Queen Of My Nightmare (Uncharted Secrets, Book 2): Endless Horizon Pirate Stories (6 page)

Lost in the swarm of butterflies he set loose in my tummy, I sighed, “Yes. Of course. Where?”

“Right here.” He breathed heavily and pushed me facedown on the desk. As he pulled my breeches down, I laughed to myself,
so much for pleasant fields and butterflies.
There was nothing sweet about the way he pushed himself inside me. But as I held tightly to the rim of the desk, struggling to keep quiet, I saw no need to complain about the lack of romance.

Of all the positions we had made love in, this one was new, and it felt so damned good I never wanted it to end. As he grabbed my hips and pulled me against him, I knew my life with him would never be boring, but with the bloodstained maps beneath me, I also knew that it would also never again be sane.

PART II

A Place to Stand

Caribbean Sea

Spring of 1646

Chapter 6

Making My Mark

T
w
o
massive storms, and three weeks later, the turtle shaped silhouette of Tortuga showed up in my spyglass. The sky was extra clear after the rain so even without the glass I could see the tiny lump of land plenty fine. “There it is!” I shouted in a volume none of the men had ever heard Midnight express.

As they ran to the gunnel to take in the sight, I jumped and hooted with an excitement akin to their thrill for gold. I had done it! Me! The girl without a name, who no one truly knew, had found her way across the Caribbean Sea!

With the men chiming in on my joyous shouts, patting me on the back, and promising me all the whores I wanted ashore, I felt more love and appreciation than I had ever felt in my life. They called me a master of my trade and a king of the sea, but all I knew for certain was that I had finally found a place in the world. Among thieves or not, I had made my mark. I was somebody.

“Good job, navigator.” Mason smiled at me. It was his appreciation for my hard work that meant the most.

“Thank you, sir. You did great, too. And Shark, you’ve been so helpful. We make a good team. All of us.” I fanned my hand at the dangerous men I now considered family.

“We do. Now, keep it up, men.” Mason shouted to the crew, “The sooner this bitch hits the dock, the sooner you get to wet your limp little cocks.” Jumping to their stations, they rambled about the whores they’d be bedding when they got there. Gambling and drinking were also of great interest, but it was mostly the whores they desired.

Of course, Mason chimed in on their lustful thrills. Though I hated hearing him say those nasty things, and even worried that some of his stated interests were true, my irritation lightened when I realized we’d finally get some time alone ashore. Oh, maybe we could get another fancy room at an inn. I could even pay this time if he would let me. I wanted to. Just because I could.

Hurrying to the chartroom, I made my final marks on the map I had been working on, and then ran back out to the deck with a quill and a roll of parchment. Setting my supplies on a barrel, I took my time drawing the scene before me. Copying the silhouette of the island, I left room to add the harbor view from the sea, and also planned to record some depths if the sunlight would allow.

The sea below
Esmerelda’s
keel turned from blue to turquoise, and as soon as I could see the white sand laying low beneath the sunlit shades of aqua, I began recording my measurements of the passage. Figuring there must have been a hundred maps of this well-traveled seaway, I put in strenuous efforts to make mine one of the best. While studying the finest details of the beautiful scene, I felt extraordinarily close to nature and enjoyed the pleasant serenity of the honorable experience with a hopeful heart.

While signing my feather at the bottom, I caught a glimpse of the smiling moon on its rise. I decided to add the crescent to my signature. A feather and a moon, with a few stars dancing around it. Perhaps the maps of the Midnight Feather would one day be worthy enough to fight over. Yes, if I did them well enough, my work would live much longer than I would.

Sailing slowly through the crowded harbor, we somehow managed to get a spot at the main dock. Once the sails were doused for the evening, we passed the loot—tack and barrel—to the dock below. Most of the men rushed off to town the moment Mason gave them the go ahead, but he and a few others stayed behind to keep watch for the night.

“You don’t want to go to town?” I asked him when no one else was around.

“No. There’s nothing I need to rush off to. Let the dogs run amuck and I’ll fluff their pillows while they’re away.”

Before I had a chance to ask him if we could get a room tomorrow, Perk came over running his big fat mouth. Had it not been about Ziare refusing the help he needed, I would have been annoyed. Ziare’s horrifying amputation had healed miraculously well, and though he had taken stupendous strides of independence with his one arm, there were still some instances in which he needed assistance.

Mason went down to help his quartermaster, and knowing that I’d be stuck on the ship for the night, I went to the chartroom to work on the fine details of my map of Tortuga.

Burning through half a candle, I refined my map as best as I could by memory. Once I had done all I could do, I decided to write another letter to my mother. Taking a deep breath, I dipped my quill in the inkwell and let my awkward feelings flow.

Mother,

So much has changed. Though it is hard to say if it is good or bad, there is one thing that has remained consistent throughout it all, like a rock in the storm or a light in the fog. Under this hopeful light, I have been able to make a living with my artwork and I am proud to say I have found a way to make it in this world. Though we were never very close, I want you to know that I love you so, and I hope all is well for you.

Your one and only child

Figuring it best to keep my gender and my true name out of it, I sealed the envelope with no return address and planned to ship it off in the morning.

With memories of home fluttering around in my mind, I lit another candle and attempted to draw the shoreline of Barbados. Replicating the crests of the beach I remembered so well, my mind wandered through the memories I’d made there. Beautiful, wonderful memories. Well aware that hours were passing as the candles melted low, I couldn’t seem to pull myself away from that shoreline that held my sweetest dreams.

