The Curse [Legend of Blackbeard's Chalice Book 1] Page 18

  He nodded his affirmation to Maynard. “Aye. Know them well."

  Maynard stepped back and looked to Jack. “I'll be needing your expertise to maneuver close to him, and at the right times. I don't want the bastard to slip away."

  Jack shook his head. “I know these waters like I know my woman's body,” he said as his eyes met with Maynard's. “To my way of thinking, Lieutenant, I have more at stake here than the rest of you. I need your promise that your men will be mindful of my wife on board the Adventure! I would like my hands to get to know her once more. I promise you, I'll find Teach for you. I know where he likes to play. And I will lead you to him, but my wife ... please sir, be mindful of my wife. Once I get close, I don't know how much help I can be to get the bastard. My quest is to see her safely home."

  Maynard eyed Jack, and then nodded in understanding. “You have my promise."

  Jack dropped his head and lowered his gaze. He knew Maynard's position. His mission was to take Blackbeard, dead or alive, anything else was secondary. Jack knew Maynard would do what he could, but he also knew that rescuing Claire would be up to him. Even though he'd love to stick around and see Teach get his due, he needed even more to get to Claire.

  He looked again to Maynard. “Your charts are outdated. The waters change with the winds. The sands shift, the shoals fill up, and the squalls change it all again. The channels are unmarked, but I know where you need to go. You need to have men ready to pole off the sandbars should we get grounded and have to wait for the tides. Other than that, you'll have to rely on the wind and luck ... and me."

  Their gazes held, and then Maynard's lip curled upward. Jack knew that his point had been made. Maynard needed him. “And by the grace of the good Lord we'll put the devil back into hell."

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  Chapter Fifteen

  The three days it took to get back to the islands were the longest of Claire's life. Even longer than the days they'd drifted far off the coast. Holed up inside the captain's quarters, she was refused access to the fresh air on deck, not allowed to walk in the sunshine.

  But then again, she figured she was probably safer in the quarters than on deck or in the hold with every pirate ogling her as if he'd like to make her his own. She resigned herself to the fact that she was to be held captive in the quarters of Blackbeard, and positioned herself each day near the open window to catch the breeze and stare into the vast sea.

  On the third day, she heard a youthful voice high above in the masts call Land ho! She strained her gaze across the horizon to find it herself. She prayed that they approached the islands, and that Jack would soon find her and take her home.

  Abrupt fear for his safety seized her. She hoped Jack didn't attempt to rescue her on his own. They would be lying in wait, ready to murder him. How could she warn him? There had to be a way for her to get off this ship so he wouldn't have to risk his life saving her.

  Rick. Certainly he had come to his senses by now. Would he help her? As quickly as the thought came to her, she dismissed it. She didn't want Rick's help.

  Rick was a madman.

  He had abandoned her, which was just as well. She didn't want to deal with him in addition to her terrifying captor. She hadn't seen Rick for days. He had gone completely berserk, was caught up in his own agenda.

  She just didn't understand why.

  As if her thoughts summoned him, she turned as a telltale squeak of the cabin steps alerted her to his presence. Rick, still in the pirate getup, boldly stepped into the room. His gaze never left her face. And she wasn't sure she liked the look on his.

  When he didn't speak, she did.

  "What are you doing? How in the hell did you get on his ship?” She blurted out.

  He chuckled. A tremor crept up and down her backbone.

  "It is my destiny, and yours, my dear Claire, to take advantage of our ability to travel through time. I was only waiting for you to lead me here."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Travelers. We're travelers, Claire. You and me. And if we play out our hands to our advantage, we'll go home with more than a meager kitty."

  Rick nudged closer. “If I use my brain, Claire, and the knowledge I have of Blackbeard, every piece of treasure, every jewel, every artifact the son-of-a-bitch has hidden up and down the coast will be mine. I plan to take it, and you, back with me."

  She pushed away from him, drawing her knees up to her chest.

  "You're crazy, Rick. Do you actually think you're going to get out of here alive, let alone with Blackbeard's treasure?"

  "Honey, I plan to get out of here with not only his treasure, but his damned head as well."

