The hurt on Angel-Arse’s face when she learned I was married to Jack had haunted me, off and on, without reason. Sometimes during the day, other times in my dreams.

The fuzzy memory of Jack going into Tortuga without me the night I killed Nikolai often accompanied that memory.

Had he gone into town to meet her and have a free farewell hurrah?

“You mean to tell me, Russian Jack Rackham, that you were rescued by a woman?”

•

“We’re too late.” I couldn’t look at Rusty as I adjusted the white cloak I’d swept over my head and shoulders before coming ashore. If I started crying, everyone would see that Russian Jack’s wife was there—present at his makeshift, coastal English trail.

We hadn’t been able to catch the pirate hunting ship, though all of us had tried every trick we knew to catch fair winds. Since we failed to catch Jack’s ship, followed the pirate hunters right up to the English coast.

I’d left Solo in charge of The Black Otter while Rusty and I came to try to free Jack without getting ourselves caught. And hanged.

“Guilty of piracy,” one of the judges yelled. My throat tightened and my eyes fluttered shut. A chorus of townsfolk joined in, pumping their fists and all affirming my husband’s doom. I pulled the cloak tighter about my head and shoulders.

“Dear God, no,” Rusty whispered beside me.

“Come on, this way,” I said. We pushed our way to the front of the throng. “I have to see Jacky.”

Several of those who had served as both judge and jury spoke amongst themselves. One slapped a black blindfold over Jack’s eyes while another shackled his already bound hands. He wore a look of defeat that mirrored the one he’d worn when China Joe made him attach cannonballs to my legs before throwing me overboard.

Even then, Jack had a surprise or two in store—but what could the surprise be now?

His hat was nowhere to be seen and his blonde hair was streaked with blood.

What did they do to you on the ship’s ride here Jacky—

I sidled up to the scaffold as thoughts swirled viciously in my mind.

There must be a way to get Jack out of this—

“That wife of his, Back from the Dead Red. She’ll try to rescue him.” The man’s voice hissed from between his clenched teeth. “And we’ll be ready for her.”

I froze.

Another of the men, who wore a tall powdered wig reminiscent of the one Unconscionable Nan had worn aboard The Molly Maiden, nodded in answer. “She won’t come if he’s dead, so we can’t kill him. Put him in the gibbet. And we’ll wait for her at the bottom. She has that scar on her face. She’ll die trying to break him out.”

“We’ll see to that.”

Those who played judge and jury also got to play executioner. “The sentence for the condemned,” one shouted to the ravenous crowd.

The tittering crowd silenced in eager anticipation.

“Left to rot in the gibbet!”

The man who’d promised to catch me gave Jack a kick. “May God have mercy on your pitiable soul.”

Rusty and I trailed the mob to the docks as they led Jack—bound, shackled, and blindfolded—like a dog to his death. By the water’s edge sat a nest of iron. Rusty grabbed my hand.

The gibbet.

Shaped like a man, the strips of rusted iron bound with grommets were made heavier still by the memory of those who were there before. Once they locked you in, you never came out. One of the men unlocked the shackles and cut the ropes that bound Jack’s wrists.

“In with you,” the kicker shouted.

Blinded by the knotted fabric, Jack crawled blindly across the ground as the jeers from the onlookers grew louder. Some threw stones, others threw kicks. Rusty and I watched, but my attempt to show no emotion was futile. Tears eked from my eyes and the urge to dash into the crowd and help my husband was almost tangible. I prayed nobody would notice.

Finally, Jack managed to crawl into his metal tomb. The man in the white powdered wig slammed it shut. Jack jump when the metal slapped together. I did, too.

“Reel him up,” someone shouted.

Slowly, the metal prison began to rise to the yardarm, where he would dangle until the blistering heat, the freezing cold, the incessant wind, and relentless birds slowly took his life. If the lack of food or water didn’t kill him first.

The man in the wig turned to the others. “Now, we wait for that wife of his, Back from the Dead Red. Remember, she’s said to be scarred across the cheek.”

I pulled my cloak tighter and chewed my bottom lip. Rusty and I shared a glance that rang with a shared truth.

Hopelessness.

•

I smacked the balcony and stared at my fluttering veil. “There was no way to get you out, Jacky. If there was—”

“If there was, I sure didn’t see it.” His green eyes were gentle. “Once I got that blasted blindfold off, that is. Here, let me tell you what happened.”

•

“Well Red my dear, once they had me hoisted up, and once I got that blasted blindfold off, I had a decent view. I overlooked the docks and could see the sea stretching way out before me. The pull to be on the sea, where I belonged, hurt the worst. God Almighty, I wanted to be on it.”

Jack drummed his fingers on the balcony. “I knew any attempt at rescue was over. Even if you came, you would be overpowered by the trap that lay in wait. So as strange as it sounds, I prayed you wouldn’t come.” Jack glanced about. “I would be forced to watch you die. I couldn’t bear that.”

I nodded. “I understand.”

“That first day was the worst. I knew it would be bad and I knew it would be hot—” Jack’s eyes met mine. Slowly, he began to roll up his sleeves.

I gasped.

The flesh was red and the ghosts of blisters dotted his forearms.

Jack continued, unfazed. “But I didn’t figure to burn clean through my clothes.”

“Jacky, that must be agony.”

Jack rolled his sleeve down again. “It was moment by moment. I couldn’t bear to look forward to being rescued.”

“No?” I felt very ignorant to hear Jack say the words. And a bit hurt.