Other Oceans: Book Two of the Hook & Jill Saga (83 page)

“On the contrary, Hanover.” Hook had parried. Now, with a smile, he said, “I am stronger.” He charged.

Released at last, Hook followed his strategy. Breathing the scent of sea air, with the warmth of sunshine on his shoulders, he felt the pent-up energy flow through his arm. He enacted strokes he’d had days to dream, pressing the surgeon without mercy. Hook didn’t try to hide his gratification. He was in his element— his feet on the deck of a ship, a sword in hand, and an enemy at its point. He’d imagined this scene many times, rebuilding his strength there on the foul mattress of the surgeon’s keeping. Using his chains and his own body weight, he had employed his hours of isolation, toning his muscles in every conceivable way. The new freedom of his limbs thrilled him. He moved them now, lashing out, slashing at his foe.

Hanover felt the captain’s ferocity. He countered with a fury of his own. On the outcome of this contest balanced not only his life, but his reputation, the legacy he had striven to build, the brilliant career. His wife. His daughter and her— progeny. All squeezed in the one-handed grip of a devious sea dog. Unless he killed this man, immediately, irredeemable disgrace awaited the doctor. His sword spoke his torment for him, in words shrill and sharp.

Watching beside the aft stairway, Jill felt Cecco pull her into the protection of his hold. With her back against his chest, she gripped his arms, bolstered by his concern and hardly knowing how to justify it. Hook was home. Hanover was as good as dead. Soon enough, Cecco’s own trial would commence.

But she wouldn’t— she couldn’t think about that trouble now. The men’s blood was up. Just as she had done when Hook disappeared, she must do on his resurrection. She must remain calm, to determine what action to take. Unwilling to tear her gaze from her captain, she forced herself to do so, casting about the deck. A moment later, she caught Nibs’ eye and gestured. His gaze darted after hers, and he nodded.

Hanover was in a hurry, but Hook was not. He conserved his strength. As the surgeon delivered a barrage of blows, Hook stood each one, giving way a step here and there, only to swing with his hook and force his adversary back again. Hanover redoubled his effort. Hook whirled, swiping again. This time the doctor’s blade crashed into the iron curve, sending shudders through Hook’s arm. As pain shot to his shoulder, Hook wrenched his claw and sent Hanover’s sword flying. It clanged to the deck, and Hanover backed away. Lifting his empty hand, he turned a shocked face to
L’Ormonde
’s captain. LeCorbeau shoved his mate forward and, within seconds, the hilt of Renaud’s rapier filled those manicured fingers.

Tom advanced just far enough to retrieve the fallen blade. Smirking now, Hanover tested Renaud’s sword, swishing it in a crisscross flair.

Hook flexed his shoulders, attempting to shake the damage the doctor’s blow had caused. It left a nagging ache in his biceps, but he knew the remedy for that: victory. Hook thrust his weight full forward. With his iron hand threatening, he drove his enemy down the deck.

Hanover gave ground under the power of Hook’s assault. In a sudden movement he sidestepped, swerving into the protection of a cannon. Hook’s blade slashed across it, rasping along the barrel. Hanover ducked. Hook’s momentum carried him aft past the cannon, then he spun, stopping just short of Jill, with his back toward her.

Behind her, she felt Cecco stir as Hook neared. She noted the knife sheathed in Cecco’s belt as he held her, bearing against her back. A treacherous possibility occurred to Jill. She remembered his words, that first evening when she warned him of Hook’s wrath.
Do not underestimate me
. Pushing against Cecco, she backed him deeper into the stairwell, willing him away from Hook. She gripped his arms more firmly, knowing even as she did so that, if Cecco chose to act, no one could restrain him.

Jill saw Smee at the fore of the ship, watching Cecco. On guard for danger to his captain, he took swift steps closer. Alerted, Hook himself glanced around. Jill felt the force of his gaze again, and Cecco’s hands strengthening his hold on her. As if Hook could see her leather bracelets, Jill became aware of those straps that bound her to her gypsy lover. Hook faced the surgeon again, but under her gloves, the bindings pressed into Jill’s flesh. Once more, she had no choice but to place her trust in Cecco. Captain Cecco.

Hanover knew the haven he’d found would soon become a trap. Quickly, he slid along the big gun’s barrel and readied his sword. Jill read the confidence in his face, the loathing for his foe. His savage passion chilled her and fired her all at once. She knew that the same look animated Hook’s face. No shame; no fear; no compunction. And Jill understood, now, what grasp the surgeon held on her. Why, for all her scheming, she had never broken free of him.…

Like all her lovers, he was every inch a pirate.

