With a groan, he forced himself to get out of bed. The sun was barely crawling over the horizon.
“…and he does not seem to believe me, so that is why I am here, telling you,” Brooke concluded, looking at Heath.
Heath was already sweating, standing in the small kitchen, cooking dinner for the crew. The sun had reached its highest point in the sky, blazing down on them. It was a hot, August day in the Caribbean, and being in a small kitchen only heightened the humidity. The tunic he was wearing had dirt stains and his breeches had many patches. His boots were old and worn in, his sandy blond hair dirty. Spots of dust decorated his boyish face. This was the epitome of being a pirate. He sighed through his nose, looking up from the stew he was making. His arm ceased from stirring and his shoulders slumped.
“I know,” he said quietly, so quietly that at first Brooke thought she misheard him.
“You…you know?” Her brow furrowed with anger. “You know and you have not yet told him? Are you in on it too, Heath?”
Heath walked over to Brooke and cupped a dirty hand over her mouth. “I’m not a part of it, okay?” he told her, dropping his hand. His voice was low and rough, as though he wasn’t used to speaking in whispers. “I mentioned it briefly in passing to Charlie, but he don’t wanna hear it, lass. I meant it only as a hypothetical, an’ he didn’t press.”
“So what now?” Brooke asked, crossing her arms over her chest. Her voice had lowered to its normal register. “I know what I heard and I am not going to brush this off as though nothing has happened.”
“When I heard it, it was when me and Charlie first assembled the crew,” he said, shaking his head. “Now that you heard it, well, I guess they’re serious now then, aye? Be careful, lass. Your words now hold your life in your hands.”
“My words could save Charlie,” she murmured quietly, her eyes drifting to the wooden floorboard. She sighed after a moment, shooting Heath a forced smile before walking out of the kitchen and back into her room.
When she entered, she shut the door and managed to balance on the hammock that was supposed to be her bed. She missed her home, her big warm bed. She missed her carefree life where people cooked and cleaned for her, where fresh food was provided, where she could bathe once every other day. She missed Fiona and Fiona’s family, she missed Joel, and she missed her father.
Did they make it? she wondered as a tear rolled down her face. Were they safe? All she had left of her home was some map that led to some treasure. She would return the map if she could see her father again, even for a moment. All the treasure the map supposedly led to, she would give it to whoever could ensure his father’s safety. All she had now was Charlie, and he didn’t trust her. So really, all she had was herself. While she escaped the danger on Port Royal, she was not quite sure if she was fully secure on this ship.
The hammock started to move slowly, back and forth. The light Caribbean breeze rocked the young girl to a dreamless sleep.
The week went by in a blur for Brooke. She became incredibly close to Heath, the only person to whom she could openly express her fears and doubts. He taught her how to cook stew, and to improvise ingredients when it called for it. Charlie taught her how to swab the deck, which was hard work but much simpler than Brooke first believed. Brooke kept her distance from the rest of the crew, ever suspicious of when they would execute their plan of mutiny.
The sun had bronzed Brooke’s skin a bit more, making her freckles more prominent than before. The sun also stained her hair with more blonde, causing a color shift from dirty blonde to honey blonde. She was sore every night, but could feel muscles she never even knew existed start to form. She could smell herself by the end of the week, not bathing since her second introduction of Charlie Colt, and she desperately wanted a new pair of clothes. Her hair felt greasy, so she managed to find some elastic and tie her hair up away from her face.
Brooke and Charlie hadn’t spoken much since Brooke’s confrontation but both were too stubborn to concede their positions. Despite not speaking to the sole woman aboard his ship, Charlie watched her like a hawk. He watched the way she mopped the deck, the way she secretly joked with Heath, the way she would lean on the railing of the ship and stare wistfully out at the horizon, as though she was looking for something—Port Royal, he assumed. She missed her family and friends. While Charlie chose this life for himself, Brooke really had no choice in the matter.
