Blackheart (8 page)

CHAPTER NINE

Pirate Quay

Lochlanaire remained delirious.

For two days and nights, Siren listened to his unconscious ravings, the bulk of which she couldn’t understand. She adorned his feverish forehead beneath damp clothes. She rarely ate, and seldom slept, for if she thought Lochlanaire would relent to slumber, he, instead, challenged phantom titans, his fists thrashing. Siren soothed, whispering, but did not touch him when he did battle, for she remembered the chasm of death she’d been locked amidst when he was prisoner of these demons. Lochlanaire could kill her with his bare hands, never realizing his vileness.

Hazy eyes skimmed the captain’s quarters as Lochlanaire finally awoke. At first, he did not know where he lay, but his glance soon strayed to Siren, who sat near him, her legs tucked under her, one hand propped her head. She had fallen asleep in a damask chair. There was something he should remember but mystically it was pilfered from his mind. Lochlanaire shifted his position. Pain rushed down his body, forcing a throaty groan.

Siren’s attention flicked to her conscious husband. “You must not move, Lochlanaire.”

One hand feathered down his bare chest to his fire-infused side and ringed bandaged flesh. His voice raspy, he asked, “What…happened?”

Siren un-tucked her legs and sat next to him on the bed. “You fought attacking pirates and were shot after you rescued me from a reprehensible blackguard. Does this awaken your memory?”

“I…no.” Lochlanaire shook his head. Chunks of memory loosened from the abyss, but just as he thought to regain them, the visions shattered and drifted beyond his reach.

“Do you recall your name?” Siren asked.

“Lochlanaire Blackheart,” he droned.

“Do you possess my name?”

“Aye, Siren…Rain.”

“Do you remember kidnapping me from Zore?”

Lochlanaire squinted and rubbed his beard’s stubble. “Zore
Blackheart
…he’s my brother and a pirate. You were captive aboard his vessel. I…I invaded his ship...”

“Capturing me.”

“Aye, imprisoning you for…um…bloody King William.”

“Do you remember wedding me?”

Lochlanaire’s eyes swept her body that was improperly silhouetted in pirate garb. “Gypsies…we married at their camp, at pistol point.”

“You remember distinctly.”

Defying Siren’s smile, Lochlanaire struggled to retrieve his dismembered past. Sitting up, he gingerly stood with Siren’s assistance, trudging to the full-length mirror that was anchored upon the wall. Lochlanaire peered upon his reflection, noting his stormy gray eye and the black. “Damn it, there’s almost nothing!”

Siren compelled him from the cruel mirror and insisted, “You’re exhausted. Your memory will gain its foothold. Do not reprimand yourself for its loss, Lochlanaire.”

He couldn’t forbid the delirium of fragmented images, approaching the window -- the haunting dungeon he revisited as if he stood amid the prison, lantern lit, dank, ugly. The death chant echoed. Powerless to silence it, he muttered…“Evil’s cast ye here. Hell has spat ye out. Heaven will not weather ye, prisoner shall ye be. Crazy, crazy, were Satan’s whispers, hang, hang, hang ye, dead, dead, dead ye be.”

Siren shivered, chilled by the song and she recalled him murmuring it in his sleep. Still, she did not understand its relevance. “Do you know what that song signifies?”

Lochlanaire’s hand slid through his hair. “Death hovers in wait at a hangman’s noose, cursing those who war against Satan’s iron truss, possessing no sliver of hope to evade purgatory.”

“Where did you hear it?”

Slowly he lifted his eyes to her. Lochlanaire suddenly remembered -- it was something he’d disguised, not wanting Siren to gain the truth that he was a mercenary who had been locked in an insane asylum within which he’d awaited the hangman’s noose.

Never answering Siren’s question, he soldiered to her and took her hand. He ogled the ruby signet. Lowering his mouth, Lochlanaire took her entire finger therein and tugged the ring loose using his gritted teeth. “I remember everything I require to know, Siren.” He eased the ring to glimmer his pinky.