  She flinched. He was indeed insane. What had happened to him? “Rick, you're not making sense. His head?"

  "You remember Chuck? And the expedition he was getting ready to embark on?"

  "I remember you mentioning it."

  "Yeah, well, you know he's always been a history nut. Now he's into treasure hunting."

  "You told me that.” She was impatient. Here he was plotting some insane plan to steal treasure, and to kill Jack, and here they were discussing old college buddies. She wasn't sure who was the crazier of the two.

  "I know. You see, he's searching for Blackbeard's treasure, and I kind of got caught up in it with him. Not only have we been searching for buried treasure, but for the owner of Blackbeard's Chalice."

  "Blackbeard's Chalice?” Her voice rose in question.

  He stepped closer and whispered, his eyes danced with excitement. “Yes. It's a silver-plated chalice made from his skull."

  "His what! Damn, Rick, that's morbid."

  He nodded his enthusiasm. The sinister side of him was gone for the moment. He was almost child-like. “Blackbeard's skull, yes. And Claire, there is actually a secret society, a cult if you will, that worships Blackbeard, even in our time, and they drink from the chalice. The chalice is power. Chuck and I went to a meeting. Actually, several."

  Amazed, she sat up. “You and Chuck drank from his skull?"

  "Yes."

  "So where is it now?"

  "Now?"

  She nodded. Rick glanced at the opening to the quarters. “Right now it's still attached to his body."

  She grimaced. “God, Rick, you're gruesome. What are you going to do, chop off his head in his sleep?"

  "No. All that will be taken care of, tomorrow."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Tomorrow is November 22, 1718. The day all the history books claim as Blackbeard's last. Alexander Spotswood's soldiers will sever his head and I will be ready to snatch it up. I've got twenty-four hours to get him to tell me where his treasure is buried. I've really been working on him the past few days. He thinks I'm some kind of a seer. Once he tells me, then all I have to do is wait."

  His face suddenly took on that sardonic look she was beginning to hate. “If all goes as planned, we'll be sliding into Teach's hole by evening. I'll take care of your lover tomorrow and be back in the twenty-first century with Blackbeard's head in my hand, the location of his treasure, and you on my arm within the day. We'll be quite wealthy, to boot."

  He peered closer. He was ugly, deceitful, and vindictive. How could she have ever thought she loved him?

  "How do you know Jack will be here tonight?"

  He snickered. “I know things, Claire, remember? I just know."

  "Rick, please. Jack has done nothing but fall in love with me. Leave him alone."

  "That's not the problem, Claire. The real problem is that you've fallen in love with him."

  She turned away. Yes. She did love Jack. “Then kill me,” she said. “Let Jack live. Kill me and then take your precious treasure back to the future and let my soul rest in peace in this century."

  His gaze narrowed. Gently, he reached out and grasped a thin tendril of her hair. He tugged at it ever so slightly. “No, my dear Claire,” he murmured on a breath. “You are much too valuable to me. Much too. I will see your lover de
ad tomorrow."

  * * * *

  Jack stood beside Lieutenant Maynard at the ship's helm. Having just slipped through Ocracoke Inlet, working their way through before the tide turned against them, he stood facing out over Pamlico Sound in search of the Adventure!

  "Is this where you thought he'd be, Porter?” Maynard asked.

  Jack's gaze searched the horizon. “It is his usual lair. But he could be anywhere from up the Neuse River to Bath Town or any of several places in the Sound."

  Maynard shifted his gaze toward the mainland. “Well, let us hope that he has not gotten wind of us and already sailed away."

  He nodded, his eyes never leaving the water as Maynard stepped toward his quarters.They were close, he knew it, could sense it, could almost smell the bastard. And he could almost hear Claire's voice. He wanted desperately to hear it, for her to tell him she was all right, where she was. But he couldn't. Her voice wouldn't come.

  It had been two weeks, an eternity it seemed, and now that the time was at hand, he grew suddenly fearful. How would he find her? Would she be alive? Unharmed? Or again drugged to the death? Would Teach have mutilated her body beyond recognition? Or would he have simply had his way with her?

  Dear Lord, he prayed searching the sky above him. Let her live. Let her live for me. Don't take her away from me again. Not in this way. If she has to leave me, to go back to her time, let her leave in that way. Let her be safe.

