The Pirate Bride

by Y'Barbo, Kathleen;

  It also allowed for a much smaller crew, which displeased those who were not chosen to rejoin them. Those men were much happier when they discovered the amount they would be paid for remaining behind.

  Several storms had kept them from sailing out into open waters, but Maribel did not mind. With the vessel rocking at anchor in the shallow green waters of the Caribbean Sea, life aboard the ship that had been christened the Escape was idyllic.

  Though they were all under orders not to leave the ship, the captain did allow for plenty of time for Maribel to read when she was not otherwise assigned to a task. Thus, in the past seven weeks, she had begun the task of reading every book in the captain’s library.

  Maribel had also convinced the captain to allow her to bring whatever book she might be reading up to the post with her, although she had to prove to him after many weeks of work that she could read and remain alert at the same time. Oh, but prove it she did.

  However, that was the only negative to the night watch. No matter how hard she tried to convince him, the captain refused to allow her a lamp or even a candle up in the watch post, so her reading was limited to nights when the moon shone at its brightest. She understood the reason behind it, of course, but the night watches seemed so much longer this way.

  “Are you trying to read up there?”

  She peered down in the direction the voice had come from. “No sir, Captain,” she said.

  “Good,” came his good-humored reply. “Reading in the dark will damage your eyes, you know.”

  The same thing the captain said almost every night when he came to check on her. “Yes, sir,” she responded as usual.

  The ship rocked and swayed over seas that were only slightly more choppy than usual. The moon was a mere fingernail in the southern sky, so she would not be reading tonight.

  In the east, lightning skittered across the clouds from east to west, as it often did on warm nights like tonight. She had learned to tell the difference between what the men called heat lightning and the other type, which indicated a squall was present.

  William Spencer told her he’d once seen a book with pictures in it that showed different types of clouds and gatherings of stars called constellations. Someday she would find that book and read it from cover to cover, memorizing all the patterns of stars so she could recognize them up in her watch post.

  Likely she would have plenty of time to search and even more time to read and remember what was in the book. No one aboard the ship wanted this job, likely because she was the only one who did not get sick from the rocking motions.

  What Maribel would never admit is that the first time she was assigned to this task, she nearly lost her breakfast of porridge on the heads of the men working on the deck below. Pride alone kept her from embarrassment, and pride taught her how to remain that way.

  Lightning flashed again, this time zigzagging west to east. Something on the horizon caught her eye. Was that a sail?

  Her heart lurched. In all the nights she spent on watch, she could count on one hand the times she thought she had seen something out on the water. Only once had there actually been another vessel, and it had turned out to be a stranded merchantman flying the English flag.

  She lifted the spyglass to her eye with trembling hands. The sky remained dark with only tiny pinpoints of light to remind her there were stars overhead.

  “Calm down,” she whispered. “It’s probably nothing. Probably not sails at all.”

  Maribel lowered the spyglass and waited with more patience than she thought she could possess. As each second ticked by, she wanted to scream. Wanted to have an answer to the question that was causing her heart to race and her hands to shake.

  There! Lightning once again showed in the clouds, winding its way parallel to the horizon. A horizon where three sails had gained on them.

  She opened her mouth to shout a warning and found her breath frozen in her lungs. Pray away the fear. Pray away the fear. Pray away …

  Trying again, she managed to cough out a cry. Nothing like words but a noise all the same.

  “What’s that?” William Spencer, who always seemed to be assigned to a watch below her post, called from below.

  “There is a ship,” she managed with more strength. “I see sails! Due east.”

  William sounded the alarm as Maribel gripped the edge of the watch post with one hand and lifted the spyglass up to her eye with the other. This time she held it still, and after what seemed like endless moments of blackness, she saw the sails again.

  Having learned all the vessels by name, she called out what she saw. She counted the masts and made sure there were two and that they were square-rigged. The next time the lightning illuminated the vessel, she confirmed there were two sails on the mainmast. Yes, there was the topsail and the gaff sail.

  “Brigantine,” she called. “No flags showing.”

  Probably British in origin, she decided after considering the drawings of vessels she had seen in the captain’s books. Rather than be wrong, however, Maribel kept her opinion to herself.

  From what she knew of the brigantines, they were swift and easily maneuvered in all types of seas. They were a favorite of pirates and as a naval vessel.

  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly to calm her racing heart. Whoever was at the helm, this was no stranded merchantman.

  She remained still, watching and waiting until the sails were once again illuminated. Or should have been.

  Maribel lowered the spyglass and swiped at the glass on the end to see if perhaps it was smudged. There was nothing on the eastern horizon.

  Swinging her attention across the horizon, she spied the sails now tacking to the west. After taking a moment to calculate, she called out the new coordinates. She continued to repeat this process, forgetting her fear. Down below on deck, the crew was going about the business of preparing to engage in battle, all the while remaining silent and working under cover of darkness.

  Finally she became aware that someone was climbing up to join her. “William Spencer?” she called as she trained her spyglass on the horizon. “What are you doing up here?”

