The Devil's Luck Ch. 06

Blackburn was right. If he put out word that she was being held aboard his ship, her uncle would likely agree to nearly anything if he thought it would deliver his only niece from the hands of a scoundrel. No form of protest or stubbornness on her part could prevent the captain from making good on his plans.

Perhaps if she could get word to him that a trap was being set, her uncle could flee Boston ahead of them, not tell anyone where he was going. He'd done it before.

And where will that leave you? Stuck on this cursed ship for ever? To be used as bait in every port until Black Edmund catches his prize?

But those were foolish thoughts either way. There would be no way for her to warn her uncle. There was nothing Hannah could do about any of this. Nothing at all.

And what of her remaining time aboard The Devil's Luck? His words still stung her.

You enjoyed your own self plenty, woman, with your legs spread...

A rich man's spoiled daughter who thought she'd try out the whore's trade...

The utter hubris of the man! Hannah finally let loose the string of curses she'd been accumulating, banging her shackle against the deck for emphasis.

Did she imagine he would leave her be in the coming weeks? Chain her up in his cabin and sleep in it himself every night and leave her untouched? No. He'd proven not to have a shred of honour about him, and more than once. The only question that remained was how she would choose to react.

Things would certainly not go back to how they'd been before, and the pang of regret she felt at this loss was a new shame for her to heap atop her already burgeoning hoard.

She could fight him tooth and nail, every step of the way. Spit and kick at every attempted caress, bite and claw when he covered her. That way would probably land her in a great deal more physical hurt than she thought she might be capable of enduring.

There was always the apathetic approach. She could lay there, limp as a dishrag, whatever he did. Deny him the pleasure of hearing her moans or feeling her struggles. Her own passive, pathetic little rebellion against the inevitable.

No matter what she did, or how she might handle herself, one thing was certain. Hannah Collingwood would not be fooled by this man again.

* * * *

When he returned to his stateroom after a long and uncomfortable conversation with his quartermaster, Edmund found himself letting out a sigh of guilty relief to find the angry widow asleep.

She was huddled with her back to his wall of cabinets, as far from his sleeping berth as the dozen or so feet of her chain would allow. Her head lolled to one side, the column of her throat a pale highlight in the darkened space. The distance she'd put between the bed they'd shared told him all he needed to know about how she still regarded him.

He pushed off his boots and climbed onto the berth, not even bothering to remove his shirt or breeches. He was tired. Tired of chasing after impossible goals, tired of making decisions, and tired of useless, inconvenient emotions.

Let her sleep where she is, then.

His affairs were fouled up enough for one evening, without having to complicate things by poking a stick at an anthill and trying to wake the widow up to move her elsewhere.

The rest of this journey was going to be a trial, and they hadn't even made it to Nassau yet.

Only one more day, two at most. Keep your head, Blackburn. You haven't been ruined by a woman for thirty-six years. Don't take up the habit now.

* * * *

It was lamentable that Hannah's first sight of the islands had not been under more fortunate circumstances, because everything she saw was painfully beautiful. She had to take in everything through the window in Blackburn's stateroom as they made their approach, still chained as she was to the table, but her eyes could hardly make themselves wide enough to absorb the exotic sights that rolled by.

The sky was violently blue and the waters competed, trying to strangle her in a barrage of brilliant colour. She'd heard accounts from acquaintance of her father's who'd been, but nothing she'd seen back at the Port of Bristol could prepare her for this. The smaller, narrow islets they passed on their way into the harbour had beaches of blinding white sand, and plants and trees the likes of which she'd only encountered illustrated in books fringed their higher portions in glossy green.

Yes, a true shame, this. She would've loved to travel here one day without a dark could of hate and betrayal hanging over her head. But that was not to be, and there was nothing to be done about it.

Two restless, uncomfortable nights she'd spent, trying to manage sleep with her back propped against cabinet doors and her bottom going numb from sitting on the deck. She would doze for brief spells, but her body would jerk her awake with a sensation of falling, and the sudden movement of her legs would stir her chain, the sound of it yanking her back into cruel reality.

