The Devil's Luck Ch. 06

Symes. Uncle, what is going on here? Why do they know your name?

More mumbling.

"You know, that Prometheus he used to go on about."

She wished desperately that she could make out the questions of the other man. Her alarm was growing by the moment, all of her senses telling her that something was horribly, horribly wrong.

"Aye, that rebellion. Where do you think I came from, Adams? Perhaps you should put that bottle away."

Hezekiah confirmed her guess as to the identity of the other man in the room, but these isolated snippets of information were maddening. Edmund wanted to get his hands on her uncle? It made no sense. The Bosun's next words, though, brought the spinning of her thoughts to a crashing halt.

"Oh, no. The captain will hand Symes directly over to his father in Kingston. I don't know what he'll do with the widow."

Hannah's hand flew to her open mouth and her heart nearly stopped beating in her chest. The shock of what she'd just heard, what it meant, made her deaf to anything further the gossiping pirates might be saying.

...hand Symes directly over to his father...

...don't know what he'll do with the widow.

She sagged against the wall, her knees weakening in disbelief. This love affair — for that was what it was, she'd finally admitted — between her and the two men would have to end sometime, this she'd known. Thoughts of how she would pick up her life when her time upon The Devil's Luck came to an end were the sort she'd been attempting to avoid, but she'd certainly never expected it to end like this.

You've been had, Hannah, and in more ways than one.

Her nails dug into her palms as she held herself back from pounding at the wall with angry fists. She would not cry. Not yet.

Bloody, cursed pirates!

How could she have been so foolish? Opening her heart up like a naïve girl. Letting them do all those...those things to her! Making her feel —

Her rapidly widening spiral of anger was interrupted by a new sound of lowered male voices and laughter coming from above, and by the way they were growing clearer she realised they were approaching the galley entrance.

Hannah was slapped with an icy splash of panic. The stairs were the only way in and out of the room, where could she go? She'd have no good excuse to be skulking around at this time of night in near darkness.

Think, woman!

The pantry.

She made a desperate slide for the tiny storage closet, managing to pull the narrow door shut just as two pairs of boots came scuffling down the stairs. Whoever was joining her in the galley moved as though they didn't want to be found there either.

The lack of a telltale wooden thud told her that neither of the sets of footsteps belonged to the cook, nor did either of the two new voices have Bone's distinct deep rumble. And there would be no need for the man to sneak into his own kitchen, in any event.

The door to the pantry, the only thing separating her from discovery, was not very well fitted, and as her eyes became accustomed to the darkness she saw that there was a gap at the edge where she could spy out who was in the room with her. She wouldn't be seen in the dim light that came into the galley from above, even with her eye to the gap. As long as no one decided to rummage in the pantry she could remain silent and wait out her unexpected company.

At first there wasn't enough light coming from any proper angles for Hannah to figure out who the two sailors were. Their voices sounded as though they were just this side of having had too much drink. When they came to the bottom of the stairs, though, and rounded to the side of the wooden steps, the taller one's face turned just so in the light and she knew him to be the carpenter, Ellis George.

She feared for a chest-tightening moment that these were two men in search of a very late morsel of food, and that surely the pantry door would be wrenched open at any second. But then she saw George grab the other man by the front of his shirt and kiss him full on the mouth. The same way the captain would kiss her.

What the...?

Oh.

Oh.

The carpenter was the same man who'd watched her bathe that day with a complete lack of interest. In the back of her mind she'd assigned some vague meaning to the incident and what it said about George, but the supposition had been put on a high shelf full of other unnecessary information and left there. She'd not thought about it since.

George's hands were on the other man's shoulders, pushing him to his knees beside the stairs. Before she realised what she was seeing, the carpenter had produced a sizable erection from his breeches and promptly fed it to a surprisingly eager companion.

The Devil take me! Why did I have to be here to see this?

And why can't I look away?

To Hannah's horror, she couldn't drag her eye away from the gap at the door; couldn't end her silent witness to the depravity taking place in the darkened galley.

