by Hays, Lara
“Your eyes are grey,” I found myself saying, reaching as if to touch his cheek, but stopping before my fingers found him.
He pulled my hand against his face and smiled kindly, a look of relief washing over him. “Well, at least you can see straight.”
My stomach fluttered and I smiled at the building infatuation. A painful breath was all it took to remind me that this was not a man I should fall for—he was the one who caused all my pain.
I pulled my hand back and looked away.
Nicholas cleared his throat uncomfortably then bandaged my cuts. An occasional sting caused me to cringe.
“Tell me everything that happened,” Nicholas prompted stoically.
Gravely, I relayed how Wrack let himself into the brig and attacked me. I told the events plainly and without embellishment, crushing any emotion I felt. I hardly believed the words I uttered.
Nicholas did not look at me the entire time I recounted the story. He was so quiet I wondered if he had stopped listening. The heavy stillness continued after I finished.
I could not stand the weight of the quiet. I had to break the silence. “How did you know?”
Nicholas was silent for a moment more, still refusing to meet my eyes. “My keys went missing about thirty minutes prior. I searched all over for them, and then I went to the men to see if any of them had seen them. I discovered that Wrack was missin’ too—he’d left his watch early. When I heard you scream, I realized where he must be. I called for Skidmore and loaded my gun.”
His eyes finally found mine. The sadness in them was undeniable. “I was too late.” He sank back against the wall, elbows resting on his knees, looking like a broken child. His hands covered his face, his fingers pushing into his hair. “I should never have put you in that brig.”
“Then why did you?” It was a question I wanted answered since my first moments in that prison.
“I thought you would be safer.” He sighed and went on. “It is a dangerous time to be on this ship. The crew is ready for mutiny, ready for violence. The way the men talked about you when we fished you out of the water—I knew there would be trouble. The captain called you for his own and demanded everyone else leave you be. There was a time when the captain’s orders would’ve been enough, but not now. I argued that it would be wrong to harass you before you awoke and most of the men agreed. A kind of sanctity for the unconscious,” he scoffed bitterly. “I was so glad it was me who found you the night you awoke. There’s no telling what would’ve happened if…I thought things would be better if the men still thought you were unconscious.”
“Then I showed myself to everyone,” I said too quietly, understanding Nicholas’s response on the deck that day.
“Of course you did. How could I expect you to stay in your room amidst that commotion? You must’ve been terrified. I should’ve gone to you, explained everything.” Nicholas laid his head back against the wall and stared at the ceiling. “Never mind that we were in the middle of a raid—something the boys had been wanting for weeks. As soon as they saw you, they wanted you. Forbidden treasure and all that. And when I saw the way Wrack eyed you…” he closed his eyes and shook his head against the thought. His hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. He exhaled slowly, deliberately uncoiling his hands. “And when you realized that we were nothin’ more than a load of marauders—you were ready to throw yourself overboard. The look in your eyes…I had to act swiftly to keep you safe. Safe from yourself. Safe from the crew. The brig was the only thing I could think of.”
“But you left me there. For weeks.” My voice faltered. “You never even bothered with an explanation.”
Nicholas’s grey eyes hardened. “I tried. Remember?”
“You should have come back,” I argued weakly.
“You told me not to.” He sighed heavily and lightly pounded his head against the wall behind him and cursed under his breath. “But I should’ve. I did the absolute worst thing possible. I barricaded you in with a shark.”
He was anguished with guilt. I couldn’t help the sympathy I felt for him. “You did what you thought was best. What more could you have done?”
“I should’ve kept guard. Stayed with you day and night.”
“You couldn’t have done that.”
“Well, I could’ve done more,” he growled.
My head swam from the pain. My chest ached with every breath and I still quaked from the trauma. I needed to rest, but I was hungry for this conversation. Until now, I had not realized how much I had missed Nicholas during the previous weeks. He was finally here, telling me everything I needed to hear. Ignoring the agony within my body, I pushed to keep the conversation flowing.
“You sent Skidmore.”
“Aye,” he nodded, staring at the ceiling.
“To be my friend.”
He nodded again. “He’s a good man. I trust him.”
“And you sent me that crate.” Though the gifts had upset me, I saw now that Nicholas had not meant to mock me with them, but that he honestly wanted to improve my circumstances.
“I thought of you,” he said simply, still staring at the ceiling. “I couldn’t keep away from you. I came to watch you.”
“You did?”
Finally, Nicholas looked at me.
He nodded. “Not every day, but as often as I could. Sometimes I’d sneak in behind Skidmore. But sometimes I would go down alone and watch you mope, watch you cry, watch you read.”
“And you never said anything?”
I felt betrayed all over again. Betrayed that he had ignored my request for solitude and betrayed that he let me think he had abandoned me. No matter that these seeming betrayals were completely contradictory. I couldn’t help but feel both at the same time.
He should have said something. All this time I had thought he had deceived me, forsaken me. Things would have been much more bearable if I had known he was there keeping watch, protecting me from a far worse fate.
He held his hands up in defense, “I thought you’d slap me.”
