Blackhearts (Blackhearts, #1)(99)

“Help me up,” Teach mumbled, cursing his body’s weakness.

David clasped one of Teach’s wrists with both hands. He

was surprisingly strong for one so small. Bile rose in Teach’s throat, but by the time he was on his feet, the room had stopped spinning.

“We have to find the Providence,” Teach said, moving toward the door. It was still dark out. He wondered how much

time had passed.

Stumbling down the stairs, David followed in Teach’s wake.

“That ship is gone, sir. It sailed out with the tide.”

Stopping abruptly, Teach turned and caught the young





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boy by his shoulders, preventing him from plowing into Teach.

“What?”

“I did as you said and told the woman the master knew about

her plans. Then I came back to see if you needed help. The two men were leaving. I heard them mention the Providence. Since I couldn’t wake you immediately, I went to the docks. The ship had already left, sir.” Even in the dim light, Teach saw that David’s chin quivered, and his eyes filled with tears.

Anne was gone.

An animal sound ripped from Teach’s throat, and he

slammed his fist into the wall. “Do you know where it was

headed?” Teach asked, his voice rough.

“To the West Indies, sir.”

Taking a steadying breath, Teach closed his eyes briefly

against a wave of fury. Anne was unaccompanied, bound for

foreign seas. In his own travels he’d witnessed many women,

alone and destitute, suffer indescribable harm and degradation.

The thought of Anne suffering like that was nearly his undoing.

“What do you plan to do, sir? Can I help?”

“I’m going after her. And if anyone dares harm her, I will

have my revenge.”





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C H A P T E R 3 6

Anne

The floor of the small dank cabin crawled with movement,

and the sound of hundreds of tiny legs scurrying across the

boards made the hair on the back of Anne’s neck stand up.

The Providence was teeming with rats and cockroaches, each creation vying for precedence, and clearly outnumbering the human cargo on board.

It was too dark to see anything in the cramped space. Her

father had often explained that open flames were forbidden at

sea unless attended to in the galley, and the light from the massive stern lantern mounted on the back of the ship did not reach into the ship’s belly.

The smell of wet canvas and mold permeated every inch

of the filthy vessel. With tears running down her cheeks, Anne wondered how she would possibly endure several weeks aboard.

Her cabin was like a coffin, for she truly felt as if she would die.





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Lying in the protective cocoon of the hammock, she turned onto her side, pulling her knees up to her chest. Her forehead was damp with perspiration, and her head pounded.

What had been the contents of her stomach now swilled

around in the bucket on the floor as the ship rose and fell

with every surge.

Anne had lost track of time. Each wave that crashed

against the hull of the ship seemed to count every second with never-ending precision.

Her fingers shook as she reached for her pocket watch, the

cold metal an anchor against a rising tide of despair. Her side still hurt from when she’d fallen in Bristol, but by the time they reached their destination, it should be healed.

Her heart, on the other hand, was an entirely different matter.

She’d written the note, just as Drummond had instructed.

She’d almost expected him to stand over her shoulder while she’d performed the task, but thankfully he’d left her to her duty.

She hoped Teach would understand what she’d written. If

he couldn’t find a way to get to her . . . then she would find a way to get to him.

I will make it out of this alive. I will, she vowed silently.

But not if she remained in this cabin much longer.

Stumbling to the door, Anne wiped furiously at her cheeks.

She tried not to think about what was underfoot, even as she

felt the telltale squelch of several insects through the thin

leather soles of her walking boots. Pulling the door open, she





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took a deep breath of the briny air, and tripped in her haste to reach the deck.

The ship continued to roil beneath her feet, and more than

once Anne staggered against the railing of the stairs as she made her way up to the deck.

The slate gray of the sky matched the choppy waves of the

sea, both extending in an unbroken line to the horizon. The

wind whipped her hair about her face, and wrapped her skirts

around her legs.

The port of Bristol had been left far behind. And with it

any hopes of seeing Teach.

Choking back a sob, Anne clenched her hands to her stomach, her nails biting into her palms.

She had always planned to leave England, she reminded

herself. Together she and her father had often looked at maps

and sketched their course, an expanse of open sea the only hindrance between them and their destination.