The Pirate Lord: Aristocrat. Rogue. Spy. Read online

  “We could not trust her. They now have a spy in custody. It was her or the Black.”

  Jon wheeled away. “I’ve listened to this man long enough. Take him out of my sight before I cut his throat!”

  He gave orders to the Master Carpenter to begin repairs and went down to the surgery to check on Roddy’s condition.

  §

  BRONWYN HEARD voices outside the cell. The door was solid thick oak and fastened on heavy black hinges. The voices drifted through by other means; the gap under the door was wide enough to admit a meal tray but not wide enough to escape.

  “What are we to do with her? She’s a spy or so they claim. Are we to take the word of a pirate?”

  “She fought like a wild woman. I’m afraid to go in there. She’ll snap my neck like a twig.”

  “It was only the grief that caused her frenzy. She’s as sane as the next man and I wager she’s twice as cunning.”

  Roddy’s lifeless body flashed through her mind, twisting through her heart like a bullet. She could not escape this pain and never would. One day, she would be dead too, and from that she took comfort. Her father preached a sermon once about people who live every day in death and she hadn’t understood it at the time. She did now. She would become one of them and live for the time she would be dead.

  §

  “IT WAS close—there were moments when I did not think he would pull through. Touch and go it was. But he’ll recover if he survives infection. I’ll keep watch. He’ll need to rest and build up his strength. He lost a good deal of blood.”

  “But he’ll live?”

  “He’ll live.” Blakely beamed. Failures were hard to bear; the success in saving one boy made up for them. “The shot nicked his rib and tore through his appendix. I took it out; he’d already lost too much blood to survive my digging around to repair it. The procedure is a new one; I’ve only just read up on it. Glad to have the practice.”

  Roddy’s quiet still form was stretched out on the surgeon’s table. His face was ghastly white. He looked dead but for the slow rise of his chest. “The lad has trouble with his lungs,” Jon said gruffly. “See that he has fresh sea air on a regular basis to aid in his recovery.”

  “Sit down before you fall down. Let me take a look at that wound.” Blakely lifted the shirt where it stuck to the dried blood. Jon winced. The gash was open but the bleeding had stopped. “I’ll have to sew it up, Jon. It’ll infect if I do not. It’ll hurt like the very devil but it’s asking for trouble leaving it like that. How did you get it?”

  “It is from the same bloody shot that almost killed the boy.”

  “You tried to get him out of its path and took the force of the shot yourself. Very likely that is what saved the boy’s life.”

  The ship’s surgeon cut off the shirt because Jon could not lift his arms to remove it. The alcohol wash stung like bloody hell and then came the stitching with silken thread and needle. The tools of Doctor Blakely’s trade were not the best and as the dull point of the needle pierced his skin, Jon vowed the man should receive fresh supplies at the next port.

  The job was done, the wound washed and bandaged. Jon took a large swallow of rum. When it was over, his second mate entered the room to make his report.

  “We’ve blown off course, sir, and the Master Carpenter reckons it will take three days to make the repairs. He suggests we put in at Newfoundland to do the work and see to the hull.”

  “Is the ship seaworthy?”

  “Aye, captain. She’ll hold.”

  “Then we sail on to Boston to rescue Bronwyn Barlow. The girl will be hung for a traitor if we do not.”

  “She is a traitor according to Mr. Hawkins and he’s got convincing evidence. He’s doing his best to rally the crew behind him. I’m afraid they are inclined to agree with the first mate. If you do not put in and give them a respite on dry land, they’ll not serve you to recover the lady.”

  Frame was a good man but like every other man on board, he was in the game for one reason—gold. The crew of the Black had plenty of gold and little stomach for recovering a woman who promised nothing but trouble.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  CAPTAIN TREACHER had his own mutiny to contend with. He was in no mood to listen to the protests of the British regiment captain about his course of action. It was his neck in the noose. The man’s argument to go after the Black Adder and arrest Jon Stag fell on deaf ears. His mind had been infected by Hawkins’ accusation of the girl, the shelling of his ship, and the bitter loss of his cargo. Granted, the payroll gold would be a blow to the campaign but Treacher had a spy in his custody. That had to account for something.

