Bring Me the Horizon (3 page)

“Nevertheless, while on my ship you will be accompanied by me at all times. Are we clear?”

She wouldn’t argue. His ship, his rules. As long as he took her to Carrion, she’d gladly oblige. “Yes, Captain.”

“Fine, then.” He nodded, clearly pleased she would be no trouble for him. “The gold?”

She dug into the folds of her dress and produced a lump the size of a fig wrapped in a brown, stained cloth. “’Tis only a small piece, enough to fund this trip. You may have the rest upon completion of our agreement.”

A knowing, nefarious smile tugged on his mouth. “Very well. We set sail for St. Augustine in a half glass. Let us go to where you will be staying for the next few days.”

She fell in step behind him, absently admiring the way his backside filled out his trousers. His cutlass hung low on his hip, swaying with his deliberate strides. Did his arse feel as solid as it seemed? She would like very much to touch him to find out.

Good God, when did she start looking at a man with wanton vision?
Since last evening when you couldn’t get him out of your head as you lay in bed.

He was the very reason her heart beat rapidly against her chest and her stomach was all a flutter. ’Twas unnerving. And curious.

As they walked through the darkened narrow companionway, she resolved to tuck away silly girlish desires.

Banning stopped at the end of the hall in front of an ornate door and a plain door to the right. He dug into his pocket for a key and unlocked the unadorned door. “This is your cabin.”

He shoved open the door and stepped aside for her to enter first.

’Twas a small room, with only a bed, a table nailed to the floor, and a bench set into the wall. A folded wool blanket and pillow sat atop the bed and a lit lantern hung from an overhead beam. Not a thing else was in the drab space. A door across from the table caught her eye. It had the same meticulous craftsmanship as the door outside.

Gracie trailed her fingers across smooth scrolls and deep carvings of the hewn wood. “Where does this lead?”

“My cabin.”

She stopped caressing the door, slowly withdrawing her hand as if she’d just stroked a viper. Gracie turned to the captain who had not moved from the threshold.

“Both doors lock from the outside.”

She frowned, unsure what to think about that.

“I only recently acquired
Rissa
. Not more than a fortnight ago. I’m afraid I am not prepared for a passenger.”

“It’s more than I expected.” Though she hadn’t known what to expect, she smiled, hoping he would see her sincerity, and perhaps earn her a smile in return.

No smile was forthcoming. Instead, his face was completely unreadable.

“As I understand it, the shipwright built this room to the specifications of the original owner. ’Twas to be a room of pleasure or imprisonment. I know not which.”

A cold shiver stole down her spine. Had someone been tortured in this room? Had they bled? Had someone died here? On that bed?

“Which is it to you, Captain?”

He leaned against the threshold. “I’ve not decided. For now, ’tis yours.”

“And will you lock me inside?”

“Aye.”

“For protection?”

He lifted his brow at the obvious answer.

“Mine, or the protection of your crew?”

He tilted his head, an amused, lop-sided grin appeared.
Finally.
“Both.”

Another shiver tingled down her back, but this one enticed her. He allowed her the knowledge that his men, at least some of them, might fear her for a witch. Ridiculous, of course. She was not her sister. But for once, she was happy for the epithet.

“For how long?”

He pushed off the jamb. “Until I come for you.”

With that, he closed the door behind him. The lock clanked in place.

And so her adventure began. No turning back now. Quite frankly, she didn’t want to turn back. Not just for her purpose and Sarah, but for the unknown which lay ahead. She always had a nagging there was something more out there, far beyond Santo Domingo. She was never strong enough to discover this for herself. Or it could have been her protective sister would never allow it. What did the sailors and travelers on passing ships behold and experience beyond the horizon? Perhaps now she would see.

She set her bag on the table and sank onto the bed. Nothing left to do but wait to be summoned. Wait and prepare herself to be the evening entertainment.

Gracie dug into her bag for the bottle of homemade, viciously strong rum. ’Twas good she came prepared. By the time he sent for her, she’d be ready.

The warm good winds swept across
Rissa’s
decks and filled her sails full, her canvas stretched taut. She skimmed across the glassy blue sea at a favorable speed, pleasing Cutler. They’d be in St. Augustine early if the sea continued her favors.

