Blackheart (3 page)

CHAPTER THREE

Siren

Siren Rain dropped against the wall of her prison. Chained, irons clenching her wrists, she remembered the villainy of which tempted her to this hideous position aboard this ship of the damned…

While she threaded among the crowd of drinking and gaming men, Siren attended those who smirked lustfully at her, maligning the gaming hall, the Virginian. Having run from her cruel stepfather aboard a ship bound for the Americas from England, upon which she’d stowed away, Siren embarked on an adventure she prayed would bring freedom and enchantment. Sadly, she only procured starvation with her arrival in Virginia. She required employment so to compensate the captain for her voyage to America as; of course, he discovered her hiding in the cargo hold. She attempted to scrounge up a governess station but, possessing insufficient expertise, Siren was forced to labor as a scullery maid in a brothel’s smoky kitchen. This status repugnant, and with the madam beginning to ogle her shapely body, she tiptoed out of the house in the dark night, a skittish maid without benefit of employment or benefactor. Siren broke inside the icehouse outside the Virginian, seeking shelter. Regrettably, she fell ill and was recovered by its proprietor, who took pity on her and placed her under his charge. Now beholden unto him, as well as to her previous servitude to the
Adventure Galley’s
reprehensible
captain, she labored for her keep, wearing a peasant’s shirt of white linen and a high cut, multi-colored skirt that reminded her of a gypsy. Her clothing was presented for which to bare the silhouette of her unbound breasts and curvy legs to the enraptured rogues designing debauchery in her company.

On the night of her captivity aboard this ship where she now resided, Siren noted in a corner of the Virginian, slouched a black-haired, similar eyed fellow whose scowl followed her every step. The patron drank little, not partaking of the gaming within the crowded edifice. Erroneously, she did not think further of the chap, declaring herself plagued by exhaustion with the warnings sensed. She left others to address the needs of the men and drifted amongst the alley’s shadows. It was while she stood there rubbing her achy feet, that from behind, a man’s palm clenched her mouth, and the assailant’s arm seized her stomach. Siren screeched but the sound muffled. She was dragged to a waiting carriage where she was thrown inside. Her hands and legs were tied together by biting rope and bunched cloth was shoved into her mouth. The coach swerved along the lamp glittery streets of Norfolk to the docks. At pistol point, Siren was hauled aboard this vessel and chained in a cabin inside its bowels. Immediately, Siren realized that her captor was none other than the fellow who watched her at the Virginian. This charlatan refused to explain his actions for her kidnapping, only snarling that she returns to England and he captains the
Vengeance
. For months, Siren sat inside this floating prison, never released of the irons, fearing cruel fate. Whenever she questioned her abductor, she received grunts and no answers.

The vessel curiously docked this day, but she did not know where or why. Through a distant porthole, Siren could see the outlines of cozy cottages in a sleepy island town. It, however, was unfamiliar.

The door to her prison burst open.

Siren’s attacker choked her hand. The captain applied a key and released the irons. Siren rubbed her raw flesh, curious regarding why she was unshackled. He unsheathed his pistol, demanding that she stand and, chaining her arm, he walked the lantern lit passage, dragging her on deck. Here, Siren confronted a man who was never introduced to her. He nodded his brown head and the accuser spouted no word; he received gold coin from the captain and departed the ship with skittish haste.

Siren’s kidnapper twirled her toward the door leading to the ship’s inner sanctuary, clearly meaning to return her to captivity. Siren dug in her heels, groped for a lower rigging rope and jolted the captain to a standstill. “I
demand
answers. You owe me this,” she snarled.

The captain jeered, “I owe ye nothin’.” He grabbed her arm. Siren kicked his knee, screeching. Unintentionally, he freed her. Siren ran to the stairs that led to the ship’s helm. Her persecutor mirrored her ascension. Unaware of her error in judgment, Siren crossed the bridge and found herself trapped at its stern. There was no access for her to achieve escape. Siren’s feral eyes leapt off the grinning captain’s to the ship’s edge. She considered jumping.

