But I hope you might harbor enough affection for an old man to listen to my plans. Bag ten is enough gold to purchase a plot of land and set up house. Bag eleven will cover a boat and any supplies you might need, as well as keep you traveling comfortably. I know your feet will not hold still.
She continued to read through the list, amazed at how carefully and thoroughly he had laid everything out. As bittersweet as it was to read his last words for her, there was still that warmth of love. Only as she moved toward the end of the letter did she frown.
Bag eighteen will pay for a proper wedding to put tears in your mother’s eyes, and a bit left over to go toward the children. Bags nineteen and twenty are for Liam, should he have helped you find all of this. Give him my thanks.
Liam had inched closer to her, though he wasn’t quite touching her. “He certainly thought of everything, aye?”
“He did. He always did.” She paused to wipe away her tears, then read the rest of the letter silently. It was wishes that she and her mother would stay in good health, declarations of his love and the promise their family would be reunited in Heaven. Just what she’d expect, but no less meaningful for being expected.
Brigid carefully folded the letter again, then tucked it into the inner pocket of her own coat to save it. Her mother needed to see it as well and she thought it worthy of saving as a precious token of love. Once she had taken a deep breath and mustered control of her emotions again, she found the two bags her father had singled out for Liam, then added the eighteenth bag as well.
He wanted it for her wedding and children, but she knew she’d have neither. She wasn’t a decent woman any longer, not after all of the things she had done with Liam. There were always men who were willing to take a compromised wife, but they were either desperate and incapable of getting a proper woman or else were too enamored of their brides to care. She couldn’t fathom anyone feeling that way about her. She couldn’t fathom wanting anyone but Liam either.
If what Liam had told her was true, she could never risk having children, besides. There was a chance they wouldn’t be human and could die without proper care. Even if they lived, how could she explain such a risk to her husband? Better to never marry than to face such terrible possibilities.
“It’s not quite twenty-five percent, but give me a moment to figure out what else I can spare,” she said.
To her surprise, Liam firmly pushed the third bag back into her hands. “No, luv. He just intended these two for me. They’re all I need. You keep what he put aside for you.”
She nodded, sniffling, and found herself unable to say anything in response. Liam drew a handkerchief from his breast pocket and offered it to her, then rose to his feet. “I’ll just…I’ll give you a moment here,” he said before walking off some distance.
She watched him go, feeling miserable, then turned her attention back to the chest. It was more wealth than she could imagine needing. The home and land her father had already provided would have been enough. Part of her had felt as if finding his treasure would make everything right again, but it only made it worse. She looked upon those coins and simply saw her father’s blood. He had died trying to support his family beyond what they needed. He could have retired from the sea years before and they all would have lived comfortably for decades.
Brigid leaned forward to drape herself over the bags of gold and silver, closing her eyes as tears flowed freely. It took several minutes for her to cry herself out. She pressed a fist to her mouth to try to muffle her sobs. Liam had walked away, but aside from the sound of the sea there was nothing to drown out her cries and she hated to be heard.
When her tears finally stopped and she could breathe steady without sobbing, she dabbed at her face with Liam’s handkerchief, then stood up. “We should go.”
Liam was at her side again instantly. They stuffed the bags of coins they had taken out back into the chest, then closed it up. Each of them carried a shovel and one side of the chest. It was harder to get back to the boat than it had been to find the treasure, as they still had to skirt her father’s traps and now had the extra weight to carry.
Aside from giving Liam directions to avoid rocks and reefs, she remained silent until their boat had escaped from the ring of death surrounding the island. There was too much on her mind.
A small flicker of hope had began to grow within her in the midst of the devastation. She turned to look at Liam from where she manned the sails. “What do you plan to do when we get to New Providence?”
His brow wrinkled with thought, a faint frown marring his lips. “I’m not sure. I never really thought much beyond getting here.”
“You should stay at the inn with me tonight. I know we don’t have to travel together any longer, but…it would be nice.”
That frown vanished instantly into a broad grin. “Aye, it would. I’d like that.”
She breathed easier, smiling as well. “It might be dangerous to travel home with this chest. I don’t know that I should do it alone.”
“These New Providence lasses are an independent sort. I’m sure you could find another woman to travel with you. Hire her as a maid or something.”
His casual answer stung. Brigid stared at him for a moment, then turned away to look out toward the sea and avoid his eyes. Why wouldn’t he want to sail back to Jamaica with her? True, it could take some time, depending on the winds, but he’d left his ship. He had nothing to hurry back to, did he?
“You aren’t married, are you?” she asked, stealing a glance at him over her shoulder.
Liam had been watching the horizon, but at her question he gave a small jerk and then gave her a baffled look. “No. What kind of question is that?”
She looked away again and bit her lip. “What is it you have to get back to after this?”
“Nothing.”
There was silence between them for a long moment as she digested his answer. He had no plans or apparent desire to stay with her, but nothing was taking him away either. No promises for the future had ever been made, but she thought some form of affection had grown between them. He had been relieved when he found her safe on the Gato del Diablo. He had been kind to her. What hardship would it be for him to spend a few days or weeks more with her?
