Pirate's Wraith, The

by Penelope Marzec

  Cautiously, he lifted the toy and placed it near her breast. Cold sweat covered him as an ever more fearsome anxiety now loomed in his mind. What if he lost her? Would he go mad? If the magic in this small toy had brought her to him, could it also take her away?

  Swallowing his dread, he pulled on his britches. He had sinned greatly over the years and though he wished to start anew he did not know if it was possible. He could not guarantee he would live until the morrow. Last night, he had been blessed with Lesley’s sweet love. He would be grateful for that.

  He gobbled down a few plums and set to work, being careful to rock the boat as little as possible while he harnessed as much wind as he could, and hoped land would appear soon.

  Within the hour, the boat sailed along at a goodly pace but though he searched for signs of land he saw none. Lesley stirred and wished him a good morning with a shy smile upon her face. She stretched her lithe body and he grew hard at the sight. She laughed and kissed his groin, worsening his affliction.

  “We must watch for land and our enemies,” he reminded her.

  “How much longer will it be until we reach the mainland of the United States?”

  Again, he had no idea what she meant, so he simply shrugged and that seemed to satisfy her. She hummed a merry little tune, washed herself, dressed, and ate a few plums.

  “Sex with you is like a wonder drug. My ankle feels better,” she declared as she proceeded to take off the tightly wrapped bandages Gilly had so carefully applied.

  “Take care not to let your foot bear too much strain.”

  “I’m only sitting in this boat.” She wiggled her foot and winced. “It could probably use some physical therapy.”

  She picked up the little pony and held it close while handing him his coat. “You don’t want to get a sunburn, so put this on.”

  He donned the jacket and they shared a little of the water they brought with them, but the day wore on and though the wind blew constant they saw no sign of land.

  In the late afternoon, Lesley pointed to the eastern horizon. “I think I see the top masts of a ship.”

  He followed her gaze and his hands gripped the tiller with more force than necessary. His heart began to pound as his alarm heightened. “Take the glass from my pocket and look for their colors.”

  Her small hand slipped into his pocket. With a light and quick movement, she pulled out the glass and opened it.

  “I don’t see a flag.” She lowered the glass and bit her lower lip.

  He forced a bland tone, though his tension mounted. It could be a privateer or something worse. “It will be a surprise then.”

  “So we’re playing Russian roulette—sort of.”

  He shrugged at her odd phrase. “They may sail past.”

  Her smile appeared forced, but he admired her fortitude—as always.

  “Maybe they’ll think we’re just out here fishing or on our way to a picnic.”

  “They may be on another course.” He did not think it likely for the vessel appeared to be traveling northwest as they were. He thought of taking down the sail for then they would be less visible. However, if it was an English ship, they could be saved.

  The ship closed upon them rapidly, heaved to and hailed in English.

  “Are we saved?” Lesley asked.

  “Perhaps.”

  Lesley limped badly as they were brought aboard, but he did not give her his arm for he feared someone would suspect she was a woman if he acted in a deferential manner toward her.

  The ship turned out to be one of Lord Archibald Hamilton’s privateers. The captain, Charles Vane, appeared near as old as Harlan. He offered the captain a brief explanation of their circumstances, without divulging his foray into piracy.

  Seemingly satisfied with the account, Vane went off to his own cabin for the evening. The first mate extended an invitation to Harlan allowing him to dine with the other officers.

  He realized that unless one of his former crewmembers testified otherwise, the world would be unaware of his attempt at lawlessness. He did have a chance to start life anew if he reformed his ways. He and Lesley hurried to the officers’ mess. However, while the hearty fare delighted him, the atmosphere of the other officers troubled him. They said little and their glum faces harbored both resentment and fear.

  Still, Harlan discovered a former shipmate among them. Though years of sailing had altered the man, his voice had not changed. They had sailed together as midshipmen many years before and had been friends once. Harlan’s heart lifted.

  Lesley said nothing. She dove into the food with as much gusto as any young lad. He caught several men gazing at her and a frisson of trepidation tingled along his spine for he feared they would discover the ruse.

