Master Cunningham escorted his daughter to the governor’s mansion, which was slightly out of the norm. Usually, when she had her lessons with Fiona, she went unaccompanied because her father usually had more important things to do. However, today was apparently different, and when Brooke and her father entered the mansion, she suddenly wanted to know why. Not only were the governor and his daughter waiting in the drawing room for the Cunninghams, but Joel Donahue was waiting as well.
Joel Donahue was two years older than Brooke and Fiona, putting him at two and twenty, and the three were close friends. Brooke even considered him to be an older brother of sorts. Fiona, on the other hand, did not consider him to be an older brother at all. She would never admit it, of course, but Brooke suspected that Fiona had feelings that ran deeper than sisterly affections for the young man. Brooke could understand if her suspicions of her friend’s feelings were correct. Joel was incredibly handsome with short, strawberry blond hair and clear blue eyes. His skin had a peachy tone to it, and his lips were red. He was tall and lean, and when he smiled, people could not help but smile along with him. His voice was low and tainted with humor, and when he spoke, witty satire sprung from his red lips like water from a fountain. Joel was quite charming and highly sought after, but Brooke could see that he, too, had eyes only for Fiona. However, he was merely a mapmaker, and while there was an undeniable and unspoken attraction between Brooke’s closest friends, society would say that their match was not a smart one.
Once the greetings were over, Brooke and Fiona were led to their study hall while Joel surprisingly followed Governor Radcliffe and Master Cunningham.
“Why is Joel going with our fathers?” Brooke asked Fiona in a whisper. The servants residing in the Radcliffe mansion were all shameless gossips, so any secrets must be spoken as though walls could hear.
Fiona shrugged and gave a sideways glance at her friend. “I have not the slightest of clues,” she responded, her voice just as soft as Brooke’s. “All I know is that Father called for his presence early this morning.”
“I’m sure you had no objections to that,” Brooke teased lightly.
Fiona’s cheeks colored slightly, but before she could respond to Brooke’s jest, the two had reached their study hall. A short, squat man was writing on a green chalkboard with his right hand, and with his left, he was holding onto a bundle of cluttered papers. When he would glance down at his notes, his hard, gray eyes would squint, and when he copied his notes onto the board, his writing was small and hard to decipher. He was wearing a wrinkled tunic that was only halfway tucked in, and his dark trousers were loose at the waist and ran well into the floor, masking his dirty shoes. His gray hair had thinned on his round head, and the color was so light that depending on the lighting, one could not make out if he had hair or not. His eyebrows were dark and bushy, and his nose was round and touched with an apple-red color. His chin camouflaged with his neck, and his cheeks were sagged in. He spoke with a rough voice, and his teeth were crooked and yellow. He taught with little patience, his naturally short fuse further shortened by his two young pupils.
When he finished writing his notes, he turned and set the papers down rather noisily on the desk before him. He immediately narrowed his eyes at the two young women seated in front of him, innocent smiles on their faces.
“Good to see you again, Mister Slater,” Brooke said. Her face was angelic but there was a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
“You watch your tongue, Miss Cunningham!” he exclaimed sharply, pointing a thick, stocky finger at her accusingly. “I may not be able to see well, but I can hear trickery from a serpent’s tongue!”
Brooke and Fiona exchanged an amused look as soon as Mister Slater glanced down at his papers, and both had to bite their lips from laughing.
“Now copy these notes without a word out of either of you!” he said sharply and plopped down into the seat to go over his wrinkled sheets of paper.
Brooke and Fiona both started to copy his notes on the chalkboard, albeit with slight difficulty recognizing a particular word from time to time. A moment went by when all that was heard was the scratching of the pens writing, and Mister Slater’s heavy breathing coming from his mouth.
“I received a visit from my stranger last night,” Brooke whispered as she wrote.
Fiona glanced up sharply from her work to make sure Mister Slater had not heard Brooke’s soft murmur, but he was currently occupied scratching out some of his notes, and therefore, did not notice.
