Her heart hurt her now. Virginia raised her hand to her eyes to shield them from the rising sun. She looked past the docks.
And she cried out.
She knew theDefianceby heart—she always would. Perhaps a hundred yards distant, it slowly eased out of the channel, heading into the open harbor.
And there was no mistaking the tall, gallant figure standing hatless on the quarterdeck.
Virginia ran.
Holding her skirts, she ran down one dock, waving frantically. “Devlin! Devlin!” she screamed.
But the ship continued to move away, toward the horizon, and he never turned once to look back.
Virginia’s steps slowed and faltered.
She paused, out of breath, panting hard. He still didn’t look back and he would never hear her; it was hopeless. She stopped at the very end of the dock, staring desperately after the departing ship.
It sailed into the harbor, and once there, the main sails were unfurled. They quickly billowed and the frigate picked up speed, now flying across the seas, now flying away.
Virginia watched it disappear.
DEVLIN STOOD ON THEquarterdeck, the oddest urge to look back at the retreating shipyard within him. It was his habit to stand at the helm and search the horizons ahead; still, he could not shake the need to look back, as if in doing so he might glance at his bride one last time.
“A fine day for sailing, Captain,” Red said, his hands on the helm. His grin was stained and yellow.
“Yes, indeed.” They had a fresh breeze of about eighteen or nineteen knots, causing the seas ahead to foam with dancing white horses. They would make good time today, and after being on land for so long, he should be thrilled with the departure. He was not. Finally, Devlin sighed and looked back.
But the shipyard was just a jumble of shapes and colors now. Then a flash of light from the deck below caught his eye. Devlin turned—as a seaman pointed a musket at him.
Time stood still. He knew an assassination attempt when he saw one and he knew he would die. And as he told himself to dive, sensing it was futile, he knew that the assassin had been sent by his mortal enemy, the Earl of Eastleigh.
And as the shot rang out, the ship lurched with a sudden gust of wind. Devlin was already diving across the bridge, a burning sensation along his upper arm.
He had just used up another life.And as he slid across the wood deck, savage anger filled him. The assassin had missed, but only because of the fresh breeze. Still on the deck, Devlin drew his pistol, shouting, “Seize that man!” He rolled to his side, quickly loading the gun, glancing in the direction of where he thought the assassin might be, and he was right. The man was frantically reloading.
From behind, Gus and another sailor were charging the assailant.
Devlin got to one knee as the assassin aimed again and almost simultaneously, they fired at each other.
The assailant was struck in the lower leg and he cried out, falling. Devlin threw his pistol aside, drawing his saber, racing across the quarterdeck and leaping down to the main deck. “I want him alive,” he shouted as Gus and the second sailor seized the wounded man.
He was struck over the head and his hands were shoved behind his back but he remained half-conscious, on his knees, bleeding all over the deck.
Devlin paused before him, filled with fury.
“Captain?” Gus cried, as more sailors encircled them. “How badly are you hurt?”
“It’s a graze,” he said grimly. With his boot, he kicked the assassin under his jaw, snapping his head back, hard enough to flip him onto his back but not hard enough to break his neck. Gasping in pain, the man stared up at him with wide wild eyes. “Mercy, Captain, sir! I only did what I was told to do! What I was paid to do! Have mercy, I beg you, I got a wife, three boys, all hungry, please—”
Devlin stepped on his chest with most of his weight.
Ribs cracked. The man screamed.
“Who sent you?”
Frantic eyes met his. “I don’t know. He never said his name! Wait—”
Devlin stepped on him again.
