Sea of Treason (Pirate's Bluff Book 1)

by Stacey Trombley

  I hold a breath. Whitley stops, and I realize I'm leaning onto my toes. "Then what?"

  Her eyes dart around as she clearly considers her words carefully. "I pulled back, then they left but said they'd see me again."

  I rub my hand over my face.

  "Why? Is that bad?"

  "Yes," Rosemera whispers. Her eyes dart to me now—a silent question she knows better than to voice. Why?

  Sirens enjoy messing with people in any way they can, but they rarely target one person in particular. They too know of the prophecy which makes me think...

  Whitley searches my face, her fear now obvious. I turn to Rosemera. "She can't be left alone. Not until we reach port, which we need to do as quickly as possible. So long as she's at sea..."

  Rosemera nods and hurries away to relay the message to her father. Getting to New York immediately has never been more important. I knew Whitley would be a sought-after commodity, but if sirens want her too, this game just got a whole lot bigger.

  Whitley reaches out to grab my forearm. The touch of her fingertips on my skin sends sparks through every limb.

  "What does it mean? They want me in particular? Why?"

  I wrinkle my nose, pulling my arm back. "Hard to know for sure, but I don’t intend to find out." I have plenty of ideas, but none I’m willing to voice aloud.

  She pulls her hand away, her jaw clenched, her eyes leaving mine. My stomach churns with guilt. She knows I'm lying to her. Well, not lying, just withholding the full truth.

  I hate that I care. I’m not supposed to.

  I can already feel it—the shift happening inside of you.

  I retreat back to the main deck to check on the crew. Whitley’s footsteps tap behind me. At least she's smart enough to follow wherever I go. I don't have the strength to be a nanny, but this is also imperative. The sirens cannot get their hands on her, no matter what.

  Whitley

  I follow Bluff as he briskly crosses the ship and heads toward the main deck where most of the crew are gathered. They chatter excitedly, but I also detect a tremor in some of their voices.

  "Did you see that one’s eyes? Prettier than the English girl, I swear."

  A man shorter than I am with a bald head hops onto his toes. "The redhead touched me! Left a mark too!" His voice is high pitched with excitement as he runs his dirty plump fingers over his arm where a portion of his skin is shiny red and bubbling like he'd been burned.

  I shiver.

  He liked seeing the sirens despite their touch burning him. The others are no different. Each man is enraptured by the encounter.

  "Barns, you need go get that wrapped," Bluff announces, grabbing the short man's arm. "Chuck, you have ointment, aye?"

  A man with curly hair, speckled with grey, and one pale eye steps forward. He grabs the short man and pulls him along. Barns looks back and gives the crew a cheesy smile. They whistle in response.

  Strange, strange men.

  "Look!" another pirate hollers, causing them all the jump. "There's a siren still aboard. There! There she is." I wince as the man points right into my face. His finger smells oddly of fish.

  All the men chuckle, smacking each other on the back.

  "Don't do that!" a large pirate with tattoos all over his whole body yells, his eyes wide with fear.

  The crew chuckles heartily, and one holds out a glass bottle. He doesn't smile but accepts the beverage nonetheless. Across from him is a younger pirate with dark green eyes, and though he could certainly use a bath, he's probably the most attractive pirate I've seen yet.

  Besides Bluff. But I have a hard time putting Bluff in the same category as these men. He's cleaner, his language is much better, and he's so much less crude.

  But he is a pirate. I need to remember that.

  Because even though he's standoffish around me —and is most certainly harboring immense secrets—sometimes the way he looks at me causes a stir deep in my chest.

  I cannot trust him. No matter how he makes me feel.

  "Back to work, boys!" Bluff shouts over the jubilation. "We have a heading, and we're getting behind."

  A man with blond hair and a straw between his teeth pushes the bottle into Bluff’s chest with a challenging glare.

  "I'll drink, only if you hoist the main stay," Bluff responds, his lips spread into a mischievous grin that make my stomach flip.

  "You drink first. Then we work."

