Uncharted Secrets (Uncharted Secrets, Book 1): Endless Horizon Pirate Stories

by Cristi Taijeron

  Vanished? Oh, my. My beloved’s family was blaming me so as not to be shamed by their own son’s defiance. It only made sense. It was, after all, my fault he had died. What a waste of life and breath I was. Why couldn’t those awful pirates have killed me instead of him?

  My broken heart cracked again.

  Apparently, I had not cried out all of my tears, for now I was sobbing. “I am not a witch! I hid behind my cloak because everyone was mean to me and I didn’t want to be seen. And I loved Thomas Wilshire, the nobleman’s son. I did. With all of the heart I once had. He loved me, too, even though my mother was a whore. His rich family would never allow us to be together so we ran away and got married and pirates stole me from him! They killed him right in front of my face and took me away! They raped me and abused me for days on end. And then you, whoever the hell you are, you saved me. I think. But I don’t even know what that means. I have no home to return to, and I have no one who loves me. And… and you know what? I wish I was a witch! I would cast a spell on the entire world to punish them for their unjust wickedness!”

  Mason stared at me with his jaw agape.

  “There you have it, Mason Bentley. That’s the god-awful truth about this witch you heard of.”

  In silence, he rubbed his eyes.

  Wiping away the last of my tears, I waited to see how he would respond. After what seemed like a lifetime, he finally said, “That’s shitty.”

  “It’s so much more than shitty. It’s devastating.” I lowered my head.

  “Well, not a one of us ended up here under the black because our lives were peachy ashore.”

  I squinted in confusion. “Whatever does that mean?”

  “Just about every man on my crew has taken refuge under my flag in order to escape harsher fates. Shark, being Spanish and African, was doomed to a life of ridicule from the day he was born, and never knew a thing about freedom until I cut him and his mates loose from the chains of the slave ship they were cursed to.

  Mister Henderson, the cook, once cooked for the Navy, but they chewed him up for all the flavor they could get out of him, then spit him out without as much as a thank you. Ziare was a slave on a plantation on Barbados, and Georgie was an indentured servant who was nearly worked to death then robbed of the land he had rightfully earned.

  That’s just a few examples of what I mean.”

  Shocked by all their sad stories, I suddenly felt a strange relation to the ghastly men I feared. And that thought terrified me to no end. “I don’t want to turn out like them.”

  He laughed. “You’re too cute to turn out like them.”

  “Stop calling me cute and pretty. I don’t like it.”

  “I just speak the truth.”

  “A pirate who speaks the truth. Who would have thought there was such a thing?”

  “Don’t call me a pirate.”

  “I just speak the truth.” I crossed my arms.

  He squinted at me. “Deny it all you wish, sweetheart, but you’re a cute little witch. And if I was indeed a filthy rotten pirate, I wouldn’t be taking such good care of you.”

  Annoyed by the honesty of his statement, I snipped, “I suppose you do take decent care of your prisoners, but I am no witch. If I was I would have turned you into a frog already, because I don’t like you.”

  “I’ve noticed that you don’t like me much. And I also believe that you aren’t a witch. But I do like the face you make when you’re angry.” He winked.

  Without a word I glared at him, but the way he smiled at me assured me that he had gained his favor, again. Rubbing my hand down my face to erase the angry scowl he said he enjoyed, I snarled, “You are a terrible person.”

  He fanned his hand towards the door. “Remember, you’re just as free as I am to walk out that door and see where the wind leads you if you don’t like it here.”

  Terrified by the thought of leaving the silent, peaceful place I had grown accustomed to, I resisted the urge to cry. “Are you kicking me out?”

  “No. Not at all. I’m only letting you know you’re free to make your own choices here, just like the rest of us. I tied you up the day I found you because it was the only way to get your crazy arse away from those villains who were abusing you, but I’ve never once demanded you stay. The door’s always unlocked, and I’m not keeping you in chains. You’ve been here by your own choosing since I let you loose. So, to put it plain, you aren’t a prisoner of mine, sweetheart.” He took a shot of rum.

