Oceanswept (17 page)

W
e remained on the island for three more days. Nicholas had tentatively mapped out our voyage. We were much farther south than I had imagined—about a dozen leagues off the coast of New Granada. Because I was British and Nicholas was a wanted pirate, we would be unwelcome in most of the ports along the Spanish Main. Our only choice was to make port at pirate havens. This still held some danger since Nicholas had been branded a mutineer and a deserter and I would be—as he put it—a desired commodity among such immoral company. But we would only port as often and as long as absolutely necessary.

Our first stop would be Curaçao where we would stock up on supplies. Though Nicholas had used most of his gold to buy his freedom and had little to barter with, he was sure we could figure something out. I was afraid he meant stealing, but I didn’t dare ask. He knew I didn’t approve of such things, but because our survival depended on it, I did not pry. I convinced myself that ignorance was indeed bliss. If I was unaware of illegal activity, I couldn’t be upset about it. We would continue north, stopping in New Providence for supplies, then aim for Bermuda. From there, we would sail to London.

We had two options for establishing a life in London. The first was for Nicholas to sign on as a sailor with a merchant ship. No one in London knew he was a pirate, so it should be easy enough for him to gain employment, especially as a seasoned seaman and a trained carpenter. Or—and this was the option that I rather preferred—I could solicit help from my father’s associates in helping Nicholas establish a carpentry shop. If we were unhappy there, we’d set sail and try again somewhere else.

Mother Ivy was quite generous and gave us plenty of food stocks for our journey. She told me I had earned it. With the help of Liam, Nicholas and I scoured the island and found things we could use for bartering in ports. We loaded the ketch with beautiful shells, natural fibers, and piles of coconuts.

When the day of our departure arrived, I hugged all the girls from the bordello and even Mother Ivy. I saved my goodbye for Liam until the last.

“Goodbye,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “You were a true friend to me.”

“I don’t want you to go,” he said, trying to be brave.

“Don’t forget me. I will never forget the handsome, brave man who saved my life.”

Liam smiled tensely and I could see moisture welling in his dark eyes. He pulled something out of his pocket—a necklace he’d made from beautiful shells and carved wooden beads.

“It’s lovely. Here, help me put it on.”

Liam slipped the necklace over my head and quickly kissed me on the cheek.

“Thank you.” I kissed his cheek and made him blush.

With my farewells said, we climbed aboard the ketch, and Nicholas unfurled the sails and hoisted the anchor. We drifted out with the tide. I waved and waved to Liam, who was perched on the promontory watching us sail away.

Nicholas was able to man the small ketch himself. I found myself admiring him as he climbed into the rigging and set the sails to catch the wind. He had such strength yet moved as easily as a bird on the wing. The wind tossed his hair and whipped his shirt, and I blushed when I caught myself staring at his well-muscled chest.

Once the sails were set, Nicholas led me to the helm. Standing behind me and guiding my hands, he helped me steer the ketch into the bright sea before us.

“Now, as a matter of ceremony, we have to sing,” Nicholas announced as he turned the wheel.

“Sing?”

“Aye, pet. Bad luck if we don’t sing a sailing song as we set out from the harbor.”

“Like an invocation hymn?” I asked naively.

Nicholas laughed loudly. “I’m sorry. Did not mean to laugh at you. You are just so...you’re quite endearing. No, we need to sing a chantey. A sailing song.”

Slightly embarrassed, I muttered, “I’m not familiar with any chanteys.”

“I will teach you. Most chanteys are designed to allow sailors to coordinate their strength to the rhythm of the song to get tough jobs done.”

I nodded, familiar with the nearly constant, boisterous singing heard upon any ship.

“But there are a few other special chanteys,” Nicholas continued. “Those sung only when sailing home and those sung only during departure. This one is a fine sailing song. It celebrates the adventure waiting for us. And it’s suitable enough for a lady’s ears,” he added with a wink.

With no hesitation he belted out his song:

Set us out to sea, my boys

Western winds are blowin’

Fill the sails and ride the waves

Ain’t no need for rowin’

Blow Ye Winds

And Take Me Away

Across the Seven Seas

Hey! Hey!

Blow Ye Winds

Not a Finer Day

Across the Seven Seas

Hey! Hey!

Set upon the blue, my boys

Can you say what’s yonder?

Ain’t no need to stop just yet

There’s a big world to wander

Blow Ye Winds

And Take Me Away

Across the Seven Seas

Hey! Hey!

Blow Ye Winds

Not a Finer Day

Across the Seven Seas

Hey! Hey!

“You know,” I said looking at him over my shoulder, “your sailor’s accent grows much thicker when you sing chanteys.”

