Blacksouls (Blackhearts #2)

“Aye, which I am.”


“And if he did notice that I’m female?”

“He might tell the others. And he might come back.” In which case, Teach would most definitely remove the man’s head from his body. He hated feeling out of control, especially when it came to Anne’s safety. There were too many unknowns in this entire situation. “It could be that Kitts sent one of his men to search my cabin. And if Kitts finds out you’re here, when we get back to Nassau, he won’t let you leave this ship without an escort.”

“Then I’ll have to leave the ship before we return to Nassau.”

“First let’s concentrate on finding Easton. We can worry about the rest later.”

“You men are very narrow minded. That’s exactly what John said to me when I asked him about Webb.”

“What about Webb?”

Anne clenched the pistol from Teach, her knuckles turning white. “He cannot be allowed to continue to destroy people’s lives. Someone has to stop him.”

“He’s the bloody governor of Nassau. How exactly do you expect someone to stop him?”

“I haven’t gotten that far.”

“All right. Well, while you’re planning his downfall, I’ll make sure you’re not left alone. Between John, Benjamin, and myself, we should be able keep you company.” He’d expected Anne to be pleased, but from the look on her face, it was clear that she wasn’t. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said.

Only then did Teach notice that Anne still lay unmoving in the hammock. “Would you like to sit up?”

“No. I’m fine.”

She was not fine. She’d barely moved since he’d entered the room. Even before the storm had hit, she’d stood at the window with John. There was no storm now.

“Would you like me to open the window?” Teach asked, watching her closely.

“I can manage. I’m sure you’re busy,” she said.

“Remember when I asked you to be truthful with me?” he asked. Anne nodded, not quite meeting his eyes. “I’m asking you now to tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s nothing I can’t take care of,” she said, glaring at him.

“Is it your stitches? Because if it is—”

“Go away.”

“—I need to take a look at them.”

She squirmed beneath his gaze, but remained silent. Frustrated, Teach ran a hand over his face. “Do you want them to become infected? If they do, you’ll have the devil of a time going after Webb.” Teach had cleaned the wounds before he’d sewn her up, but it wouldn’t take much for infection to set in.

A knock at the door interrupted them. Teach opened the door a crack. John looked back at him, his expression earnest.

“May I have a word, captain?”

Teach stood back, shutting the door once John had entered.

“How are ye? Did ye weather the storm?” John asked, glancing at Anne.

She gave him a small smile. “Yes, thank you. Was it terribly difficult on deck?”

“No, nothing that I couldn’t han—”

“What do you want?” Teach snapped.

John’s eyes widened. “I thought you weren’t mad at me?”

“Why would he be mad at you?” Anne asked.

For the love . . . “I’m not mad. I simply want to know what you wish to discuss. It had to be important, otherwise you wouldn’t have left your position on deck,” Teach said pointedly.

“The men have returned to their watches. First watch is on duty while the rest sleep.”

“Good. You should go and rest as well,” Teach said dismissively. Since he’d just spent the past five hours on deck, he could bloody well spend the next half hour with Anne, making sure she was all right. “You pulled your stitches.” He didn’t know for sure, but he had a sneaking suspicion that was precisely what Anne had done. Her next words confirmed it.

“Not on purpose.”

“They’ll have to be sewn back up.”

Anne shook her head, her eyes wide. “No.”

“Why not?” Teach demanded. “I did it once before.”

“Yes, but I wasn’t awake while you did it.”

Teach was astounded. She had endured a flogging. How could she be afraid of some stitches? “I’ll be careful.”

“If you come after me with a needle, I will shoot you. Just so you’re aware,” Anne said, tightening her grip on the pistol. As much as he liked the fact that she now favored the weapon he’d given her, he should have removed it from her grasp.

“I have a fine hand. I can sew her up,” John volunteered.

Teach shot John a dark look. “Then I’ll shoot you.”

“This is getting us nowhere. You’ve been awake for most of the night. You need rest as much as the others,” Anne said.

“In case you’ve forgotten, you’re in my hammock.”

Anne pursed her lips.

“Let me check your stitches. It’s too soon for them to come out, Anne. You have to be reasonable.”

The two of them stared at each other, neither one willing to back down. Looking between them, John shifted his weight uncomfortably. “He’s right, Anne. He should at least check them.”

Anne rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she muttered at length.

Clearly pleased that she’d listened to him, John turned to leave.

“Bring me a bottle of brandy before you go up on deck,” Teach said.

John nodded and shut the door behind him.

Folding her arms across her chest, Anne speared him with a glare. “If you think I’m going to let you get drunk and then try to stitch me up, you’re mad.”

“The brandy’s not for me, Anne. It’s for you.”





CHAPTER 29





Anne


The brandy left a trail of warmth in its wake. After two full cups, Anne felt as if she was glowing from the inside out.

“Lie down,” Teach said, indicating the desk.

“I’d rather sit.”

He muttered something under his breath, but Anne couldn’t hear precisely what it was. She sat on the chair while Teach pried the shirt away from her back. The blood had dried, sticking the fabric to her skin.

“How bad is it?” she asked, holding her breath.

“I’m going to have to cut the shirt a bit.”

Not quite an answer. Anne laughed nervously. “You’re going to run out of them if we continue like this.”

“I won’t have to cut much. The lower stitches are fine.”

“How many will you have to replace?” she asked, her stomach already churning.

There was no response. Perhaps it was better that way. Anne glanced over her shoulder at Teach, noting the tense lines around his eyes and lips. He didn’t enjoy doing this any more than she wanted it to be done. But he was right. The last thing she needed was for her back to become infected. This was all the Webbs’ fault. How many slaves had they whipped who had later died from their injuries? She could feel her hatred of the governor and his wife increase with every minute.

Anne stiffened when Teach sliced through the material with his knife. This time she didn’t bother pouring the brown liquid into the cup, but took a large swig straight from the bottle instead.

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