Chapter 11

11

JULY 4, 1727 MATANZAS, CUBA

I stayed on the ship the next day as Captain Zale, Marcus, and Hawk went ashore to Matanzas to sell some of the plunder they'd taken from the Adventurer . The bay where we were anchored was beautiful, and from where I stood at the ship's rail, I saw several wooden homes, churches, and businesses in the small Cuban city. Heavy clouds hovered above us, threatening more rain, and the wind had caused whitecaps to form in the dark water. It blew the palm trees this way and that, until they looked like they might snap.

My mind wandered to the night before around the supper table with my family—and Lewis. He had sat next to me, and he had teased me like old times. I used to despise it, but now I appreciated the familiarity of his playfulness. At least it was something I understood and could predict. His seriousness caught me off guard and made me feel strange.

"We haven't seen you around much this past week," Timothy said as he came up next to me at the railing. "The quartermaster said you've been feeling ill. I'm happy to see you're looking better than ever."

It had been four days since my bath, and I was still appreciating my relatively clean skin and hair. I'm sure the others noticed, though Timothy was the first to mention it. Ned had only scowled at me when I resumed my serving duties, probably realizing the bathwater he and I had carried to Marcus's cabin had been for me.

"I'm feeling better," I said, though I kept my gaze on the bay.

Timothy leaned against the railing. "The sky doesn't look good. Some are convinced that our Jonah is bringing all this bad weather."

I didn't respond.

"They're also saying that's why we haven't had much luck selling off the plunder. Hopefully the captain can get a good price for some of it today."

We'd stopped in Havana the day before, but the local government had run us out of the city. Havana was larger than New York and Boston, and it should have been a good place to sell their loot, but the large forts guarding the city, and the wall that was almost completed around it, meant that they had control over who entered and exited.

So Captain Zale had chosen to stop at the smaller city of Matanzas to the east of Havana, though his reception was yet to be seen.

"'Tis just superstition," I said to Timothy about the Jonah on board.

"Some of them are taking sick, too," he continued. "Fever, stomach troubles, and the like. They're trying to figure out when all their bad luck started." His voice was low. "Some have said it was the day they attacked the Adventurer . They already questioned me and one of the other men who came aboard that day. They told me to talk to you about it, since the captain and quartermaster don't let you out of their sight too often."

My palms began to sweat, and I ran them down my trousers. "I have work to do."

"I'm only telling you because they're watching us, Carl. But I'll tell them you're not a threat. You have my word."

With a quick nod to acknowledge his comment, I moved across the deck to the stairs leading to the captain's cabin, trying not to catch the eye of the other pirates. There was little else to occupy my time until supper, so I went into the outer room but paused when I saw Ned lying on his cot.

He had looked pale at breakfast, but I hadn't thought to ask if he was sick.

"What do you want?" he asked me when I approached.

"Are you feeling poorly?"

"Why do you care? You probably made me sick."

"Do you need Dr. Hartville?"

Ned moaned and turned his back to me. "Just leave me be."

Was Ned sick with whatever was ailing the other crew members? Would they blame it on me and assume I was the Jonah? If so, Ned would be the first to call me out.

"I'll take your chores until you're better," I told him.

"Sure you will," he said. "You've been waiting for the perfect time to throw me over and move in on the captain."

"Don't be—" I paused. No matter how much I protested, Ned would believe what he wanted. "Let me know if you need anything," I said instead.

A commotion outside the room made me step out onto the main deck. The captain was returning on the launch with Marcus and Hawk—and their boat was still full of the goods they'd brought to sell.

I went to the galley for their lunch and returned as they were just entering the outer room.

Captain Zale stopped near Ned's cot and frowned down at the young man. "What ails you?"

Ned glared at me. "Carl has made all of us sick. Some of the others are complaining, too."

All eyes turned to me, and my mouth slipped open to protest, but again, Marcus shook his head to keep me quiet.

"At least Carl recovered quickly," Captain Zale said, but then he turned back to me. "You'll take on Ned's chores until he's able to do them again."

I nodded as Ned laid his head back on the pillow, clearly too ill to protest.

Captain Zale, Marcus, and Hawk entered the captain's cabin, and I followed with their meal.

The captain tore off his black gloves and threw them onto the table as I set down the platters of pork and bread. I had to return to the galley for their stewed peas and ale, but when I returned, Jack and Dr. Hartville had joined the small party.

