Blackheart Read online

  Behind concealing ale casks, Lochlanaire shouted, “Slay her and you’re dead, Thorn. You’ve one chance to live and that is only if you free Siren.”

  Thorn couldn’t track the disembodied threat. “Lochlanaire, if that’s you, tyrant, I’m not foolin’ with you and your bloody trickery. Show yourself!”

  Siren was befuddled by this bizarre conversation. Is Lochlanaire alive and aboard the Royal?

  “Kill her. See what happens to you, bastard,” roared Lochlanaire’s retort.

  His maliciousness contested, Thorn bore no intention of slaying Siren. She’s too treasured alive. He merely hoped to entice the menace into the open so he could cut his throat. It was to no avail. “I’ll reveal your bloody identity, then I’ll skin you alive!”

  Lochlanaire’s devious laughter echoed. Silence, thereafter, prevailed.

  Thorn gave Siren a mighty shove toward the passage, which would take them to the captain’s quarters. Siren battled him all the way and shrieked, “Lochlanaire, escape his trap! Run, run!”

  Thorn growled with her folly and hauled Siren to her prison. He chained her to the pillar and slapped her cheek for her audacity in shouting to her brigand husband. “Lochlanaire dies, Siren. Nothin’ thwarts my revenge.” Whirling on his heel, Thorn stomped across the cabin, abandoning Siren to the stinging tears, which brightened her fretful eyes. Shaky fingers cupped her bruised cheek. The chains clattered.

  ***

  Lochlanaire returned to the Ranger, as the menacing phantom he’d become. Amidst the captain’s quarters, he confronted Aynore. “Thorn threatened to kill Siren. I challenged his ruse. He surrendered the fight.” Lochlanaire nonchalantly shrugged. “She’s too valuable a prize, Aynore. Thorn cannot cut Siren’s throat. It was a bluff.”

  Aynore was not completely convinced. “If you push him too demonically, Lochlanaire, Thorn could slay her, just to destroy you.”

  “Ah, fortune proposes otherwise. Thorn possesses nothing of the knowledge regarding my feelings for Siren. He, as well, is not certain, absolutely, that his persecutor is me. Therefore, Thorn will stay his cursed hand until he unfolds my identity.” Settling upon the bed, Lochlanaire considered the confrontation with Thorn and Zore, one assassin dueling two cunning cutthroats. Those are tricky odds. However, Aynore could be the key to his survival and Siren’s. As well, he must consider Grayson – if his brother still lives.

  Lochlanaire fell asleep, burdened by all the vipers enveloping him.

  ***

  Eclipsed beneath the night shroud, the Ranger and the Royal anchored, avoiding the waters of Satan’s Labyrinth’s treachery where the ships wouldn’t be swept to death in the ferocious tide that claimed the lives of countless unsuspecting seafarers. Near the helm, Lochlanaire motioned. A longboat lowered down the Ranger’s flank where Thorn couldn’t see. A crewman, garbed in black, rowed the boat to the island along the fissure that would grant his anchorage without contestation. Lochlanaire suspected that Zore would insist that they rendezvous inward of the island at the rock ring formation, known for the witches’ incantations and sacrilegious rituals. This was the location at which the crewman off the Ranger would dispatch the missive Lochlanaire wrote to Zore.

  Carrying out his duties, the pirate slipped the letter under a rock on the blood-stained altar. He departed the island, harried by the scrutinizing ghosts who muttered in wails of those who previously died upon this isle of perfidy.

  The Vengeance sequestered to sight behind the island, Zore waited, ensconced underneath a spindly tree, the crewman from the Ranger unseeing. He allowed the Ranger’s pirate to depart unscathed, and then Zore trampled to the rock, anchoring the parchment, jading the altar stone. Zore removed the missive and unfolded the letter. He read…

  Zore,

  With my letter, you’ll know I’m not aboard

  Satan’s Victory.

  I sail covertly with Aynore aboard the Ranger. I come bearing

  evil -- Thorn Blackheart is the blood brother of

  Elias Larnon and was the man who had me condemned

  for murder. Thorn shot Grayson and me while we hunted the treasure the

  signets depict. Thorn pillaged the ship he presently captains,

  the Royal, which is the only treasure to be unearthed on

  Legend Island. I offer this information to you as redemption for previous ills and beg you to trust me. Beware…your life is threatened by

  Thorn. He’s insane. I plead

  for you to free Shevaun and Siren,

  granting to you my life for theirs. Surrender Shevaun to

  Aynore. I’ll walk this island to you without contestation, nary a shot fired.

