Pirate In My Arms

by Danelle Harmon

  Maria’s head jerked up. It took her a moment to spot him, for she instinctively sought the tall, swarthy pirate who commanded Nefarious, not the gentleman who now approached. A full-bottomed wig hid that magnificent mane of black hair, the strong jaw was still beardless, the earring had disappeared into one of his pockets and he looked anything but disreputable in a fashionable coat of red velvet with deep, turned back cuffs over a brocaded waistcoat. At his throat, a neatly tied Steinkirk accentuated the dark tan of his skin and almost, but not quite, hid the Spanish coin within its frothy folds, a subtle clue that Mr. Seth Baker, Esquire, was not all that he appeared to be.

  Yes, it had taken her a moment to recognize him, but beneath the white peruke and three-cornered hat, his brows were just as black, his eyes as bold and challenging as ever and now, glittering with something else—outrage.

  Stripes took one look and muttered that long-standing forecast of doom. “Uh-oh.”

  Sam fell into step beside them, and Maria, laying a hand on his velvet-clad sleeve, felt the tenseness of his muscles just beneath. “Was it that bad?”

  “Aye. Horrible. Chained like dogs and treated worse, left dirty, wretched, devoid of hope and stripped of spirit. Waiting to die they are, and damn me if I’ll let it happen!” Eyes blazing, he paused and seized Stripes’s arm, drawing him close. “We must act immediately. Meet me back on the sloop in three hours so we can go over our plans.”

  “And where will ye be, then?”

  “In town,” he said. “I’m going to find a place for supper and try and get the lass here to eat. She’s too damned thin. Make sure the ship’s ready to weigh by the time we return. I’ve no wish to spend any more time in this bloody hellhole than I have to.”

  “Aye, sir,” Stripes tipped his hat to Maria, bid them goodbye, and melted into the crowd.

  Sam took a deep, steadying breath, wishing he could expel his bitterness and anger along with it. The sight of his men in the gaol had brought the guilt, the nightmares, the memories of that terrible night when Whydah had been cast upon the breakers, flooding back. So many had died. So many, now rotting in that dirty, stinking cell as they awaited execution, would die if he couldn’t get them out.

  They will not die.

  Not on my watch!

  “Sam?”

  He had all but forgotten Maria, a vision in her new gown, walking beside him.

  “I’m sorry, lass,” he said. “I am preoccupied. Come, let’s find something to eat in this stinking pit of a city.” He touched her cheek with the back of his hand. “Ye must be heartily sick of salt beef and ship’s biscuit.”

  “I must say, I think I’d kill for a chop of fresh pork, a slice of pie, a wedge of cheese from which I won’t have to scrape the mold.”

  “Then you shall have them, princess!” He guided her past the fish markets and indicated a weathered structure at the head of the town dock. “The Whale’s Tail Inn. Generous with their drink, and serving the best fish chowder ye’ve ever tasted.” He lifted her off her feet to clear a rut filled with oily water, kissed her soundly and set her down just as neatly, grinning as she laughed with delight.

  Secure in their roles of barrister and his lady, they entered the tavern. The crowd with its loud racket within—drunken singing, catcalls, tavern maids hustling about, the clink of glasses and plates—made Maria wonder if the weary old dwelling was going to shake itself loose and tumble right into the harbor. She balked as they entered the noisy, smoke-filled room. But inside, well-dressed merchants bumped elbows with roughened tars who would have been right at home alongside Nefarious’s crew, and for a moment Maria thought they might actually find a table without attracting attention. She clung to Sam’s arm. But heads were turning, people staring. A serving wench strutted past and raked Sam with bold, hungry eyes. Men regarded him with speculative caution, not knowing who he was but mindful that he was not a man to be trifled with. And then talk ceased altogether as the eyes of sea tars and fancy gentlemen, of whores and serving maids alike, settled upon Maria, and she never guessed that it was her beauty, and not the fact that she’d entered the tavern in the first place, that caused those many tongues to still. She edged closer to the tall, handsome man at her side.

  “Something wrong, love?” he asked, bending down so that his deep tenor was close to her ear, his breath stirring the hair there.

  “No.” Maria tightened her grip on his arm and tried to ignore the stares. “I just feel uncomfortable, ’tis all.”

