Blackheart (27 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Avenger

Aynore was reluctantly permitted to visit Siren, who sat manacled inside the captain’s quarters. She could not, however, speak to Siren alone. Thorn accompanied, suspicious that she bore illicit intentions in mind. With the viperous beast hovering, Aynore couldn’t explain to Siren what she wanted to, concerning Lochlanaire’s survival of his pistol shot and him disguising himself aboard the
Ranger.

Aynore manifested devilishness.

Striding to where Siren sat, chained to a pillar that was anchored alongside the luxurious golden-posted bed, Aynore witnessed the detestation Siren beheld for her. Siren, apparently, had been apprised of her betrayal. “Siren, I’ve come to see to you. Are you harmed?”

Siren rose her iron clad fist and slashed Aynore’s cheek.

Aynore’s head flung sideways and one hand cupped her stinging flesh.

“How could
you
? At your heartless tyranny, Lochlanaire was shot and could lie dead. You’re a traitor,
Captain
Lacy,” Siren shouted, defying tears.

Afar, Thorn snickered.

Aynore ignored Thorn. She bore no choice but to understand Siren’s anger, hanging her head in despair. “Your fury and disgust are warranted, Siren. There were, alas, circumstances which forced me to enter a web I could never hope to abandon.”

“That heinous web obviously bore little to do with honor. You lied, Aynore. You
deceived
Lochlanaire and Grayson, siding with this deviant. You allowed Thorn to seize his blood vengeance.”

“Aye, I’m guilty, Siren.” Studying Thorn, who paced as a famished lion, Aynore whispered, “My allegiance has altered, Siren. The plight entanglin’ us…both, you and I…has twirled amidst another’s protection, a dark avenger’s, one who
was
dishonorable, but since rejected his terrors.”

Siren did not completely understand her riddle, but she sensed that Aynore coveted for her to comprehend that her quandary was not as disastrous as she thought. “You speak in riddles, Aynore. Be clear,” Siren followed Aynore’s lead and spoke in a muted murmur.

Aynore pretended to address Siren’s raw wrists. Peeking surreptitiously at Thorn, Aynore nodded. “Aye. If I do not speak in riddles, we both will die, grotesquely. Bide your time, Siren. Never provoke Thorn or your life you’ll forfeit.”

Clearing his throat, Thorn reprimanded and paused beside the door, “Time’s up, Aynore. You’ve seen Siren.  She’s in fair health. We leave.”

Aynore huffily departed the cabin.

***

Siren was left to question Aynore’s bizarre words and deceptive actions. Could Grayson or Lochlanaire have boarded this ship? How? Both were shot, violently pitched to the ocean’s drowning waters as the leviathan
Royal
swept the sea. How could either be strong enough after being so wounded to defy their pain and weakened stature in order to board the
Royal
with its hasty departure? It appeared impossible. But Aynore said that an avenger is near, one who
was
once sinister. Lochlanaire? Summoned to hope, Siren prayed for her savior’s life, although she felt encumbered that Lochlanaire lied to her about his alliance with King William. Oh how she wished that Thorn had not interrupted Lochlanaire’s admission regarding his ransom before the shootings. She could have learned if he indeed would be defeated by the sacrifice of his title, landholding, privateer decree and freedom, everything of which depends on him yielding her to a blood-lusty king. Was the love she cosseted for Lochlanaire sufficient enough for him to revoke his warrant tendered to King William? It seemed to be too enormous a sacrifice.

Siren withered on the cold floor, yanking on the chain imprisoning her to the pillar. The shackles never budged. Tears trickled down her face. Somehow she must gain courage, trusting Aynore and that an avenger would spare her of Thorn’s lethal violations.

Is Lochlanaire alive?

***

Unconscious, Lochlanaire dwarfed Aynore’s bed, his breathing strained, a fever heating his body. Nightmares besieged, but in waking of those dreams, he found that the nightmares were not false. He indeed was shot by Thorn, a brother of whom he did not even remember, the blackguard who imprisoned him for Elias Larnon’s death. Thorn is the wretch who constantly sang the death chant that echoed in his shattered consciousness, urging him to madness.

