Mary nodded, shaking and sputtering.
Then something dawned in Beth’s eyes, and she took a step back. “Grandson of the missus, are we?” she said slowly, and in her tone Mary heard the beginnings of the shocking, gossipy tale Beth would put forth to everyone around the servant’s table that night.
Mary turned and ran.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
ISLA DE COTORRAS—1719
MARY LAY ON HER BACK IN HER TENT, HOT WITH ANGER—AND SHAME, too, because Anne was right. Mary didn’t know what it was like to live as a girl, to have your safety and freedom tied to a man and his whims. But Anne didn’t know what life had been like for Mary, either! Still, her stomach lurched at the thought that she might lose her only friend.
Mary flung the sailcloth aside and stalked toward Anne and Jack’s tent, a dark shadow by the tree line. By the time she stood beside it she was trembling.
“Who’s there?” Inside the tent, Anne sounded scared.
“It’s okay,” Mary said gruffly, squatting. “It’s me.”
“Mary,” said Anne, with relief in her voice. “I’m so glad it’s you. I—well, I might have been a bit hard on you, even if you were being an arse.”
“It’s all right,” Mary whispered, relieved, reaching toward Anne until her fingers brushed the canvas of the tent.
“I just thought—I felt that finally, here’s someone who understands me. And then to hear you dismiss me like everyone else.”
“You’re right, I don’t know what it’s been like for you,” Mary said softly. “But every little bit you tell me about how you see the world—I want to know more. I want to understand.”
Anne was quiet for a moment. “You are so sweet,” she said ruefully. “Not sure why I took a fancy to you. Sweet isn’t exactly me type.” Her laugh was sad. “Too bad you’re not a boy.”
Aching suffused Anne’s words, and Mary was filled with a familiar longing. If only she were a boy, if only wishing hard enough would make it so—but she wasn’t. She was just confused, messed up, not girl and not boy. Nothing about her made sense—especially the yearning that had been growing stronger since Anne kissed her.
Anne lifted the sailcloth and peered out from beneath it. Her eyes were dark shadows. “You might as well come in,” she whispered. “Before someone sees you sitting outside me tent and starts to wonder.”
Mary sank to her knees, crawled inside, and sat facing Anne in the dark.
“I know you want to get to Nassau,” Anne said. Her skirts brushed Mary’s knees as she shifted. “So you can see your sweetheart again. I know how much you must want that.”
Nat. “Yes. But I also—I don’t want you to think I don’t care about what happens to you.”
Anne fumbled for Mary’s hand and squeezed it. “We’ll get you to Nassau, one way or another.”
They were both silent, fingers entwined. Mary was afraid to move.
“I’ve been thinking about what we was talking about before I got so angry,” Anne said, her voice a little unsteady.
“What’s that?” Mary asked hoarsely.
“About what you’re going to do once you find your Nat, and how you’ve never kissed a boy before.” Anne cleared her throat. “I think you’ve got to put a bit of thought into how you’re going to show him how you feel.”
Mary knew what Anne showing someone her feelings was like, but couldn’t picture herself being that forward. “I was thinking I’d just tell him,” she mumbled.
“Well I think—a girl in your position, looking so, well, so much like a boy, I suppose—”
“All right, now. Let’s talk about this some other time.” It made her instantly cross, how Anne summed up all her awkwardness so carelessly.
“Remember how I kissed you?” Anne pressed, her voice sounding surer.
Mary had been trying to forget it—every heated, confusing moment. She shook her fingers from Anne’s grip.
“I think you ought to show Nat like that, next time you see him.” Mary sensed Anne leaning forward. “But you have to do better than how you kissed me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mary felt a dart of irritation. “You didn’t seem to mind it.”
“It was lovely,” Anne said. “But the way you went about it, I didn’t think you was a girl for one moment.”
Mary tried to remember the way she’d kissed Anne. She hadn’t been thinking. She’d just reacted—a visceral, instinctive response. Mary leaned forward on her knees, until she could feel Anne’s breath, so close, against her lips. “I don’t know how to kiss like a girl, any more than I know how to look like one.”
