by C. K. Brooke
Ah, well…pirate.
With a subtle glance around, she snaked a hand along the ropes holding the rowboats and tried to loosen one of the enormous knots. Lightning pierced the sky, and rain began to fall in earnest. Abi didn’t have time to toy with it before someone should surely see her and grow suspicious. “My kingdom for a dagger,” she muttered to herself, patting down her skirts, as though expecting a knife might magically appear there. Of course, she was unarmed. Teeth clenched, she glanced up at the men shifting the sails, just as a long, wide wave passed beneath them.
A thought occurred to her. She found a nearby nook and tucked herself against the wall. There, she could remain relatively dry and unseen. She crouched down, watching trousered legs jogging fore and aft as the ship lurched over a magnificent wave, and the downpour began to pelt them. The sky blackened, the air a confused mess of raised voices. Most prominent among them was the voice of James Morrow, issuing commands. Despite her anxiety, the sound was reassuringly reminiscent of her father. She waited until he was out of view before she would make her next move.
She studied the men’s belts as they rushed by. She couldn’t steal a sword—something so grand would be too conspicuous. A large fellow called Hoff was approaching, his back to her. Abi squinted through the rainfall at his waist. It appeared a medium-sized sickle was sheathed there.
An eruption of thunder shook the ship. Making her decision, Abi leapt from her corner. She purposefully stumbled into Hoff as the others, half-blinded by rain in their eyes, shouted across deck at one another.
“Pardon my clumsiness, Mr. Hoff.” Feigning imbalance, she wrapped her arms around his thick middle. “Such turbulence.”
“Miz Clear?” The man angled his head to look down at her, and Abi released him, carefully lifting the sickle from its sheath as she did.
At that moment, James Morrow bellowed out, “Hug the island!”
Hoff’s head whipped in his captain’s direction, and Abi had a matter of seconds to tuck the blade into the waistband of her skirts.
“Wot island?” a crewman hollered back. “We can’t hardly see nothin’, Cap!”
Hoff turned to Abi again. “Miss Clear, you need to get yourself below decks,” he urged her over the thunder’s roar.
A new wave frothed up the keel of the ship. “Sir,” Abi murmured, slipping away. Her hair clung flat to her scalp and her blouse was soaked transparent. Her skirts weighed heavily with water, making each step more laborious until she reached the edge of the quarterdeck. She scanned the ship. The men worked vigorously, dumping buckets of water back overboard and manning the sails. Her breaths clipped, Abi extracted Hoff’s sickle. Bending over the rail, she yanked on the rope supporting the smaller of the two rowboats. Her slick hands nearly lost control of the hilt as she began to saw. Still, she worked faster, until the little boat’s bow started to droop.
Her pulse added a beat as she peered down the stormy distance freeboard. Was she quite sure she knew what she was doing?
Well, there was no turning back. The island was near. She couldn’t see it now, but she would when she rowed closer. And anyway, she hadn’t a choice. The storm was her only way out, the only distraction big enough to buy her the time she needed.
When the rope ran thin, near to snapping, Abi switched to the next section, sawing away. On occasion, she cast a brief glance over her shoulder. The captain’s shadow moved about, but his back was to her. Her moist hand chafed on the sickle’s hilt as she continued to shave down the rope.
Daylight had since given in to the tempest, but there was still a trickle of light from the setting sun by which to see. A single slice on each supporting rope was all it would take to drop the rowboat by then. She needed to act before complete darkness settled in.
Mustering her courage, Abi hitched up her hem and slid tremulous legs over the wooden rail. A corner of her skirt snagged on a crooked nail in the splintered wood, and she tugged it loose. Abi winced as a thin patch of the fine fabric tore. It flapped in the breeze, wrapped around the rusty nail.
The closer she came to her goal, the worse of an idea it was beginning to seem. Even so, it was now or never. Closing her eyes, she jumped. The little boat rocked frightfully with the impact of her landing. She thought she might’ve heard someone call her name, but it was hard to be certain through the whoosh of the wind and the downpour thudding into the sea. Her garments drenched and sticking to her, Abi knelt and sawed the last bits of rope free.