  My jaw hit the floor like an anchor. He was right.

  Thinking of the horrifying world outside his cabin, I began trembling with fear. Where would I go? What would I do? Would anyone help me? How would anyone help me anyhow? I had no home to return to, no one who cared about me, and no skills to offer the world. If I left, and somehow survived the treachery ashore, I’d probably end up just like my mother.

  Feeling the urge to vomit, I wiped the sweat from my brow. My life was so sad and pathetic that the best place for me to be was in this cabin, under the watch of the dreadful buccaneer captain and his young pirate friend.

  Without admitting my shameful realization, I simply changed the subject. “So, what makes the difference between buccaneers and pirates?”

  His full lips lifted in a wide, satisfied smile, which made me think I should take the risk ashore. But of course, I didn’t.

  “Pirates will rob anyone they come in contact with and will take anything they can get their grubby hands on. As for us buccaneers, we target the Spanish.”

  “What makes the Spanish any different from the other people of the world?”

  “It’s a personal war we wage. When I took to the seas to escape the trouble I was forced into ashore, I found my freedom amongst the hunters on Hispaniola. Living in tents, hunting, and cooking boars, life wasn’t too bad until those blasted Dons showed up. After they killed off our boars and chased us out with fire and gunshot, we made base on Tortuga and vowed to stand together against the Spanish by creating an alliance called Brethren of the Coast.”

  Enthralled by his story, my eyes widened as I inquired, “How did you become their captain?”

  “I’m not the captain of all of them, just this mangy little bunch. They voted me in because they trust my judgment and I treat them fair. We’ve been a damned right successful lot ever since, so I reckon they’ll be keeping me around for a while.”

  “What do you consider success in your world?”

  “Gold and freedom.”

  “Gold? That sounds so petty after all the passion behind your rebellion.”

  “Aye. But it isn’t the gold itself, lovely. Being as rich as the kings who robbed us of our freedom, we can buy all the freedom we want.”

  Trying to understand, I summarized, “So, you steal your freedom?”

  “I don’t see it as robbery when the blokes I take it from have taken it from someone else. It’s more of a justification. See, those Spanish dogs invade peaceful villages, make slaves of the villagers, and force them to mine their own resources. And any of the ships we’ve taken from the noble along the way, well, those deeds simply justify the pain of the slaves they’ve robbed of pride and dignity. Seeing how you were treated ashore, I’d think you’d understand that I do not feel a lick of guilt taking back what they’ve taken from others, and perhaps you can even relate to the pride I feel about giving hope to the hopeless and power to the oppressed.”

  “Like Robin Hood.”

  “Very much so.”

  Impressed by the stand these buccaneers had taken against their oppressors, I whispered, “I understand.”

  “Aye. Here, there isn’t a man in the world who can tell me what to do, and every man under my black flag is just as free as I am. My life hasn’t been a dream either, sweetheart, but at least this way I can be king of my own nightmare.”

  “The fact that I like that line assures me of how pathetic my life has become.” I let out an exhausted laugh.

  “Your life is what you make of it. If the wind�
�s blowing the wrong direction, adjust yoursails.” He stood up. “Get up.”

  Startled by his brash movement, I flinched in fear.

  “I told you a hundred times, I’m not going to hurt you.” His face lifted with a devious grin. “You might cast a spell on me if I do.”

  I did not smile back. Which humored him.

  “I want to teach you how to defend yourself. You’re little and pretty, and it sounds like trouble follows you everywhere you go. With a hard fist and a sharp sword, you can keep those demons at bay and make them wish you were only casting witch spells if they decide to test your boundaries.”

  Though I liked the sound of what he was saying, I could hardly believe it was being said. “Why are you so interested in helping me?”

  “There was a time when I had nowhere to go and no one to turn to, and I remember how shitten it was. That’s why.”

