The Pirate (The Legacy Series Book 5) Page 13

  James straightened and turned around. The first pair of eyes he met belonged to the old cook. Mr. Bones only gave a short nod and went shuffling back below deck, but James wasn’t likely to forget the knowing look plastered on his face. Some of the other men had that same look, as if they had finally realized the truth. James was willing to do anything for his crew and his ship.

  Chapter 10

  St. Martin, later that evening

  Bart didn’t need to take the spyglass from his first mate to see the ship pulling into one of the bays off St. Martin. He took it from Mr. Bell anyway and peered through to get a good look at the backside of James’ head as he steered the ship toward the port. The lights on The Burning Rose had been dimmed for the sake of concealment, but there was no use hiding from a loup-garou on the hunt.

  “Should I tell the men to run out the guns?” Mr. Bell asked, standing in his pristine navy uniform beside Bart.

  As soon as they knew James had left Antigua waters, Bart and his men gave chase from a fair distance. He knew how to stay aloof, out of range from the unnatural senses that would give away his position to his prey. When the pirates attacked the small merchant vessel just off the coast of Barbuda, Bart stayed the order to come to their aid. Now, sitting just barely out of range, Bart might have been risking exposure.

  However, it seemed that James had more pressing matters to attend to. Besides, Bart was a man of his word and would give his son the time he promised.

  “Not yet,” he replied as he collapsed the spyglass in his hands. “He has until dawn.”

  Without question, Mr. Bell nodded and took the instrument from his captain. “Orders?”

  “We wait here. He’s pulling in to resupply and repair. He left in too much of a hurry at Antigua. We’ll give him time.”

  Bart didn’t have to look to his subordinate to know that Mr. Bell was not easy with the plan at all. “If The Devil Dog doesn’t surrender in the morning?”

  He steeled himself just once more before replying with his honest conviction. “We take him and his crew. Dead or alive.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  With that, Mr. Bell left him on the quarterdeck. Their ship was far larger than James’ and Bart’s crew outnumbered the pirates almost triple. If James didn’t surrender, he was a fool. A brave fool, but a fool nonetheless.

  When he heard what James had become, Bart wanted nothing more than to scream out in rage. His son, a pirate. Ever since Bart left his father and their pack of orphan loups-garous in France, he struggled to keep his mind and hands busy with something to distract him from the tragedy of his wife’s death. Now he understood his own father’s suffering when his wife grew old and feeble and he remained strong as ever.

  Bart didn’t expect to lose Evangeline so quickly, and especially not to such a trivial thing as a sickness that no man could cure. If he could have made her into a loup-garou like himself, he would have in an instant. Instead, he let her die and then he poured himself into helping to maintain order.

  As a navy officer, he could fight for his father’s country of England during the wars, but now that peace had settled over much of the world, Bart was at a loss for how to manage his idle time. Tracking down others of his kind across Europe and placing them into proper packs seemed the best use of the training his father had instilled in him.

  Yet, the more he saw, the more he lost his faith in the principle that all loups-garous could belong in packs or amongst civil society. The rogue wolves that stalked the forests of France, England, and Germany, were uncontrollable and savage. Bart soon learned what his father had been told so long ago. Loups-garous that ate the flesh of humans had unstable minds. They couldn’t be reasoned with and didn’t care about pack structure. They only cared for themselves and couldn’t be trusted.

  That was why he was here, and why he had to give his son this chance of redemption. From the horrific tales spun by sailors that came back to England from the Caribbean, Bart knew his son must have done what he had been taught to abhor. Stories and songs spoke of him ripping out the beating hearts of his enemies and feasting upon them as they gasped out their last pleas for mercy.

  If his son was one of these beasts, Bart had to bring his pirate career to an end before more innocent humans were hurt. He had arranged with the governor of Kingston for a special execution for James, if he should not go quietly. A simple hanging wouldn’t kill a loup-garou. Not easily. Though, a beheading was the last thing Bart wanted for his son.