Anne was unreadable, a dim silhouette against the moonlit sailcloth behind her, but Mary thought she saw her smile. “Why don’t you try it, and I’ll tell you what I think.”
Mary tried to stifle her breath so it didn’t sound so loud. How in the hell did someone kiss like a girl?
Anne tugged her in confidently. “Pretend I’m Nat,” Anne said. “You be the girl, now.”
Mary’s hand clunked against Anne’s side as she tried in vain to touch her softly. The more she thought about softness, the stiffer she became. She leaned in anyway, pressing her mouth gently against Anne’s.
Anne giggled breathlessly when Mary pulled away. “Here now, you’re thinking too much.”
“I can’t—”
“Maybe you’re right, and you’re incapable of it,” Anne teased.
“Maybe I just need a proper demonstration.” Mary pushed Anne back and leaned over her, the heels of her hands grinding into the sand on either side of Anne’s shoulders. Her heart was racing. “Show me again how you do it, since you’re such a master.”
“All right,” Anne said. It sounded like she was trying to catch her breath. Her hands came up to Mary’s hips, rested there like butterflies, then tugged her gently down. “Come here, then.”
Mary slid down until she rested against Anne, and Anne’s hands slipped up to her hair, and Mary leaned in and kissed her, hard. Anne pressed up against her and Mary’s mind went blank, forgot that she was supposed to be—that this was pretend. Their bodies softened like wax against each other’s heat, melting into each other.
“I was wrong,” Anne murmured against her lips. “Forget everything I told you. You kiss him just like that, he’ll fall for you.”
The sudden quiet between them was deafening as they stared at each other in the dark, mouths close, Anne’s hands still softly pulling Mary into her.
It’s you I want to fall for me.
It echoed again and again in her mind. She wanted this girl. What was wrong with her? She was mad to want this—but she couldn’t pull away, not while they were hidden from the world, Anne’s hands twitching against her skin as if she wanted to pull her closer still.
Mary leaned down gently and kissed Anne again, and Anne arched up against her. Mary kissed her lips, her eyelids, her smooth forehead and cheek and throat. She grazed the neckline of Anne’s dress, longing for the skin beneath it. She only had to shift a bit to gather the shoulder of the dress and tug gently, exposing just a sliver more of Anne’s skin to her lips. Then another.
“Mmm,” Anne sighed, fingers tightening on Mary’s waist. “Just—like that—”
There was nothing Mary needed outside of Anne’s breath catching and turning to soft, liquid sound. She would do anything to make this last forever. She would do anything Anne wanted, storm bloody Nassau if she had to, Nat be damned.
Suddenly a roar cut through the night noises outside, and the sailcloth above them ripped away with a shout. Anne shrieked and flung herself forward, balling herself up beneath Mary.
When Mary turned, a pistol pointed at her face, Jack behind it, snarling like a devil. “What the bloody hell is going on?”
CHAPTER TWENTY
ISLA DE COTORRAS—1719
ANNE WAS UP IN A FLASH, SCREAMING IN JACK’S FACE. “WHAT IN GOD’S name makes you think you’ve got the right to ask me that, Jack? What?”
She shoved the pistol away from Mary’s face, but then came the crack of Jack’s palm against Anne’s cheek. She screamed again, turning away and cradling her face. Jack closed in above Mary, pistol retrained. “You’re a dead man, Mark.”
Mary could feel every grain of sand, rough against her palms, and the breeze off the ocean whipping away the little warmth lingering where Anne’s body had pressed into hers. She could smell the tang of smoke off the bonfires along the water’s edge. The Ranger had to be standing beside the Kingston—there, she could see its lights glowing over the ocean. The pirates must have come in only minutes before, dropping anchor and rowing to shore. She should have noticed them arriving as she’d walked to Anne’s tent, heard them hail the men on the beach to let them know that their crew had returned. If only she hadn’t been so distracted. She tried to remember, but all she could hear was Anne’s voice, whispering against her neck—You kiss him just like that, he’ll fall for you—
“D’you hear me, boy?” The metal barrel made a cold imprint on her forehead, snapping her sharply back to the moment, and she jerked away. “You might have been the boy who shot the captain,” Jack growled, “but you’re about to be the boy the captain shot—and there’s none here who’ll blame me.”
