Pirate's Redemption

by Camille Oster

  The frenetic beating of her heart still pounded against the vice grip on her chest still making it impossible to breathe properly. She was overheating, feeling sweat running down her back and forming cold, cloying dampness on her shaking palms.

  "What are you doing here?" She heard the pirate's voice behind her.

  She couldn't face him, partially because she couldn't move, still gasping for breath. That dread that had descended on her was still there, refusing to relent its grip. Perhaps it would get worse and she would be unable to breathe at all.

  With blatant fear in her eyes, she tried to draw air into her lungs. Strong hands settled on her shoulders, turning her around. Short, shallow breaths were all she could manage.

  "Calm yourself."

  All she could do was look into his eyes and try to escape the pressing feeling.

  "What's the matter with you?" he asked, a look of concern tightening his brow.

  "I don't know," she hacked through difficult breaths. "I just felt the walls closing in on me."

  Looking around, she saw the island behind them, retreating as they sailed away. The ominous feeling returned and intensified. They were surrounded by sea, and nothing but sea. She'd never felt this way before, including any other time she'd sailed. She wasn’t afraid of the sea normally, wasn't exactly afraid of it now, but she was afraid of something.

  Her hands gripped his coat, and she tried to steady herself. It wasn't enough and she stepped closer, placing her cheek on his chest. Right now, she needed comfort and he was the only person there.

  The tight grip on her chest was relenting a little. Concentrating on her breathing, normalcy slowly returned. She needed space, but she also needed comfort. She'd never experienced anything like this before. Her heart was still beating, slamming into the wall of her chest. What was she so afraid of? This didn't make sense. It had felt as if she was in the worst danger, about to be chased down by a lion, but there were no apparent dangers. Men were going about their business—everything seemed utterly normal.

  The crew was staring at her, giving them a wide berth as they walked past, tending to their duties.

  "You shouldn't be up here," he said, a look of concern in his eyes.

  "I don't think I have a choice just at the moment. I don't think I could bear being confined just now. Those walls are too oppressing, the cabin too small.”

  "Are you afraid of small spaces?"

  "Not normally. I don't quite understand why this happened, but right now I just need a bit of air."

  "I suppose you must stay for a moment, then."

  Slowly, the inappropriateness of their closeness challenged the irrational fear that had gripped her, and she pulled away and walked over to the balustrade to put her elbows down on it, taking a deep breath. Whatever it was, it was relenting. Her body was calming and her mind wasn't in a blind panic anymore. Perhaps it had been an illness that had struck quickly and devastatingly. It made her concerned, but it seemed to settle now.

  She searched her emotions, but was only happy this episode had passed. There seemed to be no particular fear she could identify.

  "You will be alright," he said. "I'll make sure nothing happens to you."

  She did appreciate it, that he was watching out for her. But she also had the feeling there was something underneath, something he couldn't help her with.

  Chapter 17

  The lantern sent muted light around the captain's cabin, which also served as a dining room. It was a modestly nice captain's quarters and Captain Harrelson sat at the head of the table. They'd had a nice meal, which had started with a soup of creamy fish and was followed with yet another fish course. Joshua suspected fish was on the menu for most of this voyage. The meal was nicely prepared. This ship had a good cook. One cannot underestimate how important meals were to the morale of the crew. It was worth investing in a good cook. It was also worth investing in a good surgeon, but they were harder to come by.

  Joshua expected there were hardly any surgical skills on this ship, but as it was a merchant ship, rather than a fighting one, such skills were rarely needed. If they had to fight, it wound probably end badly. There was always a chance they would encounter pirates, be chased down and boarded. It might be a particularly bad event for him, especially if the pirates were Spanish or even Dutch. He was known in these parts and being found unarmed on a merchant ship would be an amusing discovery to some. Well, he wasn't exactly unarmed, but he didn't have the means to fight off a boarding crew.

