To Marry A Marauder

by Heather C. Myers

  But Grace heard it, and the pieces suddenly fell into place for her. How could she have been so stupid? How could she have possibly thought things would progress with them when he, in turn, was in love with another woman? He would never admit it, she knew, but she could suddenly tell. The desperation in their romps, the stares, the planning. He told her it was to retrieve his precious ship that had been taken from him before he became a pirate, but she always felt there was more to it. And now she knew there was.

  Charlie was still rambling. “…so get these notions out of your head that things are going to happen for us because they’re not. No weddings or dancing or guests or sailing away into the sunset together. No priest, asking us if…” Charlie stopped mid-sentence and paused in the middle of getting dressed. His eyes widened, and his grin, that grin that seemed so far away only moments before to Grace, came back, and she suddenly forgot to be mad at him. “That’s it. That’s it!!”

  “What’s it?” she asked.

  “Nothing you need to get mixed up in,” Charlie said, smiling while getting dressed. “I have come up with my most brilliant plan to date, and I need to get working on it right away. I don’t have much time.”

  It was a week after her return when her father saw fit to send her back to her private lessons with Fiona. Her father was incredibly ecstatic the past week, not only hearing that Brooke was engaged to be wed, but that her fiancé was none other than the successful and wealthy Lord Sutherland. September had begun, a cool breeze blowing inland as Brooke was led into Governor Radcliffe’s home. Immediately Fiona pulled her into a tight hug, and as the two fathers spoke quietly with one another, a maid led the two women to their temporary classroom. Fiona explained that their house did not get touched by the attack due to the elevation of it. When the two women entered the room, they were surprised to see Mister Slater was already there.

  “Ah, Miss Cunningham, so you’ve returned,” he said, peering down at her as she took a seat alongside Fiona. His face scowled at her, his big, bushy brows nearly overlapping his eyes they hung so low. “Do you realize how much you’ve missed, going off and gallivanting with pirates?” He looked at her harshly and waited for her to respond.

  Brooke smiled after Mister Slater finished speaking.

  “You think something’s funny, do you?” His hands were on his hips now and he was leaning over her desk.

  Brooke had to keep from biting the inside of her cheek from laughing out loud.

  “Of course not,” she managed to say.

  He looked at her a while longer and she managed to keep a straight face as he did so. She nearly lost it when Fiona hiccupped a chuckle but pulled it back together before Mister Slater noticed.

  “Well, then,” he said, spinning around and walking over to the chalkboard. He grabbed the white writing material between his fingers and proceeded to write on the board. “We’ll begin with the French translation of ‘gallivanting with pirates.’” He turned to look suspiciously at Brooke and muttered, “Don’t think I don’t know.”

  Brooke smiled. Finally, somebody who did not think Charlie had kidnapped her.

  That night, her father had the chef prepare something special for the two of them and then dismissed his staff for the evening so he could speak with his daughter privately. Brooke was somewhat nervous as she made her way down the stairs to dine with her father. They never ate alone together since the day her mother passed away so his behavior following her reappearance on Port Royal made her suspicious.

  Master Cunningham stood when he saw his daughter enter the dining room. He smiled at her and she returned it, but it did not reach her eyes.

  “How are you, Brooke?” he asked her as they sat down.

  “I am fine, Father,” she murmured softly as her eyes swept the table.

  There were fresh apples and bananas in a bowl. The main dish was a cooked pig, accompanied by a green salad and a loaf of bread. Brooke picked up the loaf of bread and cut off a slice before elaborating her answer to her father.

  “I have told you before; Captain Colt did not harm me,” she said, and then took a bite of her bread.

  “Captain Colt and I have had dealings before,” Master Cunningham said, staring intently at his daughter. “How do you know he was just not the cause of the destruction of Port Royal, and he took you as ransom? He knows our family is quite wealthy, and that we are close with Governor Radcliffe.” He took a long gulp from his goblet of wine. “I would not put it past him.”

  “I would,” Brooke said sharply.

