In Like Flynn, page 5
“Out of my way,” Waverly barked as he came toe to toe with Flynn. Flynn was an inch taller and slightly broader in the shoulders, but Waverly was thick with muscle, almost brutish in build compared to Flynn’s leaner form. If it came to blows, it would be a fairer fight than Brianna wished it to be. She would much prefer for Waverly to be a fat little toad who couldn’t throw a punch.
“Flynn,” she warned softly.
“What is there to question the boy about? He stole a tomato and ruined a uniform. What real harm has been done?” Flynn challenged.
Waverly’s eyes narrowed as he leaned to the left to peer at her around Flynn’s shoulders.
“That boy is also charged with piracy. He’s one of Thomas Buck’s men.”
“Can you prove it?” Flynn demanded.
Waverly’s rage transferred to Flynn in an instant. “And who are you to question me, pirate?”
“Challenge me and find out,” Flynn warned. There was such danger in his voice that Brianna flinched back a step instinctively. She wondered how this man had ever been drunk or foolish enough to get caught by a patrol. She couldn’t picture him doing anything so reckless.
Waverly whistled sharply, and the two soldiers standing nearby grabbed Flynn roughly. “Take him to the post. Bring me my cat. This man needs to be reminded of his place here.”
Flynn pulled free of one man and landed a blow on him, knocking the soldier onto his back. Flynn spun on the other man and kicked him back with a blow to his chest. The man clutched at his ribs, wheezing as he bent double.
The joy Brianna felt was silenced as Waverly grabbed her from behind and the cold metal of a pistol was pressed against her temple. Flynn whirled on them, fists raised, but he froze as he saw Brianna.
“Stand down! Or I shall put a bullet through the boy’s head.”
Flynn lowered his fists and glared at Waverly. The men he had knocked down struggled to their feet and grabbed him once again.
“Lash him to the post,” Waverly said.
Flynn didn’t fight this time. They hauled him to a thick wooden post near the gallows. The wood was stained with dried blood, blackened by the sun. Waverly shoved Brianna away from him once Flynn was taken to the post.
Flynn’s waistcoat was removed and his shirt pulled over his head before his wrists were wrapped in thick cords and tied to a brass ring on the top of the post, forcing his hands above his head. He was stripped bare to the waist, his broad back completely exposed. Brianna’s heart stopped as she noticed faint scars covering him. He had been whipped before. He knew the agony that he was about to face, and it was because of her.
“Stop it! Your quarrel is with me, not him!” she shouted. Two guards grabbed her arms, holding her back.
Waverly shot her a dark smile. “Oh, you shall have your turn in due course, I assure you.”
“You bastard!” she snapped.
He whirled and struck her across the face. Pain knocked her off her feet, and the men holding her nearly dropped her as she sagged with a groan.
Waverly shrugged off his uniform coat and rolled up his shirtsleeves. He caught the whip when one of the soldiers tossed it to him.
“Stop! Don’t do this.” Brianna pulled free of the two soldiers, who clearly thought she’d passed out. She ran toward Waverly and grabbed his arm as he uncoiled the cat-o’-nine-tails.
When her hand met his arm, he spun on her, the back of his other hand connecting with her face so hard that she fell, briefly blacking out. She came around to the sound of a whip biting into flesh.
Flynn’s cry of pain shot through her as she struggled to her knees. Her face ached like the devil, but she didn’t care.
Flynn hung weakly against the post. Blood trailed down his back, and his flesh was striped with deep cuts from the whip. Rage filled Brianna, a rage as mighty as the earthquake that had once swallowed Port Royal. Waverly glanced her way, saw her face, and his cold, dark smile only deepened. He tossed the whip to the ground and pulled a pistol out of his belt and aimed it at Flynn’s back.
“Better to put a rabid dog down,” Waverly said to her. “He has no information worth hearing. It’s you I’m interested in.” He turned back toward Flynn to aim at his head. Brianna surged to her feet, flying across the sandy ground of the prison yard straight at Waverly.
