When they reached the ship and climbed aboard, Brooke noticed Lord Sutherland standing in the middle of the ship, his hands behind his back, as though he was waiting for their arrival patiently. His eyes flashed when he saw Brooke, and they darkened when he saw Charlie. The two were brought to him so they stood across from him. Brooke glanced at Charlie, who was steadily glaring darkly at the man in front of him.
“I did not expect the two of you here, on my rum-running island,” he said, his voice low. “In fact, I did not expect to find the two of you together…at all.” He glanced at his three men, standing patiently behind the pair he was addressing, and then nodded at the one who had taken Brooke from the piece of land. “Take Mister Colt to the brig. I will discuss the terms with Miss Cunningham.”
Brooke’s eyes widened in surprise. Her only sense of safety was being pulled away from her. She glanced at Charlie, who was being led rather forcefully away from her. Again, he tried to comfort her, but she could see his worry reflected in his eyes.
“Miss Cunningham,” Sutherland said, causing Brooke to break her stare with Charlie to look at him. “Allow me to escort you to my quarters. There, we will discuss what to do with you, and your…companion.”
He offered her his arm, and she had no choice but to take it. She threw a look over her shoulder, catching one last glance at Charlie before he disappeared below deck.
When the two entered Lord Sutherland’s quarters, the man closed the door behind them and then turned to look at the young woman before him. She was quite beautiful, with striking features, and yet here she was, with a well-known pirate. Her affiliation with Colt could cost her her life. And yet Miss Brooke Cunningham was worth more to him alive.
“I will return you to your father at Port Royal,” he began slowly. He saw her eyes brighten.
“My father?” she asked hopefully. “Is he okay?”
Sutherland nodded. “Yes, he is fine,” he said. “He was substantially worried about you, Brooke. May I call you Brooke? But his health is impeccable. They are rebuilding Port Royal as we speak. Are you all right, Brooke? Has Mister Colt harmed you in any manner?”
Brooke’s brows pushed down at the mere thought of such an idea, and she diligently shook her head.
“Absolutely not,” she told him curtly. Her eyes narrowed at him, looking at him suspiciously. “Captain Colt has been nothing but kind to me. He rescued me from the attack on Port Royal.”
This caused Sutherland to raise his brow. “Did Colt know of the attack prior?” he asked.
“I do not know,” she replied.
“You must know, then, Brooke, that Charlie Colt is a wanted fugitive, and any association with him is punishable by death,” he said. “Now that we have him, he will be put to death as well.”
This caused Brooke’s eyes to widen again that day.
“I see the concern you have for him, and I admire you for it,” Sutherland said soothingly. “If only I had the capacity to care for someone who has no respect for the law.”
“Charlie Colt is a good man,” Brooke said tightly.
“Charlie Colt is a dead man if you do not agree to the terms I am about to set forth on you,” Sutherland snapped, his eyes flashing. He saw Brooke’s look of surprise and smiled. “Please, forgive me, I lack patience.”
“What are the required terms I must consent to?” she asked him angrily.
“I want your hand in marriage,” Sutherland said. “I want you to marry me on your twenty-first birthday. If you agree to be my wife, I let Colt keep everything he was found with, give him a boat, and send him on his merry way.”
Brooke could feel her heart quicken and her eyes glimmer with tears. She had to sign away her freedom for Charlie’s. It was August now, her twenty-first birthday was in November. She would have about three months to wait for her fate. No matter the reason or the logic, Brooke knew what she was to do as soon as Sutherland proposed the idea.
“I agree,” Brooke said through her gritted teeth. “I only ask that I get to tell Charlie myself.”
Sutherland smiled a smile that caused a shiver of dread to slide down her back.
“Of course,” he said. “I will have Curtis lead you to him.”
Brooke nodded, not quite happy with the situation she was currently in. Curtis led her below deck and left when he delivered her to Charlie’s cell. Charlie’s eyes brightened when he saw her, his trademark grin on his face. It slipped slowly, however, when he saw the sadness in her eyes. She couldn’t seem to speak; the words couldn’t form correctly on her lips.