  “Brooke, you do not know what you are—”

  “Yes I do!” she exclaimed. “Can I not be trusted to make my own judgment on a particular man’s character without someone telling me I am wrong? I am nearly one-and-twenty years old! You and Mother married when you were both three years younger than I am now.”

  Master Cunningham shook his head as he took another gulp of wine.

  “Thank the Lord that your judgment was clear in the moment you agreed to marry Lord Sutherland. We are lucky that he agreed to such a small dowry.”

  The word “dowry” caused Brooke’s head to snap up. She narrowed her eyes at her father as she took a gulp of her milk to help her swallow her food. At the moment, she was temporarily unable to do it herself.

  “Dowry?” she asked him. “My dowry? What is in my dowry, Father?”

  Master Cunningham waved his hand nonchalantly.

  “Oh, you know,” he said breezily. “Annual payments, your jewels, a map…”

  “My jewels?” Brooke asked, her voice cracking. “The very jewels Grandmother gave me?”

  “…some pigs, and a cow as well,” he finished. He motioned to Brooke’s plate of food. “Come now, honey, your food is getting cold.”

  Brooke contorted her face into a scowl.

  “If you will excuse me, Father, I do not feel well,” she said as she stood, and threw her napkin on her food.

  As she made her way up the stairs, she was finally able to wrap her head around everything her father had said. He mentioned a map, she remembered. Could it be the map that Charlie had, the one that led to the treasure of the “Dead Man’s Tale?” Is that why Sutherland was so quick to make her a deal, sparing Charlie’s life, but claiming hers? That would mean he would have to know the contents of her dowry before proposing the deal.

  Her father was planning this even before she agreed to marry Sutherland. The thought scared her, someone planning her fate without giving her any information about it or giving her any choice in the matter.

  Once she entered the room, she quickly changed into her nightgown and slipped into Charlie’s trench coat. She was so glad nothing had happened to it. Her room was repaired quickly, but no painting replaced the one that had been destroyed.

  Brooke crawled into her bed and rested her head on her pillow. She glanced out her window; it was left open, as usual. Pulling the trench coat tighter around her, she inhaled the scent that stained the cloth.

  It was fading, she realized. His scent was fading from the coat.

  Brooke only hoped her memories of Charlie did not fade along with his scent.

  Charlie cursed under his breath as he downed another drink. His perfectly brilliant plan was to go into effect but he was missing a key element: the uniform. How were people supposed to believe that he was an actual Father without the black robes and the white collar? He scratched his shaggy hair and humphed. Maybe he should’ve gone to confession more often. Why didn’t he have more religious acquaintances? He had many acquaintances; everyone from whores and pirates to princesses and governors. Why no Fathers? Why no nuns, even? She’s getting married in three days and I am nowhere, Charlie thought bitterly, glancing at Grace and motioning her to get him another drink.

  Without warning, a stranger walked in. Charlie turned to look, and nearly choked up the rum he was about to swallow. A Father, an actual Catholic Father, had just walked in the lowliest bar on the lowliest island in the Caribbean. It was not that rare seeing a p
riest in Torro; some came as missionaries, hoping to save the damned souls that plagued the island of Torro. However, Charlie knew how lucky he was, and quickly crossed himself as he got up. He nearly stumbled over himself and quickly sat down next to the priest without waiting for an invitation. Grace took Charlie’s drink over to Charlie’s newly acquired seat, and Charlie pushed it to the Father. Grace quirked a brow, never having seen Charlie give up paid rum so easily, but did not question him, and slowly walked away.

  “A drink for you Father,” Charlie said, grinning so his teeth glinted charmingly. “I need your help…. Now, I’m not a religious man…”

  “Which is why I’m here,” Father replied, taking a sip of the cheap rum. “If I’m able to help or inspire even one of you people, then my job has been fulfilled. My name is Father Barbarey.”

