Page 63 of Maggie and the Pirate’s Son

“Not Dutch.”

“Oh. Only I thought⁠—”

“Understandable,” he said, catching her fingers and kissing them so she forgot to feel embarrassed by her mistake. “Dutch has been more of a father to me than my own flesh and blood ever could.”

In a way, Maggie knew what he meant. “Mine tried,” she said. “But it was hard, I suppose, when his sole mission in life was to find someone to take each of us off his hands.”

“Explains your husband, then,” he murmured. “A foolish man found you an equally foolish man.”

She was silent for so long that he reached out to brush her arm.

“I apologize,” he said. “I shouldn’t speak ill of⁠—”

“Jeremiah wasn’t foolish. He was cruel.”

She hadn’t always realized it. Maggie had thought it was just how men were—thought perhaps she’d been deceived by the kindness of Finn and Si. She convinced herself they, too, would have shown their true natures eventually had Jory and Ellen been less perfect. But over the last month and a bit, living amongst pirates, she had begun to realize that some men were cruel and some were kind. Even if she had been more capable like her sister and cousin, it still wouldn’t have been enough for Jeremiah.

“He hurt you,” Bash said, and a knot formed in Maggie’s throat. No one had ever asked. She’d never allowed herself to say it either—even to think it—only to excuse it.

He was just a man. She was just his wife. There was something wrong with her for not desiring him, for not enjoying what little he offered, just as there was something wrong with her stitching and cooking and the way she scrubbed the floor.

There was something wrong with her for wishing he would fall off the roof, even as she shouted at him that it could wait until morning, as it had waited weeks already. There was something wrong with her for feeling relief when he died.

“Mags?” Bash asked, running his thumb along her shoulder.

“You should drink,” she said, getting up to fetch them both more ale.

In the galley, she took a moment to gather herself.

Jeremiah hadn’t hurt her undeservingly, she told her brain, squashing down the tears. She had picked every fight with him because she was impulsive and far too dramatic, and he was right to be disappointed with her. He had needed someone capable and level-headed, a mother for his children, not a seemingly-barren child of his own.

She took a deep breath and then another and then filled two tankards with watered-down ale. The barrel was dangerously close to empty. She had to stretch to reach deep inside.

“Well, if it isn’t the cabin boy turned personal nursemaid,” a voice said, and a prickle of alarm shot down her back, making the tiny hairs on her arms stand on end. She pulled herself back upright, slowly, determined not to show her fear, and turned to see Balthasar grinning lasciviously behind her, with an upturned smirk and a glint of Jeremiah in his eye.

“Pity,” he said, clucking his tongue and stepping closer. “That was the perfect position.”

“I should get back to Bash,” she said loudly, hoping anyone might be around to hear and intervene.

He drew closer. “Should you, now? And do your attentions extend to the whole crew or just our fearless Nav?”

She swallowed down bile as he sidled even closer. “By helping Bash, I’m helping all of you,” she stammered, as though she didn’t understand his meaning.

“I can think of much better ways for you to help me, cabin boy.” He leaned in and sniffed her, and she jerked back, splashing warm, sticky ale down her front. It made him roar with laughter.

“Excuse me,” she said, trying to duck away, but he put a hand on her waist to stop her.

“Oh, I’ll excuse you—once I’ve decided whether your mouth or your arse would be the more pleasant fit.”

A faintness threatened to overcome Maggie as she tried to calculate whether splashing the remaining ale in his eyes would give her ample time to get away—and if so—where she could run. Leading him back to a weakened but enraged Bash was a terrible notion.

“Magnus?” Langley called. “All right?” he asked, stepping into the galley.

Balthasar shuffled back a step. “Just updating me on Bash’s miraculous recovery,” he said, winking at her.

Langley drew even with her, standing up straight and shoving his hands in his pockets. “Ain’t miraculous,” he said. “It’s science.”

Balthasar threw back his head and laughed. “All grown up now, are you, Lev? Big man of science?” he laughed again before slinking off into the shadows.