The solitary nature of her confinement riled her. Above and around her, the daily routines of the crew noisily penetrated the cabin, each of them allotted their tasks. She deduced they were bored by the calm seas and increasingly boisterous with their games and singing. Perhaps she was safer out of sight. What bothered her the most was the secret she kept. How long could she contain it? At some point, she’d have to approach the man called Rob Sanders and open her heart to him. But she was quite sure that the captain would not take kindly to her doing it in front of his men. The timing of her disclosure had to be chosen carefully.
With the daylight grim and visibility poor, there was nothing much to see out of the cabin’s lengthy window. At some point, the wood had been intricately carved, but now it was chipped and battle-scarred. She leaned on the sill, the quilt draped around her, and watched the white mist tangle with the waves.
For a second, she thought she’d imagined it: a dark shadow standing upright. She blinked and rubbed her dreamy eyes. No, there was something in the fog. The frigate? She couldn’t see sails or the wooden hull. What came and went was craggy and towering, possibly a cliff face… She cocked her ear, expecting to hear the boy in the crow’s nest cry out, but there were only the sounds of footfalls on the deck and general chatter. The rock vanished, then reappeared even closer. The tide was pulling them towards some invisible land mass, and the outcrop was an isolated pinnacle out at sea.
She clambered to her feet. She had to take action. The door wasn’t bolted, she was free to leave, if she wanted to risk Flynn’s wrath. She wrapped the quilt around her, covering herself from shoulder to ankle, and dashed out of the door.
“Captain! Captain Bartoc. Look to your stern. Can you not see it?” she hollered indiscriminately. The fog at the bow was so intense, she couldn’t see the foremast.
“What the devil are you doing, Esme?” Flynn appeared from below, his hat in his hand.
She gesticulated to the stern. “Have you not seen it?”
“What?”
“A rock! A bloody great big needle rock, sticking out there.”
Flynn trotted up the steps to the quarterdeck and ran to the back railing. “Boy!” he yelled to the nest. “What see you there?”
There was a pause, then an uncertain reply. “I’m not sure…a rock!” The boy squealed in an alarm.
“Darius!” The calls rang out, men were called to action, and they scurried up the shrouds to the sails. But they were all unfurled and hanging useless. There still was no wind. Flynn reappeared by the wheel.
“The current is dragging us back,” Darius said.
“Lower the boats, and we’ll row the ship away from the rocks,” Flynn said. He pointed at Esme. “You, get back in there.”
Why was he so cross? Had she not just saved the ship from disaster?
She huffed and slammed the door behind her. If she had clothes, she could help the crew lower the boats. The rocks seemed in one minute to be closer, then farther away. The excitement at her discovery turned to fear. What if the rowers hadn’t the strength to pull the ship? Because of her foolishness, they were down one boat, and that single vessel might have made the difference. She knelt by the window and prayed for a gust of wind.
The ship creaked. Its planks complained. She opened her eyes and dared to take a peek out of the window. The fog had risen higher; the needle was exposed to its pinnacle. A ghastly and huge outcrop, but it was perceivably farther away. The ship had successfully thrown off the fetters of tide and current. She clapped her hands and whooped for joy. Whatever magic blessed the Flying Cutlass continued—there was a breeze out there, for surely, the mist was dispersing.
She pressed her nose to glass, willing the ship on. The full landscape emerged behind the curtain of grey. There was not one needle, but many, and several clumped together in the form of a small isle. She gasped, covering her mouth in horror. Dashed against one of the terrible rocks was the familiar frigate. Its bow had shattered, while its stern was semi-clad by giant waves, which crashed on the splintered wood. The masts were gone, leaving behind a tangled mess of ropes and spurs. Floating nearby were the flotsam of the cargo and the torn Red Ensign. Of the crew, there was no sign of them in the water.
Going by the commotion on her ship, she wasn’t alone in the discovery. There were cheers and cries of delight. Their foe was destroyed.
