Pirate In My Arms

by Danelle Harmon

  “But did you really run out the guns during that storm, with the lightning flashing all around and the waves swamping the ship? Did you really fire them just to salute the gods and the thunder from above?”

  “Aye, I believe I did consider it.”

  “And did you really take over fifty prizes in less than a year?”

  “Aye. I did that too, I guess.”

  “And did you really overthrow Ben Hornigold and take his captaincy, his crew, and his ship away from him? The Ben Hornigold, the one that—”

  Sam sighed hopelessly and picked up his tankard. “Yes.”

  “Then how come you don’t want me to believe what Stripes says? So far, everything he’s told me about you is true. Besides, he’s a nice man. He’s gonna teach me how to fire the guns and then I’ll be able to run them out in a storm, just like you, and fight if we go into battle—”

  “I don’t want you near the guns.” His tone was final, adamant, and forbidding any argument.

  The boy’s face fell; crestfallen, he hung his head.

  “At least, not until I can show ye myself how to handle them properly.”

  “You’ll show me?”

  “Aye. Nothing to it. But first, ye must do me a favor.”

  “Yes, sir! Anything!” Excitement flared in the lad’s eyes, and Sam wished with all his heart that Maria would hold him in such high esteem. But that, at the moment, was too much to hope for.

  “I want you to search this ship from stem to stern until ye find the lady.”

  Johnnie’s eyes widened. “You mean the witch?”

  “She is not a witch, and if I ever hear her referred to as such by anyone aboard this ship again I’ll have him flogged.”

  Chagrined, the boy dropped his gaze and Sam cursed himself for speaking so harshly. “See?” he said, more gently. “What did I tell ye about Stripes? Another one of his damned stories. Pay it no heed. Just find Maria and bring her here, to me.”

  Johnnie jumped up, happy to be in his hero’s good graces once again.

  “And if she gives you any sass, tell her I’ve threatened ye with the lash if she doesn’t follow.” He grinned. “That’ll bring her.”

  “Aye, sir!” Johnnie cried. “Right away!” And touching his knuckles to his brow, he pounded from the cabin.

  Alone again, Sam toyed with the handle of his tankard and stared in disbelief at the door. His lips twitched. And then he roared with laughter until he was forced to put the tankard down before he spilled wine all over the fine linen shirt he’d found in Shilling’s sea chest. By the gods, the lad had actually saluted him! He, a pirate captain! No one—not aboard Lilith, Mary Anne, nor even Whydah—had ever done so before.

  He found the idea rather appealing.

  * * *

  Two bells of the mid-watch brought Maria Hallett, escorted by a sheepish but very proud Johnnie, into the aft cabin.

  Eyes blazing, hair askew, she marched across the room to where the cause of her anger was bent over a yellowed chart, forehead cradled in one hand and quill pen in the other. He merely looked up as she entered, his handsome, swarthy face drawn and tired. The little laugh-lines at the corners of his eyes were more pronounced than usual, but Maria had no pity for him. “What is the meaning of this, you—”

  “Thank you, Johnnie,” Sam said. “That will be all.”

  “Aye, sir.” Humbly, Johnnie turned to go, casting one last awed glance at the dark, imposing man who, even slumped wearily over the desk, managed to inspire command and respect.

  “And oh, Johnnie?”

  The boy turned expectantly, eyes hopeful, a little wary.

  “Mind that you report to me on the quarterdeck tomorrow following the morning watch.”

  “Sir?”

  Sam grinned. “I believe we have a cannon to fire.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Saluting smartly, the boy raced from the cabin. Maria waited just long enough for the sound of his footsteps to fade. “Lash him, huh? You wouldn’t raise a hand to that child if someone held a gun to your head! Already you have him eating out of your hand, just like you have everyone else doing aboard this ship!” She spat the last word with all the distaste she could muster. “You’re the most vile person I’ve ever met, do you know that? I despise you!”

  “Sit down, Maria.”

  “And to think I trusted you!” she cried, fists balled at her sides and eyes spitting fire. “Oh, why did I believe you’d change? Go ahead, continue your robbing, your murdering, but do it without me, do you understand? I want no part of it. And I want no part of you!”