We both laughed, but my laughter was cut short by a groan of pain, and I wrapped my arms around my torso.
Nicholas immediately knelt over me, his hands fumbling helplessly over my injuries.
“You need to rest,” he insisted. He tucked the blankets tighter around me.
“I’m all right,” I said in a broken whisper, struggling to make my breathing return to normal.
“I’ll go and let you sleep. But I won’t be far.”
The thought of him leaving was unbearable. I needed him with me now. And not just because I didn’t want to be alone. “Don’t leave me,” I whispered, my breathing turning erratic once more. I winced as I fought back the pain that threatened to consume me, “Please stay.”
His eyes danced. “I’ll stay,” he reassured me.
I closed my eyes and breathed shallowly, willing the agony to stop.
“It pains me so to see you hurting so.”
I opened my eyes and forced a smile. “I’m getting better by the moment.”
Nicholas cocked his head and peered at me, as if he knew I was lying. He smiled a little then sat back down.
“When I would watch you in the brig, I wanted nothing more than to help you. I couldn’t stand to see you crying. I wanted so much to go to you and hold you. But I thought I’d just bring you more pain. You were so angry. I was a helpless voyeur, watching you cry, watching your nightmares.”
“I had nightmares?” I did not remember dreaming at all.
“Aye. You called for your father every night. One time, you even called for me.” He looked away. It was hard to tell with only the light of the lantern in the room, but it looked like Nicholas was blushing. I could feel blood rushing to my own cheeks.
“I called for you?” I asked, embarrassed.
He shrugged, but a soft smile tugged at his lips. “Aye. Just once. Mostly you cursed my name, but once, just once, you called for me. I was down there, watching you. I thought then would be the tim
e to go to you, to try again. But I was so scared of hurting you more. I still cannot forget the look in your eyes. You called me a monster.”
My previous flush of embarrassment turned in to a flush of shame. “I-I didn’t mean it—”
“Yes, you did.” He played gently with a strand of my hair near my face.
That was fair. “All right, I did. I meant it. But only because I thought you were a double-crossing murderer who was going to kill me.”
He laughed at that. “Did you really think that of me? That I was going to hurt you?”
My eyes were grave as I nodded. “That’s what you do. You are a pirate. I still don’t know what to think of you.”
He lifted his hand away from my face. “What do you mean?” His eyes tightened noticeably.
“It’s this exactly,” I sighed. “Right now, you seem kind and warm. But I can’t trust that. You’ve turned on me before. It could happen again. After all, you are a pirate.”
“Piracy is what I do, not who I am,” he defended.
“Well, yes, but it isn’t like you’re deceiving people into buying a tonic to make them beautiful. You make your living through bloodshed and terror.”
The heavy silence between us resumed. Nicholas shook his head and started to stand.
I was not sure what I wanted from him, but I did not want him to leave.
“I cannot condone what you do,” I offered, “and I never will. But that doesn’t mean I want you to go.”
His eyes lit up.
“I am…confused,” I admitted. It was an understatement.
Nicholas settled back down. He wasn’t going to leave.
“If it makes you feel better,” he said, “I am the quartermaster. I mete out punishment, I divide plunder, I navigate, and I concoct strategy. But I rarely engage in it.”
“I suppose you earned your rank sitting on the sidelines?” I mocked. “I am not a fool.” Hurt flashed across his features.
“You speak the truth.” He stared intently at his hands, as if they had all the answers he needed. “I’m not happy with what I have become, Tessa. It’s not as though I sought this life. Everything I told you before is true. I was a kid starving on the streets. I got a job on a ship helping with the carpentry. But that ship was sacked by pirates. I watched as my crewmates were disemboweled, beheaded, and keelhauled. I was kept alive only because of my skill. It was either sign on or be killed. I was fourteen. And so without really meaning to, I became a pirate.”
He sat closer to me now. I could feel the warmth of his breath on my clammy skin. My heart raced. “I always wanted another life,” said Nicholas. “I guess I just never had a reason to find one before now.”
His grey eyes searched mine. He ran his fingers through my hair, careful to touch me in only the gentlest ways. Though I held his gaze steadily, my breathing grew shallow. No one had ever looked at me this way before, with such intensity.
His touch was electrifying. I found myself craving it, wanting more of that warmth. He smelled like the wind-tossed sea—clean and fresh and slightly salty. He inched closer, his thumb brushing my bottom lip. I parted my lips slightly, our eyes searching each other’s.
Nicholas leaned in slightly. I lifted my chin to him and closed my eyes, waiting. His hand caressed my cheek, then I sensed him pull away. I opened my eyes. He drew back slowly, looking at me apologetically.
“You need your rest.”
I stared blankly at him, confused by his actions and my own emotions.
“I won’t leave you,” Nicholas added, misinterpreting my expression. “I will stay right here while you sleep.”
I breathed deeply, trying to mask my disappointment. My head swirled.
“Close your eyes,” he commanded.
I obeyed but it was long time before sleep finally found me.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Completely exhausted, I slept soundly. Nicholas woke me periodically to monitor my wounds and feed me warm broth. I was so tired and this constant waking frustrated me, but he insisted it was necessary to keep me from losing consciousness.