***

Days after
Satan’s
Victory
was wounded in battle, in the distance of a pier, gilding Serpent Isle, the vessel anchored. At the helm, studying the progress with the refigure of the ship’s mainmast, Lochlanaire stood. Curiously his attention was drawn to the ship which lay anchored near his, for he heard a woman shriek. Lochlanaire clutched his spyglass and peered at the ship where he’d heard the screech. His eyes followed the strides of a woman who rushed up the stairs and boarded the bridge. Lochlanaire’s glance drifted to her terrified face and then dipped along her slender, though voluptuous body. Lochlanaire immediately recognized her as the woman he hunted, but a blazing hunger pierced his heart. ‘
Siren
…’ he murmured, lowering the spyglass, entranced by the beauty.

***

Aboard the
Vengeance,
Siren shook her head at the captain who cornered her. Before she could jump off the ship, he snatched her arm. He tugged her from the bridge into the ship’s hull and vanished.

***

Lochlanaire advanced on
Satan’s
Victory’s
starboard rim and stared upon the ship. He’d not be sailing to Virginia after all, the lass he’s sworn to kidnap lies ensconced inward of another man’s vessel. But why? She, clearly, was an unwilling passenger, having fought the blackguard chasing her. Who is Siren’s assailant?

Grayson swaggered to Lochlanaire. “The ship raises anchor in another day, Lock.”

Lochlanaire still glowered at the far ship. “Who captains yonder vessel?”

Grayson retrieved the spyglass, exploring the ship and its black crow figurehead. “It’s the
Vengeance
. Months ago, the vessel was taken in a bloodbath. Most of its crew were slain, heads, legs, arms…all chopped from their bodies and tossed to the ocean. The few who survived the massacre swam the ocean waters, but most died when sharks attacked. Truly, I cannot say who’s captain this day. I could inquire of the tavern. See what I may uncover, if you wish.”

Lochlanaire mulled. “It matters little. It would be prudent, however, to discover its destination. There’s treasure aboard that I must possess.”

“You’re achin’ to plunder the ship?” Grayson affirmed.

“Aye.”

Grayson tossed the spyglass and departed, demanding a longboat lowered, as he walked the main deck.

Lochlanaire observed his brother’s leaving in the boat where it eventually anchored to the pier. Raising the spyglass, he searched the
Vengeance.
Its captain remained hidden to sight.

***

Siren seethed as she was thrown inside her prison again. “Explain yourself…I must learn why I’ve been kidnapped!”

The captain tugged her to the bed. “What
you
want means bloody little.” Shackling her arms, he withdrew to the cabin door; locking it, he took his exodus.

Siren screamed every expletive she could think to spew and wrenched on the cuffs, cutting her skin.

The shackles held true.

***

Upon night fall, Grayson rowed to
Satan’s
Victory
, his face appeared ghostly pale. He rushed to Lochlanaire who continued to ponder the
Vengeance
. “The
Vengeance
sails to Britain posthaste. Its lady captive is sentenced to wed a duke who was wronged by her stepfather. She’s bein’ used for compensation for an enormous debt he owes.”

“Tragic,” Lochlanaire grumbled, rubbing his chin.

“That’s not the worst. The current captain of the
Vengeance
is our brother, Zore.”

Lochlanaire sought Grayson’s disgruntled countenance. “He’s… ”

Grayson interrupted, “Zore is a satanic pirate. I hid this. It was unnecessary for you to learn it. The Devil cannot be so barbaric. I should have known it was he who violated the
Vengeance.
Zore’s treachery mirrors what occurred aboard the vessel. Ownin’ to that I’d been off ship, his atrocities were sheltered to me.”

“What was my relationship with Zore?” asked Lochlanaire.

“Whatever conquests he engaged, you spelled mightier quests, Lock. Blood vengeance rose between you. Zore branded you cowardly for becomin’ the King’s assassin. After your arrest, Zore celebrated, thinkin’ your imprisonment signified death. He may even have borne a part in the atrocity, though I’ve no evidence regardin’ such. Hearin’ ‘bout your insanity, he rejoiced. He’s disgustin’.” Grayson’s eyes dipped toward the
Vengeance
.

“Our paths cross anew.”

“Raidin’ Zore’s ship will not be easy. It bears the worst brigands known to exist. Zore’s a demon warrior in the fray of battle.”

