Chapter 9

9

JUNE 30, 1727 KEY WEST, FLORIDA

I woke up to an empty cabin and a bright blue sky the next morning. Thoughts of Lewis's visit and Alice's assumption turned in my mind. When the breakfast bell rang, I left the cabin and headed toward the galley. Throughout the stormy night, the ship had trekked toward the east, and now we were near the island of Key West. Captain Zale had ordered the anchor to be lowered and a launch to be sent to the island for fresh water. Timothy had told me, upon passing the Florida Keys the first time, that a well had been dug there by pirates and was open to one and all to use, though no one occupied the island.

"Oatmeal, bacon, and fresh bread," Ned said as I entered the galley. He had already picked up all three platters, and they were resting precariously in his hands and on his left arm.

"Let me help," I told him.

"I have them." He moved past me, irritation in his voice.

I sighed and grabbed the pitcher of ale. Since fresh water was scarce and unsafe to drink, rum, ale, and wine were necessary evils. The rum and wine were diluted by clean water at the start of a voyage, and the alcohol kept them free from spoiling. Each man was rationed a gallon a day, which meant that some of them were drunk from sunup to sundown. That was one of the many reasons that milk was such a treat at sea.

I raced to keep up with Ned. "You don't have to prove anything to me."

He lifted his chin. "I'm proving to the captain that you were unnecessary. I can manage on my own."

I wanted to roll my eyes at his stubbornness.

Hawk opened the door for us, as usual, and followed us in.

When Captain Zale looked up and saw Ned trying to balance three platters, while I only held the pitcher of ale, he squinted at me. "Why aren't you helping Ned?"

"He was late," Ned said as he set the bread down. "I couldn't wait for him any longer."

"I wasn't—"

"Avoiding your chores, are you?" the captain asked me with a scowl.

"I wasn't late—" I tried again, but Marcus shook his head to indicate that I should stop protesting.

"See that you're not late again," Captain Zale said. "Or you'll have me to answer to."

I dutifully filled each man's cup, starting with the captain and moving around the table past Hawk, Dr. Hartville, Jack, and then Marcus, trying not to serve like a woman. When I neared Marcus, I was conscious of my smell, but even more so of his presence and what he knew about me.

My hand shook as I poured his drink, and he glanced up at me, a hint of a smile in the depths of his eyes.

"Have we decided on our course?" Marcus asked as he looked away from me and back to his father.

I finished pouring his drink and then stood back, waiting to assist.

Ned stood next to me, his shoulders stiff and his chin high. He couldn't be more than seventeen or eighteen and was a pleasant-looking young man with strawberry-blond hair and bright blue eyes. But when he scowled, his entire demeanor changed.

"I think we should head back to eastern Florida," Jack interjected before Captain Zale could respond.

"I think it's too soon," Captain Zale said. "After we get the fresh water, we can stay out to sea for several more weeks, if needs be."

"What about going to Barataria?" Dr. Hartville asked, almost too eager.

"The storm pushed us so far east, it doesn't pay to head back in that direction," Captain Zale said as he took a bite of his thick oatmeal. "There are other places to sell our goods."

"What about Nassau?" Marcus asked casually.

I startled, and my attention shifted to the captain.

"Nassau?" Captain Zale asked, giving his son a strange look. "We haven't been to Nassau in years. The Royal Navy has it too heavily guarded."

"There are still ways to get in," Marcus said, eating his oatmeal as if it didn't matter either way to him—though I knew he was doing this for me, and it did matter. "The people there are hungry for the goods we have in our hold, and they'll pay a high price for them. We can lay anchor in one of the outer islands and send two or three men into town to let our old contacts know we're there to do business."

Captain Zale frowned as he thought about the prospect, then he finally shook his head. "I don't like the idea. The Royal Navy patrols those waters closely. 'Tis not worth the risk when we can sell our goods in other places." He kept shaking his head. "I'd rather try Havana."

I didn't want to show my disappointment. There had to be a way to get to Nassau, and if Marcus was really on my side, I would find a way sooner than later.

After breakfast, Marcus rose from the table and approached Ned and me. "I'd like warm water brought up to my cabin for a bath."

"Right away, sir," Ned said, though he would complain later and tell me he wasn't Marcus's cabin boy to be ordered about.

