He hadn’t intended to hurt her, but at his blunt truth, she flinched. He sensed her faltering convictions as she whispered, “None of that proves betrayal.”
No. It didn’t. And Cain was well aware that the story he presented sounded more like a desperate man concocting fiction to escape judgment. His chest tightened as the day he’d sailed into Charles Towne surfaced from the depths of his memory. He closed his eyes against the echo of Lieutenant Jacobs’ sentence and the sight of the gallows erected outside his cell’s narrow window, where he would have dangled in the wind.
When he looked at
India
again, she studied her hands. One dainty ankle rubbed against the other, her discomfort with the subject obvious.
“
India
,” he murmured, drawing her soulful eyes to his. He leaned forward and passed her the small key. “Open the box.”
For a moment, she stared at the key as if it might bite her. An unsteady hand reached out. Fingertips trembled against Cain’s open palm as she scooped the key into her grasp. She knelt on the floor before the box and opened the lock. Aged hinges creaked in the stillness.
“Take them out,” he instructed softly.
She withdrew two folded silks, one black, one deep indigo. With great care she unfolded the fragile cloths and spread them out on the bed, revealing Cain’s personal colors. The twin skulls stood out like ghostly specters against the fading light. She looked over her shoulder for an explanation.
Cain stood and brought the lamp closer. He bent down and touched the flag on the right. “Look closely,
India
, this one’s indigo.” He pointed at the other. “Not only is that one far newer, it’s sewn in black.”
“And?”
“I’m the only one who knows the field is blue. From a distance, it
looks
black. This one, and the one on my mast now are the only two that remain, and they’ve been in that box for two full years.”
He picked up the replica and folded it in on itself, hiding the skulls. “Drake had lost his ship—as he’s often prone to do—and was aboard Nightshade’s when they happened on the
vessel
that dared to sail my Roger. They found this in the captain’s cabins, but the captain was no longer present, and no one aboard could explain its origin.”
Understanding registered in her pretty face. She closed her eyes and furrowed her brow, as if she sought to block his words. He pressed on. “I
was
framed,
India
. I did
not
return to the life of Cain of my own accord.”
She gave a fierce shake of her head. “Perhaps. But you can’t assume it was Richard.”
“I can.” The heat of anger filled his veins, and he tossed the flag back in the crate. He ground his teeth together, tempering the need to strike out beneath the assault. He stared at the wall, unable to confront her refusal to believe. “There are
five
people who know my given name and possess the information to reveal my history. The first is Henry Jennings, who upon our introductions in 1709, insisted if I were to sail with him I must have a man’s name. He dubbed me Cain.” Turning, he fought back the rising anger and faced her once more. “I’m
certain
you’ve heard how he slaughtered more than two dozen men who thought to double-cross him. I assure you, betrayal isn’t in his nature.”
Cain gestured at the thick door. “Drake and Nightshade would not have pulled me from The Battery if they wished to see my death. They are too well-versed in pistols. Royce is too preoccupied with his own misery in
France
and avoiding the noose that awaits him there.”
He took two steps closer, bent over the bed and set his palms on the quilts. Bending his elbows, he lowered his face nearer to hers. “The
fifth
is Richard Grey.”
351
Bound By Decency
18
T
he fierceness in Cain’s eyes turned
India
’s blood cold. Although she’d seen him brutally angry mere hours before, the hatred that radiated behind his gaze surpassed even the malice he’d shown Slater. A glare that made denouncing his claims impossible, even though every fiber of her being rose up in protest, unable to believe Richard could be capable of such treachery. Though there were many things she disliked about her intended, the one trait she’d consoled herself with these last several months was his sense of honor. His respectability.
Admitting she believed Cain, a man she’d known mere weeks, felt more traitorous than the wicked way her body reacted to Cain’s nearness. Giving over that easily wasn’t in her nature. Perhaps Richard wasn’t the traitor. Perhaps Richard’s only fault had been revealing Cain’s secret to the wrong person, who then used it for personal advantage.
A vivid stretch of the imagination, but one she must prove false before she could accept the obvious acts of Richard’s betrayal. Hope lay in her ledgers, the documents Cain swore he’d seen. If she could prove to him they were fabricated, then she might yet be able to prove Richard’s innocence.
If she failed, she would lose the last shreds of her future and the freedom that Richard promised she would have with North Atlantic Freight. Her shipping line was all she had now. She could withstand the condemnation of society for the time she spent aboard Cain’s ship, so long as she could immerse herself in trade.
She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue and willed strength to her voice. “You said you saw entries in my ledgers.”
Cain drew away, the harsh lines of his expression relaxing to softer planes. “Aye.” He tucked his hands into his pockets and let his shoulders slump. “At the meeting I attended with your father when the merger was proposed. When your father left the room for a brief moment, Richard showed me three entries from last year that detailed human trade.”
