Blackheart (12 page)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Blood Tarnishes

With moon rise, Grayson’s exploration under the use of the spyglass delivered a ship’s lanterns grimacing in the distance. Lochlanaire primed cannons on the approaching frigate until, at
Satan’s
Victory’s
shouted stand and deliver, cannon fire was met with cannon fire but not in a hunt for death and destruction, no, it was an ignited welcome. The vessel was the
Ranger
, an ally of the brothers Blackheart. Sincere to their alliance, the captain of the ship did not command a shot fired by which to wound
Satan’s
Victory
.

***

Below stairs, while the ships stood defiantly, not yet aware if friend or foe were in the offing, Siren slept, unaware of any treachery ‘til cannon fire bolted her awake. Stricken of sleep, she dressed, retrieved the saber that swayed across the wall and raced for the door. Here, she found no sentry brandishing pistol or sword. Siren ran the corridor’s length, boarding the ship’s main deck, peering at the ship that prowled, akin to a breath-stealing leviathan. She rushed to the stairs and ascended them to the helm.

To Lochlanaire, Siren scurried. “Who are they?”

Grayson gravely answered, “They are allies.”

“Allies?” Siren’s glance sought Lochlanaire. He did not appear convinced that the ship employed their allegiance, for he cuffed the tiller, his knuckles bloodless.

“Captain Lacy has never been a rival, though the ship is a pirate,” Grayson proudly claimed.

Lacy
? Why did Lochlanaire upon hearing the captain’s name trust that something about it is of gravest importance? Bludgeoning his memory, he could arise no cause for the name to be memorable. This circumstance, however, was hardly unusual, for the voids were still nowhere near filled. He sought Grayson for an explanation, “The name Lacy. It is familiar, why?”

“You and Captain Lacy possess a bit of a past. I’ll allow the captain to remind, Lock.” Grayson smiled and soldiered to the ship’s port flank. The
Ranger
tossed grappling hooks, along with those off
Satan’s
Victory
, chaining the ships together as one vessel.

Captain Aynore Lacy stood tall aboard the quarterdeck rim of her ship, holding a rigging rope, and then the beauty jumped aboard
Satan’s
Victory
, striding to where Lochlanaire, Grayson and a mysterious woman waited. Skirting around the unknown woman, Aynore scampered to challenge Lochlanaire directly. She slapped him across the cheek.

Lochlanaire’s head jerked sideways. Before she could cuff him again, he grabbed her wrist.

Aynore jerked on her arm but failed to free the limb. “Blackguard
thief.
Release me, you bloody blighter,” she seethed, her straight teeth gnarled.

“I’ll unshackle you,
Captain
, when you explain your unwarranted brutality.”

Aynore roared at Lochlanaire, “
Explain
? You
know
precisely why you deserve my wrath!”

Grayson leered throughout Aynore’s conflict with his disgruntled brother. Finally, he interjected, “I fear, Captain Lacy, Lochlanaire secrets no memory of any transgression he may have engaged against you.”

Her freezing blue eyes pitched toward Grayson and Aynore’s waist length blond hair streaked across her perfect oval face; angrily she brushed it aside. “Such is a ridiculous falsehood, Grayson.”

Grayson shrugged. “Nevertheless, Lochlanaire’s memory is barren of you or any tryst he may have incited in the past.”

The captain’s sea blue eyes propelled to Lochlanaire, suspicious. “Is what he professes true?”

Lochlanaire liberated Aynore’s fisted hand. “Aye, my memory is frozen to my reach.”

Aynore twirled away, then she studied Lochlanaire, her head cocked sideways. “You do not remember pillagin’ the plunder we seized from a shipwreck or your deceitful beddin’ of me so you could seduce me into trustin’ you for the purpose of your wicked thievery?”

Lochlanaire’s cheeks flushed. “No, Captain. I do not remember anything of what you’ve described.”

Aynore’s confused glance explored Grayson’s.

Grayson reiterated, “So I said, Lochlanaire’s memory has been shackled in chasms of darkness.”

“How is this possible?”

