her soul.

Fool!

Addison had used his handsomeness, his charm, his forceful seduction to seal a deal with her father. All thoughts of him falling in love with her crumpled, just as the gravel crunched beneath her carriage heading to the dock and her awaiting longboat back to Cranford Hall.

Every spec of hard-earned trust and loyalty for her future husband shattered in that one moment—just when she’d fallen, very deeply, in love with his arrogant, English self. She wanted to break something, to stomp and shriek.

How dare he steal her heart, her son’s heart? They’d been bargained away, simply to acquire land and money from her father. She wanted to cry.

It was just as well she found out now before she’d truly allowed herself the pleasure of being happy. And, just what would she do now? Continue her scheme to scare off her groom? What about her son, the twins . . . where would they be raised if not at Cranford Hall?

Sighing as the carriage pulled before Cranford Hall, she stormed from its interior and straight up to the nursery. Holding the twins always had a way of calming her speeding heart, or instant anger. A life spent with a man who did not love her, but who instead preferred the spoils of his agreement with her father, was not a life she wanted to contemplate.

As she reached the door to the nursery, her heart would not allow her to surrender again, but she could make Addison surrender. Aye, he
would
love her!

Instead of fleeing as she was so want to do in the past, she strode through the door. Visions of a plan blossomed in her mind. She’d make Addison love her as she loved him.

A man stood against the wall, near Freddie’s crib, but away from the window. Recognition nagged at the back of her memory, but the tall, lean man, with slicked back, dark hair, and determined, blue eyes nodded as she entered—as if he knew her. He wore navy-colored breeches and blouse, his long legs ending in a pair of high boots. His direct, assessing gaze made her skin crawl.

Turning her head to yell for Sarah, or whomever might hear her call, his voice cut her off, a thick, English accent.

“I’d wait to call out, Anne.”

He held a dagger alarmingly close to where Freddie slept in her crib, unaware of any danger.

“Who are you? Why are you here?” She trembled, but raised her chin, glaring. Anne Bonny might be forgotten, but her sense of combat remained in full affect—especially upon a blatant threat to her babies.

He sucked air through his teeth, as if he was clearing food from them. “I thought I recognized you in the tavern, but I weren’t sure.” Tapping the dagger with a nonchalant air, as if he regularly threatened children, his blue gaze traveled from her face down to her boots.

“And, who do you think I am?” The dagger in her boot beckoned her, but she’d wait until the twins were out of harm’s way to use it.

A grimace pulled at his lips, or perhaps it was a smile for him. Whatever the option, it made her wary. He raised a sheet of paper she’d not seen him holding.

It was her wanted poster.

“You might not remember me, Anne Bonny, but I remember you.” He pushed up the sleeve of his shirt with his dagger, revealing an ugly, still-angry scar. “You gave me that.”

“In the tavern? I think I would remember slicing someone so recent.” Her memory told her she’d seen this man’s face before, but where?

He let the shirt slide back down. “Not the tavern, wench.” He tapped the dagger on the crib as he gave her a thoughtful glare. “I hadn’t thought of you in over a year, certain you rotted in Port Royal. But, the poster, and that bright hair I remember so well, and your voice . . . they gave you away. Sure, you weren’t wearing your breeches or hat, but when you turned around at the shout of your name . . .” he shrugged.

“Who are you?”

“You and that other wench put up a grand fight, I’ll give ya that. Better than the rest of those drunken louts. But, you fought me that night. The night Barnet caught up to you. Luckily for you, me mates interrupted the fight or I’d have finished what you started that night.”

Heart thumping in fear and uncertainty, she recalled the night in question, and the man before her. He’d been surprised at her prowess with her cutlass. She’d sliced him good before his crew had grabbed her from behind and taken it from her. Then, she’d been threatened with the noose and sent to rot in prison.

“I see you remember, now.” He made that noise with his teeth again.

“You’ll get nothing for your reward, you know. Those jailors were paid for my release.” She crossed her arms over her chest, and looked down the bridge of her nose at him, even though he was a good foot taller than she.

“Oh, they’ll give me a reward.” He gave a raspy chuckle. “Besides, I’ll just enjoy taking you back to the jail. You deserve to stay in this time.”

“I’ll not go with you.” She’d fight him before that would happen willingly. Anger made her drop her arms, clench her fists, and plant her feet. She would do anything necessary to fight.

But, it was not necessary.

“You will, or I’ll slice this babe from ear to ear, and then on to the next whelp over there before you’d have the time or strength to move me.” He looked behind her as if determining his next step. “Then I’ll take care of that other lad, too. Maybe even a few servants.”

Swallowing, and judging by the hard look he gave her, she knew she would have to comply—for now. She nodded, casting her eyes downward so he would not see the sudden hatred she knew rested there. “I will do as you say. Please, just do not hurt anyone. I will come along.”

