Inspecting the bandage, Tom agreed. “This should do fine.” He patted the bandage. “Thank you,” he added.
“You know, I was never much good with medicine. Being out in the world on my own changed that in no time.”
“What? You’ve treated gun wounds before?” Tom inquired.
Molly abruptly changed the subject, taking her hands away from his body. “Did you sleep well?”
“I slept as I always do,” he answered vaguely. “You know, Miss, you remind me that you’ve yet to disclose what you were doing before you came aboard my ship, er … ships. I’m eager, I admit, to know much more about you.” He paced lightheartedly about the deck. “You fascinate me, Molly Bishop. I must know all you have to tell me.”
“I can offer nothing interesting, I fear.” Molly felt the tickle of cold nerves.
“Oh, but I’m easily captivated by a story, my lady, easily,” he insisted. “Go on, then.”
Contemplating how to begin or what to say, Molly looked down at her hands, folded in front of her.
“Where does the lady hail from, eh?” Tom asked, stopping in front of her.
“What is my story worth to you, Captain?”
He quickly responded and widened his eyes emphatically. “Everything. What would you like in exchange for your story?” Tom greatly enjoyed the company of his new, conversational sparring partner.
“Well that depends on how valuable you think my story is.” She smiled, shaking her head and touching a finger to his chest.
“Well if I put a price on it I’d never be able to afford the bargain,” Tom replied. “I surmise you would like to know about me as well, eh? How about a trade?”
“No tricks?”
“Tricks?”
“I trust your story will be a truthful one?”
“Tricks are for petty thieves, Miss Bishop.”
“Then I have nothing to worry about, except for the cunning of a pirate.”
“Pirate …” Tom murmured, wagging a finger. “You know I don’t care for that description.”
“I meant no offense,” she apologized. “Where to begin? My father was of mixed heritage, Spanish and Taíno. His mother’s family were natives of Culebra and his father was from Madrid. My mother, however, was Scottish. Her ancestors were from Wigtownshire and her parents came from wealth. I’m not sure when or how my own parents met, but after they married they moved to my father’s home in Spain.”
Pacing about again, Tom nodded. “Yes, go on.”
“My father took my mother to her familial home in London for my birth, which is where she passed away when I was but moments old. My uncle—my mother’s unmarried brother, Samuel Bishop—took me in and gave me his surname, raising me as his daughter in his home outside of London. He and his maids and my governess watched after me as I grew. According to him, my father was a soldier, but I have no proof. I’ve neither seen nor heard from him once in my life. I really don’t know much about him, only that he sailed often before I was born, and he was involved in trading before he became a soldier and disappeared. My uncle always assured me that my father loved my mother very much and that she was very happy with him. I haven’t seen my uncle in years either, but I remember his being so good to me. He was a frail man with a strong spirit.”
Tom tilted his head knowingly. “I’ve seen the like. Please, continue.”
“He raised me on a small farm just outside the city, and I helped him with its upkeep. He taught me everything I know. He taught me how to read, write, cook even. His head maid, I don’t recall her given name, was my governess, and like a mother to me, teaching me refinement and modest pride. I always called her Aunt. Samuel almost married her. I suppose he saw her as the closest thing to a mother I’d ever had, and probably wanted to signify it by taking her as his wife, but he was always torn between her and a woman named Charlotte, who lived nearby.”
“Your aunt’s teachings are evident in you.”
Molly’s face softened in remembrance, and she blushed at the compliment. “Perhaps I will see her again. I think I would like that. Well, the time came when I decided I needed to find myself, to seek what I was destined for. I was just a girl whose head was filled with the idea of adventure—you know, as in stories. It was silly. I thought perhaps I could find some answers about my past. My uncle gave me the twin pistols for protection before I left. They were my father’s, he told me. I’ve always kept them close. I received a few lessons while living with a companion.” She paused for a moment, hiding her discomfort. “I lived in the American colonies for a short while before an unfortunate tragedy changed my life. Somehow I came to live in Barbados after and here I am now. I suppose I’m a wanderer, just looking for something to live for. I think Uncle Samuel was sorry to watch me go so eagerly.” Molly hoped he wouldn’t notice an absence of important details.
