Hart's Passion (Pirates & Petticoats Book 2)

by Chloe Flowers

  The cabin served as a stopover refuge.

  Simon used the cover of a violent storm to move the family. Later, she’d found out they were Pratt’s runaways. The concept of slavery had never sat comfortably with her, nor had Pratt, for that matter.

  As a result, she and Landon had given the three escaped slaves what supplies they had and bade them a safe journey.

  She’d let them go, and said nothing. Landon had kept the secret as well.

  Simon lowered his voice. “What’re you doin’ dressed like dat? You all right? There’s a bunch of strangers been by the house asking ‘bout where you is.”

  What should she say? She didn’t want to tell him anything that would get either of them in trouble, but she needed to try to prevent him from telling anyone about her.

  “Daniel and I are trying to avoid those people, Simon. They’re pirates and mean us harm. Both Daniel and I are in disguise. We are preparing to flee Charleston. Please don’t tell anyone you’ve seen me.”

  Simon’s face softened a little as he sized her up and down. “You turned your head once for me, Miss Keelan. I do the same fo’ you, now.”

  She sighed in relief and whispered, “Thank you, Simon.”

  He bent down and murmured, “If’n yo’ gets in a hard way, Mr. Schoen can help git yo’ to a safer place. He at The Whistling Pig.”

  So, Daniel’s intuition had been correct. The Schoens aided runaways. It all made sense to her now, after their experience in the tavern’s attic.

  Simon peered over her shoulder at the long row of stalls behind her and raised his voice a bit. “My Missus wants oranges and grapefruits and our usual seller is all out. Did you pass any on dis row?”

  “Yessir, we did, about halfway down.” She pointed.

  “Did you take a look at ‘em?” Simon questioned. “It’s a hot day, and I don’t want to waste time and breath walking up and down the aisles if I ain’t gotta.”

  “He was beginning to unpack a new crate," she answered, shifting her basket to the other arm.

  “Ah, good. Thank you, boy. Good day to you.” With a quick nod, Simon continued on his way without a backward glance.

  Thank you, Simon.

  She spied Marcel motioning to her from several stalls down and set off with her chin a little higher and a more confident step.

  After a final stop at the apothecary, Marcel and Keelan made their way down a narrow alley as they headed in the direction of the waterfront. Their baskets and leather satchels were filled with a wide variety of goods, as well as receipts for sacks of sugar, Indian meal, flour, and other heavier items, which would be delivered by the end of the day. It was a day well served, and now it was time to return to the ship, clean the galley, and make room for the supplies.

  It had also been a long day and she wasn’t accustomed to the physical effort expected of someone in her new station. She wearily trekked behind Marcel through the streets of Charleston with her head down, watching her feet as she hopped around piles of dung and puddles of filth. They cut through a less crowded alley, offering a shortcut to the wharf.

  Her mind drifted to Slaney. Was the maid faring well? How long would it take for her to reach Wind Briar? Her thoughts were interrupted abruptly when she plowed into the cook’s back. Her collision sent several packages from her basket tumbling to the street.

  Mumbling a hasty apology, she squatted to retrieve the fallen parcels. A movement ahead of them drew her attention, and she peered around Marcel’s legs and down the alley. Keelan’s heart lurched as she caught sight of the gleaming metal of a long knife. The blade was clenched in the fist of a thick-chested man, who was standing a few feet in front of Marcel. A quick check behind her confirmed they were alone.

  The man started to speak. “Ye’ll hand over yer valuables, beginnin’ with the purse on yer belt," he pointed his knife at the small bag of coins at Marcel’s waist. “Leave yer goods on the street and keep yer hands where I can see ‘em. Maggie will check yer pockets, in case ye forgot anythin’.”

  A scrawny, middle-aged woman stepped from behind the man. Her hair hung down in a stringy mass. She pulled a small, thin dirk from the folds of her tattered skirts.

  The couple inched closer as they placed their things on the ground. Marcel untied his purse and dropped it next to his feet. The woman laughed humorlessly.

