Gray swore. He looked to the side, then back at his brother. “Fair warning, Joss. If you don’t take your hand off me … I will have to hug you.”
Joss laughed. “After that speech, I’d be damn disappointed if you didn’t.”
Gray grabbed his brother in a rough embrace. Joss thumped him on the back as he hugged him close.
“What’s all this talk about dying, anyway?” Joss asked, pulling away with moist eyes and a sly smile. “We’ve cheated death before. I reckon we’ve one more life in us yet. Maybe Wilson will come up with something. Or Bel will work a miracle.”
“Maybe.” Gray heaved a rough sigh and slid down the wall until he sat on the floor, legs outstretched.
Joss joined him. “I mean it, Gray. No more talk of hanging or noble sacrifice.”
Very well, Gray thought. I won’t talk about it.
“Allow yourself a moment of optimism. It’s not just me and Bel and Jacob you’ve got to live for, you know. There’s a beautiful miss out there somewhere who’d be heartbroken to see you hanged.”
“There are beautiful women all over the world who’ll be heartbroken to see me hanged,” Gray said dryly. “But the only one I care about is gone.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Oh, she’s gone all right. Do you know, she claimed to love me. What a fool I was, to believe it.”
“Is it so hard to believe?” Joss nudged Gray’s arm. “It’s not as though she’s the only one.”
“More fool you,” Gray grumbled. He let his head fall back against the stone wall and stared up at the cell’s single window. Slices of bright sky winked at him from behind the rusted iron bars. It hurt his eyes to look at, but the discomfort was preferable to darkness. “To fall in love now, of all times… after I’ve successfully avoided it all my life.”
“Avoided it? To the contrary, I think you’ve conducted a rather thorough search of the globe for it.”
Gray thought on this for a minute. Damn, he hated it when Joss was right. It was just as well she’d left. He knew what he had to do today; it would only have been harder, had she stayed. Still, as always, he regretted what he’d left undone. Unsaid.
“I never told her I loved her. What an ass I am. No wonder she left. I mean, I told her in a dozen different ways, but I never said the words.”
“Are they so hard to say?”
“Yes, but … I don’t know. They shouldn’t be.” Gray shook his head. “Do you know, that fifteen-year-old boy had the courage to say in front of the whole crew what I couldn’t bring myself to whisper in the dark? He’ll make a fine officer someday, Davy Linnet. Got bigger stones than either of us, I’d wager.”
Joss snorted. “Speak for yourself.”
Laughter erupted in Gray’s chest. God, he was going to miss Joss. He hoped his brother could forgive him one day, for betraying his trust this last time.
“Joss.” Gray swallowed the lump rising in his throat. “I love you. What ever happens, I want you to know that.”
Joss propped an elbow on Gray’s shoulder. “It’s nice to hear it. But I knew that already—never had a doubt in my mind, actually. I’d imagine she knows you love her, too. You’ll have a chance to say the words.”
Gray rubbed his temples. What could he say? He had but a few days left in this world, and no hope of seeing her in the next. But he had to keep up the illusion of optimism, for Joss’s sake. “Supposing I did find her? What if I tell her I love her, and she still walks away?”
“I don’t know what to tell you there. There aren’t any guarantees in love. I know as well as anyone how fleeting it can be.”
Gray winced, knowing that Joss referred to Mara.
Joss fell silent for a moment, then continued in a low voice, “You may not be able to hold on to her forever. But I don’t think you’ll regret trying. I don’t.”
Gray felt tears burning at the corners of his eyes. He sniffed and looked away quickly, searching his mind for something witty and irreverent to say. He was saved the effort when Joss spoke again.
“That girl loves you, Gray. We’re going to get out of this, and when we do
—I’d bet a hundred sovereigns to one, Sophia will be there waiting for you.”
“Sophia?” Gray blinked. “Her name is Sophia?”
Joss chuckled. “I was right. You didn’t know.”
“But—” Gray scratched the back of his neck. “But how did you? Since when have you known her name?”
Joss shrugged, his expression composed. “Since sometime yesterday.”
He laughed at Gray’s befuddled silence. “When you dropped your trousers to take a piss. It’s painted on your arse.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“The Aphrodite hailed us, so we approached. Backed our sail, prepared to speak. Bastards had us right where they wanted us. Before my officer even called out our port of origin, he”—Mallory jabbed a finger at Gray across the courtroom—“was blowing our mainmast away. You’ve only got to look at my ship to find proof enough of that.”
Judge Fitzhugh nodded gravely. “Continue.”
Gray’s teeth ground like millstones. At this rate, they wouldn’t need a hanging. The effort required to hold his tongue in the face of these scurrilous falsehoods—it was likely to kill him.
But he had to remain composed. Argument served no purpose now. Whether he dangled at the end of a rope or imploded from sheer irritation, the result would be the same. It all ended here. Here in this stifling chamber with its weathered paneling and scent of decay. In this very room he’d been awarded scores of prizes, stolen his entire fortune from the unfortunate merchants who chanced to cross the Aphrodite’s course. He’d bartered his soul in this court. There was a strange justice to it, that his life should be traded here, too.
“Well, he boarded the Kestrel,” Mallory continued, sneering at Gray. Beneath the table, Gray’s hand balled into a fist. “Him and his men. He had me bound in ropes, took command of the ship, and raided my cargo.”
