Page 30 of Maggie and the Pirate’s Son

“Is it always this beautiful?” she asked, but Bash couldn’t peel his eyes off her—the contours painted in honeyed light as well as the features chiseled from shadow.

“I like to think so,” he breathed, and a small smile tugged at her lips.

“The island, Orkney, was so different from where I grew up it made me resent the ocean, but I never imagined the open sea could be a world apart yet again.”

He grinned. “Wait until you see Jamaica.” And suddenly, inexplicably, he wanted to take her there. He wanted to see his mother’s homeland through her eyes and to watch her take it all in.

The first and only time he ever set foot in Port Royal, his heart leapt in recognition, as though whatever part of his mother that pulsed in his veins, whatever essence that makes up a human soul, was finally home.

Clearing his throat, he swallowed his excitement. “Where did you grow up then? Inverness, you said?”

“Mostly.”

“Landlocked, innit?” he asked, knowing full well that it was. He’d spent his youth pouring over more maps than just oceanic ones.

“Yes. We had a very fine river, but only a thick fog would stop you seeing the opposite shore. Though I’ll wager our monster could rival any of yours.”

Bash laughed, motioning for her to follow him to the bow. He preferred to keep night watch in the tops, but he’d let Samson or Duffy take his usual spot tonight. The girl really was worn out, and he wouldn’t punish her further with a second climb.

“So what do you know of sea monsters, anyway?”

“Besides Nessie, you mean? The Shaw Wretch told a story of one called Cetus,” she said, glancing up as if to search for the constellation.

Bash bristled and then batted the jealous feelings away. So what if she’d known other brigands who told stories of the stars to woo her? “The Shaw Wretch?” he asked, in as disinterested a tone as he could muster.

“Finlay Shaw. My cousin’s husband. I suppose I really oughtn’t call him Wretch now. He’s been nothing but worthy and good,” she added in a tone laced with something like disappointment.

Bash relaxed. “Then why did you?”

She shrugged. “Everyone used to, until he redeemed himself.”

“What made him wretched, if he could be so easily forgiven? Was he an outlaw?”

She laughed. “You know, I’m not actually sure.”

“But he redeemed himself?” he asked, annoyed at the desperate hope in his voice.

“He did.” She smiled fondly. “He’s well respected now.”

“How?”

“He helped my cousin Jory save dozens of girls from a terrible fate. And me too, I suppose.”

“Then I shall have to thank him,” Bash murmured, only realizing he’d said it out loud when her smile grew wider.

The knot in his stomach loosened. “Were you close to your cousin growing up?”

“Yes and no. She lived with us much of the time. She and Ellen were as close as real sisters. I was always chasing after them like a sort of spare leg… a part of things, but unnecessary. Like a harmony that’s a little off key,” she mumbled, painting a picture that he could see perfectly.

“I never had any brothers or sisters that I knew of.”

“Cousins?” she asked.

There had been cousins on Lewis. The youngest MacLeod sister had taken him in after his grandparents died, but she handed him off again a few days after delivering her first child into the world. There was an older sister too. Jenny. She was blessed with far too many mouths to feed of her own. “Not close ones,” he said. “Certainly none who knew celestial mythology like your Shaw Wretch.”

“When I… left for Orkney, Ellen shared with me something her husband told her—that no matter where we three are—Jory, Ellen, and me—we’ll always be looking up into the same stars. It made her feel better.”

The sun was fully set now, and the girl turned her face up to the sky once more, speckled like a blanket of shiny jewels. It was a lovely notion, and though Bash wasn’t sure the idea made Maggie feel less alone, he couldn’t bear to tell her the stars actually changed the further south one cared to venture.