“Did he return your necklace?” she asked, keeping her peripheral vision focused squarely on their cranky instructor.
Brooke shook her head. “No,” she replied, glancing up at the board and then down at her paper, filled with neat, elegant notes. “Apparently he was satisfied with merely my company.”
“What kind of company?” Fiona drawled suspiciously.
“Of course, you are not implying the sort of unrespectable company a man usually pays for, now are you?” Brooke asked with a smirk.
Fiona smiled and shook her head. “No, of course not,” she conceded.
“He would not be able to afford me, even if that was the case,” Brooke mumbled, causing Fiona to laugh out loud.
Mister Slater’s eyes snapped up to stare at his two students. His brow furrowed so low that it nearly interfered with his sight.
“I hear you!” he exclaimed, eyeing the laughing woman and then shifting his eyes over to the quiet, smiling woman. “I know you’re the cause of this, Miss Cunningham! You left-handers, you’re always up to sinister trickery!”
Once he focused his attention back to his papers, Brooke rolled her eyes.
“The only thing we are up to is trying to figure out how to keep from smudging our writing,” she said dryly and sighed. Today was going to be a very long day.
Both Brooke and Fiona were incredibly educated women. They were taught everything one could be taught: English, French, Latin, mathematics, sciences, an assortment of religions, as well as varying assortment of elements of etiquette, all taught by the versatile Mister Slater for nearly fifteen years. They were both bright young women with an envious education, and beautiful in their own right. Men were besotted at first glance by either of them and while Master Cunningham wanted Brooke to marry as quickly as possible, Governor Radcliffe deemed no man worthy of his daughter. Currently, both daughters were not married, and while Fiona had a particular person in mind to marry, Brooke was happy just the way things were. She did not wish to sacrifice her individuality for a man at all, much less right then.
When lessons were over, Brooke and Fiona traveled down to Joel’s small home that was near the docks of Port Royal. Fiona’s grandfather Oral accompanied the two young women, but once they entered the small home, he kept his distance, leaving the children their privacy. Joel led the women through his house and into his study where maps were decorating the walls, the desk, even the floor.
“Someone has too much time on their hands,” Brooke murmured with a smile.
“Ah, but time leads to talent, it would seem,” Fiona replied, looking at Joel with pride in her eyes.
Joel smiled at Fiona, and Brooke had to restrain herself from rolling her eyes. As Joel continued to walk with Fiona throughout the room and explain to her the different maps he had created, Brooke stopped walking and simply just looked at his designs. There were maps of the Caribbean, maps of England, the Americas, and even a map of the scattered ports throughout the Caribbean. One particular map caught her eye, however. It was wrinkled and plain; there was nothing special about it. And yet, the small islands that were etched on the map were formed in the shape of a five-pointed star. They were adjacent to the island of Cuba, and a big X on the top island. The islands were nameless, and Joel’s signature was not on the bottom right corner of the map. Joel did not make this, she realized with wonder. Without fully thinking about what she was doing, she folded the map up so that she could stick it in her bosom without notice.
Sudden
ly, a shot was heard, fired into the sky. It whistled low and then increased in sound as the ball crashed into one of the meadows that adorned Port Royal. A rumble caused Brooke to lose her footing, but she grabbed the edge of the desk to maintain her balance. Joel had grabbed Fiona to make sure she did not fall, his hand gripping her forearm firmly, a protective look in his blue eyes. His jaw was set, his lips pressed together. Brooke and Fiona, however, felt not determined, but fearful, and they did not shield their feelings behind a mask.
Another cannonball hit Port Royal, this time shaking it much more violently than the first blow. Even Joel’s look faltered, and his eyes sought out Brooke. “We have to leave now,” he said tightly, his hand still wrapped around Fiona’s wrist. “I shall escort you home, Brooke. Fiona, you must go with your grandfather.”
