She looked impressed. "And all you have to do is find this girl? She must be an important girl. A noblewoman?”
"Yes. She was taken when the Spanish raided one of the British merchant ships out of St. George."
"And you have been tasked with retrieving this girl in exchange for a pardon. This is what you've always wanted. So you will be leaving us." She looked down into her lap, her eyes inscrutable. "We will miss you," she said, smiling weakly. "But this you must do. This is your chance to go home."
Joshua didn't know what to say. On some level, he wanted to show her that the friendship was not over, but how could it not be? He was leaving this town and her behind. She would do the same if she were in his shoes, and she would tell him so if he made his qualms known.
She, like most others here, was here because she had no other place to go. This establishment was her making the best of it, a situation she far preferred to being beholden to anyone. It was certainly profitable, making her a rich woman, but what use were riches in a place like this? He knew full well that she saw things differently. Riches were her security and she preferred it to any entanglement of hearts.
"When will you sail?" she asked.
"I'd like to know, too," Clara said, concern lacing her voice. The young woman with light brown hair appeared at his shoulder. Concern tightened the features of her face. As much as Madame Guerier preferred never to show feelings, Clara was often liberal.
Joshua hadn't seen her coming, but there she was, standing next to them.
"Will you come back?" she asked.
Having served as Clara's mentor when she'd first arrived and competed to take her father's sovereignty of Tortuga, their friendship had remained intact, even if Clara was well beyond needing his advice. She was her father's daughter, and as much as she had hated his rough dealings, his hardness was in her to call on whenever she needed it.
"When I have found the girl, I will return, but then I must take her to England."
"And you won't come back after that."
"Unlikely," he admitted.
Clara nodded absently. He felt sadness rolling off her. "Are you sure this isn't a trick?" she asked.
"No, I'm sure it's not. They have nothing particularly to gain from sending me into a Spanish port for no reason at all. I believe they have this girl, and no doubt she is suffering."
"Then you have to go," Clara said.
The practicalities of this mission crept through Joshua’s mind. He needed a ship if he was going to sail to Isla Rosa and find this girl, one fast enough that they could escape at speed if they had to. So, he was going to need a fast ship.
The Southern Star, the ship patiently waiting in the bay, was his and he had no choice but to take her. The ship that had been in some part the reason for his demise was now the same ship that would elevate him out of it again. She was one of the fastest ships around—light, maneuverable and built for speed. As much as he'd tried to ignore her all this time, he'd refused to hear any suggestion of selling or dismantling her.
*
The ship appeared larger and larger as the dinghy took him up to her hull. He'd forgotten how large she was. The rope ladder was waiting and crew were already preparing the ship for sail.
It wasn't hard finding crew who were willing to stick it to the Spanish pirates. Their rivalry went back decades and Joshua offered sufficient coin to make the endeavor attractive.
"She's just about ready to sail," Smithy said as Joshua made it up on deck.
The breeze in the bay was warm and there were perfect sailing conditions. It was finally time to take the helm, something he'd avoided for a long time, happy to function as the second in command on any sailing where he was needed, but he had never taken command. It had felt wrong, been a step too far away from who he was. In some ways, he'd been fooling himself, trying to convince himself that he was not so far gone that he fully embraced the piracy lifestyle. But he knew full well that refusing to take command meant nothing to anyone but him. He smiled wryly. Now that he was finally going to leave the piracy life behind, he was ready to accept he'd been a pirate, and he’d done all the things the pirates did. It was an inconsistency he just had to live with.
"Sails are ready," Smithy called. "Are you ready to take her out, Captain?
Joshua took a moment to observe his new title. He was the captain of the ship, always had been. A title he'd refused to claim. He was in command and it was time to take on that responsibility.
"Drop sails and turn her about," he said and Smithy relayed the order. "Let's see what she can do.” Activity burst across the deck as men dropped the sails and pulled through blocks to shift the booms. The ship slowly turned in the bay, moving to head out to the open sea.
Chapter 3
“Aarrgh,” Sarah growled, trying to create a guttural sound, clenching her very insides. It wasn’t quite right and it made the men at the table she was serving laugh at the tavern in Isla Rosa.
“You’re never going to be taken seriously around here if you can only squeak like a mouse.”
“Arrgh,” she tried again to renewed laughter.
“It’s like watching a pup trying to growl for the first time.”
“And the ‘please’ and ‘thank yous’ are not doing you favors here,” one of the other men said, his beard gray and scraggly. “What you need is some coarse language under your belt if you want these men to listen to you.”
Her presence in the tavern, after she had beseeched the owner for a job, had been noticed. She’d been both ridiculed and groped, and they took little notice of her objections.
“Touch me with that scurvy hand, you curs, and I’ll skin that ugly hide off you!” one of them roared, his booming voice vibrating out of his chest.
The older men had been kind to her, growling on her behalf if anyone was too careless with her. She had few protective skills of her own, it turned out.
“Grr, you lady’s umbrella,” she growled, trying to terrorize with her very voice.
