Other Oceans: Book Two of the Hook & Jill Saga (82 page)

Smee kept Jill moving to the fore until he pushed her into the shelter of the gunwale. She pulled her gaze from the mayhem to give him a desperate, questioning stare. “Conor! What can you be meaning?”

Casting a look around for peril first, Smee gazed down upon her. His eyes sparkled behind his spectacles. “Only this,” with one hand clutching his cutlass, Smee snatched her into his arms. He lifted her chin and held it. Then, leaning close, he murmured a dear, familiar phrase.

“‘…my love.’”

He kissed her.

Without thinking, Jill responded to those words: Hook’s words. She let her arms accept him. With the noise of battle all around, the lost captain’s companions— one man and one woman— joined together.

Jill’s heart leapt up inside her, as if convinced this kiss came from Hook himself. Like a tidal wave, the current of his embrace carried her above the conflict. She was floating. Just for a moment, a flash of time, her toes deserted the deck. Then the clash and clamor surrounded her again, the boards were rough beneath her feet— and Smee was gone.

Jill caught herself and steadied. There was a battle to be won. She had no intention of hiding in the gunwales. The blue of her eyes turned steely as she tucked away her diamonds. Pulling Hook’s dagger from her sash, she looked first for her sons. Hook had seen to their training; Nibs and Tom were manfully handling the fray.

Jill searched the deck of
L’Ormonde
. Swords rang, blazing in the sunlight. By the mainmast, the white cloth on the table was stained scarlet, goblets lay scattered. The Frenchmen’s blue coats mingled with the colors of the pirates. This fight was unanticipated, and Jill perceived that, reluctant to massacre men they considered companions, both crews were marking time, straining to make out the intentions of their captains. Jill looked up to find the rigging bereft of men. No menace there— nor a savior. Dreading the scene that most affected her, Jill braced herself and looked to her lovers.

Cecco and Hanover fought at each others’ throats. Their sword hilts crossed, their faces hung inches apart. Cecco’s eye held a murderous glint as he set his jaw and shoved. Hanover, his sandy hair disheveled, leaned into the struggle, his teeth gritted and his feet braced against the boards. Jill took in the sight of them, and, in her mind, she heard the voice of authority resonate again.

He had commanded her to choose.

She felt the leather pouch within her bosom. She remembered the feel of that bag in her fingers, when it was full…heavy and bulging. And she recalled the looks on the men’s faces as they beheld the fruits of Cecco’s schemes. She had vowed not to leave her husband’s side. The thought of all those diamonds determined her. Wishing for her sword, Jill gripped her knife, and plunged into the mêlée.

Whatever else happened today, she
wouldn’t
be a widow.

“Johann! Captain!” As Jill reached Cecco, he managed a smile but didn’t take his gaze from his foe.

“Jill, my lovely. Shall I kill him after all?”

“No, Captain— the agreement.”

“Run away from him, Jill.” Locked in the struggle, Hanover urged, “Take Liza. Get below!”

“Johann, you married a pirate.” Jill focused on the rivals’ faces, only a hand span apart. She aimed the dagger at one of them, and thrust it forward.

And then a blast erupted from
L’Ormonde
’s bow. As the concussion thundered through their chests, two ships’ companies pulled away to gape. Their swords hung in mid-air.

The kick of the cannon rolled it to strain against its tackle, and the scream of the cannonball arched away over the waves. The echo rumbled, and then came silence. All eyes stared at the cloud that covered the privateer’s prow.

The white haze billowed to obscure the foredeck. Vague within it, an image began to form. Then a glint of sunlight. As the stench of gunpowder drifted aft, the tread of footsteps hit the boards. Two boots took shape, striding forward from the mist. The men gasped, their faces upturned and staring. The weapons sank in their slackening hands.

LeCorbeau whipped around to find the offender. Guillaume yanked his captain from the reach of Yulunga’s sword. The gesture proved unnecessary. Yulunga, like every other man, stood frozen.

Cecco and Hanover had ceased their contention. The gypsy jerked around to see. His eyes widened. His hand flew to sketch his banishing gesture. The surgeon staggered backward, a new cut on his face bright red against his pallor.

Jill’s heart had stopped with the explosion, to start up hammering as she witnessed a wonder. By the smoking cannon stood her own Mr. Smee. A torch flared in his hand, and victory glowed upon his face. As Jill’s black glove clutched her dagger, her smile began, and brightened. The cloud of smoke dissipated. Gradually, Jill’s face grew radiant as the sun.