  He had until dawn to make his decision. If there was any shred of humanity left in James, any trace of mental clarity, then he would accept Bart’s offer. If he didn’t, then there was nothing he could do. Bart couldn’t help a man that didn’t want to be helped. He had tried that with Will weeks ago.

  Stumbling upon that rogue wolf was purely coincidence, but at least it prepared him for the fight James would put up. Will was full of that irrational fury, just like the other lone loups-garous he had come across in Europe.

  Bart vowed that once James was under his wing, he would go back to find Will. This time, he wouldn’t make the same mistake again. An iron cell wasn’t going to hold their kind, which was why he had The Maelstrom’s brig fashioned with silver bars. It cost him a hefty sum to outfit himself with the silver knife as well, the blade which could burn a loup-garou’s skin like a hot brand. In a fight against a loup-garou as tainted as James or Will, Bart would need it.

  He watched as the stern of The Burning Rose disappeared into the bay. The stars were just emerging in the night sky and the dawn seemed a lifetime away, but Bart would wait. He had abandoned James once before and he wasn’t going to do it again. He just hoped that his son would make the right decision and choose life. Choose him.

  St. Martin, early morning

  James never hated to see the sunlight more than he did when standing on the deck of his ship, staring out toward the mouth of the bay where he knew Bart and his ship were lying in wait. The sensation in his skull was faint, but unmistakable. His father was there, somewhere out of sight.

  It was pure luck that they came upon the Dutch traders when they did, otherwise they might not have been able to barter for the supplies on St. Martin. Now, they had just enough coin and food to last them until Kingston. He and Patrick rehearsed their plan in his quarters, now free of the encumbering presence of Will and his keen ears. They could discuss everything about Bart, the ship, his behavior since they left Grace, everything.

  Though his quartermaster was less than satisfied with his maudlin excuses, he agreed to carry out their plan to change the name of the ship and plot a course past Cuba to outrun Bart. That was before James realized sometime in the night that the pirate hunter had found them. If they never had to deal with Will, they could have carried on their previous course without being caught. Now, they were trapped and his time was up.

  James stood by his decision. He would not join his father, no matter the consequences. He just had to find a way to elude him again. Grace was now even further out of reach and her blue eyes were slowly fading from his future. If he couldn’t lose Bart, he’d certainly lose her.

  Most of the men were still sleeping below, oblivious to the threat. Only a few men were awake at this hour, including his quartermaster. Patrick, probably seeing the way James stood so motionless by the railing, must have known something was wrong.

  “Captain?”

  James shook his head at the bay. “We lost so much time. Wasted it on that pisspot Jack Tar,” he murmured, referring to Will and the chaos that ensued on the deck the evening before. “Now, Bart’s here.”

  Patrick looked out to sea, but there was no way the human could make out the creaking of the warship’s riggings just beyond the strip of land that concealed the harbor. “I don’t see him.”

  “He’s waiting for us.” James clutched the railing, feeling the grainy texture of the wood in his palms. “I can’t let the men suffer for my sake, but we can’t stay in St. Martin forever. We don’t have enough me
n and guns to beat him.”

  A bit of silence fell between them before Patrick suggested, “Maybe we don’t need to beat him. Just disable his ship.”

  It was a bold move, to take on a first-rate ship like Bart’s. If James were in his old sloop, the one he started out with, then perhaps they could outmaneuver him. The Burning Rose, however, wasn’t as agile and though she had speed on her side, they would be sitting ducks once they left the safety of the harbor. If Bart was the tactical man his reputation claimed him to be, then he was already perfectly positioned to blast James’ ship full of shot as soon as he was out in open water.

  “I can’t ask the men to take that risk,” James finally said. “Ready the rowboat and I’ll go alone.”

  Patrick didn’t budge from his spot, but stared at his captain with those cold Irish eyes.

  “That’s an order, mate.”