  A cabin boy came with the message that the captain insisted upon a private audience with Harlan after he had finished his meal.

  The officer who had known him as a youth, offered to share his small cabin. Harlan was relieved because that meant Lesley would be able to stay with him. Before going to see the captain, he escorted her to the other officer’s cabin.

  As soon as they were alone in the cabin for a moment, she whispered to him. “Charles Vane is going to turn to piracy. He will become a cruel and wicked man, cheating his own crews and .... “

  She turned pale and he feared she would faint.

  “What else?” He steadied her with his hand.

  “... killing surrendered sailors after promising them mercy.” She trembled visibly. “Jim told me.”

  Harlan had forgotten about Jim, Lesley’s intended husband. He had forgotten about her predictions of the future, too. “You insisted that Moody would be a violent pirate who would give no quarter and have a most famous flag.”

  Her face suddenly crumpled. “There’s something I didn’t tell you. Hooper had that piece of paper—the one on which I drew what Moody’s flag looked like.” Her high, nervous tremble had his own throat tightening in response. “I think I ruined the history of the world. I believe Hooper is going to assume Moody’s identity and use that flag.”

  His heart sank and he scanned her critically. All along he had doubted her sanity and such talk from her seemed to confirm his fears. He turned his back to her for he could not bear to see the agony in her features. “Let us not talk of Moody, or his flag, or Hooper. Vane is English, as we are.”

  “I am not a British subject. I’m American.”

  He faltered at her pointed statement but he had no time to ascertain her meaning. “Vane is one of Lord Hamilton’s privateers. He has saved us as well as given us food and lodging.”

  “Do not trust him.”

  He wanted to wrap her in his arms and make her forget all her dire tales of the future, but a knock came at the door, the captain’s cabin boy entered and he knew he must go.

  “Stop your prattle. I will not hear any more of it.” He growled and left her, but a black sense of foreboding lay on his shoulders and he could not shake it.

  * * * *

  Lesley knew she should have expected Harlan’s reaction. Any mention of the future caused him to respond in the same manner—total denial. She could only pray that Captain Vane had not fully developed his penchant for unethical behavior and cold-blooded murder. He didn’t turn pirate until 1716 as she recalled. He had five whole years to perfect his villainous personality.

  The small horse vibrated as it sat tucked in her waistband next to her skin. She sat on the floor, pulled out the little toy and wondered what to do with it. It had given her light and heat. It had helped her to find Harlan in the cave. Spirits emanated from it. Could she control it? Why had it started doing something different? Why did it tremble? Could it communicate her?

  I was to hold onto the pony for things would work out in the end. That’s what Harlan had said, but he had tossed the toy into the fire. By some twist of fate it had come into her possession. She must not let it go. Perhaps, even though she had mangled history, it would all work out in the end.

  For
now, nothing made much sense, except that she still loved Harlan. He might be pigheaded when it came to the future but he sure knew how to make love. He had also managed to save her life several times. He had said he would take care of her, but she doubted that would be possible in this undeveloped century.

  The small horse in her hands grew warm. Despite her uncertainty, she curled up on the floor, closed her eyes, and drifted into slumber.

  * * * *

  Lesley lay on her bed in the condo with the soft down comforter covering her. She clutched the toy horse tightly in one hand. When an unfamiliar noise woke her, she opened her eyes. Though night had descended, she recognized the usual shadows in her bedroom. Nothing seemed out of place.

  The handle of the bedroom door turned and the hinges squealed. Her heart raced in terror and cold sweat covered her body as someone stepped into the room.

  “No need to be afeared of me, child.” The Widow Vetter walked in carrying a candle and a pizza. “’Specially as ye be needing some ‘elp.”

  Lesley never realized before how much the old widow resembled the woman who had sold her the cradle in the antique shop. Nevertheless, she felt somewhat embarrassed with the widow dropping in unexpectedly.

  “The cleaning lady isn’t supposed to come until tomorrow,” she apologized.

