Anne shook her head, but her eyes began to brighten. “Just the two of us? You really think we could?”
Anne had stood on the deck of the Zilveren Vissen with a smoking pistol, a smirk on her lips. She’d raged beside the fire at Isla de Cotorras, stomping her feet and urging rebellion. She’d flaunted Bill’s outstretched hand.
Mary squeezed Anne’s hands and searched her eyes. “I’m the boy who shot the captain, who outwitted rich ladies and dangerous men her whole life. And you’re the girl I met while she was bloody well taking over me ship. The one who stood over a bonfire and screeched at a mob of radicals and vagabonds about how craven they were. If anyone can manage it, I think it’s the pair of us.”
Anne grabbed Mary around the waist and threw herself back on the bed, and Mary toppled onto her with a surprised oof. “I’m in,” Anne whispered fiercely against her cheek.
Mary laughed against her neck, and then kissed it, and Anne wrapped her legs around her and slid her hands up Mary’s back and into her hair. Mary’s mouth opened against her skin, and Anne’s fingers tightened in her hair and she made a soft noise and suddenly Mary was fumbling Anne’s dress off her with shaking hands, she couldn’t wait another second for this—and her chemise was off as well and Anne was so bare and smooth and the way she moved, Mary couldn’t keep her mouth off of her—Anne wedged her hands against Mary’s shoulders and pushed her away.
Mary sat up and looked at her. She’d never get enough of looking at her. “What?” she whispered hoarsely, afraid that this was it. Anne’s eyes were dark and unreadable as she reached up and grasped the front of Mary’s shirt, tugging it free of her waistband. Mary faltered, twisting away. She had nothing beneath, no chemise or binding—but slowly she gave in, raising her arms, and let Anne pull the shirt from her.
Mary tried to cover herself but Anne held her hands down and stared at her body. It was different than when men had looked at her. It made Mary hot, instead of cold.
It made her so hot.
Anne pulled her in, her mouth against Mary’s bare shoulder, and Mary slid a hand up her thigh and pressed into Anne and she was so soft, and then slick, and Anne hung onto her, hands bunching her shirt, making sounds that made Mary feel like she was going to explode—
Anne’s hand slid below the waist of her britches—fingers grazed untouched skin—
Mary gasped as Anne touched her.
This time, she didn’t push her away.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
NEW PROVIDENCE—1720
“MARY READE.” A MAN’S VOICE.
Mary jumped to her feet, gasping, as Anne fumbled to sit up.
Robbie stood in the doorway, his bulk silhouetted by an orange sunset.
He smiled, and tapped a set of iron manacles against his thigh. “I’ve been looking for you.”
Robbie let the cloth drop behind him. Mary lunged for her shirt and hastily pulled it on as Anne snatched up her chemise, breath accelerating. Mary faced Robbie, heart hammering, trying to block Anne from view.
Robbie cleared his throat. “I have more than enough evidence to prove that you’re a woman of loose morals, Mary—one that poses a threat to our community—and that you need to be taken in, lest you poison those around you.”
A dreadful thought occurred to Mary. Don’t say it. Don’t tell Anne what I did. She finished cinching her belt and turned to face him, crossing her arms.
“Is that so, Robbie?” asked Anne from behind her, her voice defiant. “Go ahead, then. Tell us what you have on Mary.”
Mary and Robbie both looked at her. Anne sat on the edge of the pallet, still half-undressed, hair loose and wild around her shoulders. She held both their eyes for a moment, then looked pointedly at her lap.
A pistol was clenched in her hands, gleaming dully in the fading light.
Anne looked up again, a slight smile on her face. Robbie had a weapon, of course, tucked into his waistband—but he didn’t reach for it. Mary was the only one without a firearm.
“You know why I’m here, Mary,” said Robbie.
Mary said nothing.
“I don’t,” said Anne. “What is this new evidence? We both know all you have is a bunch of nonsense.”
“Besides this, the two of you?” Robbie shook his head. “Better you don’t know, love. The fewer people who know, the less chance this has of getting back to me sister before I take care of it.”
“Your sister?” Anne paused, then looked at Mary. “You and Nat,” she said slowly.
