Owned by Pirates

by Haley Travis

  Owned by Pirates

  By Haley Travis

  Copyright 2020 Haley Travis. All rights reserved. Cover design by Lexie Renard.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted or duplicated in any form whatsoever without express written permission of the author. This book is intended for sale to adults only. This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to actual people or specific locations or details is completely coincidental, or intended fictitiously. All characters are over 18, no sex partners are related, all sex is consensual. This is fantasy. In the real world, everyone practices safe sex at all times. Right? Right.

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  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Prologue ~ Flora ~ The Night Before

  Chapter 1 ~ Flora ~ The Village of Glenbert

  Chapter 2 ~ The Captain ~ The Village Docks

  Chapter 3 ~ Flora ~ The Fortune’s Favor

  Chapter 4 ~ The Captain ~ Stars

  Chapter 5 ~ Flora ~ The Captain’s Quarters

  Chapter 6 ~ The Captain ~ Breakfast

  Chapter 7 ~ Flora ~ On the Open Sea

  Chapter 8 ~ The Captain ~ Sleep

  Chapter 9 ~ Flora ~ Storm

  Chapter 10 ~ The Captain ~ Paperwork

  Chapter 11 ~ Flora ~ Shopping in Parrinport

  Chapter 12 ~ The Captain ~ Sonderlee Beach

  Chapter 13 ~ Flora ~ On the way to Tegarren Point

  Chapter 14 ~ The Captain ~ The Rum

  Chapter 15 ~ Flora ~ In the Dark

  Chapter 16 ~ The Captain ~ Quick Stop in Parrinport

  Chapter 17 ~ Flora ~ After Supper

  Chapter 18 ~ The Captain ~ Limestone Walls

  Chapter 19 ~ Flora ~ A Plan

  Chapter 20 ~ The Captain ~ Son of a…

  Chapter 21 ~ Flora ~ Round Table with Rum

  Chapter 22 ~ The Captain ~ Purchase

  Chapter 23 ~ Flora ~ Please

  Chapter 24 ~ The Captain ~ New World

  Chapter 25 ~ Flora ~ Under the Moon

  Epilogue ~ Flora ~ Flora’s Paradise / Cabbages

  Other Stories and About the Author

  ~ Prologue ~ Flora ~

  * The Night Before *

  Every day I woke up wishing that I could discover something new. Every night I went to bed hoping for a better tomorrow. According to the books I managed to scrounge, the rest of the world was full of passion and adventure. Somewhere over the horizon, there were interesting people. Challenges beyond matching gray thread to rough gray fabric.

  But in my dull little village of Glenbert, each day stretched out as if time itself were sucking the color and life from it.

  Perhaps it was that my father had rationed my food even more severely, and I was becoming exhausted. Perhaps it was working fourteen-hour days now. Or perhaps it was the shifty glances from the townsfolk finally wearing me down.

  It was hard to believe that my own father would spread rumors that I was some sort of simpleton. All because I wouldn't marry the man he had attempted to betroth me to. Now he was also calling me a trollop, which was completely senseless since he was still trying to find a man to wed me.

  Even at the tender age of nineteen years old, life had already beaten me down to the point where I did not dare to dream of anything better. Yet even with my horrid, dismal, passionless life, I could not bring myself to marry Thomas Glazenby, a rich yet disturbing man in his fifties.

  I would not be traded simply to have my father in the Glazenby family's good graces. I could not build a life with a man who wanted nothing more than to practically tether me to his home so that I may do his bidding and bear his children.

  Women rarely had the chance to stand up for themselves, but there must be a way to have a tiny shred of my own life.

  I almost dreamed of being a schoolteacher like my mother had been long ago. I would love to teach children how to read, and develop a love of stories. But my father said it would not bring in enough money to pay for my food and clothing.

  I almost dreamed of working in the bakery, as I’d always loved to cook. But my father had said that the baker's family were from the bad neighborhood over the river and had a terrible reputation.

  Occasionally I was concerned with my own reputation. My father seemed to take every opportunity to spread lies about me to whoever would listen. I had never dared enter the pub where the men would drink ale and spin their tales until they were blurry. I knew how easily tales became lies. How some men longed to appear rich with knowledge, and faked it for the sake of holding the attention of the table.

  A few times when I was feeling particularly brave, I would sneak out at night and hide under the open windows of the alehouse. My imagination would swim while listening to the adventures of the men who had sailed farther than we could ever have seen from the docks.

  There were towns and cities so far away that the people had different foods. Different clothing. It sounded like some people were very rich, and had money to spend on frivolous things like decorative hats and exotic teas from the far East.

  My heart ached for the opportunity to meet someone from afar. It had always been difficult for me to make conversation, as I’d always been the quiet sort. But maybe I could be brave enough to ask questions. How I would love to learn about these other lands.