Flynn flung open the door. “Can you see?” He opened one of the windows, and a blast of air shot past him. “Look at that, me hearty lass,” he said jovially.
“Where are the crew?”
He shrugged. “I see no sign of bodies. Maybe they had the chance to escape on the boats. We only just made it ourselves, though. ’Tis a terrible sight, I do admit. More than likely the corpses sank with the wreckage or floated away on the waves. I’ve ordered the crew to grab whatever they can out of the sea. Salvage some loot from it.” He turned to her and clucked his tongue. “You left the cabin.”
“For the sake of the ship,” she retorted.
“Aye.” He stroked his beard. “I’ll not say it was a bad thing. On balance, you did us a service. We came close to meeting our deaths.”
Esme, in her wondrous world of swashbuckling pirates and looted gold, had failed to truly appreciate the most dangerous aspect of the pirating life: the sea. Each pirate who chose the high seas had to do battle with two foes: the navy and the weather. The daunting realisation that without warning, she might simply be washed overboard and drown, conjured up a pitiful ending. She’d rather be on solid ground, which meant parting from Flynn and his renegades.
Flynn would have no clue as to the nature of her wandering thoughts. Happy to be rid of the annoying frigate, he would likely not mire his victory with worries about the perils of the sea. He reached out to her and tugged on the quilt. It fell away and revealed her pale skin. With his customary swiftness, he sat upon his chair and top-ended her over his knee. Before she could protest, he walloped her bare arse with his hand.
“That’s for leaving the cabin.” He clapped his hand several times on one spot, rattling off the smacks with jaw-dropping speed.
“This is…unfair,” she said breathlessly.
“Aye. But pirates are not renowned for the fairness. We’re dastardly cruel and take what’s we like.” As if to make his point, he added a few harder slaps.
She kicked her heels and writhed about on his lap. The flash of heat after each smack blurred into the next, and within minutes, he toasted her tender behind into a blaze. The pain chased away her fears; she was too angry to care about shipwrecks.
He stopped, twisted her around, and dragged her up to sit on his lap. The spanking was over as swiftly as it had begun. Face to face, she couldn’t avoid his sparkling eyes and the mirth on his lips. He was amused by her pouting expression. He nudged her back, and she rose.
“Wait here,” he said and left the cabin.
“What are you doing?” she called after him.
Shrouded in her protective quilt, she waited. He’d not given her thank you kiss or anything. She rubbed her sore bottom and paced, cursing pirates.
Flynn returned carrying a bundle of shimmering cloth. He unfolded it and lay the fabric on a table. Esme gasped. The cloth was the finest silk, the sash was probably satin, and as for the petticoats, they were lacy and white.
She fingered a soft sleeve. “A dress. You said there were none on the ship.”
“This is from the loot of a schooner—the latest fashions of London en route to the Americas. Pretty, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“And for you to wear. You’re no longer confined to my cabin.”
She picked up the dress and draped it against her body. Her eyes brimmed with tears. “It’s so beautiful.”
“On you it will be even more so.” He perched on the old sea chest. “My crew, upon hearing of your eagle eye, have forgiven you for your deception, and seem to accept you’re mine. You can once again be a lass.”
She smoothed the ski
rt down. “What if I want to be a pirate, too?”
“Then you may, but only when I say. Put it on.”
It took a while to battle with the layers of petticoats and fancy bows until she was ready to give him a twirl. It had been weeks since she’d worn a dress and felt the weight of the skirts around her waist. Unlike the bandage she’d used, the bodice was snug and fitted under her bosom perfectly. She’d often dreamt of elegant gowns with taffeta, lace and silk stockings, never believing she’d have the grace or good fortune to wear them. Flynn had given her that chance to be something special. She had to tell him the truth about where her heart lay. But first, a thank you. She curtsied and, rising to face him, blew him a kiss.
“I always knew you were a lady,” he said softly. “Now take the dress off.”