A spark of hope lit deep inside her, and
India
sank to a sitting position on the floor. Her head hurt with the chore of making sense out of his claims. Perhaps Richard had betrayed Cain, but here, Cain clearly erred. “While it’s true my father took my books to that meeting, Cain, I entered all the records myself. Every line. Every digit. There are no such accounts.”
He passed a hand through his long dark hair and rubbed the back of his neck. He didn’t explode as she’d thought he might, instead, he regarded her in silence. After several uneasy moments, she began to believe he wouldn’t speak at all. At last, she had made him doubt his own convictions. But as she expelled a relieved breath, he spoiled her brief victory.
“You skipped lines, correct?”
“Pardon?”
Stalking to his desk, he picked up his ledger, brought it to her, and flipped it open beneath her nose. One thick finger tapped a blank line between two different payouts. The standard method employed so one could run totals on the far right of the page. Confused, she frowned at him.
“Of course I do.”
He snapped the ledger shut and gave her a sympathetic smile. “And your ledger covers several years, as well?”
Her frustration mounted. “Only one who wished to be wasteful would begin a new book each year, when there are but three entries per annum.”
“And how long has it been since you’ve had cause to review the years past?”
His line of questioning and the insinuation that she kept poor records sparked her mounting ire. “I assure you, Cain, I keep meticulous accounts.”
“And I believe you do. The entries I saw,
India
, were squashed between yours and listed dates well after the entered years. The entries from last year fell amongst figures from 1712.”
She recoiled, her throat tight. Bells of warning tolled in her head and quickened her pulse. He couldn’t fabricate such detail. Her mind acknowledged the truth. But her heart, though it had never held more than polite affection for Richard, refused to accept.
As if Cain sensed her struggle, he dropped to one knee before her and clutched her hands. His eyes held hers, earnest and sincere. “I have been honest with you since you set foot on my ship. Sometimes barbarously. By your own words, you cannot help me locate Richard. What reason do I have to tell you lies?”
The strength in his warm grip begged her to believe. Since that night in the rain, when he’d looked at her and vowed she’d lead Richard to his death, he hadn’t minced words. She was the one who’d used duplicity to her advantage. Guilt balled her stomach into a hard knot and forced her to lower her gaze to their joined hands. She’d lied to him all along. To save a man who had fed her pretty words and false promises. What did that make her?
“I need some time with this, Cain,” she murmured.
He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze, then released them as he rose. “I’ll see Cleaver about some more of your tea.”
Behind
India
, the door closed, leaving her alone with the flags and her thoughts. She ran a hand over the dusty crate. Particles of dirt and lint gathered on her fingertips.
Slaves.
Her fleet had transported human captives. Men, women, and children forced from their homes and stuffed into a dark cramped hold, where God only knew what befell them there. Without knowing who captained the ships, she couldn’t even take peace in the knowledge the slaves had regular food and water.
A shudder raced down her spine. Damn Richard. He had no right to manipulate her affairs. When she discovered who’d made his treachery possible, she’d not only terminate the man’s employment, but make certain he would never again find work in
Britain
.
She blinked at the thought. Who
had
made it possible? Benjamin Bainfield, the man who oversaw on her behalf? Surely he would know that doing so would be like committing suicide. He held aspirations of owning his own small company—no one would do business with a man who engaged in such deceptiveness.
And Richard—had he considered what she would do once she found out? He couldn’t possibly believe to keep her in the dark for the duration of their marriage. That he sought to strip away the promises he’d made upon the speaking of their vows didn’t make him merely dishonest, it made him despicable.
At the full realization of how close she’d come to losing everything, her head throbbed all over again. She groaned aloud and dropped her head into her hands. If it weren’t for Cain, she’d have never known. She’d have married Richard in October only to find herself confined even beyond her father’s limitations.
It was all too much to consider, and after the exhausting day, all she wanted to do was escape to dreams. She pushed to her knees and moved the quilt aside. But as she reached for her pillow to fluff the lavish down, a brown stain on her shirt stilled her hand. She stared at the spot, seeing Slater’s cruel
expression
as he held her by the throat.
Her blood filled with ice. She’d come so close to never seeing another sunrise.
She rubbed at the spot, unable to look upon it any longer. When the fabric didn’t wipe clean, she jumped to her feet and made her way to Cain’s footlocker. She no longer cared if he thought she was snooping or if she violated his personal effects. She couldn’t take another moment of the reminders of death, the certain evidence how fragile life could be, and the pointed reference to the complete lack of control she had over hers. Other people steered her. Used her as a pawn.