  Please don't have let her return to me, this Hannah, this Claire, only to have her ripped from my grasp again at this pirate's hands. I know she's not really Hannah, but she is my Claire, my Hannah Claire, a gift, and I love her.

  I will make her my wife, dear Lord, if you could only see to it that she is alive and unharmed. I want her to be my wife, Lord. If she will have me.

  Please.

  He lowered his head and breathed deeply. He'd not let himself feel the pain, the anguish. Until now, it was simply the battle of getting to the pirate's lair, and now that they had arrived, his heart tripped within his chest, panicking as to the state of health he would find Hannah Claire in. If indeed he found her at all.

  He brought a clenched fist to his eye and rubbed away a tear.

  No, I'll not let myself feel the emotion quite yet. Not until I know where my Hannah Claire is, only then will I allow myself to feel.

  Snapping his head up, he looked out over the sound.

  Dusk was falling fast and their sloop and the one trailing behind needed to feel their way through the shallow waters with care. Despite Jack's skill as a pilot, each craft had to repeatedly be pulled and poled off the sandbars and shoals by the long boat. Twilight deepened as they furthered their course into the channel.

  Then finally, as Jack glanced up through the falling night mist, he saw them. Two vessels sat not far ahead of them in the shoal waters, peeking out through the mist. One of them, Jack was certain, was the Adventure!

  "It is the bloody bastard's ship,” he murmured. Spellbound, he watched the Jolly Roger furl and unfurl on the dusk's breeze. He turned to find Maynard. Stepping closer to the captain's quarters, he paused once more to glance at the ship.

  Maynard's voice slipped low to him through the open cabin window. It took a minute for the words to register, then like a sharp dagger point, they embedded in his heart.

  "We go in at all cost."

  "But the woman...?” another voice broke in.

  There was a pause and then Maynard continued. “I want the head of Blackbeard. We go in at all cost."

  It was then Jack Porter knew he had to take matters into his own hands.

  * * * *

  "'Tis only two sloops and neither carry a cannon!"

  Blackbeard's deep belly laugh rumbled over the deck and crew. “Did they think they could fight us with their rapiers? We've eight cannon to their none! They may outnumber us in men, but a couple of broadsides with me cannons and we'll even the score!"

  "Are there preparations to be made this night?” his first mate asked of him.

  "Preparations? To do battle with two meager, unarmed sloops? Bah! We'll broadside them once or twice and slip by them on the morning tide.” He paced several feet back and forth across the deck. “Bring on the rum and the ale, and we'll drink to the health of the King's men tonight!"

  Claire stood near the rear of the ship listening to Blackbeard boast of his and his crew's advantages over the King's sloops sitting behind them. For half the night, she sat there and watched, fearful of leaving should they disappear with the confines of darkness. She knew Jack was with them.

  Knew it. Could feel it. Hated it.

  With every beat of her heart her convictions grew stronger. At the same time, she was joyous, thinking of him rescuing her, and also terror-stricken at the thought that he might be killed in the process. But there was nothing she could do about that now. Now she could only wait. Blackbeard had left her alone, free to walk on the ship's deck without repercussion the past day, and Rick, preoccupied with the events close at hand, had disappeared hours earlier. Nor did she care. She imagined he was using the last few hours to wheedle information out of the pirate concerning his treasure. Suddenly, she was a forgotten entity.

  But there were other matters that needed to be dealt with—matters of utmost concern to her. She knew tomorrow would be the last day Captain Edward Teach would terrorize the Atlantic Coast and she hoped it would be the day she would be reunited with Jack.

  Alive.

  The sounds of the lively party in Blackbeard's cabin finally subsided and Claire, content in her quiet spot on the rear deck, watched the night's ensuing activities. Although Blackbeard had ordered no preparations, several of the crew had taken it upon themselves to do so. She watched as blankets were soaked to be used to smother fires on board. Guns were stacked as well as powder and balls and scrap shot. Heavy cutlasses were stacked near the gunwales. Several times during the night small boats were sent ashore to gather sand to spread on the deck to soak up the blood that would be lost come morning, and to help the pirates keep their footing on the blood-slick decks.

