Oceanswept (8 page)

I breathed deeply, trying to mask my disappointment. My head swirled.

“Close your eyes,” he commanded.

I obeyed but it was long time before sleep finally found me.

C
ompletely exhausted, I slept soundly. Nicholas woke me periodically to monitor my wounds and feed me warm broth. I was so tired and this constant waking frustrated me, but he insisted it was necessary to keep me from losing consciousness.

I felt much safer with Nicholas nearby. He comforted me as much as he knew how, with reassuring conversation or additional blankets and pillows. His compassion never wavered and I began to believe his story—that everything he had done was to protect me. I craved his touch—that touch that I had once thought too brazen and presumptuous.

I was rarely alone. Nicholas stayed with me every moment he could, even sleeping in a cramped ball on the floor. If he could not personally watch over me, Skidmore stood guard outside the cabin.

I longed for Nicholas every moment he was away. I found it harder to breathe when he wasn’t there, which fortunately was not often. I craved his conversation and hungered for his occasional caress. Though broken, wounded, and confined to a hard, wooden bed, I found a welcome sense of calm when he was near.

“I must look horrible,” I said as Nicholas dabbed at my wounds with a cool, damp cloth on the third day after the assault.

“You’re healing smartly,” Nicholas reassured.

I touched my face gingerly, feeling the puffiness of my bruised jaw and the tender lumps on my head.

“Tell the truth…how bad is it?”

Nicholas pursed his lips, deciding to be honest. “I can see that you are healing. Your bruises are turning purple and yellow. And your cuts are closing. But I hurt every time I look at you.”

“I must be completely disfigured.”

“No, no,” Nicholas smiled softly. “You will be fine. You’re as pretty as ever. I just meant that I will never forgive myself for what happened.”

“You cannot hold yourself responsible for another man’s actions.”

He scowled at me, his beautiful face glorious in its anger.

“You
can’t
,” I stressed.

“You’ll never convince me of that,” he murmured.

* * * * *

Later that day, a pounding at the cabin door startled me awake. Nicholas sprang to his feet as the door flew open, his hand at his scabbard. 

The doorway framed a terrifying creature that I could only assume was a man. He was tall. Very tall. He wore a wide-brimmed black hat and a sweeping black jacket that nearly brushed the ground. Stringy white hair hung about his shoulders. His skin was paper white and nearly translucent. His face was thin and bony, his nose a long, sharp line. Everything about him looked severe. But the most shocking thing about the man in the doorway was his blood-red eyes. If demons existed, he might be one.

I pushed myself into a sitting position and glanced quickly at Nicholas, gauging his response to this demon.

Nicholas made no reaction whatsoever. “Captain Black,” he said simply.

So this was the pirate captain. It was as if he stepped out of my nightmares.

“Wrack is dead,” the captain said without introduction. His fearsome eyes darted between Nicholas and me.

Nicholas took a step towards the captain. “Dead? What happened?”

The captain’s crimson eyes bore into me, his stare unwavering. I trembled and pulled the blankets up to my chin. Without shifting his gaze, he said, “He caught a fever last night. Isn’t that right, Miss Monroe?”

I looked to Nicholas for reassurance. He looked at me, his eyes pinched with confusion, then back at the captain.

“I-I’m sorry?” I stammered, confused at this man’s meaning.

“Fever started last night. Then he died within twelve hours. Never heard o’ anythin’ like that.”

His words were pregnant with a meaning I could not grasp. Although I had no sympathetic feelings for the dead pirate, I imagined that one fewer man on board could prove burdensome for the captain and crew. But there was something more ominous than that in his words. Nicholas seemed as dumbfounded as I was.

“Beggin’ your pardon, sir,” Nicholas started, “but Mr. Wrack was hurt somewhat badly during his attack on Miss Monroe.”

“Aye,” the captain nodded, an unusually pink lip curling over his teeth into a devious smile, “she dealt a bit o’ damage, that wee one, didn’t she?” He turned his red eyes to Nicholas. “But the strange thing is, he died of a fever, not from any bloodied nose or bashed in head.”

“I’ll call the crew and make arrangements to cover his work,” Nicholas said, moving to do just that.

Captain Black held up a papery white hand, halting Nicholas. “The crew ain’t worried about the workload, Marks.” The red eyes focused on me. “They are more concerned with the presence of black magic.”

My lips repeated the words. “Black magic?”

Nicholas chuckled, easing his posture. “Black magic? Those superstitious bastards.”

The look on the captain’s face did not soften.

Nicholas noticed it too. His laughter faded. “You believe them? You truly believe that Miss Monroe had something to do with Wrack’s death? That’s impossible.”

“Only the blackest of arts could take a man so swiftly from this life,” he snarled. “The sailors will be committin’ the body to the sea shortly. Miss Monroe, be prepared to stand on trial for the murder of Thomas Wrack at the first bell of first dog watch today.”