From oblivion, Hook emerged, to plant his feet and stand, commanding, at the fore of
L’Ormonde
.

Chapter 35

Lies and Loyalty

L
ike his legend, Hook lived. His single hand held his shining rapier ready. Sleek and black, his hair cascaded over his shoulders. On his face spread a dark growth of beard, unshaven and untamed. He was lean, the muscles of his tall frame pronounced, and the bones of his face stood prominently over the shadowed hollows of his cheeks. Sunlight edged the crescent of his hook, which he held poised at his side. Not an ornament graced his person. He wore a flowing white shirt trimmed in lace, perfectly polished boots, and breeches the color of coal. He wore, also, a look of determination. No man mistook his purpose. Hook had risen from the grave, with a vengeance.

In a sweeping glance, he surveyed the scene. As striking as jewels, his sapphire eyes drew Jill’s own, and held her. She stood in her black silk gown, a smear of blood on her dagger, rapturous. The force of Hook’s gaze prized her heart open and spilled life inside her. The grateful tears gathered, but refused to fall. She didn’t dare to blink them away, fearing if she closed her eyes for only one instant, her captain might vanish again.

But Hook was in no danger of disappearing. He was absolutely evident, his reality a palpable thing, arresting every soul aboard. Feared or revered, Hook’s presence made captives of them all.

The company stood transfixed, awaiting the sound of his velvet voice. When it fell, it carried no hint of humor.

“Widow’s black, Jill. An appropriate costume for this…marriage.”

She answered softly, all her feeling concentrated into the word Smee had given her.

“Hook.”

Slowly, Jill tucked her dagger in her sash. Concealed in her glove, her crimson fingers rose to touch her lips. Noting their disguise, Hook marked her movement, then transferred his gaze to the groom.

“Congratulations, Hanover. I have come to kiss the bride.”

Hanover stumbled back. He didn’t feel the trickle of blood on his cheek. His gray gaze traveled up and down, taking in the existence of Captain Hook— the wretch whose remains the good doctor could have sworn must give up the ghost. How on earth had he escaped? By what infernal power was he standing? Hanover felt the wave of shock engulf him, a surge of cold that left his skin clammy but his mind, to his horror, chillingly clear.

Hook had duped him. Somehow, some way, that wily pirate had manipulated the circumstances, again. Despite his chains, despite his deprivation, the man held even his own death hostage.

And then another revelation raised its hideous head. Hanover’s every muscle tautened as the thought snaked its way, poisonous as a serpent, into his consciousness. Jill had warned him at the very beginning. Not only did Hook live— Hook held the surgeon’s secrets. Every damned and damning indiscretion. Blanching, Hanover shot a look to his daughter. His stomach twisted. Unless he acted to silence the man immediately, it wasn’t Hook, now, whose fortunes were endangered.

Hook’s gaze followed Hanover’s to Liza. Disdaining her as always, Hook spared the girl only a glance. The lovely dress she wore, he knew, proved a heavier burden than it should be. Supported by Nibs and Tom, the doctor’s daughter stood wilting against them, her eyes wild. But Hook’s stolen jewels were not the encumbrance that dragged her down; it was the weight of her secrets. Confident of those secrets’ impending exposure, Hook was done with her. He found the Frenchman.

“LeCorbeau. Tell your men to put up their weapons.”

LeCorbeau stammered, “Hook— Hook, my old friend…
Mais
…
Quelle surprise!
From where have you, eh, blossomed?”

“From the filth of a soil I shall soon sweep away. But I see no need for slaughter. I shall slay only one of your company today.” His hook winked in the sunlight.

A sickly pallor spread over the Frenchman’s face. “
Alors
, my comrade…of course I had no idea.…But, surely we can find a more civilized way to remedy this situation.” He swiveled to address the sailors scattered over the ship. His hands sketched frantic gestures. “At ease, men! At ease!”

Smee strode forth to flank his captain. With the blazing torch in the bo’sun’s right hand and the rapier in the captain’s left, the two formed a formidable force, reminiscent of the first time Hook and his Irishman commandeered a ship— the
Roger
. His men recalled that fateful night. They conjured the vision of their long-ago leader, floating face down, and looked with doubtful eyes upon the little French captain who ventured to stand in James Hook’s way.

