A Pirate's Possession (3 page)

“Not unless you already know what the other half says. Seems to me a person would have to have some idea of what's written on the other half or searching would be a complete waste of time.”

“You know someone then?” Nate asked, despite the fact that he knew full well what James was doing.

James nodded. “I do,” he said.

There was no trace of a lie in the man's eye that Nate could see and it gave him pause. Could it be that James also knew what was on the other half of the map, the half that Claire's father had possessed?

Nate finished his drink. “Then I hope they remember this half as well,” he said as he patted his pocket. “Thanks for the drink.”

He unfolded himself from the chair and was heading to the doorway when his first mate and good friend, Vincent, strode into the tavern. The dwarf came directly at Nate, who was easy enough to spot because of his height.

“Well?” he asked, hands braced on his hips. “Did you get what you came for?”

Nate frowned. He hadn't told Vincent or his crew about the treasure. Part of that was because until he had the last piece of the map, there was no point. The other part was, though he had no intention of mentioning Claire, he'd no doubt be thinking of her in the telling of the tale regarding the map and the treasure. Since he never gained any joy from thinking of her, and since she was already too much in his thoughts for his peace of mind, Nate delayed it yet again.

“I didn't come here for anything.”

“Then why were you in such a bloody hurry to make port?”

“Maybe I just needed to get away from your endless badgering for a few bloody minutes. What are you complaining about anyhow? I thought you had an errand to run.”

“Errand? Oh, right. All done.” He took a breath; the smile he gave Nate was forced. “What did you mean, you needed to get away from me? Having me as your fist mate is the best thing that's ever happened to you.”

“Sure it is. Right after scurvy.”

For a moment it looked as though Vincent believed the words, but then he rolled his eyes. “You're not going to tell me, are you?”

“It's not hard to see you were raised with a bunch of women,” Nate commented, referring to his friend's need to know everything.

“Fine. I'll tell you what.” This time Vincent's smile was real. “You keep telling me there's nothing, and I'll promise to stop trying to get it out of you.”

“I'll believe that when I see it.”

Vincent sobered. “If there's nothing, then why do you look as though you've just lost something that mattered?”

Because that was exactly as Nate felt. He'd been thinking of or searching for that treasure for years and he'd come to Nevis for the missing piece to the map. The map that would lead to the biggest treasure in the Spanish Main. He had it now; he should be pleased. The ironic part was that by having it, he was also reminded of what he didn't have.

Nate found a table, one as far from James's as possible. Making himself as comfortable as the wooden chair allowed, he caught a passing barmaid and ordered two tankards of rum. Then, thinking that was a good start, he ordered one for Vincent as well.

 

 

Claire thrashed her way through the jungle and over the haphazard path she'd created a few days ago to the small camp that, as of Thursday, had been her home. The moon was nearly hidden by clouds and offered little relief to the cloaking darkness but Claire knew her way. She hadn't kept herself alive this long by making a habit of getting lost.

She arrived at the small encampment and saw, if only in her memory, a cold pile of rocks surrounding black coals and a small cleared-out area that was no bigger than the blanket she used to keep warm. Claire dropped to her knees. She'd put her hopes and efforts into locating the map. She'd worked until her bones ached, and more times than not, she'd fallen asleep at night too exhausted to undress. She'd trudged ahead despite fear and pain, loneliness and heartache, believing it would be rewarded in the end. Believing justice would prevail. Never, never, had failure entered her mind. If it had, she'd have given up long ago.

Great heaving sobs shook her, and soon warm tears were meandering down her cheeks. After everything, she had failed. Her money, her hope, it was all gone.

As was her father. And despite having only just seen him, as was Nate. She pulled her knees to her chest, held them tightly. After so many years, why wasn't she used to this feeling of being alone?

When her father had left her at the orphanage to seek the treasure, she'd believed it was temporary, that he'd come back rich and take her away. As the weeks turned to months, that belief had become hard to cling to.

The one good thing had been Nate, who'd also lived in the orphanage. He'd been first her friend, someone she could talk to, then her confidant, when she'd told him about the map her father had, and then finally he'd become the boy she'd loved.

Together they had spent hours talking about the treasure. Where would it be found? Would it be mostly gems or coins? How would her father carry it out? They'd envisioned crowns made of rubies, swords fashioned with emeralds and diamonds.

But when the months turned into years and Claire could no longer pretend her father would ever come back for her, it was Nate who'd held her, who'd comforted her. It was Nate who'd discussed trying to locate it themselves. It was Nate who'd kissed her, who'd made her feel beautiful. And Nate, like her father, had left and never come back.

She couldn't very well damn her father because she had no way of knowing if he was alive and still looking for the treasure to this day or if he'd perished along the way. It was a thought that plagued her. Was he hurt? Had it been discovered that he had a piece of this most famous map and was killed for it? Until she knew, she had no reprieve from those troublesome thoughts. And as he was her father, she loved him, and if he were to come back, she'd forgive him for leaving her. If only she could see him again.

She'd once thought the same of Nate. But seeing him today, knowing
he
was alive and hadn't bothered to come back for her the way he'd promised yet could continue to search for a treasure for eight years, stoked her anger until it raged within her.

Him, she could damn.

Wiping her tears, wincing as her fingers brushed where Sid had hit her, Claire got up and made a fire. It wasn't for warmth as the night was mild, but rather for company. Feeding the flames gave her something to do with her hands, and the crackling wood filled the silence. But watching the fire dance and flicker couldn't distract her from her thoughts or the truth that pressed upon her as much as the humidity.

Nate had the missing piece. Combined with what she'd shared with him as a young girl, he had enough to go looking for the treasure she'd always considered to be hers, or at least her family's. There'd be no stopping him now.