Perhaps it was a sort of punishment she'd wrought upon herself. Had she not performed the very act she now saw in front of her? Did her cheeks hollow that way, and did her head bob in such an obscene manner over the captain those times she'd done it? This new perspective served her right, and worked as a reminder of just how sordid the whole affair truly was. She'd been used just as surely as George was using the sailor in front of him.

Both of her hands were clamped tightly over her mouth, lest she make any incriminating squeak of shock or disgust. Still she stared, in horrified curiosity, burning with shame in the darkness at the fact that she refused to look away.

"Come on, Winters," George's hoarse whisper bade the other man as he pulled out of the receiving throat and stood back, cock in hand. "I'd gladly have you on your knees the whole night, but you know we haven't got time."

The kneeling man rose and the carpenter pushed him toward the cutting block that stood in the centre of the galley. Winters's hands came down on the top of the block and he was facing the pantry, and unknowingly, Hannah. George was behind him, tugging at the man's breeches.

Could they...? No! They can't!

But they could, and did.

Her eyes must have been as round as they could possibly be as she looked on from her hiding place at the thing that was happening in front of her.

George leaned in to Winters while the younger man braced himself against the block, the carpenter's face bending to speak close to the other man's ear.

Hannah was unnerved at the similarity she saw between the way George handled Winters and the way Edmund had handled her.

Don't you think of that fiend, or the taste of his lying tongue!

"Go on then, lad," the carpenter was saying, his voice husky, "ease up for me now. You've done it before; now show me again. That's right..."

The man bent over the block bit his lower lip to hold his noises in check and closed his eyes, and Hannah knew just what was happening to him at that moment. She watched Winters's face change as a series of alternately pained and ecstatic expressions flowed over it, and against all reason, she felt for the man. She knew what he was feeling exactly, as much as it now tore at her heart.

George was making shallow movements behind the other man now, and one of his hands had snaked around to reach into Winters's breeches. Was this how it had been, for her late husband and Mr Pearce? The man had been meant to desire her like this, not leave her inexperienced and vulnerable, as prey for scoundrels. The bile rose in her throat at the thought, but not in response to the sin being committed in the galley.

Foolish, foolish girl.

From start to finish, the whole affair didn't last long, and for that she was grateful. The sight of two men together was disturbingly fascinating in the way that their efforts appeared to be made with an aggressive urgency and at the same time a practised control. Ellis George worked Winters as efficiently as one of the tools of his trade to get the result he wanted. The carpenter bit back a grunt of release and tensed behind the other man, and then it was over.

Relief washed over her when the two men pulled their disheveled clothing back into place and made for the stairs, George landing a final swat on Winters's behind as they moved up and out of the galley.

She had to get out of this pantry.

And do what? What are you going to do now?

There were no ready answers for that question yet, but continuing to hide here would not be among them, in any event. Hannah waited until she was confident that George and Winters wouldn't be returning before she left the little storage closet, trying to put the images of the two men out of her head. She had enough problems for the moment.

Her silent feet carried her back up the stairs and onto the upper deck. The thought of returning to the captain's stateroom, or Till's for that matter, disgusted her at this point, but she needed to decide on a course of action. Her mind raced with thoughts of what plan might be best, but as she slipped 'round the main mast in the darkness her body ran headlong into a startled Edmund Blackburn.

"Hannah? What are you doing out here?"

* * * *

The surprise on Hannah's face at their collision melted away as her eyes narrowed at him and her body condensed in newfound anger. Edmund saw from the subtle downward tilt of her chin and the accusation in her gaze that the moment he'd been dreading was finally upon him. He didn't know how she'd found out, and there was no need to ask. She knew, and it was over.

"So," she began, the poison already lacing her tone, "did you plan to simply tell me once we reached Boston?"

"Hannah, I —"

"Simply a feather in your cap, am I?" her voice rose, "It wasn't enough to make use of me to lay hands on my uncle for whatever foul purpose, you had to play me for a fool as well?"

