“I need to find the privy,” Gayle announced, rising from the table and quickly disappearing. Desta stomped from the table in an obvious snit, heading in the opposite direction.
“What’s going on with them?” Celia asked, almost without thinking.
“There’s a bit of a story there,” Abernathy replied, squinting his bloodshot eyes and rubbing his nose. “I think the tavern wench wants to be more than just a tumble to our girl. She must have been pining for her, waiting for Original Sin to come back into port.”
“Aye,” echoed Dowd. “Fighting’s not the only thing Gayle learned from her old man, if ya get my meanin’.”
“I don’t think I do,” Celia confessed, crinkling her brow as she tried to solve this riddle.
“The lass is as accomplished at wenchin’ as any bloke on board,” Dowd clarified.
“Better, I think,” Abernathy added, nodding.
“I can’t explain it meself, since she doesn’t have the proper equipment. And I’ll be damned if I know exactly what she does with all these women,” Dowd said, taking a swig of rum. “But I’d pay a sovereign to watch.”
“So she’s quite popular with the ladies?” Celia inquired, trying to work this all out in her head. Somehow she had always pictured women who had relations with other women as mannish and big, probably because that’s how Conchata Covas had been. Everyone in San Augustin had known Conchata had no real interest in men, other than adopting most of their mannerisms. The sudden notion that two very feminine and attractive women had, well, been in congress with each other intrigued her and seemed quite exotic.
“If I got but half the wenches that sidled up to her, I’d die a happy man.” Dowd sighed.
Abernathy leaned toward the table and spoke in hushed tones. “I’ll wager that Desta here thinks you’re our girl’s new bed warmer.”
Dowd laughed. “Aye, you’d better watch that she’s not poisoning your rum.”
Celia contemplated her tankard and frowned. “How will I know the difference?”
When Gayle returned to the table, all of them were still laughing, and she immediately appeared suspicious. “I see you’re all getting along,” she remarked. She stared at the three of them, but none of them commented on what was so entertaining.
At that point, Smitty arrived and sat, pulling his tankard of bourbon to him and politely sipping it.
“Well?” Gayle asked. “How is he?”
“Not too bad off.”
Her posture relaxed in evident relief. “No?”
“No. Poole did a fine job of patching him up.”
“Poole’s dead,” Dowd muttered.
“’Tis a true shame,” Smitty remarked, crossing himself in reverence. “But I see you’ve a decent doctor to take his place.”
“Actually, we haven’t. The seamstress here and I worked on him,” Gayle explained, pointing to Celia.
“Is that so?” he asked, seeming surprised. “Well, you both did a damned fine job of it. He’s quite weak, but I see no problems with his wounds that a fortnight of rest ashore can’t cure.”
“That’s a relief,” Celia commented, taking another sip of rum. She supposed it wasn’t altogether a horrid concoction.
“Just the same, we need a doctor, Smitty. Any ideas?” Gayle asked.
He removed his spectacles. “I might have a notion or two. I’ll discreetly look about town.”
“Well, as always, Smitty, you’ve been a great help,” Gayle said, beaming. “You don’t mind watching Father?”
“Consider it done, lass. I owe you a bigger debt than this.”
“We need provisions,” she added.
Smitty motioned toward the barkeep. “Arrange it all with him. He won’t cheat you.”
Gayle assessed Abernathy and Dowd. “Can I trust you two to make sure it all gets loaded back on Original Sin?”
“Of course, miss,” Abernathy answered. “I won’t be too drunk for that until much later. We’ll take care of it soon, so it won’t be a problem.”
Gayle laughed. “How can you argue with logic like that? Come along, Celia. We’ve other errands to run.”
“Do we?” She stumbled slightly as she tried to rise.
“Without a doubt. There is much to be done.”
Celia felt flushed, but was ready for a thrill. She had been confined for days and couldn’t deny that she found the Bahamas, the salty talk—even the burn of the rum, utterly exhilarating. She was eager to see more.