  The burly man’s shoulders rose and fell with the great sigh he heaved. “With all do respect, Captain, ye can shove that order up yer arse. I’m not gonna let ye face Bart alone. Tell the men what’s goin’ on and you’ll see they won’t let ye go either.”

  “What’s goin’ on?”

  James turned to see one of the younger men of the crew stepping up onto deck as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

  “Nothing,” James answered. “Don’t have your oars in everyone’s boat and mind your own.”

  Patrick gave his captain a sobering shove. “Tell him or I will.”

  This wasn’t their burden to bear, nor was it their fight. Why did Patrick think James wanted them out of the Caribbean so suddenly? They were no match for Bart or his crew. It was suicide to think they could even get close enough to the ship to disable it. Surely Bart would have a series of long guns that would break his mast in half before James could even get a good lock with his own cannons.

  If James could get on Bart’s ship and sooth things over, maybe buy more time for the rest of the crew to escape, then he’d take that chance. Even if he had to go up against Bart himself, he would. All for his crew. His pack.

  One by one, he heard the men awakening from their hammocks and stumble up onto the deck behind him. The boy that came up just a moment too early, started spreading the word that the captain had something to say and James rolled his eyes. The morale had certainly improved after he let them believe Will drowned for his crime against the crew, but James wished he had just a little while longer to think of a better plan.

  He turned and soon faced the majority of the men who had pledged their swords to him and this ship. They had been hand-picked by James, all worthy sailors who weren’t afraid to vilify their hands with blood. Maybe Patrick was right. They weren’t children to be coddled. They could handle the truth.

  “Many of you have been wondering why I’ve led you across the Caribbean, only to sail back again without cause or reason. We aren’t chasing anything,” he declared. “We are being chased. Bart Croxen is after The Burning Rose and its captain, and he’s waiting just outside the harbor.”

  The men looked to one another, their gazes mixed with mild fear and confusion. Others, looked to be ready to take up their cutlasses and go into battle without all the details. They didn’t understand their enemy to know any better.

  “I’ve always tried to be fair with you dogs, and now is no different,” James continued. “I realize I should have told you about all this much earlier, but there’s nothing to be done about that now. I won’t let you all hang for me. You’ve served this ship well and deserve the freedom of this life we’ve chosen for ourselves. You knew the risks and the rewards when you stepped foot on this deck and they’re even greater now.”

  James hoisted himself onto the railing and sat there, watching his crew for any sign of mounting cowardice. “We have two choices before us. Stay in St. Martin until Bart comes ashore to hunt us down, or go out and try to give him the slip. What say you?”

  Patrick lifted his chin to say, “All in favor of goin’ out to meet this gutless cod, say aye!”

  James hadn’t been expecting such a unanimous vote. He thought he’d see men shy away from the very name of Bart Croxen. They would have been smart to do so. Apparently, his whole crew was daft.

  They let out a shout and raised their fists in their air, affirming their allegiance to The Burning Rose and to The Devil Dog. Their battle cry invigorated the wolf within him, and for once, James felt a little of his old self returning. If he could be the man he was before Grace softened him up, maybe they’d have a chance. Soon, a plan formulated within his mind, one that was as barmy as anything he had ever come up with. But, it just might work.

  “Clear the decks and tie the colors to the mast, men! If Bart wants a fight, then a fight he shall have!”

  Bart heard his son give out the commands to unfurl the sails and shove off from the docks. The rest of his crew, all loyal navy seamen, were still occupying themselves at their stations by the time The Burning Rose’s bowsprit and foresails came into view.

  Mr. Bell shouted out the orders to make ready the guns, just as Bart had instructed him. James would hear the promise of attack and Bart hoped to God that it would be enough to persuade his son one more time.

  The pirate captain stood at the helm, his chin high and eyes set with determination upon his enemy. There was no doubt that James saw him standing there at the stern of his own ship. Bart only wished that his son would understand the pain in his soul, the silent anguish he suffered to see one of his own kin turned into a heathen.

