The Blood Reaver

by Barbara Devlin

  “Does that mean you will help us?” Given her smile, there was little he would not do for her, and he promised to weigh anchor in her, no doubt, uncharted territory, before the journey’s end. “You will take us home?”

  Inclining his head, he winked. “Miss Armistead, you got yourself a ship.”

  It was early in the morning, when Rose Armistead eased from the bed she shared with her mother and tiptoed across the room. At the washstand, she filled the basin and completed a hasty but thorough toilette. After brushing the tangles from her hair, she arranged her coiffure; in a style of her own preference, a habit she rather enjoyed, in the absence of a lady’s maid.

  After lifting the lid to her trunk, she sifted through the contents, in search of serviceable attire. Lamenting the lack of mourning garb, given she did not anticipate the deaths of her father and her brother, she selected a brocade mantua of red and gold, with a low waist and elbow-length sleeves gathered in puffs, because she wanted to look her best for the captain.

  Just as quick, she crushed the thought, because Captain Reyson mattered not.

  With one last glimpse in the long mirror, she nodded at no one, turned, and walked to the opposite side of the bed. Sitting at the edge of the mattress, she gave her mother a gentle nudge.

  “Mama, you must wake and prepare yourself, because we cannot afford to miss our departure, as it is doubtful we can secure alternative travel arrangements.” When Rose’s efforts garnered naught but a brief interruption in the somewhat startling snoring, she tried again. “Mama, please, you need to dress and meet me in Clinton’s room, where I have arranged for a meal to be delivered, that we might break our fast, before we adjourn to the docks and cast off.”

  “I hear you, Rose.” Mama rolled to the side and sat upright. “See to your brother, and I shall take care of myself.”

  “All right.” Rose stood and assisted her mother. “There is water in the pitcher, and I set two clean towels on the table. Now I shall check on Clinton.”

  As Mama groaned and rubbed the small of her back, Rose smiled and made for the door. In the hall, she strolled to the next chamber and knocked on the oak panel.

  “It is open,” Clinton replied.

  Grasping the wrought iron ring, she pushed hard and entered. “Hello.”

  “Good morning, sister.” Sitting at a table, her little brother hefted a pot of tea. “Are you hungry?”

  “Upon my word, but the food arrived early, as I requested a late service to accommodate Mama.” Rose pulled out a chair, sat, and positioned two cups. “Here, let me do that, as you are still weak.”

  “I am fine.” He compressed his lips. “Given I am the man in the family, I can no longer convalesce as an innocent babe, and I am not comfortable with the situation. Despite your claims, I do not believe Captain Reyson is an honorable man, and I would secure alternative passage, home.”

  “Dearest, while I am not happy with our current circumstances, as I miss Papa and Ephraim, we have no choice.” After lifting the lids on various dishes, she paused. “But there is no other way, and we have no option that I can identify. What would you have me do? We could be trapped here, for months, waiting for another ship to dock, only to be confronted with a worse predicament. We have delayed enough, and our money dwindles, even now. For good or ill, we must trust Captain Reyson to deliver us, safe and sound, to Charles Town.” She huffed a breath in frustration, as she surveyed the fare. “What is all this, and should we wait for Mama?”

  “The food will be cold, by the time she appears, so I say we eat.” With a large wood spoon, he dished a healthy portion of a creamy substance into a bowl. “This is what the server called green banana porridge, which he recommended.” Clinton pointed to another plate. “That is ackee, which is a native fruit, and it is often taken with saltfish, which is beneath the other cover, along with fried dumplings.” Then he quieted and scratched his cheek. “As for Captain Reyson, I cannot explain my feelings, but I do not like him. I think you are wrong to place your faith in him, and I pray we survive the journey, but I am not so hopeful as you.”

  “There is toast in the basket.” Intent on changing the topic, she handed him a slice of warm bread. “And everything smells delicious.”