“And when you hurriedly boarded my ship in Bridgetown, is that what you sought at the time? A life? A purpose?” Tom questioned.
Molly hesitated, thinking carefully. “I suppose. That, among other reasons. I was more frightened at the time, just needing to get away from the island. Once aboard the Nymphe Colère, another life was all I could think about.”
A thoughtful expression crossed Tom’s face. “You’re lucky, Miss. If not for my intuition and remarkable curiosity, you might still be somewhere in Barbados.”
“I can’t begin to tell you how grateful I am of that now.”
“Perhaps I may be of some aid in finding for you what you seek. It would be no burden. Besides, I am familiar with the wanderlust you describe, ma’am.”
“I would appreciate that.”
He smiled. “Thank you for your personal account, Molly. My curiosity has been satisfied.” It was the first time he’d used her first name.
Molly nodded, looking away.
“You don’t find your life fascinating as I do, then? Odd …” he commented with a grin.
“Oh, it’s not …” she began hastily, then was unable to find words to go further.
“Well, you have at least kept your end of the bargain, and on my honor I swore to keep my own, didn’t I?” Tom sat casually on the railing, swinging his legs.
Molly looked up at him. “That you did.” She was bursting at the seams for even a few details of Tom’s past, but she held back her enthusiasm to avoid embarrassing herself again.
“Ah, well it isn’t as interesting as your story I assure you, but in any case … I was born en route to Eastern Europe, one night in a caravan camp. My father, an Englishman, was also a trader, but he fancied himself an adventurer as well. He headed a caravan that travelled through the long trade routes from Austria and into the easternmost regions of Europe, where he met my mother. My mother—Moldavian—was the daughter of a woodsman. She met my father in the late summer of a year of unknown date, when his caravan stopped to rest for a night. My mother agreed to travel with him when he promised to take her back through Austria at the end of his seasonal trek and back to his familial home in Greenwich, England, to make her his wife.” Tom paused and caught his breath. “After living for several years in Greenwich, my father decided to earn more money with the caravan, and my mother wouldn’t let him go alone. They brought my younger brother, Harlan, and me along. In the winter of the return trip, the caravan stopped in the mountains to camp for the night. One night it had snowed, and we were forced to huddle around a weak fire that sustained us in spite of the bitter weather. Long after the fire had gone out we remained lingering over the embers to take in the last bit of warmth. We stayed out much too long, and this unwise decision turned to disaster.”
Molly frowned at the sudden turn of events in Tom’s story.
“In our hunger and chills we were unknowingly being watched by others in the same desperate state as we. Later I would count twelve of them. With but one startling bark as our warning, they descended on our camp, surrounding and pouncing on the easiest—my mother and younger brother. My brother was bitten several times before es
caping into a tent. My mother was dragged away instantly. I ran after Harlan, finding him shivering in the corner of the tent. His eyes were different. I called his name, but all he did was stare up at the full moon, which had pierced the snow clouds, through a tear in the tent. He started to pant. His body convulsed.” Thomas shuddered as he remembered, then continued. “He grew pointed teeth. When I called out his name again, I choked. As I backed away quietly, his eyes locked on me and he pounced. I screamed and seized his shoulders, throwing him over me and collapsing the tent on both of us. Growling and barking, Harlan’s snout jabbed at me through the canvas, trying to snap closed around my arms and legs. I kicked and fought, narrowly avoiding his attacks. There was a sudden brightness, and I shut my eyes in pain, for it had been so dark before. A heavy, clawed hand pinned my chest, and I felt two rows of teeth clamp down on my shoulder. I shouted in agony. There was a rush of heat, and the hiss of fire. The jaws released me, and the weight was lifted. My father dug me out of the tangled canvas, picked me off the ground and rounded up our horses, the two of us fleeing in our wagon. He tied a blindfold over my eyes and forbade me to look up at the full moon. Our attackers gave chase. They barked and growled furiously, realizing we’d escaped. However, one of them was able to keep pace with us—one I had not counted moments before, a thirteenth—which leapt at me before falling and losing the chase altogether. My father and I made it to Austria, and later we moved back to Greenwich. There he became a gunsmith. Just before I turned sixteen I left to sail to the New World on a merchant ship that carried sugar from the colonies in the Caribbean.”