“Yes, they will be quaking in their boots with that insult,” he said, lodging his pipe in his mouth and crossing his arms.
“Actually, you can do a lot of damage with an umbrella,” she said, having spent quite a bit of time thinking about violence of late.
“Perhaps you should start carrying one.”
Maybe she should so she could whack the gruff and handsy men who visited this tavern. More than often, someone would pull her into their lap and she would have to wrestle herself out. These men had no manners at all and her wishes were of little consequence, but the bar owner or her older protectors did step in if they went too far.
Standing up for herself was something she was learning, and needed to. It had never been something she’d required in her life, her position and status ensuring her commands were always listened to and followed without question. But things were different here. Her status as a lady meant nothing, and she was the lowest of the low, if anything—lower than the whores who plied their trade in the tavern.
They were perhaps not as nice, viewing her fine manner and soft demeanor as thinking herself too good for being here. Well, perhaps she was, because unlike them, she wasn’t here by choice. But it was the best she could make of this situation.
"Another bottle for the back table," Gorge said, appearing beside her. Gorge owned the bar and he let her use one of the small rooms at the back of the building for her private use. It was tiny, not more than a cupboard, really, having nothing more than a straw pallet, but she was left in peace there. Gorge did give that luxury to her here, but in exchange, she had to serve these rough men with their gruff and often lewd language and wandering hands. Some even tried to kiss her.
It could be worse, though. At least, she didn't have to offer her affections to anyone. As a result, she'd ended up here, where effectively she was left alone—at least once behind the closed door to her room.
She was getting used to life here; she was learning the skills she needed to manage herself an
d the people around her to get her way. Assertiveness was not something she'd been taught as a skill; she's never had to develop it. And it wasn't something that came naturally, but she was learning the ways of it. Things were definitely improving and as terrified as she’d been at first, she was starting to get the hang of her new life.
“Out of my way, you cur,” she demanded of a young man who stood in her way, and to her surprise, he moved out of her way. There really was something to this assertiveness thing. It got things done around here.
Isla Rosa was predominately Spanish and run by pirates and privateers, but the Spanish Navy made an appearance often enough. It was the women that fascinated her, though. These were not the kind of women she would be allowed to associate with under any circumstances, but she was learning that there was freedom in being smart and forthright, and in being assertive. They knew how to manage these men who did exactly as they wanted. There were no rules of politeness or etiquette around here.
While the men were rough, there was a certain equality for the women who stood their ground. Most of the women were prostitutes, but there were other women as well. Some owned stores—some even ran their own crews, chasing down ships and relieving them of their valuables.
Sarah hadn't thought women were capable of these things, but being here showed her that women were capable of the most extraordinary feats. Lately, she had managed to get control of her own life and she was inordinately proud of that.
"You may retire for the night," Gorge said when she returned to the bar again.
"Thank you." She untied her apron and took it off. The ruckus in the tavern would continue all night, but she'd learned to sleep through it. Bottles breaking on her wall still woke her with a start, but she’d even gotten used to those.
Making her way out the back, she shut herself away in her little room and barred the door. It wasn't unusual to have some opportunist trying to rifle through the rooms to see if they could score anything, so barring the door was essential.
One advantage of her new life was that she no longer had to wear a corset. She could breathe freely and even bend over. Granted, her old life had never required any lifting, pushing or otherwise laborious heaving. Her muscles had had to get used to the work when she'd first started, but she preferred this work to any other available to her on this island.
*
As daylight peeked underneath her rough wooden door, Sarah pushed her light brown curls off her face and got dressed. She made her way through the now quiet tavern and took a deep breath as soon as she made it outside, away from the smell of spilled rum and lingering tobacco smoke. This time of the morning was the safest time to move around the island, and Sarah took the opportunity to walk along the town's alleys and lanes, and also along the beach front.
With time, she was coming along in her Spanish and now she could make her intentions known without having to find someone who spoke English. Speaking Spanish, even poorly, drew less attention than speaking English—the language of the enemy.
Sitting down in the soft sand, she breathed a sigh of contentment. It had been hard earned. The sand was course but white as she sifted through it with her fingers. The colors were so bright here, the birds were bright, the fruit was bright, and the sun was beaming and warm. As opposed to her time in Bermuda, she was no longer weighted down under layers of clothing, adding heat and restricting movement. In a way, this felt natural.
This new experience had made her wonder about the nature of men and women, and their roles in society. Things here were so different from how she'd understood the world to be. Unfortunately, she knew she could never go back to England. The things that happened to her had changed her too much, and more importantly, other things that had happened to her would make her unacceptable back in the society she'd come from. She was no longer chaste, and that had been her most important attribute to preserve.
It hurt her to think she would never see her parents again; it hurt her even more to think her mother and father were suffering her loss. It was near impossible to send a letter to them from a Spanish port as there were no ties between the Spanish and English, other than the ones that involved weapons. No doubt her parents thought her dead and perhaps for everyone concerned, it was better they believed so.