  Lochlanaire

  Zore mulled. He could seize Lochlanaire in his stranglehold and at no bloodshed if he released Shevaun, however, it was his desire to sail her and Siren to King William. Unfortunately, if he did not submit to Lochlanaire’s truce, all he’d have in his possession is Shevaun. She is not the woman King William covets, cradling no signet in her guardianship by which to prove her ancestral lineage to King James II.

  Zore’s everlasting want is Lochlanaire.

  If Zore captures Lochlanaire and returns the assassin to England, testifying of his treason spelled against King William, he’d be bequeathed everything Lochlanaire was bestowed in his hunt for Siren: a grand title, manor, perhaps the ships awarded to Lochlanaire and his freedom to scour the seas, chasing innocents for which to plunder and pillage as pirate.

  But what of Thorn and his vengeance?

  If what Lochlanaire wrote was sincere, Thorn had turned traitor on the Blackheart brothers, meaning he’d sailed to Satan’s Labyrinth, seeking to slaughter him.

  Perhaps Zore could twirl the wheels of injustice himself.

  Thoughtful, Zore returned to his ship. Boarding the Vengeance, he strode through his quarters, disregarding Shevaun, who sat, imprisoned upon the bed, her shackled wrists raw. Zore clutched his quill and ink. Fluidly he scribed on the parchment back of which Lochlanaire messengered to him.

  Lochlanaire

  I accept your terms and the surrender of your life to me. However, you must prove yourself trustworthy.

  At Thorn’s death, I’ll release Shevaun to Aynore.

  Z

  Zore refolded the parchment and grabbed the double crossbow and an arrow. He hurried off his ship and rowed his longboat to the island, mooring the vessel. Zore cut across the land to the point at which he could see the two ships where they slumbered. Gracing the sharp tip of a sea-splashed shoal, Zore speared the parchment and shot the arrow and its letter aboard the Ranger.

  The arrow struck the Ranger’s port edge. Lochlanaire was summoned to its impaling and he withdrew the spike and its missive. Curious, he explored the rocky shoal’s point and noted Zore standing, drenched beneath blackness. Speaking to Aynore, Lochlanaire icily declared, “Zore accepts my truce, alas, he requests that I kill Thorn to prove myself trustworthy.”

  Aynore walked with Lochlanaire down the stairs descending from the helm. “He could lie. You’ve no cause to trust Zore.”

  “I trust nary a soul, Aynore.” Lochlanaire halted shy of sight of the Royal’s spying eyes. “Deliver this missive to Thorn.”

  Watching him stride away, Aynore fluttered the folded parchment, reading Lochlanaire’s message…

  Thorn

  We meet on Satan’s Labyrinth at sunrise.

  Aynore thought what Lochlanaire was doing would only entomb him in death either by Zore, Thorn, or both. Nevertheless, she accepted their alliance, delivering the parchment missive to Thorn at the Royal’s tiller. She feigned a tale where she’d encountered the letter aboard her ship, never seeing its deliverer.

  Certain Thorn was entirely distracted, Aynore roved across the main deck. She drifted to the passage leading to the captain’s quarters. At the entry, she withdrew a thin-bladed knife from the sheath in her boot and turned the door’s lock, jarring it open. Aynore rushed to Siren, squeezed her shoulder and wakened the woma
n.

  “We hurry, Siren. Thorn could return any moment,” Aynore soberly spoke.

  Siren looked perplexed. “What…are you doing?”

  “Releasin’ you.” Piercing the locks within the shackles, Aynore battled to open them.

  “Is Lochlanaire aboard this ship?” Siren’s heart quaked with her inquiry. She prayed for the answer not to be soul-breaking.

  Aynore murmured, “Aye, Siren. He intends to sacrifice his life for Shevaun’s. Lochlanaire’s sworn to Zore that he’ll slay Thorn, provin’ Zore can trust him submissive. He’s delivered a missive to Zore. Zore’s agreed to liberate Shevaun to me but only after Lochlanaire kills Thorn. Lochlanaire and Thorn meet on the island with sunrise.”

  “What? No. Lochlanaire cannot. Zore will never keep his word. He’s blood-hungry,” Siren insisted, sickened.

  Aynore clicked open the locks and withdrew the manacles from Siren’s tattered wrists. “You, Siren, may be the only person who can sway Lochlanaire from his rendezvous with Thorn.”

  “Yes, but we risk Shevaun’s life if he refuses.” Siren was torn between desperation to spare the life of the man she loved and freeing Shevaun from malevolent danger.

  Aynore straightened, helping Siren to stand. “Aye, but Thorn is unaware that my allegiance now favors Lochlanaire. We shall whirl the tables on all. Zore and Thorn never suspect me of any treachery, nor do they suspect you. Come, we run.”