Lochlanaire could see that Siren was curious about his lapse in memory, too. She relinquished the saber beside the ship’s helm. He could see jealousy ignite in her. Approaching Aynore, Lochlanaire clasped her arm and he ushered her to the ship’s edge. “Perhaps we ought to discuss the situation amid a private chamber.”

Aynore nodded her agreement.

Siren rashly declared, “Pardon my rudeness, Captain Lacy. Lochlanaire’s
present
memory appears faulty as well. He’s forgotten to introduce me. My name is Siren Rain
Blackheart
. Lochlanaire is married to me.”

Aynore laughed. “You
married
, Lochlanaire? How absurd.”

Lochlanaire understood.  Apparently this is the consensus heralded by every woman who was acquainted with him as a scoundrel.

Piqued, Siren chastised, “Nevertheless, Lochlanaire
is
wedded to me. Anything you seek to address ought to be said with me in attendance.”

Lochlanaire wolfishly spun on Siren, baring his viperous teeth. “You do not reign over me, Siren. You forget your position aboard
this
ship, which is prisoner, not sovereign
queen!
”

Fury spiked to the depths of her soul. Siren twirled on her heel and stomped down the stairs. She cut between the ranks of startled crewmen and darted inside the ship’s inner sanctum, disappearing before everyone’s sight.

“Damn it to bloody Hell,” Lochlanaire ranted, having observed his wife’s escape. He gazed at Aynore, composed. “Pardon me, Captain Lacy. I scurry in a hunt for my captive wife.” Lochlanaire loped down the stairs and left Grayson to explain the plight he wallowed amongst.

Grayson boyishly smirked.

Trampling amid the ship in a downward spiral, Siren descended labyrinths of lantern-frothy stairs until she reached the vessel’s bottom, halting outside its cargo hold. Oh, Siren was aware that her husband would simply trail her so she decided to not be such easily captured prey. She searched for a suitable sanctuary by which to hide, but unable to unmask a faultless haven, she retreated into a refuge within which she heard a cow scuffle and chickens cackling. Intrigued, she approached the milking cow that pawed its cage and she rubbed its chin. The animal’s innocent brown eyes hazed. Squawking chickens bustled in the opposite direction of her footfalls. Seeing a black cat slinking along the edge, Siren sat on the floor and cooed for the cat to come to her. The feline crept forward, suspicious at first, then curled up in her lap, lavishing in glory, for her fingers slithered down its satiny fur.

Lochlanaire heaved to a standstill near the cargo door, frozen still by Siren, who soothed the untamed feline. There he leaned, arms folded across his chest. He admired the feral goddess. “A temptress of animals
and
men, I see.”

Siren struggled to not be seduced by him, regaling her attention upon the purring cat. “Why are you here, Lochlanaire? It is quite obvious -- you christen me distasteful.”

He shoved off from the doorway and sauntered toward her. “I find you absolutely delectable, Siren. However, your insidious desire to bind me to you is
distasteful
.”

“It is my only salvation.” Her sober eyes faltered down the cat’s black fur. “Is being wedded to me horrific, Lochlanaire?”

He slouched against an intricately carved column, his right arm hugging the wood. “No, it is not horrific. However, because of the circumstances surrounding our forced union, I cannot say it’s just for either of us. Can you?”

The cat scampered in want of mice to chase. Siren stood. “Would remaining married to me be such a heartache that you could not suffer the agony?” She strolled, halting footfalls shy of his reach.

“I’ll admit…being wedded to such a beauty as you is no heartache.
Devastating
, aye, definitely that, but no heartache. However, with
your
prisoner status and
my
deposition bequeathed to King William, our plight is undeniably flawed.”

“Flawed, yes, but not so dreadfully that our quandary cannot be remedied should
you
wish for it, Lochlanaire. You’ve merely to insist that you’ll not leave me to be unjustly slain. No rational man would expect you to allow your wife to die, surely. If you swear to King William that I’m no threat to his wretched kingdom, since I lay in your arms, perhaps he’ll absolve my heresy.”