Fitzhugh cocked an eyebrow. “And all this with no provocation.”
“None whatsover.”
Gray tightened his fist until his knuckles cracked. Behind him, the crewmen of the Aphrodite and Kestrel grumbled loudly in protest. With a sharp look over his shoulder, he quelled the dissent.
Next to him, Joss nudged Mr. Wilson. “Lying bastard. Ask him about the storm,” he whispered. “The fire. The rum.”
“Don’t.” Gray cleared his throat. “He’ll only spin more lies. And this court isn’t interested in the truth. No more than it was when we brought in ships we’d seized. Judges in this court care only for the prize.”
“But there’s no prize at stake here,” Joss argued.
“Oh, there is. It’s just not a ship.”
The judge finished his questioning of Mallory, then turned to Gray. “Mr. Grayson, please stand.”
“Joss,” Gray murmured. “I shouldn’t have forced you into taking the Aphrodite. It’s my fault you’re here, and I’m going to fix it. Take the money, do what ever makes you happy. Sell the ships, plant sugarcane—”
“What are you on about?” Joss whispered. “Don’t do something stupid, Gray.”
“Mr. Grayson,” Fitzhugh called out, impatient. “You will stand.”
Gray whispered to his brother, “I’m not doing anything stupid. For once, I’m doing something right.” He pushed back his chair and stood, bringing himself to eye level with the judge seated at the elevated bench. Fitzhugh couldn’t have been much older than Joss. Sallow, thin, and sweating profusely from under his wig, he appeared ill-adjusted to the tropical climate. He had the look of a boy in a man’s attire—a boy who’d been on the losing end of many a schoolboy brawl. Presumably in an attempt to appear older, or perhaps wiser, he affected an overly stern mien that belonged to a caricature. But it was the look in Fitzhugh’s eyes that amused Gray. Anticipation, laced with awe. No doubt the judge had heard tales about him; Gray’s privateering success had been a matter of local pride.
Gray didn’t expect the measure of reverence in Fitzhugh’s gaze would work to his advantage, however. Rather, he suspected it would make the judge all the more eager to see Gray brought low. He was the seafaring equivalent of the school bully, and this was Fitzhugh’s chance to finally beat one down.
Just to provoke him further, Gray spoke first. “This is an informal hearing, I understand. This court has no power to convict on charges of piracy.”
Fitzhugh’s eyes narrowed within their round wire frames. “Not alone, Mr. Grayson. It does, in concert with the governor.”
“Who would be most displeased to be summoned from Antigua without sufficient cause.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Fitzhugh replied, “That is the purpose of this hearing today, Mr. Grayson. To establish sufficient cause.” The judge scowled at him, and Gray nearly laughed. For all his facial acrobatics, Fitzhugh had already ceded control of their conversation. The courtroom was Gray’s to command.
He relaxed his posture and allowed himself a grin. “You look familiar to me, Mr. Fitzhugh. I believe we must have met at Oxford?”
The judge harrumphed. “I sincerely doubt it.”
“Ah. Not an Oxford man, then. Cambridge?”
“Edinburgh.”
“Oh. Edinburgh. I suppose now the war’s over, the Admiralty’s relaxing its standards?” Gray studied him. “Still, your face is so familiar to me. Did we meet in Town? At White’s, perhaps.”
“No.” Fitzhugh’s mouth thinned to a line. “Not that it’s of any relevance, but I am certain we have never been introduced, Mr. Grayson.”
“Not a member of White’s then? Pity. Well, I must be mistaking you for someone else.” He watched a flush seep out from beneath Fitzhugh’s wig.
“At any rate, I’ve been friendly with every judge to pass through this post in recent years, and I see no reason you should be different. I trust we may speak as gentlemen, seeing as how this is an informal proceeding.”
“Actually, this—”
“I do understand your predicament, Mr. Fitzhugh. A great deal of wealth changed hands in this courtroom once. Plenty of excitement, during the war. A judge could build a reputation on it, not to mention a fortune. But now… what sort of matters come before you? Insurance claims? Difficult to distinguish yourself with those cases. Your superiors are likely to forget about you completely. You may find yourself in this post for the remainder of your days.” He chuckled at Fitzhugh’s chagrined expression. “Oh, don’t despair. With luck, a fever will take you before you die of boredom.”
Laughter rippled through the courtroom. The judge rapped his gavel until the assembly hushed. “Mr. Grayson. You stand before this court accused of piracy, a hanging offense. You will refrain from making speeches and allow me to pose the questions.”
“If I’m to be hanged, where’s the benefit in decorum?” When the next wave of laughter faded, Gray lowered his voice and approached the bench. Contempt glimmered in the judge’s eyes. Good. He’d be only too eager to see Gray dead. “I know what you want, Fitzhugh. I’ll give it to you. I’m prepared to plead guilty to all your charges. You can build your career on my grave, claim your promotion, and return to England. I still doubt they’d allow you in White’s. But the questions, and the charges, begin and end with me. Do we understand each other?”
“You’ll plead guilty. To piracy.”
Gray nodded. “I’ll put on a show if you like, to make things interesting. In the end, you’ll have your hanging. But only one. Once I’ve admitted fault, you’ll call an end to this ‘informal proceeding,’ and everyone else in the room walks free.”