Blackburn had made some grumbling, after the first night, about allowing her the use of the bed, but she'd flatly ignored him. By what possible stretch of his imagination he thought she would be amenable to sleeping beside him, she didn't know. She'd be tempted to strangle him with the chain, although that wouldn't see her off the ship, now would it?

Hannah was surprised that the captain still intended to take her ashore, considering the current state of affairs between the two of them.

Well, the three of us, really. Till did nothing to prevent any of this now, did he?

But he'd come nonetheless, unlocking her single restraint and explaining that he wasn't interested in leaving her aboard the ship with Graves while he and Mr Till went to shore. As though anything that wretched surgeon did could possibly hurt her more than what had already been done to her.

She'd been given a few moments to try to pile up her hair beneath the silk hat she'd arrived with, as though it mattered how she should appear in public here. Nassau was, after all, a pirate haven, and names just as notorious as Black Edmund, if not more, were bandied about the port. Calico Jack, Thomas Barrow, Edward Teach... Names that seemed unreal when one was expected to pull them out of society gossip and place them on the heads of living, breathing men.

The journey ashore had been awkward, as had everything else the last few days, with Hannah looking everywhere but at the captain or the quartermaster. Perhaps she could forget for a time, while the smaller boat was rowed toward the warm lights of a darkening port, that she was here entirely against her will.

Or perhaps not.

"Mrs Collingwood," Blackburn said her name, making her turn reluctantly back to face him. He offered a hand to help hoist her out of the boat and onto a short dock and she let him see the full measure of her disdain before allowing him to assist her. She wanted nothing to do with the man, let alone permit herself to be touched by him again, but saw that there would be little use in putting up a struggle at this moment.

Once she'd gained footing on the dock, he reminded her as he'd done before matters had gone so sour about the dangers of this particular port.

"Now listen to me, Mrs Collingwood," he said, taking hold of her arm. She was ruefully triumphant that he'd given up on calling her 'Hannah,' but looked at him with blank eyes. "I cannot emphasise how important it is for you to stay close to either Mr Till or myself. This isn't a place for ladies such as yourself, and I assure you, you won't do well at all unattended."

Blackburn swept his eyes over the bodies that milled about the street skirting the docks, so different from the look and feel of the crowds at Bristol. He snorted in bitter observation, "You may just be the only woman on this island who doesn't already have syphilis, and I'd put it past none of this lot to see the situation rectified."

He locked his gaze with hers again, brown eyes she'd wanted to drown in only days ago, now making her want to gouge at them with her nails. "Do you understand me?"

"Yes." One word at a time was all he would get from her.

He sighed in irritation and turned to the quartermaster. "Mr Till? Let's have ourselves a drink or two before we sail. I can't speak for you, but I could use some liquid distraction this evening." The bald man stepped up beside them to flank Hannah on her right, and nodded in agreement as the captain led the way toward the sounds and scents of the port city proper. Blackburn called over his shoulder to the remaining crew who'd rowed them ashore.

"The rest of you know when we meet back here. Don't make me wait like last time or I'll leave you standing here, cocks in hand."

Hannah flinched a bit at his language as they moved off into the fading twilight. Pirates, she had to continue to remind herself. If she'd only borne that fact in mind this whole time, she might never have given such a portion of herself over to them. Useless speculation, all of it.

Blackburn walked the street on her left and Till on her right, making it clear to passers-by that she was otherwise claimed. It set her teeth on edge when her mind unhelpfully supplied her with a string of images of another time the two had claimed her, one to either side.

Swine. Bloody, pirate...swine!

And what are you, for enjoying it?

A fool. That's what I am.

There should not be more than one voice with more than one idea speaking in her head. Her time aboard the ship was changing her, and not for the better. She'd never harboured thoughts of violence before, either, but now Hannah had no trouble picturing herself gripping someone by the hair and introducing their skull to the floor with repetition and vigour until the attached body gave up its twitching and flopping.