She tucked her head between her knees as the boat plummeted.
***
“Abigail!” James Morrow cried. With a streak of lightning, the girl had disappeared dangerously close to the edge of the quarterdeck, and he could no longer see her. The devil was she doing above decks, when he’d explicitly ordered her downstairs?
He jogged briskly to the rail. When he reached it, the first thing he noticed were tails of rope flailing free in the wind.
“The storm’s snatched one of our boats,” declared Mr. DuPont, coming up beside him.
Morrow didn’t care about the boat. “Where is Abigail?”
His and DuPont’s eyes slowly shifted to the same spot. A strip of wet green fabric blew in the storm, pinned to a nail atop the rail. Morrow reached for it, feeling it between his fingers. Though sodden, he recognized it. His heart crashed like the turbulent waves below, into which he presently gazed. “No,” he whispered.
“The lightning must’ve struck the boat, and somehow taken her overboard with it.” DuPont blinked down into the lashing depths, looking disturbed.
“No,” the captain repeated, louder. His breaths came sharp and punctuated. Perspiration mingled with rainwater at the back of his neck. He refused to believe it. He’d spoken to Abigail not an hour ago, while her heart was beating and the rouge of vitality brightened those vibrant cheeks. He couldn’t accept that a girl so young and lively, whose virgin kiss he’d first tasted only the night before, could so easily be claimed by the storm. She had more fight in her than that.
And so did he.
There wasn’t a second thought. Morrow hopped over the rail and into the remaining boat.
“Cap’n, what’re you—?”
“Mind Calahad,” Morrow grunted, unsheathing his sword. “His orders are my own.”
“Sir?”
“When the storm lets up, you boys find me at the island. That’s where I’ll bring her…either way.” He inhaled unsteadily. He couldn’t bring himself to say dead or alive.
“You may never find her.” DuPont looked sorry. “It could already be too late.”
“Go!” Morrow waved him off. “We’re wasting time.” Determined, he sliced his sword at the ropes supporting the boat in time to hear the sailor assent with a faithful, “Aye, aye!” When he’d severed the last rope, down Morrow fell, hanging onto the side of the boat with a grip of steel.
The hull met the waves with a crash. Water rose up the sides and doused his face and legs. Catching his breath, he raised the oars from a puddle on the floor. All was dingy and gray, with shadows of cloud and waves in a rapidly cooling wind. He could barely tell which direction he was facing. There wasn’t much to see past the layer of needle-like raindrops stabbing him numb. “Abigail!” He gathered his breath and called for her again.
He rowed forward at the current’s mercy, all the while terrified his oars might thwack her lifeless form, or that she might be sinking to the seafloor that very moment, and there was nothing he could do about it. His eyes blurred, though from rain or tears, he wasn’t sure. It was no use wiping them. His sleeves were just as sopping as the rest of him.
Was it futile? Ought Morrow simply to end the search before he exerted the rest of his strength? Foolish questions, really. For he would not give up until he found her. And he was an expert in not giving up.
The waves heightened. But he rode them, paddling like a madman on his way up the crests. One drenched him as it rolled over him, but miraculously didn’t upturn the boat. He coughed water out of hi
s lungs and nose, shook it from his ears.
Overhead, the seemingly endless clouds finally broke into the smallest of gaps. A bold ray of fresh moonlight illuminated a mass ahead of him. The island. And there was something else too.
Morrow smeared the rain from his eyes. A shape was drifting to the lonely shore, steadily. Why, it appeared to be the other boat that had come loose, which the lightning must have somehow singed from its tethers. It seemed the current was carrying it ashore.
…Or was it? Why, it moved as though someone was rowing it ashore.
The rainfall gradually let up, smattering in every direction but with less ferocity, as though becoming weary. Biceps raging, he rowed faster, pursuing the smaller boat. He jerked his oars through the diminishing waves, working to catch up.
Captain Morrow watched in awe as the vessel ahead of him slowed. It reached the shallows of a dark, empty port. He held his breath until, to his amazement, a slight figure shifted within it and rose.