“Charlie,” she managed to get out.
Charlie wrapped his arms around her through the bars, pulling her as close to him as he possibly could. He kissed the top of her head, smelling her hair. She didn’t seem hurt, but something was most definitely bothering her.
“What’s wrong, love?” he asked her, his lips vibrating on top of her head.
“He’s…” She shut her mouth and clenched her teeth, forcing herself to speak, forcing herself not to cry. “He’s letting you go.”
“That’s nothing to be sad about, love!” Charlie exclaimed with a smile. “That’s great!”
“He’s going to give you a boat,” Brooke continued, as though she did not even hear him. “In return, I am to give him my hand in marriage on my twenty-first birthday.”
Charlie pulled her closer to him and shook his head. “No, no, no, love,” he said, his eyes pooling with sadness. “I cannot let you sacrifice your freedom for mine.”
“It is done, Charlie,” she told him quietly, a tear cascading down her cheek. “Please do not let this be in vain.”
“I’ll save you from this,” he told her, his hands cupping her cheeks and forcing her to look him in the eye. “I give you my word, Brooke, I will save you. When is your birthday?”
“Please, do not do this,” she pleaded. “You are making it harder than it already is.”
“When is your birthday?” Charlie asked more forcefully.
“November thirtieth,” she told him quietly.
“I will save you, Brooke,” he told her seriously. “I promise you I will.”
Charlie was gone in fifteen minutes. Sutherland made good on his word, giving Charlie a boat and letting him leave with his pistol, his cutlass, his tri-corn, and the clothes on his back. The boat lowered into the water, and with one last look at Brooke, he disappeared over the railing of the ship.
Sutherland put his arm around Brooke, causing her insides to curl in a tight ball.
“Let us get you home,” Sutherland said after a moment.
8
It took roughly four days for Lord Sutherland to return Brooke to Port Royal. The city was in shambles, and as he said, people were already trying to repair it. Lord Sutherland personally escorted the young woman to her home, which had already been fixed up. He spoke to her father in private, most likely about the deal he had made with her. While they were in her father’s drawing room, Liz led Brooke upstairs to take a bath.
Once Brooke was in the warm water, she washed with soap as Liz washed Brooke’s hair. Liz started speaking to her about the latest gossip, but Brooke was not paying attention. Her eyes were filled with sadness, and her heart ached. She desperately missed Charlie and hoped that he was all right. While a small part of her hoped that he would come through on his promise he made to her, his safety was the most crucial aspect of the deal in the first place. As long as he was safe, she would marry Lord Sutherland. She just wished she could see the pirate captain again, one last time….
“’ave you been listenin’ to a word I’ve been saying?” Liz asked her, glancing over Brooke’s shoulder to look at her.
“What?” Brooke asked, looking at Liz tiredly. “Oh, I am sorry, Liz. I just have a lot on my mind.”
“No doubt ye would,” she said, nodding as she continued to wash her mistress’s hair. “A pirate kidnappin’ is something one can’t usually get over soon, hmm? Even with a rescue provided by the handsome Lord Suther
land.”
“Captain Colt did not kidnap me,” Brooke told her flatly. She had to repeat herself ever since she returned home; first to Lord Sutherland, then to her father, and then to Fiona and Joel. Did no one believe her? Was it so hard to believe a pirate was a good man?
“You don’t know what you’re sayin’, mum,” Liz said. She stood, wiping her hands on the front of her dress.
“I know exactly what I’m saying!” Brooke exclaimed, spinning around in the tub so she glared at Liz. The water sloshed around her erratically. “Leave, Liz. Just go away! I know what I am saying. You were not there! Leave, Liz! Go! I can finish by myself. Now!”
Liz did not need to be told again. She spun around and left her mistress alone in the bathing room.
“I’m goin’ to burn the clothes, mum,” she said right before she left.