Like a thunderhead, Hook’s infamous courtesy hung over the company. His sailors recognized the chivalry that preceded his wrath. “I am relieved, for our friendship’s sake, DéDé, that you choose to be reasonable. Any other response should prove so unpleasant.” Lowering his chin, he aimed his eyes at the surgeon. “Doctor Hanover. I challenge you, for the hand of the lady.” His rapier rose, gleaming.

LeCorbeau supplicated, “But Hook! I have never known you to act in the heat of the moment— against your own interests. You must now be practical, for the welfare of your profits. Of course you cannot be aware— how could you know?— the doctor has entered into a partnership with the
Roger
.”

“With the
Roger
, yes.” At last, Hook’s gaze rolled to Cecco. “But not with me.”

Assured that this haunting was no ghost, Cecco had overcome his shock. His dark eyes watched Hook, and when he was convinced of the honesty of his own senses, Cecco dragged his gaze to Jill. For the first time, her lover was hesitant to look upon her.

Her cheeks were rosy with emotion, her eyes bright— as bright as Hook’s. Never taking those eyes from her first captain, she stood between Cecco and Hanover, as still as the wooden Beauty that graced the
Roger
’s prow. Cecco lowered his weapon. To ensure she was still the warm-blooded woman of his heart, he laid his dusky hand upon her. He drew Jill to his other side, making his body a barrier to the surgeon.

As Hook and the gypsy studied one another, a realization unfolded for Cecco— moment by moment— and he gathered the implications of his commander’s return. With his heart sinking in his breast, Captain Cecco steeled himself and faced Captain Hook— the one man who possessed the power to end his happiness. The power to end his life. With his sword in his hand and his woman in his arm, Cecco strode forward. “Captain.”

“Mr. Cecco.”

“I must make the truth known to you. If you desire the hand of this woman, it is I with whom you must contend.”

“I shall take you up on your offer, Mr. Cecco. After I have dispatched her husband.” Hook’s tone grew icy as he turned to Hanover. “Doctor. Let the terms be clear. We fight to the death.”

“Agreed!”

Jill breathed at last, in a gasp. She turned to see the surgeon. She felt Cecco’s hold tighten on her waist.

Hanover smoothed back his hair. Sending one long look to his wife, he adjusted his grip on his weapon. “Madam.” With formal elegance, he bowed to Jill. Upon rising, the fire of hatred flamed in his eye, and he answered Hook’s challenge. “To the death, Sir. Indeed, you are behind your time.” Hanover hoisted his rapier and took up his stance.

“Ah. Time.” Hook raised one eyebrow. “Thanks to your ministrations, I’ve enjoyed an abundance of that.”

Using time again, Hook strolled forward to meet his opponent, assessing the surroundings. Smee stood sentry behind him. More lovely than ever, Jill looked back over Cecco’s shoulder as he guided her reluctant footsteps to the shelter of the stern stairway. LeCorbeau and his mates gathered amidships, across from the table and its wine-stained cloth. Nibs and Tom restrained Liza, who struggled in a panic to free herself until Yulunga secured a grip on her, dragging her to the foremast. Granting the deck to the duelists, Cecco’s other officers ranged along the portside. The rest of the
Roger
’s men settled on the periphery of the scene as LeCorbeau’s sailors shinned up the rigging, seeking viewpoints along the shrouds.

Hook smiled. The layout of
L’Ormonde
appeared exactly as he envisioned it, over and again while he lay shackled, preparing himself for this fray. Hook recalled every cannon, every hatch and hurdle. Thanks to his captor, he’d had plenty of time— to make ready.

Although astonished by the turn of events, the surgeon disciplined his energies toward his task. He considered his tactics. He’d crossed swords with Hook before. He knew the man’s approach, his unscrupulous methods. Hanover would bar no maneuver. He had learned a lesson in his affiliation with pirates. No trick was too low, even for a gentleman. He launched his attack, driving his rapier at Hook’s throat.

With a powerful swing, Hook repulsed it. Unprepared for the strength in his prisoner’s arm, Hanover was jarred, and he nearly lost his grip.

“Have a care, Doctor. Things are not always as they seem. Those who call themselves gentlemen, for instance.”

“Yet you, I find, remain exactly as I first believed you.” Striking again, Hanover put the force of his shock to work.