Never Surrender (Uncharted Secrets, Book 4): Endless Horizon Pirate Stories

by Cristi Taijeron

  Shaking my head loose of the memories I’d intended to leave in Port Royal, I reminded myself of how promising my future with Joel would be. I had abandoned my buccaneer parents to make a better life for myself, and it couldn’t get much better than this. “Of course I will marry you.”

  He slipped his ring on my finger.

  While I stared at the beautiful piece, he lifted my chin and looked into my eyes. “You make a lovely bride-to-be.”

  Before I could catch the breath he took away from me, he pulled me closer and kissed me for the first time.

  Chapter 2

  November Wind

  Hearing raindrops falling lightly on the rooftop, I opened my sleepy eyes and looked around at the stillness of my room. Everything about my home seemed dull after having been at sea for so long. Rising to my feet, I chuckled as I tapped on the wooden floor with my foot. “So still and boring.”

  Combing out the tangles in my hair, I thought back on yesterday’s events—all of which were far from boring. My father, Thomas, spent the afternoon boasting to everyone in town about my engagement. By the time evening fell upon the sky I was so exhausted by the congratulations that I only wanted to go home, but instead we met with Joel for a celebration at Addison Arbors. Joel’s brother Jude and his wife, my childhood friend, Hope, joined us for the festivities.

  It had been over a year since I’d seen Hope, who was only a year older than me, but with her bountiful brunette curls, extravagant attire, and white powdered face—she looked like an older woman of high regard. Proudly, she carried Jude Addison’s child in her womb and happily expressed to me the joy she felt about raising a family with him. I suppose for a woman married to a handsome, wealthy man, having children was not the heavy burden my mother expressed it to be.

  Sifting through the new dresses Father bought for me, trying to find one comparable to something Hope would wear, I noticed the rain was now pouring harder. Enjoying the pleasant sound, my mind drifted off into memories of the two people who had agreed to name me after this kind of weather. Mason and Midnight. Aye, Mason Bentley, the notorious buccaneer captain who I had only recently learned was my true father, and Midnight, my mother who was truly a mysterious artist of the seas, and a buccaneer herself. It was still hard to believe that my mother left Thomas—the man I called Father—to reunite with Mason, the man she wrote secret love letters to all my life, but she did. And though I missed her, I was truly happy that she finally found her peace of mind.

  Thinking of how much I loved that crazy woman, I began to wonder if I would ever see her again. On the ship ride home, Thomas opened up about his family life. Coming to find that his own mother considered him a dead man for choosing my mother over her, I began to fret over the way she might feel about how I’d left her for Thomas. Would she consider me dead to her now?

  No longer wishing to wallow in my unpleasant emotions, I climbed onto my windowsill and let my view of the rain-beaten harbor carry me away. Mindlessly, I watched the wild winds whipping raindrops through the air, and eventually I opened the window so I could feel the breeze. The cold, wet November wind bit at my nose, and the chilling mist dampened my cheeks—reminding me of what it was like to be at sea.

  Letting the rain ease my mind—the same way it cleaned the sky—I sat there until the angry heavens rolled back, revealing golden rays of sunlight. With a lightened mood, I admired the way the colorful glow shone through the remaining grey clouds, reflecting warmly on the wet city streets below. In the clearing, I watched ships coming and going through the waterway. Small rowboats moseyed along and large merchantmen cruised through, filling my mind with wonder as they passed. While watching the sailors scampering about, and daydreaming of myself being the one scaling the shrouds on tremendous masts, I saw a familiar ship passing by…

  No. It couldn’t be.

  The black hull was slick and solid. Deep red gunnels boasted large, polished guns in their well-fastened ports. Though the recently sewn sails were now beaten, wet, and holey, she wore the battered look like a mighty warrior. There was no mistaking this powerful ship’s unique identity. It was Phantom.

  Mason and Midnight were here!

  Shit! Shit. What the hell would happen now? What did they want? Had they come to take me away? Father couldn’t know that they had returned. Oh, of course he would know, he worked at the harbor and knew everyone at every dock. But then what?