  “Look, Errol, he wants me ter come git it. Maybe he thinks while I’m down there I’ll do ‘im a nicer service, eh?”

  The man growled and shoved the woman toward the purse. “Kick the coins to me and go through his pockets.”

  “Hell, no, I ain’t gittin’ too close to ‘im.” She walked around Marcel and pointed her dirk at Keelan. “You, boy, pick up the purse and bring it here to me, now!”

  She swallowed and reached down for the purse. She glanced up at Marcel’s face. He winked then flicked his gaze toward Maggie, with an almost imperceptible nod. Her heart began to pound, and she gave a quick nod back. Apparently, Marcel was not parting with his purse without a fight. Sparring with Daniel had trained her for this type of situation, but she never imagined she would ever be forced into one.

  From her crouched position, she quickly dove to the right. As her palms hit the ground, she kicked her feet in a wide arc parallel to the alley floor. She clipped Maggie’s feet neatly from beneath her skirts and brought the woman crashing to the ground. Keelan rolled away, and then scrambled to her feet in time to give her adversary a swift kick in the jaw, knocking her out cold. On instinct, she pulled from her bootleg the dirk Daniel had given her.

  Marcel stepped over his purse and goods and began to circle Errol with his arms wide. She raised her blade and without hesitation, threw it. It sank into Errol’s shoulder with a sharp plunge of quivering metal. He screamed and dropped his own blade to clutch the knife handle. He barely glanced at his partner, lying prone on the dank stones, before he spun and ran, the knife still in his shoulder.

  It was several seconds before Keelan’s breathing slowed and Marcel’s jaw snapped shut. Even after he closed his mouth, he kept opening it again to speak, but seemed to be at a loss for words as he stared at her in amazement.

  After a few moments, he said, “You are most useful in a fight, young Mahdi.”

  He then walked over to Maggie’s still form and picked up her dirk from the ground. To Keelan’s surprise, he handed it to her. “To replace the one Mr. Errol ran off with,” he said, gruffly.

  She bit back a smile and placed the knife into the leather strap around her boot. They picked up their things, and Errol’s hastily discarded blade, then exited the alley to head once more for the ship. Every few moments, Marcel would glance down at Keelan, then shake his head and mumble to himself in French. They made a quick stop at the courthouse to report the incident, and provide the location of the unconscious women they’d left in the alley, and then return to the ship.

  Henry hailed them as they approached the ship’s ramp.

  “Hoy Marcel! Got the galley stocked full yet?”

  “Oui! By ze end of ze day, it will be.”

  Henry nodded toward Keelan. “How’d the lad do fer ye?”

  Marcel grunted and set his load down. Rubbing his stiff shoulders, he gestured for her to board. “Go on and put ze load in ze galley. There iz no reason for you to stay and listen to me talk about your heroics. Your ego will expand beyond your chest’s capacity to hold it.”

  Keelan hurried past the men, eager to be out of their sight and away from their stares. She paused at the top and glanced back. Marcel gestured madly with both arms, while Henry stared at him with his mouth agape. These men had fought battles with pirates and still seemed to be surprised that she could throw a knife. How old did they think she was? Twelve?

  A memory floated into her mind unbidden of Landon placing his dirk in her hand and saying; “Cock your wrist like so…” Would he have approved?

  Landon Hart.

  Handsome, charming, vibrant.

  Stubborn.

 
; Yes, she’d lost her heart to the man. But did she truly know him? Was he no more than a dandy who excelled at seducing women and avoiding attachments? She had suspected as much the first time she’d met him. Would he be glad to see her again when the two vessels joined back together?

  Did he still want to marry her? Sail with her? Be with her?

  She rubbed her sore shoulders and sighed in frustration. For the thousandth time she wondered if Landon changed his mind about marriage. What if he wanted her as his mistress, instead? Would she’d have the fortitude to defend herself against the onslaught of seduction and the heady charisma Captain Hart used as weapons? Shifting her shoulders back, she lifted her chin. Certainly, she’d become a spinster before she became any man’s mistress.

  She let her shoulders slump. Who was she fooling? So far she’d lost the battle with that man’s charm every time.

