Blackhearts (Blackhearts, #1)(29)

when she told him to eat, and slept when she told him to sleep.

And he did not make any untoward advances, appearing to

enjoy Anne’s company. She believed he looked forward to the

reading almost as much as she did. She grew accustomed to his

attentive eyes, surprised that he didn’t disturb her as much as

he had when they’d first met. She was far too engrossed in the

story.

Dampier’s attention to detail was inspiring, providing

a tempting glimpse of the riches and adventures to be found

beyond the shores of England. Much of what he described

resembled the stories her mother had told her.

When Anne read that Will, one of the Miskito Indians

accompanying Dampier on his voyages, was accidentally left

behind on a remote island, she was surprised by the depth of

her despair. In a way she felt a certain kinship to the young

man, for despite the many people surrounding her, she too

knew what it felt like to be left alone.

Three years later, when Dampier returned to the island, he

was astonished to see that Will was still alive. He’d waited to





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greet them and had killed and dressed three goats with cabbage leaves for the shore-going party.

Tears ran down Anne’s cheeks unchecked, and with the edge

of her apron, she wiped her eyes. Embarrassed by her show of

emotion, Anne cleared her throat but was unable to continue.

Her mother had been taken from her own people but

never given the chance to return. Although Jacqueline’s life in

England had been better than the punishing work she’d performed as a slave in the West Indies, she had still left a part of herself behind.

If everything worked out, Anne hoped to make the journey

back to the island in her mother’s stead.

Teach watched her, his gaze soft, but he didn’t speak. The

light from the candles created muted shadows in the room. It

was late in the evening.

“I should stop here,” Anne said, closing the book reluctantly.

“Please don’t,” he said.

She managed a tremulous smile. “I think it’s a good note to

end on. I’m not sure I could handle any more heartache.”

Teach returned her smile. “Ah, but it turned out all right in

the end, didn’t it? The Miskitos are a hearty bunch.”

“They sound very brave. And strong.”

He continued to watch her. “I could easily picture you as

a Miskito princess, dressed in animal skins from head to toe.”

Anne’s face flooded with warmth, and she stood, discon—

certed by the light in his eyes and the boldness of his words.





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Perhaps she should remind him of his father’s rules. In the past few days they’d built up a rapport between them. He teased her openly, and while she wasn’t as comfortable teasing him back,

there was an undeniable connection between the two of them.

“You shouldn’t say such things,” she said, placing the book

on the bedside table.

“Why not?” Teach asked.

“Because I am not a princess.” She picked up the supper

tray, preparing to leave.

He grinned, unabashed, clutching his hand to his chest.

“Oh, forgive me. You’re quite right. You’re not a princess.”

Anne shook her head at him, trying to suppress a smile.

“You’re a queen. From now on I shall refer to you as Queen

Anne,” he said, giving her a mock bow, made even more ridicu—

lous because he still lay in his bed.

“Good night, sir,” she said pointedly.

Even from across the room he pinned her to the spot with

his gaze. “You’ll come back again tomorrow, won’t you?”

“I’ll do my best,” she said, ignoring the tingle of anticipation that skittered down her spine.

“Until then, Queen Anne.”

Down the hallway she ran into Margery, a basketful of

sheets and linens in her arms. Margery glared when she saw the

smile on Anne’s face.

“Here,” the housekeeper said, thrusting her load toward

Anne. “I was just bringing these to you. You may go and make





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up the beds and also return some of the master’s clothes to him.”

“Now?” It was a quarter past nine in the evening. Anne’s

limbs felt as if they were made of lead, and she could think of

nothing besides the comfort of her own mattress.

“Yes, now. Have something better to do, do you?”

Anne shook her head. “No, it’s simply so late. Surely the

beds could be made tomorrow morning.”

She did not see the back of Margery’s hand until it connected with her cheek, the force of the blow causing Anne’s eyes to water. Nearly dropping the tray, Anne staggered backward as a cup fell to the floor. It shattered at her feet.

Margery shook with rage, the basket resting on her hip.

“Don’t talk back to me, girl,” she hissed. “I’m still in charge