Suddenly the cold pressure on her forehead disappeared, and she flinched as red skirts sprayed sand in her eyes. “You think you can leave me without a word, and come back thinking you have some right to me?” Anne was sobbing, pounding on Jack’s chest so that he took a step back. “You knew how much it would hurt me!”
Jack refocused on Anne, and Mary took a gasping breath and scrambled backward. Jack grabbed Anne’s wrists and shook her. “I didn’t leave you! I had to go without you, the way you was going on about Nassau, how dead against Hispaniola you were!” He pulled her toward him and whispered fiercely, “You know I had to do it. And you knew I’d be back for you! This—what you’ve done—”
Behind them a smoldering bonfire on the beach flared to life, the flames splintering, then coming closer—Mary saw they were brands held aloft by a few men as they ran up the beach to see what the shouting was about. The flickering light caught the glisten of tear tracks across Jack’s cheeks, the queer twist of his mouth. “What the devil have you done, Anne?” he asked. Men slowed their approach, lowering their flames uncertainly.
Somehow the tears in Jack’s eyes filled Mary with more dread than a pistol to her forehead. Mary slowly stood and began inching toward the tree line, as if the jungle might save her.
“What did you expect?” Anne hissed, struggling weakly against his grip. “What did you think would happen, when you act as if I’m nothing to you?”
Jack pushed Anne’s hands away. “You made a fool and a cuckold out of me, in front of my crew.” His voice was rising. Mary struggled to her feet.
Anne didn’t even look in Mary’s direction, just bowed her head and leaned against Jack’s shoulder. “What did you expect, when you knew how much you’d hurt me?” she repeated softly, but a pleading note had entered her voice.
Mary’s eyes met Paddy’s, his face illuminated starkly against the darkness, familiar and strange all at once in the orange light. His mouth opened as he took in Mary’s cowering form, Anne’s fury, Jack’s tears. Mary grinned at him nervously, baring all her teeth like a cornered cat. He’d be sad, but he’d still believe she brought death on herself.
Jack’s mouth curled up, his voice cracking. “I should shoot you as well, and be done with it.” He stepped away and held the pistol up again, this time pointed at Anne’s breast.
An arm caught Mary, stopping her from stepping between Jack and Anne. When she looked up Bill stood above her, an iron grip on her shoulder.
“You don’t mean it, Jack,” Anne whispered, the pitch of her voice rising as she backed away. “You love me.”
Everyone stared with wide eyes.
Jack’s eyes closed. “Of course I love you, Annie.” The pistol was shaking—or perhaps that was a trick of the uneven light. “But all you do is prove, over and over, that you’re unbiddable. You do as you like, and damn the rest of us.” He cocked the pistol’s hammer.
Mary’s eyes flicked between them, a sour taste rising her in her throat. But she made her voice strong and confident as she spoke. “What if I said that you was mistaken?”
“There’s naught you could say that would convince me that she don’t deserve this,” Jack said, but his tone was unconvincing. Almost as if he was begging her to prove him wrong. “That you both don’t deserve this,” he added sharply.
“What if I told you it wasn’t young Mark she was in that tent with?”
Anne’s mouth opened—and then realization sparked in her eyes and filled her whole face with hope. “Aye, that’s right!”
“You know you can’t let them get away with this,” Bill said, releasing Mary and stepping forward. Murmurs rose up from the men surrounding them, all in agreement. “In front of all your men? You know it would mean your crew’s loyalty. It would certainly mean mine.”
Mary looked at Anne, the flames surrounding her licking closer. She remembered how Anne had squealed when she’d found out what she was, her delight at hearing how Mary had dodged her own fires.
“Jack,” Mary said loudly. Jack turned to her and Bill folded his arms. Mary lifted her chin. When the men shifted their brands toward her she imagined it was lights coming up on her like at the theater: Mary Reade making her debut.
“What I say is true.”
The men began to laugh.