Chapter 4
He stirred first. After their frantic tumble, she’d ended lying over him with her head nestled in the crook of his arm and her legs between his. Flynn tucked his free hand behind his head and waited for her to wake. At the reference to her being a lady, she’d visibly blanched and seemed on the brink of speaking. To stave off her question, he’d made the necessary amorous advances, and she’d forgotten the remark. However, he could no longer pretend he knew nothing about her.
She yawned and stretched, releasing his other arm. Climbing out of bed, he pulled on his breeches and poured a generous measure of claret, one he reserved for important occasions. He poured another glass for her and brought it over.
“Drink up, we need to talk,” he said.
She swallowed a few mouthfuls until her cheeks flushed. “This is to prepare me, is it not, for the accusation?” She covered her lower half with the quilt.
“Of what?” He settled into the chair and crossed his ankles.
“Trying to hide my origins.” She was trembling slightly, which bemused him since she’d no reason to be ashamed of her past.
“I’ll tell you a story then. Your story. Let me begin in England with a departing ship setting a course for Jamaica.”
“Go on,” she whispered.
“A long voyage for the passengers. One of whom was a nobleman, a young man with ambition to make his fortune.” Flynn waited, wondering if she would baulk at the details. He’d only heard them once, and a long time ago. “Also on the ship was a widow. Her husband was…a spice merchant.” He raised his eyebrows.
“A silk merchant, to be precise,” she corrected.
“And she’d inherited some money, enough to help start a new business abroad. A fresh life to help her forget her loss.”
A tiny tear trickled down Esme’s face. “Keep going,” she said.
“The fop, for he probably thought of himself as a catch, wooed this widow and took advantage of her, promising her they could both make a fortune together. Or had he…? I can only repeat what I know.”
“As far as my mother told me, he never forced himself upon her, but he did use her for the duration of the voyage, then abandoned her. She admitted he was dashing and persuasive, and she’d been gulled by his charm to think he was serious.”
“Given the length of the voyage, would it be possible he’d already discovered she was with child by him?”
“She told him on the last night. He accused her of beguiling him with witchcraft and such things. In hope of saving herself, she gave him a dowry, all the money she had. He ruined her twice over.”
More tears, and anger, too. There were the pinpricks of it in her eyes.
“So, with no money, she was dumped at Kingston and made to beg for help,” he said.
“How do you know this?”
“My father was the navigator on board the same vessel. He was returning home to his wife and young son, whom he missed. He wished, to his regret, that he’d intervened and prevented the young widow from dallying with the nobleman, but he didn’t think it was his place. And if he had, then she’d not have born such a beautiful creature.” Flynn cocked his head. “Is that not so?”
Esme smiled. “I suppose not. What became of your father?”
“He came home to find his wife had died of smallpox. For a while he was too devastated to contemplate a life without her, but overcoming the worst of his grief, he remembered the destitute widow and went in search of her.”
“Did he find her?”
“Sadly, no. He knocked on the door of the nobleman’s mansion and tried to speak to him but was turned away. A few days later, a terrible storm ripped through the island, tearing up the plantations and houses. Many died under fallen masonry, including my father, leaving me to fend for myself.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Do you know what happened to the widow since then?”
Flynn leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands. “I was too young to be of any help to her. Just a lad with good eye for the stars and direction of the wind, rather like my father. Years later, I encountered a roughly dressed knave who had a swagger and a mouth that cut through rabble—the fellow had a way about him, and I wanted to know more. The reasons why were not something that I truly appreciated at the time. I also needed fresh hands, so I made enquiries about the demon rumour that I’d heard thereabouts. It required a little bit of arm-twisting—he did only have one arm—to encourage your man to loosen his tongue. After a few tots of rum, he solved two of my mysteries at the same time—the demon and the missing baby.”
Esme sighed. “He always did have a weakness for rum—he’d sailed with my father a few times before falling on hard times.”
“I gather your father married.”
Esme swallowed the rest of her claret in one go. “He did, and she died in childbirth. Drove him half mad and bitter. So at anger with the world, that he decided he might as well make it a worse place than ever before.” She took a deep breath. “He bought a ship and started to trade slaves for molasses.”
