The Pirate's Duty (Regent's Revenge #3)(63)

Holding Nicholas’s broken body, she nodded, urging him to say the words Charles had meant for her. “Read it.”

Paper crackled as John repositioned his fingers. “Dearest sister. Behold what happens when you defy me. Consider this the first retaliation against you. The second waits inside. C.”

Blood drained from her face, and, light-headed, she drew in a sharp breath, unsure how much more she could bear. “What does he mean . . . inside?”

John laid his steady hand over hers. “I’ll go find out.”

“No!” She latched on to him, hysteria clawing at her throat. “Don’t leave us. We’ll go together, just as we agreed.”

“But the boy,” he said, glancing down at Nicholas. “He’s too weak.”

She shook her head. “I won’t leave him.” Tears slid down her cheeks. “We’ll take him with us.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, almost pleading her to take it back. “I can go in alone.”

“No,” she said, her mind made up. Whatever Charles had done, he’d live to regret it. She wasn’t going to allow Charles to take anything else away from her.





Eighteen




A SOUTHWESTERLY squall curtailed efforts to catch a BLACK SHIP, last seen SAILING past DODMAN POINT. The HIND and HMS DRAGON are on the HUNT to bring CORNWALL and DEVON’S cutthroats to JUSTICE. Captains in Lord P’s FLEET inform these OFFICES that every effort is being made to rid these shores of that scourge of the seas—PIRATES.

~ Sherborne Mercury, 20 October 1809


Twilight faded to darkness as they passed under the creaking sign of the Marauder’s Roost. Oriana walked the horses across the cobblestones and walled courtyard to the stone stable directly ahead while John carried Nicholas. Hoofbeats clippety-clopped, announcing their presence as they passed the water trough, several discarded wagon wheels, and the inn’s covered front entrance. Several rickety iron lanterns swung from beams, having been lit to light the travelers’ way.

Candlelight gleamed from inside the Roost’s narrow-slatted windows as they approached, and wind whirred through the courtyard. Nicholas’s head lay against John’s chest. The boy wheezed for breath as John moved quickly through the stable doors. “I don’t like this,” he said. “The boy needs a healer.”

“Neither do I. I’ll send Girard or O’Malley for the doctor. Until then, we’ll have to make Nicholas as comfortable as we can.”

Oriana led their horses through the doors and farther into the stable. The animals stomped, blew air out of their nostrils, and whinnied as they passed each stall, as if looking for someone and not finding them.

She scanned the space. The lanterns were lit in the stable, as they were every night. Tack hung from an adjacent wall, and saddles stood on forms in the corner next to an empty bunk. Nothing seemed to be out of place, and the scents of dust, straw, and manure were pleasantly familiar. But as Oriana closed the last gate, she glanced down at the straw-covered ground and spied a dark substance staining the floor. Her gaze followed the trail, which led out of the stall to the back door.

Her lips parted slightly as she knelt down and curiously pressed her finger to the discolored straw. Then she raised her finger to the light. It was stained crimson.

“John,” she whispered. “There’s a trail of blood on the ground.”

“How long has it been there?” he asked, as if she would be able to tell him.

Oriana grimaced. “It’s dark, sticky, and thick. It leads out of the stable. Do ye think whoever did this caught Nicholas unawares and then placed him in the wagon to scare us?”

“No.” John laid Nicholas on the bunk, adjusting the boy’s body to ensure his comfort before rising. By the saints, if she hadn’t been kneeling on the ground, his murderous expression would have made her knees quiver. “Whoever did this overtook Nicholas at the vicarage.” He sucked in several deep breaths. “Something else happened here.”

A more terrifying realization struck her. “Do ye suppose somethin’ has happened to Girard or O’Malley?” Breathless, her heartbeat escalated as she fought for balance.

No. Not them.

She struggled to her feet and, standing on wobbly knees, began making her way across the courtyard. “They should already be here. It isn’t like them not to come out and greet us. I must find them.”

“No.” He grabbed her arm, stopping her as she passed him. “O’Malley went after Watty Hammett. Unless he’s already returned, Girard is the only one here.”

“How do ye know?” she asked, fear twisting in her gut.

“There is no time to explain,” he said. “Stay with the boy. I cannot allow you to walk in the front door without knowing what you’re walking into.”

“I will not!” She fought to get her breathing under control. “There’s naught else I can do for the lad, and I will not allow ye to go into the Roost alone. If Charles is in there, well . . . it’s me he wants. Not ye.”

John wrinkled his brow, looking unconvinced. “How can you be sure?”

“What do ye mean?” she asked. How could he be that blind? “I betrayed him, my own blood. Isn’t that reason enough?”

His grip on her grew tighter, and he opened his mouth as if he wanted to speak.