What would be more defiant than having a tryst with someone in his father’s own household?
Not liking the direction of her thoughts, Anne hurried
through the rooms, making the beds by the light of the single
candle, trying hard not to picture the chamber she had just
vacated.
She was halfway through the task when she heard footsteps in
the hallway. Extinguishing the flame, Anne peered out through
the half-open door, and spied Teach, dressed in a heavy riding
cloak and boots, striding toward the back stairs, the candle in his own hands flickering with each step.
Curious, she followed him through the darkened house.
Where was he off to at such a late hour? Not eight days ago he’d had a high fever. Now here he was, leaving in the middle of the night? Surely nothing good would come of this.
Tiptoeing down the stairs, she felt her way along the dim
interior. In the kitchen all was silent. Margery had obviously
taken his advice and retired. There was also no sign of Sara or
Mary, and the embers in the fireplace cast an eerie glow about
the room.
Anne reached the back door and was about to step out,
when Teach came barreling out of the barn astride his black
stallion. He flew past her, in the direction of town, the hooves echoing down the drive behind them. A dog barked in the distance, and Anne stayed where she was, staring after him until the sound of his departure faded away.
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She could not help her small twinge of envy, or the strong desire to follow him. How she longed to ride into the night like that, with nothing holding her back. But it was as if she had a rope secured around her waist, anchoring her to this house. The
only time she was ever allowed to leave was to run errands for
Margery in the marketplace.
The closest she would come to freedom at the moment was
when she slept, for there were no rules while dreaming.
With a heavy heart Anne climbed the stairs to her room up
in the garret. With its slanted roof and crooked floor, it wasn’t much compared to her old bedchamber in her father’s house.
She missed the soft bed and pale blue walls.
Her present space was a far cry better than the squalid hovel
she’d shared with her mother, but it had come at the cost of her independence.
She’d spent far too much time in Teach’s company the past
few days, and needed to get to the city to try to sell some of
the items she’d stolen. In less than three weeks the Deliverance would set sail. She saw her opportunity for escape being like the sand in an hourglass, and it was running out.
As Anne lay down, she attempted to wipe her mind clean.
She was successful for the most part, but when she eventually
drifted off to sleep, her last conscious thoughts were of black
stallions and sparkling green eyes.
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C H A P T E R 1 1
Teach
The sky overhead was an inky black, lit by a sliver of the moon
and a thousand sparkling stars. Adjusting the rough plank of
wood, Teach slid it across the short gap stretching between the
dock and the Deliverance.
She was broad in the beam and powerfully built, and Teach
could picture her graceful bow cutting through the choppy
waves on the open sea. As he boarded, a chill wind whipped
his face, and he took a deep breath of the briny air, unable to
prevent the smile on his lips. The boat swayed gently beneath
his feet, and Teach stopped to close his eyes, his chest expanding in a moment of pure joy.
The ride through the empty city streets had energized him,
for he hadn’t slowed down, as if the very hounds of hell had
been at his back. His father often called him reckless, but Teach liked to think he took calculated risks. This life was too short 115
not to approach everything with zeal. His mother’s untimely death had taught him that.
“Don’t move, or you’ll find yourself flat on your arse and
my knife in your gut,” someone growled from behind.
The smile on Teach’s lips increased. “Is that any way to talk
to a friend, John? Especially since I went to so much trouble to get you this post in the first place,” he said, turning and extending his arm in greeting.
John let out a long breath and clasped Teach’s hand in a
crushing grip. John was built like any number of farmers or sailors walking the streets of Bristol, with a broad back and stout legs. And he was the best fighter Teach had ever seen, which was why Teach had written his father and told him about his friend.
John had proven to be an excellent night watchman.
“Curse your eyes, Teach, you gave me a start. What are you
doing here in the middle of the night?” John asked. His light
brown hair was long and unruly, just like him. “Is Mary all
right?”
“Yes. She’s fine. This has nothing to do with her.” Teach felt
a twinge of guilt, wondering if he should tell his friend about
the cheating maid. But he wasn’t sure how to do it.
“I was thinking of coming by the house sometime to visit
her, but whenever I send word, she says she’s too busy to see me.