  The widow did not seem fazed by the room’s disarray. She put the candle on the dresser and sat down on the other side of the bed with the pizza box in her lap.

  Lesley thanked the widow for the pizza.

  “I gave birth to five children but they all died as infants.” The widow took a slice of pizza with her gnarled hands. She snapped her fingers and the pizza slice became a housefly. She ate it. “Broke my heart, it did.”

  “Does my cradle belong to you?”

  “Yes. It does look nice next to yer fireplace.” The widow reached for another slice of pizza. She rolled it up, turned it into a worm, and devoured it with delight. “You should be putting a baby in it soon.”

  “Jim didn’t want any children. The marriage is off.”

  “’arlan is a strong and virile man.” The widow cackled. “Yes, yes. One turn is all it takes with ‘im.”

  Lesley blushed. “He doesn’t believe in the future.”

  “Tsk, tsk. Love is all that matters.”

  A sad ache jabbed at her heart. “He doesn’t believe anything I tell him.”

  The old woman cackled again. “Does any man? Where’s this Jim fellow? Ye threw ‘im out, did ye?”

  “We argued and he ... he left. He’s staying in his boat.”

  “Is ‘e now? Would ye hand me one of his personal possessions.”

  Lesley reached over onto the night table where Jim had left his comb. “This still has a few of his hairs in it. Is that what you need?”

  The widow cackled again. “Yes, yes. This will work as long as ye do your part.”

  “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Close yer eyes.”

  “Okay, they’re closed.”

  “Now wait for the thunder.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Lesley did not hear thunder. She woke when someone kicked her.

  “Git up.”

  She opened her eyes to the gloom of night. “What’s the problem?” she muttered as she struggled to her feet.

  “Cap’n wants ye.”

  Icy panic gripped her. “Where’s Captain Sterford?”

  “There’s only one cap’n on this ship.”

  Her heart pounded and her hands shook as she tucked the toy horse into her waistband.

  “Hurry up,” he grumbled as she limped behind him. When they arrived at the captain’s door, the sailor knocked and Vane answered. The sailor opened the door and shoved her inside. Knocked off balance, she fell to the floor.

  Vane laughed. “Such a gracious entrance, mademoiselle.”

  She saw his high-heeled shoes first, then his white stockings. Her gaze moved upward to his dark green jacket edged with abundant lace-edged cuffs. His wig, festooned with elaborate curls fell below his shoulders.

  Though fear twisted through her insides, she determined not to show it. “Where’s Sterford?” She got back on her feet.

  “He and I had a slight disagreement so he is spending the night in the hold.” Vane hoisted a wineglass and drank deeply. “Pity, for the night is rather a dull one and I had hoped Sterford would be more entertaining. However, you may prove to be a good substitute.”

  “I doubt it.”

  Vane drew out his saber. “Dance for me.”

  “Impossible. I twisted my ankle when a freak wave hit the Lyrical.”

  “Ah yes, the Lyrical, the lovely frigate from Lyme.” Vane touched the tip of the saber to the middle of her chest. “A fine ship which now rests on the bottom of the sea, according to Sterford.”

  “It’s true.” She figured the less said, the better. She had no idea what Harlan had told him. Maybe he had tortured Harlan. Maybe Harlan lay... dead ... or near dead and suffering. Tears misted in her eyes, but she gritted her teeth and glared at the sadistic captain.

  Why the hell had she worried about preserving written history? This guy deserved to learn a lesson. History would be fine without him. She glanced around for something to use as a weapon.

  “What happened to the rest of Sterford’s crew?”

  The tip of the blade pressed against her skin. “I am sure Sterford told you.”

  “Give me your account.” He twisted his lips into a sneer.

  Telling the truth was usually the best way—although omitting anything about pirating seemed a good game plan. “Half of the crew had already been lost in a battle. The freak wave took more men. The ship leaked badly and when the hurricane hit, more men ... drowned.” Or they were shot. She thought of Dr. Gilroy and her throat ached. “Some did get away in the boats.”