Chapter Four
“So, why does Smitty say that he owes you so much?” Celia asked once she and Gayle were out in the street, on their way to the market.
“Years ago, he was the doctor aboard Original Sin. When he had seen all the death and dismemberment he could stomach, he told my father he wanted to be done with it all. Usually a sailor doesn’t give up on the sea. Rather, the sea claims the sailor first. But Father not only encouraged him to leave the ship, he even loaned him the money to buy that tavern.”
“The Bountiful Teat. He picked that name himself?”
“He said it came to him in a dream.” Gayle grinned. “I told him I have dreams like that all the time. I just interpret them differently.” When Celia stumbled a bit, Gayle asked, “Are you all right?”
“I’d probably be doing better if I could feel my feet.”
“When did this start?”
“About halfway through that tankard. Now I can see why it’s such a popular drink. I feel all warm and tingly.”
Gayle laughed and lightly grasped her elbow. “I’d wager you’re right, but I doubt you’ll get the lads to sing the praises of feeling ‘warm and tingly.’”
“What are we off to buy?” Celia stared at the vast open-air market ahead of them. She had never seen so many vendors in one place.
“Well, good seamstress, I was hoping you’d not mind helping me pick out some osnaburg to use for sails.”
“I’m no expert on a fabric that coarse,” Celia said, “but I’ll help you as best I can.”
“You are by far the most agreeable hostage I’ve ever taken.”
“And you are a very pleasant captor. This is hardly the sea trip I had dreamt of, but I do appreciate the fact that you’ve kept me safe. You hear such terrible stories about pirates.”
“Most aren’t true, but we are a despicable lot. Don’t be fooled into thinking we aren’t.”
Celia stopped and cocked her head to the side. “And do you ravish young women? Should I be on my guard with you?”
“That is one thing I will not steal, madam,” she said in a low, husky voice. “I only take what is freely offered.”
“I see.”
“Come along, then. We’ve fabric to buy.” Gayle grasped Celia’s hand firmly and pulled her toward the market.
When they reached the tent of the fabric merchant, Celia shouted, “Look at this one,” pulling out a bolt of gorgeous sapphire-colored silk. “And this.” She fingered a plush saffron fabric next to it with a striking floral pattern. “These are incredible.”
Gayle squinted apologetically at the merchant. “A bit too much rum,” she explained, prompting the stocky man to laugh. “I need some osnaburg.”
“I’ve a reasonable one over here,” he said, holding up a heavy white linen. “I have a lot of call for it.”
“How much?”
“Well, how much did you need? The more you buy, the less it is per bolt.”
“And how many bolts can I get for this?” She produced a gold ring with a large ruby inset.
The merchant, used to haggling for objects other than currency, took the ring and examined it closely. It was exquisite, and the stone appeared flawless. “Ten.”
Gayle smiled knowingly. “That ring is worth a bit more than that, old man.” She glanced over at Celia. “You sell clothing, yes?”
“Yes.” He was clearly disappointed in his bluffing skills.
“I need a few sets of breeches and shirts that will fit her.”
He squinted over Gayle’s shoulder, s
izing Celia. “That can be arranged.”
“And I’d like some for me as well. Something practical, yet attractive.”
He sized her up with his hand on his chin. “How about some black velvet? I have a pair of breeches made of it that would suit you nicely.”
“That sounds interesting,” she said. He held up a few shirts and she picked the three she liked the most, then chose a few for Celia. “And I want that blue silk and that yellow stuff there.”
“Done,” he said, without putting pen to paper.
“Have you a boy who can transport this to my ship?”
The man spun quickly and clapped his hands twice. “Frederick.”
A lad of about thirteen appeared, dirty and disheveled. “Aye?”
“I’ve cargo for you, lad.”
Gayle whispered, “And there’s a tip in it for you if it all gets there intact.” She knew too well that frequently merchants instructed their own delivery boys to filch some of the items, or to simply short-ship them altogether. Frederick winked at her in tacit agreement and began to load a wheelbarrow.