  “I would have you promise me that you will remain in our cabin, during the voyage, as our father required when we sailed to Alicante.” Clinton met her stare. “I mean it, Rose. I believe we are in real danger, and I do not understand why you insist on hiring the first seaman with which you came into contact, especially in light of the conditions surrounding your initial acquaintance. Mark my words, Captain Reyson is a villain, and we are fools to cast off with him.”

  “If that is true, then why did he help me retrieve my trunk?” Of course, she neglected to explain that she had reservations, regarding the handsome sea captain, but his actions spoke much to his credit. “Why did he involve himself in my plight, when he had only to remain a bystander? It was not as if I solicited his assistance. Indeed, he came to my rescue, of his own free will, and I am grateful of it, as it is doubtful I would have succeeded, and all our money is in my baggage.”

  “There is that, I suppose.” As he toyed with a morsel of fish, he averted his gaze. “But I believe there is more to his story, and I would protect you and our mother.”

  “You need to commit your energies to your continued recovery.” Rose brushed a lock of brown hair from his forehead. “As you rightfully assert, you are now the man in this family, and you must make our father proud. When we return to Charles Town, people will look to you to lead, in our father’s stead. It is much to put on one so young, as you are but five and ten, but it is your responsibility, and I know you will not disappoint us.” She draped a napkin in her lap. “But it is as Captain Reyson said, when he escorted us to the inn, this town is not safe for us. Rather, it is a trade destination with little, if any, civilized pursuits to cater to our set, thus we must take what we can get, and what Captain Reyson offers is our only course of action. We must act, if we hope to see home, again.”

  “Perhaps, if we had more time and money, I would protest.” Shaking his head, Clinton slumped his shoulders. “However, I am inclined to agree with your conclusion, with conditions. So, you will do as I ask and avoid Captain Reyson and his crew, at every chance. Unless absolutely necessary, I would have you confine your movements to our accommodation, and do not speak with Reyson, except when he initiates conversation. Even then, I would have you discourage him.”

  “Clinton, you are being ridiculous.” And unreasonable, given she ached to know more about the intriguing mariner. “Inasmuch as Captain Tyler and Captain Donat extended invitations to dine with them, in their respective quarters, I gather Captain Reyson will do the same, and I see no reason to slight him. Regardless of your reservations, that is no excuse to insult him.”

  “That was different.” He pounded a fist to a palm. “Captain Tyler is married and travels with his wife and children. He is an honest, respectable sea captain—a true credit to his profession. And Donat, for his questionable taste in cargo, holds a place in society. We know naught of Reyson, other than his preference for long coats and leather breeches. He strikes me as a freebooter.”

  “That is quite enough.” She slammed down her fork, and the tableware rattled. “You accuse Captain Reyson without cause, given his behavior thus far. Perhaps he is not so polished as Tyler or Donat, but Captain Reyson came to my aid when he could have ignored me, and I choose to think the best of him, based on merit, which he more than earned when he faced an entire establishment of ruffians, on my behalf. While you may choose to see the worst in him, I consider naught but his qualities.”

  Just then, Mama burst into the room, and she hummed a ditty, evidencing her improved mood. “Good morning, my darling children.”

  “Good morning, Mama,” Rose and Clinton responded, in unison.

  “How did you sleep?” In that instant, he poured another cup of the steaming brew, stood, and pulled out a chair. “
Join us, as the food is quite excellent.”

  “Oh, I should eat sparingly, as you know my weak constitution, when it comes to sailing.” Mama pressed a hand to her belly. “Daresay I may not survive another bout with the sickness, given your father is not here to nurse me back to health.” She sniffled. “Dear Augustus, how I miss him.”

  “Come, Mama.” Rose flicked her fingers. “Take some tea and toast, which should settle easy on your stomach, and I will ask Captain Reyson for some rum, in the event you require the remedy.”

  “No doubt he will avail himself of the opportunity, as he seems a vast deal more than interested in you.” Mama tittered, as she selected a fried dumpling, which Rose suspected her mother could not resist, despite her protestations. “That bodes well, given we know not if the Mortimer’s will consider you a viable candidate for their son, when they learn of your father’s death. You know, it was Augustus’s dream that you wed young Harold, but we must not be too quick to the altar, that we ignore a prospective suitor in our midst.”