He sighed as his fingers lightly gripped the wheel. He was standing at the helm of his ship, his eyes scanning the sea. This was his favorite place on the ship; at the helm. He got to take his ship wherever he wanted to end up. It was his home, his source of freedom. Brooke had come to him and told him that his freedom was being threatened, by his crew no less. He believed that she truly believed what she told him, and within time, she would see all her worrying would be for nothing.
Charlie watched as Brooke came up on the deck and leaned against the railing to look at the sea. She never seemed to be bored of watching the multicolored waves roll. The ocean sparkled in the sun, the gentle current softly rocking the ship. He could see the appreciation in her eyes; it was the same appreciation he had in his eyes whenever he looked at the lapping water. He watched her, just staring out the sea, when he suddenly saw her stiffen and her jaw muscle pop. Her sudden change in demeanor caused his dark brow to furrow. He saw her straighten up and then turned in Charlie’s direction. The appreciation was replaced by pure fear. Her arms were yanked behind her, and after a moment, she proceeded to walk towards him stiffly.
“Is everything all right?” he asked her, stepping from the helm.
It was then that he saw Bill “One Eye” Baum behind her with a pistol cocked and pointed to her head. Brooke was glaring at Charlie, and he knew he deserved it. Everything she had told him was true, and because he didn’t believe it Bill Baum and whoever else was a part of it had executed an attempt at mutiny successfully. From the corner of his eyes, he could see his crew start to appear one by one, all pointing some sort of weapon at him. And then, two big, burly men pulled up Heath from below deck. Heath was in the same position Brooke was, his hands tied behind his back with a thick piece of rope. The men led him to the railing of the ship, and Bill followed with Brooke, positioning her next to Heath. The two captives looked ahead of themselves, at the wooden deck in front of them. They said nothing.
“As you can see, Capt’n Colt,” Bill Baum said turning from Brooke to walk toward Charlie “this here be a mutiny.”
“If you touch her—” Charlie’s eyes narrowed so they were pure black slits. His hands balled into fists; he was so mad his hands were shaking. It really happened; Brooke was right, and there she was, her hands tied behind her back, two cutlasses pointed at her. And there was Heath, his best friend and first mate. He was standing next to Brooke, in the same state as she was.
“What?” Baum teased, his one good eye dancing with excitement. The eye wasn’t worried or suspicious now; it was looking at Charlie directly with an air of confidence that wasn’t there before. “You’re going to flog me?” He nodded to two men behind him; one was carrying a similar piece of rope that was used on Brooke and Heath. “I don’t think yer in any position to be makin’ any threats, Charlie.”
“Leave the two out of it,” Charlie called out as the two men came and grabbed Charlie roughly. Brooke’s blank face flinched as she saw the men tie Charlie’s wrist behind his back, but then just as quickly, reverted back to blankness. “They have nothin’ to do with this.” Charlie struggled against the men, but it was in vain. In moments, he was tied up.
“On the contrary, Charlie,” Baum said with a grin. He turned and walked back over to his two prisoners. Brooke would not look at him, and swallowed slowly. Heath looked Baum dead in the eye, clenching his teeth. “These two were the only people who refused ter be a part of this here mutiny.
“Now, I think I’m a fair man,” he continued, walking to stand in front of Heath’s face. He came up to Heath’s nose, but Heath’s
height didn’t seem to intimidate Baum. He pulled his pistol from his holster and pointed the barrel between Heath’s eyes. Brooke’s face completely faltered.
“No!” she cried. “Don’t!”
One of the men pointing a cutlass at Brooke dropped it so he could use his free hand to smack Brooke across the face, telling her to shut up. The thwack of his hand on her cheek echoed in Charlie’s ears. He bit his lip, chewing it so hard that he didn’t realize he was bleeding until he tasted the metallic taste in his mouth.
“You’ll get yer turn soon, lass,” he said with a wicked grin. He turned back to Heath, his hand holding the pistol never wavering from Heath’s forehead. “Now,” he said. He pushed his face so it was mere centimeters from Heath’s. “I’ll give ye one more chance to change yer mind.”
