36. Free At Last?


It was an agonizing ride back to the estate for Bronte with her leg and shoulder throbbing, but she was sure it was a hundred times worse for Sam who was jostled into the back of the seat, even though he was desperately trying to avoid it, every time they hit a rut. Lucien looked over the marks striping Sam's back in the cramped space of the carriage.

"These are deep," he remarked. "That executioner certainly spared you none of his strength."

Sam snorted. "I wouldn't be surprised if Bart paid him off." He yelped as Lucien daubed at one of the cuts. "Easy, Doc!"

"Sorry, there isn't much I can do until I get my supplies anyway. I wish I hadn't left them behind today," he reiterated. "What's your part in this, Blake?"

Blake jerked his attention away from Bronte whom he'd been staring at, not so covertly.

Bronte had been quietly staring back, waiting.

Blake looked back at her, his face changing as suddenly as lighting crossing a clouded sky, and smiled. "That's why the guard said she died!" He chuckled and shook his head.

The driver halted in front of the mansion. Bronte rolled her eyes at Blake as Lucien jumped down to help the wounded pair out.

"I'll explain inside," Blake finally answered Lucien with a bemused grin on his face.

Slowly and painfully, the two injured pirates returned to the room they left that morning, nearly whole.

Lucien rummaged hurriedly through his supplies, bringing out this and that, and laid it out on the small sideboard near the bed. "ELIZA!" he shouted toward the open door.

"You gave her the day off, remember?" Bronte reminded him, fighting back a cough.

Lucien sighed impatiently.

"I can help. What do you need?" Blake offered.

"Boil some water," Lucien said without hesitation, and Blake moved instantly toward the door. "And bring fresh linens!" Lucien called to his back.

Bronte sank into the chair by the window while Sam perched uncomfortably on the edge of the bed, his face held in his hands.

"Does it hurt badly?" Bronte asked her friend.

Sam tilted his head up and gave her a crooked smile. "Not if I don't move."

Blake returned with a steaming kettle in one hand and a pile of torn linens in the other.

Lucien poured some water into a dish and added measurements of this powder and that herb and directed Blake to pour the rest of the steaming water into a basin.

Lucien straightened and looked at one and then the other of his patients.

In unison Bronte and Sam said, "Him/Her first."

Lucien chuckled despite the situation. "For once you two will have to let me decide." He checked Bronte's leg and shoulder quickly. "The bleeding's stopped; you can wait a minute to get stitched up. I'll clean up Sam's back first. Perhaps we can avoid infection."

Lucien pulled over a side table directing Sam to sit atop it.

"I'll be as gentle as I can, but this is going to sting," the doctor advised.

Sam nodded and sat as straight as he could, gripping the edge of the table until his knuckles turned white. "Aren't you supposed to give a fella a dram of rum at a time like this?"

"I've Madeira," Lucien offered as he leaned over him with a wet linen cloth, dabbing at the torn flesh.

Sam tensed at the touch, grumbling about the lack of rum.

"I can give you laudanum, but it will make you sleepy," Lucien suggested.

"No," Sam decided, "the wine."

Blake procured the wine and handed it to Sam, who took a long swig from the bottle while Lucien stepped back a moment to give him a break. Bronte wasn't sure if the following grimace was from the pain or from his dislike of red wine, but Sam gave Lucien a small nod. "Get this done," Sam said.

Blake stood by, a faithful assistant handing Lucien things as he asked for them. Lucien carefully cleaned and dressed every ragged stripe. Sam's fists clenched whenever the doctor worked over a particularly deep wound and, though he didn't speak again throughout the ordeal, he couldn't hold back the occasional wince between swigs of wine. To Bronte, Sam's uncharacteristic silence spoke volumes about his misery.

Bronte swallowed hard as she watched Blake assisting so diligently, grateful for what he'd done to save Sam. She was sorry she'd ever thought ill of Blake. But as she looked into Blake's face she couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking—if she felt guilty, he looked it.