With a whirl of his black duster, the captain was gone.

Stunned, Nicholas and I stared at each other. The meaning of the captain’s accusation had yet to sink in.

“Stay here,” Nicholas commanded and strode out of the cabin, closing the door behind him before I could protest.

Five minutes passed before I heard footsteps approaching down the hallway. A soft tap sounded on the door, then it opened wide to reveal two mangy pirates whom I did not recognize. They looked similar enough to be brothers. One held a ring of keys. My heart thudded heavily at the sight of them.

“Miss Monroe, please come with us,” one demanded.

Still huddled on the small bed, I asked “Where to?”

“To the brig,” the other replied.

My breathing grew shallow, “No, no, I can’t! Why?”

“You’ve been charged with a crime, miss. You must wait there fer yer trial.”

“Please, no,” I begged. The very thought of the brig made my stomach lurch. Images from Wrack’s assault flashed in my memory. I shut my eyes against them, but it was no use. I could see his sneering face. I could feel his wet tongue sliding up my cheek. I could smell the stench of his breath and the nauseating scent of fresh blood. “Anywhere else,” I pleaded, my eyes still shut.

“Cap’n’s orders, ma’am,” the first pirate said. He stepped forcefully into the room.

I was out of options. I would rather go willingly than be manhandled by these loathsome men.

“I see. I’ll do what is necessary,” I bargained, “but I need to wait for Mr. Holladay to return first.”

The man in the room took a step closer to me. “We have our orders, miss.”

There was an apologetic note in his voice, and I sensed he’d rather not force me to follow his orders.

I slowly pushed my covers off, then cinched the tie around my robe a bit tighter. I placed one bare foot on the floor at a time, wanting to delay this as long as possible in hopes that Nicholas would return. I smoothed my hands over my mussed hair, taking my time to rake out the tangles with my fingers, though my hair was impossibly matted with dried blood. Finally, I stood.

The men escorted me down the hallway without touching me, for which I was thankful. We crossed the ship’s waist in an odd procession. A few sailors were scattered about the deck and the rigging and stared at me unabashedly. I was surprised that more weren’t out to see what was happening. Perhaps they were…caring for the body. I looked for Nicholas, wishing he would notice what was happening and put a stop to it, but I could not find him.

The men led me down the ladder, deep inside the ship.

The brig had not been touched since the night of Wrack’s attack. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw the jagged bits of the broken jug, the spent candle, and even the book I had been reading, the pages brown with dried blood. I halted, faltering in my resolve to play nicely. The two men looked at me, ready to pursue if I fled.

“I can’t go back in there,” I begged.

“Just for a bit, miss,” the man closest to me said. “It will only be a little while.”

The other pirate—the one with the keys—went forward to the swinging gate that served as the door to the prison. He examined the lock. “Marks shot it to bits. It ain’t gonna hold.” He slammed the door to the frame several times, each time it failed to catch and swung back out. I hoped this meant I could not be held here.

“The cap’n’ll have somethin’,” the other pirate said. He reached to take my arm in his burly grasp. I couldn’t help but recoil. “C’mon,” he ordered sternly.

I forced myself to walk forward into the cage, horrible images racing through my mind. The pirate with the keys ascended the ladder while the other man closed the door behind me, holding it in place. The sound of the metal door clanking shut reverberated in the expansive room. I shut my eyes fiercely, trying to imagine a prettier scene, but I could only see a jeering Wrack prowling around the perimeter of the brig, striking the key against the bars.

I
inhaled deeply, trying to calm the swelling panic in my breast. Lingering smells of rum and blood met my nose and I stifled a gag.

The man standing guard fidgeted uncomfortably. He must have believed me guilty. He was afraid that I would put some kind of fever curse on him, too. The absurdity of the situation angered me. I was tempted to chant some mumbo jumbo just to scare him away. I was sure it would work, but then what? I was on a ship with limited space. One-hundred pirates against me. Well, against Nicholas and me. Still, there would be nowhere to run and I couldn’t afford to make things worse.

We waited in silence. The other man returned with a mass of chain and a padlock the size of my hand. Without a word passing between the two men, they wrapped the length of the chain around the gate and the door frame, sealing it with the padlock, and hurried out of the hold.

Afraid to move a single inch, I simply stood still like a lost child.

Maybe I truly was meant to die. I should have drowned in the hurricane with my father or at least been scorched to death by the tropical sun as I drifted unconsciously in the jollyboat. I should have died at the hands of these pirates, whether during the attack on the other ship or when I was trapped in here with Wrack. It would happen now. I would be tried for a nonexistent crime and punished however the captain saw fit. I was terrified, but wished desperately for all this to be over. But more than that, I wished to see Nicholas. I needed him.