  Bluff narrows his eyes, but there's a hint of amusement there. I forget these men are like family. He tilts the bottle straight up and lets the brown liquid drain down his throat. He attempts to hide his reaction to the harsh rum, but I notice the awkward arch in his back as he swallows and the quick wrinkle of his nose as he finishes.

  Several of the men grab ropes, and one climbs a ladder on a huge pole in the middle of the ship. I have no idea what they're actually doing, but I do find it fascinating to watch as they work.

  One pirate with a scar across his chin takes a step toward me. "I'll work when she drinks."

  I take a step back, fear swirling in my chest, but then I notice the twinkle in his eye as well and I set a determined gaze. I don't want to be the damsel in distress. I don't want to be just some prissy lass to these men.

  It might be foolish to care what a bunch of pirates, whose paths I will certainly never cross again, think about me, but I do. I want to be the girl I once was. I want to make that barefoot, mud-caked tomboy proud. Show her that I haven't lost all of what I once was.

  Bluff holds the bottle out to me, the smirk back on his face, his grey eyes glistening with amusement. I love that expression. I wish I could capture it in a painting or sear the image into my brain to retrieve whenever I need a kick in the pants.

  The look in his eyes tells me he doesn't think I'll do it. And that's the exact reason I will.

  I take the bottle and, without hesitation, lift it to my lips and let the cool liquid enter my mouth.

  Bitter. Sour. Rotten. That's the taste of this rum. I grimace and swallow. Blast does it burn all the way down.

  "Ack!" I can't help but shout and stick my tongue out to the salty air as soon as it's rum-free. I jump up and land on one foot like somehow that will help rid my body of the taste.

  I'm impressed Bluff is able to hide his reaction as much as he does.

  The crowd laughs heartily, even Bluff. And there is that look again—the shine in his eye that I can't help but feel like is only for me.

  I hold the bottle back out to Bluff. "Keep it," he says with a smile. "Though we’re making good time, we still have a whole day’s sailing ahead. Might as well make the most of it."

  BLUFF AND I SPEND ANOTHER awkward night sleeping beside one another but never touching. He shifts periodically, tense like he’s afraid of even brushing against me. Does he think I carry the plague?

  The rocking of the ship lulls me into a fitful sleep. I dream of New York and Jeb and ball gowns. It’s the first nightmare I’ve had since I boarded this ship.

  IN THE MORNING, BLUFF wakes me gently, reminding me we need to stay together. I bite my lip as I consider the reason but make no comment or complaint.

  Sirens who have a hankering to drown me. Wonderful.

  I find a spot on the stairs leading to the helm with a comfortable vantage of the few working sailors. The pirate with a tattooed face walks by, placing a new bottle of brown liquid into my hand. He retreats wordlessly, a simple smirk on his lips. I hold the bottle as I watch the crew work, all muscles and grime.

  The sea rocks the ship smoothly back and forth. The wood creaks. Salty air brushes through my hair. Taming my locks will be next to impossible when the time comes, but that's a problem for another day. I sit like that for hours, watching them work until eventually more of the crew appears on deck, their bodies sluggish.

  These are the men who drank too much the night before, I suspect. They begin work, and the others head below. They come back several minutes later carrying wooden crates. They walk right by me without a
word, setting the crates down and then coming back with barrels, a cup, and a set of dice. A dark-skinned pirate cracks open one of the crates with his bare hands and pulls out more bottles of brown liquid. Then three of them surround the other, sitting on the crates and begin to roll the dice.

  I watch, trying to understand the game.

  "Want to play?"

  I look up at Bluff beside me.

  I smile but shake my head. "I like watching."

  "Of course."

  I don't ask what that means.

  "Drinking much?" he asks.

  I look down at the unopened bottle. I pull at the cork, surprised when it makes a popping noise and comes loose in my hand. I take a deep swig of the disgusting liquid. Immediately my head spins. I shake it off and hand it to Bluff to drink the remainder of the rum.