“But why?” Molly asked.
“One day some unexpected visitors entered our house in Greenwich. They were Black Coats—vampires—and they had heard that my father crafted ingenious magical weapons. My father refused to do business with them, and they threatened to return. When they did, my father armed himself with his five best rings and told me to flee as we heard the front door being clawed to pieces. I looked back at him only once before climbing through a high window in the back of the room he’d locked us up in. He was smiling at me, as if nothing in the world was wrong.” Tom shook his head and his voice caught in his throat. He took a moment to compose himself. “For a time I sailed with merchants from many parts of the world—Europe, Asia, Africa—and learned the ocean quickly. I can’t remember how many ships I set foot on, or how many captains—both noble and despicable—I served. I never stayed with one ship for more than three months. I eventually earned enough wages to purchase my own ship, and I simply traveled port to port from that day on. One morning, two years ago, I docked the Nymphe Colère in Cape Hatteras, and while on shore I caught a glimpse of a familiar face in a local tavern. He was leaving as I entered, looking at me only out of the corner of an eye. It was Harlan.”
“Harlan?” Molly interjected.
Tom looked up and nodded. “My brother, alive,” he continued. “I turned to reach out and stop him but Harlan was nowhere to be found the next moment. I dismissed the thought and spent the night in the town inn, trying to convince myself that seeing him was a lie of my imagination because my brother had disappeared many years before. The next morning one of my crew was speaking excitedly over breakfast of the terrible murders that had taken place overnight in Hatteras. He exclaimed wildly, recounting the tale as it had appeared in the town papers. A group of thirty men, well-known pirates at that, were killed by what appeared to have been a pack of wolves as was deduced by the numerous bite wounds on their bodies. However, only one wolf had been spotted by a witness, who claimed it was the one and only assailant. He also said there were other men at the scene, all wearing black, and he couldn’t identify them. The man in the tavern continued his story, raving about wild beasts and the absurdity of the circumstances, but only one person came to my mind. Harlan. I know you must wonder why I immediately thought of my brother, and I can say only that I knew for reasons based on my own experience that … for … well, it … was strange, you see, that Harlan … not that he was the culprit … I … It was intuition again, you see? I can’t really say why I thought … well, no matter. I’ve been interested in finding Harlan since Hatteras. No, obsessed, would be more honest. That is my story, I suppose.” He maintained an uncertain expression and feigned a smile.
“You arouse my curiosity only further,” said Molly. “This brother of yours … what is it about him that makes you so uneasy? Why do you want to find him?”
“I just have dreams, is all. I see him and can’t sleep. That, and he and I have a very significant connection. There’s something between us that must be resolved. Don’t put too much thought into it, Miss. No need to concern yourself. It’s silly, really.”
Gazing at him intently, Molly pressed on. “What kind of dreams?”
“Unpleasant dreams. Dreams that are too real to be just dreams,” Tom replied, looking up, squinting into the sun and spying a gull. Was there land near?
Regretting her prying, Molly looked away, suddenly uncomfortable. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep . . .”
Tom shook his head. “I’m concerned only about getting you safely back to London. It will be a month or two at the least, and until then I will keep you safe.” It was unclear if Tom was speaking to her or himself at that point.
“How long do you intend to stay in London after your business is concluded?”
