The Pirate's Duty (Regent's Revenge #3)(43)
Beloved sister,
Pieces of my gold are in Zephaniah Job’s possession. There’s only one way that could have happened. I warned you not to touch it. Prepare yourself. Blood is on your hands, and your day of reckoning has come.
Cold blows the wind,
C
Twelve
PRESSURE mounts from the Crown. HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS has lost patience with CUSTOMS officials now that REPORTS of a SHIP lost in the CHANNEL close to SAINT-MALO has reached the THRONE. Lord B, Lord and Lady U, and Lady O insist these TRAITOROUS allegations are FALSE and have been HATCHED by enemies of the CROWN to cause widespread PANIC.
~ Sherborne Mercury, 6 October 1809
Full of self-loathing, Walsingham answered the pull on his soul and left the Marauder’s Roost. Worries were thundering through his mind like lightning in a tempestuous sky, and he needed to distance himself from the lovely innkeeper in order to clear his thoughts. So when McHugh and Jarvis returned with the cutter, he instructed them to transport him to Abbydon Cove where the Fury was hidden. It was time to interrogate Fergus Argall.
Atonement for his sins would be his reward for abandoning Oriana. He’d agreed to protect her from her brother, not seduce her. And protecting Oriana meant ending Carnage and assuring he could never threaten her or Chloe again. As Fergus revealed the network of smugglers that Carnage had enlisted along the coast, Walsingham knew it was only a matter of days before Carnage returned—perhaps even hours.
The net Walsingham, his crew, and the Seatons had woven in Talland Bay stretched tauter than ever before. Nothing had been left to chance. William Seaton had infiltrated Carnage’s den of thieves, passing along false intelligence that pieces of gold had been delivered to Zephaniah Job, ensuring their tight network lured Carnage back to the bay.
The trade-off was that the Seatons benefited from the Fury’s prowess, helping to distribute its cache, while the ship gained a qualified shipbuilder in Keane Seaton, a sustainable fleet from the Earl of Pendrim, and safe harbor. No one would suspect the Black Regent’s ship was docked in Abbydon Cove. Hiding in plain sight helped Walsingham steer clear of any Royal Navy ships searching for the Regent and forced Carnage to risk sailing into Talland Bay.
The boatswain’s whistle blew. Crewmen in charge of resupplying the Fury meandered up and down the gangway of Abbydon Cove’s wharf.
Walsingham glanced once more at the headland, cursing the fates that kept him from telling Oriana the truth about his identity. There were so many factors preventing honesty between them. She was his enemy’s sister, yet the very woman to whom he wanted to divulge all his secrets. But he couldn’t. Not until he was certain Carnage would never be able to harm Chloe or Oriana again.
Gazing upward now, Walsingham relished the morning breeze. After only a day or two at the inn, he’d missed the salty spray, fresh air, and security he found among his men. At the Roost, he’d wanted to kill Frank for daring to put his hands on Oriana, he himself had nearly been murdered in the cellar by Fergus Argall, and he’d been lured in by a passionate temptress.
He couldn’t help but wonder what Oriana would do when she woke and discovered him gone. Would she be cross? Would she feel humiliated or delighted? How would she treat him when next they met?
Heaving a heavy sigh, Walsingham inspected the rigging arrowing upward from the deadeyes, halyard blocks, yardarms, and crosstrees supporting furled canvas 130 feet above his head. The Fury’s nigh impenetrable 179-foot hull swayed steadily beneath his feet, nodding in time with the six ships in the Seatons’ fleet. The vessels, hewn from teak and oak, knocked against their moor lines, each one an inexhaustible beauty in its own right. A testament to Keane Seaton’s artistry, hand-carved figureheads adorned each bowsprit and posed a daunting sight when they sliced through the combers, foam vaulting outward from the bow as the ships rose out of the troughs, lifting the wooden renderings aloft as if on clouds.
There was the Vesper, crowned with a zealously outfitted queen, contrasting the Fury’s figurehead, a lady in a simple billowing shift, her hand outstretched as she reached for truth and righteousness. The Allegiant was ornamented with a stylish medieval playwright poised to recite his best work. The Creed’s bejeweled, statuesque lady clasped a tome to her breast. The Priory, formerly captured in San Sebastian before being dismantled and rebuilt, had been restored with its enlightened, judicious monk figurehead. The Abbot was outfitted with an apostolic priest, and lastly, the Prophet’s overzealous minister demonstrated an indefatigable godly power over the sea.
“The Seatons be gathered below, Cap’n,” Pye said as he approached, his uneven gait along the deck announcing his presence before he’d even spoken.
“Thank you, Pye.” Walsingham nodded and once more glanced across the bay to the rocky headland hiding the cliffs of the Marauder’s Roost.
“Somethin’ on yer mind, sir?” his first mate asked.
Trepidation warred with Walsingham’s confidence. He placed his fists on the Fury’s rail. “This plan is going to be problematic.”
“No use denyin’ it.” Pye chuckled. “Women are fickle beasties and never satisfied.”
“I meant catching Carnage, Pye.” Walsingham rubbed his beard to ward off the invisible blow, sensing indescribable danger looming on the horizon. He was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t where both Thorpes—Carnage and Oriana—were concerned.