Chapter 7

7

JUNE 29, 1727 GULF OF MEXICO

The setting sun was hotter than ever as I tossed the dirty water over the side of the ship, still thinking about Lewis's visit from the night before. There was something different about him, something I couldn't put my finger on. A change, though it was subtle. I'd spent the morning thinking about it as I scrubbed the floor in the captain's cabin, and then the afternoon as I'd scrubbed Marcus's cabin floor. I should have been strategizing my plan to get Alice to leave, or looking for a way to escape the Ocean Curse , but all I could think about was Lewis.

"The crew is starting to whisper," Timothy said as he came up next to me at the railing and leaned against it.

The Gulf of Mexico spread out before us in an endless sea of blue water. Nothing broke the monotony of it except the passing clouds overhead. And today, there wasn't one in sight. The air was thick with humidity, making my skin sticky and wet, and my patience thin.

Timothy had been a good friend since we'd joined the Ocean Curse , finding me in moments like this, usually to talk about our escape. Though sometimes he just wanted to gossip.

I'd discovered a lot about the captain and his crew through Timothy. Most of the men were rough and frightening. The less I interacted with them, the better, so Timothy's insights were helpful.

"What are they whispering about?" I asked as I returned the empty wash bucket to my side, glancing out of the corner of my eye to make sure no was watching or listening.

Sweat dripped down my back, making my binding itch more than ever. Not for the first time since running away from Middleburg Plantation, I wanted a bath in the worst sort of way. I didn't care if I fit in better being filthy. My hair itched, my body smelled, and I could hardly rest at night from the layer of grime on my skin. It only added to my irritation.

"Some are starting to think there's a Jonah on board."

"A Jonah?" I frowned, staring at my friend. I'd discovered that his father had been a mariner and he had learned most of his seafaring knowledge at his father's knee. "What is that?"

"It's when someone on board is making the entire ship unlucky. Like Jonah, from the Bible, who was running away from God. A great storm came upon the ship he was on, and the sailors threw Jonah off the ship to stop the storm. Soon, Jonah was swallowed by a big fish."

"I know the story of Jonah," I said, familiar with the biblical account. "But why do they think there is someone like that on board?"

"Since we haven't come across any merchant ships in days and the wind has been stagnant and we're not making any progress to Barataria, they're suspecting there is a Jonah aboard."

"Who can be a Jonah?"

"It's usually a clergyman, who is from the line of Jonah the prophet." Timothy shrugged, saying nonchalantly, "It could also be a woman or a witch."

My mouth parted at the last two options, and my irritation fled, replaced by fear.

"They're saying if a Jonah is on board, it'll only get worse until they can uncover him and throw him into the ocean."

Panic tightened my chest as I stared at him. Was he serious?

He began to laugh and shook his head. "It's just superstition, Carl. No need to look so stricken. There's no witch or woman on this ship—though, I suspect there might be a clergyman in hiding." He turned to look at the ragtag crew of pirates with a suspicious, if teasing, eye.

"I need to get supper served," I told him as I swallowed and moved away from the rail. I hadn't once suspected that Timothy knew I was a woman, but I didn't want him to look any closer than necessary.

"Be on the lookout for a Jonah," he said with a chuckle. "You never know who might be a secret clergyman."

I tried to give him a smile, but it fell flat. Now more than ever, I wanted answers from my mother, but those answers were farther and farther away as we floated listlessly in the Gulf of Mexico in the hot, stagnant air.

The supper bell chimed, so I set down the bucket and went to the galley. It was bigger and cleaner than the one on the Adventurer . The cook was French and didn't speak much English. Timothy said that he had been taken captive, too, because the captain wanted only the best. But the cook seemed happy enough, and I couldn't ask him if it was true or not.

Ned was already in the galley, eager to prove himself to the captain. Ever since I had arrived, he had seemed jealous of my presence and tried to outdo me every chance he could get.

The cook handed over the platters of roasted beef, stewed peas, boiled turtle, and fresh bread. We carried them across the main deck and up the flight of stairs where Hawk was waiting to open the door. Though he was one of the biggest men I'd ever met, I'd soon learned he was also the jolliest—when not in battle. And since we hadn't come across another ship since the Adventurer , I hadn't seen him wield his strength or height since then.

Hawk followed us into the outer room as he opened the captain's door.

Captain Zale was sitting at the table, a glass of wine in hand as he listened to his navigator. The boatswain, who was the supervisor of the deck crew, was also at the table. The surgeon was there, as well, though I had gathered he was also here against his will. He'd been abducted in Charleston three years ago, and every time he tried to escape, he was hauled back to the ship at the captain's command. Dr. Hartville was irreplaceable, or so Timothy told me. The only person who could treat whatever ailed the captain, though I saw no physical signs of disease.

