Page 2 of Her Perfect Pirate
He wanted to deny that the idea stirred his body.Bodies, unfortunately, would not be denied.Chow reached forward and took the goat’s lead rope.“When you regret this day, don’t come crying to me.”
That he pulled the goat too roughly down to the lower decks was only one more sin among many for which Chow was quite sure he could never atone.
Buoyedbyrelief,Rebeccafollowed the man called Sharkhead below to a hot, stuffy deck lit only by open portholes.The crew turned to watch as they passed, and she felt the curious, hungry eyes of dozens of men raking down her body.
It didn’t worry her.She was pretty, yes, and a woman, and these were pirates who craved physical pleasure they didn’t get for months on end.But pirates had their own sense of honor—especially on the infamous Captain Boukman’s ship—and Rebecca was now part of their crew.She would serve them goat’s milk and scrub the deck on her knees beside them and within a matter of days, they would know her as one of them, same as all the households Rebecca had ever worked in.
In the meantime, she sensed that this man called Sharkhead would protect her, even if he resented it.
Rebecca had observed him as he argued with de la Cruz about her presence.He wasn’t what she expected of a pirate, firstly because he spoke perfect King’s English while looking like a Chinaman.Then, when he addressed her, he was frank without being cruel.
He seemed honest, and even on theGhost, Rebecca hadn’t expected to find that among pirates.
He led her to the back of the ship, where a wire cage held three hens and a low wooden wall penned in a pig.“Your goat will remain here.”He tied Mrs.Adams’s lead to a hook.
“I’ll need to take her above a few times a day if you want her to keep producing milk.”
In truth, Rebecca didn’t know too much about the husbandry of a goat.She had spent most of her life in city households, where milk was purchased each morning from a dairy.But she had been with Mrs.Adams for three weeks now, ever since thePrimrosewrecked off the northern shore of Fortune Island.Mrs.Adams had been at her side when she crept away from the other ragged survivors after receiving too many leers.Mrs.Adams had wandered the outskirts of Albert Town with Rebecca as she looked for a reputable place to stay.And when in the span of one day Rebecca had been mistaken for a slave and then for a prostitute, Mrs.Adams had lunged forward both times to attack the people threatening to steal Rebecca away.
Now that they had found safety on theGhost, Rebecca intended to do right by her friend.It only seemed natural that an animal would want daylight and fresh air.
Sharkhead gave her a look, but it was too dark for Rebecca to see much of it.“We’ve got hay to feed her here.I’ll have to lay in some more before we sail.I wasn’t counting on a goat.”
“When do we sail?”
She didn’t think the question would rankle.Yet Sharkhead stiffened, and he replied curtly, “When the captain says so.”
Rebecca bristled, as was her nature when anyone got so short with her.She wasn’t poking around to be troublesome.She had a right to ask questions, same as anyone else.
She schooled herself against reacting.Now was the time to acclimate herself, not to ruffle feathers.
“Do you know much about sailing?”Sharkhead asked her.She felt his eyes on her again, but still, the shadows cloaked his face.
Rebecca thought about exaggerating.At age fourteen, she had said a false yes when the head cook at Placid Manor asked if she knew how to make a roux, and that had worked out just fine.
But Cook had been a friendly old woman with a soft spot for a motherless child.Sharkhead already didn’t want Rebecca on the ship.She admitted simply, “No.”
“Every man has a part,” Sharkhead said.Then, he amended, “Every body has a part.You’ll start by learning the knots.”
He spoke roughly, as if each word cost him a penny, yet a layer of kindness softened everything he said.Rebecca couldn’t quite figure out where the kindness came from—it wasn’t in his expression, which she couldn’t see, nor was it in his body language, since he stood stiff as a board.Still, it was as if he merely acted the part of a mean old pirate.
“I learn quickly,” Rebecca replied.
“Let’s hope so.”He preceded her back to the ladder that led above deck.When he stepped into a shaft of sunlight, Rebecca was shocked to discover the hint of a smile on his lips.“Otherwise, you’ll walk the plank.”
She followed him up without finding a reply.She was accustomed to men who wanted to fuck her, men who wanted to wield their authority over her, and men who only wanted her to serve them—as well as men who wanted a combination of all three.
She didn’t mind letting a man fuck her when the situation called for it.It was like eating salted sardines or cheese with spots of mold on it; she could put on a brave face and come through the other side with a little more sustenance.And she certainly knew how to act the part of a good servant who made no complaints.
But she didn’t know to which category Sharkhead belonged, and that left her feeling both unsettled and intrigued.
He led her to the quarterdeck, where a trio of men sat in the shade of a great white sail.One was another Eastern man whose bald head was covered in intricate tattoos; the others were no more than thirteen years old, with complexions as mixed as Rebecca’s.“Lee,” Sharkhead said, “We’ve got a new crew member.”He looked at Rebecca, a frown creasing his otherwise smooth skin.“What’s your name, then?”
She hesitated, considering a false name.But she wasn’t on the run, and she didn’t want to make her life any more complicated than it needed to be.“Rebecca Smith.”She smiled at the three sailors, her spirits lifting from their interest.“Although I suppose I need a pirate’s name now.”
Lee grinned.In accented English, he said, “A pirate doesn’t choose his name.His name chooses him.”
“Rebecca will do for now.”