  “Uncomfortable? Why, ye’ve mingled with a worse sort.”

  “Perhaps, but your crew wouldn’t hang you if they learned you were someone other than who you’re pretending to be.”

  “You’re right, they wouldn’t. They’d draw and quarter me, then they’d hang me. Or is it the other way around? No matter. Ah, there’s the innkeeper. Shall we?”

  Lace spilled from Sam’s wrist as he raised his hand to gain the man’s attention. The innkeeper, a short, balding man with nervous brown eyes and a fleeting smile, hurried over, anxious to please such an important and obviously wealthy young couple.

  “What can I get for you, sir?” he twittered, his darting gaze taking in the fine cut of Sam’s coat, the snowy lace at his throat and wrists, the powdered, costly peruke that contrasted so sharply with the swarthiness of his face and the darkness of his brows and eyes.

  “A quiet table so that we may take our supper. Preferably, overlooking the water.” He winked. “The view, you know.”

  “Of course,” the innkeeper said, wringing his hands. “Right this way, if you please.” He hastened to a far corner of the room and indicated a scarred, empty table near a window. Through its dingy panes Maria could see the shadows lengthening, the sunlight turning a deep, rusty orange that burnished the harbor and glinted from the stern windows of anchored ships.

  Sam seated Maria, letting his fingers brush her nape in a possessive caress before taking his own seat. He turned to gaze out the grimy window. To an observer, he might have been absently watching the fishing boats returning from sea or admiring the two warships whose masts and spars towered over those of the other craft in the harbor, but Maria was well aware of the keen, calculating perusal he gave those two ships as he noted their armament, their sea-readiness and their strength. His gaze flickered to Nefarious, as innocent as a sleeping wolf, and a satisfied smile eased the hard line of his mouth.

  “View?” Maria teased, touching his arm. “You just wanted to sit near a window so you could keep an eye on the ship.”

  “Aye.”

  The innkeeper returned, tray in hand. With a flourish, he set an ale quart of spiced, sweetened cider in front of Sam and a cup of milk before Maria. This was followed by two steaming plates piled high with food. Handing the man a coin, Sam ignored his startled eyes. It was more than enough to pay for their supper.

  “Why, th-thank you, sir.” And then, hastily, “Can I get you anything else?”

  “’Twill be all for now.” Sam was already reaching for a piece of thick, crusty bread slathered with fresh butter, his gaze straying back to the window as the innkeeper bustled away. All was quiet aboard the warships, which pleased but didn’t surprise, him; their crews had no reason to become suspicious about Nefarious. On the sloop, someone had hung a lantern in the shrouds, its glow stretching across the water toward him. He stared at that light, feeling oddly at peace. By tomorrow night and with Teach’s help, his lads in the gaol would be free. By tomorrow night, Whydah’s ghosts would be forever laid to rest.

  He glanced at Maria. A candle spluttered in a pewter base between them, glowing upon her beautiful face with its high cheekbones, enchanting hollows and huge, sea-colored eyes. She wasn’t eating, merely pushing her food around with her fork. He eyed her in concern. “Aren’t ye hungry, lass?”

  She shrugged and smiled an apology. “Yes, but my stomach’s in knots.” And as Sam frowned and began to set down his fork, she added hastily, “But it always gets like that when I’m nervous.”

&nb
sp; “What are ye nervous about?”

  “What if someone here recognizes you?”

  “Maria, your concern is endearing, but it’s also growing tedious.” He stabbed a potato with unnecessary force. And then, at her crestfallen look, his tone became more gentle. He set down the fork, potato and all, and reached across the table to take her hand. “I’m sorry, princess. I confess to being a bit on edge, myself. But please, eat. You’re far too thin, and I don’t know when ye’ll get the chance to enjoy a decent meal again.”

  She picked up her spoon and poked at her Indian pudding. “I thought you said there’s nothing to worry about.”