Marcus was also at the table and looked up at our arrival. My pulse quickened, and my palms grew clammy. I couldn't account for my nervousness around him. I saw other crew members stand a little straighter in his presence, and Timothy was so afraid of him, he went in the opposite direction when he saw Marcus approach. But Marcus had not been demanding or threatening to me. On the contrary, he'd been polite and kind.

Perhaps it was his contemplative silence that set me on edge. He often spoke, but when he was silent, people steered clear of him. There was something stormy and ominous about his silence. He often stood at the window or the rail and stared at the ocean as if he was searching for answers.

And that was how he looked at me.

I had never wondered what another person was thinking as much as I wondered about Marcus Zale. Ever since the Ocean Curse had pulled up alongside the Adventurer and his gaze had caught mine, he had been aware of me. He was watching me, seeking answers.

Did he suspect I was a woman?

Ned and I silently served the evening meal as the men continued to talk around the table.

"I don't think it's necessary to go all the way to Barataria," the navigator, Jack Tanner, said to the captain. Jack was a younger man, perhaps in his early thirties, with a thick British accent. He had a refined air about him that suggested he'd been raised with money and privilege. How had he ended up on a pirate ship? "'Tis already been two and a half weeks since we overtook the Adventurer . If we head back now, it'll be another two weeks, at least—provided this blasted weather improves. By then, the authorities will have given up the chase. That is, if they were looking for us in the first place."

Captain Zale leaned forward, his gaze intent on Jack's face.

I set the platter of beef in front of him and the turtle next to it. Ned put down the stewed peas and the fresh bread. The aroma made my stomach growl.

Marcus was the only one who glanced up at me when I set the food on the table. He nodded his thanks.

"I've heard the Atlantis has also been looking for the Queen's Dowry," Jack continued. "We can't waste a minute."

I'd quickly realized the Queen's Dowry was Captain Zale's greatest goal. Timothy told me that in 1715, two Spanish treasure fleets had left Cuba later than planned and been caught in a hurricane off the coast of Florida. Eleven of the twelve ships were sunk, and over fifteen hundred men had lost their lives. The resulting treasure hunt had brought ex-privateers from all parts of the world to the Florida coast. They'd uncovered coins, jewels, gold, and silver. But after the initial recovery, most people had lost interest.

Not Captain Zale—or the pirate ship the Atlantis , apparently. Captain Zale, like many others, still believed the greatest treasure of all was the dowry that was being brought to Elisabeth Farnese, the Duchess of Parma, who was King Philip V's second wife. The dowry reportedly included more than twelve hundred pieces of jewelry, a gold heart made of over one hundred pearls, fourteen-carat pearl earrings, and an emerald ring weighing seventy-four carats. It was supposedly on the flagship, the Capitana , which had never been found.

"You're advising we turn around?" Captain Zale asked.

I watched Marcus as the men discussed their plans. He listened quietly, as if weighing their options.

If we turned around, I couldn't escape in Barataria—but I'd be much closer to Nassau. If we met another ship, perhaps I could sneak away. Or, if we visited a port along the eastern shores of Florida, I could escape and wait for a ship that was heading farther south.

Marcus's gaze lifted to mine, as if he knew what I was thinking.

The meal continued as the men discussed their options. Dr. Hartville was a silent observer, much like Marcus, but, unlike Marcus, he seemed more intent on filling his belly with the fine food and drink.

When the men were satisfied, Ned and I took the leftovers. I went to the cabin I shared with Marcus, and Ned went to his cot in the outer room where he and Hawk bedded down.

I loved the privacy and solitude that Marcus's cabin provided. Not only that, but the captain and quartermaster shared their own privy, which none of the other crew members had access to, and I was allowed to use it. I no longer had to worry about being caught, or to hide my female necessities. Being abducted off the Adventurer hadn't been my desire, but at least there were advantages.

Marcus's cabin was dimly lit, though I had cleaned the chimney on the lantern. A soft glow warmed the room as the evening stars started to shine outside the windows. It was hot and humid in the room, but at least I was alone and could enjoy a bit of solitude. I also had a perfect view of the water and had seen dolphins playing around the stern on many occasions.

Now, however, the water was still. The air was still. And there was no evidence of life outside the windows.

I sat at the table with my supper, my thoughts turning to tomorrow and the confrontation I would have with Alice. I needed to get her out of the house before Ruth arrived with her children and she learned I had let Alice sleep under my parents' roof.

The door creaked open, and I turned quickly.

Marcus stood in the open doorway.

I swallowed the cold bit of beef, though I hadn't chewed it properly. It hurt as it slid down my throat, causing my eyes to water.

Marcus walked into his cabin and slowly closed the door behind him. His black breeches, black cotton shirt, black boots, and the cutlass at his side were imposing, but his height and the breadth of his shoulders filled the cabin until it felt like I couldn't breathe.