  "Not bad, huh?" He smiles after a quick pucker.

  I smirk back. "Not bad at all. Is that it, for your work? You're all done?"

  "For now. The afternoons leave a little free time for the crew. Since we’ll be making port tomorrow, the men will be less intent on rationing supplies. Makes for a happy day."

  “So this will be my last day on the ship.”

  “Thank God."

  I wrinkle my nose and pull the bottle from Bluff’s fingers, taking another sip of rum. "You're eager to get me off this ship, aren't you?"

  His smile fades. "Yes. Yes, I am. But believe me, it's better for all of us that you're off the sea."

  I nod, remembering the sirens. Captain Stede. Remembering how much Bluff is still hiding from me.

  "Sure you don't want to play?" he asks. "Don't want you to regret missing an opportunity you'll regret later."

  I smile. "I'm sure it's fun. But it's not an experience I'll regret missing."

  He nods. "So what is?"

  I look around, from the mildewed planks over to the door to the cargo deck, and consider asking to see below. But then I look up at the sails. Ropes hang intricately, crisscrossing all across the ship, and the masts shoot up straight into the sky. All the way up, at the top of the tallest mast is a small wooden platform. A pirate stands at the top, looking out over the sea.

  "I want to see that.” I point up to the crow’s nest.

  His eyebrows rise. "Not a bad choice." He smiles, the look in his eyes hitting me in the chest again, causing my heart to beat faster. "But the boys will be disappointed you don't want to play with them."

  "Be sure to pass along my deepest regrets."

  He smirks and nods. "Allow me to make a few arrangements. Get us something to eat and I'll take you up in a few hours."

  I bite my lip as I watch him walk away, completely unsure what I am getting myself into.

  Bluff

  "You must go first."

  The look on Whitley's face is determined and feisty. I try to hide that I actually like it. Still, there is a trace of fear in her eyes.

  She takes a long look up at the ladder leading to the crow's nest.

  "This was your request. I'm not making you go."

  She turns back to me. "But why must I go first?"

  I smirk, passing over so many wonderful comebacks.

  "I still remember what you did as we were climbing from that window," she says.

  "While I was saving your life from a pirate crew that would have dismembered you? I was such a scoundrel, I know."

  "Yes, you saved me. But you didn't need to look up my skirts while you did it." She puts her hands on her hips. Her face shows no sign of amusement, but her eyes... blue like the sea, and glistening with the truth she's trying so hard to hide.

  I lean in closer, "Are you telling me you didn't like it?" I whisper.

  She jumps backs in such dramatic shock. So obviously fake.

  She may not have liked that I teased her about looking up her skirt, but she did like what came after. My bare hands on her legs, her body pressed against mine...

  "I promise not to look, all right? But you need to go first or risk falling to your death."

  "You think I can't climb on my own?"

  I purse my lips. Perhaps she could have the nerve. She's surprised me in the past. "You don't have the hands or feet for it. Your body is just not used to that kind of climb. Wet wood and rope are not easy for anyone, let alone a girl who has never touched rope in her life."

  Her eyes narrow. "I've touched rope," she says, quiet and pouty.

  "When?” I pause. “Besides the day I saved you."

  She purses her lips. "I still don't trust you."

  "Good. You're learning. Now start climbing."

  She huffs at me and pauses for another moment before determination clouds her eyes. "Fine." She pulls up the outer layer of her dress and wraps the inside cloth around her thigh, tying it in an awkward knot between her legs.

  "Would you like help with that?" I smirk.

  "You hush."

  I watch as she works to turn her dress into a pair of very strange looking pants, amused all the while.

  "Ready yet?" I ask finally.

  She doesn't give me a response, just indignantly turns to face the ladder and begins a quick climb.

  I'm surprised at how strongly she starts out, making her way half way up the mast in only a few moments. Then she slows, and the tremble in her fingers begins to show.

  "Just keep going. Don't stop. We're almost there."

  Her movements are slow, but she keeps trudging. One step at a time. The salty water spray makes way to a cold sprinkle of rain.

