Defying a Pirate

by Camille Oster

  But first there was Ireland. She’d never been to Ireland and had no idea what to expect. But what Ireland was like was secondary to why they were there. They were there to find James’ past—maybe even his family. If nothing else, she hoped it would give him some peace. If she had to let him go, she wished he could lose some of the anger he harbored inside him.

  James grew pensive as they got closer to their destination. She knew this had more meaning for him than he admitted. He was confronting his past and the source of much of the pain and suffering of his youth. Comfort was always available in her arms when he sought it.

  The day came when land was in sight. Dublin was still far away as they would sail along the coast for a while before reaching it. The air was fresh—winter had given way to spring while she’d been gone.

  They were flying the Danish flag again—the one he’d flown when he’d sailed to London to snatch her. The flag flapped sharply in the wind, hoisted above her head as she stood on the quarterdeck taking in the sights of the Irish coast.

  “Will you be in trouble if it is known you are here?” she asked, suddenly concerned that he might run into strife.

  “I doubt they will give me the keys to the city, but they have no direct evidence to charge me with. I haven’t been caught in an act of piracy; although there are likely people in other places that can attest to seeing me during some past incursion. I suspect the general preference of the Crown is having me and my men here rather than roaming around the Caribbean. There was once an amnesty in place for that purpose. But then, you never know; it might be a hurried departure for us. I already have contingency plans in place.”

  Dublin was dark and quiet when they sailed into port—James had planned it so. The port was still active; it was never completely deserted as space was too scarce for all the ships that wanted to pass through. They sailed up to one of the docks and disembarked. A group of three other men disembarked with them, while the others sailed the ship out of the harbor again.

  “No point having the ship here for the authorities to board and search,” he said as they walked down the harborside. It was too early for the city to be awake, so they walked down the streets that were slowly coming to life with the activities needed to manage a city. Carts trundled down the street, delivering food to the markets and dispensing of garbage. Bakers were tempting the populace out of their beds with their early morning offerings and James bought some buns for them to eat. They smelled divine and their soft, fluffy insides were heavenly after the staid end-of-voyage meals the ship’s Cook prepared.

  “Now, we must get you into more appropriate attire,” he said turning to her as she walked beside him in breeches and a linen shirt much too large for her. She’d forgotten what she was wearing, but she conceded his point that her dress was entirely inappropriate. They found a stall in the market, which sold dresses. They were all previously owned and came in all different shapes and sizes. She’d never bought a pre-made dress, let alone one made for someone else, but it was not the time to be fussy. James watched her as she sorted through the dresses on offer. “I will have some made for you when we have time,” he said.

  There was a fine one made of light blue silk, its tailoring of high quality, perhaps even French, but she put it aside for a more sturdy green woollen dress.

  “Take the silk one,” he said.

  “I’ll take the wool.”

  “Money isn’t an issue; I can afford a thousand dresses.”

  “If I am to return to my family,” she said quietly, knowing the woman manning the stall was listening to them intently. “It is better that I return in something demure, rather than something ... colorful.”

  “We’ll take both, and the corset,” he said to the stall owner and handed the woman some coins without enquiring how much she wanted for them. The coins in the woman’s hand raised no objection from her.

  Gemma eyed the corset with dismay, but she had to concede that she was back in Britain now and a corset was mandatory.

  “Come,” he said and led her to a lodging house. After speaking to the owner, he led them up the stairs to a room. It was better appointed than the outside of the lodge would indicate. “Now off with that and don’t distract me.” He pulled her linen shirt over her head, revealing her naked chest. Groaning at the sight, he picked up the corset from the bed. “Turn around,” he said, stepping closer as he helped put it around her front, while she lined it up to sit right. She felt it pulling tight around her as he drew its strings, cutting her breath short and straightening her spine. She hated the corset, but there was something pleasing in having a man help her—not just a man—him. Her breasts were pressed to spill enticingly over the top of the tight material that held her firm and contained. He placed the blue silk dress over her head and she positioned her arms to let it slide down her. It was a little too tight for her, but it sat nicely over the corset, showing her curves to advantage. She couldn’t breathe, but she cut a nice figure.

  “Do you like me looking respectable?” she asked.

  He didn’t answer at first. “Yes,” he said a little bit breathy. Smiling, she knew he liked it a great deal.

  “Why?”

  “Because this is what you are—the way you are supposed to be.”

  “Believe me, it doesn’t feel all that natural from the inside. You could just take me back to the Caribbean and I could live happily without a corset for the rest of my life.”

  He pulled her to him and she hated that she couldn’t feel him through the corset. Without being able to really feel it, his hands slowly roamed the silk covering her waist—she wished she had nothing on.

  “We better go, or I will undo all the good work I did putting you in that dress.” He pulled her to the door by her hand. “Let’s get this done so I can bring you back here later.”