If Anne was acting, trying to lull Robbie into thinking his plan to divide them was working—she was doing a convincing job. Mary fought a rising sense of unease.
Robbie crossed his arms. “She went to him when he was celebrating his upcoming union, seduced him, and fornicated shamelessly. She needs to be locked away so she can’t bring harm to anyone else.” He narrowed his eyes at Anne. “Don’t worry, Anne. I won’t tell anyone what you’ve done with her. You’ll get your divorce, I promise. I know how badly you want it.”
“You and Nat—last night—?” Anne choked.
Robbie tsked. “What is it about you, Mary, that drives everyone mad? I’ll confess, I don’t understand.”
“Listen, Anne, you were to marry Jack—” Mary started toward Anne but stopped when the pistol raised. “Can’t you see—”
“I—you just said all those things to me, you just—not a day after you lay with him?”
Anne had to be acting.
“That’s right,” Robbie said, “Let me take her in, and I’ll bring her to justice.”
Anne’s jaw set. She looked mad, capable of anything. She raised the pistol toward Mary. She glanced nervously at Robbie, and Mary felt her heart collapsing. She raised her hands in surrender.
“There you go.” Robbie spoke again, his voice so soothing. “Turn her over to me, Anne, and I’ll see to it you get your divorce. It’s going to be so easy. You’ll get what you want.”
Anne looked at Mary. “Everything you just said. Everything that just happened.” Her voice was small.
“Everything I said was true.”
Robbie held out his hands. “Give her over to me and I’ll make sure you’re protected, Anne.”
Anne stared at her, brow furrowed. She studied her for a long, long moment. Mary tried to say it with every bit of herself. It’s you I want.
“Why do you think it’s so easy for everyone else?” Robbie took a step toward Mary. “Why is it so easy for most girls to behave themselves, but it’s so bloody hard for you?”
Anne swung the pistol around and discharged it with a yell. Robbie collapsed to the floor, screaming hoarsely. Mary shouted, starting forward—she hadn’t thought Anne would shoot the bastard; now they were in real trouble. He sat up, teeth clenched fiercely, blood pooling beneath his calf. He lunged when Mary came close, hands groping for his pistol, and she danced away.
Well, since Anne had shot him—pity she hadn’t got him worse.
Mary charged and kicked his wrist. Miraculously, his pistol went skidding to the corner as Robbie roared and curled around his hand.
She looked at Anne, panting. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Nat.”
Anne stood and put a hand to Mary’s cheek, and Mary felt her blood leap at the warmth of it. “All that matters is what’s ahead of us.” Her hand trembled against Mary’s skin. She leaned closer and put her forehead to Mary’s, and Mary closed her eyes and felt Anne’s breath, warm on her lips.
Mary scrunched her eyes tight, against the burning beneath her eyelids. “I’d understand, if you changed your mind about leaving with me.”
“I want to leave with you more than anything.” The heat of her hands on Mary’s skin warmed her whole body. “And not just because they’re going to throw me in gaol if I stay.”
Mary laughed. “Aye, I suppose you better come with me after this.”
“Let’s bloody well get out of this pox-ridden town!” Anne crowed.
Mary was dizzy with the smell
of her, the feel of her so close.
Robbie swore and fumbled with a chair, using it to pull himself to his knees.
Mary pulled away. “We have to go!” She looked around frantically. What did they need to take?
“You’re done for regardless,” Robbie ground out, hanging on to a leg of the table. “You’ll never get out of the islands before we catch up with you.”
Mary snatched up Robbie’s pistol and held it to his head. He flinched away but held her gaze, pure hatred in his eyes.
Mary’s hands didn’t waver. “I’ve run from you before. You won’t catch me this time, either.”
He grinned—or grimaced with pain. She couldn’t tell. “The two of you will never make it on your own. We’ll be sure to let everyone know that if they help you leave it’s a death sentence for them as well. We’ll be sure to let Jack know, if he’s daft enough to try and join you.”