"We're not having this discussion out here," he said, reaching to grip her by the upper arm. He needed to move her below decks immediately, lest her heated words draw too much attention.

"Why ever not, Captain Blackburn?" she asked in a vicious mockery of innocence as he hauled her along the deck, "It seems the whole crew already knows just what your plans are."

Edmund didn't answer her jabs but moved to hustle her below, away from prying eyes and ears.

"Having a bit of trouble with her, are you Captain?"

Apparently he hadn't moved quickly enough. He caught sight of Graves smirking at him from the gunwale, the wiry surgeon leaning against the rail in the shadows, arms folded across his narrow chest. The snake of a man had the nerve to speak again, much to Edmund's irritation.

"Give her over to old Graves, Captain. I'll have her acting straight before she knows what's what," the bony man leered in their direction.

The widow made a startled noise of disgust, but Edmund kept walking, issuing sharp words over his shoulder to the skulking surgeon. "'Useless and scarce', Graves, remember what I said? Now shove off and mind your own affairs."

He had no time for malicious taunts from the crew, least of all from Rowland Graves. Just how many problems could a man be expected to deal with at once aboard his own ship?

He pushed through the council room and into his cabin, thrusting her ahead of him and bolting the doors behind. He turned to face her and she glared at him from across the room, arms crossed over her chest in smouldering anger.

So. They'd arrived.

The blissful companionship they'd come to share had been too ideal to last, and was now lying shattered on the deck as he knew at some point it would be. He'd only imagined that he might have a little longer, some greater measure of time in which he might delude himself that Fortune had finally deigned to grant his most secret wishes.

"Did you enjoy yourself, then?" she sneered at him. "In these weeks of toying with me, bringing me to believe you were something other than a villain? Sharing me with your quartermaster? Those times I called your name, did you laugh at me to yourself?"

He'd been steeling himself for this moment and knew what he must do. The rotting flesh must be severed away lest the decay spread to the rest of the healthy body. Any softness toward her must be cut off immediately, and he put his own angry doubts into words to do so.

"You enjoyed your own self plenty, woman, with your legs spread for a man — men! — who weren't your husband. A rich man's spoiled daughter who thought she'd try out the whore's trade while she was tucked away where no one would find out? We both know you'll act as though nothing's happened as soon as I put you ashore."

Her face went from red to white at this and he wondered if there was a word beyond 'livid' to describe a person.

"How dare you!" Apoplectic. That was the word. "I asked for none of this! I didn't beg that surgeon of yours to bring me aboard your ship! I didn't plead for you to cut me out of my dress that first day, or tie me to a mast, or...or hold me down so your friend could...could rape me! The two of you should have just continued that way — why do otherwise and make me start to imagine you cared?"

He counted himself lucky that she hadn't moved to pick up something to throw at him.

Edmund sighed in defeat, but said nothing. Instead, where his own fiery reaction should be, he calmly moved to the wall of small cabinets that lined the one side of his stateroom and began to rummage about. Hannah fumed from where she stood, watching his every move and all but burning a hole in the deck with her ire. He'd just as soon approach a busy wasp nest.

There was no point in ranting or raging at her further. He'd been digging his own grave with this woman from the very beginning and he knew it. Allowing himself to begin to care for her... Well, that was one among many follies. And now this was the bed he'd have to lie in until Boston.

He found what he was looking for in the cabinet and came out with it. He would do what he must. Her fury was such that she didn't even shrink back when she saw what he held, but only stood there, eviscerating him with the ice in her blue eyes.

The steel manacle went around her ankle with a metallic clank when he went to one knee before her and, turning, he fastened the other circlet around a leg of the table that stood in the centre of the room. Like most furniture on a ship, the table was fixed permanently to the deck to prevent it from sliding around. The widow had the length of chain to move about, but she would no longer be leaving his cabin.

She made a noise of disgust. "Do you think that will convince me to lead you to my uncle? Threaten me with chains and I'll give up my family to you, the same as I've given up so much else?"