She wasn’t his kind, she realized with a start. He had thought she was ratkin before, but now he knew the truth. Just like with her father, she was a disappointment. Something broken. Of course he’d only want one of his own kind. He had told her of how her father’s choice to marry a non-shifter had caused such grief and loss.
There was nothing desirable about her. She was simply a big, ordinary woman. She couldn’t ask him to waste his time on someone as defective as her.
***
LIAM found Brigid subdued the entire way back to New Providence and then through the meal they shared as well. It had been a long and exhausting day, though. Particularly for her. He wondered if she had ever let herself truly mourn her father before. She had run off to join the crew of the Black Pride as soon as she had received word of his death, after all.
As soon as they were alone in their room, what he had taken for exhaustion vanished. He found her more desperate for his touch than she had ever been before. They made love immediately and while he was still catching his breath, she pressed herself to him and begged for more. To his shock, he found himself rising to the occasion quickly.
It took hours before she finally had her fill of him and fell asleep. He expected to collapse from fatigue himself, but rest would not come. Instead, he lay there beside her as his mind refused to settle down for the night.
Finally, Liam rolled onto his side and supported his body on one elbow to look down at her. The back of one hand brushed against her cheek gently.
He had expected Donny’s treasure to be substantial, but it had still gone far beyond his estimates. Brigid was going to be a wealthy woman when she returned home. She deserved it, he thought with fierce conviction. When he had thought her just another lad, he ha
d admired how hard Brigid worked. Knowing that the entire time she was suffering from her father’s death and trying to hide her real identity gave him a new respect for her strength. Many women would have gone with him on their journey and expected him to do all of the work, but she had never for a moment done that. She had been a partner and an equal through and through. Perhaps she hadn’t worked for decades as her father had done, but she did more to earn her inheritance than could fairly be asked of anyone. The thought of what could have happened to her aboard the Gato del Diablo sent a shudder down his spine.
Yet beyond her strength and drive, she also had her gentle side. It was something he wasn’t used to. No one had ever made him feel as cared for as she did and it stirred a tenderness in his heart that he couldn’t name.
Liam ducked to press a kiss to her forehead. That was all why he knew he had to walk away from her. He had held out hope she might ask him to stay with her for a little while longer, but when she didn’t bring it up herself he knew it would be selfish to ask. The new wealth, her beauty, her grace and her genuinely good nature would take her far in life. She could find herself a husband of substance and raise a household full of kits.
The thought of Brigid surrounded by wee ones with heads covered in fluffy red curls brought a smile to his face. Paradoxically, he also felt his heart breaking. She deserved better than some worthless pirate who had no family, no home and nothing to offer her but himself.
A teardrop landed on her pale cheek before he realized his eyes had filled with tears. He brushed it away with his thumb, ashamed. She deserved better.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
FOUND
June 1, 1692
Port Royal, Jamaica
PALISADOES was a sand spit that extended from the mainland of Jamaica, arcing across the natural harbor there to connect with Port Royal, which would have otherwise been an island at the mouth of the harbor. It formed a barrier that protected the seaport, though the southern side of Palisadoes was itself exposed to whatever the sea thought to toss at it. The sand that formed it had no steady bedrock on which to rest, but the people who had built their notorious port city upon it had no idea how precarious their foundations were.
As Brigid looked over the fabric for sale in the marketplace, she felt a shiver of something that went beyond words. She raised her head to glance around, but couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary.
“Oh, Brigid. Did you see this brocade?”
The sound of her mother’s voice brought her attention back and she stepped closer to admire the brocade fabric shot through with gold thread. The fingers of her free hand traced over it to feel the weave of the silk before she grasped it and examined it closer. It looked to be high quality, which likely meant that it was plunder. Such fine materials weren’t unknown in the Caribbean, but it was uncommon for them to be imported for sale in the marketplace instead of directly to a dressmaker or some rich man’s wife.
Brigid raised her eyes to look at the merchant woman. “How much for the entire bolt?”
The woman told her. It was pricey, but she couldn’t pass it up. Her hand that was taken moved closer to her mother, to offer up the chubby child’s hand she held. “Mam, could you take Donny?”
“Of course, dear.”
Ann O’Cullane grasped the hand of her grandson, who currently looked painfully bored. Brigid spared the little boy a smile, then turned her attention back to paying for the bolt.
In the nearly four years since her father had died, she had worked hard to rebuild her life. The hair that she had chopped off to disguise herself as a boy had since grown back, though it was currently pinned up. She wore no lad’s clothing now, instead swathed in a gown of rich plum that reflected recent fashions that had made their way to the colonies. The overskirt parted at the front to reveal a black underskirt, which matched the highly decorated stomacher that her bodice opened at the breast to expose. A thin line of white lace from her chemise beneath the corset was also visible, creating a contrasting effect between the layers of white, black and deep purple. The lower necklines that had come into fashion had been designed with women of far more modest bust than Brigid. What was a pretty effect on a more slender woman earned occasionally uncomfortable stares for Brigid.
