Blackhearts (18 page)

small smile. “Please, continue.”

“We’d just left the port of Tortuga and planned to rendezvous

with some others in Barrett’s fleet off the coast of Jamaica. It was near there that we spotted the first war ship. The Spaniards were dependent on the direction and strength of the wind, so we had

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an advantage, in that we could outmaneuver them. As they bore down on us, we attempted to get to windward, but were unsuccessful. Three of our sailors were hit by a barrage from the ship’s guns as she passed.”

Teach looked off to the woods, somber and thoughtful. “We

shot back and managed to wound several of the sailors. With no

one at the helm, their ship rounded into the wind and lay help-

less. We continued to shoot every man who attempted to take the

rudder and targeted their sails until they were shredded.”

Teach paused in his story to catch a breath. Glancing again

at Anne, he noted the rapt attention she gave him, clearly fascinated and aghast by his account.

“What happened next?” she asked.

Teach frowned. “The Spaniards continued to fire, and our

captain took two shots to the chest. It was at that moment

that I noticed two powder kegs on the deck of the other ship.

Knowing it was our only chance of survival, I ordered our

helmsmen to bring us closer. The Spanish captain commanded

everyone to hit the deck, and I took a shot. It wasn’t enough

to destroy their ship, but it gave us the distraction we needed

to escape.” Teach remembered with vivid clarity the sights and

sounds of the men as some of the Spaniards had caught fire

when the keg had exploded. He could still hear their cries as

they leapt into the ocean in an attempt to douse the flames

burning their flesh.

Anne reached out and touched his arm, seemingly aware of

16 2

his haunted reflections. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

Teach looked down at the hand on his sleeve, overcome with

a sudden urge to cover it with his own. Instead he cleared his

throat and looked out across the gorge. It took him a moment

to answer. “I have since come to terms with that event,” he said, his voice raw.

“You saved their lives.”

Teach met her eyes and saw in them understanding and

compassion.

“Yes, by taking the lives of others.”

“If it hadn’t been for you, more men on your ship would

have perished, yourself included,” she said.

Teach shrugged. “If it’s God’s will for me to go, who am I

to stop it?” he asked.

Anne gave a short laugh. “That might be, but God also gave

you a brain and intellect. Would you rather have stood by and

let them kill the lot of you?”

“All I know is that I never want to watch a man suffer like

that at my hand again.”

The silence that followed was pressing, and Teach realized

that whenever the two of them spoke, he revealed more about his

past than she did about hers. He was determined to change that.

“Enough about me,” Teach said. “Tell me, do you have any

family?”

“No one to claim me.”

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Teach was amazed at her ability to avoid answers. “What does that mean, exactly?” he pressed.

“My parents are dead.”

He studied her face. There was an unmistakable look of

sadness in her eyes, and he regretted his insistence that she clar-ify her statement. “I’m sorry for your loss, but that means there is no reason for you to leave my father’s household.”

“It does not matter whether I stay there or not. Once you

marry Miss Patience, you will live with her at her estate.”

His head jerked back as if he had been slapped. “Why do

you insist on bringing Miss Patience into every conversation?”

he demanded.

Anne frowned. “I only speak the truth. Am I wrong in

assuming you will soon be married?”

His mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “No. If my father has

his way, we will be wed within the year.”

“And if you had your way?”

“If I had my way, I would leave tomorrow on the first ship

sailing out of Bristol, regardless of its destination.”
And never
return.
Afraid that once more he’d said too much, Teach stood abruptly. “I believe we should go back.”

Anne waited as he placed the chairs once more inside the

cottage. He led the way through the trees, and they found their

horses exactly as they had left them. Lifting her back up into

her saddle, he allowed his fingers to linger slightly longer than 16 4

necessary on her waist. She glanced at him sharply, but Teach pretended not to notice.

He did not truly desire to return to the house, but knew it

would not do to remain any longer in the woods.

They rode back in relative silence. Teach was tired. Perhaps

it was a lingering effect from his illness.

As the house drew nearer, he felt the familiar bands of tight-

ness settling around his heart. Anne’s own face mirrored his, for her eyes were no longer shining, and her cheeks were no longer

flushed.

At the weeping willows on the outside of his father’s prop-

erty, Anne stopped and dismounted. “Just in case the others

have returned, I do not think it’s wise for them to see us arriving together. I will return the riding habit as soon as possible.”

“You may keep the garments. My only concern is if they see

you in them. They’ll know we were together.” He realized too

late that he hadn’t thought things through.

Anne bit her lip. “Perhaps if you went in first, you could

arrange some kind of distraction? I could slip in through the

kitchen and head upstairs to change.”

If she entered through the back way, there would be too

many opportunities for her to be discovered. Teach shook his

head. “No, I will go in first and return the horses to the stables.

You go through the front door and enter your quarters from

the other side of the house. They’ll be less likely to see you.”

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He paused. “Unless they’ve already determined that you aren’t in your room.”

“No, they aren’t so concerned for my welfare that they

would go and inquire after me.” Striding away, she disappeared

around the corner of the wall.

Teach led the horses in through the garden, searching for

movement near the back of the house. There was no sign of

the groom as Teach entered the barn and unsaddled the horses,

giving them a cursory brushing before heading for the kitchen

door. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on him. He’d sent

Anne to the front of the house, and he was stealing in through

the back.

Passing through the kitchen, he was on his way to the stairs

when he first heard the shouting. It was Margery. Even from his

vantage point down the hall, it was clear she was angry.