"We've been blacklisted in Cuba," Captain Zale said to his men as I placed the peas and ale on the table. "I need to get rid of the plunder before we head back to Florida."

"Mayhap Marcus's idea to go to Nassau is wise after all," Hawk said as he took the mug of ale I poured for him. "We haven't been there in a long time."

I quickly glanced at Marcus, my hope rising, but he had his gaze on the captain.

Ever since I'd learned that Captain Zale wasn't his father, it had changed everything I thought about them. Their strained and complicated relationship made more sense. I'd noticed the lack of warmth and affection between them and wondered about it, but not anymore. It also explained their different accents. They weren't blood related, so the differences in their looks were more obvious than before. It made me wonder how I hadn't seen it, but the mind was a powerful thing, and when it believed something, it was hard to see something different. Perhaps that's why so many people accepted that I was a boy.

I handed Marcus his mug and our fingers brushed, causing his gaze to flicker to mine for a heartbeat.

My pulse pounded hard, though I wasn't sure if it was from Captain Zale's decision about Nassau or the feel of Marcus's skin against mine. I tried not to let my feelings show on my face—afraid that the men in the room might notice, but even more afraid that Marcus might.

"Mayhap you're right," the captain finally said. "I'm willing to risk the navy at Nassau to get rid of the plunder. 'Tis been in the hold too long."

It took everything within me not to cry out with excitement.

I handed the captain his ale, my hands shaking with anticipation.

In just a few days, I would get the answers I wanted from my mother.

A hint of a smile tilted Marcus's lips before he took another bite of his dinner.

The rain started as soon as we were out of Matanzas Bay. It blew hard, and the ship rose and dipped precariously, causing those who were sick to feel worse.

Ned's moans could be heard every time I was near him, and when I caught his attention, he scowled at me. As soon as my chores were done, I went to Marcus's cabin to be free of Ned. Since I hadn't been sick, I couldn't have gotten him sick—though he didn't know that.

Clouds darkened the sky, so I lit the lamp and went to the bookshelf. Marcus had suggested I read Daniel Defoe's Robinson Crusoe next, but it was the Bible that caught my eye tonight.

The front page was full of Marcus's family names, and I couldn't help but wonder who they were. Each name was a different story of heartache, love, loss, and hope. I let my finger trail the names. Donal, Fiona, Alastair, Alish, Liam ... and Maxwell.

Maxwell MacDougal. Did Marcus even remember what it was like to be Maxwell MacDougal? Did he want to become him again someday? Or did he plan to die as a pirate? I wanted to tell him he had a choice in the matter, but I wasn't one to counsel him. For so long, I hadn't felt like I had freedom of choice in my lives. Perhaps Marcus and I had more in common than I first realized. We both had two names, two different lives, and uncertainty about the future. Maybe that was why I was so drawn to him. We were kindred spirits.

Something outside the window caught my attention.

The Ocean Curse was approaching a small frigate on the portside.

Apprehension tightened my chest, and I quickly replaced the Bible before I ran out of Marcus's cabin.

Rain pelted my face as I looked up at the mainmast, my heart falling at the sight.

The black death's head flag whipped in the wind, the skull and crossbones taunting the frigate and all who were aboard her. The only time the ship flew the pirate flag was when they were overtaking another vessel.

As a crew member, I was now a pirate, whether I wanted to be or not. If Grandfather saw me now, he'd realize his worst fear had come true.

I was no better than my mother.

A cheer arose from the pirates as every able-bodied man stood on the main deck of the Ocean Curse , their hands raised in victory as several of them boarded the frigate.

Wave after wave caused the ship to rise and fall. I hadn't noticed the chase because the ship had been careening wildly for hours.

As the pirates overtook the frigate, Marcus and Captain Zale stood at the rail, the wind whipping their coats and hair about them just as it did the pirate flag. They were a formidable pair, their swords at their sides, and though Marcus had been kind and thoughtful toward me, watching him now, capturing the frigate, my body trembled with fear.

Yet, it wasn't the terror of being captured or tortured or abused that scared me. It was knowing that my traitorous heart didn't care that he was a pirate, while my mind screamed at me to retreat. To put up my defenses and push Marcus Zale from my life.

I wanted to cry, or yell, or demand that he let the frigate go. Not only because the people aboard it didn't deserve to be robbed, but because I didn't want it to be Marcus who did the plundering.