Claire inhaled sharply as bitterness overtook her. Over her dead body.

Coming to her feet, she kicked dirt over her fire, packed her few belongings into her worn bag, and headed for the tavern. As far as Claire was concerned, Nate was stealing the treasure from her.

It was only fair she return the favor.

 

 

I oughta just leave you out here to sleep it off,” Vincent complained as he tried, with very little success, to pull Nate along the meandering street. It wasn't easy to steer him in any direction. Not when he careened more than a ship caught in a hurricane.

Vincent cursed when Nate once again stumbled. Lowering his voice, he grumbled, “I know you said to play along with whatever ruse it is you're up to, but could you help me a little, you big lubber?”

“You're doing fine,” Nate whispered. “Jus' take me home, mate,” he roared drunkenly. “My house is that-away.” He gestured vaguely to the back edge of town.

As they left behind the taverns and harbor, the glow of the streetlamps faded and the cacophony of noise drifted away until it was nothing more than a dull murmur. Night sounds were now able to be heard, and the repetitive songs of crickets and frogs were a relief after the din of the tavern.

Vincent dug in his heels when Nate veered left and nearly took them both down. “Keep your damn eyes open!”

“They are,” Nate answered.

“Then use them,” Vincent ground as he yanked hard on Nate's arm.

He didn't have to feign frustration. It was gnawing on him like rats to a rope. What the devil was going on? Nate had said he'd wanted to get drunk, but he'd soon switched his drink to water. Still he kept it delivered in the same crockery mug in order to keep up the pretense of drinking. All he'd offered as way of explanation was that he was being watched. Vincent could only assume they were also being followed. Otherwise it made no sense to go this way, not when the bloody ship was bobbing in port behind them.

“Don't be such a woman,” Nate teased.

“Say that again and I'll kill you,” Vincent threatened, though it was an empty one. The big lubber could be annoying and downright stubborn, but he was a good friend and Vincent treasured friendship above all else.

Though it looked as though Vincent was guiding Nate, it was Nate, in fact, who was leading the way. He led them now past one of the last houses on the street. Its lights were out, and other than a horse lifting his head from where it had been dozing in a small paddock nearby, all was quiet.

Nate and Vincent rounded the corner. All pretenses of being drunk vanished. Nate pulled his pistol from the waist of his trousers, pressed his back against the wood planks of the house, and waited.

He knew James was following. The man had been watching them far too closely in the tavern, and Nate had seen James shift when he and Vincent made their way to the door. More than once as Nate feigned a stagger, he'd seen a shadow cut behind a house or tree.

He heard boots crunching on rocks and slid his finger against the trigger. His heartbeat was calm. His focus was complete.

When he heard the man's breathing near his ear, Nate made his move. He crouched then lunged when the man rounded the corner. Nate caught him at the waist and, with his speed and weight, took them both down.

“Ooof,” the man groaned when Nate landed hard on top of him.

Years of sailing at night had honed Nate's eyesight and he saw, as he straddled the man and grabbed him by the throat, that it was, in fact, James.

“Your luck wasn't good at the table. What made you think you'd fare better trying to follow me?”

“I—” James tried to swallow but Nate's hand didn't let up. “I wasn't going to hurt you.”

Nate smiled. “Not by yourself, you couldn't.” He lowered his hand from James's throat and grabbed a handful of his shirt. “Are you alone?”

The man's head bobbed.

Nate shook his head. “Then that's the second dumbest thing you did tonight. The first was following me,” he said as he brought his pistol down on the side of James's head.

“You're going to leave him there?” Vincent asked when Nate lowered James's head to the ground and stood up.

“Yes, and let's hope he wasn't lying about being alone or it'll make getting back to the ship and slipping out of port quietly a little tricky.”

Three

She arrived back at the tavern in time to see the dwarf and Nate step outside. Jumping back into the shadows of the trees, Claire remained still as the dwarf and an obviously drunk Nate meandered away from both the tavern and the harbor and headed to where the bulk of the houses were nestled quietly for the night. Though she had every intention of going after Nate and the map, she certainly didn't want to get caught following. Therefore, while the streetlamps kept the men well lit, she remained where she was. For now.

When they were far enough up the road, when she was contemplating moving from her hiding spot, another man came out of the tavern. James from the poker game. He looked around, saw Nate and the dwarf, and then he, too, stepped into the darkness. Claire waited to be sure, but it soon became apparent, as the man crept from building to tree, that he was also following Nate.

Claire narrowed her eyes and set her jaw. If James was following Nate, it could be for only one reason. Her map. Well, he wasn't going to get it any more than she planned on letting Nate keep it.

Still, as she followed them past taverns, closed businesses, and a graveyard marked with a tall white cross that shone despite the limited moonlight, she couldn't help wondering just where the devil Nate was going. And when they arrived at their destination, just how she was going to get the map back. Though she had a fair arsenal in her bag—pistol, dirk, and blunderbuss—not to mention the knife in her boot, Claire had never anticipated having to use them on someone she knew.

Even if the lying weasel deserved it.

However, before she could contemplate it further, Nate and the dwarf disappeared behind a darkened house. Not long after that, James followed. Claire took a step forward, saw Nate ram the man to the ground. She jumped, then slapped a hand over her mouth to keep her gasp contained. She watched, shocked, as words were exchanged before Nate's pistol came down on the side of James's head. The sound overrode that of crickets and frogs, and the dull whack as metal met skull made the hair on the back of Claire's neck stand on end.

She watched Nate relieve James of his weapon before leaving him behind like refuse, and she knew two things. Nate wasn't drunk and he wasn't to be underestimated.

Taking her pistol from her effects, Claire readjusted her bag over her shoulder and once again followed Nate. Nate wasn't the only one to be underestimated.