Chapter 11
Abi stumbled out of the boat. She swayed precariously on the rocky terrain, coughing up saltwater. That, she thought to herself, was by far the most reckless thing she had ever done.
On shaky legs, she climbed the steep dune, passing the empty port and a handful of deserted vessels rusting in the shallows. Apart from her tired footsteps and the rhythm of the rain and sea, the place was soundless and virtually untouched.
She inhaled the open night’s air, heady with moisture. Freedom, at last! She knew she’d taken the right action. It had been risky, but she’d gotten away. And of all places, she had found herself on the very isle where—
“Ab-i-gail!”
She froze, blinking up at the ripe moon. It was just appearing in the wet and inky sky. But the noises of the waning storm were tricking her, she reassured herself. There wasn’t a chance she had just heard what she thought.
The sound of paddles swooshing through water stunned her. In disbelief, she turned to see the second of The Indomitable’s lifeboats docking at the rocks. A startlingly recognizable, brawny shape stood at its bow, hurriedly tying it in place before disembarking.
Abi couldn’t move. She could barely think as he leapt up the dune to join her. Before she knew it, she was accosted by a cold, wet waistcoat smothering her, and a bear-like paw brushing aside her damp hair. Abi fought for breath. It took her another exhalation to realize that the man was holding her. And he shook with…laughter?
“I thought I’d lost ye.” His deep voice rumbled over the crown of her head. “Thank heaven it wasn’ so.”
A vast range of emotions competed within Abi as she struggled to free herself from his blind and crushing embrace. She wanted both to mimic his laughter in shock and sob in frustration, to simultaneously return his affections and kick his ankles. Had all of her efforts been in vain? Could there be no escaping him?
Captain Morrow cupped Abi’s face between rain-slick hands. In his eyes was the softest gaze she’d ever beheld, his black pupils enlarging by the second. “Worry not, sparrow, for the rest of the crew’ll be here fer us soon.” He smiled, his mouth intimately close to hers. “I’m just so glad you’re alive.”
Abi’s heart walloped as she finally thrust away from him. She backed up, her boots crunching over loose rocks coated with gritty sand as she distanced herself from the man. “Of course I’m alive,” she scowled. “But how did you get here? And what do you mean, the crew is coming?”
The captain mopped his brow. “When you fell overboard, I went after you.”
Abi’s jaw hung. “I didn’t fall, Captain. I jumped! Into the boat!”
The dregs of the rainfall coursed down his throat. Meanwhile, the soft glow of his eyes hardened, leaving an angrier simmer in its place. “Why?” he asked slowly.
She tossed up her arms. “To escape you!”
“In the midst of a storm? What if that dinghy had capsized?”
Abi raised her chin. “I am an excellent swimmer.”
Morrow stared at her, the fury in his countenance mounting. She remained in place as he paced forward. “I don’t believe it.” His words were low and guttural. “After all of my patience with you…”
Abi snorted. “Patience?”
He took another step. “The kindness I’ve shown you…”
“Kindness?”
“This is how you treat me in return?”
Had Abi been a gentler woman, she might have lowered her eyes. However, she had the audacity not to.
“Your kiss, your sketch and company were but charades as you bade your time to deceive me,” he snarled. “And there I was, risking my hide and that of my friends to rescue you!”
“I do not need rescuing!” Abi whirled around and marched across the sand. Inevitably, the captain followed after her.
They emerged onto dripping grasses, where a few ghostly structures stood, half-charred, most of their remains long since looted or disassembled for usable materials. “And anyway, you’re one to speak of charades, Captain.” She spoke hotly. “You think I don’t know you’re only after the bounty on my papa’s head?”
“When my crew returns for me,” came the man’s fuming growl behind her, “I am stranding you here.”
“Perfect.” Abi halted at the top of the hill, folding her arms. “That is precisely what I wanted.”
She was startled by how red his face became, as he made no effort to conceal his rage. “Nay, then! When they return, I’m not only dragging your unruly skin back aboard me ship, but I’m stowing you in the brig, where you belong!”