"No need to rush," Marcus said. "After your breakfast is fine."

He left the captain's cabin, following the other men. The captain and Marcus took regular baths, a luxury that had surprised me when I first boarded the ship. It meant more work for Ned and me, but I didn't begrudge their luxury, and it passed the time.

Ned and I took a seat at the table, and we began our breakfast with their leftovers. I didn't bother to take my food to Marcus's cabin after breakfast or lunch, since I had chores to do. It was only the evening meal that I ate there.

"A bath he wants," Ned scoffed as he shoveled oatmeal into his mouth with a chunk of bread. "Someday I'll be the captain or the quartermaster and I'll get me own bath, whenever I want. And I won't be toting the water, either."

I didn't care about Ned's plans. All I wanted was to speak to Marcus and see if he had any other ideas for getting me to Nassau.

As soon as we finished our breakfast, we brought the empty platters and pitcher to the galley where we cleaned them. The cook could understand enough English to get by, so when Ned told him we needed hot water for the quartermaster's bath, he went to work.

As I washed the breakfast dishes, Ned hauled the bathtub from the captain's outer room up to Marcus's cabin. By the time he returned, the water was hot enough to start hauling it, two buckets at a time, from the galley to the cabin on the third floor.

The sun was hot on my shoulders as I moved under the weight of the buckets. Sweat ran down my back and into my binding. It trickled past my temples and made my scalp itch.

Marcus was on the quarterdeck with Jack, looking over a map, while Captain Zale was speaking to Hawk. The launch team had not returned with fresh water, so we remained anchored. But it appeared that the men were still trying to decide which way to go next. I hoped Marcus was advocating for Nassau.

For thirty minutes, Ned and I carried water back and forth until the tub was finally full.

Marcus was in his cabin when we brought the last buckets in.

Ned and I poured first one bucket and then the next. Steam rose in a tantalizing swirl from the tub as we finished.

"Take the buckets," Marcus said to Ned as he removed them from my hand. "I require Carl's assistance."

Ned grabbed the two extra buckets and was about to leave when Marcus said, "And have the cook warm more water to clean my clothes. Set it outside my door for Carl when he's done helping me."

With a nod, Ned exited the cabin without a backward glance, closing the door behind him.

My heart pounded hard as my defenses rose. What kind of assistance could I give him? Unless...

Panic made me move toward the door as Marcus went to the chest where he kept his clothing and other personal items.

"You needn't fear, lass," he said quietly, evenly, without looking at me. "The bath isn't for me."

My hand paused on the doorknob.

"You can borrow some of my older clothes while you wash and dry yours, and you can stay close to the cabin today, so no one sees you." He turned from his chest with a bar of soap, a comb, and a pile of clean clothes, his Scottish brogue rolling off his tongue like velvet to my ears. "You're a wee thing, and I fear you'll drown in my clothes, but 'tis the best we can do for now."

I swallowed the rush of emotions that clogged my throat. "Why are you being so kind to me?"

He stood on the opposite side of the tub, tall, broad, and strong—though his hands were full of a sweet offering. He slowly set the things down on the nearby table. And when he faced me again, he said, "I can't free you like I want, not yet. But you don't need to feel like a captive—at least, not with me. I'd treat you like a guest, if I could, but I can't draw attention to you. 'Tis a risk to let you bathe and clean your clothes, since the others will notice, but I know how it feels to be dirty, and no one should have to feel that way if they don't want to."

My throat felt tight, and tears came to my eyes. I couldn't help it. I blinked hard to keep them at bay, but one escaped and rolled down my grimy cheek.

It was the first tear I'd shed since I was very young.

"Don't cry, Caroline." His voice was almost pleading. "'Tis just a bath."

I shook my head and wiped away my stubborn tear. "'Tis not just a bath. 'Tis a gift."

My tear seemed to undo something within him. He swallowed and looked around at the items he'd gathered, as if he didn't quite know what to do with himself. He moved the comb and fidgeted with the soap, and I wondered if he was trying to find the right words to express his own emotions. Finally, he cleared his throat and said, "Don't let the water get cold. I'll watch the door to make sure you're not bothered. Take your time."

