Heroes & Thieves

by Heather C. Myers

  Heroes & Thieves

  By Heather C. Myers

  Text Copyright © 2014 Heather C. Myers

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover Image/Design Copyright © 2014 Katya Sarria

  All Rights Reserved

  For Kylee and Jacob

  Chapter I

  The scrag was dank and dirty, loud and obnoxious, and she couldn't count how many times customers had slapped her rear, hoping to implore her for a good time. It didn't matter that she was strictly a bar wench (or, as she liked to call herself, a bar maid) who refused to offer certain services despite the money and despite her employer encouraging such action. "When you make money, I make money," he would tell her, but even he knew how stubborn she was. This, however, did not stop him from pressing, as she walked into said scrag to start her shift. Norman usually worked her during the night, when the crowd was at its rowdiest. He knew she could handle them, and did not hesitate to throw anyone out, despite their name or even their title. This scrag was her home; it had been since she was fourteen. Eight years later, and she was still there, although not necessarily because she wanted to be.

  Norman knew what a free spirit Arabella, or Belle as she was called, was. There were times during the slow nights when he would find her outback, merely looking out at the sea. Sometimes she would be looking up at the night sky, at the moon and the stars, but the message was still the same; she didn't like being on a small island, especially when she couldn't leave. She had no ship, no boat, and no family, at least from what he knew of. He started her as a dish washer in the back, but as she got older, he began placing her as a bar wench, taking orders and serving food and drinks. She wasn't bad looking, so some nights, she would get tipped well, but he had no idea what she did with her money. Last he heard, she was saving it up for a boat of her own, despite no previous knowledge of sailing.

  As soon as Belle walked in, her chestnut colored hair pulled into a messy bun, with a dirty tunic and breeches on rather than the typical dress, another older wench, Bessy, went over to her. Bessy had carrot-red hair, also pulled into what was once a nice bun, but as the night wore on, errant curls began to escape from their confines and surround her face. Her dreary blue eyes looked tired, and the way she had walked over to the young woman revealed that she was already sore. Bessy was short, maybe five foot three, and squat. She had to be somewhere in her forties, which was a feat unto itself, and when someone asked, would occasionally provide the services Norman had encouraged.

  "Capt'n Aaron Donovan is here," she stated, her blue eyes widening.

  Pirates were common customers at the Bloody Mistake. It was the closest scrag to the water front and everyone knew that it served the best rum in the Caribbean. The Bloody Mistake also offered beds for those too drunk to leave, those who purchased company and needed a place to stay, or those who just wanted to sleep in an actual bed rather than the usual hammock or cot used out at sea. It was also the most successful scrag on the small island of Tortuga, and had many regular customers. At times, even members of the Royal Navy would frequent The Bloody Mistake, turning a blind eye at the illegal activity taking place there for a generous discount on said illegal activity.

  Captain Aaron Donovan, however, was not as frequent as most customers, but his name had already gone down in infamy, and he was only eight-and-twenty years in age. Known for being the Robin Hood of the Seven Seas, it was quite common for Aaron Donovan to skillfully loot a governor, a commodore, or anyone wealthy and provide the less fortunate with the majority of their profit. Donovan only took a sliver of the wealth for himself and his crew; just enough to get by. He had to have been around for at least ten years because Belle had heard legends surrounding the pirate captain when she was very young. She had always been fascinated by him, and wondered just how many of the stories he played a key role in were true.

  "Can ye take his table?" Bessy all but pleaded, her eyes hopeful as they looked into Belle's murky green ones. "Ye know 'ow many people he normally 'as with 'im. It'd be a good tip for ye, 'specially since ye be so young…"

  Bessy was never one to beg; she had too much pride for something such as that. However, Belle could read between the lines of her statement, and knew that if Bessy did beg, this would be how she did it. Belle could see how tired, how sore, the older woman was.

  "Yes, of course," Belle said, nodding her head once. "Have they ordered yet?"