  I had to get to them first.

  Hurriedly, I dressed in my Midnight attire—which I kept after I told Father I threw it away. After slipping on my black cloak, I darted down the stairs.

  The moment the new maid, Scarlett, laid eyes on me she backed against the wall like a terrified mouse. Though not a word fell from her lips, the fear in her eyes was apparent. No measly maid would keep me from the task at hand. Straightening my shoulders beneath my cloak, I pierced her gaze with my own. “You will never speak a word of this.”

  Trembling a bit, she nodded to agree.

  I felt a wicked grin cross my face as I headed out the door.

  Hopping puddles and dodging familiar faces—with my face hidden beneath my hood and hat—I made a slick path through town. The brisk winter air was chilling to the bone, but the frost was not enough to cool my sweat. Beneath the heavy red coat, I was swimming in my own perspiration by the time I reached the harbor.

  Planting myself at a safe distance, I watched Phantom pull in. The sight of her magnificence instantly set my imagination ablaze, evaporating the sweat from my body. Even while beat from the weather, she was a beautiful sight, and by far my favorite ship in the bay.

  It seemed like an eternity passed as I waited for her to lower anchor and douse the sails, but once Mason Bentley’s buccaneers began making way across the docks—like I had been waiting for them to do—I began to panic. Oh, this was it. How would I approach them? What would I say? Was Midnight going to be mad at me? What would Mason think once he saw my face so similar to his?

  While all of these questions pounced around in my mind, I saw Sterling—the brother I never knew I had—walking by with one of his mates. It crossed my mind to approach him, but being too intimidated by the confidence he exuded, I let him pass. I would wait for Midnight. But why the hell was she taking so long?

  Just as I began to wonder if I should go over and ask for her, I saw him. Mason Bentley. Dressed as fine as ever, hair tied back and hat low, Mason Bentley walked along the dock like he owned it. When the harbor master started asking him questions, Mason handed him a heavy bag of loot and walked on without responding, and without signing any papers.

  My heart beat wildly in my throat as stepped onto the cobblestone path I stood on. Sweat poured from my pores as he strolled passed me. I couldn’t let him go. I had to get to him before he found my father.

  I failed.

  Aye, not a muscle of mine flinched as he strolled on by.

  No. You can’t be weak, Remington. I clenched my fists and took a deep breath. I would see why he was here, no matter what it cost me.

  Figuring it safer to follow him than to approach him, I began stalking him through town.

  First he went to the bakery—where he left the lady at the counter blushing—and then he headed along the river walk. In my disguise, I was able to keep a safe distance while also upholding a good vantage point. And what a spectacle he was! From behind him, I took note of the way he held his shoulders broad and head high, and though I couldn’t see his face, I was rather amused by the expressions of those who crossed his path. No one dared to look in his eyes, and heads turned away quickly. One mother even shooed her children away from him. I giggled when he tipped his hat at her afterwards.

  He couldn’t have been known here like he was in Port Royal, but it was plain to see that the way he carried himself set the tone for the rumors following his image. He was big, well-kept, and as confident as the King of England, but better armed than a Knight of the Round Table. As my mother had related in her stories about him, this man was the king of e
verything he touched, and the walkway along the river Thames was no different.

  Mason continued on through a dank alley towards the slummy, eastern end of town. Before wandering too far into the area I had never seen—but heard plenty of terrible things about—Mason turned into Barlow’s Brothel Inn and Tavern.

  Stenches of liquor, tobacco smoke, and body odor engulfed my senses the moment I approached the entrance. The roar of the drunken crowd intensified with every step I took. Once I finally squeezed my way through the drunkards blocking the doorway, I heard the sound of music amidst their laughter. In the ill-lit room, I saw a man playing harpsichord with a scantily dressed wench leaning on him singing a tune. They were both as drunk as the crowd that was singing along and dancing about. The attention they gathered made it easy for me to claim a small table in the back without being noticed.

  Plopping down on the wobbly chair, I looked around to see where Mason had gone. With only two small lanterns hanging over the bar—reflecting faintly in the dirty mirror behind the counter—and a few candles on the bigger tables, it was hard to make out any of the patron’s faces, and as far as I could tell, Mason was nowhere among them.