Mary looked toward Hog’s Island. The sinking sun blazed the horizon red and orange, the whole sky afire—but the sea below was more than dark enough. “Come on, Anne.” She lowered the pistol. “I think it’s time we made our escape.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
CARIBBEAN SEA—1719
FAR BELOW, SAILORS SCALING THE POOP DECK LADDER AT A FAIR CLIP caught Mary’s eye. Something was amiss in the urgency of their movement. She frowned, leaning forward.
Paddy continued, “I knew the first time, with me Katie—”
“Look.” Mary knocked at his arm and pointed to the poop deck. Paddy’s brow furrowed when he saw the running and shouting below.
“What do you think has them jumping about like that?” she asked.
Following the gestures of the sailors below, they squinted portside. The Zilveren Vissen was passing a small cay as they came within spitting distance of Curaçao. The sun reflected off the smooth sand of its beach to create an intense glare, and it was hard to make out much.
Mary swayed light-headedly and narrowed her eyes against all that dazzle and brilliance, reminded that she hadn’t had a meal since morning the day before.
“I don’t see nothing.” Paddy leaned farther out, shading his eyes.
As Mary strained to see, a vague shadow coming around the cay began to materialize, fading in and out against the glare like a specter. She leaned out and stared past the bow, and then all at once she saw it: the silhouette of another brigantine slipping through the water and fast gaining ground toward them, a black flag dancing in the wind. Her whole body prickled as each hair stood on end, and she clutched the yard beneath her. Before her mind could properly register the sight, she heard the fearsome shout from the crow’s nest above.
“Pirates!”
The word pulled a trigger, the crew exploding into frenzied action. Within moments they dragged weaponry out from the forecastle and began distributing it among the frantic swarm of sailors. Mary and Paddy fumbled down the ratline as fast as their trembling limbs would carry them.
Mary stared toward Curaçao. As large and promising as it had loomed moments before, it suddenly seemed terribly far away.
Paddy dashed toward the growing throng surrounding the weapons. Mary trailed after him, watching the approaching brig. That first jolt of panic still coursed through her body, but ideas were forming in her mind. She had no intention of fighting—the pirates could kill the bloody captain and take whatever was in the Vissen’s hold, for all she cared. All she wanted was to set foot on land.
The ship intercepting theirs grew larger and darker as it gained on them, becoming solid against the sea. Why should she fight for Baas? She might have joined the crew of her own free will, but she knew about press gangs, how men were stolen from their beds and their families to work a ship.
Mary stumbled into a murky din below deck, the air sharp with gunpowder and sweat. Down the row of cannons and shirtless scrambling bodies, a shaft of light coming through an open gun port illuminated Paddy’s grizzled torso. Mary wormed her way through the madness. “Paddy!” He looked up. The light reflected off his eyes unnaturally in the darkness as he strained to adjust the cannon. Mary crouched down and heaved with him.
“Now’s me chance to make it off the brig, and you should come with me!” Mary shouted, trusting that the chaos around them and the English she spoke would keep the other tars from overhearing. “You really planning on fighting these pirates, then going all the way back to Flanders with the Baas-tard? On the chance that he might find it in his heart to pay you once you’re there, if the both of you make it through today alive?” Metal scraped wood as the four-pounder resisted sliding into place. Paddy clawed up to the gun port and peered through.
“We can’t get another shot in, they’re following too closely!” Paddy’s voice was high and tight, echoing down the line in Dutch as the other sailors registered the same sight. Then the brig lurched again, words turning to garbled shouting as men pitched to the floor.
“They must’ve jammed the rudder!” Paddy said as a sailor at the foot of the ladder bawled over the racket, “Alle hens aan dek! Alle hens aan dek!”
All hands on deck. Mary followed Paddy into the crowd swarming up the stairs. “No one will notice!” she hollered. “Me and you and that wee jolly boat—sure, no one’ll miss us in the middle of this! The two of us, starting fresh in the Indies—we’ll have a better chance at making our fortune than this!”
He turned sharply, and the press of men pushed her too close to him. “If Baas or one of the officers saw us jumpin’ ship mid-battle, it’d be a bullet in the back and no mistake,” he hissed into her face. “And I’d not leave the other men besides. It’s deserters like you who lose a fight for the rest of us!” He turned and heaved himself up the ladder. A smattering of gunfire echoed above. Feet pounded on the deck, and enemy ammunition thumped as it burrowed into the hull.
