The Sublime and Spirited Voyage of Original Sin

by Colette Moody

  Anticipating his fatal strike, Celia let go of her cutlass and tried to spin away from him. This sudden motion caused her to lose her footing in the sand, and she fell backward, landing dangerously near the fire, now prone and disarmed.

  Fuks laughed darkly and stood over her. “Where’s your saucy chaff now, lass? How are things looking from down there on your arse? They look pretty good from up here.” He stepped directly over her, letting his blade touch the ground.

  Celia glanced to her right at the dying signal fire and, without hesitation, grabbed the unlit end of a burning log. He raised his blade to slash at her, but first she was able to ignite the bottom of his black, knee-length coat.

  Fuks screamed and bolted toward the ocean to douse himself—the rush of air that hit him only making the fire surge and intensify. His coat was now completely ablaze, as well as his breeches. Torn between trying to remove the blazing garment or simply jumping directly into the sea, he chose the latter, diving face-first into the rolling waves.

  The sting of salt water on charred skin and blisters almost immediately replaced the sudden abatement of the pain of his burning flesh. “God’s bunghole,” he yelled, anguish racking him. He struggled to remove his now-scorched coat, though in just the attempt he felt as though some of his skin was coming off as well.

  His lungs filled with the smell of burning hair and hide, and again fury consumed him. He flung his coat into the darkened swell of the seas and spun back around to the beach, to kill the bitch that had done this to him.

  “You bloody—”

  As he turned, he focused on the pistol barrel now pointed toward him. The hellcat stood just where the waves were breaking, only a few feet from him. She was clearly aiming at his head. Fuks inhaled to speak, but the pistol discharged before he was able to utter a syllable in his defense.

  The shot blew most of the bastard’s face away, and he fell backward into the surf, motionless. Celia watched as the tide carried Fuks farther ashore, and once she was convinced that he was no longer breathing, she ran to help Anne finally free herself.

  Dropping the spent pistol, Celia grabbed the dead body of Anne’s attacker and began to roll him over. After a minute or two, Anne was at last unconstrained.

  “My God,” she cried as she sat up. “Thank you so much.”

  Celia and she uncharacteristically hugged each other tight. “Are you all right?” she asked softly, holding her close and rocking her back and forth.

  Anne could only continue to weep.

  *

  By the time the Belladonna had sighted Celia’s signal fire and sailed inland, Gayle was frantic with worry. Yes, that appeared to be one of Fuk’s skiffs moored there on the quay, which now confirmed her building fears.

  With no skiff to disembark onto, Gayle, Abernathy, Diego, and Dowd were hoisted one at a time by the remaining crew directly into the surf. Gayle sprinted through the waves toward the beach, her cutlass drawn and her pistols reloaded and at the ready. She suppressed the desire to call out to Celia, on the slight chance that perhaps someone on that quay did not see their ship’s approach in the cover of darkness.

  First she saw a body—possibly Captain Fuks, but who could be certain?—washed up on the shore, lying on his back, his face blown completely apart.

  “Madre de Dios,” Diego gasped, nudging the corpse cautiously with his foot.

  The group moved slowly toward the light of the fire, and from a distance they saw Andrew, seated in the sand with his head bandaged. Beside him was Celia, who had her arm around Anne and was humming to her. Just beyond them was a large dead body with the back of its head utterly and irreparably decimated.

  Celia looked up from the fire as her rescue party stared at her.

  “Gayle?” Her eyes and face lit up in jubilation.

  Gayle cocked an eyebrow. “So your journey was uneventful, I see.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “Father,” Gayle called as she entered The Bountiful Teat. “Have you moved a bloody inch since we left you?”

  Malvern the elder turned from his stool to see his daughter in the doorway with Abernathy and Celia. “You bleedin’ marauders,” he called, standing and moving to embrace her. “You made it back.”

  Gayle hugged him tight and kissed his cheek. “You look well.”

