Page 21 of Captive of the Pirate King
Locke comes up beside me, laughing. He clamps an arm around my shoulders, squeezing companionably. “A cheering sight, isn’t it, lad?”
“Glorious,” I whisper, and I mean it.
Beyond the bowsprit and jib, the sea sparkles like the sapphires of my mother’s best necklace. In the hazy sunlit distance, three lumps swell the horizon. Gulls dart and swoop overhead, squalling intermittently. The sharp sea wind dries the tears on my cheeks, leaving salty traces.
I look at Locke, and he’s looking at me—and this time the admiring glint in his eye is unmistakable.
My heart throbs, hot and glowing and terrified.
Back home, men and women marry as young as sixteen, and some are paired with spouses far older than themselves. I suppose a bold sea-faring man in his twenties, like Locke, might cast his eye on someone of my presumed age without shame. It surprises me that he’d crave a boy, though. He seems so well-versed in pleasing women. Perhaps he likes both.
Oh gods, I’ve been staring at him for a full minute now. I should stop.
I slump my shoulders forward, as has become my habit, and I shuffle back to my bucket of suds. Locke stays at the railing a moment longer before passing me again.
“We’ll be there by nightfall,” he says. “Be ready to enjoy yourself, Nick. No busywork, just fun.”
I grunt in response.
Apparently Locke doesn’t accept that answer. “If I can enjoy myself with a torn-up back, you can manage to set aside your manic devotion to your duties for one night.”
Sighing, I look up. “Go away,sir. I’ve got a job to do.”
Locke reaches down and chucks my chin lightly. “Someone has to pull that stick out of your ass, cabin boy,” he says softly. “And I like a challenge.”
I’m left blushing, grinning at the deck planks like a loon while I scrub—until I remember that if I do decide to reveal myself and try to claim sanctuary on the islands, I won’t see Locke again. And that pains me more than I want to admit.
He has protected me more than once. Much as I’d like to be self-reliant, a woman in my position needs allies.
My smile gone, I finish with the forecastle and move to the main deck. But I’m underfoot for the sailors preparing the ship to land, and I’m soon cursed soundly and sent back belowdecks.
I don’t get to see the anchor drop, but I feel it—the growling clank of the chain, the suspended stillness of the ship as it floats, sails furled. My first glimpse of the cove where we’ve anchored comes when Dez and I are conscripted to carry a number of heavy bundles from the hold to the deck, where they’re loaded into the skiffs and rowed to shore.
Like a drowning man taking sips of air, I snatch glimpses of feathery palms and salmon sunset before I have to duck belowdecks again and fetch the next crate or trunk. As we work, night crawls across the sky, muting the colors and darkening everything to star-sprinkled blue.
Captain Neelan, Locke, and some of the other pirates are already on land. Neelan’s first mate finally declares that we’ve got enough to trade, and the rest of us can go ashore. Well, except for one pirate and one sailor from theWending Willow. They drew the short straws to stay aboard and keep an eye on the ship.
I pity them, but they’ll get their chance to go ashore tomorrow. For my part, I’m so excited I can hardly sit still during the ride to the beach. I don’t even have to attempt rowing, because the two big pirates in the boat with me, Cook, and Dez prefer to do the rowing themselves. Their muscles swell and pulse, shining in the bright moonlight. The sea is darkness and diamonds, the moon glows large and luminous between wisps of cloud, and I feel the glitter of the stars in my very soul. Anything seems possible on this night.
The pirates have set up camp on the beach, and the scent of two bonfires curls warm and smoky into my nostrils. Dark shapes whisk back and forth in front of the amber glow.
“I thought we’d sleep in the village,” I say to Cook. I can’t lie—I was hoping for a real bed tonight. Or a pallet at the very least. Something that doesn’t swing.
“The Captain and his officers will stay in the village,” says Cook. “The rest of us will be in tents.”
“And we’ll need to help you cook, right?” I ask.
“No, lad, we all get the night off.” Cook stretches his thin arms. “The villagers like to feed us their fare while we’re here. Enjoy yourselves.”
Dez crows with delight and jostles my arm. “I’m gonna find me a wench to lay with. How about you, Nick?”
“A wench?” I choke. “You’re what, fourteen?”
“Fifteen,” he says stoutly. “I’m fully able to bed a woman. I’ve got a beard coming in—look.” He points to a pair of sprouting hairs on his chin. “That’s more than you’ve got, Nick, and you’re older than me.”
I rub a hand across my own chin. “None of the men in my family have good beards.”
“You should drink some of the island liquor,” says one of the pirates who’s rowing. “It’ll put hair on your balls, chest, face—everywhere.” He laughs, and so do the others. I echo them faintly.