He usually didn't come in until a little later, closer to bedtime. Had he come to retrieve something? Perhaps one of the many books he kept on the shelf?

I stood from the table, my hands a little shaky. "Do you need something?"

"Continue your meal," he instructed.

Swallowing my nerves, I resumed my seat, but my appetite had vanished.

I stared down at my plate, trying to force myself to take a bite of my food, but I just pushed it around with my fork.

He went to the shelf and stood, looking at his books, but made no move to retrieve one. The tension in my stomach tightened like a rope, and the silence turned deafening.

"I heard you tell the captain that you need to go to Nassau," he said, his voice low, as he kept his back toward me. "When you were still on the Adventurer ."

"Aye." I swallowed, hating that my pulse was galloping. "To find my mother."

He turned to me then, his dark eyes studying me in the dim light. He was handsome, though not classically so like some men. It was his countenance—the way he held himself, the intelligent and probing look in his eyes—his very presence that was attractive. It demanded attention. There was no other way to say it. I couldn't look away, even if I wanted to. He was both frightening and intriguing.

"Where did you come from?" he asked.

"Charleston."

"Why is your mother in Nassau?"

Something compelled me to tell him the truth. I couldn't hold it back, even if I had wanted to—and I didn't. "She ran away with a merchant sailor when she was just thirteen. Less than a year later, she took me to my grandfather in South Carolina and then disappeared again. I need to find her."

"If she left, mayhap she doesn't want to be found."

"Even by her d—" My heart pounded. I'd almost said daughter. "Her child?"

"Mayhap you're the one she wants to hide from."

His words sliced right to my heart, stealing the air from my lungs. It was my greatest fear, one I'd never voiced, and it had been spoken from the lips of a pirate. I stared down at my unappetizing food, forcing the tears to stay in place. I couldn't cry, not in front of Marcus Zale or anyone else.

"I didn't mean to hurt you." His voice was low, apologetic, his brogue deepening. When I didn't respond, he asked, "Why do you think she's in Nassau?"

I swallowed my emotions and lifted my chin. "She left me a letter. Why would she leave me a letter if she didn't want me to know where she was?"

"Did you just find the letter?"

Nodding, I said, "It was hidden in a wall in her room."

It was his turn not to respond. Did the knowledge that she'd hidden the letter from me confirm that she didn't want me to know where she was—or had she simply hoped I wouldn't know until I was old enough to go to her?

A brush of wind rocked the Ocean Curse for the first time in days.

Marcus walked to the window near my cot.

In the distance, on the southwestern horizon, a wall of clouds darkened the evening sky. Lightning jumped inside the oncoming storm as another gust of wind pushed at the ship.

"Will we be safe?" I asked.

"Aye. Safe enough."

Even though we were floating on the open water and an ominous wall of clouds was pushing its way toward us, something in his voice was soothing. Reassuring. He'd probably seen countless storms from this very window.

"Did you run away from home, like your mam?" he asked, his back toward me again.

There was no space in this room for guile or pretense. Something about Marcus made me want to be honest. "Aye."

"Is your grandfather still alive?"

"Aye."

He finally turned to me, leaning against the window ledge, his arms crossed.

We were closer now. I could see the lamplight flicker in his brown eyes. His gaze seemed to penetrate mine as he said, "And he doesn't know where you are?"

Shame made my cheeks burn. "No."

"And you have no one to search for you."

It wasn't a question, but a statement.

We stared at each other, and though I should have lowered my gaze, something compelled me to watch him. I felt like I was being put to a test—though I didn't know the stakes—and I was afraid I might fail.

"Do you want to stay on the Ocean Curse ?"

I should have immediately shaken my head, but my traitorous heart seemed to have a mind of its own. Just because Marcus Zale intrigued me, it wasn't a good reason to stay captive on a pirate ship.

"No," I said. "I want to find my mother."

The storm clouds were moving quickly toward us, and the wind had picked up. The ship began to move again.

"No one should be held against their will."

My heart twisted with hope, and my mouth parted. Would he allow me to leave?

"When the opportunity arises," he said, "I'll help you escape. But I don't want you to go from one bad situation to another. I'll keep my eyes open for the right time."

Tears threatened again, and I had to look away from him as I said, in a quiet, broken voice, "Truly?"

"Aye. The captain is willful and stubborn. He has no care for other people's freedom and only has one thing in mind."

"The Queen's Dowry?"

"Aye," he said again, this time with irritation tinging his Scottish brogue. "For twelve long years, every decision he's made has been with the treasure in mind. He hopes to leave pirating and become a gentleman one day, but he can't do it unless he has the treasure. That's why he chose you. You're small and can fit into a diving bell to look for the treasure at the bottom of the ocean. But 'tis a dangerous job, and I don't want you to do it. You cannot let him know I'm helping you escape."

