The Huntress ✓

37. Treason

The four hurried to the stables where they found Lucien's team in the middle of a wash-down.

"I beg your pardon, sir," said the stable hand. "I didn't know you required them."

Blake's driver, who was busy washing and polishing Blake's coach, spoke. "It was my fault, sirs; I thought we'd have at least until after the dinner hour."

"It's all right, Green. Take your ease," Blake said to the driver and then to Lucien, "We can ride, can't we?"

Lucien glanced at Bronte and Sam. "We can—but they can't."

Bronte and Sam simultaneously crossed their arms over their chests, glaring at Lucien defiantly.

"Oh, fine!" Lucien said abruptly as he started back toward the house.

"Where are you going?" Blake asked, with a perplexed look.

"To get my bag," Lucien answered stiffly as he continued on.

Bronte and Sam looked at each other and smiled.

A short time later they had four horses saddled and were trotting easily along towards the captain's home. Blake and Lucien rode in front, trying to keep the pace easy for the two stubborn pirates, periodically glancing back to check the wounded pair. Though they followed without complaint, Bronte on a beautiful bay mare and Sam on a shining black, their jaws were clenched in identical grimaces.

Lucien straightened in his saddle atop a large gray and shook his head at Blake.

Blake gave a pat to his chestnut and chuckled. "The Heyden's have always had a strong constitution," he said with pride. "And well," he glanced back at Bronte, "that's some woman."

Lucien silently agreed.

Despite the relegated pace they quickly approached the modest seaside home of Captain Dewberry. The home was boxy and plain, painted a dull ash, which Lucien thought, suited the captain perfectly.

They tied their mounts, Bronte and Sam stoically accepting help dismounting, and were soon being shown into the captain's parlor by a prudish-looking young woman.

The captain sat in a stuffed leather chair in a simple but comfortably furnished room before a small fire.

Lucien wondered that Dewberry could be cold; the room felt over-warm to him.

He might've read Lucien's thoughts for Dewberry said at once, "At my age there always seems to be a chill in my bones. Now, what brings you pounding on my door?"

Lucien looked at him with concern, "Is there anything I can do for you, Captain?"

"No, no, I'm all right. Who are your companions and what is your business?"

Lucien briefly made introductions, stuttering when he came to Bronte. Finally, he just shrugged. "And this is Bronte."

The old man did a double take since Bronte was dressed in men's clothes, but before he could ask anything Lucien spoke again. "Do you remember that French poetry I gave you in Port Royal?"

"Of course I do! A more disgusting piece of literature's never been written. I've never seen such filth," the captain spat.

Lucien cleared his throat and asked bashfully, "You wouldn't happen to still have it, would you?"

"And what would you want with it?" Captain Dewberry pursed his lips.

"It has something in it, a message, I need," Lucien said.

"Humph," was all the old man responded.

"Please, Captain Dewberry, do you have it? We really do need it," Bronte asked, not unkindly.