Years of breaking up fights between her crewmen had taught her a thing or two. The bastard didn’t see her coming. She leaned forward, her shoulders tense as she aimed for his waist. Then she tackled him from the side just before he could fire. Waverly grunted as he fell, his pistol sliding out of reach when Brianna landed on top of him, her balled fists coming down on his face over and over.
A half dozen hands grabbed her, dragging her off the captain and throwing her to the ground. A boot kicked her in the ribs, and she felt something break. She tried to angle herself away from the next kick, which landed on a softer part of her body, but she was surrounded on all sides now and there was nowhere to run.
This was it—she was going to die here. She’d never see her father again, or Joe. Pain rained down on her as everything around her grew dim . . .
The crack of a pistol froze everyone in place.
“Stop!” a voice bellowed across the yard. “Stop, I say!”
Brianna shuddered. Each breath she managed to take felt like it was shattering her rib cage. She tried to lift her head and look about. The rest of the prisoners in the yard were huddled in a few spots of shade, their faces grim as they stayed out of the fight. Several guards stood all around her. And Flynn sagged bloody and broken against the post, with Waverly standing far too close to him.
Admiral Harcourt still held his pistol aloft, though its shot had already been spent.
“Take the boy back to his cell. And fetch a surgeon for that man.” He pointed at Flynn. “Captain, you will see me in my office once things have settled down, understood?”
Waverly wiped blood from his mouth, his eyes black with hate. His nose was broken, and Brianna smirked in open defiance, even though her body now screamed in pain.
“You are dead, boy, dead,” Waverly hissed as he retrieved his coat from the ground and stalked past her.
Brianna looked back at Flynn, who was slumped against the post. Her heart lodged in her throat. His eyes were closed, and blood poured down his back, his flayed skin bright scarlet. The sweat that dampened his hair had turned it a dark bronze, like a halo.
The admiral approached Flynn and spoke softly to him, his eyes full of pain. Not for the first time, Brianna thought the admiral had too much heart to be a Royal Navy man.
“Come on, you. You’ve caused enough trouble,” a soldier growled and started to drag Brianna away from where she lay on the ground. She dug her fingers into the soldier’s arms, clawing to get free, to get to Flynn. She had a sudden fear that she might not see him again.
“Flynn!” she shouted, and then again twice more before the soldiers forced her from the prison yard. Flynn struggled to his feet at her cry. Before she lost sight of him, she saw his strength fail and his legs give out beneath him again.
A hollow pit formed in her stomach as she fell back onto her cot and the cell door slammed, closing her in. She’d cast her lot in with Flynn now. Whatever came of it, she would be loyal to him for saving her life, even if he had only given her a few more days. She wanted to tear into Waverly, let out the fierce rage that had built inside her when he’d whipped Flynn. It was all her damned fault. If Flynn didn’t make it . . .
No, she wouldn’t even think that. He was strong. He wouldn’t let Waverly end him.
She prayed that whatever god of the sea cared for pirates might hear her. Be strong, Flynn. I’ll find a way to get us out of here.
CHAPTER 4
“Flynn!” The shout was still buried in Nicholas’s skull. The terror in Holland’s voice had only made the agony of his injuries greater.
“This is not what I agreed to, Admiral.” The words escaped Nicholas’s lips as his strength gave out and his legs buckled beneath him. “I should have stayed at King’s Landing with Dom and enjoyed the rest of my leave.” That’s what he’d been doing before all this had started. Taking a few weeks of much-deserved rest and contemplating his future with the navy. “Instead, that bloody madman nearly shot me.”
“I know, my boy. This is my fault. I didn’t want that man here in my fort, but I didn’t have much say in the matter. His family is well connected and, unfortunately, as aware of his . . . madness as I am because they’ve sent him far away from England. What better way to rid themselves of a man like that? They sent him here, where the harm he does would rarely reach the ears of anyone back in London.”