I felt much safer with Nicholas nearby. He comforted me as much as he knew how, with reassuring conversation or additional blankets and pillows. His compassion never wavered and I began to believe his story—that everything he had done was to protect me. I craved his touch—that touch that I had once thought too brazen and presumptuous.
I was rarely alone. Nicholas stayed with me every moment he could, even sleeping in a cramped ball on the floor. If he could not personally watch over me, Skidmore stood guard outside the cabin.
I longed for Nicholas every moment he was away. I found it harder to breathe when he wasn’t there, which fortunately was not often. I craved his conversation and hungered for his occasional caress. Though broken, wounded, and confined to a hard, wooden bed, I found a welcome sense of calm when he was near.
“I must look horrible,” I said as Nicholas dabbed at my wounds with a cool, damp cloth on the third day after the assault.
“You’re healing smartly,” Nicholas reassured.
I touched my face gingerly, feeling the puffiness of my bruised jaw and the tender lumps on my head.
“Tell the truth…how bad is it?”
Nicholas pursed his lips, deciding to be honest. “I can see that you are healing. Your bruises are turning purple and yellow. And your cuts are closing. But I hurt every time I look at you.”
“I must be completely disfigured.”
“No, no,” Nicholas smiled softly. “You will be fine. You’re as pretty as ever. I just meant that I will never forgive myself for what happened.”
“You cannot hold yourself responsible for another man’s actions.”
He scowled at me, his beautiful face glorious in its anger.
“You can’t,” I stressed.
“You’ll never convince me of that,” he murmured.
* * * * *
Later that day, a pounding at the cabin door startled me awake. Nicholas sprang to his feet as the door flew open, his hand at his scabbard.
The doorway framed a terrifying creature that I could only assume was a man. He was tall. Very tall. He wore a wide-brimmed black hat and a sweeping black jacket that nearly brushed the ground. Stringy white hair hung about his shoulders. His skin was paper white and nearly translucent. His face was thin and bony, his nose a long, sharp line. Everything about him looked severe. But the most shocking thing about the man in the doorway was his blood-red eyes. If demons existed, he might be one.
I pushed myself into a sitting position and glanced quickly at Nicholas, gauging his response to this demon.
Nicholas made no reaction whatsoever. “Captain Black,” he said simply.
So this was the pirate captain. It was as if he stepped out of my nightmares.
“Wrack is dead,” the captain said without introduction. His fearsome eyes darted between Nicholas and me.
Nicholas took a step towards the captain. “Dead? What happened?”
The captain’s crimson eyes bore into me, his stare unwavering. I trembled and pulled the blankets up to my chin. Without shifting his gaze, he said, “He caught a fever last night. Isn’t that right, Miss Monroe?”
I looked to Nicholas for reassurance. He looked at me, his eyes pinched with confusion, then back at the captain.
“I-I’m sorry?” I stammered, confused at this man’s meaning.
“Fever started last night. Then he died within twelve hours. Never heard o’ anythin’ like that.”
His words were pregnant with a meaning I could not grasp. Although I had no sympathetic feelings for the dead pirate, I imagined that one fewer man on board could prove burdensome for the captain and crew. But there was something more ominous than that in his words. Nicholas seemed as dumbfounded as I was.
“Beggin’ your pardon, sir,” Nicholas started, “but Mr. Wrack was hurt somewhat badly during his attack on Miss Monroe.”
“Aye,” the captain nodded, an unusually pink lip c
urling over his teeth into a devious smile, “she dealt a bit o’ damage, that wee one, didn’t she?” He turned his red eyes to Nicholas. “But the strange thing is, he died of a fever, not from any bloodied nose or bashed in head.”
“I’ll call the crew and make arrangements to cover his work,” Nicholas said, moving to do just that.
Captain Black held up a papery white hand, halting Nicholas. “The crew ain’t worried about the workload, Marks.” The red eyes focused on me. “They are more concerned with the presence of black magic.”
My lips repeated the words. “Black magic?”
Nicholas chuckled, easing his posture. “Black magic? Those superstitious bastards.”
The look on the captain’s face did not soften.
Nicholas noticed it too. His laughter faded. “You believe them? You truly believe that Miss Monroe had something to do with Wrack’s death? That’s impossible.”
“Only the blackest of arts could take a man so swiftly from this life,” he snarled. “The sailors will be committin’ the body to the sea shortly. Miss Monroe, be prepared to stand on trial for the murder of Thomas Wrack at the first bell of first dog watch today.”
With a whirl of his black duster, the captain was gone.
Stunned, Nicholas and I stared at each other. The meaning of the captain’s accusation had yet to sink in.
“Stay here,” Nicholas commanded and strode out of the cabin, closing the door behind him before I could protest.
Five minutes passed before I heard footsteps approaching down the hallway. A soft tap sounded on the door, then it opened wide to reveal two mangy pirates whom I did not recognize. They looked similar enough to be brothers. One held a ring of keys. My heart thudded heavily at the sight of them.
“Miss Monroe, please come with us,” one demanded.