Finally, Lucien finished dressing Sam's torn back. Blake allowed Sam to rest his raised hands on his shoulders as Lucien bound Sam's torso in clean linen. Sam's face was near white and covered with a sheen of sweat before it was done, and he looked relieved as Blake helped him don the clean shirt that Lucien provided.

"We'll have to keep an eye out for infection. Otherwise, take it easy for a while and let it heal," Lucien instructed.

As Lucien turned to Bronte and unwrapped the torn shirt from her leg-wound she questioned Blake—as much to distract herself as to determine what brought him to their aid and why he'd left the Huntress in the first place. "How is it you came to our rescue today?" Bronte asked in a voice she hoped denied her pain.

It must not have. Lucien glanced at her anxiously, and Sam handed her the bottle of wine. She drank gratefully.

"I've been in Bermuda for weeks. I found out you two were arrested, but when I arrived at the prison, the guard told me he'd just thrown your body in the lime pits and Sam had escaped. I stayed, hoping eventually I'd hear of Sam's whereabouts. A baker told me he'd seen a man of his description with another leaving the Bellemare estate this morning. When I came to investigate, I found a maid crying about a stranger tied up in a bedroom," Blake explained.

All three listened closely to his tale and Lucien paused in his stitching. Bronte thought he must be remembering her telling him someone tried to shoot her earlier.

Bronte bade Blake to continue.

"I found the Spanish thief in this room, and after only a few threats," Blake smiled, "he was very free about telling me how he'd gotten into the predicament. I have unfortunately had the ill-pleasure of meeting Captain Bartholomew on several occasions since I've been here, and the man the thief described as his accomplice could only have been him."

"What about the murder charge you mentioned?" Bronte asked with a cough.

"The Spaniard said one evening as he and Captain Bartholomew were exchanging information near the shore, a man dressed in a guard's uniform rowed in, screaming frantically about thieves. When the guard approached them, Bart ran him through on the spot, then threw him back into his boat and pushed him out to sea."

Bronte realized that the guard she and Sam 'relieved' of duty on the night they stole Huntress had made an unlucky mistake by catching Bart and his pet thief in a business transaction. Bart obviously wasted no time asking questions, thinking he'd been caught. Bronte threw an 'I told you we didn't kill him' look at Lucien. She thought he might have smiled, just a little.

"Why'd you disappear in Curacao? And how'd you swing that pardon? Who are you really?" Bronte asked Blake. He was making an engaging distraction from the pricks of pain Lucien was causing.

Lucien finished re-wrapping Bronte's leg and was now working on her shoulder. Sam sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, quietly watching and listening.

Blake started to pace, as if he were suddenly agitated. "You mustn't think I'm any sort of hero. Truth is, I'm the biggest coward who ever drew breath." He turned and looked for a long moment at Sam. "I hardly know where to start." Blake dropped his gaze and resumed pacing.

"Start with how you came aboard the Huntress," Bronte suggested.

He paused again and nodded. "I left London for the Caribbean in search of someone. I thought I'd found them on your ship."

"London?" Bronte narrowed her eyes.

"My name is really Blake Heydon. I'm heir to an Earldom."

"Heydon? Are you related to the governor?" Lucien asked, pausing a moment in his stitching.

"Distantly," Blake answered.

"And this person aboard my ship?" Bronte prompted, taking another swig of wine.

"Perhaps I should go further back." Blake placed a hand on the back of his neck and took a long breath. "After I was born, my mother never regained her health. When I was older, I discovered my father would often console himself in the arms of other women. On one such occasion, the girl—my mother's own maid—became with child. Father couldn't bear the guilt and shame if my mother found out, so he hid the girl away. A boy was born. As he grew, my father became convinced the boy's resemblance to the family would be noticed and the truth would be discovered. So he sent them to Bermuda. The midwife who'd cared for the young mother told me the story on her deathbed."

"And your mother? Is she well?" Lucien asked as he finished binding Bronte shoulder.