With that, he was gone, and I let myself cry. My tears were almost as cleansing as the bath.

But I heeded his warning, and I didn't let a moment pass before I started to undress, tears and all.

I stripped down until all I was wearing was the binding around my chest. I loosened it and took a deep breath for the first time in over a month, feeling freedom as it slipped to the floor. But I didn't linger. I untied the ribbon holding back my hair and then grabbed the bar of soap and climbed into the tub.

With a moan, I submerged my body, relishing the sensation as the hot salt water eased my sore muscles. Though I bathed frequently in 1927, a full body bath was a luxury here, and I enjoyed every blissful moment, always aware that Marcus was just outside the door.

As much as I wanted to savor the bath, I cleaned my body as quickly as I could, lathering and rinsing my shoulder-length hair twice, not knowing when I might have another opportunity.

When I stepped out of the water, my skin was pink from the heat and smelled of the gentle fragrance of the soap.

I smelled like Marcus.

After squeezing all the excess water out of my hair, I dried off with the towel Marcus had provided and started to dress.

It was strange to step inside his clothing, intimate in a way that nothing had ever been before. The breeches and shirt were twice my size, which made me smile. I found a section of rope to secure them, but instead of stopping at my calves, where they settled on Marcus, the hems rested on my ankles. The shirt was impossible to tuck in, since it went down to my knees, but I did my best. I had known he was much bigger than me, but until now, I hadn't realized how much.

My bare feet were poking out from the bottom of the breeches, but he hadn't thought to give me stockings. I didn't want to put on my buckled shoes without them, knowing how dirty they were, as well, so I kept my feet bare as I tried to comb out my hair.

Despite the silky soap, the salt water was not kind to my thick hair, and it took some work to get the comb through it. I wanted to dry it fully before I put it in the ribbon again, so I left it loose around my shoulder. Then I picked up my dirty clothes and the bath items.

A knock at the door startled me.

"Are you dressed?" Marcus asked in a voice just above a whisper. "I'll bring in the clean water to rinse your clothing."

I wasn't prepared to see him like this, yet I had little choice. "I'm dressed."

But only barely.

He slowly opened the door, and then paused before entering.

I clutched my dirty clothes to my chest, trying in vain to not look so vulnerable.

His dark eyes took in my bare feet, the large trousers cinched at my waist, the oversized shirt—his shirt—and my unbound hair before his gaze found mine.

Not for the first time, Marcus Zale took my breath away. It was the look in his eyes—stormy and tender, yet defenseless and powerful all at the same time.

I sensed danger, but not from him—from myself.

My attraction for Marcus was intensifying, and I hadn't realized how much until this moment as I stood before him in his clothes, after he'd given me a priceless gift.

"Your hair is bonny."

"Thank you." I lowered my gaze, afraid my flaming cheeks would give away my growing feelings for him.

He left the cabin and returned with the smaller tub of water before closing the door. "You can wash your clothes in the bathwater and then rinse them in the clean water." He set down the tub and went to his chest and pulled out a section of rope. "I'll string this up in here so you can dry your clothes without anyone the wiser."

"What if someone asks for me?"

"I'll tell them you're not feeling well. No one likes to be sick, so they'll leave you be."

I had no time to lose, so I dropped my clothes into the bathtub and rolled up my shirtsleeves, then I began to scrub the binding with the soap I had used to bathe.

It felt good to be clean and to have someone who cared enough to look after my comfort. As I scrubbed my clothing, I began to hum. I couldn't help it.

"'Tis a bonnie sound," Marcus said after a moment.

I paused, my cheeks warming at his praise. I hadn't realized I was humming loud enough for him to notice.

"Please don't stop," he said. "'Tis the nicest thing I've heard in a long while."

I felt self-conscious, but if it pleased him, I would continue.

As we both worked, I glanced in his direction and saw a gentle smile on his face while he secured the rope to a nail on the wall.

My own smile tilted my lips.

When he finished, he seemed reluctant to leave and busied himself by returning his comb to his chest and hanging the towel I'd used to dry off. I rinsed the binding and the shirt I had just finished washing. As I hung the binding, I was self-conscious again, hoping he didn't guess what it was for.

"Do you also sing?" he asked.

I turned and found him watching me.

