Page 32 of The Black Lion
Then, Drew presented her with a ring—a simple affair with a golden band enclosing a large, freshwater pearl.
“I now pronounce you man and wife,” Padre intoned, after which Rory loudly interjected, “Now, kiss that bonny lassie, Cap’n, before I do!”
Amid the raucous cheers of the crew, Drew swept her into his arms and kissed her soundly, not letting up until he’d stolen the breath from her lungs. As they pulled apart, he gave one of his rare smiles and stroked her cheek with his unwounded right hand.
“I love you, my lioness,” he murmured as the crew erupted into celebration, hats flying into the air followed by requests for music and rum.
“And I you, my lion.”
They allowed Rory to pull them apart long enough to wrap their cut hands with strips of clean linen, then they were left to their own devices as the celebration went on around them. Caesar took up his place at the war drums, while one man produced a fiddle, and another a flute, the jovial music offering a pleasant accompaniment to the festive occasion. Casks of grog were broken open, tin mugs passed about. The men would all be three sheets to the wind by sundown, with the exception of those responsible for the night’s watch.
Drew led her to the ship’s bow, a bit removed from the revelry. They stood together, watching the undulating waves of the sea, Drew’s hands braced on the railing and enclosing her between his arms. They fell silent for a long while, Arabella’s head rested against his chest as she allowed herself a moment of reflection on all that had happened to lead them to this moment. She decided it had all been worth it to be able to stand here in his arms, the world stretching out before them, theirs for the taking.
Above them, the thin voice of a pirate from the crow’s nest caught their attention. They gazed up to find Little Jack pointing out at the horizon as he cried,
“Sail, ho, Cap’n! Sail, ho!”
Drew straightened, narrowing his eyes as he followed the direction of the boy’s pointing finger. A smirk ticked at the corner of his mouth, and Arabella glanced out to sea, noticing for the first time a ship in the distance, closing in fast.
Rory appeared at their side, raising a spyglass to one eye. “She’s a brigantine, Cap’n, sittin’ low in the water … filled to the brim with cargo.”
Drew took the spyglass and looked for himself, as Arabella stepped aside to allow him to do his duty. Apparently, pirate conquest did not stop—even for a wedding.
“It’sThe Jupiter, I think,” he said, voice laced with a derision that sent a chill down her spine. “I recognize the figurehead and she’s flying British colors.”
Arabella frowned as Rory spat over the rail and Drew sneered, lowering the spyglass.
“Sons of whores,” the Irishman grumbled. “Stuffed full o’ slaves, she is. I bet me balls, Cap’n.”
Drew gave an amused snort. “No need, Mr. Walsh. We all knowJupiterspecializes in human cargo. You know my stance on slavers, but it is my wedding day. If we are to chase a prize, we cannot do so without the permission of my bride. Far be it from me to rob her of her wedding celebration.”
Arabella had no need to think on the matter. All it took was the memory of those slaves toiling on her father’s cane fields and her impotence as a silent witness to their suffering. She had been helpless to aid those in captivity, but her circumstances were now changed. She was no longer the bastard daughter of a wealthy English planter. She was the wife of a pirate captain, and he had already told her there was nothing he would not give her. And on this day, what she wanted was to see the people trapped aboard that ship set free.
Turning to her husband, she smiled. “Captain, there is nothing I want more than to see you send that foul ship to the bottom of the Atlantic.”
Drew flashed his predatory smile, and took hold of her face, drawing her to him for a swift, hard kiss. Then, he turned to stare down at the crew watching and waiting for his commands.
“You heard my wife, you scurvy sea dogs! My Bella wants that ship as a wedding present. Shall we give it to her?”
Amid cries of ‘aye, Capn’!’, Drew fell seamlessly into the role of their commander.
“Hands to the sheets, lads! Hoist the colors and let the black banners ofThe Sea Lionbe the last thing they see before we blast them to kingdom come! Hand to the wheel Mr. Walsh, Mr. Caesar to the drums—let them hear our call!”
The ship erupted into activity, and Arabella shrank back against the railing to allow the men room to maneuver in a flurry of raising sails and unfurling lengths of rigging. The war drum’s cadence vibrated the very air around them as the vessel picked up speed, the wind catching and thrusting out the crisp sheets of the sails. Chests appeared from hidden compartments and were broken open to reveal an array of weapons fit for any army.
Drew paced back to Arabella, taking her hand and leading her toward his cabin. “The deck isn’t a safe place for you right now. Remain inside and keep this door locked. Do not open it for anyone but me.”
He all but hauled her over the threshold, shrugging off his frock coat before taking up his gunbelt. Arabella stood and watched as he armed himself with his twin pistols and cutlass. His favored dagger came next, nestled safely in his left boot. Then, he strapped a leather bandolier across his body before bending his head to give her a swift kiss.
Arabella walked him to the door, following his command to lock it once he was on the other side. Now that the initial excitement had faded, her hands shook with trepidation and her belly began to roil. Hearing tales of battle on the high seas was one thing; being on board a ship prepared to go to war with another proved another matter entirely. Men might be hurt or lost today. The ship could be sent to the bottom of the sea with them all on board. She had heard stories of her husband’s ferocity, as well as the skill and strength of his crew—but no man was immortal. He could so easily be snatched away from her.
Pacing toward the bay of windows, Arabella pressed her face to the glass and held her breath, watching the horizon. From the rear of the ship, she could see nothing; yet, she couldn’t seem to move away, heart throbbing at a mad rhythm in her breast.
It dropped into her stomach as the first blast of cannons rocked the ship and threw her to sit on top of her chest. Hand pressed against her belly, she closed her eyes and prayed.
Drew helda length of rigging and pulled himself up onto the railing at bow ofThe Sea Lion. With Arabella stowed safely in his cabin, he was free to devote all his energies to the brigantine stuffed full of slaves in the distance. His beloved ship cut through the ocean at full speed, her bow sending up a salty spray, her bowsprit pointed straight at its quarry. His skin tingled and his veins pulsed with the thrill of an impending fight.
Many vessels might surrender at the sight of his colors fluttering in the wind, but not this one. Every slaver from here to the shores of England knew of the fierce reputation of The Black Lion. He had freed hundreds of slaves from the holds of their ships and sent dozens of their captains and crews to Hell without mercy or remorse. There wasn’t a slave trader alive who didn’t want to get their hands on him.
