Page 89 of Debtor’s Daughter

Chapter 6

“Wherein a pirate finds himself between the devil and the deep blue sea.”

Lars sat on the edge of the hammock and regarded his boots with a sigh. The night had not gone as he had hoped, not by a long way. That the militia had come after him with such force had been an unpleasant shock.

His somewhat romanticised and scandalous reputation as a pirate and corsair had always been a source of amusement to him. Suddenly his widespread fame wasn’t so funny. Running from the world with his ship and his crew was one thing. Doing it with some ridiculous slip of a girl towed in his wake was quite another. If she was a day over eighteen, he’d eat his hat.

He suddenly felt his own twenty-seven years bear down on him with the weight of centuries.

“Well, you’ve gone and done it now,” said Mousy, echoing his own thoughts.

“If that’s the extent of your help, I’ll have my rum back thank you,” Lars replied, holding his hand out.

Mousy swayed in his hammock and clutched the bottle in his good arm, hugging it to his chest. “Well, there’s no need to be like that. I didn’t make you bring the blasted woman.”

Lars sighed and regarded the big man with impatience. He had known Mousy since he was a small boy. In many ways it was Mousy’s fault he was here at all. But he never mentioned that fact. He knew Mousy would never forgive himself anyway, and in truth his lifestyle and reputation as a pirate was not something he did regret.

Although there were others, too many to count.

He took a moment to consider what his life might have otherwise been and grimaced. He’d lived many lifetimes in those years, more than most men would ever have. No, he decided, ignoring the dissenting voice of his conscience, no regrets on that score.

“What was I supposed to do?” he demanded of Mousy, glaring at him. “Leave the damn woman there? She’s a lady after all.”

He snorted, wondering when he’d become so generous. Ladies didn’t generally go around blackmailing pirates unless things had changed greatly in the years of his absence.

“Perhaps,” Mousy conceded. “But a woman aboard will cause nothin’ but trouble, so what the devil you goin’ to do with her now?”

Lars got to his feet and snatched the bottle back from Mousy, holding it to his lips and taking a long drink. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

“Damned if I know,” he said. In truth he would have happily put her back on land at the earliest opportunity, but it was far too dangerous. He needed to put as much distance as possible between himself and the English coast as fast as he could. The likelihood that some bounty hunter would get wind of his arrival and decide to profit from it was far too great as it was.

“Perhaps there’ll be a reward for ‘er?” Mousy suggested, hope lighting his eyes. Lars shook his head and handed him back the bottle.

“Don’t hold your breath. The last I heard Lord Morton didn’t have a penny to his name.” He frowned as he realised this was likely the reason the girl had been trying to blackmail him. Was she in some kind of trouble? Or just trying to pay her father’s debts?

That the idea had even entered her head to brave the part of town only frequented by smugglers and the darker side of life staggered him. She had said she was desperate - she must have been to risk that.

He considered the courage it must have taken to enter that tavern alone and confront him. Well the girl had spirit that was for sure, either that or she was in such desperate trouble she would take any risk. He frowned as the possibilities presented themselves.

A man, he realised. It had to be a man who’d driven her to such lengths. The idea made him angry though he wasn’t sure why or with whom.

“What’s gnawing at your guts?” Mousy asked, watching him with a curious expression. “Ye look like you’ve chewed on a weevil.”

Lars snorted and shook his head. “Nothing,” he said and tried to school his expression into something more placid. Whatever trouble the foolish girl had got herself into, it was of no interest to him.

“The kitten’s got claws I see,” Mousy added, gesturing with the bottle to the scratches down his neck.”

“Aye,” Lars replied wincing. “And a damn sharp tongue to match.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the hammocks swaying in a lulling motion until Mousy spoke again.

“Tol’ ye ‘twas a bad idea, comin’ back ere.”

Lars glared at him. “Well you’re just full of helpful advice and comfort tonight, my friend.”

Shrugging his huge shoulders Mousy stared at the rum bottle with a bleak expression. “Feel responsible,” the big man muttered, looking gloomy.

Letting out a breath, Lars looked at him in exasperation. “Not this again! Good God, man. I’ve had ten years to get used to this way of life and, if I say so myself, I’ve done a pretty fair job of it, so quit your bellyaching. You didn’t put a gun to my head, and I’ve never blamed you, so stop giving yourself more due than you’re entitled to take.”