“Damn you, Lochlanaire, give me my ring.” Siren attempted to clasp the finger that the ring adorned.

“Ah, a pirate’s bounty remains in the pirate’s possession.” Lochlanaire’s arm ringed Siren’s hourglass body, he whipped her within his embrace, ignoring the pain it caused his flesh. “You’re a pirate’s heavenly plunder, are you not?” His mouth descended to hers. He sultrily kissed her. Siren’s fingers splayed across his naked chest, intending to push herself away, but his tongue pierced her mouth. She melted in his treasonous web.

A knock pounding on the door compelled Lochlanaire to free her lips, but his eyes never wavered from Siren’s. His hold over her tightened. “Aye?”

Grayson pushed on the door and peeked around it, then threw the door broadly, noting his brother who held Siren captive in his arms.

She blushed and squirmed free of Lochlanaire’s hold, retreating to the window, smothering the longing to lie within his enrapturing embrace.

Grayson studied his brother, finding Lochlanaire bemused by his devious sin. “I see you return to the livin’, Lock. I come declarin’ that we’ve sighted land. An island…Pirate Quay.”

“Pirate Quay?” Lochlanaire spoke to Grayson but his eyes strayed to Siren’s rigid form, roving down her body.

Witnessing Lochlanaire’s inattentiveness, Grayson sternly replied, “It is a haven for pirates, buccaneers and corsairs. We may replenish the ship for its continued journey, such is wise.”

“Aye, sail to the island.” At Grayson’s leave-taking, Lochlanaire moved behind Siren. She did not acknowledge him. Lochlanaire cuffed her arm, turning her to confront him. “You return to captivity. I wouldn’t want you to jump ship owing to our forthcoming anchorage.”

“You distrust me?”

Lochlanaire’s eyebrow arched. “Trust is nary an issue, Siren. Come.”

Her stare meant to crucify him. “I’ve sat by you, nursing you every day. I could have murdered you, Lochlanaire. Your pistol lays footfalls to my reach. I could have availed of it at any time.”

He reminded, “Aye, you could, but the pirates aboard this ship would have slaughtered you for daring. You’re no fool, lady, that’s clear or you’d have shot me days ago.”

“Or, I’ve seen that something exists between us.”

“Something neither of us cares to dig too deeply into,” he countered.

“You married me.”

Lochlanaire shrugged. “So you’ve reminded me countless times. Since our union was delivered under the offense of wretchedness, it is a hollow frivolity.”

“Not to me, Lochlanaire. You took from me what no other man ever has. I
gave
myself to you, willingly,” Siren attested, outraged.

Wrestling her to the bed, Lochlanaire clenched the chain and iron, positioning the cuff around her wrist, locking it. “Aye, you did, but my ravishment of you was ordained because our lives were threatened…it is insignificant.”

“I refuse to believe, Lochlanaire, that you can defile a virgin and just discard such to the wolves. Your conscience cannot simply deny the fact that you’re wedded to me.”

“Oh, did I forget to tell you? I’m an
unconscionable
killer…that means I feel no guilt. I took your virginity because I bore no bloody choice.”

Siren viciously roared, “You disgusting rogue! I’ll hate you for eternity, Lochlanaire, I promise you.
Eternity
!”

Having whirled away, Lochlanaire twirled on his heel. He darted to her and clenched Siren’s arm. Dragging her to his chest, he kissed her. Siren shuddered to her soul, wild for him. Her unchained hand scorched his godly chest. Liberating her lips, he grinned. “I presume that lusty kiss proves your hatred of me is a falsehood. Does it not?”

Siren shoved against his chest.

Lochlanaire chuckled, released her and strolled to where his clothes were stored. He removed a shirt and left Siren to seethe.

Siren grabbed the water pitcher and threw it at the door. Water splashed across the wood floor. The pitcher dropped with a thump. “Damn you, Lochlanaire. I
curse
the day I met you, you hideous
cad
! I curse
you
!”