“Come along, Celia,” she called, ready to make the trip with Frederick back to the ship.
“Oh,” she said. “I’m sorry. Did you want me to help pick out your linen?”
“You missed that part. I didn’t want to break your reverie. But I managed quite well on my own.”
Celia frowned. “You’re not much into looking about, are you?”
“There’s no need to shop when you know what you want.”
They walked with purpose back to Original Sin, and at the dock, two crewmen helped Frederick carry the cargo on board.
“The sailcloth goes below,” Gayle directed. “Put the rest in the captain’s cabin.” Then she gave Frederick his promised piece of eight, and his freckled face lit up as he folded his thin fingers around it.
“Do you need any help on this ship, miss?”
“Are you offering your services, Frederick? Do you wish a life at sea?”
He nodded, probably dreaming of plunder and battle.
“And what would your mother say?” Gayle asked in concern.
“I don’t know where she is.” He took on a soulful expression. “I haven’t seen her or my brother in nearly two years.”
“And your father?”
“Don’t know him.” The skinny boy now looked grim.
“And won’t the merchant miss you?”
“Not bloody likely. Tons of lads could take my place.”
Gayle considered his situation. “If you join the crew, you’ll be lower than a mite on a barnacle. You’ll have to clean the deck, scrape the hull—unexciting tasks.”
“Aye.” His red hair whipped in the wind. “Ma’am, are you the cap’n of this here ship?”
“Acting captain, aye.”
“I never heard o’ such a thing.”
She shook her head. “Me either. Now come aboard and get to work.” With that, he scrabbled up the gangway and stood gawking at the deck. “Hyde,” she called.
“Aye, miss?”
“This is young Frederick, who has just joined our crew. See to it he finds a bed and some work.”
“Aye, miss.” Hyde motioned for Frederick to follow him.
“Nichols,” she called.
A young, fair-haired sailor appeared. “Aye, ma’am?”
“Dowd and Abernathy are at Smitty’s tavern. I purchased some provisions there. Make sure they actually get on board.” The gangly sailor laughed, displaying a number of missing teeth. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they were already half naked and dancing like Salome,” she added with a wink.
“Aye.” Nichols was still chuckling. “Ah, a wheelbarrow,” he said when he spotted Frederick’s abandoned contrivance.
“Aye, we brought that just for you,” she said, slapping him on the back good-naturedly. “Grab a few of the men and head over there. Make sure you get some fruit.” After he left, Gayle noticed that Celia still was a touch flushed. “Are you all right?”
“A bit woozy.” She leaned on a pylon.
“And are your feet still numb?”
Celia stomped the dock loudly. “No.”
“Perhaps you should stay away from rum for the rest of the voyage.”
“An idea with merit,” she muttered, rubbing her forehead.
“I know just the thing to sober you up.”
“Hmm?”
“A visit to the bathhouse.”
*
“Mmm, this feels lovely,” Celia purred.
“I told you. Isn’t your head clearer?”
“Definitely. I’ve never heard of a place like this.” Her eyes were shut tightly and her body submerged to her neck.
“Well, they cater to those of us at sea. We don’t get many baths, so when we’re in port, we try to indulge as often as we can. Or at least I do.”
A short, plump woman appeared in the doorway and Gayle motioned her in. She rested her tray, which held two cups, near the large bath, then scurried away.
Gayle pulled herself out of the bath and unabashedly stood there completely nude. “Ah, the coffee has arrived.” She picked up a cup and offered it to Celia. “Drink this. It will do you a world of good.”
Celia blinked to ensure she wasn’t imagining the very wet and very naked pirate standing before her.
“Um, thank you,” she stammered, awkwardly taking the cup without directly ogling Gayle’s unclad form. Though she had assumed Gayle would make sexual advances toward her in the bathhouse, Gayle had paid her virtually no attention—at least not that type of attention.