  Sometimes he had to admire the merchant captains that sailed these waters, the risks they took just being here. Most of the time, the pirates were relatively humane. They took the cargo and often the ships, but they left the crew unharmed, placed on some dinghies to row themselves to somewhere. Gruesome captains did crop up, but they weren't stomached. Things were often dealt with within the community. Horror stories only pushed the call for the navy to deal with the 'pirate problem', and no one benefited from a direct confrontation. The truth was: with concerted effort, the navy would subdue the pirates—through decisive means.

  This was the kind of profession that did abide men with strange notions and urges, but they weren't embraced here. Being outlaws, they had to conduct their own justice and codes of conduct, to ensure intolerable behavior didn't continue. Discipline was as harsh as any royal navy punishment.

  "How long will you stay in Boston before you sail across the Atlantic?" Captain Harrelson asked.

  "Just long enough to secure passage," Joshua said. "For such a lengthy voyage, we will have to find a ship made for taking passengers." Looking over at Miss Lancaster, her eyes were dark in the dim light. The shadows made her look ethereal and beautiful, more a lady.

  "Can't blame you," Harrelson said. "Merchant ships are sparse on comforts. Particularly for taking a lady, such as yourself." The captain's eyes were on her, too.

  "I don't mind," the girl said with a polite smile. "The hospitality is more than adequate." There it was, the politeness she showed without fail to other people. It was bred into her and had been reinforced every day.

  The captain chuffed proudly at the statement. Joshua wondered if she'd said it for that express purpose. It wasn't as if this trip was comfortable for them.

  "It is not often that I have the company of a handsome and well-spoken pair such as yourselves. Might say the handsomest pair I have ever seen."

  A hint of confusion marred her brow. The captain assumed they were lovers of some variety, perhaps even officially married. The topic had never come up, although the lack of rings may suggest otherwise. The captain seemed not to care, seeing only a couple that he thought belonged together. He obviously didn't know that she was far above Joshua's station.

  The plates from supper were still on the table, but they had already finished eating.

  "Some rum might be nice," the captain said. "We do grow a taste for it. Would you care for little?"

  "It would be most welcome," Joshua said. Rum wasn't his preferred drink, but it seemed to be the captain's and it would be rude to say no.

  "Not for me," the girl said. Even in this dim light, he could see the blush on her cheeks. "It is not to my taste."

  Joshua looked over, knowing she wasn't entirely truthful, but then perhaps she'd learned her lesson. Rum wasn't to be trifled with, the aftereffects could be difficult. He assumed there would be no dancing on the table tonight, for which he was glad. The captain probably wouldn't mind, but Joshua wasn't all that keen on dealing with a drunken, enthusiastic dancing girl that night.

  The rum was served and captain downed his whole glass in one go. He leaned back against the chair, his contented belly protruding. "I sail mostly between the colonies and the Caribbean," he said. "It is a good run. It has its perils, obviously, but it is generally profitable and most of the time, not hard sailing." The captain considered him for a moment. "Your help this afternoon shows you have some experience at sea."

  "Formally, I was a lieutenant in the Royal Navy," Joshua s
aid and the man looked impressed. His eyes returned to Miss Lancaster, who sat quietly, like the perfect lady she portrayed to be. Joshua knew her better. She didn't hide herself with him as she did with everyone else.

  With a sigh, the captain seemed contentedly contemplative. He seemed happy to gaze on Miss Lancaster. Joshua wondered how long it had been since he'd seen his own wife. No doubt, she lived back in England somewhere.

  The conversation muted and Joshua felt it was time to end the evening. It had been a trying day for all concerned—perhaps most so for Miss Lancaster, who had also seemed to have had an attack of nerves earlier in the day. "Perhaps we should retire for the night," he suggested. "After such generous hospitality."

  "It is nice to have company. No doubt we will share meals for the next few days until we reach Boston."