  Whitley's toe slips, and she lets out a small cry. Without thinking, I toss my hand up to her waist to steady her. "You're all right."

  Now she stops. Her head bowed, tangled hair in her face.

  I take a few steps up, so that my hands are grabbing the rope around her waist, my chest against her back and lips at her ear. "Whitley," I say softly. "You're doing wonderfully. Just a few more steps to go."

  Slight fib. She has a dozen pieces of wobbly rope steps to climb before it's over, but she’s nearly two thirds of the way. Easier up than down, at this point.

  "I just need a second," she says between heavy breaths.

  "You're stronger than I ever gave you credit for, Whitley. I think you might be stronger than even you know."

  She lifts her head and reaches for the next piece of rope. Her climb is steady and strong now, her feet moving slowly, but firm. Determined.

  I follow along, as closely as I can manage without risking tripping her.

  She pulls herself up onto the base of the crow's nest with one fluid motion, and in an instant, I've joined her.

  On her knees, she presses her forehead onto the damp wooden planks as she heaves in huge breaths.

  "You're amazing, Whitley," I say, without considering the words.

  She looks up at me, her eyes intense. "What is amazing about that? You all do this daily, in just moments."

  I nod. "Yes. But we've been doing it since we were children. And our first time was certainly not with the ship at full speed ahead, at night or while it’s raining." The last two are slight exaggerations. The rain is more of a sprinkle, and the sky is just now fading into a deep blue, daylight diminishing with each passing moment. But the point remains—this was not an ideal situation for a first climb and yet she succeeded.

  She sits up and leans back on the wooden railing, eyes cast to the sky as her breathing evens out. "I still wish I hadn't needed your help."

  "You didn't."

  She meets my eye.

  "What did I do? Tell you to keep going. That's it. You wouldn't have fallen without me there. You would have done just fine."

  Her eyes are soft as she considers this. "You did help me though."

  "There's a difference between someone helping, and you needing help. You didn't require me. You did it all on your own. I just reminded you that you could do it."

  She takes in one long breath and lets it out slowly. "Thank you," she whispers.

  I smile and pull a full bottle of rum from my belt a
nd hold it out to her.

  Her eyebrows rise. "Is that really a good idea? Going back down while drunk seems unwise."

  "We're not going back down. Not tonight, anyway."

  Her eyebrows furrow. "We're staying up here all night?"

  I smirk. The sky is already dim. The stars will be out as soon as these nasty clouds dissipate. Luckily the weather has warmed up since our siren friends left, and there are clear skies ahead. Even so, the wind is fierce up here. "We took the night lookout duty."

  She just blinks.

  "So drink up. It'll keep you warm."

  She pulls the bottle from my hand and takes a swig. No, not even a swig. She chugs, for a full few seconds.

  Okay, then.

  I follow suit, and it's not long until the bottle is empty.

  Once our drinking binge is over, Whitley stands to take in the view. The clouds are thinning now, exposing the shining moon lighting the sea around us. I stand beside her and try to take in the view like it's the first time.

  She sucks in a breath at the beauty, the magnitude of what's around us. "How is it so big?" she whispers.

  I shrug. Waves wash over waves, crashing and pulling and swirling like some intoxicating dance. From up here, you can appreciate how small the ship is compared to the ocean's behemoth size.

  "The sea isn't really that big. We're just small."

  She doesn't respond to that, just watches the water and the lights as we pass them. She looks up to the sky. As more and more stars are exposed, the darkness of night grows deeper.

  "Is that the shore?" Whitley points to a few little lights in the distance to our left.

  "Yes, we're only sailing a few miles off the coast."

  "And we'll reach New York tomorrow," she says flatly.

  "Yes," I whisper for the first time letting the desperation leak into my voice. I'm dreading tomorrow as much as I'm looking forward to it.

  Because tomorrow Whitley will be gone. Tomorrow, she'll be with her fiancé. Safe in her ivory tower.

  Is she thinking about him now?