Clear as day, I saw my father walking barefoot in the water with me. Collecting shells and feeding birds, we’d talk and talk and laugh as the hours passed. Sunset always seemed to come too soon on those days…

With tears filling my eyes, I let my hand shift to my drawing of the southern end of the shore. Though I knew it would hurt to do so, I sketched the canopy tree where I’d spent my first day with Thomas. During that terrible attack on the Spanish, my chest of goods was destroyed. With the loss of my favorite painting aching painfully in my heart, I began drawing the way the roots of the beautiful tree twisted into the earth. Adding the shape of the canopy to my piece, I remembered what it was like sitting in the shade with Thomas. I was so young then. So innocent. My heartache at the time was real, but it was so small in comparison to what I had endured since then.

It had been months since I’d had a dream about Thomas. I missed the way I would see his face so clearly in my slumber, but as I added to my drawing the image I had carved into the sand that day, his awestricken expression lit up in my mind. His presence became so vivid, it was as though he was standing with me again. I could see him. I could smell him, and I could feel the warmth of his hand on mine. The love in his beautiful brown eyes overwhelmed me. Feeling like his ghost was staring at me, I felt a shiver run down my spine.

Sitting up quickly, I took a deep breath and looked around. I was in my chartroom with my cat, and I could hear Mason talking to someone in his cabin. It sounded like Reid. Apparently he had made it to Tortuga before us.

“Feather,” I petted his head. “That was so strange. It felt so real. Like Thomas was still alive. What if…somehow…No. He is gone. And I just have to face that.”

Realizing how late it had gotten, I decided to get on my way to bed. Before I put my work away, I poked my finger with my knife, and with my dripping blood, I painted a heart under that tree. That canopy tree on the southern shore of Barbados. The place I first fell in love.

Crossing the hall to my bunkroom, I heard Mason and Reid laughing their heads off. With no interest in such joyful activities, I went to my room, shutting the door behind me. The moment I set Feather down, Mason did his usual knock. I told him I was fine, wished him goodnight, and then I lay down with my cat.

After the ghostly encounter I had with Thomas’ spirit, I could not stop thinking about him. Hugging Feather like a little baby, I stroked his head and whispered, “Thomas was my husband, Feather. He was my first love, and though I love Mason, too, it’s just different.” And then it dawned on me. “It’s different because we are not married. Thomas loved me so much he left his family and all his wealth to make me his wife, but Mason has never said one single thing about marriage. I am sure it is simply not common practice for buccaneers to take wives, but common practice for the noble class was the least of Thomas’ concerns when he ran away with me.”

My thoughts were rudely interrupted by the sound of girlish laughter coming down the gangway. There were at least five women giggling amongst the crowd of men who were practically tumbling down the stairs. Pinching and tickling was all too apparent in the sounds that passed by my door. As Ziare kicked Mason’s door open, he wailed, “You take my arm, I bring you whores. This friendship is unfair as they come.”

My heart sank in my gut. Frozen stiff where I sat, I listened as Mason thanked his one-armed friend for the whores. From the sound of things I imagined the men sitting down at the table with the women draped all over their laps. Someone started playing a fiddle, tobacco smoke drifted down the hall. I was certain cards were being played, and it was also dreadfully apparent that clothes were coming off of the whores. There was talk about tits, there were jokes about cocks, but there was nothing funny about the hellish fire brewing in my blood.

Standing up, I began to pace, wondering what I should do. Just as I opened my mouth to talk to Feather, I heard a glass get knocked off the table. It broke. Like my heart.

“Let me get that,” one of the sluts purred.

When Mason said, “Why don’t you just stay down there,” I imagined the terrible reasons he’d want to keep her under the table. Her slutty giggles only intensified the boiling rise of my hatred.

My first reflex was to bust through the door like I did at La Vie en Rose, but I thought better of it. Mason promised me that night that he would never hurt me again, and if he was not going to stay true to his promise, I would. I would never let him hurt me again.

After having that dream about Thomas, the meaning of true love was ringing clear in my mind, and this wasn’t it. Thomas never would have stayed in a room with half naked women prancing about. Then my memories of the quick, dirty sex Mason had with me flashed through my mind. Feeling like nothing more than one of his tramps, I shook my head in disgust. “You know what, Feather? I don’t need this shit. I am a strong, confident woman, and I have a skill to offer. I am not just Mason Bentley’s bitch, I am a sea artist, and I am rich. I can make it on my own in this world.”

I tightened the band around my breasts. I darkened the kohl under my eyes. Beyond just wrapping my hair in the black fabric, I also donned my black cloak. Topping my dark and foreboding disguise with my feathered tricorn hat, I gathered as much gold as I could fit in my duffle, and then wrote Mason a letter. Six of them, to be exact. With the giggling whores annoying me in the background, I messed up my words so many times that I finally settled on something painfully simple. Something that made the letter to my mother come across as detailed and significant.

         
Mason,

Thank you for everything. I will never forget you.

Midnight

After drawing my new signature at the bottom, I rolled up the parchment and left it on my pillow. Instead of finding the lost young girl whose heart he thought he could break a hundred times, he would find that shitty little letter. Slipping into the hall, I braved the nerve to peek into his cabin. What I saw assured me that I was doing the right thing. Two topless sluts were dancing together, and I saw two men with tramps on their laps. One looked completely naked. Though I could not see Mason, I could hear him laughing. And as one of the dancing sluts swayed in his direction, I tucked Feather inside my bag and we ran away.

Slipping down the gangway without being noticed, I hurried across the deck and made my way down the ill-lit dock alone. Tortuga. This was my start. I had noticed how terrible this place was on my last visit here, but facing it alone was quite a different story. I was brave now. Certain that I could not encounter anything worse than the hell I had seen during that god-awful invasion, I wandered through the smelly crowd towards the lights of town.

The scenery was as nasty as ever, but the clashing of various crews set an even higher level of tension. It felt as if an explosion could ignite if anyone bumped into each other too hard. And with that thought, someone bumped into me.