Straightening her legs out and crossing them, she listened to the gentle lapping of the waves on the shore. Even the sea was colorful here. The clear water showed everything on the seabed. There were so many things under the water, living around the sea-corals of unimaginable color, and fish that looked as if they'd been drawn by the most imaginative mind.
There was no shortage of food either, provided one likes seafood and fruit. The Spanish food took some getting used to; it was much spicier than she was used to. One thing she was enjoying now, was trying new flavors in food she'd never tried before.
With a sigh, she rose from the sand and started making her way back into town. The more respectable inhabitants would be rising from their beds and she had to get back to the tavern and start cleaning the debris from the previous night, before people came for their morning meal.
The tavern was never truly clean; these men would probably be uncomfortable in a clean environment, but she did her best to tidy up the worst of it.
"Sarah," an unknown man said. Few actually used her name here, preferring to call her girl or wench, so she was surprised as she turned to see a man she'd never seen before.
"Yes," she said carefully.
"I'm here to take you back."
"What?" she said suspiciously. The man was clearly an outlaw of some variety. His hair was long and his eyes piercing with intent. She’d learned to be wary of intent looks.
"We must go quickly."
"Who are you? I'm not going anywhere with you." It wasn't unusual that men wanted to steal women away. Women—ones you didn't pay for—were hard to come by here. Being locked in some man's cabin was an outcome she was not going to allow again.
The man looked disappointed and Sarah took some steps away. He spoke English; clearly an Englishman of education, but by the looks of him, he was familiar with the worst of the Caribbean. The Caribbean attracted all those who were no longer allowed back on English shores—the worst of the worst. She certainly wasn't going to trust some approaching man she didn't know, ready to steal her away. She backed away.
"Don't," he warned.
This time, she turned, readying to run, taking large strides as she made her way down the beach. She could hear him swearing and soon heavy steps pounded in the sand behind her. He grabbed her around the waist and lifted her up over his shoulder.
"Let go of me," she screamed, pummeling him any way she could.
"You had to make this difficult. As you wish," he said gruffly.
Chapter 4
It was a long walk to the secluded beach where he’d pulled the dinghy up on the shore and the girl had eventually stopped fighting. For an hour, she'd been pummeling his back and kicking her legs, but she’d given up now. Now she lay like a sack of potatoes over his shoulder.
"I do not agree to this," she stated, yet again.
"I hadn't expected you'd be so unwilling to be rescued," he said with a chuckle.
"It's hardly surprising, as it? I'm certainly not going to accept an offer from a perfect stranger just because he says he wants me to. What kind of idiot do you think I am?"
They arrived at the dinghy and he put her down. For a moment, he thought she was going to run and he had to guard her, ready to grab her if she made a move. "You won't get far before I catch you."
"Just let me go," she pleaded.
"So you can return to being a bar wench?" he said disbelievingly. "I don't think you understand. I am here to rescue you. I have a ship beyond that island there."
She grudgingly turned in the direction he was pointing, seeing the stern of the ship peeking out behind the cover of the island. Still, she looked uncertain. Uninterested in getting into a negotiation with her, he forced her back into the ding
hy and pushed it off the sand, out onto the clear water. Once past the small waves, he started to row across the light blue surface to where the ship was anchored.
"Up you go," he said to the sour-looking girl sitting at the front of the dinghy with her arms crossed. She was quite pretty with light-brown hair and a dusting of freckles on her nose. Her eyes were clear blue, a shade darker than the sea. In the plain dress, she looked nothing like a vice-admiral's daughter, who was more accustomed to silks and lace. "I will heave you up like a sack of flour, if you insist," he pointed out.
Narrowing her eyes, she glared at him, but eventually climbed up the rope ladder. Her skirt swung as she climbed and as he followed behind her, he received a good view of her legs in the process. On board, the men stared at the new arrival, the reason they'd sailed into Spanish waters and risked their necks. No doubt, they thought he was insane, but they were happy enough to take his gold.
He firmly guided the girl into the captain's quarters and shut her in. "You," he said to the young man standing nearest. "Make sure she doesn't come out of there. Guard the door."
With quick strides, Joshua made his way up to the quarterdeck and took the helm. The breeze was in their favor, filling the sails and taking them out to sea. There were ships in the distance, but at this point, none seemed to have noticed their presence, or noted them as unusual. The wind was coming from the north, which suited him well. Few ships would be able to catch the Southern Star. The ship was built for speed, as all slavers were. But the decks below now carried guns instead of the more gruesome cargo of its prior service.
The wind caught his hair and the salt of the ocean filled his lungs. He loved the sea; he always had. There was simplicity and beauty in the sea, and the naval life had been one he'd loved. Commanding a ship, even though he'd been avoiding it for so many years, felt natural.
His thoughts turned to the girl below and her reticence at being rescued. Perhaps that was clever: she shouldn't trust men she met, ones that approached her, particularly in any Caribbean port. Pirates told tales, any tale, any they could to get what they wanted, and a girl like her would be a prize to any pirate.
Pirate's Redemption Page 2