  Instead, I worked with my mother, sewing the most basic clothing, sheets, slipcovers, and staples for the local shops. I was surrounded by piles of cream, gray, and black fabric at all times. I swore to myself that someday I would fashion a brightly colored dress, like the wealthy women wore on Sundays. Yet I would wear mine for no occasion at all.

  I almost dared to dream of a day and a place where I could have a bit of room to breathe freely. A life without every action analyzed by my overbearing father and his archaic views.

  I knew that I was a nice girl. Proper, polite, and quiet. Exactly what I’d been taught. There was nothing shameful in wanting to learn about the world. Books were not sinful, and neither was asking questions of the neighbors and their travels. I was getting tired of having to cover my tracks and sneak around just to cross town to borrow a book, or trade buttons with a fellow seamstress.

  I didn’t know at what point I would be allowed to live my own life. There were rumors that the Langston brothers were finishing their schooling, and at least one of them would be coming back to the village. I could well imagine that my father would latch onto them immediately, and try once again to marry me off.

  My shyness was frustrating enough with people I knew fairly well, and ran into at the market. Suddenly being handed to a strange man to… I couldn’t even finish the thought. I knew at some point I’d be married and have to give myself to a man. Of all the outlandish dreams I tried to sweep out of my mind, the hope for a nice, honorable man who would be kind to me was the most important of all.

  Mother had been married off to father to join their parent’s properties together, back in the day. I don’t recall ever seeing my mother give a genuine smile to my father. It was heartbreaking.

  Longing for a life of laughter, and bright colors, and new adventures… I may as well have wished for the moon itself.

  As the pale blue-white orb began to peek up over the horizon, I looked down at the darkened docks from my tiny bedroom window. I tried to think of its faint light as a beacon to the outside world. For the thousandth time, I wished upon the moon. Although I knew it was a silly superstition, I wished for the chance for a bigger, better life.

  The moon ignored me, rising slowly over the sea.

  ~ Chapter 1 ~ Flora ~

  * The Village of Glenbert *

  I knew tha
t if I didn’t get my errands done quickly enough, I might get the lash again. My father had been even angrier than usual lately. I tried to seem invisible and stay out of his way.

  Yet as I passed the plain gray shops full of plain gray faces along the main street of our village, I heard a rustle in the usual chatter. I walked more quickly, concentrating as I tried to listen.

  The butcher was telling his wife about something down at the docks. The cobbler was out on his step asking old Mr. Laird if something was true. Finally I passed the blacksmith, his voice loud and hoarse from hovering over the heat of his forge for years. I heard a word that shot through me like a static shock on a dry winter day.

  Pirates.

  I’d heard the tales. The whispers during the day, and the loud, drunken stories from villagers at night. Ragged men who traveled with the winds. Men who took what they wanted, sailed where they liked, and lived completely free upon the seas.

  The idea of going anywhere beyond my village thrilled me. Terrified me. Excited me to bits. The blood ran faster in my veins just from the mere thought of it.

  I was desperate to leave this tired place, but I was under the thumb of my cruel, overbearing father. After I refused to be married off to Mr. Glazenby, a prissy, sickly, but very rich shopkeeper, my father threatened to disown me. He said that I was a burden, even though I worked even more hours every day than my poor mother, who taught me to be a seamstress as well.

  The thought of spending a lifetime with someone who only saw me as a possession filled my throat with acid. I’d sooner jump into the sea myself than see my life handed over to another. I’d been starting to squirrel away a few meager pennies here and there, tucked under a floorboard beneath my bed. Someday I might find passage to another town where I could live freely. It was so risky that I didn’t dare to even truly dream that it could happen.

  Father’s punishments were getting worse every time, and I wasn’t quite sure how many more I could withstand.

  Yet I risked a shred of his wrath to take the longer path home, that swung near the docks. If there were real pirates in our tiny village, I just had to steal a glimpse for myself.

  Under the guise of pretending to look for my mother, who occasionally came to the shore before supper to buy a few fresh fish, I strolled as near as I dared.

  There it was. A strange ship I’d never seen. There had been large cargo ships at our modest docks before. Although this particular ship wasn’t the largest, it was different, somehow. Sleeker. It looked more predatory.

  The enormous sails were down, but the proud masts and glistening wooden hull showed that it was easily the most interesting ship that had ever come to port. Several men in rough work clothes scrubbed the deck and coiled thick ropes. I couldn’t quite believe that even though they were in poor repair, some of their shirts were bright colors like green and red.

  Nobody in Glenbert would be so showy as to wear color except on Sundays, or perhaps to a fancy party, which only happened once a year. Here it was Wednesday, and a man with shining gold teeth wore a violet shirt to lug supplies onto the ship.

  There were only four men, or quite possibly pirates, in sight. I wondered how many it took to run such a vessel. I didn’t know very much about ships and boats, or their workings. Then another man came up onto the deck, shielding his eyes from the sun for a moment with his hand.

  His shirtless torso was glistening with a light sheen of sweat, and his black hair hung with the faintest curl at the ends. One of his thick, muscular arms was decorated with black ink, as well as an emblem on his chest. I wished that I was much closer so I could study the artwork. How does a person choose drawings that they would have with them forever?