  Miss Lancaster rose from the table and thanked the captain for the meal. The perfect regard she showed to others made him wonder at their more contentious relationship, and the more troublesome attraction that had subsequently developed. Again, he had to remind himself how far above his station she was.

  The pirate that had grown in him wanted to not care, to take what he wanted, but he had to quell those thoughts and urges now. He was no longer free to do as he wished—now he had to do as he ought, and that was to ensure Miss Lancaster's safe return, untouched by anyone.

  They bid farewell and walked out across the main deck where the moon shone brightly. It was a gentle night, the slight breeze pushing the ship along. The sailing master had the helm and only a few men were on deck this time of the evening, simply to ensure the ship kept a steady course and nothing undue happened.

  The hallway was dark as they walked along and stepped into the darkness of the cabin. Striking a match, Joshua lit the lantern and hung it up on a nail. Diffuse lights spread across a tiny cabin as he closed the door and locked it. Now was that moment he hadn't looked forward to, the moment when it was just the two of them, contented with food and drink after a long day. He would have an uncomfortable night on the rough wooden floors, but there was nothing to be done about that.

  "It was a nice meal,” she said and sat down on the cot. “I suspect there will be long days now. Have you been to Boston before?"

  "Yes, many times."

  "What's it like?"

  "Well, it's probably one of the more established towns in the colony. It is a nice place. Ordered."

  "Could you ever imagine living there?"

  "If I had the leeway to live in Boston, then I would have the ability to live in England. I am an Englishman and would naturally prefer to return home."

  "You have missed it so much?"

  He sat down along the wall and stretched out his legs, crossing his ankles. "Yes, I have. I miss seeing the countryside most of all. It is not something I appreciated as a youth heading out to sea, but I miss the gentle greenery."

  "We have quite extensive gardens," she stated. "They are beautiful most of the year—except winter—the plants all changing throughout the year. I suppose I do miss it," she admitted. "We walk around it quite regularly."

  He chuckled. "It has been an age since I sat on a horse. The sea has been my mistress and she is not overly fond of horses."

  "What about Madam Guerier?" she asked. "I did notice a certain familiarity between you."

  "Familiarity yes, but it was always complicated."

  "She seemed like a complicated woman."

  He smiled, considering the dear friend that had been a regular part of his life. The sadness at having to let that go returned. "That is perhaps the best way to describe her." He could see she wanted to talk about Clara. This girl had developed some kind of infatuation with Clara, or perhaps the life she led—the pirate queen. Did that appeal to her? It seemed an outlandish notion for someone so privileged, held at the highest level of society. Every life came with a price, he guessed. She had hers.

  "If you missed England so much, or rather your position within English society, why did you ever leave?"

  "I stole a ship," he admitted.

  Her eyes widened at the revelation, like a child being told something fantastical. "Why did you steal a ship?"

  "That is a difficult question to answer. I objected to what I was forced to do, so partially it was protest and partially it was the whole cargo of cursed souls inside the ship. I had a notion to free them, and I did. I hoped it would cause quite a stir and it did, but it had no lasting effect. As a price, I had to give up everything I knew and the place where I belonged."

  "And you regret it?"

  "Regret is not the right word. I don't regret my actions; I felt they were necessary. Saying that, it didn't really achieve anything. Nothing changed. The Royal Navy still spend a good portion of their time protecting slavers and their cargo. Economic interests overrule morality, and that trade-off extends to every man who supports that work. It extended to me and that was something I wasn’t comfortable with."

  "So what happened to the ship?"

  "You sailed on her when I first took you from Isla Rosa."

  "Was that it? What happens to it now?"

  "I don't know. I suppose Clara will take it. It doesn't matter now. I won't be needing a ship where I'm going."

  "You will be bound away from the sea as I am bound to my family," she said, leaning over and lying down on the cot, tucking her hands underneath her head. She looked sleepy, her eyes heavy.