  “There isn’t,” he assured her, tucking back into his meal. “’Tis the thought of my men that’s getting to me. I’ve been wracking my brain trying to figure out a way to get them out if Teach doesn’t show up at our rendezvous point off the Isle of Shoals tomorrow. I need his help. Without it, my plan can’t succeed, and that’s what I’m most anxious about. That he won’t show.” He slammed his fork down on his plate, the ring of pewter against pewter mingling with the noise around them, and leaned forward, his eyes savage. “How can I sit here enjoying a meal when they’re rotting in a gaol a mere quarter-mile away? ’Sdeath, Maria, ye should’ve seen them. Poor Baker, he just sits there staring at the floor. And Simon Van Vorst? He used to be a big bear of a man. Now, I can count every bone in his body. And if ye think that’s bad, the poor lads have to sit there and listen to that insufferable Cotton Mather praying for their souls. God’s teeth, if that isn’t enough to do them in, nothing is. ’Twould’ve been better if they had died that night and gone to their maker than be forced to listen to the codswollop issuing from that fool’s mouth!”

  To Maria, there were worse things in the world than listening to a preacher, especially one as revered as Cotton Mather. She picked up her knife. “Did your men recognize you?” She sawed halfheartedly at a piece of beef, swirled it in its gravy and put it in her mouth. It, at least, woke up her appetite; she took another bite.

  “I don’t think so. To them, I’m as dead as your old neighbors and the world itself believe me to be. Nay, they’ve given up hope, Maria. All of them.”

  “So what will happen now?”

  “We leave Boston on tonight’s tide, sail north and meet Teach off the Isles of Shoals. Hopefully, he’ll keep his word and show up. If not”—he sighed, then stabbed the last slice of beef with his fork—“then I do this without him.”

  “Oh, Sam.”

  “Hush, Maria, and eat your potatoes. They’re getting cold.”

  * * *

  Dawn found Nefarious heading north, Boston far astern. She was close-hauled on the larboard tack, a bone in her teeth and her lee rail awash. To the east, the sun was a ball of gold fire on a shimmering horizon and a few fair-weather clouds lay far to the north. Topside the crew lounged, most of them, after a hard night of drinking and wenching, the worse for wear.

  But not Black Sam. He had a spring in his stride as he impatiently paced the deck, bare feet steady against the motion of the ship. With a brace of pistols about his neck and a cutlass at his belt he struck an impressive figure, and there was not a man amongst them who had any misgivings about this venture with such a capable leader in command.

  It was Sunday, and today was the day they would meet up with Ned Teach.

  By this time tomorrow, it was hoped that the pirates languishing in Boston’s gaol would be free.

  The sun was high in the sky by the time they raised the archipelago known as the Isles of Shoals several miles off the coast of New Hampshire. Maria, standing at the rail with Gunner, silently prayed that the fearsome Teach would keep his word and be there waiting for them. Please, God, she thought, knowing that if he failed to show, Sam would turn the ship around and storm back to Boston to free the men on his own. Please let him be there.

  They passed the southernmost one, White Island, keeping it to windward before changing tack to run up the western coast of Teach’s favorite haunt, Star Island, with its lawless township of Gosport. Huddled close to it were Cedar and Smutty Nose Islands, the three forming Gosport Harbor, and just off the larboard bow was Londoner’s Island. Or so Stripes told Maria, who stood at the rail with the wind against her cheek and her lips tasting of salt. Lonely outposts that had long been a haven for pirates, the isles were nothing more than barren lumps of rock holding their breath above the collar of high tide.

  Restlessly, she left the rail and made her way aft, passing the four-pounders in their carriages as Star Island’s bleak and unforgiving shoreline loomed off the starboard beam. Billy Flanagan was at the helm and Sam stood nearby, quietly watching the island slide past. If he was concerned that Teach wouldn’t show, it wasn’t apparent in his stance. His hair was queued and jauntily threaded with a length of silk, both of which trailed down his back. Some of that riotous black mane had blown free and now snaked about his face, and as she came up to him, Maria saw that he had something in his hand.

  A flash of sunlight against a blade; it was his sea-knife, and in his other hand was a strange little object of wood, quickly glimpsed before he saw her approach and immediately put the hand behind his back.

  “Sam?”

  “Hello, dearest.”

  “What are you hiding?”

  “A surprise.” He smiled ruefully. “Though I might as well give it to ye now, since it’s pretty much finished.” He held out his hand, opened it, and in his palm leaped a sleek and playful dolphin. “For you, princess.”