His maiden voyage on
Rissa
had so far proved his purchase of the ship an excellent one. He’d heard she was a fast vessel, and she was in outstanding condition outfitted with many choice guns. Aye, she was a pearl among ships. She was well worth the fortune spent.

Cutler spotted Richard, his childhood friend, on the quarter deck sitting on a barrel taking his afternoon meal of salted pork. His cloth chess board spread out on a barrel beside him.

Together, with Zane and Blade, the four of them had been to the bowels of hell. As young boys snatched from their homes, they suffered unimaginable tortures at the hands of a cruel master and merchant ship’s skipper. The miseries, the beatings, the starvations they suffered changed Richard profoundly. Richard couldn’t escape his demons with rum, women, or dangerous missions as he, Zane, and Blade had. It took a traveling priest and the study of doctrines to chase away what haunted him. Richard was a devout man steeped in faith. To each his own.

“I have to agree with Tyburn.” Richard didn’t bother looking up from his chess board.

“Since when do you agree with Tyburn over anything? And what would you have agreed upon?”

“This undertaking is about the flesh.”

“Not this again, Richard,” Cutler said. As much as he respected his mate, he often tired of Richard’s moral lectures.

“Your curiosity of the woman and what she offers of her flesh.”

“Tyburn told you about that, did he?” Cutler moved the rook a space.

“Aye. You place too much value on the sin of fornication,” Richard continued, studying the chess board. “You must renounce lying with a woman for pleasure.”

“Ah, but ’tis acceptable to take her money, just not her cunny.”

Richard shut his eyes upon the drop of Cutler’s last word. Unnecessary vulgarity offended him. ’Twas the very reason Cutler said it. Richard was being a hypocrite.

“The money is payment for a good deed.”

“As is her body.”

Richard moved his knight. “You desecrate your soul and God’s way by ignoring His words.”

Cutler moved another piece up the board. “God would have struck me down for my sins—all of them—long ago. Yet here I stand before you.”

Richard finally looked up. “But he has struck you down—by way of the heart. Did he not punish you with Antonia?” He nodded, as if it were a fact God had spoken, and moved his rook. “He has denied you love. Not his, but that of a woman.”

Cutler’s chest constricted at the mere mention of Antonia’s name. He loved her madly. He would have given his life for her—almost did. But she had lied to him. Lies that cost him his heart, and the lives of many of his men.

He could abide the most despicable of people, even murderers, when justified. But not liars. Never liars. In his fine occupation, liars were as plentiful as wharf rats. ’Twas why he placed loyalty above all else.

Should the ones he trust lie to him, then they were not loyal, and he had no tolerance for them. ’Twas, simple, really.

Antonia was not loyal. That was clear when he found her riding St. George with another man. The bitch cured him of love. He had not made that mistake again.

Was it God’s will? Cutler didn’t know. Though he was celibate of heart, Cutler was still a man with needs. He was far from celibate of the body. This was something Richard reminded him of often. When would he learn Cutler enjoyed sin too much to give it up?

“God has not denied me love,” he said. “I choose not to dally in such soft-headed nonsense.” He plucked up a pawn and moved it to promotion. “And don’t speak to me of sin. You reap rewards off of pirates.”

Richard patted his small Bible tucked away in his brown vest, a tight-lipped smile on his cleanly shaven mug. “And I pray for His forgiveness nightly.” He slid another piece leading the effort to protect his king.

“You may not fight, you may not pillage, but you still share the spoils. If I am to believe all your preaching, a sin is a sin, be it lust or gluttony.” Cutler moved a bishop into place anticipating Richard’s next move and putting his king in immediate danger. “Check.”

Cutler turned to leave. He made it three steps when Richard called out.

“I want to see the pagan woman.”

Cutler stopped. Apprehension whisked through him. ’Twas a feeling he was not accustomed to. Was it a sense to protect what was his? Ridiculous. Richard was a man of God. A friend. A loyal friend. The request was merely out of curiosity over a woman with mysterious pagan ties.

“I’ll allow it,” he said. “After you complete your duties mending the extra sails.”

CHAPTER 3

The knock at the door startled Gracie. Already? She hadn’t had nearly enough tipple. She quickly shoved her bottle, now two-thirds full, back into her bag.