  "Not yet," Bessy answered, shaking her head before she walked away. Norman would surely lose his wits if he saw the two socializing while his scrag was filled with customers that needed to be waited upon.

  Belle sighed and ran her fingers through her hair, stopping at the formation of her bun. She made her way to the back - Captain Donovan's usual place when he did come here - and stopped when she reached the rowdiest table. She spotted the captain easily; he was sandwiched between to gaudy whores who were desperately trying to capture his attention and failing miserably. The pirate was clean shaven, with dark chocolate brown eyes and short, but shaggy brown hair. He was dressed in crisp clothing, although not incredibly fashionable among the wealthy; a clean, white tunic, brown slacks, and worn but polished brown boots. His eyes were focused on the table before him; it seemed some sort of game was going on among the men. Coins and crumpled currency were sitting off to the side while two die were on the table. Belle watched, momentarily distracted, as the pirate captain picked up the die, curling his long fingers around the two cubes, murmured the word "Seven" in a low voice, and then rolled. Surprisingly, one five and one two turned up, and the captain collected the money with a triumphant grin on his face.

  Belle subtly shook her head a couple of times before clearing her throat and asking, "What can I get for you?" She had to be firm but not obtrusive; she needed their attention long enough for them to order and that was it.

  Aaron Donovan didn't even look at her as he replied, "A round of rum for the lot here."

  Cheers immediately erupted among the small crowd at the table. Belle didn't make any moves to fill the order quite yet; she was so surprised at the lack of disrespect the pirate captain had given her. Apparently, it was beyond his ability to look up at her while he spoke to her.

  Finally, as though he knew she was still waiting there, staring at him, he looked up at her, their eyes clashing against each other. "Are you having trouble counting, doll, because there are twenty-four of us, not including these whores." They glanced sharply at him and he shrugged innocently. "Well, that's what you are, is it not?" His eyes found Belle's once again. "Why are you still here? Do you have a counting problem?"

  "No, actually, I don't, but thanks for your concern," she snapped, narrowing her eyes at him. "However, it appears to me that somebody here has an attitude problem. Now, I will go get your drinks despite the rudeness of your request for twenty-four you said, correct? Yes, I suggest that you contemplate how valuable you think your life really is because, despite what you may believe, the world does not revolve around you."

  A collective and very juvenile 'oh' spread throughout the crowd, but Belle paid them no mind. She gave Donovan a challenging stare before turning and processing his order.

  When she returned, three other bar maids returned with her. This time, Aaron looked up when she returned and leaned against the back of his chair, his eyes pensive as he looked at her.

  "I thought about what you told me," he murmured in his low voice, his tone very serious. "And while I agree that you are correct in the way the whole world doesn't revolve around me, most of it does. My life is quite valuable; I provide for those who need providing. What do you do?"

  Belle smiled brightly as she handed him his drink. "I serve the drinks, of course," she told him. She turned back to the other bar maids and quiet
ly thanked them for their assistance, knowing she probably wasn't going to get tipped quite as much as she was hoping for from such a big party. When they left, she looked back at the die resting on the table. "What game are you playing?"

  "You place a bet, guess a number, throw the die, and if you win, you collect your winnings," Donovan told her.

  "May I try?" she asked, her murky green eyes wide as they stared at the game playing before her.

  "This game is a gents' game," he stated matter-of-factly. "Though you are dressed as such, you are obviously not a gent, and therefore are unable to play the game."

  "Well, if you are certain a woman will beat you at your man's game, I completely understand your hesitancy," she quipped. The crowd surrounding the two became silent as they stared at their captain, wondering what he would choose to do.

  "I do not recall hesitating," Donovan clarified after a long moment. "If I were to allow you to play once, what would you be willing to gamble?" He perked his brow; a challenge, she recognized.