"Aye."

"'Tis a shame you can't sing here on the ship."

"Even if I could, I'm not sure I would sing for the others. I don't like to sing for a large audience."

He nodded, as if he understood. "Even if you only sing for an Audience of One, 'tis a joy for God to hear what He's created."

My hands stilled as his words struck something deep within me. Not only because he mentioned God, but because I'd never thought of singing for an Audience of One. Did it please God to hear me sing? I had only ever thought that I was somehow disappointing Him. I'd never considered that He might take joy in my voice simply because He created it. And wasn't His opinion all that mattered?

I was still pondering this when Marcus walked to the bookshelf and asked, "Do you enjoy reading?"

"Aye." I couldn't hide the pleasure in my simple answer, nor the knowledge that he didn't seem to want to leave. "'Tis a luxury."

Marcus smiled at my response. "Read whichever books you'd like."

My pulse sped up at the thought. "You wouldn't mind?"

"Nay. I like knowing that someone else is enjoying them."

"Have you read all of them?"

"Aye. Two or three times over."

"Which is your favorite?"

He examined the shelf and shook his head. "'Tis too hard to pick a favorite. Some are weighty tomes on religion and politics, some are scientific or philosophical." He pulled one from the shelf and set it on the table near me. "And some are just for pleasure. Start with this one."

It was Gulliver's Travels .

My lips parted in surprise as I looked up at him.

"You've read it?" he asked.

"Aye, many times over, but I'd love to read it again."

"Mayhap we can discuss it later."

I nodded, unable to find the words.

He finally left his cabin since he was needed on the quarterdeck.

As the morning passed, and I waited for my clothes to dry, I sat on my cot and picked up where I'd left off in Gulliver's Travels , unaware of the passing time.

The storm had brought with it cooler air and carried some of the humidity away. I relished my clean body and the softness of Marcus's cotton shirt against my bare skin. It was a rare day of idleness, which was good for both my body and soul. At lunchtime, there was a knock at the door, and when I opened it, I found Marcus holding a plate of food for me.

I took it with a glad heart.

"Are you enjoying the adventure again?" he asked me as he nodded at the book lying open on the table.

"Aye." I grinned. "I'll be done before nightfall."

His smile was so sweet and eager, I felt almost giddy thinking about him joining me that evening to discuss the book.

When my clothes were dry, I slipped out of the borrowed ones I was wearing and refastened the tight binding, then put on the clothes that fit me properly, buttoning up the vest to cover any vestiges of my femininity. My hair was dry, so I secured it with a ribbon and then put on my stockings and shoes.

The supper bell was soon ringing, though I dared not leave the cabin unless Marcus felt it was safe to do so. Would he bring me a meal again? I waited, but there was no sign of him.

I had finished Gulliver's Travels , so I put it back on the shelf and lit the lamp before perusing the other titles. I was surprised to find a Holy Bible among them.

I pulled the book from the shelf, curious to discover it was well worn. Marcus's mention of God had stayed with me, creating more questions about him and his past.

As I thumbed through the Bible, I thought about the countless sermons I'd heard my father preach. I believed the things he taught, believed the Bible was the Holy Word of God. I just didn't know whether God wanted anything to do with me. No matter how good I was, or how many times I asked forgiveness for the sins I committed, I was still bound to two lives. I prayed daily that God would release me from the curse—because it was the only thing I knew to call it—yet, He had not taken the burden from me.

My heart felt heavy as I flipped to the front cover where someone had listed births, deaths, and baptismal records with dates that went back to the mid-1600s. But who were these people? The surname at the top of the list was MacDougal. Scottish.

Was this Marcus's family Bible?

The final name entered was Maxwell MacDougal, December 27, 1700.

There was a light knock, and then the door opened before I could put the Bible back on the shelf.

Marcus stood in the doorway, balancing two plates in one hand and two mugs in the other. His gaze slipped over me again, though this time I looked as I had before my bath, only cleaner.

"I hope you don't mind," I said as I quickly closed the Bible and put it back on the shelf.

He entered the cabin and closed the door with his foot before setting the plates on the table. "Nay. I said to read whichever you prefer. Come and eat."

I joined him at the table, realizing this would be the first time we ate together.