Keys rattled and the door swung open, Captain Banning filling her threshold. “You’ve a visitor.”

A man of medium build, strong but not quite as wide as the captain, stepped inside.

“Good afternoon, Miss DuBois. My name is Richard Barrow.” His light brown hair was cut close and he wore an easy smile.

She bowed her head in polite greeting. “Good afternoon.”

“Twenty minutes, Monk.” With that, the captain retreated, closing and locking the door behind him.

“You’re a monk?” she asked.

He chuckled, clasping his hands in front of him. “Nay. Banning uses the name when he wants to intimidate me.”

“But you wear a cross.” She expectantly pointed to the simple wooden pendant hanging from his neck.

“I am a man of God. I teach His word.”

Gracie prickled, preparing to defend herself from persecution from yet another of God’s mercenaries. She narrowed her eyes. “On a pirate ship?

“I am also a seaman.”

“Seems odd and unlikely,” she challenged.

“Perhaps. But the captain and I have a special...bond.”

“A bond? Between a priest and a pirate? Sounds irreconcilable.”

“We have a mutual respect for one another, came from the same, shall we say, unfortunate circumstance as boys.”

She wondered if one of them owed a debt to the other. Which one bent on his trade? A God-fearing pirate or a passive holy man? Interesting.

“Does he?” she pressed. “Intimidate you, I mean.”

His blue eyes crinkled with his friendly smile. “You’ve many questions.”

She did. None of which he fully answered.

“May I?” He gestured to the chair.

“Yes, of course.”

“You are a pagan.”

Ah, straight to the heart of the matter. She was to be patronized after all. “I was raised with the knowledge of the earth, water, fire, winds, and how to harness the good energy and healing power.”

“Paganism.”

“No. Elements created by God and knowledge He bestowed upon my kin. And forgive my bluntness, but before you chastise me and call me a heretic, know you are not the first. Nor will you rattle me with prayers or threats of damnation.” She was no longer God-fearing. She had witnessed too much evil and carnage to be afraid of His wrath.

He folded his hands in his lap, his congenial smile unwavering. “You have nothing to worry. I’m not at liberty to pass judgment upon you.”

“Then why are you here?”

“You’re a desperate woman, Miss DuBois. I’d hoped you’d repeal the sin you’ve willingly made with Captain Banning.”

Gracie laughed outright. A most unmannered thing to do in the presence of a priest—if that was what he was. “You are trying to protect him,” she said. “The question is from what? Me? I am nothing. No matter how poisoning I am to your faith.” She tilted her head as another thought struck. “Or are you trying to save his soul from me?”

“He is a friend. I will do what is necessary to steer him to a more righteous path.”

“My body is merely a vessel, a means for an end—mine and your captain’s. Like you, I will do what is necessary, but for my sister.” Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. She’d do everything possible to set things right for Sarah. “Fret not, Mr. Barrow. I do not seek to take what is not mine. Nor can I. Only Captain Banning has the power to give his soul away. Being a priest, you know this, aye?”

It was his turn to chuckle. “I have had the wrong impression of you, Miss DuBois. ’Tis true, I thought you to be a whorish witch.” He dipped his chin, conceding his unjustified opinion. “I see that I am wrong. You have a good heart. Good, but not pure.”

Something changed in his eyes. Gone was the cordial facade. He now seemed genuinely friendly.

“Captain Banning is a forthcoming man. He will stand by his word and help you find your sister. But he will expect you to deliver on your promises.

Gracie nodded. “Certainly.” ’Twas her intent. She made it this far. ’Twould be dangerously half-brained to cheat a pirate out of payment. Surely Sarah would forgive her.

He leaned closer, his elbows on his knees. “I cannot convince him otherwise.”

“I understand.”

He took what seemed a decisive breath. “But I can keep you from harm. If you will trust me, I can promise you that.” He clutched his wooden cross at his chest. “I swear it.”

His promise weighed heavy with undertones of just what that could mean. Would he go against his friend, his captain should she need him? ’Twas a comfort, the feeling she had made an ally and friend.

“Thank you...” She hesitated, unsure what to call him.

“Richard,” he said.