Bronte, with much to consider, steered to the place she could do it best. Her island. She'd also noticed the ship was getting sluggish, which meant it needed to be careened. If the bottom wasn't periodically cleaned of barnacles and other sea muck the ship wouldn't remain seaworthy (or fast) for long. It'd take a few weeks to complete the whole process; plenty of time for her to sort through the recent overload of information.
After her cabin was ransacked in Curacao, she'd been so angry she'd shoved the whole mess in a corner. Now, as Bronte sifted through the heap for the Bible (she wanted to look up some scriptures Lucien had written down for her) she decided everything needed re-ordering.
It was then Bronte discovered something missing, after all. Two charts. She hadn't considered someone would want anything other than money. One was the illuminated version of the West Indies Bronte finished while in Willemstad Bay. The other was the simpler sketch of the route through the reefs at their hideaway. Strictly speaking, she didn't need either one, having memorized the latter and having enough separate charts to make up for the former. But who took them? And why?
She considered Blake. He always seemed—well—wrong. Would he have taken them? And to what purpose? Suddenly Bronte knew. The gold! Why hadn't she thought of it before? Blake knew she'd hidden part of her share on the island. But he didn't know where, and now, Bronte knew the knave was coming.
And she would be waiting.
***
Back in Port Royal Lucien made arrangements to head home, thinking long about this recent, surprisingly pleasant, encounter with the Bronte.
He'd not been surprised when the very day she left, the Blood Rose sailed in. He'd thought Bart might follow him, suspicious as he was, but his ship was slow going against the wind.
Now, as another night fell, he gazed at the stars and thought of the fireflies' dance that had entranced them both. He smiled in the darkness.
Someone opened the door of a nearby tavern, spilling noise and light into the peaceful night. He turned to see who so disturbed his repose. A man matching the description of Bronte's spy was accompanying none other than Captain Bartholomew.
YOU ARE READING
The Huntress ✓
Historical Fiction(EDITORS PICK) In the bloody, ruthless, and decidedly uncouth world of 17th century pirates, can a woman deceive even those closest to her and survive? Bronte is forced to make some tough decisions about her life and livelihood at far too tender an...
