Chapter 27

"Dammit."

Adrian and his men raced down the hillside, heading for the shore. The closer they got, the more intense the rush from the sea was, but so was the squealing and barking from the French dogs chasing them.

Adrian spat to get rid of the sour bile from his mouth. His lungs burned with every ragged breath as he sprinted through the tangled woods.

"Headcount," he demanded over his shoulder as he strained his eyes to discern the landscape ahead in the scattered moonlight.

His order passed down the line of men, and moments later, he got the confirmation he was waiting for.

"All here, Capt'n."

They reached the shore just as the moon disappeared behind a cloud.

"Quick now!"

They hauled the jolly boat out and pushed it into deeper water.

"Go!"

The barking intensified as they rowed through the waves. Halfway out to the Ranger , the French soldiers reached the shore.

"Thomas!" Adrian's voice bleared across the water. "Thomas, get her ready!"

A dark silhouette emerged by the railing, but they were still too far away for Adrian to recognize him. "Get her ready!"

A sharp crack blasted through the air from the shore.

"They're shooting!"

"Row, goddammit! Row!"

A gunshot thundered and smashed into the boat's side panel, ripping loose a cascade of splinters.

"Fuck!" Kinsley muttered and tore his leg away from the planks.

Adrian crouched and peered at the Ranger . The crew scampered up the ropes, ready to unfurl the canvas. When the echoes from the guns faded and the French shots no longer reached them, Adrian exhaled a sigh.

They made it.

He scaled the ladder and jumped onto the main deck. "Set sails!"

Thomas barked out a hail of orders before he fell into step with Adrian as he crossed the deck. "What the hell happened?"

"Now I understand why Ashcroft could keep selling weapons and intel to the French," Adrian clipped. "Bertrand is the buyer."

"Bertrand—? What the hell?" Thomas spat over the edge. "Scott, get that anchor up! Scott? Matheson, get Scott ondecks now!" He turned back to Adrian. "How so?"

"Guillaume knew enough to make me understand. Capturing Miss Hawthorn jeopardizes Bertrand's agreement with Ashcroft. He probably sees her as an opportunity to get leverage over Ashcroft and broker a better deal."

"I'll be damned!"

"Lieutenant." Matheson's head popped up from the hatch. "Scott is nowhere to be found. Neither is Morris."

"Goddammit!" Thomas yelled. "Find Ainsley and raise that damn anchor yourself."

A sudden cold swept along Adrian's back. Scott and Morris had vanished. Morris didn't surprise him, but Scott had always been loyal.

Adrian jumped through the hatch, ignoring the ladder. The smacking of his boots pounded in his head as he raced along the companionway. He flung open the door to the grand cabin. Just enough moonlight filtered through the windows to confirm what he dreaded.

Avaline was gone.

A myriad of thoughts raced through his mind. Had Scott or Morris threatened her? Or had they knocked her unconscious?

He cast a glance around the cabin and felt his forehead scrunch up. Something was amiss. He yanked off the blanket from the berth. Nothing. He inspected the table. Everything as it should be. He glanced at the bookshelf. Nothing.

The sound of the anchor coming up rattled through the cabin. The last time he heard that noise Avaline had been lying naked in his berth.

His eyes flashed to the hook where she used to hang her locket at night. It wasn't there.

Had Scott taken it? Or Morris? Or had she left voluntarily?

A chill filled him, seeping in until it encapsulated his heart in a frigid lump in his chest.

Why the hell would she do that?

His hands balled into iron fists. Had there been something between Avaline and Scott he hadn't seen? Or had he seen it happening right under his nose?

He recalled the looks Scott had given her, how he always seemed to hover near her, and how close he used to be, like in the grand cabin yesterday evening.

"Captain!" Thomas's voice shot between the walls in the companionway. "Sails ahead!"

Adrian banged the door to the grand cabin behind him and raced up the ladder to the main deck. He tore the spyglass out of Thomas's hands and directed the lens toward the south. "Report!"

"About half a league to the south," the lookout said. "Five frigates and one man-of-war."

"Lord Jesus!" Thomas grumbled beside him. "They must have known."

"They did," Adrian gritted as the truth hit him. "Ring the bell, I'll take over the helm. Prepare for battle."

"What about Miss Hawthorn?"

"She's gone," he bit. "Matheson! Get the gun crews ready!"

"Beat to quarters!"