"She passed away a few years ago," Blake said, sadness ringing in his voice. He stopped pacing and stared into the distance. "My father became harsh after that, no doubt his heart eaten away by guilt, though I didn't know it at the time. When I found out about my half-brother I left the estate in search of him along with a little freedom."

"Which brings you to my ship," Bronte said. "I don't recall you embracing any of the crew as brother," she stated.

"I had a difficult time tracking him down and when I thought I finally might have found him, he was parading as a pirate. I wanted to find out what sort of person he was before I revealed myself. What if he'd got it into his head he could kill me and gain my inheritance?" Blake reasoned.

Bronte nodded. She could understand that. She mentally sifted through the crewmembers for one that resembled Blake before remembering Blake's sudden departure. "You left! Did you decide you couldn't trust this brother?"

"Quite the contrary. I found him as honest and trustworthy a fellow as I could've hoped. It was the rest of the crew I was uncertain about. This is why I say I'm a coward. Dr. Carter knew me from London, and I thought he'd give me away when he was found out as a surgeon. Then after you became suspicious of my education, I was certain it was only a matter of time. Conceivably you'd think I was spying for the Crown, and I had no desire to be at your mercy," he directed a nervous glance at Bronte, "so I left the first chance I had."

Bronte squirmed in her seat. If she hadn't wondered so openly about Blake's past he might have had his chance for a reunion. "My cabin was ransacked that day, when you were supposed to be on watch. I thought you'd done it. Two charts were stolen."

Blake's look of shame was undeniable. "I left your cabin perfectly intact, though I did take your illuminated chart of the Caribbean. I admire your talent and wanted a memento of my adventures and, well, I guess a little pirate had sneaked into my blood." He gave another nervous smile. "On my return to England I heard the pirate hunter Bartholomew was looking for you and I used what pull I had to get you both pardons. Your promise as a cartographer is undeniable, and—I hope you don't mind—but I told them Sam was your assistant. Good charts of this area are invaluable, and the court thought highly of your work," he complimented, but Bronte was thinking about something else he'd said.

"You said, 'A pardon for both of us'," she reiterated.

"Yes, but your pardon was for Captain Bronte Farrow, and he's dead," Blake reminded her.

Bronte nodded her understanding. "If I suddenly reappear it might make trouble for Lucien—what with his involvement in my escape."

"I'd risk it," offered Lucien, "to clear your name."

Bronte smiled her appreciation. "No, it's better he's dead. I won't be donning that mask again."

Lucien looked into her face and nodded when he saw her sincerity.

"But why a pardon for Sam instead of your brother?" Bronte asked curiously as Lucien began re-packing his supplies.

Blake looked at Sam, his face a mixture of guilt and sadness. Suddenly Bronte understood. Apparently so did Sam. He looked at Blake with the same sort of disbelief he'd once given his best-friend-turned-girl.

Lucien seemed to be following his own train of thought. Suddenly he smacked his hand to his forehead.

"God's will, but not His timing!" he groaned.

"What are you talking about?" Bronte asked.

"How could I have been so blind? I thought I knew God's will but instead of asking how it was to be done, I barreled in and took care of it my own way. You came to the prison early, at dawn, dressed in a long black coat in the same carriage we took here?" he asked Blake pointedly.

Up until that moment, Blake'd been in a locked stare with Sam. He blinked and looked at Lucien. "As I said. But they were gone."

"Because I had them. I saw you. If I'd waited only five minutes—five minutes!—they'd both be free on a King's pardon. Bronte wouldn't be 'dead', and Sam wouldn't have been the object of Bart's cruelty!"

And, Bronte thought but didn't add, Lucien wouldn't be completely broke.

The room became still and silent, everyone frozen as they processed the wealth of information.

Sam stood abruptly.

He marched stiffly to Lucien, raised his fist, and punched him hard in the jaw.

Lucien took the hit squarely then put a hand to his face as he, and everyone else, stared in shock at the normally passive pirate.