  “Captain sent me to fetch you. Said he doesn’t want you up here in harm’s way.”

  “You know you cannot spend five minutes up here without getting ill. How in the world will you manage to continue to call out coordinates if your supper is on the men below?”

  “That is not …”

  She turned around to spare her friend a glance. Even in the dim light, she could see from his expression that the motion of the vessel was already causing him discomfort.

  “I told you I can manage this. I know the captain won’t like what you have to tell him, but I will take the blame once this kerfuffle is finished, all right?”

  Maribel waited for William to speak or even nod, but he said nothing. Instead, he stood very still and gripped the edge of the lookout post.

  “For goodness’ sake,” she told him. “Get out of here before you keep me from doing my job. If I am worrying about you, I cannot be tracking that brig.”

  At that, William complied. She imagined he carried a mixture of relief and dread with him as he shimmied back down the mast, but at least he did not carry the remains of his supper on the front of his shirt.

  She returned to her task, lifting the spyglass to her eye. What was it about some men, especially the ones aboard the Escape, who held the opinion that in times of danger they ought to protect her? There was nothing she couldn’t do just as well as they could.

  Maribel let out a long breath as she waited for the next lightning to dance along the clouds. Indeed, there were some tasks she could do better than any of them, chief among them the job she was doing tonight. William had just proved her point.

  Lowering the spyglass, she glanced over the edge to make sure William hadn’t fallen due to his impending illness. Behind her something cracked with a noise so loud it deafened her.

  Something white tangled around her. Her ears rang a
s she fought to find fresh air again.

  Another crack, something she felt rather than heard.

  Then came the sensation of flying.

  Or falling.

  And then the world went black.

  “I can’t find her, Captain,” Israel said. “We’ve all looked, and she just isn’t anywhere.”

  Jean looked up at his second-in-command, exhaustion tugging at the corners of his understanding. They’d outrun the French ship, but only after they disabled their opponent by taking out the vessel’s mainmast.

  “That cannot be,” he said as he let out a long breath and scrubbed at his face. The smell of blood, gunpowder, and smoke clung to him, and he wanted nothing more than to fall into his bunk and sleep. “She would not leave her duty. Go look in the top of the mainmast. And if she’s fallen asleep, wake her and tell her she’ll spend time in the brig the next time she is derelict in her duties.”

  Israel’s face wore a stricken look. “That’s just it, sir. The lookout post is gone. Shot through by a cannonball, I’d guess. Missed the mainmast but got …” He shook his head. “I can’t say it, sir.”

  Jean stumbled to his feet, his exhaustion gone. “Turn the ship around and go back to where the first shot from the French brigantine was fired.”

  “Consider it done,” Israel said, moving much faster than a man of his size should have been able to move.

  The sloop had been a wise choice, for this vessel was easily able to maneuver around and head back toward the scene of the battle at a fast clip. With all its sails unfurled, the Escape practically flew toward their destination.

  At some point during the voyage, Connor came to stand beside him at the wheel. They remained in silence, watching the waves with Jean preferring not to speak. Apparently the doctor felt the same, for he remained stoic with his attention focused straight ahead.

  “Lad,” he finally said. “I would be remiss if I did not remind you that we are taking this vessel back into waters where a French Navy vessel may be nursing her wounds.” He paused. “And not only nursing a grudge against us but also likely aware of the bounty on your head.”

  “I am aware of that,” Jean said through clenched jaw. “And if there was a way for me to search for Maribel without the rest of you, I would certainly exercise that option.”

  “You are once again taking on a responsibility that is not yours alone to bear,” he said.

  “I’ll not have another of your lectures, Connor. Not tonight, and certainly not on this topic.”

  “So you do not wish to hear that I believe you are a fool for risking your life to go back and try to find that girl?”

  “I do not,” Jean said evenly as he concentrated on the horizon.

  “Good,” he said. “Because I do not believe that at all.”

  “No?” Jean spared him a glance. Slowly a smile dawned. Connor answered the smile with a nod.

  No more words were necessary. As he always had, and as he had done for Jean’s father before him, Evan Connor would follow him into battle and remain at his side.

  When Israel called out that they had reached their destination, there was no sign of the French vessel. Jean ordered the anchor dropped. Though the danger was there, so was the opportunity to retrieve the child.

  A loud splash announced that the skiff had been lowered down into the inky water. Evan held the lamp as Jean slid down the rope to land in the craft.

  “Send down the lamp, then release the ropes,” Jean told him.

  “Not yet,” came the booming voice of Israel Bennett.

  His second-in-command tucked the rope into the crook of his arm and slid down with his free hand. The skiff rocked as Israel landed.

  “I’ll row,” Israel announced. “You hold the lamp.” He paused, obviously realizing he had overstepped his position. “Unless you prefer it the other way around, sir.”

  “No,” Jean said as Connor released the rope. “Head us off in that direction. I will let you know if I see any sign of her.”

  “You worried about those Frenchmen coming back after us?” Israel asked.

  “Not my concern right now,” Jean said.

