She’d used the time during Teach’s absence to her advantage, and the days had passed quickly, including her birthday. She’d been in no mood to celebrate. Her back was healing and Reva had removed her stitches. With Benjamin’s help, Anne had learned how to swim somewhat. She preferred the mobility and freedom she had wearing trousers to the constraint she felt in skirts.
They’d repaired the Killorn and it stood ready for action, its smooth lines bobbing gently in the water. Two storms had hit and they’d been forced to take shelter in the vessel. Anne had almost come to think of it as home, but she knew how ridiculous that sounded. The only people who spent the majority of their time at sea were either pirates or sailors, and Anne was neither.
She stood on shore as the waves lapped gently around her ankles, the sand sifting away beneath her feet as she watched Benjamin track a dark object beneath the surface. He’d explained to her that fishermen needed to change fishing spots to avoid sharks. Once the Fortune returned, they too would need to move on.
The only question was where would they go? So much depended on what happened with Webb. Had they managed to bring the governor to justice and free their friends? Were they now on their way to England, to testify in a trial against him? Would anyone believe them? After all, Easton was a pirate, and the soldiers were more likely to fire first, ask questions later. What they’d done was dangerous, and she couldn’t bring herself to even address the issue of whether or not Teach was alive.
The constant barrage of questions and uncertainty kept Anne awake at night. Physically, she was exhausted, but different scenarios of what might be happening in Nassau plagued her until she reached for her pistols and practiced loading them by the light of the moon, determined to never be left behind again.
An excited shout broke into her reverie, and Anne looked up. The topsails of a ship floated into view and soon the smooth lines of the Fortune entered the cay. Easton’s Jolly Roger, with its white skull and crossed swords, was visible for everyone to see. Anne scoured the line of men striding across the deck, preparing to drop anchor, but she didn’t see the tall figure or broad shoulders of the man she loved.
A second vessel came into view, this one smaller and sleeker than the Killorn or the Fortune. Beneath the bowsprit at the prow of the ship was a glossy carving of a woman, with long dark hair and a bright red dress.
“Who do you suppose that is?” John asked, walking up to her side.
Anne felt her chest tighten. “I have no idea.”
Wary and tense, the group on the beach watched the second ship drop anchor. Was this some sort of a trick?
Then Easton was there, giving a shout and raising a hand in greeting.
And beside him was Teach.
The sight of Teach sucked the air out of her lungs and she fell back a step, scarcely able to breathe. Spanning the distance, her eyes met his. As the men on both ships lowered longboats over the side, she held still, sorting through a mixture of emotions. Relief that he was back safely. Joy that they appeared none the worse for wear. Worry when she didn’t see Cara, Alastair, or Coyle amongst the group. And finally, anger that Teach had left her there in the first place. She wasn’t sure how she would greet him.
By the time he waded through the shallows toward her, a pulse drummed in the backs of her knees and in the pit of her belly. He was disheveled and looked as exhausted as she felt. His hair was longer and hung loose, and the scruff on his face was several days beyond a shave. Yet the sight of him was captivating. He was so striking, so dear and familiar.
The saltwater sprayed into the air as she launched herself into his arms.
“I’m sorry,” he said, burying his face in her hair. “I’m so sorry.” His words, spoken softly, melted her anger. His hands roved over her back, his grip strong, as if he feared she might disappear.
“It’s all right,” she said, reveling in his embrace. She drew back at length, cupping his face in her hands. “I love you. I’m sorry for being so upset—” Anne paused when he shook his head, a swallow rippling down his throat. There was sadness in his eyes, not merely regret at leaving her behind. With a mounting sense of dread, she scanned the two ships over his shoulder once again. Men rowed longboats to shore and unloaded supplies, but there was no sign of any of Anne’s friends.
“Where’s Jack?” John asked, as he too searched the sailors.
“We were too late,” Teach said, his voice low.
The knot in Anne’s throat threatened to choke her. “No,” she whispered. “What about—”
Then Anne saw a familiar figure. There was a defeated curve to Cara’s spine as Kitts helped her into one of the skiffs with the rest of the crew and they began rowing inland.
“Coyle and Alastair?” Anne asked. Teach’s hold on Anne tightened, his expression filled with compassion. She fought against the biting pressure of tears welling in her eyes. “Where are they?”
Teach drew in a ragged breath. “Pelham has Alastair. He’s taking him to Jamaica. Coyle is dead, and so are the others.”
Hardly able to bear the pain, Anne leaned into Teach’s chest as tears ran silently down her cheeks.
“What happened?” John asked, his voice low.
“Pelham used Coyle. They tortured him in front of Alastair until Alastair agreed to hand over his ships. Cara almost met the same fate, but one of the soldiers at the fort set her free. She hid in the stables behind the Fox and managed to live off the meager supplies that were in the pantry. Since Pelham had what they wanted from Alastair, they didn’t bother searching for her.”
“How did you find her?” Anne asked.
“Easton sent his first mate to the Fox, to look for Alastair. He found Cara instead and she told him what happened.”
Anne’s insides felt hollow, gutted. First Beth, and now this. The knowledge that she wouldn’t see Coyle’s smiling face again was difficult to absorb. Anne stayed within the protective warmth of Teach’s arms, too numb with grief to move until Cara eventually reached shore. Teach loosened his hold and Anne walked toward her friend.
Cara’s eyes, usually so warm and friendly, were hard and bleak, and her dress hung on her frame. Yet, despite Cara’s appearance, her arms wrapped around Anne with surprising strength. Anne hugged her back, as sobs wracked Cara’s shoulders. Kitts stood nearby, his serious expression even more somber than usual.
“I hate Pelham. I hate him,” Cara muttered repeatedly. “I’m going to kill him. He took my brother from me and I’m going to find him and kill him. I want to see the look in his eyes when he breathes his last.”
The sound of Cara’s weeping and her pledge for revenge caused something inside of Anne to shatter. But instead of feeling defeated and broken, the sharp edges were new and dangerous. Anne met Teach’s gaze above Cara’s head. He raised a brow at her, as if he could read her thoughts, but Anne turned and led Cara away, those sharp edges taking shape.