  Charlie looked at the wooden table, his eyes wide and he suppressed a frustrated sigh. “Right,” Charlie said, and then smiled cheekily. “My name is Charlie. I knew I could talk to you about something serious. Right.” He sighed before looking back at the priest. “I am in love,” Charlie said quietly, thinking quickly on his feet. “But sadly, for the past three months, she’s been kept away from me. You see,” and he whispered, “our love is forbidden. Not in a sinful way, of course, but society doesn’t believe a pirate and a princess really fit well together. She’s to be married in three days.”

  “Oh, how awful,” the young priest said, taking another sip of the rum. “How may I help you?”

  “Well, I would like to attend the wedding,” Charlie said persuasively, “but I doubt the people would want someone like me around. However, with an outfit much like yours, they might perceive me much more…with open arms, in fact.” Charlie extended his arms for effect. “Do you understand what I’m saying…?” His eyebrows extended high.

  The priest nodded, smiling. “Of course, of course. Let me finish my drink, and I shall let you have my spare uniform.” He furrowed his brow. “Wait, you mean the wedding at Port Royal? I’m supposed to marry the two. Does the girl still love you?” At Charlie’s nod, the priest pushed his fingers together deep in thought. “Hmm…I cannot, in the name of good morals, marry someone who does not wish to be married. But if you went in my stead…”

  “A brilliant idea, mate,” Charlie said, putting his hands together in a meaning of prayer. “I could not have come up with a better one myself.”

  “I’m staying in a room above,” the priest said, waving humbly at Charlie’s compliment. “After our business here, let us go upstairs and further discuss this unrequited love story, shall we?”

  “You’ve inspired me to better myself,” Charlie said, nodding. “And she does that; she saves me. So, in turn, you save me as well. I thank you, mate, very much. You are a life saver.” And Charlie truly meant it.

  After a few days, a knock sounded on the front of the Cunningham residence. Jarvis, their butler, answered the door and led the young man into the sitting room before calling Brooke downstairs.

  “Joel?” Brooke asked, covering herself more with a white silk robe. “What are you doing here? My father is out on business….”

  “I came to see you, Brooke,” he told her quietly, stepping forward.

  Brooke looked up into Joel’s blue eyes. He was quite handsome, and Brooke understood why Fiona was so besotted with him. He was charming in a subtle manner, and incredibly witty. He had intense blue eyes and short, sandy blond hair. He was peachy pale, with a clean-shaven face. He was a bit on the scrawny side, but he made up for it in height. He was a bit shorter than Charlie, Brooke noticed.

  “Is everything all right?” Brooke prodded, glancing out the window. Stars twinkled in return to her gaze.

  “I apologize for the late hour,” Joel said. “In fact, I apologize for coming to see you without calling first. I am sure what this might look like.”

  “My servants are incredibly loyal,” she said surely. “Please, go on.”

  “I wanted to come here to apologize,” he said, his blue eyes pooled with worry.

  Brooke smiled. “You have done enough of that tonight,” she jested.

  “Please, listen, Brooke,” he said softly. Brooke’s smile slowly slipped off her face when he saw the intent gaze in his eyes. She nodded, silently urging him to go on. “I wanted to apologize for that night…the night you disappeared. I led you back…I should have gone inside with you, made absolutely certain that you were all right. When I heard that you had disappeared, I knew it was my fault.”

  “Joel, please,” Brooke said, forcing him to look her in her eyes. “I know what many of you think, but Charlie saved me. If he was not there to take me away then surely I would be a part of the wreckage.”

  “That pirate,” Joel spat the word, “has you brainwashed, Brooke.”

  Brooke sighed through her nose, trying to maintain her patience. After Fiona, he was her closest friend. She did not quite figure in Charlie yet, but he was definitely up among them in her list of friends. She did not want to fight, as she had with Lord Sutherland, her father, and even Fiona, about whether or not Charlie had taken her against her will or not, and while she maintained his innocence, many people thoroughly believed as Joel did; that Captain Colt had brainwashed her. It infuriated her that everyone believed she was incapable of making any decisions herself, but getting angry was not going to help anything.