It was finer than what she would have worn before, but she could afford it and took great pleasure in her clothing. In contrast, her son was wearing very simple clothing. Most little boys of three would still be in dresses, but—as he was already as tall as most five year olds and terribly rough with his clothing—Brigid preferred sturdy breeches. The lad had taken after the grandfather he was named for in his height. His red curls still had that babyish softness to them that Brigid knew would be lost all too soon. The rest of his coloring was purely from his father, though. Cool blue eyes were looking around the marketplace, drinking the environment in hungrily. They contrasted with skin that was too tan to ever be fashionable, though keeping him out of the sun did little to make him paler.
There was little resemblance between Ann and Donny, but that didn’t seem to bother the lad’s grandmother at all. Ann was shorter than her daughter, with Brigid’s same dark blue eyes. Her honey-blonde hair had begun growing gray in recent years, despite her largely unlined face. There was a strength in her face that complimented her beauty, hinting at the power of will behind it. A few men had attempted to court the widow, but she had no interest in marrying again after losing the love of her life.
Once the bolt was paid for and Brigid had written down the name of the inn it was to be delivered to, she turned to gauge just how anxious Donny was for entertainment.
“If I might say, madam, your husband is a lucky man. This gold will look stunning on you,” the merchant woman said.
Brigid turned back to give her a polite smile, the fingers of her right hand automatically brushing the ring on her left. Despite her smile, the compliment caused her heart to squeeze painfully in her chest. “Thank you.”
“No! Donny, get back here!”
Her mother’s cry drew Brigid’s attention back sharply. The little boy had wriggled free of his grandmother’s hold and gone racing through the marketplace. Alarmed, Brigid reached out to catch her mother by the arm before the older woman could chase after him.
“He’ll shift if he’s being chased. He did the same thing to me last week,” Brigid said in a hush. “And there are so many people here, I worry he’d be hurt or worse.”
Ann’s lips pressed together in a tight line. “It’s not a safe place for a lad to be running around alone.”
“I know.” Brigid raised up on her toes to try to see through the crowd, but even a tall three year old disappeared in the throng. “Why don’t you go after him without giving chase? I’ll stay right here by the cloth in case he comes back on his own.”
Ann nodded grimly, then picked up her skirts to follow at a purposeful pace. Brigid watched after her with a sinking feeling in her stomach. Donny was a smart little boy and appropriately cautious about strangers, but running alone through a notorious port city so close to the docks was a level of danger she couldn’t accept.
Afraid of leaving her post and missing him if he returned, Brigid had little to do but stand in one spot and look around. The combination of his red hair and olive-toned skin at least made him distinctive enough that she’d know at a glance if he was lurking nearby.
The minutes ticked past agonizingly. Just as she began to worry that neither her mother nor her son would return, a fiery headed little blur dashed in from the direction of the docks to bury himself in her skirts.
Brigid crouched down to cup the lad’s chubby cheeked face in her hands, pulling him away from his attempted hiding place. That his first impulse was to cling to her raised her concern. When she spoke, it was in gentle tones. “You shouldn’t run from your gran and me like that. Now what happened, sweetheart?”
His bottom lip was poking out guiltily as he shoved his fists into the pockets in his little coat. He pulled them out again
and through his fingers, she caught a glimpse of gold and silver and gasped in dismay. Misreading her reaction, Donny beamed triumphantly. There was something achingly familiar in his grins, from the earliest hint of a smile when he was just born. It was only his darker moods that reflected his mother’s expressions.
“I got it for you, Mamaí.”
“Oh no, no, no. Och, Donny, someone’s going to come looking for this.” Brigid took one hand to pull the coins from it. “Where did it come from?”
A single coin might have been picked up from the ground. He was always finding those—her darling little treasure hunter—but this went well beyond what could have been lost without notice. Those deft fingers of his had gone burrowing into places they didn’t belong before and she feared they might have done so again.
“Madam, your lad’s got a quick set of fingers on him, but I’d like my coins back.”
The voice came from behind her and she winced as her worst fear was confirmed. The man had the distinctively muddled accent of someone who called no port home and she had to hope Donny had thieved from a forgiving sailor rather than a vengeful pirate.
She began feeling through Donny’s pockets and pulling free everything he had gathered. It might not all belong to the man, but perhaps if she gave it all to him he’d leave them alone. Mentally, she was preparing herself for possibly having to flee if it didn’t satisfy him. She could have Donny shift and run back to the inn and just hope for the best for herself. Yet it would be better if it could be avoided entirely.
“Of course, sir. I am terribly sorry.” She caught up the last of the coins, then got to her feet. “He’d run off from me and—”
Brigid turned to face the man just then and froze in place. Cold blue eyes met hers, widening with surprise. He was broader than he had been the last time she saw him. He had finally let his beard grow in, though he kept his goatee groomed neatly and short. It added age and gravitas to his face, as though he had aged by far more than four years. His clothing wasn’t anything like he had worn before either. The coat he wore was a burgundy justacorps that hung to the knee. The style was common among sailors, but normally made of cheap wool. The brocade silk and the tastefully understated gold braided trim he wore was more typical of a highly ranked man. As was the finely made tricorne hat covering his dark hair.
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