Brooke watched her maid retreat, and then sank deeper into the bath so that her chin was dipped slightly in the warm water. Liz was going to burn her clothes—his clothes. After her bath, she would make sure she looked for his trench coat, hoping it had not been destroyed in the wreckage. She was alone; she was finally alone. It was then that she allowed herself to cry.
Charlie sailed the sorry excuse for a boat to the only place he knew he was welcomed, despite certain circumstances: Torro. The girl had given herself up for him. Didn’t she know how important freedom was? Was she that selfless, or just plain naïve, as most girls her age were? Charlie shook his head. He needed a drink. Many of them, to clear his head. He had never been in a position like he was currently placed in, and he didn’t know how to handle himself. Should he immediately go rescue her? Or should he wait before acting? As his booted feet landed upon the small island, he decided that Brooke was too important to improvise escape routes, and he needed lots and lots of time (and lots and lots of drinks) for him to come up with a definite plan.
Walking into a local pub by the name of Skull and Crossbones, he grinned with anticipation of this new adventure. He would be saving a damsel in distress, which he was indebted to her for the many times she had saved him. The bar still smelled like rum and had hints of salt in the scent from the adjacent sea. Whores leeched onto the drunken seamen and pirates, hoping for a quick night of pleasure so they could go home and put food on the table for their families. It was sad that this was what some families were used to, and Charlie felt that when he conquered one of them (or two, or three, depending on how generous he felt at a particular time), he was helping out families in desperate need of money to escape the poverty they were destined to fall under. Some of the girls he recognized, some he did not. But pleasure was not on his mind now. No, no. Rescue was.
He sat down in his usual secluded table, propping his feet up and tilting his hat over his face just right so that people could not see his eyes, but he could see the people surrounding him perfectly. A woman, maybe five, six years older than Brooke approached him. She was a new bar wench, he realized, and removed his feet so that he could get a good look at her. Long, raven-colored hair fell down her back, her eyes were the color of tree bark, and her skin was a natural light brown. She was tall and slender and carried herself with confidence and grace. She was quite opposite from Brooke, but then again, this young woman had a few years on the young girl.
“What can I get for ye?” she asked. Her voice was rough, but it somehow fit her.
“Rum, please,” Charlie replied, extending a finger. “’Tis my usual, love.”
“Ye come in often?” the woman replied, almost challengingly, jutting out her hip and placing a hand upon it. “I have worked here fer the last couple o’ weeks and I haven’t seen ye here before.”
“Ah, but that’s because I have only just returned from my journey to Europe,” he replied with a voice that hoped to fascinate her. She cocked an eyebrow in slight disbelief and slight desire for him to continue. “Well, well, now’s not a time for chitchat. You have customers to attend to and a drink to get.” He grinned charmingly at her, and noticed her hard eyes soften. “And your name is?”
“Grace,” she said, doing her best to suppress a grin. “And you be?”
“Colt,” he said. “Captain Charlie Colt.”
He did not take her to a room that night. As he walked upstairs, his hand reached into his pocket and brushed the map as well as the necklace he stole from Brooke a couple of weeks before. He got incredibly drunk and passed out, Brooke’s face haunting his dreams.
Charlie took another gulp of his rum as yet another whore took a seat with him. How many were at his table now? Five? He couldn’t quite count; he was much too drunk. He had drunk more in the three months since that fateful day than all his years of being forced into piracy. Grace and he had become fast friends, and on the occasion, the two would sleep together. But Grace knew Charlie was not a one-woman man, so any feelings she might have had for him she buried inside of her.
Charlie felt he could tell Grace a lot about himself without having to worry about his reputation. She was smart for a bar wench and had a much bigger boat than he did. On occasion, he would borrow it to go to South America, but he always returned. Thoughts of Heath weighed heavily on his mind; he still blamed himself for Heath’s untimely passing. Along with his best friend came memories of the young girl he had rescued from Port Royal. He was still set to rescue her before her marriage, and wondered if she had given up on him. He wished there was some way to reassure her that he was still thinking about her and that he was still intent on coming to her.