  Baffled by the thought of such a powerful man ever being helpless, I asked, “What is your story, Mason?”

  “No one but me and the devil know that. Now, come here.” Feeling mulish by his short and foreboding answer, I refused to go near him. Shaking my head no, I stood stiffly in my spot.

  “Don’t be afraid.” He stepped towards me slowly. “I’m going to teach you these things so you don’t have to be afraid anymore. Of me or anyone else. All right?”

  “All right.” I reluctantly agreed.

  Standing so close to me that I could smell the exotic oil he was wearing, he said, “Think back on the way you fought with me. You kicked and screamed like a wildcat, but other than this little scratch on my cheek, I got you in here unscathed.”

  “You’re ten times my size, and—”

  “It doesn’t matter how much bigger I am. Your small size offers you advantages that could easily give you the avail against a strapping stud like me.” Smiling widely, he flexed his arms, and I could see the way his coat sleeves tightened around his massive biceps.

  Stepping towards me, he reached for my hand. I snatched it away. “Don’t touch me.”

  “All right. Make a fist.”

  I did.

  “You’re holding it all wrong. You’ll hurt your hand and maybe even break your thumb that way.”

  Continually resisting the urge to grab for my hands, he kept his paws to himself and struggled with the words necessary to explain everything he wanted to show me.

  By the end of our lesson, I knew plenty well how to throw a solid punch and also had a better idea about how to conserve my energy and manage my anger. With all the hatred I’d been harboring, I found it exceptionally satisfying to release it in the throw of my fist. The way my blood rushed through my body left me feeling empowered. Imagining myself being brave enough to defend myself from humiliation, and strong enough to hold off an aggressor, I smiled. “This is so exciting. If only I had known this when I was stolen. Or when Odelia and Charity were mean to me. I can’t wait to punch someone for real. If I ever see Odelia Harold again I am going to give her a right hook to the jaw.”

  He laughed. “With that load of hurt hiding in your soul powering your punches, I feel mighty bad for the soul who receives the first blow.”

  I swung another punch. “How did you learn all this?”

  “Just like I learn everything else, the hard way. I’ve been fist fighting since I was a little fellow, and the times I’ve been taken down as a grown man have been few, so I reckon you got yourself a mighty fine teacher.” He winked. “Next time I’ll teach you how to use a sword, and eventually a pistol. But right now I need to get back to work out there.”

  Though thrilled by the concept of being trained with weapons, I was surprised by the sadness that overcame me when he said he’d be leaving. “What exactly will you be working on?” I inquired, hoping to keep him there a moment longer.

  “First, I’ll be helping to hang the newly sewn sails, and then whatever the hell comes next. Got to get this bitch fit for service.”

  “Bitch?”

  “Sunrise. She’s my lady when she’s cooperating and my bitch when she needs a shove in the right direction.”

  I squinted at him.

  “Sailing is a whole other world…” He fanned his hand at me.

  It crossed my mind to tell him the few things I had learned about ships and sailing, but I didn’t want to keep him from his work. “Thank you, Mason. I sincerely appreciate all you have done for me.”

  “You can thank me by painting something to hang over my bookshelf.” He framed the area with his hands as he walked towards the door.

  “I will,” I easily agreed.

  The sounds of the men working away on their bitch traveled through the open windows as I stood there alone with my thoughts. Did I just enjoy myself? I think I did. I’d thought that I would never find joy again, and the prospect of finding it with a buccaneer was more than my weary heart could bear. Unsure if I should feel guilty or satisfied, I walked over to the paints and resumed my place as the crazy woman who spoke to herself in the silence. “Yes. I will be painting, and I am going to enjoy it.”

  Chapter 7

  Room with a View

  After being on Sunrise for a month, I had come to accept my place in the world. Not that I liked it, but there truly wasn’t much to complain about. Though I was still a bit uneasy about Mason’s intimidating presence and the way he eyed me when he thought I wasn’t looking, he gave me no reason to fear him. The fight lessons he was giving me had me feeling much more confident in the wicked world I stood in, and though it was difficult for me to admit, the minimal company he offered was better than sitting alone with my tormenting thoughts.

