Blackhearts (Blackhearts, #1)(25)

had told her stories about their ancestors, who’d come from

the Spanish Main and settled on the island of Curazon. Map—

makers had later changed the name to Cura?ao, but the early





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Spaniards had referred to it as the Isla de los Gigantes, because of the Arawak tribesmen’s formidable build.

There had not been enough gold or water to make staking a

claim on the island worthwhile. The Dutch West India Company

had eventually settled there in 1634, after the Spanish had left.

Because the land had been considered too dry to support

large-scale plantations of sugar, coffee, or tobacco, hundreds

of natives, including Anne’s mother and her family, had been

forced to raise food to feed the thousands of slaves awaiting

shipment elsewhere.

Anne couldn’t help wanting to know more about her

mother’s past, especially now that she was gone.

Teach opened his eyes. “Why have you stopped?” he asked.

She was unsure how to respond, afraid to reveal her true

feelings.

He had an uncanny way of seeing through her, discerning

her thoughts when she least expected or wanted him to. “You

favor them, you know. The Miskito Indians.”

“You’ve seen them?” she asked, incapable of hiding her

enthusiasm.

He nodded weakly, a faint smile appearing on his face. “Oh

yes. And if I were to ever command a ship myself, I’d want

a whole crew of them. They’re bold in a fight and excellent

marksmen if supplied with proper guns and ammunition. They

have extraordinary sight and can spot a sail at sea farther and

better than anyone else I’ve met.”





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“I should so like to meet one,” she said.

At that moment Margery appeared in the door, a disapproving frown on her face. “Excuse me, sir, but I need Anne

downstairs in the kitchen to help with the cooking.”

Teach’s jaw tightened, but he merely nodded.

Disappointed, Anne closed the book and laid it on the bed

beside him. “In case you want to continue reading,” she said.

Teach shook his head. “No. When you bring me my dinner

at noon, then we may continue the story,” he said, loud enough

for his words to reach Margery.

Nodding, Anne took the tea tray in her hands, attempt—

ing to hide her smile, but he caught her eye and winked. As

Anne left his room, Margery closed the door behind her, but

not before they heard a pleased sigh coming from the interior.





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C H A P T E R 9

Teach

Teach was asleep in his bed the next afternoon when he heard a

commotion outside his room. He awoke, confused from a strange

dream. In his dream he was the captain of a great ship and a large crew, but a sharp-tongued maid with copper-colored skin and thick black hair questioned his every command.

It was a surprise to wake to the sound of her voice. For a

moment he thought he was still dreaming, until he recognized

the sound of the other voice. It was Mary’s, the blond maid in

the house.

He waited, hoping their discussion would find an end, but

it seemed to go on forever.

Too weak to move, he called out, “Anne? Anne!” It was no

use. Groaning, he pulled the blankets up to his chin, willing

the two girls to go away. Well, he hoped one of the girls would go away.





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He wouldn’t mind if Anne came to read to him again.

When she’d helped him out in the garden, he’d been rather

surprised. Up until then their interactions had been anything

but civil, yet she’d assisted him when he’d needed it most.

Even if he hadn’t vomited on Patience, he wasn’t convinced

she would have come to his aid.

It was not the first time he’d been sick like this. The fever

had a nasty habit of striking whenever Teach switched climates.

Although it wouldn’t last long, fever and chills would rack

his body.

Rest was the only cure.

Outside his room the voices stopped. He heard footsteps

marching down the hall.

Silence.

Teach tried to ignore the twinge of disappointment he felt.

Anne should be coming within the hour with his food. He was

looking forward to seeing her more than he cared to admit.

He was engaged, he reminded himself.

To Patience.

He had known Patience for several years now, and he was

quite comfortable with her. She was like a well-worn shoe.

Teach cringed, imagining Patience’s reaction to that description.

Anne was different. She intrigued him, for not only was

she familiar with John Milton, but she claimed to know how to

ride a horse. Patience had already proven she’d never heard of





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the poet, and the closest she ever got to a horse was when she stepped in and out of a carriage.