"Did your father think it strange that you didn't eat with him?" I asked.

"If so, he didn't seem to care."

There was beef, stewed peas, fresh bread, and ale. The same as usual, but it was tasty and filling, so I didn't mind.

We began to eat and discuss Gulliver's Travels .

Our conversation was lively and enjoyable. Marcus asked me what I thought was the deeper meaning of Jonathan Swift's novel and the four adventures of Gulliver. Our discussion shifted between politics, religion, and philosophy, both agreeing and disagreeing with some of Gulliver's conclusions. However, we agreed that the book should have had a different ending and that Gulliver had not truly learned his lessons.

When the conversation came to its natural end, I finally asked Marcus the question that had been burning in the back of my mind all evening. "Was the Bible your mother's?"

"Aye." He continued to eat, though I noticed a shift in his countenance as he moved his food around the plate with his fork. "You've told me about your past," he said, as if considering his words carefully. "Mayhap I should tell you about mine."

I waited, silent, not wanting to give him any reason to keep this information to himself. I longed to understand this pirate before me. He was a study in contrasts, both light and darkness, good and bad, stormy and calm—and I needed to know why.

"I was born in Scotland, as you might have guessed," he began. "My father was a hard man, angry and bitter because he was the third-born son of the laird. My mam had delivered two stillborn sons before I was born, and no others after me, so my father had high expectations for my life. His family members were Jacobites and supported the Stuart king, but my father supported King George and the House of Hanover. It became increasingly dangerous for Father to stay in Scotland, so he left for the Americas when I was only ten years old."

I watched him as he spoke and could see that retelling his story filled him with anguish.

"My father was a mean, cold, unfeeling man," Marcus continued, "and those two years that he left my mam and me with his clan were the happiest of my life. When he sent for us to go to America, I was afraid and unhappy. I didn't want to rejoin him and suffer at his angry hands."

My heart constricted for Marcus, yet I sat perfectly still as I listened.

He finally looked up at me, sadness and regret in the depths of his eyes. "When we were on our way to Massachusetts, our ship was overtaken by pirates. As I watched them seize the plunder and force several of the sailors into service, I knew this was my one and only chance to change my future. To take hold of my own life. As my mam watched, I offered myself up for service to the pirate captain."

My lips parted as I shook my head in confusion. "I don't understand."

"Edward Zale is not my father, Caroline. He's the pirate I gave my life to fifteen years ago, when I was only twelve years old. Before I understood what I was doing." He lowered his voice, as if afraid someone might hear. "I didn't want anyone to ever find me again, so I changed my name from Maxwell MacDougal to Marcus Zale. In those days, we were active and busy, and our crew changed many times over the years. Eventually, people began to think I was Captain Zale's son. I didn't correct them—and neither did he."

I was speechless as I stared at him, my mind spinning with questions, though there was only one pressing for an answer. "You said the Bible was your mother's."

He ran his hands over his face as I waited. When he was finally ready to talk, he said, "I'll never forget the way she cried out in horror as I left her side to join Edward Zale. She wept and begged, but I turned a cold heart to her, despising my father more than I loved my mam."

"That can't be true."

"How else do I explain betraying her?" He shook his head again. "She knew she was defeated, so she took our family Bible—her most prized possession—and extended it to me, saying, ‘Dinna forget where you came from, son. Dinna forget your Maker.' I took the Bible and didn't look back, but stepped forward into a new life."

Silence filled the cabin as his words settled into my heart.

"Have you been happy?" I asked.

"Nay. And her haunted eyes visit me in my nightmares almost every night. If I could go back and make a different choice, I wouldn't hesitate. I would choose her, even if it meant living with my father." His voice was heavy as he said, "At least then I would be a free man by now, and I wouldn't have a lifetime of regret to mock my every move."

I didn't know if he would turn me away, but I didn't care. I lifted my hand and placed it over his.

His breath stilled as he met my gaze.

"We can't change our past," I said, "but we can change our future."

"I wish it were that simple." He slowly removed his hand from mine and began to eat.

I wished it was, too.

The past I wanted to change was the one my mother had chosen—but to change the future, I needed to know why we had two lives. I was trying my hardest to get the answers, though I wasn't any closer to Nassau.