  They walked down a street close to the harbor. James was guiding them, not entirely certain where to go. Trying down one lane then changing his mind as he attempted to make his childhood memories match up with the streets around them. The streets were crowded, full of people and horse-drawn carts, with children darting in between, making Gemma’s heart leap with risks they felt no qualms taking. This was clearly a place of grinding poverty, the street stunk and the children were unkempt. There were even drunken souls around, even at this time of the morning.

  “Perhaps this is not a good idea,” he said.

  “We’ve come all this way; this needs to be done.”

  Looking tight and drawn, he nodded and tried another street. He stopped and surveyed the street for a while, then tentatively continued forward. Tensing his shoulders, he stopped and stared down one side of the street. Gemma followed his eyes to a woman that sat on a step leading to a dark door, peeling vegetables with a small knife—a slight woman with grey hair tied back in a tight bun and a threadbare dress that had seen better days many years ago.

  The woman looked up at the well-dressed and obviously foreign party standing down the street surveying her and returned her attention immediately to her work. Then she stopped peeling as if frozen before looking up again. Her attention left Gemma and focused entirely on James.

  “Jamie?” she said barely loud enough to hear. There was hope in her voice—long-standing, bitter hope. She stood. Gemma had to turn around, not able to watch the hope and grief on the woman’s face. It was a moment that Gemma felt needed some privacy. Hearing was bad enough as the woman’s tears and then joy bounced off the walls of the street. Then there were children around them, staring at her and James.

  “Marcy,” the woman called in a heavy Irish lilt. “Marcy, come now, girl!”

  A dark-haired woman appeared from the small doorway. Her likeness to James was uncanny, but with green eyes. Confusion at who this could be eventually gave way to understanding—this was a sister; one he hadn’t mentioned. Gemma suspected that he hadn’t remembered her, or perhaps she hadn’t been born when he lived here.

  “It’s Jamie; he’s come. I told you one day he
’d come. I prayed so many times.”

  Walking toward him, Marcy eyed him with more suspicion than her mother. She took in his clothes and health, then her gaze travelled to Gemma, taking in her silk dress and manner. She looked like she was about to say something, but held her tongue.

  “And these are the scamps,” James’ mother said. “Mary, Erin and Finn.” The children were lined up, with large eyes full of confusion and excitement. James’ mother hadn’t removed her hands from his arm the entire time—perhaps in case he disappeared if she let go.

  “My boy,” she said taking his face in her hands. “Isn’t he handsome? And rich too. Look at those clothes.” They were drawing attention from others on the street. James’ mother gave her neighbors a harsh look, then said with pride, “My son has returned. Come inside. We never moved, we’ve always been here, even when the rent went up. Couldn’t move in case you sought us, and now you have. I knew one day you’d come.”

  “You his wife?” Marcy asked pointedly. Gemma was being urged toward the small door and followed James inside, murmuring that she wasn’t. It led to two rooms—a living room and a bedroom. It was small and they had very little. There was a table and two chairs and a small carpet on the floor which had seen better days like the clothes of both the women and the children, but it was clean. Clothes were hanging on a string across the room and Marcy quickly pulled them down and stuffed them under a pillow of a bed along the wall of the living room.

  “Marcy’s John died,” James’ mother explained. “Since then it’s been ... Now you must tell us your tale. I have imagined every possible thing you can think. Finn, run get some ale,” she shouted at the boy who must have been around six.

  James picked a coin from his pocket and handed it to the boy who looked in awe of the visitor. He looked down at the coin and then to his mother who gave him a nod. Gemma wasn’t sure how they’d been supporting themselves, but it was clear that they didn’t have much; and with no man heading the household, they had very limited prospects. Beyond a doubt, she knew James would take on the responsibility to provide for them from now on.

  “I suppose without adding airs to it, I’m a pirate.” Awe-inspired gasps came from the two young girls who’d both taken up perch on their grandmother’s lap.

  Chapter 32

  Searching the sheets in the dark, Gemma met nothing but cold.

  “James?”

  A small creak drew her attention to where he was standing by the window, his form outlined by the moonlight. He’d been exhausted in the evening as the day had been taxing for him. He’d fallen asleep immediately.

  Sneaking out of bed, she softly padded across to him, placing her arms around his broad shoulders and relaxed as his warmth seeped into her. She could feel tension in his shoulders.

  “I should have come earlier,” he said, his deep timbre resonating off the walls of the inn room. “I should have seen to them.”

  “You didn’t know.”

  “I should have made sure.” His hand came up and held hers on his chest. “I can bestow a dowry on Marcy that will leave her with a pick of husbands. I can purchase a house for mother—servants to ensure she never needs to suffer again. Why did I not come back earlier?”

  “Perhaps you were not ready to. But you are here now and they are happy you’ve come. Now come to sleep, you are too weary for thinking straight. All is fine, you’ll make it so.”