  “Mine either, sir,” was his swift response. “I figure I do my part and the Lord’ll do His. That generally works best for me.”

  Jean gave the statement some thought and then discarded his responses. No need to comment on something he struggled to understand. Israel was generous in sharing his faith, although Jean understood that even less.

  How was a man who was taken prisoner at the hands of his enemies and sold into slavery able not only to forgive those men but to rise above it all to still hold on to his faith in God? It made no sense.

  “You got questions, then you go ahead and ask them, Captain,” Israel said as he continued to row.

  “Don’t know what to ask,” Jean said.

  Israel gave a thoughtful nod. “Well then, when you do know, that’d be the time, sir.”

  Jean nodded. A comfortable silence fell between them as Israel rowed and Jean searched the waters for even a scrap of sail or piece of the lookout post.

  Though they remained on the search well beyond the time when the sun rose, there was no evidence that Maribel had been lost here. Jean ordered the anchor lifted, and they moved to another location where the lookout thought he saw debris.

  The process continued throughout the day and into the night. Still nothing was found that would offer any idea as to where the youngest member of the crew had gone.

  The crew of the Escape was lifting anchor to move to yet another location when Connor intervened. “Israel, please call Mr. Rao up to take your place. I will stand in for our captain while the two of you get some rest.”

  Both men argued the point, but the doctor refused to back down. Finally Jean nodded. “We are of no use to Maribel if we can hardly hold up our heads or keep our eyes open.” He turned his attention to the doctor. “I will have four hours’ rest, and then we go out again. I’ve given the coordinates already. I trust you to find that location and drop anchor there.”

  “It will be done as you ask,” Connor said as he handed Jean a dipper of water. “Although as your doctor I would suggest more sleep than just four hours.”

  Jean regarded his old friend with an icy stare and then took several grateful sips. Though he understood why Connor would make such a suggestion, the idea of any rest at all while Maribel might be floating in the ocean was appalling to him.

  A stronger man would not need such a thing. And yet as he looked at Israel, he knew the thought was absurd. No man could live long without sleep.

  “Argue with me,” he finally said to Connor, “and I will make it three hours. Perhaps two.”

  “And what do I do to make it six, Jean? Or eight?” The doctor returned Jean’s stare, his expression showing concern.

  “Nothing,” Jean said as he turned to walk away. “Connor, send someone to wake us in four hours’ time.”

  “Aye, Captain,” he said. “And I’ll have Cook prepare a meal for you to take with you.” He held up his hands as if to fend off any response from Jean. “When you find her, she will likely be hungry.”

  A point he could not argue, so he made no attempt to try. For as much as he held out hope that Maribel Cordoba was floating nearby and awaiting discovery, serious doubts had taken root. Given the time that had elapsed and the distance she would have had to fall, human logic and reason told him survival was unlikely.

  Something else, though he was unwilling to call it faith, told him otherwise. So in four hours he would rise from his bunk and commence the search again. He would continue to search until whatever it was inside him that sent him out called him back in.

  Jean allowed his eyes to fall shut, but still sleep eluded him. Never once had he allowed himself to reconsider any decision he made as captain of a vessel. To do so could cripple his ability to lead.

  But tonight, in the darkness of his cabin, Jean let his mind sort through the steps on the path that led him here. T
he choices that sent an innocent if exasperating girl out into open water during the blackness of night.

  He slammed his fist against the wall beside him and sat up. There was just no sense to any of it.

  Then it came to him, the knowledge of his fault slamming against his chest with enough force to knock him backward. Jean Beaumont, the notorious privateer with a bounty on him, hung his head and cried.

  The green water was pretty and warm, just like what Maribel had imagined in the books she read about the Caribbean Sea. Her head hurt and her eyes wanted to close, but every time she tried to sleep she fell off the piece of wood that kept her floating along.

  If she tried hard, she could remember a disagreement she had with William Spencer. To be exact, she could remember that she and William exchanged words, although the particulars of the discussion were unclear. If only he were here to remind her. And maybe to continue the discussion.

  Looking up at the stars, she had counted more constellations than she thought she knew. When she could find no more familiar star patterns, she began to create names for her own until the sun peeked over the horizon and ruined her game.

  Maribel rolled over onto her stomach without sliding off the board, a skill she had developed with practice in the hours since she woke up from whatever nightmare landed her in the water. Until now she hadn’t thought about how the water turned from inky black to deep purple and finally to red, gold, and then green as the sun rose, even though she must have seen it happen from the watch post.

  The seas were calm now, with only a slight wind to propel her over the waves, putting her in mind of Robinson Crusoe. Maybe she would find her own island and live there.

  Maribel gave that some thought even though her head hurt so much that it became hard to string ideas together. Yes, she could live on an island, but no, she would not like to live there without friends. And certainly she would miss reading her books.

  Oh, but a nice island where she had friends and books? She smiled even though it hurt her lips. Now that sounded just right.

  Sound.

  She opened her eyes but closed them again because they were too heavy to control. Yes, there it was again, a sound that wasn’t the waves or the wind or the occasional seabird squawking.