Page 27 of The Black Lion
She backed away from Will and into the shelter of Drew’s body. He wrapped his arms around Arabella and pulled her to his chest, resting his chin atop her head and giving his half-brother a mocking smile. Will’s insults only gave truth to his real feelings. It ate him up alive to know he’d nearly had Arabella, only for her to slip through his fingers.
“Better his whore than your wife,” Arabella retored. “Death is far too good for the likes of you. These men could do with you what they pleased, and I would sleep just fine tonight. Damn you, Will. Damn you to Hell.”
An eerie silence fell over the gathering, all eyes turning to Drew as the men awaited his direction. He clung to Arabella while sweeping his eyes over them, meeting the gazes of the men who’d been at his back come hell or high water. Some of them were part of the mutiny aboardHannibal, while others had joined the crew over the years, proving no less loyal than those who’d first tasted the pirate’s life with him.
“You heard my lady. Her father lives, though will not go unpunished. This bilge-sucking gutter rat may go to the devil, though we’ll ensure he suffers before he does. What say you?”
Cries and suggestions were shouted out at once, Rory chiming in loudest of all. It took a quarter of an hour to calm the men enough to take note of the possibilities and vote accordingly. In the end, it was decided that the two men were to be marooned—if they could survive untilThe Sea Lionreached the next uninhabited island. Archibald was to be thrown back into the bilge, where he would live on a diet of hardtack and water until the time came for him to be left in the hands of Fate. As for Will … he would suffer a lashing, after which he was to be strung up from the mainmast until morning. If he survived the night, he’d be tossed into the bilge with Archibald. If he did not succumb to infection from his wounds, he would be marooned along with Arabella’s father.
While it was typically Big Jack’s job as bosun to deliver lashings, the large African had turned to Drew with a sober expression on his dark face, his mouth a grim line as he extended the nine-tailed whip to his captain.
“Your enemy, your right, Cap’n,” the man said as Drew released Arabella to take hold of the weapon.
Drew glanced down at the knotted tendrils of the whip, fingers tight around the handle. He had been content to stand back and watch Will receive his comeuppance, but as Bella and his men looked on and waited for him to begin, Drew realized this was how things had to be. Big Jack was right; Will washisenemy as much as he was his brother. He would lash his back to ribbons with relish, and not just because of what Will had done to him. As he looked into the tear-filled eyes of Bella, he vowed to make this especially painful as retribution for what had been done to her. She claimed to not have suffered as much as he had, and while that might be true, Drew would rather she never have suffered at all. He could not change that, but he could make things right. He could make the man who had attempted to use and manipulate her pay for it.
With the whip hanging at his side, he cupped Bella’s cheek. “You should not witness this.”
Blinking back her tears, Arabella squared her shoulders and met his gaze with determination. “Yes, I should. You’ve shared everything with me—your life as a pirate, the deeds you have been forced to commit to survive. Why would you expect me to turn away now? I won’t be sheltered any longer, Drew. I will stay and watch.”
He wanted to press the issue, knowing she couldn’t possibly understand how brutal a lashing could be. The healed scars on his back were ugly, but not nearly as terrible to look upon as when they were when first inflicted. But, the look in her eye told Drew she would not be swayed. Deciding she had earned the right, he gave her a slight nod and then released her.
“Strip him.”
Three of the crew fell on Will at the command, while Drew handed the whip off to Rory to prepare himself. As Will was unshackled and divested of his shirt and stock, Drew peeled off his own coat as well as his tricorne. He handed the items off to Arabella, who clung to them as he swiftly stripped off his shirt and gunbelt. She cradled it all in her arms as he turned to accept the whip, while Will’s wrists were bound with ropes. Two of his crew stood to either side of Will, pulling the ropes taut and spreading his arms out wide.
Drew circled his brother so he could look him in the eye, the heat of his previous rage freezing over into a solid, icy mass of contempt. Will made a pitiful sight, despite the effort he made to keep his chin raised. Fear was evident in his eyes, as the reality of what was happening seemed to finally settle over him.
“I loved you once,” Drew said, his voice low enough that only the two of them heard. “Then, for a long time, I hated you. I’ve hated you right up until this moment. As of right now, I no longer feel anything for you. You are less than nothing to me.”
And how liberating this realization was. Bitterness had driven him for so long, but now a ponderous weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He was free to move forward with his life, with Arabella at his side.
Will seemed to have nothing left to say, mouth pinched tight as he stared at Drew with resignation in his eyes. There was nothing left to do but begin.
Drew circled him again, urging Arabella and his crew to give him a wide berth. Then, he raised his arm and took the first swing. The cat o’ nines landed squarely in the middle of Will’s back, the knots digging in and leaving angry red circles at the end of each crimson stripe. Will flinched, but remained silent, his arms shaking in the snare of the ropes. That stoicism would not last. Even the strongest of men could not endure a lashing without crying out in agony.
