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“All your belongings were on that ship?”
Her lips trembled. “My belongings, and a great deal more.”
“So I gathered.” He cleared his throat. “May I ask your name?”
“Courtney…” she whispered, wondering why the pressure in her head and chest seemed to be intensifying. “…Johnston.”
“Well, Miss Johnston, one of your belongings did, in fact, survive the ordeal. In fact, I only wish your transfer to my vessel had been as smooth.” He reached over, lifting a gleaming silver object from the nightstand. “I believe this belongs to you.” He pressed it into Courtney’s palm.
She stared, her eyes brimming with tears. “Papa’s timepiece.” Instinctively, she tried to sit up—and whimpered, the resulting pain too acute to withstand.
Instantly, his lordship rose and strode across the room, stepping into the hall. “Matilda,” he summoned in a commanding tone, “bring some brandy. Miss Johnston needs another dose of laudanum.”
“Yes, m’lord.”
Courtney fell back weakly, needing to find the words to thank him, to try to explain how much her father’s timepiece meant to her.
“I…Papa gave me…”
“Later,” he replied, returning to her bedside. “After you’ve rested, and the next ration of laudanum has had a chance to work.”
“It hurts,” she managed, eyes squeezed tightly shut.
“I know. Just lie still. The medicine is on its way.”
Courtney hadn’t the strength to respond. It seemed an eternity before Matilda delivered the requisite brandy, supporting Courtney’s head so she could sip it.
“Drink the whole thing,” her rescuer’s voice instructed from a distance. “E
very last drop.”
She did.
“Poor lamb,” Matilda murmured, settling Courtney in and drawing up the bedcovers. “She’s as weak as a kitten. Well, never you mind. A little care and attention and she’ll be good as new.”
“Care…” Courtney whispered, her lashes fluttering to her cheeks. “I have…no one…nothing…” Her voice trailed off, and she sank into a drugged sleep.
The timepiece fell from her fingers to sleep beside her.
“My ship, the Fortune, is just inside that cove. We’ll anchor alongside her.”
Sewell Armon propped his booted foot on the deck of the brig and pointed. “There.” He scowled as Lexley ignored his orders, instead glancing anxiously out to sea. “You’ve done that a hundred times,” the pirate captain growled. “The bloody girl is dead. Stare all you want, but unless your eyes are good enough to see clear to the bottom of the English Channel, you won’t find her.”
“Thank you for that assessment,” Lexley replied bitterly, the past week having rended his soul, extinguished his hope—and, as a result, sharpened his tongue. “But a conscience is not always amenable to reason. If one has a conscience, that is.”
“I’ve had just about enough of your defiance, you rebellious old man,” Armon spat, whipping out his sword. “You’ve been nothing but trouble since your captain and his precious daughter drowned. Well, you’ll soon be joining them. Now anchor. You’re wasting time—mine.” He nudged Lexley purposefully with the tip of his blade. “My crew is waiting.”
“And what will happen to our crew?” Lexley asked, wincing. “Do you mean to kill everyone on the Isobel, or only me?”
“You’ll find that out soon enough. But if it’s leniency you seek—for any of your men—I’d suggest you comply with my instructions. Or else…”
Armon’s attention was diverted by a welcome sight, and a broad smile supplanted his irritation. As the Isobel rounded the next jagged inlet of the Channel, the Fortune came into view, tucked away and awaiting her captain’s return. Armon’s smile widened as a whoop of recognition erupted from the deck of his ship and, in response, he whisked the black stone from his pocket and waved it triumphantly in the air.
The whoops transformed to shouts of victory. “ ’E got it! ’E got the black diamond!”
The instant the two vessels were close enough, Armon swung over to his own deck, flourishing the diamond for all to see.
“What about them?” his next-in-command muttered, jerking his thumb in the Isobel’s direction.