My wish was granted shortly. I recognized the sound of his steps as he came down the ladder. A sense of calm washed over me. He would let me out of here, straighten out this entire mess.

He was not alone, to my dismay. He was accompanied by the two pirates who had escorted me down not long before. They lingered near the staircase, talking in whispers.

As Nicholas walked closer to me, I rushed to brig’s door, reaching out through the bars. My embrace was unmet. He stayed several paces back, his demeanor formal and stiff. The calm I had felt just seconds before disintegrated.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” I responded slowly pulling my arms back into the brig. “Can you let me out?”

“You’ll have to stay down here.”

“How long?”

Nicholas looked away. “About six hours.”

It felt as though the wind had been knocked out of me. Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes. “Nicholas, what is happening?”

His stoic face relaxed briefly. “It’s sheer madness. The men are afraid. I think they were surprised by the damage you did to Wrack. They think you’re trouble.”

“The damage I did to Wrack? What of the damage he did to me?” I questioned angrily.

“They’re pirates. Do you think they care?”

I turned away, hiding my tears.

“I don’t agree with them,” he added hastily. “Wrack deserved every bruise you gave him. He deserved far more. I am honestly sorry that he died. Believe me when I say I had something far worse planned for him.”

I looked back at Nicholas. “Will there really be a trial?”

He nodded curtly.

“But you’re the quartermaster. Aren’t you responsible for punishment? Don’t you have a say in this?”

“I break up quarrels and oversee duels. Minor infractions. I wish I had more sway with a full-on trial, but I don’t.”

I swallowed hard, my last bit of hope fading. “What will happen at the trial?”

He shifted his weight slightly. “You’ll answer their questions.”

Why was Nicholas being so vague? I needed to know what I would face. “What if they find me…guilty?”

Nicholas’s jaw clenched, his nostrils flared. The thought was just as worrisome to him. “They can’t. There’s not enough to go off.”

“But what if they
do
?”

“It won’t happen,” he said and as I started to contest this answer he cut me off and continued angrily, “But
if
it did happen, the captain can order whatever punishment he sees fit.”

My imagination flooded with visions of possible punishments. “What do you mean? What are you keeping from me?”

“I cannot say what he intends. But it is not good. I have rarely seen him in such a mood and it’s like he’s mad.” He put one hand on his hip and the other hand pinched the bridge of his nose. I could see the muscles of his jaw ripple as he tensed. “And I don’t know if it is best to play along, to give the captain his way. That may be all he wants. It may be that he is proving his authority since some of that was taken away with you. Although he claimed you, no one cared—including me. Maybe I made this worse, trying to protect you. No,” he corrected himself immediately. “Things would have been worse if you were left to the devices of Black. I am convinced that this is a show of authority. The crew has been volatile, disobedient. He will make this into an example, but I doubt it will result in an extreme punishment for you. It has nothing to do with you.”

“But if he’s making an example, proving his authority, won’t he need to follow through with a harsh punishment?”

Nicholas dropped his arms to his sides, looking at me intensely. “I swear to you now, Tessa, I won’t let any harm come to you,” The sternness in his voice made me shiver. I believed every word.

His posture relaxed and he stepped a bit closer towards me, but not nearly close enough. Lowering his voice, he said, “Look, I hate to leave you down here, but I need to take care of business upstairs.”

I closed my eyes against the pressing tears and nodded.

“Things will turn out fine. Try not to worry.”

Nicholas left and the two pirates followed him. They left the hatch above the ladder open, affording me a bit of light.

I noticed the crate was still within reach and went immediately over to it. I felt very vulnerable in the black dressing gown and I wanted to dress fully. My clean undergarments were still knotted around the brig’s bars. I untied them and put them on. I pulled the blue silk gown into the brig and dressed hurriedly, worried that someone might come down any moment.

I brushed my hair, combing out the dried blood and rum. Once it was hanging in sleek ripples, I pulled it off my shoulders into a low ponytail at the nape of my neck, securing it with the black satin sash from the yellow ball gown. Several rebellious tendrils framed my face.

I was lacking a corset, a petticoat, stockings, and shoes, but I felt more complete than I had in a long while.

The hours crept by. I listened for the bells on deck proclaiming the time. Precisely when the first bell of the first dog watch rang, three men descended the broad ladder. I stood nervously, anxious to be out of the brig, yet terrified of what waited for me on deck.

Two pirates I had never seen before led the captain down the ladder towards the brig. With his flowing black robes and ghostly pallor, I was convinced that the captain was Death himself, coming for me at last. As one pirate opened the lock and removed the chains from the brig, the captain stated formally, “Miss Tessa Monroe, your trial for the killing of Thomas Wrack has now commenced.”

Without being instructed to, I followed the procession up the ladder to the ship’s waist to the trial that would decide my fate.