  Just as I began to dread that I had lost him entirely, I was approached by a tall, skinny brunette. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “No. I just, uh…”

  “Spit it out, sweetheart. I don’t have all day.” She fiddled with her gold hoop earring.

  “I’ll take a mug of ale,” I answered, to keep myself from looking suspicious.

  “All right. My name’s Shannyn. If you need anything else just holler for me. Otherwise, I’ll be right back.”

  Watching Shannyn sway through the crowd—cursing and shoving as she went—I took note of the confidence in her stride. Her body wasn’t the least bit shapely and her ivory shirt and olive skirts were tattered and old, but the way she held her shoulders and swayed her hips assured me that she was a woman who took what she wanted.

  Returning quickly, Shannyn set my mug on the table and smiled—showing the gap between her two front teeth. “There you go, my dear.”

  While pulling out my money, I asked, “Do you like working here?”

  “I do what I have to do.”

  Handing her the money and a generous tip, I said, “Oh, well, I always thought it would be fun to work at a tavern.”

  “Want to trade places, princess?” She tightened the red sash holding her wild locks back.

  Caught off guard by how easily she saw through my disguise, my head jerked up. “Princess?”

  “Aye. No poor girl is going to come in here dressed in a coat that nice and give out tips like this.” She flipped the coin across her fingers, distracting me from my interest in the current conversation.

  “How do you do that?”

  “Practice.” She winked. “A lot of money slips in and out of my hands, but not much of it stays for very long.” After looking around the room, Shannyn took a seat beside me. “I was ready for a break anyhow, and honestly, I’m interested in your story. So let’s chat. What’s your name?”

  “Remi.”

  “Just Remi?”

  “Aye.”

  She lit a cigarro. “Do you want a smoke, Just Remi?”

  “No, thank you.” I fanned her thick cloud of smoke away from me.

  “What brings you here to Barlow’s, dressed in men’s clothing?”

  “I can’t believe you figured me out so easily. It’s my breasts, isn’t it?”

  “Aye. You’re going to have to try a bit harder to hide those pretty tits, honey.”

  “Shit. I had that problem last time, so I tried to hide them better today,” I mumbled as I looked at the obvious mounds.

  “You have to get the right kind of fabric. Stiff as shit and uncomfortable as hell, it is. But if you want to be hiding, that’s how you have to do it.”

  “Have you disguised yourself before?”

  She exhaled her smoke in little o shapes. “I’ve done a lot of shit before.”

  I knew we had just met, but I already liked Shannyn and decided to see if she could help me. “So, uh, the reason I am here is to talk to Mason Bentley.”

  Her expression twisted. “Why?”

  “I have something that belongs to him, and I am certain he would like to have it back.”

  “You interest me more and more with each word you speak, Remi. Does he know you?” She tried to look under my hat brim to get a better view of my face. But I didn’t let her.

  “Not well, but we have a mutual friend who binds us together. This visit is for a good reason. I’m not here to cause trouble.”

  “Hell, if I was worried about trouble, I wouldn’t be working here, and I’m certainly not worried about anyone causing trouble for Mason.”

  “Do you know him?” My eyes widened.

  “He’s friends with my father, so I know him all right. But I know his son, Sterling, better. He and Mason always stay here when they come to town, so Sterling and I have been raising hell together since we were young.” She lifted her thin brows. “I’m going to marry that boy one day, I tell you.”

  Visualizing Sterling’s handsome face, and remembering the way those pretty wenches swarmed around him at the tavern in Port Royal, I resisted the urge to chuckle at her cute little daydream. “You like him, huh?”

  “Oh, I more than like him. Hell, we’ve been kissing and doing other things since long before he started sticking it to other bitches. See, I know he’s had plenty of wenches, but I was his first kiss and once he’s ready to settle down I’ll be his last one, too.” Growling like a little tiger, she playfully clawed at me. “I’m old enough for more than a kiss this time.”

