The Huntress ✓

35. Will Trade: Two Thieves for One Pirate

King's Square was one of the most horrible places on the island yet, inexplicably, many hovered about the vicinity to gaze upon the condemned. Stocks and pillories filled with the most pitiful looking persons—faces set in hopeless expressions or twisted in agony—filled the square.

There was also a whipping post.

This was where they dragged Sam.

As they ripped off his shirt and tied Sam to the post, the crowd closed around him, a gruesome curiosity calling them to watch as some poor bastard was tortured.

Bronte gripped Lucien's doublet. "We have to do something! Bart should be the one tied to that post! He's the criminal!"

Lucien looked at her hopelessly. "What can we do? The square is filled with guards!"

"We have to try! We can't just let them at him!" Her voice was nearing panic.

But it was too late.

Leather whistled through the air followed by a crack and a cry of pain.

Bronte broke loose from Lucien's hold and pushed through the crowd until she reached the front, Lucien following closely at her heals, pleading with her to keep back lest she be seen.

But no one paid attention to the faces in the crowd, least of all Bart, who stood watching the lashing with his face fixed in a satisfied smirk, his arms folded casually across his chest.

Bronte wanted to shoot him. No, that was too good for him. She wanted to hang Bart from the highest yardarm by his toes while birds—

The whip cut through the air again and laid a second crimson stripe across Sam's broad back, and then a third, fourth, and fifth in quick succession. Sam arched his back in agony as the whip continued to fall, his low cries coming weaker every time, ripping through Bronte as savagely as the leather ripped his flesh.

Bronte took a step toward Sam. She couldn't stand to watch anymore even if she only earned a spot by her friend's side. But someone shoved her aside brusquely as they strode quickly toward the executioner. A handsome young man, immaculately dressed, wearing polished leather boots.

Blake!

Bronte froze in confusion as Blake stepped up to the man wielding the whip and grabbed hold of his wrist.

"Hold! In the name of the King!" Blake's voice rang with authority.

Bart stepped forward, looking indignant his fun was spoiled. "What's the meaning of this? This man is a known criminal and is receiving punishment due him! You've no right to interfere!"

Bronte fell back, allowing the crowd to conceal her but keeping her line of vision clear. She looked at Sam. He sagged against the restraints and blood ran freely down his back.

"I have a written pardon for one Samuel Davies, quartermaster of the ship Huntress, signed by King Charles II. Do you deny this is said man?"

"That's him," Bart answered reluctantly, ripping the parchment out of Blake's hands and scanning the contents. After a moment of complete silence on the crowd's part, Bart turned to one of the guards. "Untie him." He shoved the parchment back into Blake's chest and turned on the spot, pushing a path through the now cheering crowd.

Bronte couldn't help feeling annoyed with the gathering; drawn like flies to a carcass to see a man beaten and then cheering at his release.

Blake handed the parchment to the approaching constable and stepped quickly to support Sam as they released him.

Blake wrapped Sam's arm over his shoulders and helped Sam walk as best he could without touching his ravaged back. Bronte was relieved to see Sam's face, though clearly marked with pain, turn into one of his trademark grins. "I don't know how you pulled that one over on them, but thanks."

"I didn't—the pardon is real," Blake assured.

Bronte noticed that accompanying Blake was the man who'd broken into her room. His hands were tied and his feet were hobbled with chains.

"Constable, there's one other thing," Blake said to the officer looking over the pardon. "This man—thief," he corrected, "was caught breaking into the Bellemare estate."

"Is that so?" The constable looked up from the paper. "Take this man into custody," he ordered his men.

Bronte noticed that Bart's face, contorted in anger, changed to a ghastly shade of white. He'd paused in his retreat when he caught sight of the captured Spaniard and was now trying desperately to disappear into the crowd.

"He's the burglar who's been preying on the settlers, assisted by one Captain Bartholomew. And he can attest to a murder at Captain Bartholomew's hand," Blake added, keeping one eye on Bart.

"Is that true?" the constable asked the thief.

"It's so, senior. He asistida. Told me how and when to break in."

The constable turned toward Bart, who was near escape at the crowd's edge. "Seize him!"

The executioner smiled and seemed to take great pleasure in closing his hand around the captain's wrist, a vice from which there would be no escape.

Sam started to ask Blake for an explanation but Lucien got his attention. Lucien pulled Sam's free arm across his shoulders. "Come with me. You can explain after we get back to my father's estate."

Blake nodded and the two of them supported Sam as they worked their way through the milling crowd, who were returning to the mundane now that the excitement was over. Blake guided them to a carriage he had standing by—pulled by a black mare.