The nightmares repressed, Lochlanaire studied the lantern lit cabin. Aynore was nowhere in attendance. He grappled with his body, struggling to sit. Lochlanaire sheathed Aynore’s knife within his boot and he was about to attempt to stand when she burst inside her cabin.

“Lochlanaire, you ought to lie abed.” Aynore rushed to him, helping him sit on the chair she’d earlier pulled close to the bed, having kept vigil as he slept.

“Did you discover Siren’s whereabouts?”

“Aye. She’s shackled in the locked captain’s cabin. Thorn’s chained her to a pillar.”

“Did you speak to her?” Lochlanaire was heartsick in hearing Siren’s miserable fate.

“Thorn would not allow me to see her without him in attendance. She was outraged because of my betrayal, understandably. I ignored that and told her that an avenger hovers nearby.”

“Siren understood your riddle?”

“I think so. Alas, because I couldn’t say that you’re alive and you are her avengin’ angel, I cannot be certain,” stated Aynore, troubled.

Lochlanaire roamed to the desk, fingering its ornate carved edge. “I cannot dally abed, and do nothing while a scoundrel enchains Siren.”

“You’re in love with her,” Aynore declared.

“What?” Lochlanaire pitched his bewildered eyes to Aynore.

“You are. You love Siren.”

Aynore’s declaration bruised. Lochlanaire wondered how she could uncloak his feelings when he had not untwisted them. “Love is the heart’s ill affliction. It muddles the mind to craziness.”

“Those are Grayson’s caustic words,” chastised Aynore.

Lochlanaire admonished, “Aye, they are. It is foolish, Aynore. An assassin dares not love, a
pirate
cannot love. You’re aware of the failings if we permit that tragedy to overpower us. Death slithers the darkness, prepared to strike as a devil serpent against anyone innocently lovin’ us scallywags.”

“Oh, I’m aware. Grayson, quite obviously, apprised you ‘bout the devastation love executes. Such, however, does nothin’ to assuage the emotion, Lochlanaire. You cannot deny what you feel simply because of the catastrophic consequences you may or may not confront.”

Plagued, Lochlanaire wilted against the desk, his left leg crossed over the other’s ankle. “If I confess my feelings to Siren, she’ll only reject me owing to all the falsehoods I’ve devastatingly uttered,” he muttered to himself more than to Aynore.

“What falsehoods?”

“Aboard the
Royal
, before he shot me and Grayson, Thorn revealed to Siren that my freedom, the pardon of Elias’ murder, the privateer decree, the manor and the ships I was to gain, the title Marquis of Braighton, all depend on my forfeiting her to King William. If I rebel against the decree I signed, I’ll commit treason.”

“The king threatens your life?”

“I’ll be beheaded. I agreed to the insidiousness. I signed the declaration. It rests, this moment, within the captain’s quarters inside
Satan’s
Victory’s
hull. That is, undoubtedly, where Thorn read the parchment and unmasked my offensive lies.”

“Siren believes you’ll abandon her to King William?”

“She dares not presume otherwise. I’ve always said our marriage is a farce and my mark appropriated by King William must be fulfilled under the yoke of knightly honor. I told her I would never submit to anyone other than the monarch whose hangman’s noose strangles my throat.” Lochlanaire was desperate to spin backward through time and revoke his words spoken to Siren in sedition.

“But the child?” Aynore reminded.

Feeling knifed to his ragged soul, Lochlanaire clutched the wine decanter behind him and poured a drink, offering a filled goblet to Aynore. “The child, Siren trusts, never defied my injustices. How could she think differently? I am her mother’s executioner. That crime alone boils her to revulsion of me. There are too many travesties, which may never be forgiven.”

Unable to procure an answer to his plight, Aynore drank her wine. “What are we to do now?”

Lochlanaire sneered. “I am going to twirl my villain brother farther into the bowels of madness. Aynore, slaughter a chicken. Bring its drained blood to me.”

“Why?”

“Never mind why. Do what I suggest. The remainder is for me to procure.”

Troubled, Aynore went in search of the cook.