  She hadn’t seen Daniel since earlier in the morning, so she quickly scanned the faces of the men on board as she made the trip to the galley. Several sailors paused what they were doing to watch her pass by. Her heart pounded nervously in her chest as she focused on hunching her shoulders and lengthening her stride in a more boyish fashion. It was one thing to simply look like a boy and quite another to act like one. Did she appear as nervous as she felt?

  “Your actions and your gait are crucial to complete this illusion,” Daniel had said. “You must carry yourself like a young man. And you cannot shriek at such things as bedbugs or rats.”

  Some nodded or muttered a greeting. She did her best to respond in a like manner.

  Sighing in relief, she dumped her things on the floor and sat down near them to catch her breath. It had already been a long day and it was barely noon. The ship creaked and groaned softly as it shifted in the quiet waters. She listened to the sounds of activity above as the crew went about their chores readying the vessel for its voyage.

  She was impressed by the cleanliness of the galley. She found several nearly empty bins, and it didn’t take her long to unpack the supplies and put them away. Crocks of cane syrup and molasses fit neatly on a shelf in the pantry. Keelan took note of the tall lip on all the shelves which obviously kept the contents from sliding against the cabinet doors when the seas became rough.

  The sound of deliberate footsteps echoed down the steps. She straightened, expecting Marcel. Instead, it was Daniel.

  “Good God, Miss Keelan! Are you all right?” he whispered in a concerned voice.

  “I’m fine, really," she responded, glad to see him.

  “Henry found me and told me what happened. He didn’t want me to get a distorted version from the crew. Although he assured me my ‘son’ was unharmed, I had to see for myself.”

  Daniel’s voice was as eager as a young boy’s. “The news is all over the ship. According to Marcel, you single-handedly foiled two would-be robbers this morning!”

  Keelan shrugged then grinned, trying to put Daniel at ease. “It was almost like one of our training sessions.”

  Daniel reached out and squeezed her arm affectionately. “You did the right thing. I am proud of you.” His next words brought a lump to her throat. “The commodore would have been very proud.”

  Keelan went about the rest of the day dodging elbows and questions. Sailors who had stared at her earlier with wary gazes now seemed more at ease with her aboard. The sailors were a mix of old and young, brown and white. Most were scarred and missing teeth or fingers, all were shaded darkly by the sun.

  Henry had warned them of her healing back, so they were careful to keep their distance. A couple of them forgot themselves and reached over to give her a hearty clap on the shoulder, but she was able to step quickly away, eliciting winks and chuckles.

  “Marcel said ye were faster than a lightning strike, and I can say I agree,” one had said laughing.

  The good-natured ribbing continued during the evening meal as the crew lined up with their trenchers. She responded to the banter with small smiles or bashful shakes of her head, nimbly hopping and darting away from jutting shoulders and knees while plopping spoonfuls of rice and beans, Indian meal bannocks and meat on their platters. According to Marcel, the captain always fed his crew a small feast the day before they set sail, since they’d be without such luxuries while at sea, making her wonder how bad meals would be while they sailed.

  After everyone had their share, she and Marcel filled a plate and wandered up on deck to find a spot to sit and eat. Noisy gulls circled overhead, hoping to catch a stray morsel. Keelan found Daniel and sank down near him to eat her meal. She enjoyed the way the sailors wolfed down the bannocks she’d made. Marcel had been pleasantly surprised at her level of culinary skill and had allowed her to make them unassisted while he finished his inventory list for the captain.

  “Ze Captain feeds his crew better zan most. We are in dangerous waters often enough, and he wants his crew strong and healthy to fight ze pirates.”

  Like Gampo? “Do you often run in to pirates?” she asked.

  Marcel grunted and shrugged, “Often enough. We are all expected to assist in defending ze ship. And we do just zat.”

  After most had finished their meal, Henry stood up and gave a shrill whistle. The chatter stopped as he glanced around at the crew.

  “I hope ye enjoyed yer last mainland meal. The captain should be ready to set the sails at daybreak tomorrow.”

  The crew cheered.