Flynn had wondered if she knew. “Lord Harnett. The owner of the Harbinger, the fastest slaver on the seas. I’ve been after his ship for years. What became of your mother, Esme?”
“She weakened down one side of her body but lived long enough to see me reach a mature age. The philanderer, my father, could have taken her as his wife if he’d any decency in him, then raised a fine daughter, perhaps sons, too. But he was more interested in Ma’s money. I refused to take his name. I shall never be Esmeralda Harnett.” She rose from the bed and placed her glass on the table. “You know a lot about me, sir. It seems that you have me at a disadvantage.”
“It was for many years just a story that Papa told me. I kept it fresh in my mind because I oft wondered what happened to that baby. Although I hankered to be a dastardly pirate, I never wanted to be a cruel one who raped and pillaged for no gain but reputation.” He touched her hand and weaved his fingers through hers. “I do like money, though.”
“And like your father, you’re a distinguished navigator.” She brought his knuckles to her lips and kissed them. “Rob Sanders.”
Had she angered him? His nostrils flared, and the ink of his eyes darkened, too. He freed his hand and jumped to his feet.
“That name is no more,” he said coldly.
“Why? What dishonourable thing did Rob Sanders do?”
“How do you know that name?”
She’d unleashed a bitterness, not anger, she realised. Perhaps he was afraid of his past, as much as she loathed hers. However, while she’d been spurned by her villainous father, Flynn had been happily raised by his parents until tragedy had ended those lives.
“I…saw you,” she stuttered, clutching the comfort of the bedding to her chest. She backed away from him. “Please don’t be angry with me. I’m like you, curious. Except my curiosity centred on a young man.”
The flush of his cheeks diminished a fraction. “Go on.”
She returned to the cot and took refuge on it. “I was sixteen. My mother had recently passed on, and I wandered the streets, hoping for work, anything to keep my stomach full. This dashing man walked by with a sword hang
ing from his sash waistband and a cocked hat upon his head. The confidence was obvious, his bold manner quite affecting. He’d dark hair and the makings of a decent beard, although somewhat sparse in his thickness. I followed him, treading carefully between the shadows so he wouldn’t see me. He met with another young man, a friend, given their boisterous greetings, and they offered their services to the captain of a schooner. Later, I found out the schooner was captured by pirates and the crew taken. My fine young man was lost to me. He’d never come back. But I remember his name, Rob Sanders, because his friend had called out to him when they’d hailed each other.”
“His name was Matthew,” Flynn said quietly. “The pirates had us working the sails, then I was overheard speaking of the location of secret caves, those excellent places used for storing booty, and they had me navigate the ship to one. You see, I had my father’s charts”—he tapped his temple—“memorised in my head.”
A sad expression slipped over his face. “Matthew had been a bookkeeper for a merchant—he travelled the seas counting things—and I joined him because we were like brothers. He was older and tutored me after my father died. But his temperament was sometimes fiery and impulsive. He argued with the pirate captain and demanded a fairer share of the loot. We all agreed the captain took too much, but nobody dare cross the blaggard. Before anyone could intervene, he hanged Matthew from the yardarm for speaking his mind.”
“And what did Rob Sanders do?” Esme asked.
“He rose up in fury, convinced his fellow pirates to mutiny, and I killed the captain in a duel—you must realise, although we pirates are a rough lot, it is not the way captains are deposed. However, the men considered me a hero and voted me their captain. I took opportunity to rid myself of the dishonour of that killing and chose a new identity. But deep down, the real reason for the deception was that I didn’t want to ruin my father’s good name.”
“We’ve both lost our identities, have we not? I didn’t want to be known as a Harnett because my father has such a terrible reputation for cruelty, and you didn’t want to besmirch your father’s good name by associating it with piracy.” She nearly laughed at the circumstances—so bizarre that they’d chosen each other before they’d ever properly met.
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