“Did I best him previously?” Lochlanaire questioned, pensive.

“Aye, alas, Zore’s acquainted with your every move. You, on the other hand, cannot remember anythin’ of his. He possesses an advantage.”

Lochlanaire ominously chided, “Ah, he’ll not have
every
advantage. He cannot know…he’s about to be boarded. We’ll seize Zore unaware. Keep weather eye upon his ship; enlighten me the moment she sails. Have the mast repaired, whatever it takes.” Descending the stairs, he sauntered to his cabin. Lochlanaire’s scowl fell onto the portrait of Siren. How wretched her fate. First, she’d been kidnapped to pay for her stepfather’s debt, now she will be enslaved at King William’s decree, taken from one villain, only to be chained in the arms of his assassin sibling. The woman’s little more than a pawn in a game riddled by bloodshed.

He stifled guilt, strangled the throat of his wine decanter, and backed to his bed, drinking gluttonously.

A knock rattled the door, jolting Lochlanaire awake. He groped to his feet and one hand threaded his raven locks as he swaggered to the door, bursting it open. A crewman waited at attention in the corridor. “What?”

“Quartermaster Grayson said to apprise ye o’ when the
Vengeance
cast sail, sir.”

“She sails while we speak?”

The crewman chirped, “Aye.”

“Dismissed.” Shutting the door, Lochlanaire was eclipsed by an apparition awakened by the past.
Secluded in a night-blackened alley, his brother Zore stood before him. Zore laughed and raised the knife held in his right hand. A woman was cradled in Zore’s arms. He slit her throat and blood gushed over the maid’s fatal injuries. Zore dropped her dying body, and wandered away. He disappeared in the darkness.
Lochlanaire heard Zore’s ghoulish laughter echo.
Suddenly, he returned to the present; his limp body shielded the door. Lochlanaire saw Zore’s grisly black eyes, bewildered at how effortless it was for him to slay the harlot after his ravishment of her.

Lochlanaire quarantined the memory and returned to his helm, where Grayson waited. He noted the
Vengeance’s
slovenly departure of the harbor and then he peered at his quartermaster. “Is our ship primed to sail?”

Grayson attested, “Aye, the mast is repaired, Captain.” Employing countless carpenters, the mainmast was restored far quicker than normally would occur.

“Cut anchor. Cast sail.”

Grayson gave the order. The men scampered in response. Soon,
Satan’s
Victory
dipped among choppy seas, trailing the
Vengeance
. Manning the tiller, Lochlanaire was uncompromising in his lust to entrap his brother’s ship and the treasure it enfolded below.

Satan’s
Victory
glided closer to its prey, but with fog rolling in, the two ships were commanded to slow in their pace. Fortune, however, held true to Lochlanaire, for his ship sidled alongside the
Vengeance.
Grappling hooks were tossed and bridged the fissure between. The crews off both vaulted, swarming the vessels, pistols, swords, sabers and cutlasses engaged in a ferocious bloodbath. Lochlanaire vaulted to the
Vengeance
from his helm and blood spilled at his every step. He made way in the direction of the passage that would lead him into the ship’s hull. At its doorway threshold, he captured a pirate; his cutlass’ tip pricked the villain’s throat. Lochlanaire scathingly demanded, “Where’s the woman?”

The pirate clawed Lochlanaire’s fingers but was futile in his quest for freedom, spouting, “She be jailed in a cabin…nearest the galley.”

“Take me. And if you deceive me, you’ll die, torturously. Understood?” Lochlanaire droned.

The pirate dashed across the entrance. Lochlanaire trailed, his cutlass piercing the pirate’s back, should he pause. At the locked cabin, Lochlanaire kicked the door and it splintered to shards.

Lochlanaire found the desecrated woman. Siren cringed backward against the wall. Magnificently menacing, Lochlanaire felled his guide, discarding him inside the corridor. Forthwith, Lochlanaire crossed the cabin. His cutlass struck the ring that held her until it flopped on the bed near Siren’s cradled legs. Lochlanaire yanked Siren to her feet. She fought him, but was unsuccessful. He whisked her to the passageway, and afterward tossed her aboard the main deck.