Matheson's order was met by running and shouting as the gun crews scrambled to man the guns. The bell chimed through the air, an ominous clang that settled deep in his core like a thorn under the nail.

Thomas watched him. "Gone? What–?"

Adrian whizzed up the ladder to the quarterdeck, skipping every other step. "Matheson, I want all sails up. We'll try to break into the open sea."

Never had the sails unfurled so sluggishly, nor had the Ranger reacted so tardily. Adrian clenched his teeth to the point he thought they would crack as he waited for the ship to catch the breeze and heed his commands.

Had Avaline sold him out? The more he thought about it, the more likely her betrayal seemed, though it didn't make sense. A heavy feeling clenched his guts.

"Dammit!" Adrian swore. "Dammit!"

Thomas followed Adrian to the quarterdeck. "We can't take on that force."

"No, we can't," Adrian agreed. "But we'll wreak as much havoc as possible."

"I have a bad gut feeling about Governor Bertrand."

"I want your gut feeling in this battle and nowhere else." Adrian yanked open the spyglass again. "They are reaming out their guns."

They wouldn't make it.

"Gunports open!"

Moments later, the warship unleashed a warning shot that splashed into the waves a mere fifty yards from the Ranger's bow.

"Matheson, release the main guard tackle and try to pick up the draft from windward on the main sail."

The men in the rigging strove to release and tighten the tackles and braces, but despite the whining of the wind in the rigging, they were at a disadvantage so close to land.

The man-of-war released another warning shot, the explosion feeling like it came from inside his head, and this time, the iron perforated the jib sail and blew away the Ranger's proud bowsprit.

"Keep going!"

Adrian steered the Ranger straight to sea, hoping the French ships wouldn't have time to deliver him a full volley.

Then the warship slowed, and her bow turned to the open sea.

Fuck!

"Matheson, I need more speed!"

"We're doing everything we can, Captain, but the volcano is killing the draft."

He strove to steer the Ranger toward the looming warship. "Gun crews at the ready!"

His command repeated down on the gun deck.

"Six hundred yards!"

He had one chance, one broadside to take the man-o-war, and it had to be perfect.

"Five hundred yards!"

They were close enough to see the crew on the warship, but the blue coats were almost invisible against the night sky.

The Ranger picked up more speed as she emerged from the bay, but it wasn't enough to shake off the French fleet.

"Fire!"

The ship shook under the deafening roar of the guns. A burst of fire lit up the fading night, and smoke billowed through the air as the warship's powder magazine detonated, showering the Ranger with splinters and shrapnel.

"Reload!"

The air was thick with acrid smoke that stung his eyes, and for a moment, Adrian couldn't discern the rest of the French fleet, but he knew the frigates were out there, waiting.

The Ranger emerged from the smoke surrounding the man-o-war, coming up close on the nearest frigate.

"Fire!"

Adrian unleashed a full broadside that reverberated through his legs, but before they could reload their guns, a double volley from the French frigates rattled the Ranger .

Adrian's mind raced, torn between his scarce choices. He could stand his ground, face the final onslaught, or surrender and beg for his crew's mercy.

His hands tightened around the wheel so hard it felt like his knuckles would crack through the skin on his fists. The breeze from the open ocean, the elusive wind they had failed to harness, gently caressed his face and played with his hair, but he no longer enjoyed the sense of freedom the sea gave him. A hollow emptiness that he had only felt in the dungeons of Newgate filled him when he let go of the wheel. "Strike our colors."

It wasn't anger that tinted Adrian's cheeks as the French captain ascended to the Ranger's deck in the early morning light. It was shame. He had failed himself and his men.

What fate awaited them? He guessed that his crew would be handed over to the British Navy while Ashcroft would demand Adrian for himself. He hoped for a quick death, but he feared a worse fate.

"Capitaine 'Ainsworth?" the French captain asked. His graying hair hung as a sleek curtain around his narrow face, stopping just below his ears.

"Yes."

"You're under arrest for piracy, kidnapping a British subject, and treason against the British king!"

"What do you care about the British king?"

"I do not, but these are my orders. Please surrender your weapons."

The French soldiers disarmed Adrian and his crew, leaving them bare and vulnerable, and dispersed them among the frigates still capable of sailing.

When the wooden door of the brig slammed shut and left him in the dark, Adrian returned to the moist and cold months in Newgate. A fierce shudder chased down his spine, and the darkness in his mind surfaced.

Ashcroft had won, at last.