  Abernathy found a table with several chairs and directed they sit there.

  “So, did you find it?” Malvern asked as he sat.

  “Aye. Then we lost it, and took it back again.”

  “You lost it?” he stuttered. “What do you mean?”

  “A freebooter by the name of Fuks followed us to the quay, killed Nichols and Caruthers, and stole the loot.”

  “The bastard. How’d you get it back?”

  “Followed him and took his ship,” Abernathy added.

  “Did you, now?” Malvern felt both proud and relieved.

  “Aye. But in so doing, we lost eight men—including Sully and my good friend Churchill—and Original Sin herself.”

  “No, lass. Say it ain’t so.”

  “’Tis the truth, Father. I’m so very sorry.”

  Malvern downed what was left of the rum in his tankard. He took a deep breath and tightened his jaw. “Did you kill the son of a bitch?”

  Celia blurted, “I did.”

  Malvern assessed her in a whole new way. “You killed him?”

  “Aye.”

  “You’ve got a great bloody eye for the ladies, Gayle. Have I mentioned that?”

  “You have, old man.”

  “So what ship are you sailing now?”

  “The Belladonna. I can’t say it’s the best ship I’ve ever sailed, but it kept my feet dry.”

  Malvern looked about the tavern. “Where is that serving wench? We should drink to our fallen comrades.”

  Gayle nodded toward Abernathy. “Get us all some drinks, will you?”

  “Aye, Cap’n.” He stood and went to the bar to order from the barkeep.

  Diego appeared in the doorway and Gayle waved him over to sit with them. “Is it done, then?”

  “Aye, Cap’n.”

  “Is what done?” Malvern asked.

  “Your little tavern wench. She’s who sold us out to Fuks.”

  “Desta? Are you certain?”

  “Heard it from their own bloody mouths.”

  “Pity. She wasn’t too hard on the eyes. I’ll let Smitty know he’ll need a new girl.”

  Celia studied Gayle’s father. Beyond his somewhat glib comment about Desta’s appearance, it did not seem that anyone would miss her much. “What did you do with her?” she asked Gayle quietly.

  “She’s on a voyage.”

  “To where?”

  Gayle shrugged and deferred to Diego. “To where?”

  An expression of evil amusement came over Diego’s face. “Madagascar.”

  Abernathy then arrived at the table and put drinks in front of everyone. “That’s four rums,” he said, setting the tankards in front of Diego, Malvern, Gayle, and himself. “And one flip,” he added, giving Celia her drink.

  “Thank you, Abernathy,” she said with a wink.

  The crewman blushed and took a large swig of rum.

  “Gayle?” Celia asked.

  “Amor?”

  “Isn’t Madagascar off the eastern coast of Africa?”

  “That it is.” Gayle nodded, her bronze eyes alight with mirth.

  For a long moment everyone was silent and simply looked at each other with knowing glances.

  Celia picked up her drink and held it up. “Well, let us drink to her bon voyage.”

  “Bon voyage,” they all called in unison, their tankards clanking together.

  *

  A beam of hot sunlight punctured the clouds, pierced the porthole, and fell directly on Desta’s face. After several moments, the bright light beating on her left eyelid brought her back into consciousness, and her eyes fluttered open.

  “Where the hell…?” She looked about her. She was
in a ship’s hold—of that she was fairly certain. She lay in a hay-strewn heap, amidst a collection of chickens, pigs, and goats.

  A man poked his head in at the sound of her voice. He was short and round, but didn’t seem threatening. “Ah, you’re awake. C’est bien.”

  “Where am I?” She tried to stand and realized that her head was throbbing mercilessly.

  “You are on the Yvette,” he answered politely. “And we are a merchant ship bound for Madagascar.”

  “Bound for where? How did I get here?”

  “Ah, your friends booked you passage, mademoiselle. I assured them you would be safe even though you are traveling alone.”