  While signing my name at the bottom of the painting I had finished for him, the door flew open. As always, the brash sound startled me into a girlish shriek, but when I saw a small, furry creature come running through the room with Mason chasing it like a bear in the wild, I busted out in laughter.

  Remembering how good it felt to laugh, I allowed myself to be amused. My humor intensified as he yelled and stomped and toppled things over in an attempt to catch the agile little beast.

  “No. No. Get out of here!” His frustrated shriek caused me to laugh harder, and even more so when the wiry creature scampered around his legs, causing him to lose his balance. Catching himself on the bookshelf before he fell to the floor, Mason sprung back up and resumed his fervent chase. With my stomach aching from jolly spasms, I watched through watery eyes as he finally chased the furry, orange cat out of his cabin.

  Slamming the door behind it, he huffed, “Damned cat.”

  “I didn’t know you had a pet.” I chuckled, wiping my tears.

  “I don’t, but the ship does. He eats the rats.” He made a nasty face that only added to my delirious humor.

  My cheeks were warm from the laughter, and while I enjoyed the long forgotten feeling, Mason caught my gaze. Our eyes locked for a moment. His face lit up like it never had before. I wasn’t sure if the energy beaming between us made me nervous or happy. Either way, I broke the gaze and walked towards the door. Opening it, I looked around on the deck. Spotting the cat perched on a barrel, I enticed the creature into my grip. While calling him over, I asked Mason, “How have I not seen him before now?”

  “In case you didn’t notice, I don’t want him here.”

  The cat easily answered my call. I patted his head and his fluffy, striped tail twisted around my leg. “Don’t be silly. I saw a rat in here just this morning. Wouldn’t you rather have a cat than rats in your room?”

  “I don’t like how it sounds when they chew them up.”

  Finding his answer absurd, I teased, “The man who is feared by the most dreadful pirates on the sea is disgusted by the sound of cats eating rats?”

  Mason laughed. “It’s nasty.” After impersonating the gnarling sound of teeth ripping flesh from bone, he added, “I don’t like fur getting on my shit, either. Plus that one particularly, he’s just a pompous arse and I don’t like him.”

  As I petted his soft
fur, the cat purred against my cheek. Loving the feel of the vibration, I sighed, “He is not an arse. He is very nice. What is his name?”

  “Whatever you want it to be. Just don’t bring him in here.”

  Carrying him in the room anyhow, I said, “I shall name him Feather. Because his tail looks like a feather.” I ran my hand along his orange and white striped tail.

  “As you wish, princess.” Mason rolled his eyes. “But if his fur gets on my coat, you’re cleaning it.”

  “Fair enough,” I agreed. “Your painting is done.”

  He walked over to the table to take a look. I watched his eyes widen in wonder as he said, “Damn. This is amazing.”

  On a piece of canvas I had found in the fabric drawer, I’d painted the view I had been admiring out of his stern window. “I worked extra hard to imitate the way the morning sun lights the eastern hillside surrounding the little town.”

  “You did an amazing job. It’s like I can feel the heat and smell the smoke coming out of the chimneys. And the way the light hits the bay looks so realistic.”

  “Thank you.” I was pleased to hear him compliment my efforts. “I figured the colors would look nice with your curtains, and if you look close, the birds have purple in their wings to match the sheets.”

  “I love it.” He smiled. “Now, look at this.” He grabbed a book off his shelf and plopped it down on the table between us. Opening to a page showing the drawing of an island, viewed from the sea, he said, “This is a rutter. A book of maps and charts. The people who draw them are called sea artists. You might like to look it over. Maybe you could draw and paint some pictures for books like this. People pay a lot of money for this shit. And some even kill for it.”