Sam had finally had too much.

Sam cradled his fist in the other hand with a hiss of pain and then shook it gingerly. He glanced caustically at Blake, snatched the bottle of wine, and stomped out of the room, slamming the door loudly.

Bronte stood, too quickly, and wobbled. Lucien, still in shock, only blinked at her as she limped up to Blake, drew back her fist, and hit him in a show of solidarity. She, too, stalked out, with less effect because of the limp, and went in search of Sam.

***

Lucien was still dumbfounded a minute after the door slammed behind Bronte. He looked at Blake who likewise stood stunned. Blake took a few steps toward the door but Lucien stopped him.

"Let them be. It's been a hard day. And you can't say we didn't deserve it," Lucien added as an afterthought.

Blake rubbed his jaw, turned, and sat in the chair Bronte recently vacated. "She's some woman," he said at last, wiggling his jaw experimentally. "Did you know she was a...?"

Lucien only nodded.

***

Bronte didn't have to go far to find Sam. He sat at the kitchen hearth, making good headway into the wine.

"Spare a dram for me?" she asked as she sat next to him on the bench, wheezing from the exertion.

He handed her the bottle without looking away from the fire.

They sat together in silence for a long time, passing the bottle between them.

Finally, Sam took a deep breath. "My whole life I've wondered about my father, and now I find I'm naught but a motherless bastard." He looked anguished.

Bronte nodded sympathetically. "Aye. A motherless bastard with a very rich brother."

Sam turned to look at her and snorted. He noticed her hand. The knuckles were starting to swell.

"What happened to you?" Sam asked, his brows furrowed.

Bronte sighed. "Same thing that happened to you. Only I think that rich brother might have a harder head than Lucien."

Sam looked at her curiously, then smirked. "I doubt it," he remarked and put his hand next to hers. It did look more swollen.

"You know, I would've thought you'd hit Blake!" Bronte said, thinking he seemed the more likely choice.

"Lucien was closer," Sam answered simply as he turned to look at Bronte.

They grinned at each other.

"Do you think Lucien can do anything for us?" Sam asked, his grin widening.

Bronte shrugged. "We still need to figure out who was trying to sabotage Bellemare's company."

Together they stood, groaning simultaneously, and hobbled back to the bedroom.

***

Twenty minutes later, apologies and blame stowed for the moment, the four discussed the revelations the Frenchman, Lorrenz le Rousse, had made to Bronte.

Bronte and Sam sat side-by-side, each with a hand in a basin of something herbal-smelling, while Lucien and Blake held cloths soaked in the same concoction to their jaws.

"He was trailing us all this time looking for that book?" Sam asked.

"So he said. Claimed it was encoded with trade routes. I'm not sure if he meant to sell the information or attack the ships himself," Bronte said.

"Take them himself. Remember how many were aboard the Dutch trader? I'll bet they were pirates he made a deal with," Blake noted.

"Aye, I think you're right," Bronte agreed with a nod. "We must've captured them just as they'd begun to take prizes."

"No wonder he was so mad," Sam commented.

"They're being Dutch would mean an Englishman selling them information was committing an act of treason. Why risk it?" Blake questioned.

"Rousse probably made big promises, knowing he was going to kill the informants. But, one he did leave alive." Bronte stopped and looked pointedly at Lucien. "He said he'd soon own your father's business."

"Did he give a name?" Lucien asked.

"He was about to, but that's when the jeweled dagger made its appearance. I didn't see who threw it, but I'll bet you a pirate's bounty it was the owner of that name," Bronte stated.

"I'll bet they were supposed to meet before we showed up," Sam suggested.

"Lucien, what did you do with the book? Maybe it could give us some clues," Bronte suggested.

"I left it with Dewberry. But if the book is as bawdy as you say, I doubt he still has it," Lucien answered.

"Is he here?" Blake asked.

"Yes. Returned only yesterday."

"Then let's find out," Sam suggested.

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