Nicholas tried to process that, but he still didn’t understand why Waverly had attacked him. “Did you tell him about me?”
At this, Harcourt shook his head. “I didn’t have a chance to tell him you are an officer or that we have a plan. He was supposed to be busy with patrols on the island today, not here going after that boy.”
That boy. Nicholas was too weak to laugh. “That boy is no boy, Admiral.”
The admiral waved away a pair of soldiers coming toward them and freed Nicholas’s bound hands.
“What the devil do you mean?” he asked.
“Bryan Holland is not a boy. He is a she.” Nicholas trusted the admiral with such information. He had a daughter, a beloved one at that, one who was close to this girl in age. He had faith that Harcourt would do all he could to protect this young woman from the indignities of less scrupulous men and prove she was innocent of any crime. Of course, if she was found guilty, she’d be hung—a pirate was still a pirate, after all. Being a female wouldn’t save her from the gallows, unless she got herself with child, and even then it would only delay her fate until after the babe was born.
“You’re telling me the truth? Holland really is a . . .”
“Woman, yes.” Nicholas’s vision spiraled and his head grew heavy.
“Good God, someone get that bloody surgeon here.” Harcourt’s bellow made Nicholas’s ears ring for a moment before he collapsed and blacked out.
He woke on a bed in the garrison’s infirmary. He was stretched out on his stomach, and every muscle screamed with pain as he tried to move.
“Lie still, Lieutenant.” Harcourt’s voice was nearby, his tone soft.
The events that had led to this moment of physical agony came rushing back to him. “Holland . . .”
“She’s fine, back in her cell. I’ve sent a soldier I trust to watch her. He won’t let anyone near her, not without my consent. I still outrank Waverly—I doubt he would openly defy me.”
Nicholas kept his eyes shut as he drew a painful breath. Every time his lungs filled with air, the flesh of his back stretched and ripped open again. A pained groan escaped his lips.
“Take it easy, Flynn. You took a bad whipping. It will be a while before the wounds heal. The surgeon will need to apply salve frequently to keep them from opening up and becoming inflamed.”
Nicholas fell asleep while Harcourt continued to speak, and it was a long while later when he became aware of himself again. He was alone in the infirmary. His body ached so fiercely that it was hard to take air into his lungs. The door opened, and the surgeon came toward him.
“How do you feel, Lieutenant?”
“Like the devil himself tried to flay me alive,” Nicholas muttered.
The surgeon smiled. “That is a good sign. Feeling nothing would indicate severe damage.”
Nicholas didn’t reply. He stared at the surgeon while the man bustled about near his cot.
“Oh, right, drink this. It will dull the pain.”
He gulped down the liquid, and the pain began to fade within a few minutes.
He was only half-awake when Admiral Harcourt returned.
“How is he?”
“Lucky for the man, he’s young and fit. The wounds aren’t shallow, but thankfully Captain Waverly didn’t have enough time to do lasting damage, at least not worse than what some other man already did to him. He has quite a few scars from older lashings. Waverly’s blows were just starting to go deeper through those old healed wounds. That boy intervened at the right time, and the lieutenant owes him a great debt for it.”
Despite Nicholas’s pain, he was clearheaded enough to realize something.
“Admiral,” he said, interrupting the surgeon and Harcourt’s discussion.
“Yes?”
“Put me back in the cell with Holland.”
“What? No, you need to heal under a surgeon’s supervision,” Harcourt argued.
“The surgeon said I’ll be fine—let Holland tend to me. He owes me a debt now. That sort of thing builds trust, if you understand my meaning.”
He needed to get back into that cell. She needed protection—his protection. The girl was wild and impulsive and would get herself killed if left alone for too long. Even if he was currently rather useless with his injuries, he was certain he’d be more able-bodied in a few days if he could rest and see that she was safe with his own eyes. Hopefully, he could convince the admiral that being tended to by the girl would be a good idea so he could protect her .
