The Pirate Bride. Shannon Drake
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“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.”
Crisp words, hard spoken, no humor on the face, the facade quite effective.
“I don’t even know where we are. I’m not at all sure where I could escape to. The waters of the Caribbean are warm, but vast,” he replied.
“That’s not exactly an oath. Try to escape now, and yes, you would die, one way or the other. And, as I said, it means little to us, since there’s no guarantee we can gain any reward whatsoever for your life.” The pirate was staring at him intently. Those eyes were…
Deep blue. And haunting.
“I give you my word, Captain, that I will not try to escape while working topside,” Logan said, his tone as level and emotionless as the captain’s.
The captain assessed him with a direct and emotionless stare. And then…just the slightest hint of a smile. “Good. It’s laundry day.”
“Laundry?” Logan said incredulously.
“Aye, laundry.”
“But…we’re at sea.”
“Aye, that we are.”
“But you’d be wasting good water!”
“What I waste is my concern. There is a Bible on the edge of my desk. Place your hand upon it and swear you will not try to escape.” Again, a subtle smile upon the captain’s lips. The young face could be gamine-like, delicate…beautiful, beneath the attempt at ruggedness. “And that you will do laundry.” Red picked up the quill again and began to write. “And bathe.”
“Bathe?” Logan inquired politely.
“There’s a breeze today, you may have noticed. Otherwise, the Caribbean is quite hot. What many of my associates upon these seas have not noticed is that we seem to avoid the dangers of disease with greater success than others because we make every attempt to keep this vessel free from vermin, such as rats, and the lice that are prone to so enjoy the human scalp and body. When we are at anchor, by the islands, my men are quite fond of swimming. They have discovered that saltwater is excellent for whatever may be plaguing their skin. So, you will serve—and bathe—as one of us. Or you may rot back in the cargo hold.”
“Captain, bathing does not at all dissuade me.”
“And laundry?”
“It will be a new…adventure,” he admitted.
“Adventure,” Red mused. “Well, then. Swear. On the Bible.”
“Do most of your captives believe in God, Captain?”
“Most men claim not to give a damn if the devil takes them, but I don’t believe you’re the average man. Then again, at the point of death, a man’s beliefs have a tendency to change. I’ve seen many a supposed disbeliever cry out to heaven when he knows his death is imminent. So, swear or return to the brig.”
He picked up the Bible and gave his oath.
When he set it down he said, “Laundry…and bathing. I can only assume then, given that I have correctly ascertained our direction, we’re heading for Nassau.”
“Nassau, New Providence. You know it?” Red asked politely. “You don’t appear to be the type of man who spends much time there.”
“I’ve been there,” Logan said.
“Well?” Red demanded, when Logan continued to stand there.
“Will I be allowed to go ashore?”
“Yes.”
“How magnanimous of you.”
Red turned those striking eyes full on him. “Pirates do have honor, as you keep pointing out to me. I will see to it that everyone is made aware that you are a captive and where you belong. Should you attempt to escape, any one of them