“You can take that chance, and shove it up your ass, ’cause I’m not changing me mind,” Heath said lowly. His eyes were deadlocked on Baum’s.
Baum sighed and then shrugged as if he had tried to do everything he could before pulling the trigger of his pistol and shooting Heath between his blue eyes. Brooke was too surprised to even scream. She saw Heath’s body crumple to the floor, saw the blood staining his face, the deck of the ship, the men around her. She didn’t know when she started to cry, but she felt the wetness on her cheeks after a moment. Heath was gone; Heath was really gone, and he wasn’t coming back. Brooke didn’t even have time to mourn for her newly found friend before someone threw his lifeless body overboard. His eyes stared at her while he was being tossed; those blue eyes that once stared at her with amusement and vigor now just looked on blankly, lifelessly. He was gone.
And then, like lightning, Baum was in front of her, his pistol pointing between her eyes. She gulped but tried to appear strong, certain. She could hear Charlie hollering, but it was just static to her. She couldn’t make out anything and didn’t try to. All she was paying attention to was the barrel of the gun between her eyes. Her life could end in a moment if Baum so wished. She could die before the day was over.
“Such a pretty waste,” he said, lifting his hand up and dragging his fingers down her cheek. His lips nearly touched her cheek; she could smell his breath on her face.
“I swear, Baum if you touch ’er!” Charlie was silenced by a man throwing his fist in Charlie’s stomach. Charlie fell to his knees and gasped for breath, but his eyes remained focused on Brooke. The two shared a look; she just wanted him to shut his mouth so he wouldn’t get hurt anymore. He just wanted her to be safe, away from all of this.
“Now, lass, yer a smart girl,” Baum continued as though the incident with Charlie never happened. “Ye wanna be a part of the winnin’ team?” He wiggled his eyebrows causing Brooke to grimace in disgust.
Brooke’s heart was racing. She tried to speak and yet no words came out. Instead, she did what she thought was best to convey her feelings about switching sides; she spit in his face. Charlie’s eyes widened and he would have smirked if Brooke’s life wasn’t threatened. Brooke stared hard at Baum, who was frankly surprised at her action. His one eye narrowed at her, and for a minute, she and Charlie both thought that he was about to shoot Brooke. Her heart skipped a beat, pumping faster and then slower and then faster, yet she did not see her life flash before her eyes as survivors said they usually did. In an instant, she felt herself fall to the floor, burning pain searing her left temple.
“What more do you want, Baum?” Charlie asked darkly as he watched a member of his former crew roughly pull Brooke up. She shook her head and blinked a few times, trying to maintain her balance. He could already see a bruise starting to form on her left temple. “You have the ship, you have the crew, you killed…” He swallowed, still not fully believing what he was trying to say. “…you killed Heath. Just drop me an’ the lass at the nearest port and we’ll be out of your hair. You’ll never hear from us again.”
Baum laughed mirthlessly just as a man from the crow’s nest called, “Land, ho!”
Charlie watched as Baum put his pistol back in his holster before pulling out a small dagger. He clenched his teeth as he saw the man dance the blade lightly on Brooke’s throat, teasing her, taunting her. Brooke looked helpless, almost like she had given up hope of surviving. Baum slowly walked behind her, his eye drifting up and down before a smirk littered his face. Again, Charlie bit his lip tightly, keeping his eyes narrowed on him. He saw movement behind Brooke from Baum, but Brooke’s face didn’t contort in pain. Instead, she looked on in surprise. And then, she moved her arms and started rubbing her wrists. There were cuts on them, and bruising would be a guarantee.
“Yer goin’ ter need those to survive, lass,” Baum explained to her. He turned to face Charlie. “I said I was a fair man. Blood’s already been spilled on me ship; I don’t want no more.” He nodded over the railing, past the sea, to a small, isolated land mass. It looked deserted. “Ye may die, lass, but not by my hand.”
It was hard for Brooke to walk. She was still reeling in pain from Baum’s previous assault. With the aid of two other men, she managed to make it to the plank of the ship. One of them pushed her towards it, and she nearly tripped onto it. She managed to regain her balance, and then glanced back at Charlie.
