Page 40 of Maggie and the Pirate’s Son

He should volunteer to take her place, but Mad would find a way to punish them both. A real man would stand up to the captain, sacrifice himself while still protecting her. But if Bash knew how to do that, he’d have done it a hundred times over.

All he could do was trust her to remember everything he’d taught, hope for a good outcome, and try not get hard watching from below as she climbed—try not to envision her climbing him. Stand easy, sailor.

She truly was a marvel to behold, despite the angry bird circling her, and not just because of her marvelous arse. She climbed with a skill that belied her inexperience, and Bash was pleased she didn’t go too fast or look down. She was a quicker student than he’d ever been, may God have mercy on them both.

Chapter Ten

After the initial shock of being up so high her first time in the rigging, Maggie had enjoyed the climb. Her muscles had ached for days, but the good kind of ache, from having done something new and helpful. The view alone was worth it, unlike anything she’d ever imagined. Now, as she climbed once more, her body came alive with excitement. From all the way up in the tops, would she be able to catch one last glimpse of the giant devil ray with its white belly and flapping wings? The way it soared, perhaps it should have been called an angel ray instead.

Her neck prickled with the weight of so many eyes, but she would show them. She’d show them all.

Less than a dozen feet into her ascent, however, the angry kestrel flew right at her, forcing her to duck, and she almost lost her grip despite being careful not to look down. Then something smacked into her cheek and out of instinct she jumped away, letting go with her right hand to cover her face. She swung dangerously by the other hand as her feet scrambled for purchase, yanking her shoulder almost out of place.

Down below, a few men guffawed, but another roared in fury. Catching her breath, Maggie rubbed her stinging cheek, and her fingers came away sticky with dark yellow yolk.

She chanced a look down and saw Bash shouting in the face of a shameful-looking pirate, Bash’s own face livid and red as beetroot. She didn’t need him flying to her defense, but her traitorous heart swelled at the sight. Who else but Jory had ever done as much for her? Grinning, she wiped the egg off her hand onto the ropes and resumed her climb.

A few minutes later, the kestrel squawked, diving again, and Maggie closed her eyes and held on tight, burying her face in the crook of her arm. She was only just discovering the beauty of this big, wide world. It wouldn’t do at all to have her eyes pecked out so soon.

The bird came back for another pass, and this time Maggie felt a sharp sting where it must have pulled out a few strands of hair.

“Shh, shh, shh,” she whispered as either of her brothers-in-law might soothe a horse.

Whether comforted by her shushing or not, the bird laid off its attack, so Maggie continued to climb until the kestrel grew agitated once more. Again, she wrapped her arms around the ropes and ducked her head, trying desperately not to fall. “Shh, shh, shh,” she said again. “Don’t you know I’m the one stopping them from shooting at you?”

When it flew back to its perch at the very top, Maggie took a moment to gaze out across the ocean, where aqua water met azure sky on a vanishing blue horizon. She must have stared at a similar, if greyer, view on the boat over to Orkney, but stared without seeing, for this was entirely new. It was worth the climb, worth the danger, even worth the angry kestrel, for who could ever tire of such a sight?

Lucky bird, she wanted to tell it, to see this from your perch every day. If only you could coexist.

Not realizing how lucky it was, the kestrel grew more frantic about her intrusion, flapping its wings in her face and squawking angrily in her ears.

What would Jory do? she wondered. Or gentle Wee Ellen?

When Maggie was a very little girl, storms upset her terribly, and she would rage as though she could outscream the thunder—as though if she kicked up a bigger fuss than the weather did, she could chase the lightning away. Her parents were at a loss. They tried consoling her, and they tried birching her, and eventually they gave up and left her to destroy the furniture in her chamber all alone, flying at anyone who entered, talons bared, not unlike this poor bird.

But Ellen couldn’t stand to see her little sister so distraught. She came to Maggie, singing some made-up wordless hymn, and somehow it had settled her restless soul when nothing else could. The melody came back to her now, and she offered her voice to the kestrel, which finally returned to its perch. Maggie hummed louder as the bird bobbed up and down, not in time to the music, but sizing her up for its next attack.

She sang louder still, hoping the men below wouldn’t hear her and guess by her voice that she wasn’t actually a boy, not that she really need worry. Jeremiah liked to say she sang like a dying duck.

The kestrel watched suspiciously as Maggie reached the top platform, pulling herself up and grabbing hold of the railing. It cocked its head and blinked, but Maggie kept singing softly and it tolerated her approach.

Catching it, however, would be a whole other thing.

She stared out across the water once more, and the bird hopped down onto the railing, casting so much side-eye in her direction that it reminded her a little of her cousin Lennox.

“I’m sorry, Kes,” she cooed to the bird. “I know you’ve found the perfect spot, but it won’t do. Not if it gets you shot for your trouble.”

The bird stepped to the left, then the right, moving closer, bobbing its head again.

“You know men,” Maggie sighed. “They’ll have their way, and like as not, eat you for dinner now they’ve wasted half the eggs.”

Her stomach growled, and she remembered the dried beef in her pocket.

“I suppose you eat fish,” she said, taking out a strip of beef and holding it flat on her palm the way Finn taught her to feed carrots to his Clydesdale. “Don’t imagine this will interest you?”

The kestrel bobbed its head once more and snatched the meat from her hand, gobbling it up.

“That’s a good girl, Kes! You’re a pretty girl, aren’t you?”