Page 47 of Maggie and the Pirate’s Son

“Afraid you’d find it first?”

“Aye, well, afraid anyone would.”

“How long has it been?”

“Decades. Then a few years back someone told a tale of Willy Walsh, Mad’s old nemesis and captain of the Woebegone Whale. Legend has it they fought the night his treasure went missing, and there’s some who swear Walsh made off with the gold. But he hasn’t been seen for years now.”

Bash ran a hand through his hair, trying to put into words just exactly why he didn’t believe the story. Walsh was a rabbity little man, brave enough to plunder fishermen or unguarded merchants, but far too skittish to consider crossing the likes of Madman Neil MacLeod.

Before Bash could put his feelings into words, however, Maggie chewed her bottom lip in a seductively distracting sort of way, and he completely lost his train of thought, leaning over to kiss that lush lip instead.

“You don’t believe the rumors?” she asked when he stepped back again. “About Walsh?”

Ah. Right. Walsh.

“No. I thought he was out of the game completely. But the lads were growing restless. So Mad told them he’d heard Walsh went home to Scotland, and we chased the figment all the way there and back again. He’s no reason to be out here in the great wide middle, but unless someone else is flying his standard, we’ll have to fight. And when he doesn’t have the gold…” Bash trailed off, but he didn’t want to frighten her with dire predictions of mutiny.

“Our ship’s bigger than his. If we fight, will we win?” she asked.

Something about the way she said our and we tugged him in two different directions at once, just like memories of his mother did.

“The brig is fast,” he said. “We’re sneaky and we probably out-gun them. But I don’t like it. There’s nowhere to hide out here. Why’s he even here? We’re only here because of Mad’s last-ditch charade.”

“Could he be up to his old tricks?”

Bash shrugged. “I always heard Walsh took the pardon back in 1717 and retired, as we all should’ve done.” Then again, Calico Jack took the pardon too, until he got bored or hungry or both. “Once a pirate, always a pirate, I suppose,” he added.

“The ocean seems to feature more drama and changes of fortune than a Greek tragedy.”

Bash laughed sadly. He doubted she could really comprehend the danger.

“You mustn’t join the raid,” he said, stroking her face and hair. “Even if ordered, you must slip away in the chaos and hide. Promise me.”

“Wouldn’t such cowardice see me flogged? And exposed?”

She wasn’t wrong, but he could only cross one bridge at a time. “On my life, I’ll protect you. Do you promise?”

Maggie nodded, and his chest eased the tiniest bit.

“Good girl,” he whispered. “If we’re boarded by Walsh’s crew, you must continue the ruse—you’re Mark Magnus of Orkney.”

“Mark?” she laughed.

Bash shrugged. “Whatever name you like. But if the navy ever catches us, you must reveal yourself at once and beg saving, else you’ll be hanged.”

“The navy?” she asked, confused.

“Repeat it back,” he ordered, and heat flared in her cheeks.

“Keep playing the game unless we’re taken by the navy, in which case, I should become a damsel in distress.”

“Aye,” he agreed, though he doubted she could ever allow herself to be that.

“You think it’s a trap,” she said, suddenly understanding his reticence.

He shrugged, but it was the only justification for Walsh’s being out here that made any sense. “Perhaps I’m no more sound than Mad, but he swears the same navy man who pursued him to Kingston after the heist has never given up the chase.”

She licked her lips, doing an almost passible job of hiding her nerves. Anyone who spent less time studying her mouth might not have noticed. He was scaring her, but on his life, he would die to keep her safe. She may not think she needed him to, but he’d do it all the same.