Lochlanaire paid no heed to Siren’s curses, entirely aware that his infuriating of her was purposefully tailored. It was best for her to detest him. With such he found it easier for him to govern himself to his accord with King William. Swearing off his dismayed thoughts, Lochlanaire retreated aboard the helm. Grayson stood, spyglass risen to his surveying eye.

“Zore?”

Grayson shook his head, lowering the spyglass. “Two ships lie at anchor. I do not recognize either.”

Lochlanaire regained the captaincy, though his right side ached for his treachery.

Grayson considered his brother. “Why seduce the woman, Lochlanaire?”

Lochlanaire acknowledged, “She’s more inclined to surrender to my desire if she’s governed by the heart.”

“Ah, you plot for her to fall for you, then, with little vexation, you shall gift your captive to King William.”

“Aye.”

“It is quite the intrigue you knot. I wonder if you shall be caught in the snare yourself,” Grayson apprised.

“You think I cannot forsake her when necessary?” Lochlanaire scowled, distraught.

Grayson affirmed, “Perhaps. She’s a gorgeous temptress. Few could reject her seduction.” Thoughtful, he rubbed his chin. “Why do we sail with her request?”

Needful of a distraction, Lochlanaire pondered the sails billowing under the breeze. “Siren claims a sister exists, her twin, a woman who is completely unaware of her kinship to King James II and her threat to King William. This sister could double my reward if we enslave her.”

“Double treasure, double threat, say I.”

“My unease is that Zore’s already learned of the sister’s existence and he’s sailed, hunting her.”

“Thus her life is exceptionally endangered. Zore would rather butcher than imprison. A treacherous king cares little if he receives the whole prize. The severed head of the maiden is sufficient proof, especially if she bears a resemblance to the lass we chain below ship.”

“Such I’ve considered. This signet,” Lochlanaire stretched his pinky outward, the sun glinted the ruby. “Perhaps another exists, a twin treasure so beautifully jeweled. King James is no fool. He must assume that if he never reclaims the throne then perhaps his children, even those illicitly bred, could stake a claim, but they required something of him, a trinket providing ancestral testimony.”

“
Two
rings?”

“What other talisman for evidence proving their claim on the British throne?”

Grayson couldn’t derive another source. “Seems sufficient.”

As the island’s towering peaks appeared in his sights, Lochlanaire wished to silence malevolent musings. Siren’s rapturous body and angry eyes seared his mind. Instead of the slivery tiller, he felt her silky flesh beneath his hands. Grayson, he fretted, might be correct in his assumption of his inability to deny her, but his freedom -- no, his
life
-- demanded that he recover the power. He must seduce the woman in order to keep her acquiescence, but what should prevail if he couldn’t suppress her touch of his heart? What Siren said, reminding him of his wedding and ravishing of her bit as sharks teeth. Could he renounce her after loving her body so lustfully and not once, several times he’d bedded her? Suddenly his thoughts swirled evermore grotesque…what if Siren became with child…could he sacrifice her
and
his unborn babe?

Oh, what fiendishness life ruinously reaped.

***

Anchored in the harbor glimmering Pirate Quay, the ship,
Satan’s
Victory
swam. Lochlanaire ordered time off vessel. The pirates aboard were authorized to row ashore in clusters in the hopes of keeping them tied to some semblance of restraint, although he believed his expectation for opposing their atrocities was a frivolous thought.

Grayson having told him that a boarding house was structured mid hill of the island, where meals could be taken in relative quiet, Lochlanaire decided to escort Siren to this log cabin but only if she promised not to leave his side. He did not wish to lure attention to himself or the ship if he chaperoned her about the streets under imprisonment of chains and irons.

Lochlanaire tread across the captain’s quarters and was pierced by Siren’s eyes, which quite clearly attested to her detestation of him. He unlocked the iron.

Siren observed him, curious of why he offered this freedom.

“Pledge not to escape me and you row ashore with me for a meal to be supped at the boarding house. Decline to utter such oath and I leave you here to rot,” he chastised.

