Shannon Drake - The Pirate Bride

“You would live to a grand old age, perhaps,” Brendan said.

“That wouldn’t be living. Brendan, I cannot forget…”

“That’s evident. Your screams are terrible. I thank God I was able to transform that closet around the corner into a first-mate’s chamber. If you scream so and I cannot stop you before you are heard, we will be in serious trouble.”

“The nightmare hasn’t come in almost a year,” she said.

Brendan went to his knees at her feet, touching her cheek tenderly. “We are living a dangerous lie. A very dangerous lie.”

She touched his face in return. “I’m all right. I swear it. I will not dream again.”

“You can’t know that! We need to—”

“Turn back?”

“Aye, Bobbie, we must turn back.”

Roberta stood again. “I will never turn back.”

“But, Bobbie…”

She stared at him, minus the dark wig, minus the boots and knives and pistols, the coat and the plumed hat. Her real hair was red, and it streamed down her back in soft glistening curls in the glow of the lamplight. She knew that, minus her trappings, she appeared almost frail and ethereal. She knew and loved her own crew, especially Hagar, who had been their friend before. They would never harm her, and they would die before they saw her harmed. But her facade was a strong one, because it was necessary. And no matter how she appeared in the dead of night, in truth, the ruthlessness she showed in pursuit of her cause, the strength and determination, were now the reality of who she was.

“There are no buts, Brendan. Now, beloved cousin, we both need to get some sleep.”

“I still fear he knows,” Brendan said dourly.

She smiled at him sweetly. “Then he’ll have to die.”

“I STILL SAY YOU take too many risks.”

Logan was startled, in his prison below the deck, by the words he heard so clearly. He’d spent the last two days in a small hold, walled away from the cargo. At some point it might have been private quarters for a ship’s officer, but now it was barren of anything—anything at all. It was a ten-by-ten wooden space, but there were two small horizontal windows, perhaps ten inches long and three inches high, and he had listened at them constantly, hearing whatever he could of the crew’s conversations.

They hadn’t said much. But after two days of solitude broken only by the arrival of a tray of food three times a day, along with fresh water and a small portion of rum, any conversation was, if not elucidating, at least momentarily entertaining.

He’d wondered frequently just how long his imprisonment would last. It was certainly not the worst punishment he might have received. No whips had been brought against his back, he hadn’t been starved, or threatened with death or mutilation…but the monotony, after only two days, was numbing. He’d spent his first hours seeking a means of escape, then sought for one again, even when he realized there was but one door and it was kept closed by a massive lock. The crew were diligent and took no chances. Several armed men came to the door each time food was delivered.

He spent hours mock-dueling with himself with no sword, hours pacing the small confines, and hours thinking. The thinking he tried to stop. It led him nowhere.

This time, though, it was very late in the night, and the ship had been quiet for hours. And the voices he heard now belonged to Red Robert and his first mate, Brendan.

Red let out a soft chuckle. “Ah, but what is life but risk?”

“Yes, but up until now you’ve had a plan, and now…now you’re risking your life.”

“Brendan, stop this obsession. We risk our lives every morning when we awake and take a breath.”

Brendan let out a sigh of aggravation.

“You shouldn’t have kept the prisoner.”

“I should have killed them all?”

“No.” There was a silence. “Damned good ship, though, and you let it sail away.”

“We don’t need another ship.”

“We didn’t need a prisoner.”

“What difference does his presence make? We may find someone willing to pay for his release.”

“Right. He was out on the seas stealing from the ancients when we came upon him,” Brendan said dryly.

“A man has to make his own fortune, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t someone out there willing to pay for his release.”

Brendan grunted. “He’ll go mad by the time you let him out.”

“No harm has been done to him.”

“Imprisonment can destroy the mind. You’ve left him with nothing. Not a book…not a thing. He can’t even practice tying knots.”

“Give a man a rope, he may hang himself,” the captain pointed out.

“He’s able-bodied.”

“Too able-bodied,” Red snapped.

“He could work.”

“And he could escape. Kill someone and escape.”

“He wouldn’t,” Brendan said.

I wouldn’t?

“Oh?” Red asked.

“He’s a man of his word.”

“And he’s given his word not to escape?”

“You haven’t asked him for it.”

“He isn’t being tortured,” Red said impatiently.

“He could be useful on deck.”

“We don’t need a deckhand.”

Brendan sniffed. “We’re not a large group, you know.”

“Nor can we be.”

“So we can use another deckhand.”

Red groaned and fell silent.

“Look, when this began…I understood. But now…what exactly are you looking for?” Brendan’s voice sounded both sad and serious.

There was silence, then a soft reply. “Revenge. It’s what keeps me going. It’s my only reason to stay alive.”

He heard footsteps; then the captain called to one of the men, checking on the ship’s heading. They were going in a southwesterly direction, and Logan couldn’t help wondering why.

He leaned back against the wall thoughtfully. The captain was indeed young. But for one so young, there was something ageless in his outlook. Revenge, not life, was not the most worthy prize. How had one so young come to hate so much?

Maybe it wasn’t all that difficult. Such was the wretchedness of life that many were born to endure. Some rose above it. Some barely survived it.

Some died.

And some became cutthroats, thieves and pirates.

But Red Robert…something about him was different. He was so small and almost…effete, extremely adept of course, but hardly…manly.

Logan leaned back in deeper thought, and in a few minutes he knew he had to be right about the conclusion he had come to.

But…why?

And just what revenge could drive someone to such desperate measures?

Logan was cuffed when he was taken from his cubicle in the cargo hold. Brendan apologized, as two men took care of the actual shackling. “Sorry, my friend. But we respect your talents, and thus…well, I’m sure you understand.”

Logan nodded gravely. “Thank you, my friend. I will take that as a compliment.”

Brendan shrugged. He led the way past the first hold, with its guns, powder, crates of cargo and supplies, and crew hammocks, and then topside. Ah, topside. Fresh air. It was clean and clear, and the breeze was soft and beautiful. No rain was on the horizon, and no storm clouds threatened the heavens. He was glad for a minute just to stand there, to feel the embrace of the sun.

But then a hand was clamped on his shoulder, and he was led toward the aft cabin. Brendan knocked on the door and received a crisp “Aye” from Captain Robert.

Brendan nodded to Logan, indicating that he should enter. As the door closed behind him, Logan found the captain, fully dressed in breeches, shirt, vest, coat, boots and hat, seated at a large mahogany desk and writing with a quill pen. He did not look up at Logan’s entry, nor when he spoke.

“It’s been brought to my attention that although your welfare certainly means little enough, you might be of use on deck, though I confess I do not trust you. That being said, my mate seems to believe you would be willing to give your oath that you would make no foolish attempts at escape, were we to set you to work topside.” The quill was set into the inkpot. The captain looked up at last. “Quite frankly, if you did try to escape, we would have to kill you. Not a great loss to us, I’m afraid, but as you are certainly adept with weapons, I would be loathe to lose a loyal crew member over you. The choice is yours.”