  He listened to her tirade in silence, allowing her to vent her feelings while he leaned back in his chair, propped his booted feet upon the desk, and watched her with expressionless eyes that told nothing about how deeply her words were cutting him.

  And she was driving the knife deeper, searching for something vital. “You sicken me, do you know that? I should’ve left you there to die on that beach! In fact, if I’d known just what I was unleashing upon the world I would have! Now it’s my fault that these men are going to follow you right into hell, my fault that you’re going to rob and kill innocent people who did nothing to deserve it, my fault that even a young boy is already polluted by the corruption in your cursed, blackened soul and is going to swing at the gallows right along with you!”

  “Not your fault, Maria. These men follow me of their own free will.”

  She made a noise of disgust and turned away, as though unable to bear the sight of him.

  He returned to his paperwork, pretending a carelessness he didn’t feel.

  She wouldn’t let the matter rest. “And what are your plans now? Where are we going?”

  He sat idly tapping the quill against his thumb as though her tirade hadn’t affected him. Finally, he tossed the pen onto the desk, stretched his arms over his head, and relaxed back against his chair. “Monhegan.”

  “Monhegan? What, or where, pray tell, is that?”

  “A small island off the coast of Maine. Wild, mostly uninhabited.”

  “Oh. How convenient. Let me guess, more piratical activities, am I right?”

  He smiled. “You are astute, Maria.”

  “Ohhh! You care nothing about my feelings in all this! All you’ve done is fill my head with lies, empty promises! First with your talk about making me a ‘princess’ of some stupid island, then your lies about wanting to marry me, and giving up piracy! Well, I’m done with your fairy tales, Sam! And I’m done with you!”

  He let her blow out her rage like a sea squall, reefing his sails and lashing his guns against the onslaught of her wrath, but his casual, matter-of-fact manner only infuriated her all the more. Angry spots of color rode the hollows beneath each cheekbone, her eyes were unnaturally bright, and there was a tightness around her mouth that he’d never seen before. Patiently, Sam waited for her to finish, and then he reached into his pocket, drew something out, and put it on the table between them.

  “Would ye care to explain these, Maria?”

  Her bluster fell short, her sails went slack, and she went so white that Sam instinctively straightened up in his chair, ready to catch her if she should faint.

  “Stripes accused you of some rather serious things back there,” he said gravely. “Namely, witchcraft. ’Tis hardly the sort of thing I’d expect a God-fearing lass like you to engage in.” Watching her face intently, he leaned forward in his chair and over his desk to pin her with his ruthless stare. “And what concerns me is that ye didn’t deny it.”

  She had never heard his question. She was staring at the items on the table, clawing at her throat. “H-how did you find these?”

  “They were in the same trunk as my dagger. Nice and neatly folded, tucked away at the bottom, obviously something special to you.” He leaned closer. “Very special. I thought you might enjoy telling me about them.”

  Maria stared at those fragile scraps of fabric through a blur of tears. Charles’s tiny gown. His blanket. His little
socks. Oh, why was he doing this to her? Memories came flooding back and with them heartache, overwhelming her until nausea rose in her stomach and wrenched the last bit of color from her cheeks. Never had she thought to see these precious little items again, and she was torn between a frantic impulse to throw her arms around Sam’s neck in gratitude for bringing them to her and snatching them away before he put his vile, thieving hands upon them once more.

  He leaned back, dropping his hard perusal of her and turning his gaze on the baby’s things. He picked them up and thoughtfully turned them over in his big, sea-roughened hands. “Witchcraft,” he mused, and his dark gaze flashed to hers. “Do you deny it now?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Do you?”

  She stared at the little gown. A tear welled up, spilled, and trickled down her bloodless cheek. “Sam, please….”

  He slammed a palm down on the desk. “God’s teeth, woman, I’m asking you a question!”

  “And I’m not answering it!”

  His rage, well-timed and calculated, had the desired effect of shocking her back to reality and now that he’d achieved it, Sam was not about to let up. “Oh yes you are. In fact, ye’ll tell me every damned thing that went on while I was away if we both have to sit here all bloody night.”