He quickly kissed the top of my head, “Aye, me beauty,” he said in a brogue so heavy I could hardly understand him, “not but once in a g’while that a swabby be unfetterin’ th’
canvas an’ catchin’ a hearty wind by the lee to seek ’is fortune upon th’ briny deep with such a pert lass on his arm.”

I laughed into the wind.

“Nay, me ducky, you’ll not be distractin’ me so easily. It be your turn to sing.”

I groaned good-naturedly and let Nicholas lead me in song. There was something freeing about standing at the helm, belting into the wind, singing a song that hundreds of seamen had sang before me, a song meant to herald grand adventures and welcome the unknown.

After finishing a second round of the chantey, I left the helm and leaned back against the bulwarks. Nicholas stayed at the wheel. His hair blew freely about him. His eyes shifted from the vast horizon to the sails above, his practiced hands turning the heavy spokes of the helm as necessary. He sang quietly to himself, and grinned like a child when he caught me staring.

“I have never seen you like this before,” I said to Nicholas.

He smiled as if he did not know what I was talking about. “Like what?”

“Look at you. You could not stop smiling if I promised you Rome.”

As if to prove my point, his smile grew wider. “No need to promise me Rome. I already have everything.”

“What do you mean?”

He looked knowingly at the never-ending sea. He closed his eyes and turned his head up. His face held the look of pure serenity—like a patron saint worshipping the sun.

Then he looked calmly at me. “This is it, luv. This is the greatest day of my life.”

“Setting sail is just that exciting, isn’t it?” I agreed, a grin playing on my lips, as I looked across the azure waters.

“That it is,” he affirmed. “There’s nothing quite like a strong wind in the sails and the sun shining on your face. But that is not what I said. I said that this is the greatest day of my life.”

“Today? The greatest day of your
entire
life?” I looked again at the sea and the sky, trying to determine what made this voyage so particular.

“So far.”

He grinned wildly. His grey eyes shone in the sun. I looked at him curiously, waiting for an explanation.

“Like you said, setting sail is always exciting. But today is different. For the first time in my life, I’m a free man. It’s just me. And my ketch. I have my own ketch!” he practically shouted. He bounded to my side gleefully, turning me to look across the water. He swept an arm across the scenery. “I can go where I want, do what I please. It’s a freedom I’ve never known.” Nicholas stared into my eyes. “And there’s you. Standing there like you don’t even know you are the greatest gift the sea ever gave me.” He nodded once, a confident, satisfied gesture. “No, I can’t say I have ever seen a finer day.”

A
lone with Nicholas—really, really alone—for the first time, I found myself nervous. It seemed rather impious to be sharing such close quarters without a chaperone. Nicholas found this particularly hilarious when I explained my sudden shyness.

It was nothing Nicholas did or said. He was a perfect gentleman, even before I admitted my apprehension. Nicholas had insisted I sleep in the furnished cabin while he took the cabin next door. And though we indulged in many passionate kisses, he was always the first to pull away, more easily satisfied than I.

I tried to help with the chores as much as I could, but I hardly knew what to do with myself. Despite what I had learned in the tavern, I was a horrid cook. It was easy enough to pour rum and boil water, but anything beyond that took Nicholas’s expertise. He seemed more than happy to fill the role of caretaker. From cracking coconuts, to constantly tending the lines and the sails, he seemed to radiate joy in all the tasks that his newfound freedom required.

I admit that I followed Nicholas around like a puppy, but by watching him I learned to make myself useful. After seeing him scour the deck with salt water and a holystone two days in a row, I decided to start on the chore while he was aloft in the lines, reefing the sails. I hauled up a bucket of water from the ocean, retrieved a holystone, plopped onto my hands and knees, and began scrubbing.

When Nicholas came down to the deck, he glared in disapproval. “What are you doing?”

“I thought I would help,” I said timidly, surprised by the reprimand in his voice.

“I don’t need help.” His stern look softened when he saw the hurt in my face. “I mean, thank you, but really, leave it alone and go rest.”

I sat back on my heels, and pushed a stray lock of hair away from my face with the back of my hand. “I don’t need to rest. I want to help.”

“I have it under control.” I could tell he was trying to spare my feelings.

“I know you do, but I really want to do my share.”

“You do plenty,” he argued feebly, then noting my furrowed brows he beamed, “You keep me company.”

“I refuse to be completely helpless,” I insisted with a sigh.

“I don’t want you feeling helpless, it’s just…” he trailed off.

“Am I getting in your way?” I asked, suddenly realizing that the answer might be yes. I dreaded being unhelpful, but more than that, I would hate making things worse just by being here.

“No, you are fine.”

“Am I doing it wrong?” I eyed the wet boards surrounding me and the holystone in my hand. It had not looked complicated when Nicholas scoured the deck, but it was my first attempt at anything like this. I could be ruining the ship for all I knew.