At Aynore’s return, she surrendered to Lochlanaire a blood-filled urn, noting that he’d buckled a scabbard around his waist, a sword sheathed within it. Accepting the urn, and another knife, Lochlanaire threw open the cabin door. He snaked along the ship, scarcely stirring a breeze.

***

Upon his return to the captain’s quarters that night, Thorn walked the corridor, which leads there. Distracted, he unlocked his cabin door. Smelling a horrid stench surrounding him, he walked to the closest unlit lantern. Thorn availed of a flint and lit the swaying lamp.

What Thorn saw infuriated…

Blood soiled the passage walls in trickling ruby streaks. Amidst the carnage, Thorn found, tarnishing one wall a message spiked in its heart, beholding an ominous knife and scribed with drippy blood.

Triumphant you’ll not be, Thorn

You die

Thorn stomped aboard the deck, wildly searching for anyone who might feign to be his shot brother. He uncovered only distraught crewmen, who gawked at him, disconcerted by his deviant behavior, for he asked if they’d seen Lochlanaire aboard the ship.

***

Entrenched in the darkness within which Thorn couldn’t see, Lochlanaire sneered, witnessing his brother’s turmoil. Lochlanaire roamed to the captain’s quarters, eased the door a sliver and peeked at Siren. She sat asleep, wilted on the floor, irons ringing her wrists, chained to the farthest pillar. Seeing for himself that she’s unharmed, he silently shut the door, assured that Thorn would return ere he could free his wife.

Lochlanaire sheltered himself amongst blackness. Buried within a crewman’s quarters, he found a foot length black satin cloak, it possessed a billowy hood, just his size. Grinning at his acquisition, Lochlanaire whipped the cloak across his shoulders. The satin flapping under his broad footfalls, he cut across the ship’s entrails, unseen, a bloodthirsty vampire perched to bite.

Lucifer had risen from Hell’s fiery dungeons.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Satan’s Labyrinth

In the days en route to Satan’s Labyrinth, Lochlanaire cornered Thorn aboard the
Royal
, and ghostly whispered to him from lantern-doused corridors, throwing knives and swords whenever he caught him alone. Thorn was always haloed by darkness. All he ever saw with chasing the phantom was an ominous black cloak and never did he seize the ghoul. But what besieged Thorn poisonously was the death chant that he’d sung to Lochlanaire when he had been incarcerated. The song echoed wickedly. Thorn suspected that the crewmen aided Lochlanaire in his quest for vengeance. Lochlanaire must have boarded the ship. Thorn, nevertheless, discovered no proof of his scoundrel brother’s existence. He ate little and slept even less.

The strain began to take its toll.

Once finished with his torture of Thorn for the night, Lochlanaire retreated to Aynore’s cabin, where he took sanctuary. He and Aynore discussed what could occur at Satan’s Labyrinth and how they might switch the tide to their triumphant victory.

***

This night, while lying upon Aynore’s bed, secluded in the cabin, Lochlanaire slept but not peacefully. He was violated by nightmares in which Siren damned him for his atrocities. Lochlanaire, then, found himself fighting for his life on Execution Dock, drowning within the River Thames as it surged over his body, a hangman’s noose crushing his throat. Jumping awake, Lochlanaire lurched for the pistol he’d secluded beneath his pillow.

Aynore whooshed open the door, running to him, and she spouted, “Thorn’s dragged Siren aboard the
Royal’s
main deck, a knife held against her throat. He demands that you reveal your presence, Lochlanaire, or he’ll cut her throat.”

Lochlanaire vaulted to his feet and discarded the cabin. He boarded the
Royal
and observed the crewmen who somberly surrounded their captain. Thorn stepped in a lazy circle, holding Siren cradled against her executioner’s chest. Thorn’s broad bladed knife he’d poised across her pulse. “Show yourself, assassin, or I’ll slit her throat.”

Behind concealing ale casks, Lochlanaire shouted, “Slay her and you’re dead, Thorn. You’ve one chance to live and that is only if you free Siren.”

Thorn couldn’t track the disembodied threat. “Lochlanaire, if that’s you, tyrant, I’m not foolin’ with you and your bloody trickery.
Show
yourself!”