She had no idea at all to whom she might do such a thing.

Her glare burned into the infuriatingly handsome side of Blackburn's face at this thought as they walked along.

No, no idea whatsoever.

The trio were working their way back through the warren of streets that lay like loose netting over the port. Boisterous sounds of merrymaking poured from glowing windows into the evening air, punctuated by the occasional drunken shout or snatches of argument.

"Here," was all the captain said as he shouldered his way in through the open door of a noisy, crowded inn's common room. Till pushed in behind her and she had no choice but to thread her way through the busy space on Blackburn's coattails.

The Fallen Purse was a far cry from the inn she'd lodged at back in Bristol. The patrons here were loud and mostly male. The few women she saw were either serving food and drink, or brazenly perched on the knees of potential customers. Someone was playing a stringed instrument somewhere she couldn't see, and it was either of a kind she'd never heard before, or so badly out of tune she couldn't recognise it for what it was. There was singing as well, of the sort that spoke of someone emboldened by an empty bottle.

Blackburn took up one end of a long table near the back of the room and motioned for her to sit beside him. Again, this was not the time to fight the man. She sat, but stiffly, and as far away as the end of the bench would allow. Till took up a seat across from them both and gestured for one of the serving girls.

Drinks were ordered all around, whether she wanted one or not, and though she barely touched hers the men kept their own coming. Several others joined them at their table, and it seemed that the captain knew some of them, although they were not part of his crew.

The laughter got louder and the jokes cruder as the evening wore on, cheeks and noses beginning to redden as they were warmed with drink. Hannah sat quietly, making herself as small as possible and trying to block out the worst of the innuendo that was thrown her way.

Blackburn was unusually expansive after a number of mugs had been drained, and Till was goading him into recounting tales of their early days at sea. The crowd of men seemed particularly amused to hear how the quartermaster had come by his first tattoo, which he refused to show any of them. The table was thumped soundly, knees slapped and beer sloshed over fists as they crowed at the story.

A week ago, she might have enjoyed hearing such a thing, and would surely have demanded Till show her the tattoo immediately, while in his cabin for good measure, but Hannah was paying little attention to their talk at the moment.

While the low chorus of male laughter went on around her in a drunken storm, Hannah had become the calm eye at its centre. No one was paying her any mind just now. The door to the kitchen was just behind her.

Closer and closer she inched her bottom toward the end of the bench, making no move so swift or obvious that it would attract the notice of her captors. Blackburn faced away from her now, his interest fully engaged by a broadly gesturing man with blond hair and a wide, meaty face who was spinning some yarn that involved a serpent or some such nonsense. Till was rapt as well and not looking in her direction. Just one more inch...

Hannah rose from the bench and backed toward the swinging kitchen door, eyes wide with fright that someone would turn back and see what she was attempting at any moment.

No one looked back, and when she bumped into the door it was like a tap on the shoulder from God, letting her know she was finally free.

"Can I help you, Miss?"

She whirled around at the female voice to find a confused serving girl eyeing her while wiping at her hands with a rag.

"Umm...no. I mean...I thought this was the door to the alley," Hannah lamely improvised an excuse for backing into the inn's kitchen. She silently cursed herself.

That's the best you could do?

"Oh no, Miss. That's just through there," the woman pointed over her shoulder at a second door behind her. The clouds parted once again over Hannah's head.

"Yes. Right. Of course it is. Thank you," she said to the other woman, making her way swiftly to the only way out of the room that didn't put her back in Blackburn's sight.

Hannah slid out of The Fallen Purse without a single backward glance for the serving girl in the kitchen or the two knaves she was leaving behind. A weight was lifted from her shoulders as she stood there in the alley, considering which way to go in the darkness.

She took a deep, liberating breath of the sweet night air. How she would get out of Nassau, or where she might hide in the meantime when the inevitable search for her ensued, she didn't yet know. But just like her uncle, ten years earlier, she was determined to rid herself of a noose around her neck that wore the name Blackburn. It was time to put this entire harrowing business behind her once and for all.