  I’d always dreamed of worldly men. Those who had seen distant places, learned the ways of other lands. So many exotic foods and towns and people. The excitement must be exhilarating.

  From the way the great man was calling out commands to the other men, he must have been the Captain. Tearing my eyes from his massive shoulders, I pretended to scan the docks for my mother, just in case anyone noticed me.

  Turning to go back up the path, I heard a slight shuffling and a thump. Glancing behind me, the Captain was down on the dock, picking up a huge barrel as easily as if it were empty, but it was likely fresh supplies.

  For one blissfully exciting, horrifying, desperate second, he turned and his eyes met mine. They were so dark they seemed black. Yet they weren’t savage or cruel. He laughed cheerily, giving me a nod as he raised his hand in a wave, then spun to carry the cargo onto his ship.

  My hands fluttered, nearly dropped the bags of turnips, cabbage, and sewing thread. Rushing home, I stored the food and went straight back to work in my room, up by the window. I told my parents that it was the best light for my detailed work. In truth, I simply needed the fresh air and to look down at the docks, thinking of those who could sail away from this tiresome place.

  When my fingers finally stopped shaking from excitement, I set to work, mending the butcher’s wife’s best dress with tiny, perfectly even stitches. With all of the hours I’d spent cutting, pinning, and sewing dresses, I knew that my work was the best in the village. Even faster and more accurate than my mother’s, though I’d never breathe that to a soul.

  After a spell, I found myself gazing out the window down to the men on the docks as they scurried about. It was likely all routine to them – winding ropes and tying sails. But to a young girl who had never been anywhere else, it was terribly exciting. Almost romantic.

  “Why aren’t you working?” Father’s voice rang through the room, scaring me to pieces. “Staring out the window instead of tending to your chores? I should take the lash to you again.”

  Father’s voice always set my teeth on edge, but today he seemed even more unstable.

  He went to the window to see where I’d been looking. “Staring at the dock men like a harlot? You little...” He stopped mid-thought as he looked further to where the relatively large ship was docked at the end of our tiny harbor. “Pirates,” he hissed. “In our nice village.” He likely focused on the men working on deck, then back to my terrified eyes.

  “If you’d been a son, you’d be doing real work like those men,” he spat. “Now you bring shame to this house by ogling scoundrels and thieves.”

  His face was becoming red, and I heard my mother creep through the doorway. She likely heard his raised voice. I wasn’t sure if her presence would protect me this time.

  “You’re unmarried at nineteen years of age. What’s worse, you think you’re too good for the nice man I arranged for you. You’re a useless spinster. Do you have any idea what sort of vile gossip your poor mother must endure each time she goes to the market?”

  I bit my lip to stop from reminding him that he was the only person who ever spread stories about me. Everyone else in the village pitied me, I was pretty sure. His complete lack of logic, and the way his moods turned on a penny, made most of the townspeople avoid him entirely.

  Then father’s clenched eyes shifted as he smiled wickedly. “Change into your nice new black dress. We’re leaving in five minutes.” He spun on his heel and bolted out the door.

  Although we had no idea what was happening, mother helped me dress as quickly as possible. Her hands shook as she helped me into the layers of ruffled fabric, fastening the long row of buttons down my back.

  “Where is he taking me?” I asked, my throat tight.

  “I have no idea.” She’d always been meek, her voice never raised far beyond a whisper. No wonder father thought he could control her completely.

  By the time we raced downstairs, father had his good hat and jacket on. “Say goodbye to your mother. You’ll not see her again.”

  “Mother?” I cried, turning to reach out my hand to her. My arm was already gripped by father’s strong hand as he roughly dragged me out the door.

  “Waste of food. Waste of education. And time,” he muttered as he marched me down the path. “I’ve always said that you
were worthless.”

  From the fire in his eyes and the set of his jaw, I honestly wondered if he was going to kill me. There was a cliff just through the forest that was rumored to be a good place for tossing bodies, but that was believed to be just a scary story. Surely my own father couldn’t throw me away like old scraps?

  “Please,” I begged, trying to keep my voice low and meek. “I was just watching the boats. I only took a tiny break to rest my fingers. I can learn how to work harder.”

  “No. You’re a waste and a disgrace. Best to have you gone from this village completely. Now we’ll see if you’re worth at least a few coins.” He looked me up and down as I skittered beside him. “Maybe one coin.”

  We were headed for the pier. Before I had any idea of what was happening, my boots clacked on the wooden slats, as I was half dragged to the very end.

  Father stopped in front of the new ship. “Ahoy,” he called out. “Would you travelers like to purchase an extra deckhand?”

  My mouth was suddenly dry as paper, and my heart began to race. I’d heard rumors of parents selling their children, but I thought it was an act of desperation. Why would he want to be rid of me this badly? I knew he wished every day that I’d been a son, but how could he blame me for that?