In fact, Celia had gone out of her way to take a little extra time to disrobe and had lingered a smidgeon before slowly settling into the steaming water, just to be cruel—to show her what she couldn’t have. Yet Gayle hadn’t even seemed to notice her nudity. Was her naked body so freakishly misshapen that it had immediately turned Gayle’s stomach, and only pity had kept her from visibly shrinking away from the horrible defect?
She sipped coffee and frowned as she mulled on this possibility.
“Is it too bitter?” Gayle asked, noting her expression.
“Hmm? Oh, no. It’s fine.”
Gayle ambled away bewildered and finished the other cup of coffee, then leisurely lowered herself back into the bath. Celia was still staring into space, glowering, and Gayle sighed. Perhaps she should return to The Bountiful Teat and visit Desta. Even if in some ways she was a complete lunatic, as curiously so many women she met were, at least her sexual attraction was evident. Gayle had no doubt that Desta wanted her. Spending all this time with someone so uninterested in her, and apparently not even curious enough about sex to be uncomfortable being naked with her, depressed and frustrated her.
After all, she had assured Celia that she never forced herself on any woman, which was true. But this nymph was a mystery. Her body was as gorgeous as she had imagined it to be, and her face and cerulean eyes so arresting that she could still see them clearly when she closed her own. She wanted nothing more than to traverse the warm water between them and caress and kiss her.
But Celia only sipped her coffee and scowled.
They sighed in unison.
*
Celia had to admit that the bath, as well as fresh clothes—which Gayle had the great foresight to bring—made her feel profoundly better. Her thoughts were no longer murky, and the ground wasn’t spinning anymore. She still felt a bit out of place in breeches and a shirt, but they were actually quite comfortable.
She and Gayle strode back toward Original Sin saying very little. Gayle had changed into some fitted leather breeches and a pale blue, billowy cotton shirt and looked every bit the buccaneer with her leather baldric draped over her shoulder supporting her cutlass and her knee-high boots. Her strides were long and purposeful.
“Psst, pretty child.”
An old gypsy woman motioned Celia over to where she sat in a wicker chair under a large mahogany tree.
“Me?” she asked.<
br />
“Aye.” The rotund woman beckoned her closer. “I can tell your future.”
Celia studied the woman’s tanned face skeptically. “Oh, really?” She propped a hand upon her hip.
“You are a disbelieving sort,” she announced with a thick accent of indiscernible origin.
Celia nodded slowly. “You might say that.”
“Let me see your palm, child.”
“My palm?”
“I will prove to you my gift is genuine. If you do not believe after that, it costs you nothing.”
Celia extended her right palm.
The old woman lightly grasped it and scrutinized it. “You are a woman of great skill and cunning.”
“I am?”
“Aye. And your beauty has brought you vast admiration from men.”
Feeling rather frumpy, Celia decided to go ahead and ask. “Just from men?”
The fortune-teller seemed confused for a moment and then spied Gayle, who was approaching. “No, my child. Women admire your beauty as well.”
Celia hastily pulled the other chair up and sat opposite her. “What else do you see?”
“For a piece of eight I can tell you your future.”
“But I haven’t any money,” she explained, disappointed.
“I have,” came a voice from over Celia’s shoulder, where Gayle held up a silver coin. She tossed it to the fortune-teller. “Here, unleash the mystic spirits.”
The woman snatched the coin from the air with astounding deftness. Before Celia could blink, she had swiftly slid it into her apron pocket and again focused on Celia’s palm, tracing the lines on the skin with her index finger.
“You are lost, child,” she finally volunteered. “You seek to find your way.”
“Do you mean my way back home?”
“No, you seek your purpose—your center. You want more for your life than what you have been promised.”
“What about my marriage? Will it be happy?”
Gayle leaned against a tree and crossed her arms. This should prove interesting, she thought.
The fortune-teller stared further at the lines of Celia’s palm. “He does not love you. He never will.”
Celia exhaled sharply. “Couldn’t you have said that a bit more tactfully?”
The Sublime and Spirited Voyage of Original Sin Page 4