“Well, are ye gonna be standin’ there all day?” Baum teased darkly.
“What is it you want me to do?” she asked quietly, her eyes never leaving the security that Charlie’s provided her with.
“Are you jestin’ with us, lass?” Baum said, letting out a low, long chuckle. The other crew members joined in with him, albeit uncertainly.
“You just hit her in the head with the butt of your pistol!” Charlie exclaimed. “Do you expect her to be reciting Shakespeare?”
Baum glared at Charlie for a long moment before turning back and mustering up what he would call a polite smile.
“Walk the plank, missy,” he said, “before I shoot you off it.”
Brooke glanced up at Charlie for guidance.
“Don’t worry, lass,” Baum said, rolling his eyes. “He’ll be joinin’ you shortly. Now, get.”
Charlie gave Brooke a slight nod and she rubbed her lips together and then turned. Her vision got hazy, and she felt herself blink a couple of times. However, unlike the first time, her vision did not come back. She could make out the water; it looked like a big blue bed that looked so comforting, so inviting. Then she felt herself falling, her vision going black, and her body hitting the cold water.
Charlie heard her body crash into the ocean and he knew she lost consciousness. Baum walked over to Charlie and cut his ropes loose, and then handed Charlie a pistol. Charlie knew what this was for; one shot, for him to either take the life of Brooke or himself. He hoped he would not have to do either. He didn’t need anyone to lead him to the plank; he walked there as quickly as he could. His mind raced; did he have everything he needed? He had a pistol, his cutlass…the map? The map was tucked safely away in the pocket of his breeches. Worse thing that could happen to it is that it would get wet.
His eyes widened when he saw Brooke’s body floating lifelessly on the surface of the sea. Like a swan, he dove into the water and grabbed her waist, pulling her up so her face was out of the water. His arms wrapped around her, and from the corner of his eye, he glanced to see if she was breathing. Her face was serene, but she still seemed to be unconscious. With a sudden urge to get to that island, he pushed his legs, kicking them.
“Don’t leave me, love,” he murmured throatily. “Stay with me.”
He pushed himself, harder and harder until his legs screamed out for mercy. Still, he would not relent. Harder and harder. He glanced back at Brooke but saw no movement on her delicate features. This only encouraged him; harder and harder until his boots hit the wet sand. He groaned as he hoisted her into his arms; her drenched, deadweight body made his arms burn but he carried her out of the water and onto the sand, placing her gently underneath a tree. His breathing was ragged, but he managed to control it for a moment so he could lean over, place his
lips on hers, and blow life into her. After a moment, he placed his ear on her chest, and then placed his hands flat on her chest, and pushed down a couple of times. He listened to her heart again and then placed his lips on hers.
Brooke gasped deeply, her eyes fluttering open. Her green eyes connected with Charlie, and she stared at him, so glad that he was here with her, unharmed and all right. She gave him a small smile and he returned it, his gold teeth flickering in the sunlight.
Charlie’s smile was the last thing she saw before slipping into unconsciousness once again.
7
Brooke woke to a piercing pain in the side of her face. She stifled a groan, coughing a few times. She felt something pressing into her body. It was nothing to cause her pain, just significant pressure. With a grimace, she lifted her head up to see the reason for the pressure. It was Charlie, curled into her, with a peaceful look upon his face. She smiled at his serene look and watched him sleep for a moment. His smooth tan given to him naturally by the sun touched every inch of his body, every inch she could see, at least. His dark, shaggy hair was matted with sweat and sand and flared around him like the rays of a dark sun. The kohl on his eyes was smudged and nearly washed away. His chocolate brown eyes were closed. His nose was perfect, long and angular, indenting at the nostrils. His cheekbones were angled as well, higher than the clouds in the sky. His dark mustache curled on his upper lip, almost in the shape of a triangular roof of a house and his lips were full and looked soft. Hair covered his chin as well, and a small patch rested just underneath his bottom lip.
To Marry A Marauder Page 9