  Grudgingly, he let her pull him back to bed, where she snuggled in close to him. He seemed stubbornly set on lying awake, but his eyelids grew heavy and eventually closed. Gemma didn’t like seeing him like this and felt a bit guilty because it was her suggestion to come here, and the implications of it took a heavy toll on him. But she still believed that being reunited with his family was for his best.

  They arrived at James’ mother’s house shortly after ten in the morning. It was a bright spring day, with sunshine gently warming the crisp cool morning. News had obviously travelled because there were children following them the entire way down the street. Gemma tried to spot James’ nieces and nephew, but they all looked so similar, in a slightly unkempt and dishevelled way.

  “Are you the pirate?” one brave boy asked.

  “Aye,” James said making his voice a little deeper than it normally was.

  Excitement ran through the crowd of children.

  “Are you here to kill someone?” the boy asked again.

  “Only if they get in my way.”

  The children smartly parted the way in front of them, but they kept pace as they walked down the street.

  “Off, you lot,” Marcy yelled, who seemingly inspired more fear in them than the pirate. They scattered quickly down the street, while James and Gemma stepped inside the modest rooms of his family where his mother got up and embraced him.

  “My boy, not so little anymore,” she said and surveyed him proudly yet again. “Fine figure of a man, don’t you think, Marcy?”

  “Very dashing, Mother,” Marcy said and attended to something on the small cast-iron stove.

  “Marcy, get the other bottle of ale.”

  Reaching for the bottle placed high on a shelf, Marcy pulled the cork before placing it down on the rough wooden table, along with two wooden cups. His mother sat down by a small loom and proceeded to feed in rags for a rug she was making, forming patterns of color along the length of the rug. The children stood along the wall quiet as mice.

  “Sell these for a halfpenny at the market,” she said.

  “Mother,” James said. “You don’t have to do that. You won’t need to sell them anymore. I can see you right so you don’t have to work.”

  “Oh Jamie,” she said with a proud smile.

  “How about we all have roast lamb down at the alehouse?” James suggested to the obvious excitement of the children. Gemma could see that James still felt terrible about the impoverished state of his family, and she knew he would seek to make their lives as comfortable as he could.

  After a leisurely lunch at the alehouse, where every single patron seemed to be watching them with ill-hidden curiosity, James and Gemma left his mother’s part of town. Gemma took in the sights of the city as they quickly walked toward what Gemma surmised was the center.

  “Where are we going?” she asked as she tried to keep up with James’ brisk pace.

  “I’m going to buy a house for them,” he said solemnly without slowing down. “I need to find a man of business.”

  Gemma followed him quietly for a few minutes. She wanted to speak to him, but he wasn’t giving her a chance. He was driven like there were devils after him.

  “James,” she said sharply and stopped.

  “What?” he said as it was clear she wasn’t walking further.

  Taking a deep breath, she held it for a while before she let it go. “We can stay.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “We can stay here—live here. You have a family that needs you.”

  “And I will provide for them, as much as they could wish for.”

  “You mother would probably rather have you than your money.”

  “You don’t understand poverty.”

  “Doesn’t mean that I am wrong. They’re in need of a head of their household.” People were ignoring them as they stood discussing their concerns in the middle of the street.

  “Marcy will marry and her husband can serve in that capacity.” He turned to walk again and Gemma had to run to keep up.

  “And why can’t you? We could be together here.”

  “In this land which neither of us have any familiarity with? What would we do here, Gemma? What would I do here? I am a pirate, not a profession that would be much use in a place like this.”

  “You will find something. You’re intelligent and capable. This is your country; this is where you are from and where you belong.” Gemma knew that sounded naive, but she couldn’t just give up.

  Stepping to her, he ran his hands up and down her arms. “I know you are trying to f
ind a way for us, but what I am doesn’t suit living in Ireland.”

  “Then be something else.”

  “I know of nothing else,” he said sharply, betraying some of the distress he felt.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just want to find a way for us to be together. I love you and I want to be with you. I hate the idea of you putting yourself at risk every time you sail away. I hate even more that you’re going to leave me. What am I supposed to do when you leave me?”

  He pulled her into an embrace, his arm reaching around her neck, holding her to the warmth of his body. “Let’s just get through the day, Gemma,” he said solemnly.

  A man of business came to speak to James at the inn. Gemma stayed upstairs and tried to rest while James spoke with him downstairs in the Patron’s Lounge. Feeling utterly drained, she knew she was close to the point where she would lose him forever. Utter desperation nibbled at the edges of her consciousness. But she couldn’t make him do anything; she couldn’t make him accept her and a life together. She understood all his objections, but they still felt trifling to the loss they were going to endure.

  Hearing a key turn in the door, Gemma sat up to see him enter.

  “You were supposed to be resting.”

  “I can’t sleep.”

  “Well then, come. My man has organized to show us some houses this afternoon. Do you wish to attend?”

  “Yes.” She wanted to be where he was, no matter where he was going.