Hook set his teeth and heaved forward, his hook glittering in the sun, his sword harassing Hanover’s. The electric air carried the sound of metal smashing metal.

Amidships again, abreast of Cecco’s officers, Hanover stood his ground, dodging the claw. As opportunity presented, he darted glances at Jill. The light in her eye emboldened him. Thinking like her pirates, he wheeled to pluck the dagger from Mullins’ belt. Mullins grunted, his hefty hand rushing to clasp his sheath, too late.

Beckoning with his stolen blade, Hanover urged Hook to attack. “Come, Captain. Your fate awaits you.”

“Yes.” Hook’s eyes glowed as he stood, legs apart. “A glorious victory. Unlike the ignoble ending you designed.”

“Hell wouldn’t have you. But I’ll send you down again, to knock on the devil’s door.”

“I’ll down a drink with him, and offer him your daughter.” Hook tilted his head. “Or, no, that’s been done. You saw to it personally.”

Hanover’s smirk dropped from his face. “You vile defiler!”

“Your mirror image.”

“No more discussion. Your reprieve is at an end.” With a weapon in each hand, Hanover tossed his hair from his forehead and rushed him.

As Hook evaded the assault, Hanover overshot his opponent, pulling up to turn and charge again. Hook bent, his sword tip swaying like a snake before a charmer. He backed toward the bow. “Miss Hanover, your father is a compelling man, is he not?”

Liza lurched, her maroon skirt wrinkling in her fists. Her bare feet peeked beneath a froth of petticoats. She looked frantically from her captain to her father. With her heart divided, she strained against Yulunga’s grip.

Hanover lunged. Hook swung his blade like an ax, catching the surgeon’s sword square. The force of the blow knocked Hanover off balance, and he stumbled. Hook took up his stance again, seizing his chance. “Come, now, Miss. You possess a lovely voice. Let everyone hear it.” The company exclaimed, and all eyes turned to Liza.

Her father regained his foothold. “Hook— you have stolen quite enough from my daughter. Leave her some dignity.”

“Fair is fair, Hanover. You and your concubine have stolen my treasure. Mr. Yulunga, weigh that gown you gave her.”

The sailors looked puzzled, but at Hook’s choice of words, Hanover’s soul filled with dread. He hadn’t been certain before. Now it was clear. Hook knew— everything. As foreboding cinched Hanover’s heart, he thought fast.

Yulunga hunkered down to grasp Liza’s hem. Finding a fistful of something, he looked up at Hook. “Sir! It’s jewelry.”

Hook advanced on Liza. Perspiring, Hanover attempted to divert the blame before the dam burst.

“Don’t dare touch my daughter…again!”

With his rapier, Hook whisked off a hank of Liza’s hair. She shied as her earlobe was exposed. “Pierced. Yet you won’t allow her to wear my earrings. What a shame, when the false bottom of your sea chest conceals some superlative pieces. Not to mention those stowed in your crate of medical books.” Hook leered. “I had intended to bestow them upon my
own
mistress.”

Liza’s hands flew to her ears.

“You are barbaric, Hook, to humiliate a girl. For shame!”

“Exactly, Doctor. For shame. And how will you conceal her shame— once she begins to show it?”

The observers began to gossip. Hissing like a flock of geese, the Frenchmen whispered the translation to one another. LeCorbeau rolled his eyes heavenward. Yulunga pulled Liza back, casting his gaze down to study her. Her white face blushed now, as her secrets broke open to color it.

Hook pressed his advantage. “My guess is you intended your new wife to pose as mother. A convenient cover. Jill couldn’t refuse, could she?” He sent a solemn look to Jill. “She believed the child might be mine.”

Hook held Jill’s gaze, then continued.

“Nor could your daughter refuse you. Under your ‘protection,’ she could hide what you’d done to her…however ardently she accepted your advances.” Whispers rustled again, in wonder at first, then in condemnation. Liza’s head sank, as if her neck were too slender a stem to hold such a flower.

Livid, Liza’s father defended her, and his honor. “I will silence you, Sir, if it is the last thing I do.” He slashed his knife at Hook’s gullet. Hook caught it in his claw, with a chink of metal.

“Not to worry,” answered Hook. “When I’ve finished with you, your deeds will live on— in your ill-gotten child.” Arm against arm, it was a battle of strength now. As their limbs shook with effort, Hook forced Hanover’s dagger lower. “Or would it be, grandchild?” Clicking his tongue, Hook frowned in mock reproof. “So terribly complicated, isn’t it?”