It took six strokes to produce the desired result, Will’s tortured screams ripping through the air like a sudden crack of thunder. His skin broke on the seventh lash, blood welling in the wounds and trickling down his back.The Sea Lionhad gone eerily silent, only the sound of leather against flesh and Will’s screams breaking through the quiet. Archibald cowered and trembled, tears streaming down his reddened face. However, he kept his mouth clamped shut, as if afraid he might bring this sort of torment on himself if he stepped out of line.
Drew worked with cold resignation, finding that even this did not stoke him to passionate anger. It wasn’t something he did to make himself feel better—for Bella had already soothed the wounds of his past and given him what he needed to heal. This was simply something that needed to be done.
He took his time with the task, the tails of the whip licking at every inch of exposed skin, wrapping around Will’s sides and ripping flesh from ribs. Will sobbed until his voice grew hoarse, violent tremors wracking him from head to toe. By the time Drew finished, his back had been made a gory mess, and his blue silk breeches were stained with crimson gore. Bits of skin clung to the whip, pools of blood soaking the deck. Sweating and panting from his exertions, Drew finally allowed his weary arm to rest.
Turning to nod at Rory, he stepped back while his quartermaster accepted a bucket of seawater from Big Jack, which was promptly upended over Will. His horrific screams had several of the crewmen wincing and swearing under their breaths, for they could hardly fathom the agony of the saltwater seeping into those grievous wounds. The ropes were released, and Will collapsed in a dead faint, landing in a massive puddle of his own blood.
“String him up to the mainmast and leave him,” Drew commanded, thrusting the whip back into Big Jack’s hands and turning toward Arabella.
Her skin had gone ashen as she stared down at Will’s prone form. She looked as if she would be sick, but kept her composure as Drew accepted his articles of clothing back one by one and put them on. His boots would need a good cleaning, splattered as they were with Will’s blood. But he thought only of Arabella, who he took under his arm and guided back toward his cabin, putting the limp form of Will being raised up to the mainmast behind them.
Chapter Nine
That evening, Drew hosted a dinner for the ship’s officers in his cabin, a celebration of sorts. He wanted her to get to know his closest friends. Most of them calledÎle Saint Marietheir home, and Arabella would be seeing a lot of them. While it seemed uncivilized to feast with Will hanging from the mainmast, his occasional sobs and cries of torment ringing out through the night, she couldn’t bring herself to feel sorry for it. Will had inflicted pain onto others and been repaid for it. With his fate decided, what else could she and Drew do but celebrate being reunited and on their way home?
Home. What an odd concept that was, for while Falmouth was the land of her birth and the only place she’d ever lived, Arabella had never truly felt she belonged there. Standing between two worlds, she had despised her place in her father’s house while bemoaning the fate of the slaves who toiled to make the Abbott family wealthy. It was for that reason she’d begun to train herself to think ofÎle Saint Marieas home. Even without ever having laid eyes on it, she already loved the island for the beautiful picture Drew had painted of it with his words. She could hardly wait to arrive.
Arabella smiled as she sat at the end of the long dining table, observing Drew sitting at its head. She still wore her green sari, enjoying the freedom and luxury of the extravagant silk—though at Drew’s insistence she had added jewels to the ensemble for dinner. Her wrists and ankles were clasped with golden cuffs, and her ears and throat dripped emeralds that sparkled in the light of the tapers. Despite being accustomed to the finery of a lady of privilege, Arabella had been absolutely stunned by the opulence of Drew’s gifts. Her pearls and muslins seemed like the rags and baubles of a peasant compared to the treasure trove provided by her pirate captain.
Drew had changed for the occasion, donning a pair of loose-fitting black trousers and a long, sleeveless robe of rich velvet trimmed with decadent gold thread. He wore nothing beneath it, the parted sides of the robe proudly flaunting his lion tattoo. He had tied his long hair back from his face, displaying the gleaming gold hoop affixed into his pierced ear. Flutters of desire spread through her belly as she watched him eat and drink and laugh with his men, the black ink on his fingers catching her eye every time he lifted his wine goblet to drink. She wanted those tattooed hands on her, stripping off her clothes and plundering her naked flesh. She wanted to be alone with him so they could take up where they’d left off this morning. Despite being exhausted from the events of the day and sore between her legs from their sleepless hours last night, she found herself as insatiable as he seemed to be. There was so much lost time to make up for.
Drew met her gaze from across the table as if he read her wandering thoughts. A slow smile spread across his face, and he played his fingertips over the rim of his wine goblet, a promise in the subtle movements of his fingers.
