Blackhearts (Blackhearts, #1)(32)

in this house, and Miss Patience was his choice for his son’s

bride. It didn’t mean she was Teach’s. It was not a stretch to

imagine that Teach would look for any opportunity to rebel.

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What would be more defiant than having a tryst with someone in his father’s own household?

Not liking the direction of her thoughts, Anne hurried

through the rooms, making the beds by the light of the single

candle, trying hard not to picture the chamber she had just

vacated.

She was halfway through the task when she heard footsteps in

the hallway. Extinguishing the flame, Anne peered out through

the half-open door, and spied Teach, dressed in a heavy riding

cloak and boots, striding toward the back stairs, the candle in his own hands flickering with each step.

Curious, she followed him through the darkened house.

Where was he off to at such a late hour? Not eight days ago he’d had a high fever. Now here he was, leaving in the middle of the night? Surely nothing good would come of this.

Tiptoeing down the stairs, she felt her way along the dim

interior. In the kitchen all was silent. Margery had obviously

taken his advice and retired. There was also no sign of Sara or

Mary, and the embers in the fireplace cast an eerie glow about

the room.

Anne reached the back door and was about to step out,

when Teach came barreling out of the barn astride his black

stallion. He flew past her, in the direction of town, the hooves echoing down the drive behind them. A dog barked in the distance, and Anne stayed where she was, staring after him until the sound of his departure faded away.

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She could not help her small twinge of envy, or the strong desire to follow him. How she longed to ride into the night like that, with nothing holding her back. But it was as if she had a rope secured around her waist, anchoring her to this house. The

only time she was ever allowed to leave was to run errands for

Margery in the marketplace.

The closest she would come to freedom at the moment was

when she slept, for there were no rules while dreaming.

With a heavy heart Anne climbed the stairs to her room up

in the garret. With its slanted roof and crooked floor, it wasn’t much compared to her old bedchamber in her father’s house.

She missed the soft bed and pale blue walls.

Her present space was a far cry better than the squalid hovel

she’d shared with her mother, but it had come at the cost of her independence.

She’d spent far too much time in Teach’s company the past

few days, and needed to get to the city to try to sell some of

the items she’d stolen. In less than three weeks the Deliverance would set sail. She saw her opportunity for escape being like the sand in an hourglass, and it was running out.

As Anne lay down, she attempted to wipe her mind clean.

She was successful for the most part, but when she eventually

drifted off to sleep, her last conscious thoughts were of black

stallions and sparkling green eyes.

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C H A P T E R 1 1

Teach

The sky overhead was an inky black, lit by a sliver of the moon

and a thousand sparkling stars. Adjusting the rough plank of

wood, Teach slid it across the short gap stretching between the

dock and the Deliverance.

She was broad in the beam and powerfully built, and Teach

could picture her graceful bow cutting through the choppy

waves on the open sea. As he boarded, a chill wind whipped

his face, and he took a deep breath of the briny air, unable to

prevent the smile on his lips. The boat swayed gently beneath

his feet, and Teach stopped to close his eyes, his chest expanding in a moment of pure joy.

The ride through the empty city streets had energized him,

for he hadn’t slowed down, as if the very hounds of hell had

been at his back. His father often called him reckless, but Teach liked to think he took calculated risks. This life was too short 115

not to approach everything with zeal. His mother’s untimely death had taught him that.

“Don’t move, or you’ll find yourself flat on your arse and

my knife in your gut,” someone growled from behind.

The smile on Teach’s lips increased. “Is that any way to talk

to a friend, John? Especially since I went to so much trouble to get you this post in the first place,” he said, turning and extending his arm in greeting.

John let out a long breath and clasped Teach’s hand in a

crushing grip. John was built like any number of farmers or sailors walking the streets of Bristol, with a broad back and stout legs. And he was the best fighter Teach had ever seen, which was why Teach had written his father and told him about his friend.

John had proven to be an excellent night watchman.

“Curse your eyes, Teach, you gave me a start. What are you

doing here in the middle of the night?” John asked. His light

brown hair was long and unruly, just like him. “Is Mary all

right?”

“Yes. She’s fine. This has nothing to do with her.” Teach felt

a twinge of guilt, wondering if he should tell his friend about