Siren was befuddled by this bizarre conversation.
Is
Lochlanaire alive and aboard the
Royal
?

“Kill her. See what happens to
you,
bastard,” roared Lochlanaire’s retort.

His maliciousness contested, Thorn bore no intention of slaying Siren. She’s too treasured alive. He merely hoped to entice the menace into the open so he could cut
his
throat. It was to no avail. “I’ll reveal your bloody identity, then I’ll skin you alive!”

Lochlanaire’s devious laughter echoed. Silence, thereafter, prevailed.

Thorn gave Siren a mighty shove toward the passage, which would take them to the captain’s quarters. Siren battled him all the way and shrieked, “Lochlanaire, escape his trap!
Run, run
!”

Thorn growled with her folly and hauled Siren to her prison. He chained her to the pillar and slapped her cheek for her audacity in shouting to her brigand husband. “Lochlanaire dies, Siren. Nothin’ thwarts my revenge.” Whirling on his heel, Thorn stomped across the cabin, abandoning Siren to the stinging tears, which brightened her fretful eyes. Shaky fingers cupped her bruised cheek. The chains clattered.

***

Lochlanaire returned to the
Ranger,
as the menacing phantom he’d become. Amidst the captain’s quarters, he confronted Aynore. “Thorn threatened to kill Siren. I challenged his ruse. He surrendered the fight.” Lochlanaire nonchalantly shrugged. “She’s too valuable a prize, Aynore. Thorn cannot cut Siren’s throat. It was a bluff.”

Aynore was not completely convinced. “If you push him too demonically, Lochlanaire, Thorn could slay her, just to destroy you.”

“Ah, fortune proposes otherwise. Thorn possesses nothing of the knowledge regarding my feelings for Siren. He, as well, is not certain, absolutely, that his persecutor is me. Therefore, Thorn will stay his cursed hand until he unfolds my identity.” Settling upon the bed, Lochlanaire considered the confrontation with Thorn and Zore, one assassin dueling two cunning cutthroats. Those are tricky odds. However, Aynore could be the key to his survival
and
Siren’s. As well, he must consider Grayson –
if
his brother still lives.

Lochlanaire fell asleep, burdened by all the vipers enveloping him.

***

Eclipsed beneath the night shroud, the
Ranger
and the
Royal
anchored, avoiding the waters of Satan’s Labyrinth’s treachery where the ships wouldn’t be swept to death in the ferocious tide that claimed the lives of countless unsuspecting seafarers. Near the helm, Lochlanaire motioned. A longboat lowered down the
Ranger’s
flank
where Thorn couldn’t see. A crewman, garbed in black, rowed the boat to the island along the fissure that would grant his anchorage without contestation. Lochlanaire suspected that Zore would insist that they rendezvous inward of the island at the rock ring formation, known for the witches’ incantations and sacrilegious rituals. This was the location at which the crewman off the
Ranger
would dispatch the missive Lochlanaire wrote to Zore.

Carrying out his duties, the pirate slipped the letter under a rock on the blood-stained altar. He departed the island, harried by the scrutinizing ghosts who muttered in wails of those who previously died upon this isle of perfidy.

The
Vengeance
sequestered to sight behind the island, Zore waited, ensconced underneath a spindly tree, the crewman from the
Ranger
unseeing. He allowed the
Ranger’s
pirate to depart unscathed, and then Zore trampled to the rock, anchoring the parchment, jading the altar stone. Zore removed the missive and unfolded the letter. He read…

Zore,

With my letter, you’ll know I’m not aboard

Satan’s
Victory
.

I sail covertly with Aynore aboard the
Ranger
. I come bearing

evil -- Thorn Blackheart is the blood brother of

Elias Larnon and was the man who had me condemned

for murder. Thorn shot Grayson and me while we hunted the treasure the

signets depict. Thorn pillaged the ship he presently captains,

the
Royal
, which is the only treasure to be unearthed on

Legend Island. I offer this information to you as redemption for previous ills and beg you to trust me. Beware…your life is threatened by

Thorn. He’s insane. I plead

for you to free Shevaun and Siren,

granting to you my life for theirs. Surrender Shevaun to

Aynore. I’ll walk this island to you without contestation, nary a shot fired.