  “Mama, what are you suggesting?” Clinton’s mouth fell agape. “You cannot mean to imply that Rose should marry Captain Reyson.”

  “I mean exactly that.” As Rose feared she might swoon, Mama snapped open her fan and smiled. “After all, while a sea captain is no gentleman, the man possesses his own ship, and that is something, given we are in trade. It could be a beautiful union.”

  “Absolutely not.” Glowering, Clinton folded his arms. “I forbid it, and were Papa here, he would do the same.”

  “Well, he is not here, and we are left to fend for ourselves.” Mama scrunched her nose. “Although Captain Reyson is not so handsome, in the traditional sense, such frivolities matter not, in times of desperation, and make no mistake, we are desperate.”

  As Mama argued with Clinton, Rose stood and walked to the window, which overlooked the main thoroughfare through town. On the sidewalks below, an odd collective of characters traversed the street, and two strangers slept slumped against a building. In the distance, she admired the pristine blue sky, gazed in the direction of the docks, counted eleven sets of sails, and wondered which belonged to the Malevolent and her captivating captain.

  Tall and strong, with long, dark brown hair, chiseled cheekbones, and piercing blue eyes, Turner Reyson did not present the professional mariner, as had Captains Tyler and Donat. Oh, no. He manifested something altogether mysterious and compelling.

  While Rose harbored no preference for or aversion to marriage, she longed to see the world, and the trip to Spain did not appease her thirst for adventure. Although she mourned her father and her brother, she loved the extended travel and awaited the final journey home with equal parts of enthusiasm and regret, as she knew not if or when she would ever venture beyond the shores of Carolina, again.

  The mantel clock chimed the hour, and she came alert.

  “Please, do let us not begin our trip at odds.” To Clinton, Rose said, “I promise, I shall exercise caution, aboard ship.” To Mama, Rose stated, “Let us return to Charles Town, and then we might broach an agreement with Captain Reyson, as the voyage may tell us much about him.”

  Chapter Two

  The sun peeked above the horizon, bathing the sky in a multitude of watercolors, as Turner supervised the preparations to cast off. While the swabs stowed provisions, he inspected the deck, because he needed to maintain a ruse he had never attempted. Before his passengers arrived, he summoned his men to the waist.

  “Gather near, because we must create a single narrative to satisfy our paying guests, until we deliver them to Charles Town.” Turner leaned against a barrel of fresh water. “I want everyone on their best behavior, because I told the Armisteads that we are a merchant-for-hire vessel, and I would not have you alarm them.”

  “Why is it necessary to pretend we are something we are not?” Tolly, the first mate narrowed his stare. “Can we not take their money and throw them overboard, once we sail into open water?”

  “Tolly is right.” Allen, the quartermaster, stood and folded his arms across his chest. “What is the wench to us? And what are the old hag and the brat, if not two more mouths to feed? They are fair game, Blood Reaver.”

  “No, they are not, according to the code that governs the Malevolent.” Turner counted on Allen’s protest, given he challenged every decision Turner made as captain, and the situation merited scrutiny. “We did not happen upon the Armisteads, on the seas, as we took a prize, which would make them naught but chattel to be used and bartered. Instead, the young lady asked for my assistance, brokered a deal, and I accepted, on our behalf, thus we will honor the terms I struck.”

  “Did she invoke the Pirata Codex, which governs the Pirates of Britannia?” Allen shifted his weight and curled his lip. “Or do you do it for her?”

  “It matters not.” Eastman, the aged, highly respected bo’sun, inclined his head and rubbed his chin. “What are we, if we do not abide the articles we set forth?”

  “We are exactly what the landlubbers call us.” Tolly snorted, as if on cue, and his characteristic reasoning played right into Turner’s hand, because he commanded not by fear but by skill, spirit, and his ability to secure booty. Maneuvering the motley band of pirates to do exactly as Turner wanted, without violence, despite inclinations to the contrary, he counted as a particular talent. “They believe we are nothing but brutal, lawless savages, but we know better. For centuries, our ranks have chosen to live free of society’s ridiculous directives and their self-righteous notions of so-called civilization, and it is a far more honest existence, if you ask me.”