“You’ll have to catch me first,” Abi sneered.
Her triumph was short-lived as gigantic fingers slapped over her wrist, encasing it like a manacle. “Caught ye.” He grasped her other one.
“Let me go.”
“Why?” He raised her hands in his own, further immobilizing her. “I don’t trust ye. I oughtta tie you up now, while I’ve got you at my mercy, if I know what’s good for me.”
The tightness in Abi’s arms was beginning to strain her. All the same, she fired back, “You’re the one who kidnapped me. I never asked for this.”
He gave her a long look. At last, he released her. Wildly massaging her wrists, Abi bounded off, racing inland as far as her sore feet could carry her.
The captain did not chase her.
***
After an hour of aimless wandering on the dark, abandoned isle, she found a shelter with some old straw piled in a corner. Upon inspecting it, Abi found it to be clean, and deemed it suitable for her bed that evening. The wind groaned through the paneless window all through the night, disrupting her rest. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d slept on land. With her eyes shut, it was as if she could still feel the rocking of a ship beneath her.
Abi’s thoughts meandered through the wee hours as she wondered where Captain Morrow was making his bed, if he was dry enough, and when The Indomitable would come for him. Might he truly grant her wish and leave her there, on the island? Her father was bound to revisit sometime. If not during that season, then perhaps in a season to come.
When slumber overtook her, Abi dreamed of black waves cradling the privateer man-o’-war, of green skirts beneath her, sweeping the planks as she walked, and of a staunch figure at the helm, holding her against his stiff waistcoat, the sweet scents of cotton, leather, and tobacco on his skin as she nestled her face against his neck.
She awoke abruptly. Something was poking her. Abi rolled over and found the culprit, a single strand of straw. She patted it down. Yawning, she sat up, her back stiff, and glanced around the old barn. She shivered in the dawn chill. The isle was silent and oh-so-still at that early hour.
The young woman got up, brushing straw from her backside and the rest of her skirts. She heard nothing, not even the sea, while nary a gull flapped past the bare window. A peculiar apprehension nettled its way into Abi’s heart as she stepped out of the dilapidated little shelter and into the clean air. She had never been so utterly alone before. And
, while liberating, it was also somewhat disconcerting.
The hilly land looked different beneath the rising sun than it had during the stormy night before. Abi recognized it now, for sure. The coves were speckled with fat, gray harbor seals, and lush, deep green grasses flowered with thickets of fir balsam and spruce. She squinted past the blackened skeletons of old buildings, trying to discern the shape of a ship at port, but none was there. Either Captain Morrow was still on the island with her, or his ship had come for him in the night.
She made her way downhill, her footsteps uncertain. How unaccustomed she was to land! In spite of herself, she was beginning to hope the man-o’-war hadn’t arrived to claim its captain yet. But wouldn’t she have known, had he already gone? She couldn’t have slept through a ship making port and departing again. Could she?
She frowned, weaving past jutting boulders in the prickly, patchy grass. The prospect of foraging on the island for months indefinite, fending for herself against clime and beast in utter solitude until anyone should discover her, was feeling increasingly daunting. Had it been such a good idea after all, to escape this way? Was it possibly better to be a captive, where at least she was fed, and surrounded by people to talk to?
She inhaled a wisp of smoke. Abi paused, determining its direction. Down at the beach, she discovered, by the port, smoke was stacking in the morning air. So, he was still there! Unable to stem the inflow of relief, Abi grinned to herself, trotting at a faster pace. She wasn’t alone. Yet.
She came upon a small fire pit burning ashore, encircled by heavy stones and consuming roughhewn scraps of already-burnt wood. Past the great rocks of the shallows, a figure stood thigh-deep in water. Abi watched him. He bent, lifting old wooden crates from the seabed. She recognized them as lobster pots. He stacked one atop the other and, carrying them in his arms, began his ascent from the water. Between the lattice of the wooden crates, mighty black pincers snapped, and long, rapier-like feelers swayed.