  "We must all make sacrifices in this world," he said. She didn't answer, her eyes were closing and she drifted away as he watched. She was so very innocent. She didn't see the cruelty and harshness in the world, and trade-offs a man had to make with his soul. She saw none of these—things were simple in her book. Right and wrong was as easy as black and white. But then he knew uncertainty was creeping into her; her duties and her desires conflicting against each other, and she had few skills to deal with it.

  Chapter 18

  The air was brisk the next day. Sarah stood on deck, clasping a piece of rigging and watched the blue ocean. The ocean would turn more gray the farther north they sailed, but as of yet, it was still blue. She was lucky in that she had never gotten seasick, even during the whole journey to Bermuda, when her father had sailed to head the new governance structure of the island on the crown's behalf.

  Sailing to the Caribbean had been the most exciting thing she'd ever experienced. Looking back now, she wondered if her inclusion on the journey had been to show confidence by the crown and the navy in their authority. In a sense, it hadn't worked well, considering the vice-admiral's daughter had been stolen by the very menace they were supposedly quelling. It was, no doubt, highly embarrassing.

  There was another ship on the horizon and she watched it, tension growing in her belly at the sight.

  "A merchant ship," the now familiar voice of her companion said behind her. "Heading south."

  "It would be ironic to be stolen by pirates again, while being returned from that very fate."

  "Unfortunately, it is always a risk here."

  "I don't fear pirates the way I did," she said. "Now that I have seen the people and who they are."

  "It would be wise to still fear them. Not everyone has the respect for human life as the people you have met. And fewer still concerned with the chastity of a young woman."

  "No," she said, her cheeks coloring. "What kind of pirate are you?"

  "Were," he corrected. "Predominantly an unwilling one."

  "Can't you admit some appreciation at being unbound by rules?"

  "Those rules serve an important purpose."

  He was so wholly convinced that the way things were in England was the just and correct way. Sarah smiled. The consummate English gentleman. That part of him conflicted so deeply with his role as a pirate, even his sometimes gruff behavior. They'd had this conversation before and she knew his opinion.

  "Tell me of your family," she said.

  "My father is deceased." The formality of the expression didn't entirely surprise her. "My mot
her is the dowager, and my brother is Lord Leacroft. He has an estate in Shropshire."

  "Where you grew up?"

  "Yes. My sister is married now, as I understand, to a Lord Sibald. I missed the wedding."

  "I am sorry. You must be excited to return to them."

  "Yes. And to London. I spent some time there, as well as in Portsmouth."

  "We have a house in London. Father must spend a great deal of his time there."

  "I met him once," Havencourt said. "I doubt he remembers me."

  "He will once you bring me back. His gratitude will likely hold you in good stead. What will you do when you return?"

  "I suppose I will visit my family, then perhaps find an estate to purchase."

  "Your time in the Caribbean has been profitable."

  He didn't answer, but she knew her statement was accurate. Muted feelings returned to her as a vision of her childhood room crept into her mind, the small sanctuary, although she knew her maid, Dorothy, reported constantly to her mother. Outside of that little room, she did what her mother told her to, usually sitting next to her mother as they received visitors. She knew exactly the types of conversation she was allowed to engage in. She wasn't even allowed to ride because it was unseemly, her mother had told her, although, she'd heard one of the lesser-considered women mention it tore a girl's maidenhead. That woman had never been invited back as she was too liberal conversing about the unmentionable topics. So that had been how Sarah had learned why she wasn't allowed to ride. It had made her wonder what other things her mother was keeping from her, wrapped in rules of sometimes illogical etiquette.

  The worry about her now less-than-pristine condition returned to her. Her mother would be devastated at the loss. Mr. Havencourt had said they would simply be happy to have her back, but she wasn't entirely sure. It wasn't something she could talk about with anyone. She would have to wait and see. Her mother would be dismayed, but then she had a tendency to reorganize to make the best of any situation. Sarah did admire that about her mother—once a cause was lost, she moved on without lamenting. It was all about the mission: to marry her off as fortuitously as possible.