Lochlanaire

Zore mulled. He could seize Lochlanaire in his stranglehold and at no bloodshed if he released Shevaun, however, it was his desire to sail her
and
Siren to King William. Unfortunately, if he did not submit to Lochlanaire’s truce, all he’d have in his possession is Shevaun. She is not the woman King William covets, cradling no signet in her guardianship by which to prove her ancestral lineage to King James II.

Zore’s everlasting want is Lochlanaire.

If Zore captures Lochlanaire and returns the assassin to England, testifying of his treason spelled against King William, he’d be bequeathed everything Lochlanaire was bestowed in his hunt for Siren: a grand title, manor, perhaps the ships awarded to Lochlanaire and his freedom to scour the seas, chasing innocents for which to plunder and pillage as pirate.

But what of Thorn and his vengeance?

If what Lochlanaire wrote was sincere, Thorn had turned traitor on the Blackheart brothers, meaning he’d sailed to Satan’s Labyrinth, seeking to slaughter
him
.

Perhaps Zore could twirl the wheels of injustice himself.

Thoughtful, Zore returned to his ship. Boarding the
Vengeance,
he strode through his quarters, disregarding Shevaun, who sat, imprisoned upon the bed, her shackled wrists raw. Zore clutched his quill and ink. Fluidly he scribed on the parchment back of which Lochlanaire messengered to him.

Lochlanaire

I accept your terms and the surrender of your life to me. However, you must prove yourself trustworthy.

At Thorn’s death, I’ll release Shevaun to Aynore.

Z

Zore refolded the parchment and grabbed the double crossbow and an arrow. He hurried off his ship and rowed his longboat to the island, mooring the vessel. Zore cut across the land to the point at which he could see the two ships where they slumbered. Gracing the sharp tip of a sea-splashed shoal, Zore speared the parchment and shot the arrow and its letter aboard the
Ranger
.

The arrow struck the
Ranger’s
port edge. Lochlanaire was summoned to its impaling and he withdrew the spike and its missive. Curious, he explored the rocky shoal’s point and noted Zore standing, drenched beneath blackness. Speaking to Aynore, Lochlanaire icily declared, “Zore accepts my truce, alas, he requests that I kill Thorn to prove myself trustworthy.”

Aynore walked with Lochlanaire down the stairs descending from the helm. “He could lie. You’ve no cause to trust Zore.”

“I trust nary a soul, Aynore.” Lochlanaire halted shy of sight of the
Royal’s
spying eyes. “Deliver this missive to Thorn.”

Watching him stride away, Aynore fluttered the folded parchment, reading Lochlanaire’s message…

Thorn

We meet on Satan’s Labyrinth at sunrise.

Aynore thought what Lochlanaire was doing would only entomb him in death either by Zore, Thorn, or both. Nevertheless, she accepted their alliance, delivering the parchment missive to Thorn at the
Royal’s
tiller. She feigned a tale where she’d encountered the letter aboard her ship, never seeing its deliverer.

Certain Thorn was entirely distracted, Aynore roved across the main deck. She drifted to the passage leading to the captain’s quarters. At the entry, she withdrew a thin-bladed knife from the sheath in her boot and turned the door’s lock, jarring it open. Aynore rushed to Siren, squeezed her shoulder and wakened the woman.

“We hurry, Siren. Thorn could return any moment,” Aynore soberly spoke.

Siren looked perplexed. “What…are you doing?”

“Releasin’ you.” Piercing the locks within the shackles, Aynore battled to open them.

“Is Lochlanaire aboard this ship?” Siren’s heart quaked with her inquiry. She prayed for the answer not to be soul-breaking.

Aynore murmured, “Aye, Siren. He intends to sacrifice his life for Shevaun’s. Lochlanaire’s sworn to Zore that he’ll slay Thorn, provin’ Zore can trust him submissive. He’s delivered a missive to Zore. Zore’s agreed to liberate Shevaun to me but only
after
Lochlanaire kills Thorn. Lochlanaire and Thorn meet on the island with sunrise.”