Fiona nodded, and once the two pairs got into their separate carriages, they were off. Joel kept glancing out his window, hoping to catch a glance at Fiona’s carriage as it made its way up to the Governor’s mansion. Another cannonball shot through the tension-filled silence, causing Brooke to let out a yelp of surprise. Her eyes were rimmed with tears, her lightly tanned face pale.
“What is happening, Joel?” she asked the man beside her, her voice shaking as she spoke.
Joel turned to face her as they pulled into Brooke’s driveway. “I do not know, Brooke,” he said softly. “I do not know.”
Once the carriage came to a stop, he climbed out and helped Brooke out as well. They dashed over to the front door. “I have to go now, Brooke,” he said and pulled her into a tight hug. “Please be careful.” Another shot was fired, and Joel turned and dashed back to his carriage.
Brooke could not even hear the carriage roll away as she heard guns fire now. Quickly, she opened the doors to her home, guessing that all her father’s servants had fled in fear. She was not even quite sure why she was returned to her home. The stillness in her house made her shudder for she realized that not even her father was in the house. She was alone, truly alone. Another cannonball was fired, and more gunshots pierced the sky. Her heart beat quickened in fear, and she held onto the railing of the staircase to keep her balance as she dashed quickly up the stairs and then burst into her room.
Captain Charlie Colt was leaning back in his chair in the back of the pub, his boots crossed and resting on the table he was currently occupying. He kept his eyes on the door, watching different people go in and out, something he naturally did. He loved to study people, to watch how they spoke, how they carried themselves; something always gave people away. People always had some sort of tell, whether it was as simple as rubbing their fingers together, biting their lip, or maybe it was as simple as their eyes giving them away.
A woman walked in now. She was stunning, her long ebony locks curling down to her hips, her smooth, light brown skin glowing in the candlelight of the bar. She had a sharp face, and a strong chin and her eyes were a caramel brown. She was incredibly tall, curvier than a winding road, and her aura just eroded with sensuality. As she walked, her hips swayed hypnotically to each side, causing men to look at her with desire in their eyes. She was wearing a form-fitting tunic and a high-waisted pair of tight slacks that accented her hips perfectly. Her boots were made of black leather and went up just past her knees. When she saw Charlie leaning back so casually, her full lips curled into a smile and her eyes sparkled with mischievousness. She walked over to him, and then pulled out a seat right across from him. Without a word, she sat down.
Charlie gave her a dry smile, and raised his arm and motioned toward the seat. “Please, have a seat,” he offered.
“Captain Charlie Colt,” she said slowly, her heavily accented voice articulated. “How nice to meet you again, after so many years.” She leaned forward, her arms crossed casually so that Charlie received a generous flash of cleavage. “Miss me?”
Charlie let out a mirthless laugh. “Let’s not waste our time with formalities, Esmeralda,” he said, narrowing his eyes at the woman before him. She was obviously incredibly attractive, but in his eyes, she was quite the opposite. He knew her too well to consider her beautiful. “Why are you here?”
Esmeralda smirked again and she straightened her back. “Always cutting to the chase,” she scolded, shaking her head. “Charlie, you used to be fun.” She paused, tilting her head to the side, a finger tapping against her chin as though deep in thought. Charlie swung his feet down from the table and interlocked his fingers before he rested them where his feet had previously resided. He knew she was toying with his patience, but he waited for her to answer of her own accord. “Well,” she said finally, her tone of voice lower, husky, “something is about to happen, and since we are close acquaintances, I wanted to warn you.”
“We are not close nor acquaintances,” Charlie corrected her sharply. “You are wrong on two accounts.”
“Tell me you are not bitter about our last meeting,” she said, pouting her lips in a teasing manner.
“If my memory serves me well, it is you who should be bitter,” he replied with a grin, flashing his gold teeth.
“That is because you left me without a word before I even knew you were leaving,” she snarled, her face suddenly contorting into a grimace that made her once beautiful facial features ugly.
“I do happen to remember saying goodbye,” Charlie interjected quickly, raising both index fingers to the ceiling.
