Three—
The chains went taut.
—two—
A pair of splashes met my ears.
—one.
A set of hands hit my back and sent me falling, flailing, into the briny blue below.
Chapter Eight
Adrift in the sea
My arms ached. The lifesaving chunk of driftwood that had no business being in the middle of the ocean in the first place bit into the flesh of my arms, leaving them bloody and raw. At least they felt bloody and raw. It hurt to open my eyes more than a squint to inspect them for myself. The sunlight reflecting off the endless sea that stretched out before me may well have been the sun’s rays themselves. I squeezed my swollen eyes shut and didn’t dare loosen my grip as I bobbed, helpless as a rotten coconut, in the blue expanse. Drops splashed my face as I went down, then up, then down again.
If it hurts, that means I’m alive. I drew in a shuddering breath and kicked my feet. Thank you, God.
Iron from the shackles my husband had clasped round my ankles bit into my flesh with even the slightest movement.
Bloody and raw.
Though they were still heavy, the cannonballs were gone. I drew one leg up and felt with my toes what weighed on me.
Chains.
My miniscule movements shifted my weight against the chunk of driftwood and I flipped round to my back. Heart thundering, I sputtered beneath the glassy surface only a moment before I righted myself again.
My breath came fast and rasped in my throat as I dug my fingers into the wood. Splinters pierced my flesh, but I didn’t care.
If I lose my grip, there’s no way I can stay afloat. I tried not to move my feet. Even without the murderous cannonballs. The chains weigh enough that I’ll be pulled down. I’ll slowly lose the fight to stay above water, then I’ll lose the fight to breathe.
I bit my lip and pushed those troublesome thoughts to the far recesses of my mind. A flash of the creatures that lived in the depths forced my eyes open.
The night Red Legs Roberts and the other pirates had come aboard The Black Otter, stories of things they’d seen—unexplainable things—had been most enthusiastically told. Tales of monsters from the deep surpassed the tales of the treasure they’d taken. Rum was passed about and a hush fell as each men told their story.
“Sea devils, they was,” Tommy had sworn over a fresh bottle of Spanish rum. “Swimming up from the depths and flying about the ship. Hundreds of ’em.” Tommy spread his arms wide and splashed rum all over Red Legs Roberts, eliciting a groan from all the pirates. “A spear grew from each tail and they had wings, they did. Would fly for a bit, then ride beneath the water before taking flight again.”
Normally, the pirates laughed at Tommy and his wild stories. But nobody aboard that night dared laugh at this one. After all, sea devils were no laughing matter.
Another pirate drew a long puff off a smoke. The end glowed orange and he exhaled before he spoke in a gravelly voice. “Seen sea devils. Had one leap on a boat when I was a young man. I was in the rigging.” He flicked the ash and stared into the faces that watched his every move. “Me buddy approached it, and that spear Tommy spoke of? Speared me buddy. Straight through his chest and out the other side.”
He sucked in another long drag and shook his head.
“Sharks,” another offered. “Follow the doomed ships. See a shark? Death is not far behind. They smell it, before the soul is even gone from the body. And blood—they smell that, too.”
Solo scoffed. “Smell in the water? Nothing can smell in the water.”
The raggedy pirate looked at the blond prince. “When you’ve been a-bleedin’ in the water as I was, you’re likely to think a bit different, sonny.” He held up his arm. On the end was fastened a hook where his hand once had been. “When you see one shark, there be ten more you can’t see.”
The smile melted from Solo’s face.
Charles Swan shifted his thin moustache. “The Kraken,” he squeaked.
Silence fell over the lot of them like a shroud.
“Ain’t never seen The Kraken, meself. Heard the stories from the men that have.” Charles glanced about the circle of men. “Tentacles, twice as long as a ship. And if the head comes up beneath you, you’re capsized.”
The familiar, uncomfortable silence returned. For to be capsized at sea is a death sentence. But to speak of being capsized—
“Seen a mermaid once,” Jack chirped. His voice was much too chipper.
“Yes, we know,” one pirate muttered. “And you married her.”
Jack. Memories of my husband, some recent, and some not so recent, swirled in my muddled mind as I adjusted my grip on the wood. My shoulders ached and what skin was exposed burned like fire. Did China Joe kill him?
The none-too-distant memory of lying next to the strong, muscled man in the bed we shared as the early morning light spread across our blanket panged in my chest.
Was there something else I could have done? Did he give his life—to save my honor?
I twisted the horrid scene around in my mind.
I was hiding, they found me and brought me on deck. Then, there was Jack. There hadn’t been a moment to grab my steel, or at least I’d have gone down fighting.
I squeezed my eyes shut again and leaned my face against the wood.
Then, I was on the side of The Black Otter with Jack before me, beaten and bruised.