“No, Tessa, it isn’t that. Just…don’t. Just get up and stop scouring the deck.”

He pulled me up by the arm and took the holystone from my hand, tossing it aft. His arms snaked around my waist, pulling me close.

“I’m a sailor. This is what I do. Let me do it.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

He raised his eyebrows as he looked at me and said, “I don’t know. Whatever it is that ladies do.”

I pushed away from his chest, taking a small step back. “What is it you think ladies do? Laze about and stare at the ocean all day? I am not useless.” A hint of sarcasm touched my voice.

“Tessa, believe me, I
know
you are strong. It’s nothing to do with that. I just don’t want you working like that.”

“Why not?” I grumbled.

Nicholas pulled me close to him again. I put on a show of resisting him, but let him wrap his arms around me. “You are fixed on defying me, aren’t you? I know you can do it. But I just really want to take care of you—” I opened my mouth to protest, but he pressed his finger against my lips and continued, “I know you don’t need me to take care of you, but
I
need it. Please. Just let me.”

His grey eyes glistened with nothing but affection. I couldn’t resist. I surrendered with
a hug. “Fine. I won’t scour the deck. But I can’t do
nothing
. I get so bored when you are working.”

“I don’t want you to be unhappy. But you won’t scrub floors like a scullery maid. Maybe you could mend the sails. Something less physically taxing? We will sail into Curaçao in four days and I promise we will purchase some things that will make life at sea more pleasant. Books and sewing and anything you want. Sound reasonable?”

“I suppose,” I said, still moping a bit. “It’s just that scouring the deck seemed easier than cooking.”

Nicholas laughed and hugged me tighter. “There’s no winning, is there?” He planted a swift kiss on the top of my head then dashed aloft to tighten a luffing sail.

That night when I presented Nicholas with a dinner of bland boiled fish, I couldn’t help adding, “Bet you wished I’d finished the deck while
you
cooked.”

He ate the fish heartily and never complained.

* * * * *

Though I complained of boredom—Nicholas allowed me to help with very little—the weeklong trip to Curaçao was a happy one. Compared with the confinement in Nicholas’s cabin aboard the
Banshee
, my imprisonment in the brig, being aimlessly adrift in a jollyboat, stranded on an island, and working among prostitutes, I was now in paradise.

The daily workings of the ketch intrigued me and I peppered Nicholas with hundreds of questions. I admired his agility as he climbed the ratlines, secured the sails, shimmied down the masts, tied knots, and performed a dozen other chores daily. He was strong
, too. It was difficult not to stare at the way his arms hardened and rippled as he tacked the lines and managed the boom. Nicholas tried to teach me how to read the ocean—an art form as mysterious to me as a forgotten religion. All of nature is speaking, he would say. We just had to learn to listen. Despite his lessons, I could never see the invisible eddies Nicholas found so obvious or remember the significance of cloud height and shape. I surmised that sunshine and wind made Nicholas happy, therefore, they were good things.

I made peace with my idleness. I knew I was capable of helping more. And Nicholas knew it too. It wasn’t that he
had
to take care of me. He
wanted
to. And I let him.

We decided to name the ketch the
Freedom
. Though Nicholas initially wanted to name it after me, I strongly objected, and we settled on a name that celebrated our liberation.

He kept to the sailor’s schedule of never sleeping more than four hours at a time. I felt bad for the constant amount of work that he always needed to do, but he insisted that he loved it. Sailing was his calling and he said that he’d never had more fun at it. He claimed that sailing the ketch by himself was less work than he had ever done on the
Banshee
. I always felt guilty retiring to a full eight to ten hours of sleep each night in a comfortable four-poster bed knowing that Nicholas would keep working through the better part of the night.

I experimented in the galley constantly, trying to invent a delicious new delicacy. I made a type of scone with flour, water, coconut milk, and dried papayas. Dipped in molasses, my recipe masqueraded quite well as dessert.

When I wasn’t wasting our supplies in the galley, I did my best to entertain Nicholas—I would fill his ears with idle prattle that he seemed to enjoy, and he taught me long-haul and short-haul chanteys. With no books to read, I recited verses from the Bible and recounted my favorite tales. Nicholas was quite taken with the story of Odysseus traveling home after the Trojan War. He requested that story often.

The days blurred together in a golden haze. The laughter, the work, the late-night revelations…each day was better than the last. On a boat so small with no one else to talk to, it was impossible to keep secrets. We saw each other at our worst and made each other better. An intimacy bloomed between us that could not have been born in any other way. Nicholas became my truest friend, my closest confidant, my partner, and my happiness.

I was in love with him.