“What? No. Lochlanaire cannot. Zore will never keep his word. He’s blood-hungry,” Siren insisted, sickened.

Aynore clicked open the locks and withdrew the manacles from Siren’s tattered wrists. “You, Siren, may be the only person who can sway Lochlanaire from his rendezvous with Thorn.”

“Yes, but we risk Shevaun’s life if he refuses.” Siren was torn between desperation to spare the life of the man she loved and freeing Shevaun from malevolent danger.

Aynore straightened, helping Siren to stand. “Aye, but Thorn is unaware that my allegiance now favors Lochlanaire. We shall whirl the tables on all. Zore and Thorn never suspect me of any treachery, nor do they suspect you. Come, we run.”

Tiptoeing along the corridor, Aynore and Siren blew out the lanterns in the course, eclipsing their footsteps in shadow, assured that if someone came to the captain’s quarters, they wouldn’t be seen. Veiled under the stoop threshold, Aynore searched for Thorn and saw him aboard the helm, speaking to a paltry faction of his loyal crewmen. Aynore signaled for Siren to escape to her ship that the grappling hooks tethered.

Aboard the
Ranger
, Siren scampered across the deck to the corridor that would bring them to the captain’s quarters. Aynore kept watch and then the two of them hurried amidst the passage and burst inside Aynore’s quarters.

Lochlanaire jumped to his feet, his pistol poised in bloodlessly fisted hand. He dropped the weapon and dashed to Siren. He folded her between his arms, and he kissed her passionately.

“You’re alive. I thought the worst.” Tears cracked her voice as urgently Siren held him, her eyes exploring Lochlanaire’s.

“Aynore freed you?”

Siren nodded, glancing at Aynore, who graced the cabin’s threshold.

Lochlanaire nodded to Aynore, grateful to her.

Warding off her starvation for him, Siren scolded, “You cannot rendezvous with Thorn, Lochlanaire. He’ll slaughter you.”

Piqued, Lochlanaire broke their embrace. “It’s decided, Siren. I’ve accorded an alliance with Zore. He’ll release Shevaun to Aynore once Thorn’s dead.”

“You
trust
Zore’s word as valid?” Siren was stunned by his confession.

Lochlanaire defied his chastising wife. “No. I distrust everything Zore says. However, I trust
him
over Thorn. Aye, the two lust for my blood to flow, but Zore’s anxious for something else…riches. Owing to the truth that the treasure sought with the signets is only a ship and Zore’s learned nothing of the
Royal’s
gold inlay, such leaves
me
as his only treasure. Zore must keep me alive in order yield to King William, relinquishing me so to receive his ransom for my treason in not sailing you to the king. Shevaun bears no treasure for him, for the signets lie in your guardianship. She, therefore, is simply of use to lure me amongst the fatal warren.”

“You think this ransom King William might grant sufficient to stay Zore’s depravity?” Siren looked skeptical.

“Zore thirsts for blood. He’ll receive that end with my death. It matters little if it is achieved by his knife-thrust or the king’s. But at the monarch’s, he believes he’ll collect a substantial reward. If Zore butchers me outright, he’ll not grasp any gain other than my death. It is trivial for a man who thinks he’s lost so much. Zore will not kill me, not yet, that only leaves Thorn.”

“
Only?
” Siren advanced on her husband. “Thorn’s madness bleeds him to villainy you cannot comprehend, Lochlanaire.”

“You’re mistaken, Siren. I’m as crazed as he is. The difference is
I’m
an accomplished assassin. Thorn’s merely a vengeful monster.”

Siren shook her head. “I thought you dead once, Lochlanaire. It nearly destroyed me. I cannot lose you.” Tears brightened her eyes.

Lochlanaire’s finger poised under her chin lifted her woeful eyes to seek his. “I surrender to death, if not with Thorn’s treachery, or Zore’s, then at King William’s. I cannot forsake the reaper’s sickle, Siren. I’m cursed. However, I can be the knightly savior you once named me. With my confession to King William, I’ll claim that I killed you and failed to gain his treasure. He’ll behead me for my defiance and it ends. You and Shevaun must seize the
Royal
and vanish. Never look back.”