  “He’s a wanted man, now more than ever,” Joel continued. “If he sets one foot on this land, he will be captured, tried, and put to death.”

  Brooke had never fully comprehended that fact. She knew that Charlie was a wanted man, but never really understood the consequences of Charlie’s actions. If he came to rescue her and was caught, he would be put to death. It was as simple as that. And if he was caught, it would be her fault and her sacrificing herself would be in vain. If only she could write to Charlie, to tell him not to come, then his life might be spared. But people were monitoring her, especially since she seemed to be so fond of a wanted man.

  “I know that Joel,” she murmured quietly.

  “I wish we were closer, Brooke,” he said, putting his hands gently on her shoulders. “When you were gone, I felt like I knew you and yet, at the same time, I hardly knew you at all. Do not perceive me the wrong way—my intentions are fully honorable; I just want to be close to you, Brooke. I just want to be close to you, to protect you.”

  Brooke wanted to tell him that she did not need protecting from the pirate he was thinking of but she knew Joel was emotional now, and did not want to push him. He pulled her into a tight hug, wrapping his arms around her tightly, and resting his cheek on the top of her head.

  “I want that too,” Brooke said in his chest. “I want that too, Joel.”

  9

  Joel kept his promise; he and Brooke became incredibly close. Fiona was rather suspicious of their bonding, but Brooke continually reassured her that his intentions were fully honorable and that she suspected Joel was only getting close to her to get close to Fiona. That seemed to make Fiona happy, and so they were a trio once again. But Joel would never replace Charlie.

  The day had finally come; her twenty-first birthday. This day was supposed to be celebratory, and yet she felt like she was signing her own soul away. That morning, she walked outside with a book in her hand, and she took a seat underneath the tree that had provided Charlie the means to get into her room so long ago. She leaned her back against the bark and opened her book to start reading Richard the Second. Brooke had always been a fan of Shakespeare, especially his sonnets. She had read nearly every single work of his, save for Richard the Second and King Lear, as well as reading every single work that was written about him. She had always been fascinated about the surrounding controversy about the real authorship of Shakespeare, and personally believed that the man from Stratford-upon-Avon really did write his work. But who really knew?

  After finishing the first act, she placed a piece of ribbon in the book to save her page and then looked up into the sky. Her
heart was fluttering painfully; her mind had wandered to Charlie. She could not forget him, even if she tried. His face always seemed to pop in and out of her mind at the most inappropriate times. She hoped he was safe, and wondered if maybe he was thinking about her. Did he remember his promise to rescue her? Would he go through with it? Did he even remember that today was her birthday, that she would be married today? His chiseled face, his arrogant smile that made his teeth shimmer in the sunlight, his deep, dark eyes outlined in kohl, his long, pointed nose, his angled jaw line, his soft lips. Even his scent was trapped in her memory, although it had disappeared long ago from his trench coat. She missed him terribly, and yet she hoped he would continue living his life fully, without worrying about her.

  “Mum, let’s get you ready, yeah?” Liz called from the doorway.

  Brooke sighed as fear and anxiousness coursed through her bloodstream. She allowed Liz to lead her back into her house, up the stairs, and into her room. Fiona was already waiting, and for the next three hours, they got her ready for her big day. She was wearing a long white gown. The sleeves were puffy, the cut was low, and the skirt of the dress flared out two inches wide. Not only was it suffocating, but she could hardly move in it as well. Liz painted her face like a China doll while Fiona tied her hair into an intricate bun. She hated the way she looked. The corset she was wearing was too tight, and her cleavage was pushed up much too high for her level of comfort.

  “Almost time, mum,” Liz said, glancing at the grandfather clock that rested against Brooke’s wall. “How ’bout me and Fiona leave you some time alone for a few minutes, hmm?”

  Brooke nodded. “That is very thoughtful, Liz, thank you,” she said, glancing out the window. She didn’t watch them walk out, but made sure she heard the click of the door as at it shut.

  The next twenty minutes would be the shortest of her life.