Harcourt was silent a long moment. “You still wish to continue this mission?”
The lashing today had somehow deepened Nicholas’s resolve to find a way to protect the female pirate. She had trusted him—or was starting to—and had attacked Waverly to save him. To take on a man twice her size, a man clearly bent on hurting her, she had put her secret at risk and thereby her safety . . . for him. He owed her a debt now too, and if he could, he’d find a way to make her disappear when all this was over. If she had a chance to start a new life, one far away from here, she’d avoid a doomed fate on the gallows.
“Yes, I do,” Nicholas said. “Have the surgeon instruct Holland on how to tend to me.”
Harcourt’s eyes sharpened in understanding. “Yes, you could be right. Very well. Doctor, you will give prisoner Holland instructions on caring for the lieutenant. Holland is not to know this man is an officer, you understand? We need the lieutenant to gain this prisoner’s trust by any means necessary.”
The surgeon nodded. “Yes, Admiral.”
Nicholas was given a few more hours rest, and at nightfall he was carefully walked back to Holland’s cell by two soldiers. The surgeon followed them. When the door opened, the girl bolted upright and rushed toward Nicholas. She seemed to quiver with concern as she reached out to help him.
“Move back, boy,” one of the soldiers barked. She obeyed, but her anxious gaze didn’t leave Nicholas’s face.
When the soldiers released Nicholas, he didn’t have to fake a stumble. He was still weak from whatever the surgeon had given him to dull the pain. He knelt on his cot and slowly lay down on his stomach.
“You,” the surgeon said as he stepped into the cell.
The girl stepped forward. “Yes?”
“I don’t have time to play nursemaid. You will clean his wounds twice a day and apply this before bandaging them.” He gave the girl a brown glass pot of salve and several clean bandages. “You will have fresh water and rations to tend to him.” This was said more to the soldiers than the girl.
“Why?” the girl asked, suspicion layering her words.
“Because this man needs to be questioned by the admiral, and I would rather not be held responsible for his death. If you value your life, you’ll keep him alive.”
The surgeon nodded to the soldiers, who placed a bucket of fresh water in the cell before slamming the door shut. Nicholas let out a sigh and closed his eyes. He missed the comfort of the infirmary bed already.
“Are you all right, Flynn?” The girl’s soft voice tempted him to smile, but he resisted. Even in male togs and with short, cropped hair, he could tell she was beautiful. It astounded him that no one else had figured out the truth, but no doubt the way she normally carried herself dispelled suspicion. It was only at times like this that she dropped her guard.
“Aye, lad.”
The girl cleared her throat and deepened her voice. “What you did for me—thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Nicholas opened his eyes to find her hovering near him. “Fetch me some water, lad?” He glanced at the fresh pail of water, and she used the wooden cup floating inside to retrieve a full serving for him. She held the cup to his lips, and he drank it until it was drained.
“More?” she offered.
“A little more, then have some yourself.” He knew the kind of food and water she had been getting up till now. He closed his eyes, pretending to sleep.
“Don’t worry, Flynn. I’ll take care of you. I owe you.” The girl’s voice betrayed her tenderness. She shouldn’t be in a life like this.
What was her connection to the infamous Shadow King of the West Indies? A child of his? A friend? A lover, perhaps? She had to be valuable to him somehow, and no one would think this girl worthless. A pirate like Buck would have some affection and likely some use for a girl like Holland. Regardless, Flynn would do what he could to help her escape this life once he learned what he could of Thomas Buck.
As the girl started to hum, he fell under the spell of her voice.
Brianna was concerned about how much she worried about Flynn. She was a carefree, wild pirate, yet here she was fretting over every little thing Flynn did in his sleep as she acted like his nursemaid.
It’s only because he took a whipping intended for me.
She had never caused another person pain like this. Sure, she had coshed a few merchants and their crewmen over the head with the butt of a pistol in the midst of boarding a ship, and she’d fought in fistfights and knife fights in taverns with drunken men.
