Page 72 of Scourge of the Shores
Rosa grumbled. “Ye shot me, matey.”
Robert settled on the log, locking eyes with him. “Gave me no choice, Daniel.”
“I’m yer matelot, yer brother, yer forever comrade. Why in the devil’s name would ye shoot me?”
“‘Cause ye told me to.” Robert chuckled as he lifted Rosa’s elbow to get a better look at the wound.
Rosa ground out, “Ain’t think ye’d actually do it.”
“Better wounded than dead, aye?” Robert ripped a handkerchief from his pocket and yanked it tight around Rosa’s arm.
Rosa grunted, and his foul breath made Robert curl his lip. Rosa never bothered pulling oil on his teeth, which would probably rot out before he had gray hair. Robert had told him as such, but Rosa never cared.
“Ye’re as stubborn as a shark in a blood tide, Robert.”
A sly smirk passed over Robert’s face. “Ye too, Rosa. Earned a bullet in the arm for it. Next time, yield.” He slapped a heavy hand on Rosa’s cheek and patted him twice on the neck—their brotherly bond.
He pulled his tin of whiskey from his pocket and handed it to Rosa. “Fer keepin’ it clean,” he said and stood up. Rosa nodded, and Robert hoped they were square before he walked off.
The tent flap closed behind him. He shrugged off his coat, reloaded both flintlocks, and set his belt beside the cot. He stripped off his shirt and took a washcloth from his basin, cleaning himself, pulling oil on his teeth and tongue, and spreading it on his lips to keep them from cracking.
He sank on his cot and drooped his head in his hands, remembering how his father had taught him to groom. He missed the man more than he dared admit.
He leaned back, pulled his coat over his belly, and relaxed into the hard cotton—wishing for his soft bed on the ship. Then he stared up at the single taut rope holding his tent up. Danna rushed to the forefront of his thoughts as he envisioned a life there with her on the island, not hiding, running, or looting, but just living and growing old. His eyes shifted to his belt hanging by his cot. He envisioned life with her at sea, roused from the ship’s sway with the morning sun falling on her soft lips before he kissed her awake.
But both lives were lies.
His brow furrowed, knowing no other woman’s lips would be as sweet. Knowing no other woman’s embrace would be as cherished, he closed his eyes.
Regardless of which path he took, it would inevitably lead to ruin. If he stayed, the Pirate Kings would carve her up just as Frank warned and then kill him before burning the island to the ground. If he left, he would be a fraud to Danna, promising to return when he couldn’t, at least not for a long while. And what of Ma? She’d never leave Ma. He had never been afraid of taking what he wanted, but for the first time in his life, he feared what would be left behind if he did. Would she wait for him? Would she move on? Would she even want to?
His heart was torn, and he wished he had never visited this island—never known Danna. Why hadn’t the sea pushed his ship toward another neighboring island? Why had the sea carried them to Danna’s island?
As he drifted to sleep, his ears numbed to the sound of snores, which scared off any predator that might be lurking. He dreamed of Danna, knowing she would only ever be his in his dreams. If the enchanter’s prophecy spoke true, perhaps the man destined to heal what he would leave broken would come. For her sake. Not his.
CHAPTER 17
The Dark Waters
Over three hundred ships sailed toward the dark waters, their sails flashing in the bright sun’s light and billowing in the favorable winds. Though motivations differed, each ship was a testament to united strength and purpose.
The image of Ma lying in her own blood, thirteen, almost fourteen years earlier, screaming as she drifted in and out of consciousness, flooded Danna’s memory. Her eight-year-old hands, slick with Ma’s crimson blood, flashed through her mind and set a fierce line on her hardened lips.
Danna peered to the port stern where Lucas’s ship flanked hers. Her gaze drifted to Ethan at the helm and Scotty and Jim manning the swing guns on the deck of her family’s galleon. She swiveled and glanced over her left shoulder at the ten pirate ships, which led the way with her.
The formation held. Robert’s ship, Storm Rider, cut through the waves with precision; it was a vessel meant to conquer. The white sail bore a glittering gold “J” on the main mast, in stark contrast to its bright red hull, which boasted three decks of cannons. The golden anchor hoisted at the bow reflected the sun’s rays in a dizzying dance on the waves.
Danna’s own vessel wasn’t built for brute force. It had speed and history, but against Cain, she had to rely on the pirates’ heavy firepower.
She noticed the captains were at the helm, but she stood at the bow on the wide plank gunwale, holding tight to the rope. No wonder Robert had asked her if she was a real captain. Perhaps she only pretended to be. But her mother’s blood, still vivid in her mind, reminded her—pretenders didn’t get this far.
She wrestled with the belief that she was a pirate only in name. A gentle breeze shifted her focus forward, pushing the paralyzing thought from her mind.
“I hope Robert’s right,” she mumbled but reminded herself to fight the first fight first—Cain—then allow herself to worry about the second—the potential annihilation by the Pirate Kings of the North Sea. And lastly, worry about the third fight, when it came—Robert leaving. There was no more room in her mind or her heart to worry about anything other than Cain. Her mind cleared and focused.
Her unblinking eyes fixed on the horizon where the dark waters churned—a stain on the great blue. Cain’s roar echoed from the deep. They were right about his lair, but she had never sailed her whole fleet this far from home. The dead would not wash ashore this far out.
The wind whipped pieces of her hair loose from her scarf. Her muscles tensed as the ship’s bow slipped into the dark waters. Revenge was near. Yet, the fear of losing more ships and emerging in defeat gnawed at Danna’s heart. She had ordained their combined approach with the pirate kings. If Cain lived after this, the weight of blood on her hands would drive her mad.