  “Oh, Sam, ’tis beautiful!” With girlish excitement, she took the little animal and studied it; the sleek body with its tiny flippers and flukes, the blowhole and eyes, even the dolphin-smile, all crudely but lovingly rendered. She smiled and hugged it to her breast. “I didn’t know you could carve.”

  “I can’t,” he said, grinning and holding up a thumb which bore a fine checkerboard of lines that still oozed blood.

  “Deck there! A ship, far side of Star Island, in the harbor!”

  Instantly alert, Sam straightened up and strode to the rail. “That’ll be Teach and Revenge,” he said, grabbing a glass.

  They were now close enough to see masts poking up beyond the remote granite. Grinning, Sam steadied the telescope and trained it on the distant ship.

  Canvas was dropping from its yards. His smile faded to a frown. Something wasn’t right.

  “Not too close, Flanagan,” he called, never moving the glass.

  Nefarious continued, a thin trail of foam in her wake. Maria clutched the little dolphin, as tense as the others as they crowded the rail beside their intent captain. Suddenly he tore the glass from his eye and was pounding toward the helm before the lookout could even report that a second sail was approaching from the far side of Londoner’s Island and yet a third from the south.

  “Damn your eyes, Gillespie!” he roared as the hidden ship came from behind Star Island for all to see, a gun already booming an order for them to heave to. “That’s not Teach! It’s a Royal Navy frigate!”

  Chapter 26

  Ye shallow censures; sometimes see ye not,

  In greatest perils some men pleasant be,

  Where fame by death is only to be got,

  They resolute? So stands the case with me.

  —Drayton

  With a naval ship rounding the northern tip of Star Island, another laying on sail as it appeared from behind Londoner’s Island off their larboard beam, and the wind out of the northwest, Sam wasted no time. “Ready to gybe! All hands on deck to make sail and man the guns! If it’s a chase they want, then damn it, ’tis a chase they’ll get!”

  The crew sprang into action. Men poured out of the hatches. Some ran to the great mainsheet, others to the guns, and several, grabbing muskets, raced up the shrouds. Nefarious pivoted, swung her stern neatly through the wind, and ran for her life.

  Maria clutched the rail with white-knuckled hands and felt sick with apprehension. It had been an ambush, and their only hope lay in outrunning
the two ships now astern, clearing the southern tip of Star Island and making a mad dash out to sea before the ship approaching from the south could catch them. But even she could see that Nefarious could not outsail the big square-rigger astern, growing larger and larger by the moment. The ship that had been lying in wait behind Londoner’s Island, a sleek, fast cutter also flying the King’s colors, was also laying on all sail.

  “Ready the guns!” Sam yelled. “Bar shot and chain! Things are about to get hot!”

  Astern, the frigate was looming, rapidly closing the distance. A puff of smoke burst from her chaser and the boom of cannon fire rolled across the water. The shot hissed into the ocean fifty feet away.

  “Heave to, in the name of the King!”

  “Maria, get below,” Sam shouted.

  “But—”

  “Now!”

  He barked an order and as they cleared the southern tip of the island, Flanagan pushed the tiller over hard. The sloop responded, her nose swinging across the ruffled blue sea as she tried desperately to escape. Astern, the big frigate struggled to change course. Another angry shot rang out from her bows.

  “Heave to, you rogues!”

  The cutter, nimble and quick, had stayed well to the north, darting behind an island in an attempt to prevent escape in that direction. Now she emerged from behind the bleak granite, changed course, and came storming down on them, smoke pluming from her bows a second before the accompanying thunder of the gun echoed across the water.

  “She won’t let us escape out to sea,” Flanagan said worriedly. He glanced to larboard, where Star Island loomed threateningly close, stealing both their wind and speed.

  “Then we’ll have to fight our way past her,” Sam said tightly. “Better her than that damned frigate astern.”

  The frigate was piling on more sail. Ahead, the cutter’s gun roared again, and there was a quick whoompf as the ball tore through the jib. Maria, who’d paused at the hatch and now hung frozen with fear on the ladder, could see a bewigged man in a naval uniform wildly gesturing to a gun crew. They were finding the range. Next time, Nefarious might not be so lucky.