“But I do forgive you for all your evil deeds,” Esmeralda said calmly, her face returning to its normal state. “Just like Jesus above forgives my sins, I forgive yours.”
“Forgive me for saying, but I do believe you just compared yourself to Jesus Christ,” Charlie said. “That’s a sin, is it not?”
The woman before him ignored him and had to restrain herself from rolling her eyes. “I am here to offer you a place aboard my ship,” she continued. “A place with a higher rank than everyone aboard, equal only to me. If we joined forces once again, we would be the most powerful pair to be reckoned with. Not even the Royal Navy could touch us.” She paused and glanced around before staring at Charlie once again. “Tonight, Port Royal will turn into a hell. Buildings will be destroyed, people will die, screams will fade against the cannon fire.” She leaned even further toward Charlie. “A map is located on this island; a map leading to the greatest treasure known in the Caribbean.” Charlie stared at the woman before her, his eyes widening in recognition. “The Dead Man’s Tale. If you joined forces with me, you would get forty percent of the profits.”
Charlie pondered her offer for a moment. He hated to admit it, but he was slightly tempted to take it. He had heard of the Dead Man’s Tale and in the back of his mind, he had always wanted to stumble across it, but he never was presented an opportunity to. Until now. Charlie tapped his fingers on the wooden table, and after a moment, he looked the woman straight in the eye.
“Thank you for your most generous offer,” he said, standing up. Esmeralda followed his suit, tall enough to meet his eyes. “I am, however, sorry to say that I am not interested in this particular offer, nor any future offers you may choose to make me.” He grinned at her and began to walk away from the table and from the woman whose eyes were burning into Charlie’s back.
“Goodbye, Esmeralda,” he called without turning around to look at the scowling woman.
Of course, his face was passive, showing no concern over the message he had just heard, but inside, his heart was beating with fear. For some odd reason, his feet led him not to the docks to leave on his ship, but to the Cunninghams’ home. He had to find Brooke as soon as he could and hoped that she was okay.
“Where were you?!” he demanded, his hands on his hips and his kohl-rimmed eyes narrowed. “I’ve been waiting here all bloody—”
Brooke interrupted Charlie Colt with a tight hug. She gripped onto his masculine frame, pulling him as close to her as he could possibly be. Her tears silently rolled her cheeks, her shoulders convulsing almost violently. She had to bite back a sob that threatened to escape
from her mouth.
Charlie was surprised at Brooke’s uncharacteristic show of affection, and it took him a quick moment before he finally wrapped his arms around her. Her body seemed to mold to his perfectly, and he had to stop himself from running his hands up and down her sides. He rested his head on hers, inhaling the floral scent that radiated from her hair. He tried to think of something, anything to say that would soothe the frightened girl, but time was running out, and if they were to leave Port Royal undetected and unharmed, they would have to leave now.
“What’s happening?” Brooke asked him, her voice mumbled by his shoulder.
Without warning, a cannonball was fired, and instead of hearing it merely outside her home, it shot through the side of her room and narrowly missed the couple. Charlie had thought quickly, and pushed her down on the ground, his body fully covering hers. His arms were wrapped around her, his hands behind her head and his fingers tangled in her locks of hair. He was clinging to her as much as she clung to him. He could even feel her rapid heartbeat, his head resting on her chest. Both were holding their breaths, waiting for any other sign of danger, and when they heard nothing but the murmur of the riots outside, they picked themselves up. Brooke looked around, and tears cascaded her cheeks when she realized that the cannon had destroyed her painting, her beautiful painting.
The pirate pulled away from her, but only to look at her, his hands still gently cupping her shoulders. He looked into her eyes which were red from her crying, and asked gently, “Do you trust me, love?”
Brooke hesitated and bit her lip. Another cannonball made her jump, but Charlie’s thumbs softly caressed her upper arms and his eyes were the warmest she had ever seen them. She nodded quickly, and he gave her an encouraging smile before he gently grabbed her soft hand within his calloused one, and led her to the window.
To Marry A Marauder Page 6