  “Why should I tell you? Why should I tell you anything?” She moved away, pausing at the stern windows; one was open, filling the cabin with the salty scent of the sea. She placed her hands against the sill and when she finally spoke, her voice was flat and emotionless, little more than a whisper, and Sam had to strain his ears to hear it. “You don’t care,” she murmured. “You never have, never will. The only one you care about is yourself. You didn’t go to Florida to bring up the treasure so you could convince my aunt you were worthy of me. You did it for yourself, for the money. And when you didn’t find it you turned to piracy instead. You didn’t return to Eastham for me. In fact, you wouldn’t have ended up there at all if not for the storm.” Her voice began to quiver. “You don’t fool me, Sam.” She turned from the window and regarded him steadily. “I know you for what you are.”

  “Do you, now?” he asked softly, one brow raised.

  Her eyes flashed to the infant’s garments, still in his hand. “Yes, I do.”

  He crossed the short space to her, put a finger beneath her chin and tilted her head up so that she was forced to hold his gaze. “And what might that be, my dear? An uncaring beast? A heartless rascal? A selfish barbarian?” She twisted away, and again her gaze went to the baby’s things in his hand. “No, Maria, ye don’t know me at all.”

  “Give those to me.”

  “You haven’t answered my question. ’Twas a gallant attempt to divert my attention from what you’re trying to hide, but really, lass, ye should know better than to think ye can sway me from a charted course. When I want something, nothing stands in my way—certainly not an inexperienced young girl’s efforts to lead me away from the truth.”

  He saw her throat move, the stubborn way she held her chin, trying her best to match wits with him. To defy him.

  She would fail.

  They all did.

  Only now did he hold up the tiny scraps of muslin. “You owe me an explanation.”

  Her eyes hardened. “’Tis none of your business, Sam Bellamy.”

  “Ah, but it is very much my business, Maria Hallett.” He deliberately ran his thumb over the seams of the tiny gown and she tensed, afraid he would damage it if she did not yield. Instead, he merely tossed the little bundle to her with careless indifference. She snatched it out of the air and had he not known already, the possessive, protective manner in which she clasped it to her breast told him all he needed to know. “You see, Maria,” he said mildly, studying her bent head, “while you’ve been down in the hold sulking all day, I’ve been doing some chatting with my former crew member, Stripes. The one who can’t keep a silent tongue, the one who was at Higgins Tavern shortly after Whydah wrecked.”

  “Sam, please….” she whispered, lifting her head above the baby’s things. Her eyes implored him. “I—I don’t want to talk about it. I beg of you, not now.”

  “Oh, but I do want to talk about it. All of it. Do ye think you could hide such a thing from me forever? But I’d rather hear the story from you than Stripes. He does tend to, shall I say, stretch the truth a bit sometimes.” He made his voice soft and looked hard into her eyes. “I hope he’s done so where you are concerned, Maria.

  Her lids sank over watery eyes, and her throat worked with the effort of fighting the tears.

  “Ye know, princess, you’re only making it harder on yourself.”

  Her hands shook as she came to the table and stood pitifully clutching the baby’s things to her breast as though they could contain the grief within her heart. He felt like a beast for reducing her to this, but now that he knew her secret, he would not permit her to bear the anguish alone. She hated him, yes, and after this she’d probably hate him even more, but there could not be something this big, this damaging, between them. With that thought in mind, he said what he knew would unleash the flood of tears she was trying so hard to hold back.

  “Maria,” he said gently, “I know about the baby.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. His words hung in the silence, echoing over and over in her brain: I know about the baby…the baby…the baby…. She sucked her lips between her teeth, blinked several times in succession, and then her hands came up to cover her eyes as she burst into tears.

  It was what Sam had been waiting for. He went to her, pulling her into his arms.

  “Ah, love. ’Tis all right, now….”

  She buried her face against his chest, sobbing pitifully. “Oh, Sam, it’s not all right…’twill never be all right. Oh, God—”

  “I know. Easy, now….”

  “And it’s true.” She looked up at him, her cheeks awash. “God help me it is, every bit of it!”