  The girl stood in the middle of great cabin for the interrogation. Treacher was conscious of the power he had in this moment, particularly with the British Army captain observing. On board ship, Treacher’s word was law. It was a very satisfactory sensation.

  He gazed at the young traitor with grave severity for several minutes before speaking.

  “If I go after the Black, I will arrest Jon Stag and bring him to trial. I am giving you the opportunity to inform on your accomplice and save your own life.”

  Treacher stared at her pointedly. He suspected her of being in league with the pirate, of course, and they were notorious for informing on one another to save their hides. If she was going to give the scallywag up, now was the time.

  “What is he to me?” she said dully. “My name is Bronwyn Barlow. My father was a curate, in a small parish of no great importance. I am not a traitor.”

  “If you are who you say you are, then how did you know about General Gage and the gold?”

  “I heard a rumor in Penzance that hinted at gold aboard the Dauntless. I took no notice until my brother was taken and press-ganged aboard the Black Adder. I had to get him back and I needed to be someone important to do it. I needed to be of value to the privateer, Captain Stag, so I made up a story. ”

  The British Army captain rudely cut in. “Who is Jon Stag? Tell us the man’s true identity!”

  Bronwyn heard the question and her numb faculties gradually absorbed its meaning. Jon Stag, the pirate lord, was the spy all along. The obsession he had with pirating the gold had a cause. She understood it now, putting together the pieces of the puzzle. His father had land in Virginia, thus the Viscount had a vested interest in England putting down the rebellion. Young Lord Stagholt was trying to destroy his father a second time.

  Her eyes burned with tears and the room swam. Roddy died because an arrogant nobleman had a vendetta. She might have had more respect for him if she thought he was committed to the colonial cause. But Stag wasn’t committed to anything or anyone but his own vengeance, his pride and his lust for conquest.

  Conquest.

  She had trusted him and Roddy had paid the price.

  “Well, Miss Barlow? If you have any information that will exonerate you and lead to the arrest of the real traitor to the Crown, now is the time to speak. I don’t need to remind you of the seriousness of the charge.”

  Bronwyn shook her head. Turning Jon in would only lead to more death, more carnage. Pirates and soldiers had an appetite for bloodshed that she did not. She thought of young Louis separated from his mother and utterly dependent on the Black Adder for life. It was too late for Roddy but Louis still had a chance. He was guiltless in this game of gold and treachery.

  “Jon Stag is a worthless pirate posing as a privateer. He uses his letter of marque to skirt around the Prize Law. He likes to call himself a privateer but his crew is composed of debtors, convicts and merchant seamen who are in it for the reward. Whatever legitimacy Captain Stag once had, it is long gone. None of this would have happened if you’d arrested him when the Black was anchored in Penzance.”

  “We were not certain he was the man we were looking for. The man we seek is of noble birth posing as a privateer.” The Army captain fixed Bronwyn with a searching look.

  “As I said, Captain Stag is a pirate posing as a legitimate privateer.
I have not witnessed a scintilla of nobility in the rogue.”

  Treacher tented his fingers and pursed his lips. The captain of the Dauntless was a thin man with a receding hairline under his powdered wig. He had sharp features and was old for a captain. He had not moved up in rank to commodore and consequently, his wealth had not increased in ten years or more. Bringing in a notorious spy whose identity had been hidden for months was the coup he desperately needed. A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush as they say—he was not about to let Bronwyn go to beat the bushes for Jon Stag.

  “The evidence against you, Miss Barlow is too compelling to permit your release. You were in possession of a British sea service pistol. It is used for boarding action; a .54 caliber weapon that is used by the Royal Navy in the war with France and it was in your belt when you came aboard the Dauntless, indicating you were in league with Stag to steal the payroll gold.”