  Bart wasn’t so dense to know that it was his own fault. He should have tried harder to find the boy when the time came for him to turn loup-garou. Those first few years were so crucial, and he wasn’t there to teach him what was right and wrong.

  “You ran from me,” Bart said, knowing that if his son was listening close enough, he would be heard.

  “What did you expect me to do?” James replied as the wind tossed back his dark hair. “You should know I can’t go with you.”

  The words cut deep, but Bart knew he deserved them. He deserved every evil thing in the world for leaving his only son.

  “I’m giving you one last chance,” Bart said. “Surrender or I’ll have my men fire on your ship. Think of the lives of your men. Think of all I could show you.”

  Bart wasn’t so far from The Burning Rose that he couldn’t see the glint of his son’s teeth as he growled. “There’s nothing you can show me. I’ve learned all I need to know without you.”

  He waited, hoping for more, pleading for some miraculous change of heart. But James’ glare remained as The Burning Rose steered into open water, falling straight in the path of Bart’s guns that were loaded and ready. All he needed to do was give the word.

  “Is that your final decision?” Bart asked, hardly finding the voice to speak at all.

  “Aye, it is.”

  Casting aside all thought, he gave the nod to his first mate.

  “Fire at will!” Mr. Bell shouted.

  The canons rocked back by the force of the explosion as a volley of shot soared over the water. James gave the order to brace up just seconds before Bart heard the splintering of wood. It would take some time to reload, but already The Burning Rose was making its way toward The Maelstrom’s stern.

  “Come about and keep our broadside to her,” Bart told his helmsman. He spun the wheel to turn the rudder, but the warship was slow and the sails were at half-mast, unable to catch the wind enough to give them some headway in this battle.

  Though the first volley had blown a few holes in James’ sails, they were still faster. When The Burning Rose fired back, Bart didn’t bother ducking as some of the other men did on the deck. Not even when a shot whizzed past him and nearly wrecked the wheel. Only one of the prongs were taken out, thoroughly startling his helmsman.

  “Easy, men!” he encouraged. “They can’t outrun us forever. Aim at their waterline,” he told the head gunner, who then relayed the orders to his men on the gun decks. Under his breath, he muttered,
“Please don’t make this any harder than it has to be, James.”

  “Crack on more sail!” James ordered. He needed more speed if he ever expected to make it to Bart’s stern before another volley crippled them further.

  “We’ve cracked on as much canvas as we can,” Patrick reported, gesturing up to the masts. “It’s these damn holes.”

  “Are the guns ready for another round?”

  Patrick nodded. “They’re firing as fast as they’re loading.”

  It still wasn’t enough. “Hit the deck!” he ordered again as Bart gave the command to fire. If those keen ears of his had ever come in handy, it was now.

  Those in the rigging couldn’t do much but hang on to their lines while those on the deck dropped just before the cannonballs came flying across. The only one not on his knees was James as he spun the wheel as hard over as he could go.

  “Are my pistols ready?” he asked once the last of the shot clipped his foremast.

  Patrick slipped off the holster from his shoulders and handed his captain the brace of pistols. “Loaded and ready.”

  James passed off the wheel to his quartermaster as he took it and fastened the holsters across his chest to join the other pair. He had just four guns, four shots to waste before he could do no more on his ship. He already had the grenades tucked in his vest with the striking flint. “When we swing around to her stern, keep her there and fire at the rudder. I’ll take care of the two swivel guns. Keep our broadside to her and don’t stop firing.”

  Thanks to the slow nature of the warship, The Burning Rose was finally out of range of the guns, but not untouched. Bits of splintered wood littered the deck. Both masts had taken a good beating and one of the yardarms was listing to port, but she could still sail.

  Once the enemy crew realized their big guns would be of no use, men were sure to flock to the stern to man the tiny swivel guns on the quarterdeck. The shot was big enough to blow a hole straight through a man, but not so big to take down a mast.