  She held her head tight, trying to keep it from splitting open. “My friends, you say? What friends?”

  “The crew of Original Sin. They said they owed this trip to you.”

  “Bastards.”

  “They must care for you very deeply,” he prattled on in his thick French accent. “After all, this trip will take months.”

  “Months?”

  “Oui, mademoiselle. We must sail south past the coast of Brazil and around the southern tip of Africa to reach the island of Madagascar. C’est très jolie.”

  Desta sat back down in the hay. That really was too much for her to wrestle with all at once. “Do you have any rum on board, Frenchy?”

  His eyes lit up at her question and he clapped his hands together quickly. “Mais oui.”

  Epilogue

  As the cool autumn breeze drifted through their bedroom window, Celia ran her hands appreciatively along Gayle’s naked body. “Damn, but I could do this all day,” she murmured into her lover’s shoulder.

  Gayle rolled over in bed to face her and kissed her passionately. “So you haven’t tired of me yet?”

  Celia gazed into the amber eyes before her. “Are you missing the sea, love?”

  “No. Though some days I miss the roll of the ocean under my feet.”

  “Are you regretting giving over the Belladonna to the crew? She could have been the flagship of your ever-expansive fleet.”

  “No, I’m glad I let her go. And I was damn proud that they elected Molly as their next captain. She earned it, she did. With her cut of the loot, she could easily have walked away from sailing forever, and she decided to stay.”

  “I’m sure she’s a fine captain.”

  “I think it’s just Original Sin I miss, and that crew and that ship are gone forever. The others who lived to tell of it took their cut and settled down.”

  “As you did, love.” She kissed Gayle—a long, easy kiss that said more than mere words could convey.

  Life had certainly taken a favorable turn for them. They now lived on a beautiful estate in Jamaica that overlooked the ocean. Occasionally, old friends like Abernathy or Diego would visit and stay with them. Molly and her crew had even docked there once for a few days, and it had nearly been like old times, save for all the new faces on board.

  Gayle’s father now lived only a short distance away, and Celia’s parents planned to make a trip out that way to winter with them.

  Both Anne and James had left the Belladonna after the loot was divided up. Molly had mentioned something about James moving back to England and marrying a cobbler’s daughter.

  Anne was never really the same after the unfortunate altercation with Captain Fuks and his Irish crony, and apparently she had found comfort from the Lord. They had heard that she was now in a nunnery in Wales somewhere, but Gayle suspected that it was probably just so she could have all those virgins to herself.

  Celia turned onto her belly, and Gayle began to softly trace the outline of the tattoo on her right shoulder. It was the familiar image of a dragonfly lighting on the blade of a cutlass, and it matched the one Gayle had gotten on the inside of her left forearm.

  “You’re an excellent catch, Celia.”

  “Mmm, and are you glad you are the one who caught me?”

  “Verily.”

  She turned back to face her. “That’s nice to hear,” Celia whispered seductively, nibbling on her ear.

  “And who knew when I caught you that you’d turn into such a formidable, fearsome pirate?”

  Celia rolled Gayle onto her back and straddled her. “Prepare to be boarded.”

  About the Author

  Colette Moody has long been an avid bibliophile and fan of history (and swashbuckling). When she isn’t doing research or crafting scenes for her next romp of a novel, she can be found doing one or more of the following: trying to best her high score on Wii Tennis; sequestered in the kitchen eagerly trying to prove that everything DOES taste better with bacon; meticulously recreating classic cocktails from the 30s and 40s; or planning her next trip to Disneyland. While waiting to be generously (and inexplicably) remembered in some wealthy stranger’s will, she begrudgingly bides her time as a corporate lackey, working for the man. She lives in Southeastern Virginia with her beloved dog and her equally Wii-addicted partner.

  The Sublime and Spirited Voyage of Original Sin is Colette Moody’s first novel. She is currently working on her second for Bold Strokes Books, The Seduction of Moxie.