Lochlanaire chuckled. “Come, I return to Captain Lacy. I bear questions for her.”

Jealousy tinged Siren’s heart. “I would rather not confront Captain Lacy.”

Lochlanaire forced her to acquiesce, for he strolled to the threshold, her in tow. “As I’ve stated, Siren, these people are portholes for which to open my fractured past. I must salvage the answers to who I am. Can you see I’ll never unbury my future should I not unlock what I’ve done in the past?”

Siren strained to remove her arm from his command but failed. “And if you discover that your past depicts horrendous crimes which are much worse than those you’ve presently gained, what shall you do?”

“I’ll contend with the poison.”

Amidst his quarters, Lochlanaire chained Siren and left her to sulk. Afterward, he ascended the quarterdeck stairs to Grayson and Captain Lacy. Apparently, Captain Lacy was apprised of his ruined past -- she looked confounded. “I see Grayson’s enlightened you of the truth regarding who and what I am.”

“You’re King William’s protector?” Aynore inquired. “All these years I bore no hint.”

Lochlanaire nodded. “Aye.”

“Everythin’ you did was in accordance with King William’s rule?”

Lochlanaire shifted around Aynore to the ship’s port flank, losing himself among the stars twinkling amidst the sky. “So it is decreed.”

“And the last two years of your life were lost to prison for a murder you are innocent of committin’?”

“I killed Elias Larnon but only for evil he twisted against me. I was wronged in the duel, so Grayson assures.” Lochlanaire still was unconvinced of his innocence but he cloistered those lingering afflictions.

“The woman you sail with is?” Aynore wondered.

“Siren Rain is King William’s prisoner.”

“What does he seek with her?”

Lochlanaire hesitated to answer her question. Should he trust this embattled pirate? His distraught gaze tumbled to the ruby signet glimmering his finger that he’d retrieved after chaining Siren in his quarters.

“I see…she somehow threatens the monarch,” Aynore cleverly portrayed.

Lochlanaire broached another subject, “My past with you is obviously of intimacy.”

Aynore smiled. “I cannot profess that we were not intimate, however, Lochlanaire, you’ve always kept shy of a marriage vow…‘til now. Why have you wedded this woman?”

“Convenience, Aynore, and solely urged at pistol point.”

  “Ah, I see. Do you possess feelin’s for the enchantress?”

Lochlanaire mulled, “Something stirs. I’ll not say, alas, if there exists unrequited feelings. Concerning our past, Aynore, how would you describe us?”

“When we first met, my ship was hunted in a terrible trap. I was caught by a blockade employed for the slaughter of pirates. In the clash, my vessel became crippled. You joined the fray, fightin’ off the ship which would have captured mine. We accorded an alliance and sailed alongside each other, huntin’ treasure. Once we began an earnest courtship, you ran, after you stole a ship’s bounty. The vessel we found wrecked on a reef, all aboard were long dead of fever -- it was a merchant ship filled with Spanish gold. We found it aground of the Spanish Main. We agreed to half the treasure. In the night, alas, you sailed. I’ve not seen you since.”

“This must have been when I was jailed for murder in Britain.”

“I suppose.” Aynore shrugged.

Lochlanaire appeared disappointed, for this woman did not shed a veil of light upon his past. “My conquests are unnumbered, I see.”

“Aye. You’ve not surrendered yourself to only one woman.”

Grieved, Lochlanaire clasped hands over the rail. “Grayson informed me regarding my scoundrel improprieties.”

  “You’re different, Lochlanaire, divided of the rogue I am acquainted with.”

“Prison and lack of memory suggests a difference be procured.”

“I imagine.” Aynore broached, “Certainly you no longer hold in your possession the gold we seized.”

Lochlanaire entranced Aynore’s brilliant blue eyes and pronounced, “King William may have usurped it as his bounty. Since I know nothing of the time for which I’ve been indebted unto him, I cannot be sure. I have few possessions, merely those which he’s granted me…my tattered life, such as it is, and resumed assassin stature.”

“Shameful to have lost your past. It must be difficult to continue without knowin’ so much,” confided Aynore.