  He drew her into his arms. “Tell me about it, Maria. Tell me what happened while I was gone. All of it.”

  And thus, he managed to get the tale from her own lips, a tale that had been dreadful enough when he’d first heard it from Stripes, a tale that made him sick with grief when he got it from Maria. To think that she’d been alone to bear the abuse from the villagers, to be condemned for her pregnancy, to suffer the death of her child and to be thrown into the gaol… It was almost too much to bear.

  A baby.

  He looked out the darkened stern windows. Moments passed, long moments where the only sounds were the rhythmic creaking of seasoned timbers, the gurgle of water against the rudder. At last, Sam broke the silence.

  “What did you call him, Maria? Our…son?”

  “Charles,” she said brokenly. “After your middle name.”

  “Ah, sweeting,” he crooned as she succumbed to choking, pitiful sobs once more. He drew her close, his arms enfolding her, one hand cupping the back of her head. He was glad she could not see the anguish in his own eyes.

  “You don’t know how much it hurt, how much it still hurts,” she sobbed. His chest, slick with her tears, muffled her voice. “I loved him so much. I thought I was over it, but I’m not. I thought I could forget him, but I can’t. Every day I still see his little face, hear his cries—oh, when, when, will it ever stop hurting?”

  Sam had little use for weakness, even less for helplessness—and he’d never felt so helpless in his life. He held her close, trying to soothe her with gentle hands upon her hair, her back. “’Twill always hurt, Maria,” he said quietly. “It only proves how much you loved him. Ye must stop blaming yourself for his death. ’Twasn’t your fault.”

  “But it was my fault. I should’ve known better than to take him into town!” She looked up at him, her eyes huge with pain. “And when he”—she shut her eyes—“when he d-died, my only consolation was that you’d come back for me some day. I lived for that, prayed for it, because I knew that when you did, you’d make everything all better again. You were th
e reason I built that hut on the beach, so I could watch the sea every day for your return. You were all I had left, and now”—she pressed a hand to her nose, trying to stem a fresh wave of grief—“and now, I don’t even have you.”

  “Here, now. Of course ye have me, princess.”

  “No, Sam,” she whispered, clawing the tangled hair from her eyes. “Piracy has you now, and when it has finished with you the hangman will have you.”

  He pulled out a chair, settled her onto his lap, and cradled her to his chest while she wept. The bottle of Madeira sat within easy reach, and Sam had no reservations about pouring a healthy measure of it into his tankard. “Here,” he said, holding it up to her swollen lips. “Drink this. ’Twill make ye feel better.”

  He expected her to refuse the wine, but she surprised him by taking the tankard in both trembling hands and downing it like a seasoned tar. He said nothing, merely watching her until she finally set the empty vessel upon the desk.

  “I think, Maria, it’s time we got a few things straight.” He shifted his weight, settling her more comfortably in his lap and pulling her up against him so that her tear-streaked cheek lay against his chest, her thighs pressed intimately against his. A drop of wine clung to her lip, and he reached down to brush it away with the tip of his finger. “First of all, I didn’t lie to you. True, I’d originally planned to salvage the Spanish treasure fleet for my own intents and purposes—but after I met you that all changed. Remember that day at your aunt’s house when I asked for your hand? And do ye remember how she refused me because I had so little to offer? Well, I vowed then and there that I’d have ye as my wife no matter what it took, and I left that house wracking my brain for a way to make that happen.” He stroked her hair, remembering. “’Twas then that I realized the real value of the treasure. I thought that if I returned to Eastham as a rich man, your aunt would never refuse me. ’Twas only when I failed to raise the treasure that I turned to piracy.

  “Secondly”—he held her tightly as he refilled the tankard—“I never set out to involve you in any of this business, nor to expose you to a crew of rough tars who, I fear, will be far more intent upon winning your favors than tending to the business of sailing this ship. And thirdly, and most importantly, I had every intention of marrying you, and still do. As far as I’m concerned, nothing has changed between us.” He paused, tipping her chin up until their eyes met. He gazed deeply into her eyes. “You’re all that I ever wanted. You’re the reason I am what I am. And I tell you this, and tell you from the heart—I never, ever wanted to hurt ye.”