  She thought for a moment. What could she offer him indeed? She would never offer her body, but if she did, judging from the cold treatment of the whores beside him, she highly doubted he would accept. Well, what did pirates like, exactly? She had no money on her – it being the start of her shift, and she knew naught where buried treasure rested. Think more practical, she told herself.

  Supplies! She was close friends with a man who was in charge of sailing supplies. Actually, maybe friend wasn't the right word. He seemed to be sweet on her, and always flirted with her whenever he saw her. Sometimes, he would stop by the scrag just to speak with her, even for a few minutes. Always nice, Stephen Barnaby was also interestingly handsome, but Belle had never been nor would ever be interested. However, she could use her connection to him in order to play this game.

  "I can offer a large discount on supplies for your ship," she said, taking a seat across from him and arching a brow.

  Donovan pursed his lips and connected his fingertips so they formed a triangle. "All right then," he said, grabbing the die and placing them in Belle's hand. "Have your roll. What would you like to call?"

  "Ugh… a two," Belle said, thinking of the first thing that came to her mind.

  "Snake eyes," he corrected, then he glanced at his group. "Gents, place your bets."

  "I don't want your money," she told him in a firm voice. Her heart beat furiously, but she would not falter concerning her intent now that she had the proper confidence. "I want you to take me aboard on your ship, guarantee my safety, and then drop me off at the next port."

  "There is no guarantee in life, doll," he told her seriously. "And you do not have a particular port in mind?"

  Belle shook her head, determination flashing in her eyes. "It does not matter," she told him quietly. "I just want to leave here, and since this opportunity presented itself, I decided to seize it before it slips away."

  "Clever," he stated, and then gestured at the table. "Have your roll. We have a deal."

  Belle jiggled the die in her hand for a moment. She was not very religious, but at that moment, she prayed that whoever was supposed to have created Earth and everything on it that she would roll snake eyes or whatever he had called it. Releasing the die, she watched them hit the table and watched as a four and a three popped up. Her heart sank. She had so desperately wanted to leave the island.

  "Ironic," Donovan murmured, his eyes on the die. "The luckiest number turns up when you do not want it to."

  Belle stood up. "Thank you," she told him, wiping her hands on her breeches. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have customers to attend to."

  "The supplies, dear," he called after her. "I'll be here at noon tomorrow to make sure you keep your end of the bargain."

  Chapter II

  It was far away, and long ago, but it had never disappeared. How old had she been when it had happened? Thirteen... maybe fourteen? It didn't matter; it had happened and that was all there was to it. But it never disappeared…

  "Where is Brylee, Papa?" she asked, looking up at her grandfather with those big, jaded green eyes.

  "Well, my baby Arabella," he began, his friendly blue eyes twinkling as he smiled at his oldest granddaughter. "She is out for a stroll with your mother. They are going shopping for your birthday."

  The young girl's eyes widened further, if that was even possible, and a brilliant smile eclipsed her face. She crawled off of her bed and into her grandfather's lap, despite her father's disapproval of such an action at her age. But Arabella did not care; she was quite close with her grandfather, and his lap provided complete and utter safety. When she was there, she felt like nothing bad could ever touch her. She was as safe as she would ever be.

  "What do you think they will get me?" she asked him with excitement. "Do you think they will get me a horse? You know how long I have been asking for a horse!"

  "I cannot say, my dear," he told her. "But, while we wait for them, why don't I tell you a story, hmm?" His brow perked up, and she nodded enthusiastically. "Now, which one should I tell you? Snow White? The poor cinder girl? The golden mermaid?"

  Arabella shook her head, her nose scrunching with obvious distaste. "I want to hear about Captain Aaron Donovan," she told him firmly, her face becoming ever so serious. It had always amused him whenever she grew serious, especially over something as simple as a story. "And how he robbed our governor under his nose!"