“The trade will dictate how long I stay. When the trade is complete I will have no business in London. I’ll sail again as soon as I have it.”
“What do you mean to obtain?”
“Just a personal item,” he replied, avoiding the whole truth. “Well, my lady, I recall that you can cook, and very well at that. Have you had anything to eat since yesterday?”
“Now that you ask, no, I suppose I haven’t.”
Tom led her to the galley insistently. “We have any and all spices, meats, fruits and vegetables you could ever need, I assume, although I am no cook. I just had Morgan Shaw procure a bit of everything.” He directed her to the stock. “I would accept a few more meals for the crew as payment for your passage to London.”
“Of course.” Molly picked through the stock.
An idea suddenly struck Tom and he clapped his hands together. “Another bargain, perhaps? Teach me your trade and I’ll teach you mine, yes? We have months yet to occupy us.”
“What would you teach me, Captain?
“The sea—maps, sails, winds, stars, trading, exploring, exotic peoples and, as my father would agree, adventure.”
Molly’s dark eyes glowed with excitement.
“You’ll have to teach me all your culinary techniques in exchange.”
“Agreed.”
“Well then, I won’t keep you from your duties,” he finished.
“Nor I from yours.” Molly gathered up some ingredients and began chopping. As Tom excused himself, Molly began to prepare the stove, collecting wood and lighting a fire. Stars and maps and exploring and travel—it all sounded so romantic.
Tom shouted for all sails to be raised. Haste was paramount if he hoped to reach London on schedule. He consulted Bart on the ship’s condition. Bart led Thomas around the ship, listing inventory and various components that had been prepared for use during the early morning watch. “Forty cannons … thirty boarding hooks … reinforced hull …” The captain nodded happily as Bart continued. “The helm has been adjusted for maneuverability. Basically, Cap’n, I built the ship of your dreams.” His laugh was characteristically raspy.
“I think it’ll be enough to surprise him when I find him.”
“Where is he then, Cap’n?” Bart asked quietly.
“I don’t know. Been two years since I saw him in Hatteras. I’ve had a map to him for a long time, only I could never read it, and that’s going to change soon.”
Finished with mixing the dough for loaves of honey bread, Molly wiped her brow, cleaning her hands on a spare rag. Cutting up a bit of pork and adding it to her pies, she finished her prepar
ations. She grinned broadly at her work before a pain in her stomach erupted, gone as quickly as it came. She shook her head, figuring it was from lack of food and sleep from the previous day, in combination with a need to adapt to the behavior of the ship on the waves beneath her feet. She grabbed an apple and made her way up on deck and to her cabin. The captain noticed her and offered her a friendly nod from up on the stern, standing with Bart. She smiled politely in return before entering her cabin.
There was a long pause before Bart spoke. “Cap’n? Is she …”
Tom simply nodded, looking out beyond the bow.
“But does she know anything ’bout it?”
Tom shook his head. “No, she wasn’t raised by her parents. Doubt her father said anything about it.”
“Then the ring you were given was made in—”
“Spain. Yes.”
“I thought you’d given up looking for the other years ago when I last saw you.”
“I had, but then I went to Hatteras. That changed everything. Then I had a dream about the man who made my father’s rings. Then I dreamed of Molly Bishop.”
Molly sat quietly on her bed, looking out the window at the crew. Noticing Tom and Bart talking quietly amongst themselves, Molly briefly found herself wondering about their conversation. The two spoke frequently, always keeping their voices down. Molly, knowing no better, assumed it was just the nature of a captain to keep much of his business private, but she wished he’d share his plans with her, considering he’d warmed up to her enough to share his personal history. The matter of the captain’s past life led only to more questions. Was he aware that the Black Coats, the devilish lot that came after him and his father, were the same rogues she’d fled from in Bridgetown? She also wondered where the captain planned to travel after London, and at some port, somewhere else across oceans, was a woman waiting for him?
The Lore Series (Box Set): All 3 Books In One Volume Page 6