  “The gun was my father’s,” she said weakly.

  “Do you mean your father, a curate, had use for such a weapon?” Treacher asked skeptically. “I think not. Because of you, the lives of thousands of British soldiers are in peril. Even if I believed your story, I would not free you on their account alone. If you did indeed make up this story to be reunited with your brother, you placed your personal wishes ahead of the needs of your country. In my mind, you are a traitor regardless of your reasons.”

  He shook his head with insincere regret, privately satisfied to have the business done.

  “You leave me with no choice, Miss Barlow. I shall press on to America and deliver you into the custody of General Gage. What happens to you after that will be the decision of the court. If you are not a spy for the Patriots, I only hope for your sake, you have proof of your innocence. It will not go well for you in the New World.”

  “You are holding the wrong person,” the British captain burst out, repeating the same argument as before, rather tediously, Bronwyn thought; especially as Treacher was unwilling to listen to reason.

  “I disagree. All the evidence points to her being the spy your men have been seeking.”

  “We have been hunting for a spy—yes—but in the ranks of privateer vessels sailing the waters between America and England. Our informant got wind of a nobleman—his house and name is unknown, but he is working to aid the colonial rebellion.”

  “You have been fed faulty intelligence, sir; quite possibly to throw you off the scent. While you were searching for a nobleman, the real culprit was a lowly curate’s daughter.”

  “How can you be certain of your intelligence, sir?” The question was stated with such rudeness that Treacher could not help but be offended. “Will you take the word of a pirate—a pirate who has made off with the King’s gold, I might add—he had every reason to lie!”

  “I won’t speculate on his reasons,” Treacher said primly. “I will say only this: a peer of the realm has no reason to betray his country. The aristocracy is being made rich from settling the New World. There has been great investment in keeping the colonials safe in the Indian Wars and invasions on all sides from the French and Spaniards. What possible cause would a nobleman have to bite the hand that fed him?”

  Treacher pinched the bridge of his nose to indicate his frustration with insufferable fools. “This pirate lord is a phantom. A story concocted to demoralize the soldiers and encourage the militia in the fight. They are fighting with pitchforks and axes, with no military training to speak of and they are being paid in currency that is worthless. They needed the tale of a pirate lord trolling the seas to break the British line to keep up their spirits. It is nothing more than a children’s fairy tale.”

  Guards were summoned to escort Bronwyn back to the brig where she would be shackled in leg irons. One or two of the seamen had complained of unwarranted violence from the prisoner. She must be restrained for the safety of his men. Treacher had finished with her and the British Army captain in his scarlet and gold coat was left privately fuming.

  Bronwyn curled up on the pallet of stinking straw. She didn’t care which of them prevailed in the dispute or if she ever saw Jon Stag again. She sobbed long into the night. Refused to eat and prayed for death.

  §

  BILL HAWKINS was hauled out of the hold and brought on deck to hear the charges against him.

  “Insubordination. Failure to obey a direct order. Endangering the Black Adder and the life of every man aboard her.”

  “That were not me—you did that on your own, Jon Stag—you bloody coward! Show your face! You allowed that woman on board and sided with her against us. We would have the Dauntless firing on us still if I had not acted to save us all!”

  Mr. Frame ignored this outburst and read the verdict: Bill Hawkins would be weighted with iron and made to walk the plank until he fell into the sea.

  A ripple of rebellion went through the crew.

  “You don’t agree with the sentence, eh, fellows?” Jon raised his voice. He stepped forward, out into the open on the quarter deck where any man could take a shot at him if he wished. His hands were firmly locked behind his back. “You think I should be lenient and allow Mr. Hawkins to continue to poison this crew, pitting one man against the other in a test of loyalty. You think a divided ship is better than seeing justice served—the same justice that led to Mr. Truffaut’s execution last year on the same charge. It was Mr. Hawkins who argued against saving him if you recall.”

