Page 77 of Paid to the Pirate

What? He couldn’t mean that.

One of the men shrugged, then stepped forward as if to grab me.

“I won’t go with you!” I shouted. “Please, let me bury my father. He needs a proper burial!”

Father, father, father. My only family in the world.

“There’s no time,” Captain Colt said. “Your townsfolk will take care of him.”

Baring my teeth in rage, I declared, “I’d rather die than go with you.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Robert argued, but the third man approached anyway, ready to rip my world from me.

“Father!” I yelled, clutching at his body, helpless as I was pulled away. “Please, no!”

“You’d rather stay here?” the captain asked. “There will be nothing left of your town if things go sour and there’s nothing left in this house from the looks of it.”

“Please, no, wait! Let me have his handkerchief.”

The crewman holding me allowed me to stretch forward and grab the handkerchief from my father’s pocket before quickly whisking me back while I screamed.

“Gag him or he’ll alert the whole town to our arrival.”

Someone produced a gag as well as rope. Colt’s two men held me down while my wrists and ankles were bound. Still sobbing, I was tossed over the strong man’s shoulder.

“Bring him back to the ship and leave him with Miguel. Hurry back to finish the job here.”

Bouncing roughly over the pirate’s shoulder, I cried too hard to notice much of the journey. The blood rushing to my head made me woozy. I heard the call of gulls and smelled the sea when we neared the harbor and I began my struggles anew. Once deposited on that ship, I’d have no hope of escape. No hope of seeing my father ever again.

But the man carrying me was too strong. After a quick ride in the jolly boat, I was hoisted ontoThe Dark Bladelike cargo.

Pirates.I despised their kind. Pirates had killed my motherandmy father.

I curled into a ball in the brig.

They’d probably kill me too.

Chapter 34

Charlotte, the past

For weeks, I barely ate or drank. Counting my ribs pleased me. Maybe I’d shrink so much, I’d disappear. If I grew too weak to work, I thought Captain Colt would abandon me to die at the nearest desolate island. I was not so lucky.

Colt looked at me strangely, like I was a puzzle to solve.

“Eat, boy,” he ordered one evening, shoving a plate of biscuits under my lowered head. “You can eat on your own or I can force it down your throat.”

“I’ll throw it back up,” I spat, snarling.

“Do it and I’ll make you lick it up,” he said, calmly. “I’m sure the crew would like to watch that, seeing as how you’re not pulling even your own meager weight around here.”

Confusion pierced through my anger. Though I didn’t doubt Colt’s words, his concern puzzled me. Why did he care if I ate? Why did he insist on bringing me on their voyages though I did almost nothing to contribute throughout? Why defend me against the crew when they -- rightfully -- pointed it out?

I studied the man who killed my father.

He was very tall, but not burly. His hair was neatly groomed, his fingernails clean, and his face clean-shaven. His clothing was slightly rumpled and smelled of salt and sweat, but none of it was tattered or torn. Dark eyes gazed at me from a finely chiseled face. It wasn’t a soft, gentleman’s face, but rather a face with a savage, ancient sort of nobility. His eyes were hooded, haughty, and so dark and cold they were like the bottom of a black pond or the ocean itself. His movements were too measured to speak of an upbringing other than one of refinement atsomepoint.

A pirate shouldn’t look like that.

---