  That was more than I wanted to know. Before she could say anything else I would regret hearing, I changed the subject. “Have you always lived in London?”

  Lighting another cigarro, she mumbled with it in her mouth, “Aye. I’ve been stuck in this shit hole since I was born. It gets worse every day, I tell you. My damned parents keep gambling their money away, then Mason comes back and bails them out, but one day he won’t be so willing to clean up their mess. I know the place will go under eventually, so I need to find myself another plan afore I end up like one of them.” She nodded towards a whore on a man’s lap. The girl, who was no older than me, stared blankly into space as the man grabbed her breasts and laughed with his mates.

  I covered my mouth with my hand. “No. That would be awful. What other plans do you have?”

  “Shannyn!” One of the patrons called from the table behind us.

  Though his voice was plenty loud over the music, she ignored him. “Nothing yet. So, where do you live?”

  I told her where my house was, and when I mentioned how my father had been looking to buy a place in the country, she laughed. “I knew you were a princess.”

  “Shannyn!” The man called out again.

  She bit her lip and closed her eyes like she was trying to contain her temper. But he called again, much louder this time.

  “Hold on a minute, sweetheart,” she politely said to me as she stood up. “Can I get you something, Peter?”

  “Aye! How about more ale, for starters. Then a piece of this arse for dessert.”

  Just as quick as Peter groped Shannyn’s arse, she grabbed his friend’s full mug of ale, splashed the liquid in Peter’s face, and shouted, “This place is full of whores, but I’m not one of them. Keep your filthy hands off of me.”

  Standing up, and wiping the ale off his angry face, Peter took a step in her direction.

  Shannyn waved her mug like a weapon. “Don’t you dare come a lick closer or I’ll whack you.”

  “You aren’t going to do shit.” Peter charged at her.

  As promised, Shannyn whacked him. He then, picked her up by the neck and slammed her onto my table. Jumping to my feet, I watched the rotten wood crack beneath them. Shannyn’s back bashed against the floor. Peter continued to attack her. I tried to push him off of her but it
was no use. He was punching her in the face.

  Not only did no one stop the fight, they were cheering about the action. This had to be stopped. Seeing the mug she had hit him with laying on the floor beside her, I picked it up and started hitting him over the head with it. Before I could see if it was helping or not, Peter’s mate grabbed me by the collar, spun me around, and made a sloppy attempt to punch me in the face.

  Drunk as he was, it was easy for me to evade the blow. Not wanting him to come at me again, I took a swing of my own. Feeling my fist connect with his jaw, I smiled at my successful counter attack as his face jerked to the side. Shielding myself with my fists as Midnight had taught me, I waited to see if he was going to rise or retreat, but before he could do either, Mason came pushing through the crowd.

  Some of the men moved to clear a path for him, and those who didn’t, he threw out of his way. After shoving the man I had punched, Mason grabbed Peter and flung him off of Shannyn. While jumping out of the way, I picked my hat up from the floor and put it on as I stepped back to watch the show.

  Chucking Peter into the crowd, Mason brandished his cutlass and shouted at them all, “The next fool to move loses a leg, and I’ll cut the tongue right out of the next idiot who speaks.”

  The lot of them was wise enough to silence before the gigantic man and his sturdy sword. All but Peter, anyhow. “Ah, that bitch had it coming to her.”

  Quick as lightning, Mason reached out and grabbed Peter by the head. Gripping onto Peter’s hair, Mason bashed his face against the table, over and over until I could see the reflection of the stars he was surely seeing in his eyes. Once Peter was still, Mason pressed the flat end of his blade against his tongue.

  I wanted so badly to turn away, but I couldn’t.

  Mason asked, “What’s that you were trying to say, mate?”

  “Nothing.” Peter gagged.

  “Good. This shitty bar belongs to my friend, Billy Barlow, and he isn’t here right now, so you’ll be dealing with me. In case you didn’t know, that’s his daughter you just beat on and I can’t allow that type of behavior in my brethren’s place of business. Or anywhere, for that matter. And just so you can tell all your friends who it was that sliced your tongue in two, the name’s Mason Bentley.”