Page 64 of Maggie and the Pirate’s Son

“All right?” Langley repeated, the slightest tremor in his voice.

Maggie nodded, but she couldn’t speak. Bash had been right. She was still as naive as a newborn babe. If Langley hadn’t been looking out for her… she shuddered.

He took the tankards from her quaking hands and topped them up before guiding her back to the infirmary, where she retook her seat on the stool beside Bash, clutching her own drink so tightly her fingers glowed white in the semidarkness.

Somehow Bash had fucked up yet again. He needed to remember, no matter his tender feelings, he was nothing but a pirate brute, and he shouldn’t be allowed within ten feet of a lady, even one pretending to be a tough pirate boy.

She’d practically flown from the room after he mentioned her late husband, and when Langley brought her back, she looked even more upset than he had realized. No doubt she was sick of being trapped in the dim and stuffy sickbay—would much rather take some sunshine and spend the night in a hammock alone. He couldn’t blame her there. His skin was beginning to crawl and not because of the leeches.

He resolved that no matter how dizzy it made him and despite his cabin boy’s orders to stay put, come the dawn he would leave his sickbed and resume his post. The crew were exhausting themselves with rowing in God-knew-which direction, and he needed to ascertain their location and find a wind to carry them back to Jamaica.

Between his confinement, the stagnation of the ship, and dreams of his mother, he felt like he was going mad. She haunted him, as though calling from beyond the veil, warning of imminent disaster. But like the rest of her song, he couldn’t remember her message when he surfaced from those vivid dreams.

Maggie, however, didn’t seem to ever sleep. No matter the hour, day or night, each time he awoke he found her eyes boring into his. For a moment he drowned in the fantasy of waking up to swim in their azure depths every morning for the rest of his life. But that was a dangerous line of thinking. His life was wherever the winds took him, and hers was in Scotland as soon as he could see her aboard an eastbound vessel.

At the same time, the life of a pirate could be all too brief. Somehow, he’d never been less troubled by the notion of death—not if it meant waking beside her until it was his turn to dance the hempen jig.

“How do you feel?” she whispered.

“Ready to get back to work.”

She sat up straight, incensed. “The Butcher said recovery would take about three weeks.”

“The Butcher also claimed your idea would never work at all, Mags. It may seem like one long nightmare, but it’s been two weeks already, and I’m long overdue on deck.”

She frowned, and he pushed himself to sit up, pretending it didn’t make his head swim. As long as he stayed off the rigging, he’d be fine. Probably.

“Come now,” he whispered. “Your treatment has worked wonders. It’s time I earned my salvation.”

“There’s nothing to earn,” she muttered.

“I’m going above,” he said gently, but firmly. “Will you come with me and make sure I don’t fall overboard?”

She smiled at that and offered him a reluctant nod, and Christ, how he longed to kiss her. But Langley was just stirring a few feet away and there was work to be done. Kissing would have to wait, heaven help him.

“Fine, but you must promise⁠—”

“Anything.”

“Swear you’ll continue your treatment. The leeches still need replacing every few hours.”

“Is that all? I’ll be the model patient.”

But he was far weaker than he realized after the whole ordeal. Just climbing the ladder to the deck nearly wiped him out. He almost asked Langley to help him back to bed, except whatever pride he had left wouldn’t allow it. Now wasn’t the time to appear weak, not when the ship was adrift and tensions coming to a boil.

He only hoped they were out here alone. If he had to lead this divided lot into battle, he’d be done for.

“Well, well,” the captain greeted, a manic look barely hidden behind his lazy mask. “Finished swinging lead at last, have you, boy?” he asked, tapping his spyglass against his leg.

“Aye, Captain. Reporting for duty. Still no wind?”

“As you can see,” Mad said, nodding to the slack sails, his eye twitching.

Bash blinked up at them and almost stumbled backwards.

The leech in his ear was affecting his balance more than he’d anticipated, and the sunlight was blinding. But Maggie was there, slipping under his shoulder so he could lean against her.

“Thank you,” he murmured.