"No," he stood again, resigned, "I think it will prevent you from wandering about my ship, which you've no longer the privilege to do."

Put it away, Edmund. Put away everything you might have felt. You've had your fun, now back to business with you.

"Besides," he added, rubbing a frustrated hand over the back of his neck, "I won't need you to lead me to him. All I must do when we arrive is put word out at port among my contacts that Bertrand Symes' niece is being held aboard The Devil's Luck, and your uncle will come to me himself."

The look on her face when he explained his plan was enough to tell him that if he hadn't destroyed everything with her before, he'd surely done so now. It was worse than her first day aboard. She'd only feared him then. Now she had cause for hate.

After she closed her open mouth her fists came firmly to her hips and the widow regarded him with all the scorn she could muster, which was a considerable amount. Her lovely chin tilted up in defiance and she gave a single shake of her newly tethered ankle, thrashing the length of chain over the deck to illustrate her next words.

"You mean to keep me in here, then? Continue having your way, just as you managed that first evening? Force me apart again for the crew member of your choosing to rut upon? How could you, Edmund?"

The widow's last words were the ones that appeared to finally break her, and they'd come from her own mouth and not his. The intimacy of her hurling his own name at him was a harsher blow than any object she might throw. She surrounded it by words that spoke of such complete betrayal, and it became the final straw that cast her from righteous indignation into a broken, bitter mess of tears.

She didn't crumble to the floor or hide her face in her hands, though. His Hannah only stared at him through red-rimmed eyes, her useless tears burning down her cheeks while she named him 'devil' with her gaze.

She's not 'your Hannah' any more. She never was. You cannot think of her that way.

"You've nothing to say?" she demanded of him finally.

Edmund knew he had nothing helpful and he made a half-hearted wave of his hand, gesturing to the room in general. "Well...you trusted a pirate, didn't you? You've received just what a person would expect in such a bargain."

There was little more he could say, or would. Edmund only managed to shake his head at the totality of ruin before him and moved for the doors. He turned his back on Hannah Collingwood and left her standing there, despising him, while he made his way out of the stateroom and out onto the deck.

The captain of The Devil's Luck should be asleep in his bed at this hour, but he couldn't be in the same room with the widow just now. He would need to break the news to Benjamin. The man was the closest thing to a brother he'd ever had, and Edmund was not looking forward to the look on his friend's face when he explained what they'd lost tonight. The look would remind him that Benjamin had warned him about this very possibility, and Edmund had already taken his fill of other people being right for one evening.

They should be making port in Nassau any day now, and it would come not a moment too soon. Best to be on with this whole affair and stop pining for things that would never be.

* * * *

Hannah waited until she was sure he must be well away from the doors before she allowed her knees to give way. Her palms thumped the deck when she fell and hot tears made wet little blossoms where they splattered onto the oiled wood.

She wanted to curse him with every blasphemous word she knew or had ever overheard, but for long delirious moments all she could do was choke on incoherent sounds that weren't quite speech as she fought for air.

She wanted to curse herself.

Get control of yourself! Hasn't he done enough to you?

The pace of her breathing and sniffling needed to be brought into line, and she did this as best she could, drying her face with the heels of her palms. Her legs were bent at an odd angle beneath her and she straightened them, her new tether making a sullen, metallic sound as it moved over the deck. There would be no point in struggling with the band of steel around her ankle. The captain would not have bothered to secure her with something from which she could easily escape.

The familiar rocking of the ship was of no comfort to her now, as she sat there in a daze, completely at a loss for what to do, or how to go on.

You should've never read that letter! Your own foolish questions led him straight to your uncle. You betrayed your own family, Hannah!

But how could she have known? In what fantastical Hell could she have possibly imagined that the captain of a ship she'd been tricked into boarding in the first place would be in possession of letters from her uncle? The likelihood was too slim to be real. It seemed as though Providence, or the Fates, or whatever otherworldly force governed this existence was having an uproarious laugh at her expense.