“I thought you’d see things my way. But, first,” he gestured to her boot, “I know you got a nasty blade stashed away. You showed us that at the tavern. Leave it.”

Grinding her teeth, she leaned down, lifted her skirt, and reached inside her boot, dropping the dagger upon the floor. Gravity pulled the blade down to stick in the flooring, hilt up. All the while, she felt his eyes on her. She gave him a disdainful look as he moved closer to her.

“Now, Anne, lead the way.” Before she could turn, he grabbed her above the elbow. “And, don’t make me kill anyone. Guide us the way no one will spy us, and be quick about it. My horse is just down the road.”

Desperate to comply, she nodded, then walked him down the steps and through the front entrance. She prayed Eliza was not out by the pond with Holt. Breathing a sigh of relief upon not seeing them, she allowed the man to usher her forward, and through the brush and trees beside the drive.

“You did not give me your name.” Staring straight ahead, so as not to trip over any roots in the ground, she wanted to know the man’s name for when she stabbed him through the heart.

His hand upon her elbow began to squeeze in a vice-like grip, his voice near to her ear. “Jericho Dobison, but you can call me master.”

An icy hand seemed to stroke down her spine, but she quickly dismissed it like the Anne of old. “I’ll call you dead as soon as I can manage it. You can bet on that.”

He gave her a shove and she hit the ground, her right knee slamming against a rock.

“Mouthy wench. We’ll see how you feel once we’re on the ship.”

His biting grip yanked her to a standing position, blood soaking the gown around her knee. Chomping down on her lip, she ignored the pain until they reach his horse. The steed was definitely big enough to carry two persons, but was he trained to ride double? Apparently, she’d soon find out.

Shoving her down again, Jericho moved the horse over to a nearby rock. He jerked his head indicating she should stand and mount up.

“Don’t make me wait, Anne, or I’ll march right up to that fancy house and take care of those children.”

Wishing to send him far away from everyone she loved, she hobbled to the rock, groaning. He held out his hand. Wanting to refuse, but knowing she could not, she clasped the clammy thing, and allowed him to push her up into the saddle.

“That’s a good wench.”

He mounted the horse quickly to sit behind her. Gritting her teeth, she had no choice but to put her weight against him, her hands on the pommel to steady herself for the ride. He gripped her about the waist with one hand very tightly, and held the reins in the other. Bile rose in her throat at the contact.

They raced off onto a dirt path for a time, until they reached another spot down river where a small boat remained moored inconspicuously against the bank. He jumped down from the horse and grabbed at her waist. She nearly fell atop him as he pulled her down. He shoved her bodily into the boat, and he rowed them toward Charles Town.

She prayed Addison would be sailing up river. She knew, instinctively, he’d do anything to save her. He was a proper English lord, after all. She was sure he felt honor bound to do so. Even if just to save his lands.

Time lapsed slowly as Dobison manned the boat the few hours to town. She turned away from his disturbing stare, and he did nothing but whistle a terrorizing tune while he rowed.

Once there, he pulled her along the streets to the tavern she’d been discovered in. They’d not passed Addison or anyone else she might know on the street.

The hope of rescue dwindled by the time he’d unceremoniously shoved her inside the captain’s quarters of a ship. Looking around, it was a sparse, simple cabin. One that was in dire need of a good wash down. A rumpled mattress lay over to the side, boxed in by wood slats nailed to the floor. A lantern hung from the rafters, and a lone table and chair were nailed to the opposite end of the cabin. It smelled of brandy and something altogether unclean, as if the occupant had not washed in weeks.

She refused to cry over her plight, but she’d been very emotional over the past few hours.

Against her best effort, tears blurred her vision.

There would be no one to save her. No one who would know where she’d gone.

It was true, then. Her past would not go away. There would always be a reward for her capture, or perhaps, more wounded combatants waiting to avenge hurt pride.

The decision she’d need to make appeared to be a simple one.

The only way Anne Bonny would truly be left alone, in peace, was behind a cell in Port Royal. Her family, as evidenced by today’s events, was not safe. The children she loved with all her heart were being well-cared for. The man she . . . loved, like no other man before, would be safe, and raise the children in love and honor. Deep in her bones, she knew that to be true.

Regardless of his agreement with her father, she knew Addison had a good, solid heart. She’d witnessed it on several occasions, and even in his passion while making love to her.

There was no mistaking the sway of the ship as they sailed down the Cooper River. There would be no stopping until they reached Port Royal.

Resigning herself to a life behind the iron bars of a cold, miserable cell, her tears surged, unrestrained. Wretched and alone, she sank into the agony of losing all she’d tasted for a few fleeting days: the happiness of love, the wholeness of contentment.

She’d remember every detail for the rest of her days.