I was a lowly cabin boy, and Marcus Zale was the quartermaster of a massive pirate ship. He didn't owe me an explanation or a promise to help me, but he was offering both.

Could I trust him?

My life experience in both timelines had taught me that almost everyone had an ulterior motive—even if it was a selfless one. Why did he want to help me?

He left the window and took a seat across from me at the table.

The glass panes rattled under the force of the wind, matching the sudden trembling of my nerves as I sat up straighter. It was one thing when he was at a distance or I was serving him, but now, with him staring at me across the table, just a few feet separating us, I felt vulnerable and exposed under his scrutiny.

He had clearly come into his cabin with a purpose tonight.

"How old are you?" he asked.

My nerves were so upended, I couldn't remember—not even my real age.

The ship creaked as it moved through the water, and he waited for my answer.

"Fourteen," I whispered.

For the first time, I saw a glint of humor in his gaze. It changed his entire demeanor, softening him and making him feel like my equal. "I'd wager you're older than fourteen."

Sweat beaded on my forehead. I wanted to run out of the room—away from his probing eyes and undivided attention. His handsome gaze and demanding presence. But there was nowhere to run on a ship, and it would only cause more questions.

I stilled my nerves and decided not to answer him directly, but with my own question. "Why would I lie about my age?"

"Mayhap to hide the fact that you're not a boy at all."

His sentence hung between us like a cannon suspended in air. He stared at me, waiting for me to respond. But I couldn't. I was speechless with both surprise and fear.

"How old are you, lass?" he asked, his voice low and gentle.

I swallowed, knowing it was pointless to deny it. I had always been at his mercy, but I felt especially so now. "Twenty."

"Does anyone else know that you're a woman?" he asked me.

I shook my head slowly. "How do you know?"

The humor returned to his gaze, and his mouth relaxed. "Your movements caught my eye on that first day from up above the Adventurer . I couldn't be certain, but I've been watching you closely ever since. You don't undress in front of anyone, you wait for the head when no one else is occupying it, and you serve a table like a woman trained in etiquette and deportment."

"I was on the Adventurer for weeks and no one said anything."

"You do a good job hiding the truth," he said. "I knew I was taking a risk in asking you, because I wasn't completely sure—but now that I know, 'tis impossible not to see."

"What will you do about it?"

A slight frown tilted his brow, as if it was obvious. "I'll protect you."

Warmth burst through my chest at that simple statement, and heat climbed up my cheeks. I hadn't felt protected since I'd left the security of Middelburg Plantation—and even then, Grandfather would rather marry me off to the highest bidder than guard my heart.

"What's your real name?" he asked next.

"Caroline," I whispered.

My name seemed to soften him further, and the first gentle smile tilted his lips. "Caroline." He said my name like it was poetry or a song, something beautiful to reflect upon and admire. "And your last name?"

"Reed."

"Caroline Reed." He studied me in the flickering lamplight, as if he were trying to imagine me in finery and not the soiled and smelly clothes of a cabin boy.

I felt self-conscious about my appearance, especially under his scrutiny, and began to fidget. I longed for a bath, sweet-smelling soap, clean undergarments, and a dress. Though I loved the freedom in trousers, I missed feeling feminine and attractive. Especially now, with his intense eyes upon me.

I lowered my gaze, my cheeks warming further.

"And you did all of this to meet your mam?" he asked.

I nodded.

"I admire your dedication and courage, Caroline Reed." His brogue deepened with sincerity. "I will help you find her."

"Why?"

He lifted his chin. "Because despite what you may think of me, I'm an honorable man."

I stopped fidgeting as shame coursed through me—yet, why would I assume he was honorable? I'd met him when I was taken captive by his father. I had every right to assume the worst. Unless he proved himself different, which was what he was trying to do.

He stood and went back to the window, staring at the oncoming storm. When he turned to me, he said, "You can't tell anyone else that you are a woman."

"I won't."

"They're a superstitious lot and would send you overboard, but not before—" He paused.

My cheeks burned with the implication of his silence.

He swallowed and looked out the window again. "'Tis best that you stick close to my cabin until I can find a way to get you free. Do your duties, when required, so as not to draw unwanted attention, but don't interact with the others if it isn't necessary."

"I won't."

Silence filled the cabin again as I waited for him to continue. When he finally moved away from the window, he said, "I'll be needed on the main deck for this storm, but you should stay here."

There was nothing left for me to say, so I remained quiet.

He reached for the knob on his cabin door but turned back to me. "Is there anything you need?"

I thought of a whole list of things I needed—like a bath and a comb and a fresh change of clothes—but I shook my head instead.

"You're doing a fine job, lass. Living at sea is one of the hardest jobs there is." He didn't give me time to respond before he left his cabin.

I stared at the closed door for several minutes after he was gone, wondering if my secret was safe with Marcus Zale.

And realizing I had no choice but to trust him.