  “Ye know the rules.” Henry continued. “Ye bunk aboard the ship tonight. We need a sober and alert crew in the morning. If ye decide to leave the vessel, ye do so at yer own risk. The ship’ll not wait for ye.”

  He shoved his hands into his pockets. “The captain will be taking on a few passengers this trip.”

  A slight groan arose as some of the men voiced their opinion to this last tidbit of news.

  Henry held up his hand for silence. “Ye are not to speak to them unless they talk to ye first. Any argument requiring a judgment is to be brought to me quietly. Stay out of their way and be polite when tellin’ them to git out of yers.”

  “Are there any petticoats?” a voice shouted.

  “Ain’t no business of years who the captain takes aboard.” He swept his gaze over the crew. “Now, git about yer tasks.”

  Keelan and Daniel rose and walked to the rail. A group of unruly seagulls squawked noisily overhead.

  “I wonder how many passengers the captain is taking,” Keelan murmured to Daniel.

  “It can’t be too many because there are only two cabins still empty, Daniel replied. “The rest of the ship is stuffed with cargo.”

  She rubbed at her darkly stained skin. How long would the dye last before she’d have to reapply it? Daniel had hidden a small bottle in his sack, hopefully it would last them as long as it was needed.

  A soft breeze caressed her face, gentle as a butterfly’s foot. She looked up and pointed her face in the direction of the wind.

  “Aye, a good westerly is coming.”

  Keelan and Daniel turned at Remus’s voice. They’d not heard his approach.

  “Tomorrow’s light will send us off under a good breeze, tho’ the men will be wary until they catch sight of the passengers. We don’t need no petticoats on this voyage.”

  “Why is that, Mr. Remus?” Daniel asked.

  Remus leaned his bulk against the rail and picked his teeth with his fingernail. “Any salt who’s been on the water will tell ye, havin’ a woman aboard brings the bad luck.” Nodding, he bade them good evening and swaggered away, whistling a nameless tune.

  Keelan gripped the railing harder. What would they do to her if they found out she was a woman?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Remus was right. Dawn broke the next day, clear and fresh. The wind had picked up a little, and the ship pulled at its anchor like a filly testing the reins, eager to run. They all broke the fast with leftover bannocks and Indian meal porridge and then went about with their various duties, getting the ship ready to sail.

  Marcel h
ad dismissed Keelan to the upper deck. “Go fill your head with ze last sights of Charleston, boy” he said. “And while you are up zere, find out who our passengers are. I like to know who I cook for, eh?”

  Keelan pulled her hat low to shield her face from the sun, as well as from inquiring eyes, ever conscious of hiding her feminine features. Spying a box tethered to the side of the foredeck, she perched herself on it as the men lashed down barrels and loaded the last of the ships’ supplies.

  A milking cow lowed morosely as she was pushed and pulled up the ship’s ramp. Two spry nanny goats followed, bleating their bewilderment. Half a dozen pigs had been brought aboard earlier and grunted to each other from the small square pen near the main mast. Several chickens darted hither and yon among the feet of the crew. She hoped she’d find their permanent roost. Without one, it would be a bit difficult to collect the eggs, since she would have to hunt for their laying spot first.

  The remainder of the purchases Marcel had made yesterday arrived. Remus and Johnny carried the heavy sacks of rice, dried beans and Indian corn meal below.

  She couldn’t help but worry if she’d be recognized or found out. Would she be able to play the part of a galley boy without giving away her fairer gender? Daniel had done his best to tutor her on her new position as a cook’s boy and crew member.

  “You’ll be expected to help with the labors of the ship in addition to your culinary duties,” he’d warned. “As slight as you are, I doubt too much will be put upon your shoulders. However, when told, you must attempt to finish the task as best you can. In the eyes of the captain and crew, you are a young male laborer, so you must act the part.”

  Throwing one of those heavy sacks on her unhealed shoulders was going to hurt, but there was no getting out of her duties, which was why she was surprised when the men waved away her offer to help with this task.

  “Ye’ll just be in the way, boy,” Remus said gruffly.