Blackhearts (Blackhearts, #1)(100)

But from where Anne stood now, the stretch of water

appeared wider and vaster than she could have imagined. And she was alone on a strange ship, without a single coin to her name.

“Don’t go too close to the sides,” said someone on her left.

Startled, Anne whirled around, clutching a nearby rope to

keep her balance. Before her stood a boy and a girl, each perhaps twenty years of age. They were both blond, with wide blue eyes, and they were clearly related.

The boy was stout, with sturdy shoulders and a thick neck.





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His sister, although not as large, had a full figure. Her brown dress and shawl were threadbare, hardly sufficient to protect her from the biting wind. And she was far too cheery for being aboard such an unworthy sea vessel.

“I had no intention of doing that,” Anne said.

The girl smiled, her eyes warm. “Good. My brother, Coyle,

here, says it’s dangerous and that I shouldn’t come up here without him.”

Anne glanced at Coyle. People would definitely think twice

about approaching if he stood by your side. Anne had already

felt several crewmen eyeing her, their gaunt expressions hard—

ened by years of strenuous labor. She planned to ignore them,

hoping they would afford her the same courtesy.

“My name’s Cara Flynn. What’s yours?”

“Anne Barrett.”

“Pleased to meet you, Anne Barrett. Would you mind if

Coyle and I kept you company? I have no wish to spend any

more time in my hammock than necessary.”

“I wouldn’t have minded,” Coyle muttered.

His sister frowned. “Then you can go back down. I told you

I’d be fine up here.”

“I couldn’t remain in my cabin any longer either,” Anne

said, shivering at the thought of the rats and cockroaches.

“You’re lucky you have a cabin. Coyle spent the whole

night making sure no one harmed us. But the only thing that





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came close to bothering me was a cheeky rat who took a liking to my ankles.”

Anne grimaced. “Lucky” was not a word she’d use to describe

her present situation, but having her own cabin was far better than sleeping with the rest of the passengers in hammocks

belowdecks.

Excusing herself, Anne moved away from the siblings as

they continued their discussion of the numerous dangers on

board the ship. Despite the chaotic running and shouting of

the crew, Anne felt strangely removed from everyone and everything around her.

She drew a deep breath, her stance wide to maintain her

balance. Looking toward the stern, Anne watched the white—

capped waves that seemed to form a path trailing behind the

back of the ship. That path led to Teach.

Even as Anne tried to block out the seriousness of her situation, it continued to plague her thoughts. The fact that she sailed on the Providence instead of the Deliverance made her ability to reunite with Teach incredibly difficult.

Difficult, but not impossible.

It would not be an easy journey. For either of them. But he

would come for her, of that she was certain. And she would not give up until he found her or she found him.

Lifting her head, Anne turned and studied the open ocean

in front of the ship. The initial shock of leaving England was





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beginning to wear off. Admittedly, she’d hoped to leave under different circumstances, but she would survive this voyage.

She had to.

And one day she and Teach would be together again, for

it was just as he’d said. They could be on opposite sides of the world, but she would always be his, and he would always be hers.





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C H A P T E R 3 7

Teach

The congested dock fairly groaned beneath the weight of the

assembled crowd. Anticipation was everywhere in the city, on

the streets and in the water. Children cried, parents bickered, and clever tradesmen called out their wares for sale. With a

group this large, there were sure to be several hungry individuals.

Everyone had come to see the launch of the largest galleon

ever built. The Deliverance rocked in the swell under full canvas.

It was an awesome sight, like a preening peacock, as if aware of all the attention. The eager men of the crew stood at attention, squinting against the morning sun, small arms draped from their shoulder belts.

Richard Drummond himself stood before the group,

dressed in a velvet coat and silk waistcoat. On his head he wore a powdered wig, and the silver buckles of his shoes glinted in the sunlight. The mayor of Bristol droned on and on about the





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importance of this day and how proud the city was to have such an esteemed merchant in their midst.

For his part, Drummond’s eyes searched the crowd, a

cheerless look on his face. Despite this being one of the most anticipated days of his life, he appeared unable to muster even the slightest hint of a smile.

Teach stood back, his square jaw once again covered with