Siren itched to spew words of loathing, instead she agreed to his accord, “I shall walk alongside Your Lordship as though chains arrest my feet to yours. Are my words sufficient testimony,
Captain
Blackheart?”

Lochlanaire nodded. “Heed me wisely, Siren. My hand is quick. I’ll slay you if you disobey.” He cuffed the sword hilt that swayed next to his hip.

Siren relented, curtsying.

Aboard deck, Lochlanaire and Siren descended the rope and wood ladder to the longboat where it swished the water. Once she sat on a plank seat, Lochlanaire rowed them to the island hamlet. After he assisted Siren to walk the log pier, they strolled amidst the quaint town. Structured appeared log cabins, a carpenter applied his trade, crafting longboats ashore. A tavern was noisily immersed, melodies wafted, men off those ships anchored drank and gamed. Siren was reminded of the Virginian, conjuring the phantom who sat amongst the darkness of its shadows, that fiend, her abductor, Zore. She silenced the vision, lazing beside Lochlanaire, who clasped her cocked elbow.

A buxom woman, beholding a mop of coiffed, glaring red hair, the throat of her matching gown barely covering bulging breasts, exited a shop, bumping Lochlanaire, who in turn jostled Siren. She foraged for her balance. “Oh, my, excuse my clumsy rudeness.” Arising, Irish green eyes explored his. She was nearly jarred upon her knees. “Gracious be the Devil,
Lochlanaire?”

Not recognizing this garishly dressed female, Lochlanaire stammered, “Do… do… um… am I acquainted with you?”

She blushed to ruby roots, fingers strumming her chest. “My word, I ought to say. We’ve had occasion to become closer than close.
Intimately
. You remember, surely?” She smiled.

Confused, Lochlanaire looked at Siren, who was angrily fuming. Once more, he turned his attention to the woman. “Perhaps a name refreshes my wayward memory?”

“Claressa.”

Lochlanaire could see that Claressa was beginning to be miffed owing to the fact that he couldn’t recall her. He professed, “My memory, Claressa, is clouded. My past, I regret to inform, is nonexistent.”

Claressa flinched. “My word. You do not remember the devilish times you lay naked in my arms?”

Lochlanaire gulped. “You must pardon me, Claressa. My dreadfully devastated memory steals even a dalliance so undeniably pleasurable.” He smiled enticingly.

Siren huffed, arms woven across her chest, agitated by this scandalous conversation. She snappily spoke to the indecent strumpet, “Pardon my indelicacy, but as Lochlanaire is
my
husband
, I believe I ought to introduce myself…my name is Siren
Blackheart.
”

The woman rebuffed. “
Married
? You, Lochlanaire? I hardly trust such a ridiculous affirmation.”

Siren reprimanded, “That’s correct; he married
me
, not someone such as
you
...”

Claressa flushed with Siren’s obvious defamation of her character and brooked a step, intending to slash her fist across Siren’s face.

Lochlanaire stepped between his wife and the irate strumpet, curtailing their hunt for bloodshed. “Ladies, please, a tussle is hardly necessary.” Speaking to Claressa, he soothed, “I’m sure you understand, Claressa, my marriage now begs that propriety dictate my actions. I admit, our time together must have been delightful. Alas, this day I vow that my hand belongs to another. I declare myself engaged in matrimony. A woman of your magnificence sympathizes, assuredly.” He winked.

Claressa nodded, fluffing curly locks. “I shall miss our heavenly trysts, Lochlanaire, nevertheless.” She curtsied, revealing much of her chest to his discerning eyes. Afterward, she glowered at Siren, nobly taking her leave, hips sashaying.

“What a disgusting whore,” grumbled Siren.

His head cocked sideways, Lochlanaire pondered Claressa’s leave-taking, surmising head to toe, imagining the woman naked.

Siren fired indignation. “Lochlanaire, don some rule of propriety and cease in drooling.” Her fingers stabbed his side where he’d been shot.