Page 81 of An Imperfect Scoundrel
“Not all of them came from him,” she replied, her hand lifting to her neck and gingerly touching the cut. “The crew tried to kill me before I was delivered to Mr. Hayward.”
“What stopped them?” Mr. Woodford asked. “Certainly, Mr. Evans didn’t attempt to rescue you.”
“Captain Shaw said I deserved a trial.” She forced a smile. “They won’t act against his orders.”
“A fair trial?” Mr. Annesley scoffed. “Mr. Evans shot a man because he didn’t load the cannon fast enough.”
A metal clang echoed through the room, and the two men yanked their arms from the squares, moving away from the side of the cage, and retreating to the rear of their cell. Taking her cue from their behavior, Alana copied them, and pressed herself into the cage’s far corner as the door creaked open.
Mr. Hayward’s scarred face appeared on the other side. He entered, carrying an empty gunpowder barrel, and carted it to the far end of the room. Setting the barrel down in front of the door to the men’s cage, he glanced at Alana as though judging whether to speak with her.
Sighing heavily, he turned and strode toward her. When he stopped in front of her cage, he crooked his finger, calling her forward.
She went without protest, somehow knowing Mr. Hayward didn’t intend to harm her.
“Did you take it?” he asked, his gruff voice giving no indication of his mood.
“No,” she replied, wrapping her hands around the metal slats.
“How did it get into your trunk?”
“I don’t know.”
“You will die for this crime.” He tilted his head, considering her response. “Have you no other person to offer in your place?”
Alana licked her lips. She couldn’t condemn another man to this fate without proof, not even the vile Mr. Evans.
“I do not.”
“Interesting.” Mr. Hayward nodded. “I shall make certain Captain is aware you were shoveling during the theft of Mr. Northcott’s bracelet. Both Woodford and Annesley will confirm you were with them.”
“Thank—”
“Don’t thank me yet, Dubois. You could have had an accomplice,” he replied, turning and walking away.
“It’s preposterous to think I’d concoct such a dangerous and risky plan several days after being captured by pirates, then ask a complete stranger to assist me with it,” she retorted, her frustration chasing Mr. Hayward to the far cell.
“Preposterous but not impossible,” he said over his shoulder.
When he reached the barrel, he picked up a stack of cards, which had been set down by Mr. Woodford a moment prior and shuffled them. Dealing each man five cards, he lifted his and grumbled at the hand.
Four bells clanged in quick succession, and Mr. Hayward threw down his cards, annoyance on his face. “We’re never going to finish this game.”
“We’ll postpone the hand until you return,” Mr. Woodford said, earning a snicker from Mr. Hayward.
“Will you? That’s very kind of you, Woodford.”
Chuckling, Mr. Hayward exited the cargo hold and pulled the door closed behind him. However, in his haste, he forgot to lock the door. A thought which didn’t bother Alana until sometime later, when Mr. Evans poked his thin face into the room again.
“Mr. Dubois!” He slunk around the door, kicked it close, and strode forward, the corner of his mouth pulling into a disturbing grin. “How delightful to discover you still here, awaiting my return.”
“I’m not waiting for you,” she replied, shuddering as she backed away from the front of the cage.
“Are you certain? Because I swear, I heard you yell out my name, or perhaps it was someone else’s name on your tongue. Shall we find out which word comes out of your mouth first? I bet it’ll be my name… as you beg me for mercy.”
He approached the door, wrapped his hands around the metal slats, and jerked quickly.
The door didn’t open, in fact, it didn’t budge, but there was a brief moment of pure terror when Alana feared he might actually rip the iron gate from its hinges.