Deserters like you. She didn’t think of herself as a deserter. She didn’t owe this ship or this crew or this captain anything.
People wanted to think that everything was black and white. Laws were laws. Family was family. Right was right and wrong was wrong. Boy was boy and girl was girl. Her crew was good and the pirates were evil.
Life had revealed itself to be much more complicated.
The first grappling hooks tore into the stern. She grabbed a musket and had just loaded it when the ship rolled violently and ocean water sprayed across her face, blinding her for a moment. When she wiped her eyes smoke from the muskets had already dimmed the onslaught, but she could see enough to make her stomach drop.
Wild, screaming men with gold earrings, brightly patterned bandanas, and cutlasses in their teeth crawled up the grappling lines. Pirates already on deck cleared the path before them with their bullets, firing flintlocks with both hands. Swordsmen slung themselves on board from the taffrail with swirling blades. They shone with vigor, barefoot and naked to the waist, all shades of sunburned, brown, and even the darkest black. A few dropped from musket fire as they cleared the gunwales, collapsing backward into the sea, but already swordplay and pistol fire along the quarterdeck gave them the clear advantage.
Bolting to the forward end of the ship, Mary crammed herself between the forecastle and a barrel, so that the forecastle ladder blocked her from view. She peered at the fight through its rungs, giddy with nerves. No one was coming this way, pirate or sailor. Bending low, she scurried over to the jolly boat and lay the musket at her feet. She untied the tarpaulin and rolled it back, letting it slide to the deck. She’d need to winch those ropes to let it down into the water. She just might make it.
Mary looked back toward the fighting again, to check that she still went unnoticed—and what she saw changed everything.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
NEW PROVIDENCE—1720
THE NIGHT AIR WAS HOT. IT WAS INFERNALLY HOT AND SO STILL, THE bugs and animals making an obscene racket in the jungle behind the hut as they crept toward the water in darkness. Mary kept peering over her shoulder, at the hut where they had left Robbie trussed and bleeding b
eneath the table, but no one emerged.
Her fingers found the sun-splintered edge of their jolly boat, then Anne’s hand on the other side. She held it for a moment. Anne’s eyes were dark and bottomless and beautiful. Anne was here. She would push the boat to the water with Mary. She would row to Hog’s Island. She would sail across the world with her.
She leaned forward and Anne did too and Mary kissed her and it was a shout, it was a cheer, a celebration.
Then they silently slid the boat into the weak foaming waves lapping the sand—no wind to rile the water—and under the cover of a thousand crickets and the light of a thousand stars they slipped away.
They stayed silent all the way to Hog’s Island. The water was deathly quiet, after the noise of the jungle on Nassau, broken only by the gurgle of paddles slipping in and out of the water, and the creak of the boat. The air cooled a bit over the water. Mary wished for the cover of clouds—but then she wouldn’t be able to see Anne in front of her, moonlight pearling the hollow of her throat.
The knock of water against the hull echoed loud as they maneuvered the boat beneath the docks at Hog’s Island. Mary stood up and put her hands to the planks above. They could pull themselves up from here, she was sure. They held their breath in the darkness, listening hard.
Then—men’s voices murmured above them. The rattle of dice tossed across wood.
Mary sat down again, liquid beginning to pool around her ankles as the jolly boat let on water. She pushed off of a piling with her paddle, and they tried another dock.
The third dock down was the charm. No words or footsteps. No cigar ash feathering down, signaling someone above. No stench of alcohol or pipe tobacco, just the dank smell of ship. Mary had missed it. She’d been ashore too long. She wanted to hug a slimy piling, mush her face in the stink.
Pulling herself up proved a bit of a challenge. The footing of ankle-deep water in the unsteady bottom of the jolly boat was no help, nor the sharp edges of the beams above her, cutting her palms. But she managed, barely; then she lay flat to the dock and hung her torso down, pulling Anne up and into her arms.
Unbinding of Mary Reade Page 22