  Tiptoeing along the corridor, Aynore and Siren blew out the lanterns in the course, eclipsing their footsteps in shadow, assured that if someone came to the captain’s quarters, they wouldn’t be seen. Veiled under the stoop threshold, Aynore searched for Thorn and saw him aboard the helm, speaking to a paltry faction of his loyal crewmen. Aynore signaled for Siren to escape to her ship that the grappling hooks tethered.

  Aboard the Ranger, Siren scampered across the deck to the corridor that would bring them to the captain’s quarters. Aynore kept watch and then the two of them hurried amidst the passage and burst inside Aynore’s quarters.

  Lochlanaire jumped to his feet, his pistol poised in bloodlessly fisted hand. He dropped the weapon and dashed to Siren. He folded her between his arms, and he kissed her passionately.

  “You’re alive. I thought the worst.” Tears cracked her voice as urgently Siren held him, her eyes exploring Lochlanaire’s.

  “Aynore freed you?”

  Siren nodded, glancing at Aynore, who graced the cabin’s threshold.

  Lochlanaire nodded to Aynore, grateful to her.

  Warding off her starvation for him, Siren scolded, “You cannot rendezvous with Thorn, Lochlanaire. He’ll slaughter you.”

  Piqued, Lochlanaire broke their embrace. “It’s decided, Siren. I’ve accorded an alliance with Zore. He’ll release Shevaun to Aynore once Thorn’s dead.”

  “You trust Zore’s word as valid?” Siren was stunned by his confession.

  Lochlanaire defied his chastising wife. “No. I distrust everything Zore says. However, I trust him over Thorn. Aye, the two lust for my blood to flow, but Zore’s anxious for something else…riches. Owing to the truth that the treasure sought with the signets is only a ship and Zore’s learned nothing of the Royal’s gold inlay, such leaves me as his only treasure. Zore must keep me alive in order yield to King William, relinquishing me so to receive his ransom for my treason in not sailing you to the king. Shevaun bears no treasure for him, for the signets lie in your guardianship. She, therefore, is simply of use to lure me amongst the fatal warren.”

  “You think this ransom King William might grant sufficient to stay Zore’s depravity?” Siren looked skeptical.

  “Zore thirsts for blood. He’ll receive that end with my death. It matters little if it is achieved by his knife-thrust or the king’s. But at the monarch’s, he believes he’ll collect a substantial reward. If Zore butchers me outright, he’ll not grasp any gain other than my death. It is trivial for a man who thinks he’s lost so much. Zore will not kill me, not yet, that only leaves Thorn.”

  “Only?” Siren advanced on her husband. “Thorn’s madness bleeds him to villainy you cannot comprehend, Lochlanaire.”

  “You’re mistaken, Siren. I’m as crazed as he is. The difference is I’m an accomplished assassin. Thorn’s merely a vengeful monster.”

  Siren shook her head. “I thought you dead once, Lochlanaire. It nearly destroyed me. I cannot lose you.” Tears brightened her eyes.

  Lochlanaire’s finger poised under her chin lifted her woeful eyes to seek his. “I surrender to death, if not with Thorn’s treachery, or Zore’s, then at King William’s. I cannot forsake the reaper’s sickle, Siren. I’m cursed. However, I can be the knightly savior you once named me. With my confession to King William, I’ll claim that I killed you and failed to gain his treasure. He’ll behead me for my defiance and it ends. You and Shevaun must seize the Royal and vanish. Never look back.”

  How could Lochlanaire be so callous to his death? Siren staggered to the window, tears stinging to her soul. “This…is madness.”

  Lochlanaire halted behind Siren and caressed her shivering shoulders. “My death resolves everything. You’ll live, Siren. Our child will live. I’ll dwell within that babe.”

  Tears drenching her heart, Siren scoured her mind for another answer.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Where Evil Hovers

  With Siren freed of her manacles and chains, Thorn raided the Royal, ordering his men to overturn every table and chair. Nothing of her presence did he find. He damned the phantom for the detestable crime. Under Thorn’s demand to search her ship, Aynore gave her acceptance, granted no choice, or he’d question her allegiance. Lochlanaire and Siren took haven in the captain’s quarters behind a false wall where Aynore sheltered the bounty she took upon plundering a ship. They were safely disguised to the jittery, bloodshot glare of Thorn and his men.

  Infuriated at retrieving no evidence by which to regain his treasure, Thorn throttled Aynore’s throat and shoved her against her quarter’s window, seething, “You freed Siren, Aynore. You must have. Did you help Lochlanaire as a traitor?”