“Don’t lie to me, girl!” Her words were followed by the dis-

tinct sound of a slap.

Teach rounded the corner, just as Margery raised her arm

again. Anne reached out and caught Margery around the wrist,

clearly unwilling to yield to yet another strike.

“Stop!” Teach thundered, his voice exploding throughout

the entryway.

Both Margery and Anne turned to see him barreling toward

them, his face contorted with rage. “If you strike her again, I

will have you removed from this household. You will not find

another position for as long as you shall live!”

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Anne released Margery’s suddenly limp arm.

Margery’s mouth dropped open, the anger in her eyes

dying like a flame dipped in water. “But, but . . . sir, I caught her sneaking into the house, dressed like that!” She pointed to

Anne, still clothed in the riding habit.

Teach studied Anne’s appearance from head to toe, look-

ing for any more signs of ill treatment, but thankfully could

see none. Rounding once more on the old woman, he leaned

forward, speaking through clenched teeth. “It’s a riding habit.”

Margery blinked. “Yes . . . yes, I know, sir.”

He raised his eyebrows at her. “Is that a crime?”

The housekeeper flushed beneath the obvious scorn in his

voice. “No. Yes. She’s . . . How did she get it?”

An answering fire flared in Anne’s eyes. “I told you, it was

a gift.”

“Where have you been, dressed like that?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” Anne snapped.

Margery straightened. “As housekeeper, it’s my business to

know exactly what is going on—”

Teach waved his hand impatiently. “She already said it was

a gift.”

“Yes, but you told me several things have gone missing,

and—”

“You will not say another word,” Teach growled. He’d given

her specific instructions to keep silent about the stealing, but Margery was too upset to notice.

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“If anyone’s taken anything from your father, it would be that one. She’s the by-blow of some foreign gutter wench and a

sailor, no doubt raised on the streets.” Margery turned on Anne

once more. “And to think I trusted you. You can’t even follow

directions proper like. I ran into the butcher while I was in

town. He said you haven’t been to buy meat from him since the

young master returned.”

Anne jumped forward. “Because he wanted more payment

than I was prepared to give! If you want his wares so badly, then I suggest
you
lie with him!”

Margery dove for Anne’s face, her arms outstretched and

her teeth bared. Teach was able to scoop Anne out of the way as

she scrambled to get hold of Margery’s sleeves, the two of them

clawing like cats.

A pounding at the front door brought the argument to a

halt. Teach, for one, was grateful for the reprieve.

Holding on to Anne’s arm, he practically dragged her with

him, keeping a stern eye on the housekeeper. “Margery, you will

pack your bags at once,” Teach said.

“But who will run your father’s house in the meantime?

Her?” Margery shrieked.

Teach hadn’t thought of the particulars. He only knew he

wanted to keep Margery away from Anne. His jaw was clenched

so tight, it ached. “Return to the kitchen. I will discuss your

position with my father. Until then, you are not to speak to

Anne, do you understand? You are not to go near her.”

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Margery nodded, glaring at Anne before turning on her heel and stalking away, her limp pronounced.

Anne trembled, whether from anger or nerves, Teach was

unsure. She tried to wrest her arm from his grip, but he tight-

ened his hold.

“I still wish to speak with you,” he muttered.

“And I wish to change.”

Teach deposited Anne in a nearby chair. “Do not move.”

Wrenching open the front door, he came face-to-face with a

small boy standing on the front step. The boy jumped at the

look on Teach’s face, and quickly handed him a small note. A

handsome carriage was waiting in the drive.

“What’s this?” Teach snapped.

“A letter from yer father, sir.”

Teach reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin. The

boy pocketed it and scurried away. The black carriage did not

move, and the driver remained seated.

Closing the door with a little more force than necessary,

Teach wished he’d chosen to stay in bed this morning instead

of rising. Despite his enjoyable afternoon with Anne, it had

already been a grueling day, and it was not over yet.

After ripping open the delicate paper, he scanned the contents.

I know you have recovered, and would like you to come

to the Hervey estate at once. I have sent a carriage to

collect you. Until this evening. Richard Drummond

16 9

Teach was not surprised by his father’s words. Of course his father would know he’d recovered. Teach was actually surprised

it had taken him this long to send for him. His father never

had been one to favor sentiment over practicality. There was

nothing in the letter about wishing to spend more time with

his wayward son.

No, his father needed him to come and secure the betrothal

with the Herveys.

Truly this day could not get any worse.

Looking down, he discovered Anne had already moved and

was headed up the stairs at a fast pace.

“Anne!” he called out.

She cringed, stopping where she was, and turned slowly.

He took the stairs two at a time, and came to a halt at her

side. “What Margery said . . . pay her no heed. I will have my

father dismiss her immediately.”

Anne met his eyes, her gaze firm. “I was not born in the

gutter like she says. Nor was I raised to work in someone’s

household. I do not know what my father wished for me, but I

do not believe it was this.”

Teach chose his words with care, not wanting to upset her

further. “I’m sure he wanted you to be happy, whatever you

chose.”

“He always told me he loved me, and said he would take

care of me,” she said, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“I’m sure he did, in his own way, but now that he’s gone—”

17 0

Drawing a deep breath, Anne squared her shoulders. “My father was Andrew Barrett. My mother was his cook, Jacqueline.

He brought her back with him from one of his trips to the West

Indies. I did not
work
for Henry Barrett. We grew up in the same household together. He’s my half brother.”

Stunned, Teach leaned against the banister, his mouth