Her life belonged to her. She alone held power over her fate. Not her father, not Richard, and not the despicable rules of society that confined women to subservient roles.
Cain alone offered her the ability to follow her desires. He didn’t laugh at her dabblings in business, nor did he seek to curb her unconventional spirit. He demanded only honesty, whatever the truth.
Her soiled shirt hit the floor before she reached her destination. She stepped over it, unconcerned by her nakedness. If Cain walked in while she dressed, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d witnessed her unclothed.
He didn’t, however, and she pulled another of his over-large shirts on. It fell to her knees, but the scent of sage embedded in the fine fibers added comfort to her punctured heart. She wound her arms about her waist, snuggled into the soft brushed linen, and inhaled deeply. Cain had saved her twice. Once from a lecherous sailor, and then again from a damning future. If anyone deserved her trust, it was him.
When her chills wore off, she shed her dirty trousers. Etiquette came back to haunt her as she glanced down at the clothes strewn across the floor. She ought to pick them up. Keep his chambers tidy. But the childish need to turn her nose up at propriety urged her to leave the garments on the floor.
Obeying, she stepped over her borrowed clothes and returned to the bed, where she stretched out beneath the light coverlet and stared at the ceiling, numb.
****
A
larger group than normal gathered in the mess, celebrating the spoils of their conquest. They commended Cain on his ability, shouted praise for their esteemed captain. Cain acknowledged them with false smiles, rote words of thanks, and equal praise as he sat at the end of a long heavy table, a cup of tea, not rum, between his hands.
He sipped, long and slow, the honeyed warmth as soothing to his soul as it would be to
India
’s damaged throat. She needed time. A respite he granted by delaying his return for as long as it took to savor his drink.
A shadow appeared at his side. Two burly arms, adorned with intricate art from the
Far East
, braced against the table top. “Cain, a word wit’ ye?”
He looked up at his bosun. In the brighter lamplight two large gold loops glinted from his ears, heightening the matching ink that spanned his broad, flat forehead. “Aye, Stuart?”
Stuart inclined his head toward a small round table in the corner where three men Cain didn’t recognize sat together. In their hands, they held wooden tankards. Full, thick graying beards hid faces marked by the passing of years. Around their necks, heavy ivory medallions marked them as dangerous men.
Cain kept his voice low, his gaze fastened on the unfamiliar trio. “Do tell me, Stuart, why three members of the Betsimisarakian guard are aboard my ship?”
“Betsi-who?” Stuart’s forehead wrinkled with surprise. “They were aboard the sloop. Rather anxious to greet us, if I do say so meself. It seems if we’d not attacked, they’d intended to relieve the captain of his duties.”
Across the way, the man in the middle met Cain’s stare. He raised his tankard in salute, but his expression remained impassive.
Cain didn’t return the gesture. He wouldn’t until he understood their purpose. “The medallions mark them as Ratsimilaho’s personal guard. Only those who know no fear watch over the Madagascarian king.”
“Well, that be expl
ainin’ their intent of mutiny.”
“Aye, but it doesn’t explain what they were doing on the ship in the first place. Nor what they’re doing on mine.”
Stuart lowered himself into the chair opposite Cain. “That be what I be wantin’ ta talk ta ye about. They’ve offered service in exchange fer freedom at
Nassau
. Drake brought
’
em aboar
d. What should I be doin’ with ’
em?”
No doubt they would be useful. Thomas Tew had charged his most trusted to protect his son, and while they admitted to planned mutiny, Cain had no reason to fear the same. He had appeased his crew. Maintained his word and brought them wealth. For the short journey left to
Nassau
, three more strong backs he’d not turn away.
He dipped his head in acknowledgement of the three. “Have they signed the Articles?”
“Aye, Cap’n, the moment they stepped aboard.”
Cain pulled his attention away from the men and back to Stuart. “So they are aware a woman is on board?”
“Aye,
C
ap’n, an’ gave their solemn oath they would do her no harm.”
“Then put them in the hold to work three consecutive shifts. For their labors at sorting cargo, I will give them one half
-
share each.” The price was more than fair, given the short time aboard. However, Cain intended to guarantee loyalty, and with such a promised sum, he furthered his odds even more.
He rose to his feet, his mug cold, and his thoughts centered once again on
India
. “Tell them I shall speak with them on the morrow.”
As Stuart stood to follow the command, Cain let himself into Cleaver’s kitchen where he poured boiling water over a handful of tea leaves brought from
Singapore
, crushed mint leaves, and a sprinkling of cinnamon. While the concoction steeped, he set his elbows on the butcher’s block and stared out through the tiny port window on the larboard side. Beyond, twilight rapidly gave way to the silvery light of the moon, and the waves just beneath the seal lapped a calming cadence.