  Remembering Jibby’s sad fate had her biting her lip in an effort to hold in her emotions.

  “How is it that despite regulations, Sterford had you aboard his ship?”

  “I worked like everyone else.”

  “But no one knew you were a woman.”

  She clamped her lips together and said nothing.

  “Every man on the ship must have been blind.” Vane slit her jacket down the front, but he did not slice her skin or the shirt beneath the jacket.

  Though her heart raced, she kept her voice level. “I see you have a keen blade and excellent control.”

  He laughed, lowered his saber and hoisted his wine glass to his lips again. “Yes, my prowess has served me well.”

  “How were you able to deduce my sex?”

  “It is the way you walk.”

  “I limp.”

  He broke into a fit of merriment, which he quelled with another great gulp of wine. “Do sit down, m’dear. Would you like some wine?”

  She trusted him as much as she would trust a scorpion, but she nodded and took a chair. If he intended to be civil, she would go along with him. Maybe she would be able to get information and help Harlan.

  The captain’s table had several maps on it. “Were you looking at these with Sterford? His navigational skills are excellent.”

  Vane handed her a glass of wine but he did not sit. “So he told me, but he could not identify the island where you landed after the Lyrical sank.”

  “It wasn’t very big, but there were mussels and plums to eat. Also a stream with fresh water.”

  “No inhabitants?”

  “There was a pony--a pinto. I named her Sea Biscuit. I hope she’s okay.”

  “You ride?2013

  “Yes, at least I have ridden in the past ....” Or, actually, in the future. “I rode Sea Biscuit for a little while. Bareback.”

  “How unseemly ... for a woman.”

  She fought to contain the anger firing up within her. After a deep breath, she spoke in a calm tone. “Women can do anything men can do when they are not hampered by the rigid dictates of fashion.”

  Her statement caus
ed more mirth for Vane. She hoped he would choke on his wine.

  “Are you Sterford’s mistress?” he asked when he could finally control his hilarity.

  “No.”

  He held up the saber again and pressed it against her shoulder. “Drink.”

  “Is it poisoned?”

  Again he found her question terribly amusing. “I like you, mademoiselle. You have proven to be far more entertaining than your lover.”

  “He is not my lover.” Her heart gave a dull thud at the lie. “We went through a series of misfortunes. He saved my life ... I saved his life ....”

  “You are small.” He frowned at her. However, the tip of the saber did not move.

  “Strength is not always needed.”

  “Indeed. Cleverness is an admirable trait. Sometimes it is far better to trick your opponent.”

  “He hit his head on a rock when we arrived at our little island. He would have drowned. I simply held his head above water.”

  “Such a tender scene.” He sighed. “I can envision it. The sweet young woman, braving the tempest, to save her lover.”

  Her throat tightened. They had only made love once. Odds are, they would never get another chance. He lay deep in the hold and who knew what fate awaited her tonight. She struggled to hold in her despair. They were doomed.

  “Drink, mademoiselle.” He cooed, “It will calm you.”

  “Do you want to get me drunk?”

  He slashed at her jacket, slicing it from shoulder to elbow. “You weary me with your questions. You are becoming as unamusing as Sterford.”

  She lifted the glass to her lips and took the tiniest sip. “Not bad. Madeira?”

  “The finest Madeira, taken from a Spanish galleon. I killed the captain with one blow on the neck.” With his sword, he lopped off the top of a graceful wooden finial on one of the chairs.

  She choked back a gasp. The little horse in her waistband vibrated again. Maybe he wanted to run away. She wished she could escape this madman.

  Vane swirled the wine in the glass, sniffed it, and smiled. “Most women are fond of Madeira. Drink up. I will make a toast.”

  She held up her glass while he launched into a long diatribe about blood, wine, war, and the love of women. None of it made much sense, but she figured he must be as blasted as a college freshman ready for his first trip to the ER for alcohol poisoning. However, when he finished, he did not fall flat on his face as she had hoped. Instead, a knock came at the door and in walked Hooper.