  If she had any sense, she would swim to shore. But then what? How would she find Jack? The ship was sitting a ways from the island. Although she could swim, she didn't trust her swimming skills that much. She could tread water and she'd probably be able to keep her head above water until she reached the shore.

  If she reached the shore.

  She stood up and peered over the edge into the dark recesses below. No. I'll take my chances above deck. Jack is coming.

  That notion had never failed her.

  So she prayed. For the first time in a very long time, she prayed to a higher power as she searched the starlit night above her, wondering if Jack was peering into the endless night as she was. She prayed for a quick battle and a merciful end to this madness. She prayed for Jack—for him to elude Blackbeard's cutlass and Rick's vindictiveness, and to see her safely off this ship and into his arms.

  And she prayed for God to give her the strength to know what to do once she was off the ship and back in Jack's arms again. For she held the sinking notion deep inside her that she would have to make choices quickly.

  "Give me the strength to make the right decisions,” she whispered to the stars.

  * * * *

  The ship quieted in the early morning. Just scant hours before sunrise, Jack slipped over the side of the war sloop and into a small skiff he'd lowered with little sound, moments before. A pistol was shoved in the waistband of his breeches and a dagger slipped in his boot. He clutched a thin rapier, borrowed from Maynard's stash, in his hand. In his heart he carried the fear of never seeing Hannah Claire alive again.

  It was that fear that drove him.

  He silently rowed through the pitch-black night to the pirate ship's side. Much as he had done months earlier, he anchored the boat and shimmied up the rope, finding himself on deck. All was quiet, save a few snorts, snores, and moans from the crew below. The loudest appeared to come from the capt
ain's quarters. Jack allowed himself to breathe, ever so slightly.

  He took one step forward. The night air seemed almost too quiet, too serene. A sliver of crescent moon barely lit the ship's deck in the night. Tiny hairs on the back of his neck prickled and stood on end. At once, the black around him was eerily silent. Something was a bit off-kilter.

  A gasp went up in the night. Swirling to his rear, his gaze caught sight of the scene behind him. Hannah Claire stood several feet away. Her chemise torn. Her face dirty. And her eyes wide at the sight of him.

  A pirate held her captive, a dagger poised at her throat. Claire whimpered. “Jack. Go. It's a trap."

  With that, the pirate pulled her closer and dug the dagger deeper into her throat. His gaze shot to her eyes and he saw the pain, the worry. She silently pleaded with him. And he knew that she wanted him to leave, to escape, but he'd be damned if he'd do it without her.

  "Shut up, Claire. Nothing will help him now,” the pirate spat into her hair.

  His gaze shifted to the pirate. “Unhand my wife."

  The pirate laughed. “Wife? You are delusional, my friend. I'll not release her. She's mine, now."

  Anger roiled in his gut. No scurvy bastard would take his wife from him again.

  Behind him, a deep chuckle resonated. He didn't have to turn to know who was standing there. His senses alert and keen, he kept his gaze on Hannah Claire's face. It gave him the strength to do what he had to do. He shifted to the pirate's eyes, memorizing the quiver in the dark irises. His gaze played over his face. Tiny dots of perspiration beaded and streamed down from his hairline. Lowering his perusal, Jack observed the tremble in the hand loosely pressing the dagger into Hannah Claire's throat.

  This man was no pirate.

  Jack would gamble on it.

  In a lightening flash, he flipped the rapier toward the so-called pirate and plucked a slice out of his cheek. The man squealed and jumped back, grabbing his face and dropping the dagger. In his attempt to flee, he pushed Hannah Claire toward Jack. She shrieked. Abruptly, a blood-curdling scream went up behind him and Jack quickly turned, inadvertently shoving her aside. Blackbeard lunged, his heavy cutlass swinging through the air. Jack knew that his thin rapier wouldn't be any match for the huge man brandishing the heavy sword. Without hesitation, he dropped it and jerked the pistol from his waist, firing into the man. The bullet hit him in the left shoulder, stopping him only momentarily, but it was enough time for Jack to grab Hannah Claire about the waist and rush to the ship's side.