He frowned, taking another gulp of his rum. He noticed he drank even more than normal when he thought of Brooke, and it was nights like these, when the weather was cold yet the stars were bright that he tended to let his mind wander. And whenever he allowed this, it always wandered to her. He sighed, studying the women before him. Some were old, some were young. Some were ugly, some were beautiful. Some were mothers, some were daughters. His reputation as a ladies’ man grew incredibly after returning, after being set free. It wasn’t because he had forgotten about Brooke. In fact, he slept with other women to forget her, to erase her face that would remain etched in his mind forever. To distract his senses because he did not like dealing with pain, with heartbreak. However, he was not quite sure if this feeling of sadness really was constituted as heartbreak. He did not love the girl but he cared for her blindly.
Dammit, Charlie, he thought, finishing the last of his rum. It was nights like these that he needed to see her face, to hear her voice, to touch her skin. But she wasn’t there, and she wouldn’t be until he perfected his plan. So he replaced her memory for a few hours; physical pain or pleasure took his mind off her. Except when he climaxed after a session of physical activity. When he climaxed, a vision of her smiling replaced that of the woman he was with, and that was what left him completely satisfied. That was why he left, always calling out a goodbye, why he tried to never fuck the same girl twice. He wanted to forget Brooke’s memory, but no matter what he did, he couldn’t.
He was stuck.
Grace did not know about Brooke. No one knew about his escapade with the rice farmer’s daughter; they just knew some pirate had kidnapped her and Lord Sutherland had rescued her. While he hated the way he and Lord Sutherland were portrayed, he liked his anonymity. He wanted to keep it that way until he had Brooke with him once again.
One cold October night, Charlie and Grace had just finished with each other and they were lying in Grace’s bed, breathing heavily and listening to the wind howl. Grace’s brow furrowed in thought. It seemed to her that recently Charlie was having sex out of some inner desperation, and not for pleasure or fun like he normally did. He always finished, but instead of holding her and murmuring sweet nothings, he rolled to the other side of the bed, cold and reserved. The young woman knew Charlie did not feel what she felt for him, but it wasn’t until now that she wondered why.
“Charlie?” Grace called quietly.
Charlie didn’t respond.
“Is something wrong with me?” she ask
ed.
Charlie knitted his brow together. Why did women ask questions after sex? Why did they feel less secure about themselves afterward? Obviously, he was satisfied…why talk about it? Why talk? There was no connection; he didn’t owe anything to her. Why did she need this reassurance from him?
“No, you were fine,” he mumbled, closing his eyes. He never talked after sex. Never. It was kind of a spiritual thing. He let his mind wander after sex, and it ended up in all the wrong places. Talking only frustrated him more.
“That’s not what I meant….” she said, letting her voice trail off dejectedly.
“Why are you doing this?” Charlie asked, suddenly angry. “You know this doesn’t happen. Us is not going to happen. That’s not how I am, and you know this. You can’t change this.” He glanced out the window in hopes for some way to deal with this problem, yet another one he had to solve. “We are strictly friends, Grace—”
“Who sleep with each other from time to time,” Grace interjected. “Do not take me for a common whore.”
Charlie always knew how to piss her off; he knew exactly the right buttons to press and knew exactly what to say. She was not skilled in controlling her temper, so she got upset quickly and the two would usually quarrel so loud not even thunder could compare. But they always seemed to make up, and that was part of their hate-love relationship.
“It is not my fault you harbor feelings for me,” Charlie said, getting out of bed and beginning to dress. “Not my fault whatsoever.” He looked at her with unshielded eyes, for the first time in their friendship. “I wish you understood this Grace, but you can’t and you won’t. No one will.” Again, glancing out the window, he let a very soft “except” fall from his lips, hoping the wind would smother it.
To Marry A Marauder Page 11