“Your corruption knows no bounds. You raped her!” Locked together, knife and claw grappled.

Hook managed a laugh. “My dear doctor. I have never found it necessary to force a female.” With a twist of his hook, he released the surgeon’s blade. “But I bow to you. You
are
accomplished. A subtle seducer.”

Hanover sputtered, “What depravity will you not plumb to discredit me in my wife’s eyes?”

“What depravity have you not shown me?”

In answer, Hanover sliced his knife at Hook’s cheek. The captain glided away.

“All those nights, as I lay chained in your daughter’s bed. You both found it preferable that she should sleep in yours.” Hook stepped backward, his rapier dancing, repelling Hanover’s advance. But, blocked by the table, Hook was forced to a halt. Hedging at the point of Hanover’s blade, he leaned backward, teetering over the wine-stained surface.

Smee held up the torch, ready to throw it, and Jill clutched at Cecco. Hook swiveled to look at her, and for one instant, they locked eyes. Hanover drove again, this time wielding his dagger.

Hook snagged the mainmast with his claw. Hanover’s knifepoint gouged his shirt. The fabric moaned as Hook vaulted over the table, wedding feast and all. He moved so lightly that he seemed to float. The next moment, he stood on the other side.

“But all this talk makes one so thirsty.” Setting his rapier on the table, he took up a silver goblet. “Drink, Doctor?” Hook raised the cup in a toast and enjoyed a draught.

Murmurs of admiration rose from the sailors. Hanover scowled. “I shall drink when you are dead.” With his sword, he struck the goblet from Hook’s hand. It sprayed red drops as it clattered on the deck. Hanover stabbed his dagger down, plunging it through the handle of Hook’s rapier. The dagger sank into the table top, pinning Hook’s weapon there. Hanover jeered, “My wife and I will drink together. To your memory.”

“Do you refer to the wife you took today? Or to the wife you murdered?”

Jill went rigid. She knew from Hook’s expression— he wasn’t bluffing. The men agitated, eyeing the surgeon with fresh mistrust. Liza kept her half-shorn head down.

Hanover’s knuckles went white on the knife. “You foul liar.”

“Is it I or you who lie? Did I not hear you confess to your daughter? Allow me to refresh your memory. It was the same morning you determined to starve me to death…and threatened to disfigure the girl if she spoke another word.”

Liza turned away, burying the face she had preserved by perfidy in Yulunga’s chest. He didn’t have to restrain her anymore. She clung to him. His arm settled on her shoulders. He freed his ax from his belt.

Jill covered her open mouth, but her horror couldn’t be concealed. Cecco voiced an untranslatable oath.

Weapons jingled as the pirates shifted, indignant. A scheme to murder their captain was heinous enough. Starvation struck them as cowardly. And for any man to mar a girl’s beauty, a man’s own daughter, made even these ruthless pirates feel sick. But the thought that the girl they’d been compelled to respect had been used after all, and used most vilely— by her sire— was past bearing. LeCorbeau’s crew, too, cried out in disapproval. In French, Italian, and English, Hanover heard himself reviled.

The French captain fanned himself with a handkerchief, his mouth set as if tasting bad wine. In the rigging above him, the blond sailor thrust his knife in his teeth. His scuttling descent was soon discouraged by the hands of his shipmates, but their voices rose, urging Hook to battle. This fight was fated for two men alone.

Hook needed no encouragement. Armed with only his claw now, he called, “Mr. Yulunga. I believe this cask must be broached.” Veering to starboard, Hook turned to watch.

The African obliged. Lifting his ax, he steadied his aim, then let it fly. The cask cracked open in a splintering of wood. Wine burst from the wreckage to flood over the deck. The heady scent of it escaped, and scarlet drops speckled the doctor’s sleeve. As the men watched the flow, Hook’s boots trod in the pool. He seized the ax. A moment later, its blade stood embedded in the table. In two shards, the knife bounced along the surface, tinkling against the goblets, and Hook held his rapier in his hand.

Faced with the ax, Hanover had retreated. Now he rounded the mast to confront his nemesis. Flecks of wine, like innocent blood, stained his shirtsleeve. He said, “In direst circumstances, I have striven to remain a gentleman. The dishonor rests upon you, who brought all this to pass.” One last time, the surgeon took up his stance. “And it is you from whom I demand satisfaction, in blood.”

“Granted.”

Hook drove the doctor aft, leaving a trail of wine-colored footprints. The enemies bent to thrust and pulled back to parry, their eyes exultant, their white sleeves surging high and low, their feet scuffling to the rhythm of their blades.