* * * *

"Edmund."

His quartermaster hissed at him from across the table, his tone urgent and incongruous with the raucous laughter that rippled around the common room. He turned an eye to the man in mild irritation, giving him a questioning toss of his head and a shrug of one shoulder. What was Benjamin worried about now?

The tattooed man angled his head and arched a brow meaningfully at the space on the bench next to Edmund. He turned, shaking his mind out of the warm comfort of the drink, trying to put together why his friend was behaving so oddly.

The space.

"Where is she, Edmund?"

His eyes darted around the room from table to table. The widow was nowhere in sight.

"Fuck!"

The vehemence of his expletive startled even the rough men he'd been laughing with seconds ago, and several turned to stare at him. Edmund swept his empty mug aside and scooped up his hat again as he stood, sobering quickly.

Till came to his feet and followed Edmund as he pushed through tangled groups of inebriated men and out the door to the street.

They needed to find her, and quickly, before she was lost to them in more ways than she already was.

* * * *

Hannah kept to the alleys for the most part in her attempts to avoid being seen in the most obvious places where Blackburn might come looking for her. She was trying to move as far away as possible from the inn, hoping to put as much distance between her and the two men as she could. The amount of time she suspected she'd have before her presence was missed was likely very short, and she did her best to make haste.

There was no thought that the captain might simply count her as a loss and leave her. No, he needed her as leverage to draw out her uncle. Pursuit was as certain as sunrise.

Staying in Nassau would not be an acceptable option, she thought as she scurried between sheltering pools of darkness. The only way to escape capture now would be to flee the port entirely, preferably on a ship that was pointed elsewhere before Blackburn came to realise what had happened. If he had any idea as to where her next destination might be, she was sure to see the sails of The Devil's Luck on the horizon in short order.

Something made a gritty, crackling noise ahead of her and Hannah pressed herself into the shadows against the rear wall of the closest building, holding her breath and trying to be still. The sound became more vigourous and then stopped, along with her heart in her chest. Interminable seconds later, a bony dog went trotting past and she nearly collapsed with relief.

As soon as she felt sure that the dog had been the only other occupant of the alley, she took up her retreat again along with her urgent scheming.

How could she make her way on to another ship? She didn't know anyone here aside from Blackburn, and she suspected that the captains of other ships of the same nefarious ilk would be about as interested in transporting passengers as her former captor initially was. There was always the possibility of stowing away, but that idea was immediately tossed with a quiet snort of disgust. Hannah was only fooling herself if she thought she could hide in an enclosed space like a ship for some undetermined amount of time without being detected. And upon discovery she'd likely be thrown overboard or worse.

Even if, by some odd stroke of chance some other captain were to take her on as a passenger, what coin did she have to pay her way? And none of her skills or the knowledge she'd earned from years with her nose between the pages of books would be useful for earning her way as a part of a crew, like Brigit with her cooking. If any of the servants at her father's estate had seen Hannah in the kitchen, they would've asked her if she was lost.

You've learnt a new skill or two in the last few weeks, Hannah. Why don't you bargain with that?

The idea was appalling. Was she not disgraced enough?

But what other means did she have, if not the only coin that a woman carried with her all the time? She remembered the captain's crude words from that very first day.

Let's see what coin you have brought to pay for your passage, my dear...

Mr Till, it appears that her purse is overflowing indeed...

To have to endure such acts again? Could she possibly? But this time she would be under no illusions. If she could convince herself of the necessity of such a transaction, she would not be seduced this time, nor tricked into thinking that the men involved cared for her as anything more than a bed warmer.

Desperation was driving her to contemplate the unthinkable. Could it be done? Her body was just another object, was it not? She would cast it off one day when she left this world in death. The flesh was not the person, not the soul. Her hands were but tools to convey food into her mouth, her legs to move her from place to place. If she could properly divorce her higher faculties from her earthly self, would she not see that the traitourous pink between her thighs could be used to her advantage, for her survival as well?