Why did men like him and Andrew think their own desires were more important than anyone else's? Their choices hurt the people around them, yet they somehow rationalized their behavior.

The injustice in the world was maddening, no matter what century I occupied. I hated how defenseless I felt, how weak and insignificant. It would be easier to give in and join the madness, to satisfy my own desires. It didn't matter if I was in 1727 or 1927; the struggle to do the right thing was eternal.

Yet, my conscience cried out to me. The words I'd spoken to Andrew just last night reverberated in my mind. There was right and wrong. There was truth and justice—no matter how much they wanted to deny it. They sought to change the truth when it didn't serve them.

Marcus grabbed a rope and stepped onto the railing to board the frigate, but he turned and his stormy gaze caught mine.

I stared at him defiantly. The rain continued to slash against me, soaking my clothing and mingling with my tears, but I didn't care.

Marcus's chest rose and fell as a war waged within his eyes. He didn't tear his gaze from mine. Would he board the frigate? Rob her of her cargo and her dignity? I held my breath, wanting him to make the right choice.

Captain Zale said something to him and then, holding a rope, leapt from the railing and disappeared.

Marcus set his jaw and followed.

I was huddled on my cot in the dim cabin, swimming in the shirt and trousers Marcus had lent to me earlier that week after I bathed. My wet clothes were strung on the ropes that were still hanging in the room, and my hair was unbound, drying around my shoulders.

I stared out the window toward the starboard side of the ship at the rolling sea. Rain still pounded the windows, and the wind blew hard. Darkness had fallen, and the storm marred the sky, so there was no light from stars or moon. If I were prone to seasickness, this would have been the night I suffered the most. I was thankful the malady had not bothered me.

But something else made me feel sick—sick at heart, if not in body.

Hours had passed since the Ocean Curse had captured the frigate. The supper hour had come and gone, but I hadn't been to the galley to see if the cook had food for me. I didn't care if Captain Zale returned and was angry that his meal wasn't on his table. And I had no appetite to feed myself.

It was close enough to midnight that I could have gone to sleep and not had to face Marcus until I woke up here again, but I couldn't bring myself to return to 1927. Not yet.

There were too many emotions filling my heart and soul tonight. I was so overcome by them I'd almost forgotten we were on our way to Nassau and to my mother.

The cabin door opened, but I didn't bother to look in that direction. I knew who had come.

Marcus paused, perhaps surprised to see that I was still awake. Though I was wearing his clothes, I had my blanket pulled around my shoulders for heat and for modesty.

He slowly closed the door, and I finally turned my face toward him.

Marcus was soaked from head to foot. Water dripped from the ends of his dark hair and pooled around his boots on the floor. Our gazes met as they had on the main deck, but this time I couldn't read his emotions. Was he angry at me for being upset? Was he ashamed? Or was he feeling victorious?

He looked from me to my clothes on the line and then back to me, and I suddenly realized I was wearing his only other suit of dry clothes.

I got up, keeping the blanket around my shoulders, and went to the clothesline to see if my things were dry. They were still damp, but not as wet as his.

"I'll change," I told him as I dropped the blanket and started to pull my shirt from the line.

He took a few steps into the room and put his hand on mine to stop me.

My breath stilled as I felt the heat of his body behind me and his skin against mine. My mind warned me to move—my heart begged me to stay.

He lifted the blanket from the floor and settled it over my shoulders.

"What will you wear?" I whispered.

"I'll make do." His voice was low and deep.

I closed my eyes as I lowered my hand. I couldn't move, nor did I want to.

His hands were still on my shoulders as he said, "I know you're angry with me, lass."

I had no defenses when he stood this close to me. My mind was a muddled mess and incapable of counseling me, while my heart was crying out for love, for affection, for something that it had never felt before. I needed reassurance, especially on a night such as this.

I desired to be loved, and I longed to be wanted.

He lifted my unbound hair from beneath the blanket before gently placing his hands on my arms. Heat radiated from his touch.

"I'm sorry," he said.

My eyes were still closed, and his words felt like a sweet embrace. Remorse filled his voice, and I knew he meant what he said. But he'd still done it.

I was aware of my breathing, of feeling like I couldn't get enough air into my lungs.

"Will you always be a pirate, Marcus?"

His hands slowly lowered from my arms, and he stepped away from me.

He hadn't answered my question audibly—but he'd answered it.

And there was no room in my life for a man who would hurt me the way Andrew hurt Ruth.