  “Hear, hear,” the crew chanted, as one.

  “Then we are agreed.” With an overwhelming sense of smug satisfaction, Turner lifted his chin, as he got what he wanted. “And once we have transported our passengers to Charles Town, we will anchor in the Gulf of Mexico and take a prize, so we profit two-fold.”

  A cheer reverberated, as the tars chucked each other on the shoulder.

  “Well, what are you waiting for, you pogy bunch of whore pipes?” Turner slapped his thighs. “Get the chickens stowed, sweep the boards, lower the mainsail hull, and dispatch the jolly boat to fetch the Armisteads, but keep your hands off the moll, because I claim her for myself.”

  “What about the rest of us?” Allen bared his teeth. “I could use a flyer, and she is no growler.”

  “Thought you dropped anchor in Long Tongue Lizzie, last night.” Turner smirked. “Rose Armistead is mine, and I will not tell you again. Feel free to seduce the mother or the brother.”

  The salts cackled, and Allen cursed like blue blazes.

  “Cap’n, the Armisteads have arrived.” Tolly pointed toward the docks. “The chit waves, as if we do not see her.”

  At the larboard rail, Turner leveled the bring-em-closer and spied the delectable Rose, bedecked in some gold and red garb that gave her a regal bearing, and he envisioned her bent over his desk, as he took her from behind.

  “Well, what are you waiting for, an invitation?” Addressing Allen, Turner splayed his legs and rested fists on hips. “Bring back my woman.”

  As the quartermaster grumbled, the crew sprang into action, completing various tasks one would expect of a ship preparing to sail. While Turner enjoyed the anticipation of a new hunt, he savored the added bonus of female game and plotted the seduction of Rose Armistead, which he guessed he had about four weeks to achieve, depending on the weather and the northeast trades.

  “Cap’n, Dillard finished the work to the cabins.” Eastman wiped his brow, as the rising sun warmed the sea air. “I had the men empty the small room we used for storage, and the carpenter’s mate fit the chamber with a door. It is not much, but the lad should be comfortable.”

  “And what of the other chamber?” To encourage young Rose to seek alternative accommodations, specifically his cabin, Turner requested some changes to the room. “Is everything as I ordered?”

  “Aye, Cap’n.” The bo’sun nodded. “I did as you asked, althou
gh I could have had the men build bunks for the women, and I still can. It would be no trouble.”

  “No.” If Turner’s plan worked, Rose would spend most of the trip in his bunk. “You did well, Eastman.”

  “Thank you, sir.” He peered over his shoulder. “Looks like our passengers are here. Should I escort them to their cabins, or will you do that?”

  “You do the honors.” Familiar hunger nestled in Turner’s gut, as he glimpsed telltale brown curls, and Rose climbed aboard the Malevolent. Never in his life had he imagined seducing a woman like her, and he resolved to make the most of the opportunity, given he would never see her, again, once he dropped her in Charles Town. “And relay the commands to cast off and make sail.”

  “Aye, Cap’n.” Eastman saluted and shouted the orders.

  In a couple of strides, Turner reached the companion ladder and climbed to the helm, as the men scrambled into the ratlines. Fighting every inclination within him, he inhaled a deep breath and strolled to the stern rail.

  “Murtaugh, set a course sou’-sou’-west.” A gentle breeze kissed Turner’s face, and he drew a leather thong from his pocket and tied back his hair. Then he turned and consulted his charts. “Maintain tack until we clear the islands, and then make your heading nor’-nor’-east.”

  “Aye, sir.” The helmsman rotated the wheel. “Sou’-sou’-west.”

  Slowly, the Malevolent gained speed, as the crew adjusted the sheets, and Turner tried to think of something—anything to keep him from going below, because he did not want to frighten Rose, and he promised himself he would—