  Oral Browne chuckled at his granddaughter's enthusiasm and nodded as she got comfortable. Her small legs hung off the edge of the chair he was in, and she rested her head comfortably on his shoulder. Oral let his arms dangle off the arm rests of the chair as he began to relay the story of the infamous Captain Aaron Donovan, of the Crimson Serpent. Arabella had heard this tale hundreds of time, and never seemed to tire of it. Her younger sister Brylee did not like such stories, and preferred the familiar fairytales most girls her age listened to over and over again, including the ones Oral had offered to tell Arabella. Brylee found pirates to be quite boring and even a tad repelling. Why would any woman choose to sail away with a dirty, law-breaking pirate with a warrant on his head instead of marrying a perfectly handsome, respectable, and charming prince? It was beyond her. But Arabella seemed to enjoy it, and Brylee loved her older sister very much.

  Arabella was currently thirteen years of age, nearly fourteen, while Brylee was merely eleven. Already Arabella had been arranged to marry sixteen year old Dustin Commack, a duke from England who was currently living in the Caribbean because of his career path. He had joined the Royal Navy on his sixteenth birthday, and since pirates were so common in the Caribbean, it was thought that he would learn more quickly and advance through the ranks much more quickly here. The young girl had met her betrothed on a number of occasions, and while he was quite humorous, he was not necessarily handsome, at least not to her. With very short dark hair, and gold eyes, she knew she probably should be attracted to him. He was five foot ten, very fit, and had a scar of the top corner of his head that took the shape of a crescent he had received as a young boy. Instead of being odd, it seemed to fit the man, and many people found it very becoming on him.

  Everyone except Arabella. She was not exactly charmed by him, nor was she attracted to him. He was always courteous when courting her, and they always seemed to have filling conversations. The whole town seemed to think it was a good match, even congratulating the young girl on such a good pick. How lucky she was, they would say.

  But Arabella did not feel lucky. She had wanted to travel and see the world before she married and produced children. Secretly, she did not even know if she wanted to get married in the first place. She already had very little freedom, and did not want to sacrifice what she had for a man she barely knew. Yes, she knew she was being selfish, but she did not care. While Arabella was not afraid of him, per say, there were times when he would look at her with those penetrating eyes of his and she would feel a shiver of dread run down her spine. She could not explain why, but she did n
ot like him.

  Just as Oral had reached the climax of the story, a knock on the large, oak door, interrupted him. Oral invited the knocker in.

  "Sir, a Lord Marquis Commack is here to see you," a butler informed Oral. "He says it is pertaining to a business affair."

  "Of course," Oral nodded. "Tell him I shall be there in a moment." He glanced down at his granddaughter. "We shall finish our story soon."

  For whatever reason, Arabella felt that same shiver of dread slide down her back. Immediately she locked her arms around her grandfather's neck, and looked at him with wide eyes. This time, however, they were not due to wonder, but of fear.

  "Do not leave me," she told him in a hushed voice.

  "I promise you, my sweet, I will be right back," he told her gently, but Arabella could read his eyes; he wanted her to release him.

  She nodded once, unlocking her arms and sliding off his lap. Watching him retreat and then slip out the door, she realized how vulnerable she felt. Her sense of safety had disappeared with her grandfather, and now she was truly alone.

  She didn't know how long she had been standing in her bedroom, staring into nothingness, when he came in. He was not supposed to be here without an escort; that was all she could think about. What was he doing here? Why was he alone? When he locked the door and forced her on the bed, she knew what he had come for. Before, she had figured that if anything like this had ever happened to her, she would fight back. But now, she was frozen, completely helpless. All she could do was go numb, and that was what she did. It was blackmail of the mind… blackmail of the soul. What was he telling her as he was taking her innocence? She was his… it was a good thing she wasn't fighting back… no one would believe her… he was taking what was his… God, it hurt. When would it be over? When would he leave? When would the pain disappear? Why wasn't she fighting back?

  "You are lucky you are marrying me," he told her when he was finished, as he began to redress himself. "No one will have you as a wife for now you are soiled. You belong to me. Only a pirate would touch you. I hope you remember that. Now clean yourself up. You look like a whore."