“Tell them,” Anne said. She was standing strong again, though Jack still held the pistol to her heart. Mary searched her face for some sign that might mean—she didn’t know what. All she saw was Anne’s manic intensity, her chest inflated with the breath she held.
“My name,” she said, “is Mary Reade.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
WAPPING, LONDON—1717
MARY BUZZED AROUND THE TENEMENT ROOM LIKE A FLY TRAPPED IN A bottle, throwing herself down on the pallet, then bouncing up to the chair, then bolting to her feet and pacing. Beth would tell Granny—she probably already had. Would Granny call the constable and send him after Mary? It wouldn’t be too hard for him to find her—Granny knew she’d be in Wapping, and the constable wouldn’t have to ask around long before being pointed to the right kip. Maybe there was a chance that Granny wouldn’t come after her, but she couldn’t bet on that, and then there was Mum, Lord knows where she was right now but she’d be back soon, and when Mary told her what had happened—she couldn’t tell her what had happened. Mary flung herself onto the pallet and pressed her fists into her eyes. She’d ruined the one thing that made her worth anything in Mum’s eyes—and whether it had been God’s plan for her to masquerade as Mark or not, Mary was just a girl who had lied her whole life. She couldn’t go back to living with Mum in this filthy room as the nothing she would be to her now, she couldn’t.
A thump from the landing pulled her from her thoughts in a panic. But it was Nat’s door across the hall slamming open and something heavy crashing down, followed by a smattering of footsteps and a curse—“Christ almighty!”
Nat’s voice.
Whether she ended up in gaol or fleeing the city, the thought of never seeing his face again was suddenly unbearable. Mary jumped from the pallet and crept to his door.
Nat crouched over a lockbox on top of the table, fumbling with a key. A floorboard creaked under Mary’s foot and his head snapped up, the key clattering to the floor.
His face was a mess. “Would you look at this?” He sounded oddly triumphant as he gestured to his eye. “When I got home last night he was back.” His left eye was swollen shut, his cheek puffed out, crusted and purple. His other eye had a mad look in it, his breath coming short and fast. He bent and picked up the key. “Me da’s back, been laid off from his ship same as everyone, and it’s no use I got a job now. He’ll do nothing but drink me money away, as he’s got none of his own.” His hands jumped about, key ratt
ling against the lock as the metal touched. “But no matter. This is the last of it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? You finally going to make good on your threat and finish him off?” She wouldn’t put it past him, in this state. Nat didn’t seem himself at all.
“I’d kill him soon as look at him again.” His gaze landed on her and he stilled. “What are you doing home, mate?” he asked. He dropped the key, grabbed her arms and gave her a shake. “You finished with that bloody boring life you have with Granny? You ready for an adventure?”
“Bloody hell,” she said, her voice catching a little. “I think I am.”
He was leaving. They could leave together.
“That’s brilliant, mate—listen to this!” Nat began pacing back and forth. “I was up early for me shift at the yard, and the cove I work for there, Johnny Thresham, told me about the reward the king’s just posted for pirates—twenty pounds for regular pirates, up to one hundred for the ringleaders! There’s a fortune to be made hunting down men like me da that take what’s not theirs!”
He was leaving to go hunting pirates? “Aye. That’s a fortune sure enough, but—”
“The West Indies, mate! There’s money, endless sunshine, and plenty of land to be had. Johnny’s got a plan to chase down pirates, a ship, and a scheme to get the shine to back it! We’ve got to be on that boat tonight if we’re to leave in the morning—we’re sailing straight for Flanders first thing. There’s a rich man there he’s worked for that owes him a favor, and hates pirates besides—Johnny’s sure he’ll want to buy shares in the venture. How’s that for you?”
Mary sank down on a chair. “Chasing pirates, then.” It wasn’t what she dreamed of, when she imagined the New World. She’d been more inclined to envy the pirates than the men hunting them. For all their treasure. For starting a new life, out of reach of London law …
And then—she couldn’t possibly survive a journey on a ship full of men. Where would she relieve herself? Where would she sleep? Could she really fight pirates, if she had to? And there’d be nowhere to run, should she be discovered.
The Unbinding of Mary Reade Page 9