“What are you doing?” Coyle ground out. “Nobody knows that thing isn’t loaded. Do you want to get yourself arrested or killed?”
Anne didn’t respond. She hadn’t realized her hands were on the trigger. Her gaze locked on the slaver. If it had been loaded, that man wouldn’t be staring at her with disgust and loathing. Instead, he would be flat on his back, bleeding out.
“We should go,” Cara said, her voice subdued.
Anne opened the leather pouch at her side, but Coyle’s hand closed over hers. “If you load it and shoot, they will hang you.”
“If I don’t do something, who will?” Anne asked, gesturing to the people surrounding them.
Coyle shook his head, a pained look in his eyes. “You won’t be able to help anyone if you’re dead. Especially not Teach.”
Anne glared at Coyle, aware her anger wasn’t directed at him. He released her hand slowly, as if he still didn’t trust her not to act. She wasn’t sure herself.
With a shaky breath, Anne turned, noticing for the first time the shiny black carriage stopped nearby, the lacquered sides gleaming in the sunlight. She froze when she saw the familiar face of Lord Pelham watching her with hooded eyes. Anne stared back at him without blinking, without moving, knowing that despite his expensive clothes and carriage, she stood face-to-face with a viper poised to strike.
CHAPTER 11
Teach
Teach paced his cell in circles, like a wild animal in a cage. He rubbed the marks on his wrists where the irons had been, while the hammer of his own pulse caused his veins to hurt. His clothes had dried long ago, but his skin was itchy and tight from the saltwater. With each step, he deepened the path and scattered the straw strewn across the floor. Although the fort was fairly new, the ramparts already reeked of urine and fetid oil. Teach hadn’t touched the bread or water the jailer had left for him, completely absorbed in thought.
Anne was alive. She was alive.
Teach hadn’t even realized he’d taken a step in her direction until he’d felt the punishing blow of the musket. Grimacing, he tested the bruised skin on his stomach.
Footsteps echoed down the stone hallway. Teach stopped his pacing and gripped the bars, rattling them, his knuckles white. Six soldiers appeared, armed with bayonets on the ends of their muskets.
“Governor Webb would like to speak with you.”
“I would be happy to speak with your governor, as soon as I know where the rest of my men are.” Teach didn’t know how he managed to keep his voice level, while his blood teemed with fury.
Upon reaching shore, Peter had slipped away like a serpent in the grass, clearly wasting no time in reporting the mutiny on board the Deliverance. Some men had managed to blend into the crowd on the wharf, but once the soldiers had surrounded them, they’d been led to the wagon and taken to the fort. Teach’s hands tightened on the bars. He should have killed Peter when he had the chance.
“Your men have been questioned individually. The governor now wishes to hear your report.”
“What about the wounded?” Teach had promised they would receive something for the pain, and he didn’t want to go back on his word.
“They’re receiving medical attention.”
Teach didn’t believe him. “Where are they?”
“Governor Webb will answer your questions. Now move back.”
Slowly, Teach retreated. He watched in grim silence as one of the soldiers struggled with the cell door. When they’d locked him up, Teach had targeted the latch with a powerful blow from the heel of his boot. The soldiers had responded by threatening to shoot him if he didn’t behave.
Wary, the lead soldier motioned for Teach to step forward. Once again, the irons closed on Teach’s ankles and wrists. He jerked his arms away, but felt the tip of a bayonet in the small of his back. “It makes no difference to me whether you live or die. If you hope to help your men, I suggest you do as the governor says.”
Teach followed the soldiers back the way he had come a few hours prior. He wondered where Anne was now and how she fared. If only he could see her, hold her, kiss her. Assure himself that she was indeed real and not a figment of his imagination.
Teach was led down a long, dark corridor and staircase illuminated by torches. They wound their way through the interior of the battlements, stopping in front of a large wooden door. One of the soldiers raised his hand and knocked. Someone called for them to enter.
With irons clanging, Teach shuffled into the office. A large desk anchored the room, with sunlight and heat pouring through a small embrasure on the west wall. There was a map opened on the desk, its edges curling in the miserable humidity and heat. An ornate clock ticked the seconds, keeping time with Teach’s heartbeat, but otherwise the room was bare. There wasn’t even an extra chair for guests.
No doubt the governor preferred his visitors to stand, while he lounged. Not that Teach minded. He didn’t want to spend another minute in this place. He wanted to get to Anne.
Four of the soldiers escorted him in, while the other two remained outside the door. Teach would have laughed at the situation if he hadn’t been so frustrated. He was larger in stature, but they were armed and he was in chains.
“Here he is, Governor Webb.”
If it hadn’t been for the elaborate white wig perched on the governor’s head, Teach would have a hard time believing that the man seated at the desk was the most powerful man on the island. In fact, the governor looked quite ill. His skin had an unhealthy pallor and his shoulders barely seemed capable of holding up the sleeves of his embroidered long coat. The dark circles ringing his brown eyes told of sleepless nights.
“Thank you. You and the others may wait outside.”
Without another word, the four soldiers stepped out of the office, closing the door behind them. Teach watched them go, before turning back to the governor, only to find a pistol pointed at his chest.
Teach’s stomach tightened and his shoulders stiffened. He’d been threatened before, but never by someone intended to keep the peace. Did the governor intend to dispense with the formality of a trial and simply shoot him outright?
No. I have to get to Anne. Teach’s palms grew slick with sweat as he attempted to keep his expression neutral.
“What’s your name?”
“Edward Teach.”
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
“Tell me about the attack on your ship, Edward.” Despite his haggard appearance, the man still spoke with authority and he gave Teach an appraising look.
Sweat rolled down Teach’s face and neck and the clock continued to count the seconds.
Tick.
Tock.
Teach blinked, unable to wipe at his eyes. “As we neared the islands, two ships lay in wait for us. We believed them to be either Spanish or Dutch.”