  The men were silent, remembering that bitter justice that they had all stood behind.

  “Mr. Hawkins has been a valued member of this crew. He would have received mercy had he shown remorse. He has not. Should he then be set free to go about his duties, share in the gold and be rewarded for his defiance that almost cost us our lives? That we are not dead or in chains is not down to Mr. Hawkins despite his claims. It is down to your quick action and obedience to my command. Obedience comes at a cost, but the reward is great. Mr. Hawkins knew the cost of sailing under my command when he signed aboard the Black Adder, as did every one of you. My order stands. Mr. Frame, sound the horn.”

  Billy was tied and secured around the ankles with cast iron cannon balls. The Black had one man of God on board, a lapsed priest who offered the first mate the act of contrition. Bill rejected the offer, saying he would go to Davy Jones’s locker as unrepentant as when he signed to serve under Jon Stag.

  “Mind how you go, boys. Keep a weather eye out. And as for you, Jon Stag—I’ll see you in Hell!”

  Bill did not need to be prodded or pushed. The bitter old salt leapt to his death. There was the sound of a gentle splash as his body sliced the water and the cold Atlantic closed over him. Jon turned away as the plank was pulled back in and the men stood, awe-struck that a man’s life could end so quietly at sea.

  “He deserved better, did old Bill,” grumbled the cook.

  “He deserved what he got!” Frame said sharply. “No one suffers Bill Hawkins’s loss more than Captain Stag. If he didn’t have you lot to think about, he’d have pardoned the old bastard. But he could not take the risk. We sail into dangerous waters, thick with British man-o-wars, guns and men who would dearly love to see the Black burned to ashes and every man on board hanged. Your lives are on his shoulders. Now, quit your hand-wringing and get back to work!”

  Jon appreciated Frame’s passionate defense but the men were right. He was pursuing the Dauntless, endangering the crew and executing his old friend Bill Hawkins, to rescue a girl who had lied to him. Going after Bronwyn was not part of the mission. Would he put his entire plan for revenge in jeopardy for a woman he hardly knew? She could be informing on him even now to save her neck. The Black would be sailing into a trap.

  The boy needed medical attention and Blakely needed a quiet hour to do the surgery. Jon had accomplished what he’d set out to do. The British would abandon Boston sooner rather than later without a payroll and his father would face financial collapse and be forced to flee.

  There was no reason to go after her but one—Bronwyn would hang if h
e did not.

  There were limits to the sins Jon’s conscience would bear. Letting a young woman hang for his crime—regardless of how he felt about her—was too despicable for any man to live with.

  Even so, there was deeper reason that haunted him and drove him on—the sound of Bronwyn’s screams when she saw her brother bleeding in Jon’s arms.

  The agony she must be suffering right now was tearing Jon up inside, as though they shared the same heart. It could not be allowed to continue when he could end it for her. She may refuse to have anything more to do with him when he found her (Jon more or less expected this to be the case) but Bronwyn had to know Roddy was alive!

  It was strange, Jon thought. The fear he had that was greater than the gallows was that Bronwyn had lost the will to live because her reason for living was gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “I WANT HER off my ship,” Treacher raved. “She’s gone barking mad. Do you know she bit a man? Bit him!—the little savage. She’s docile enough until anyone comes near her and then she lashes out like a cornered animal. The ship’s pastor took his life in his hands to hear her confession and she said that he was wasting his breath. God had abandoned her and she wanted to be left alone to die. That is her game; she means to rob me of my chance at a commendation by dying first. Oh, she’s a clever one; she’ll escape the noose through starvation. Were you aware she refuses her dinner rations? She hasn’t eaten in days. I want her off my ship and in the custody of General Gage as soon as humanly possible. When do we make land?”

  “We sail into Boston Harbor tonight, sir.”