  Aynore shook her head. “No, Thorn. The phantom must have sown trickery. I profess innocence.”

  Thorn released Aynore and stomped to the cabin’s center. “I’m to meet that nefarious goblin in mere hours, slittin’ his throat.” He clenched bloodless fists.

  Aynore soothed, watching him tread a jagged knife’s edge, “You must rest, Thorn. Come, I’ll escort you to quarters. The men will continue the hunt for Siren without you. They’ll unveil her sanctuary. Come.”

  Cajoled by Aynore’s assurance, Thorn allowed her to lead him from the cabin.

  At Thorn’s departure, Lochlanaire and Siren pitched open the wall that fortified their sanctuary, and cautiously they stepped. Lochlanaire drifted to the window. The sky began to brighten, the sun gaining in its defiance of darkness. Blood-red rays warned of depravities to be inherited this day.

  Lochlanaire’s heartbeats began to wane.

  “Lochlanaire, I absolve you,” Siren softly whispered.

  He faced her. “What did you say?”

  “Of my mother’s murder, of what you were to obtain for reward in surrendering me to King William…I forgive you.” Siren sat on the bed, her eyes downcast to her laced hands.

  “How do you?” Lochlanaire hunched at Siren’s feet; he lifted her gaze to bewitch his.

  “You’ve spared my life countless times when you bore no cause.”

  “You were an oppressor’s innocent pawn, Siren. I’ve done little but use you in order to save myself.” Reviled by his revelation, Lochlanaire straightened.

  Siren grasped his fingers. “And I’ve used you. I seduced you for the purpose of conceiving your child. Now, if you sacrifice yourself to Zore, our babe will never know its father.”

  A sly smiled engaged Lochlanaire’s lips. “You’ll tell the child about me. But dispatch the tale of my villainy in bowing to the king as his huntsman. It bodes of ugline
ss.” Wrenching his eyes off hers, he wandered to the desk.

  Siren moved behind Lochlanaire and slithered her arms around him, cupping his satin-swathed chest, feeling his heartbeat thunder. “It vows of knightly valor, Lochlanaire. You relinquished your soul to the king’s every whim. You’re now going to forfeit your life for mine and Shevaun’s to Zore. You’re courageous above all men.”

  “Courage bears little to do with it, Siren. I simply cannot permit you to die.” Choked, his fingers fondled hers.

  Siren urged him to confront her. Standing on her toes, she kissed him, lustful for Lochlanaire with every beat of her heart. He swept her between his arms and Lochlanaire hastened to the bed. Discarding their clothing, in a fury they were eclipsed by fiery passion, her willowy legs bracing his lustily writhing, naked body as he raided hers with thrusts that seized them in heavenly glory. Lochlanaire’s fingers gripped Siren’s and they met their release in starlit splendor, his lips kissing her arched throat.

  ***

  By dawn’s villainous break, he gazed upon his gorgeous wife who peacefully slept next to him. Lochlanaire caressed Siren’s bare stomach and he kissed the flesh protecting his child, whispering, “Lord, embrace this innocent woman in your loving arms. Comfort her, shield her from evil. This day, I sacrifice my life for my wife and our child. I walk to my death loving Siren and only her. Forgive my sacrileges and the bloodshed I’ve reaped against mortal man.” Easing off the bed, Lochlanaire dressed, lacing his sable linen breeches, wearing a black satin shirt and thigh high boots. He knotted a red sash over the scabbard, which holstered a sword buckled around his waist. His pistol he sheathed at his hip. Attention lured to his sleeping wife anew, Lochlanaire kissed her alluring lips one last time. Siren snuggled the bedclothes, whispering his name, which ripped through his soul. “I love you, Siren. Never doubt.” Lochlanaire abandoned the cabin, forsaking the tears battering his heart.

  Lochlanaire whipped on the floor length cloak and trudged the ship to the lowered longboat where it awaited his rowing attention, swaying in swirling waters. He jumped within the vessel and dipped the oars to sweep frothy water, creeping along biting shoals and jagged coral reefs. Lochlanaire landed the boat footfalls shy of the ring of stones where he intended to rendezvous with Thorn. Jumping ashore, Lochlanaire tethered the craft. Lured somehow, his eyes were seduced to the ships gloriously painting the blood red horizon. Divinely gracing the Ranger’s stem stood Siren. She wore a satiny dressing gown, ebony hair draped her body, and her tear-welled eyes besieged Lochlanaire’s. Siren clenched a rigging rope and pulled herself to stand on the ship’s rim. Lochlanaire blackened his heart and ripped himself away from the angelic beauty. He pierced the spiked monoliths that would soon bear witness to his doom.