Page 73 of Maggie and the Pirate’s Son

“Thank you,” she said, her mouth practically watering.

Roo shrugged. “Makes the beans almost palatable,” he said, but she knew a gift when she saw one, and she took a tiny taste of her prize. It was a sweet, nutty heaven.

She carried her dinner and a tankard of ale back to the alcove, where Kes squawked even after Maggie fed her more beef. Clearly the bird wanted cheese too. “Sorry, beautiful. Birds can’t eat Dutch gouda,” she lied, keeping every morsel for herself, nibbling it like a mouse to make it last longer.

When she finished eating and Bash still hadn’t returned, she sought him out on deck, looking for a job she could do, but the consensus seemed to be that she’d earned her rest and wasn’t needed.

“Honest, Magnus, double watch calls for double rest. If anyone’s earned it, that’s you,” Langley said, shooing her back to her hammock, but the truth was, below deck she was about to start climbing the walls. Visions of the navy plagued her every thought, of the captain striding aboard, sword in hand, and hacking off Bash’s other ear. If the navy did indeed come aboard, there was probably not a single thing she could do to save him, but she wanted to be near enough to try.

Last night on the platform hidden away in the top of the rigging had been… transformative. Blanketed only by the magnificent starry sky, Bash had filled her so fully she would never be empty again, sealing cracks she’d long forgotten were there, healing wounds she had no longer believed could be made whole. She began to tingle just recalling it. His every touch was gentle and calculated for her pleasure, tinged with barely restrained passion and hunger and need.

She flushed and shivered all at the same time. Last night had been everything her younger self once imagined, and yet, like nothing she’d ever dared to dream.

It consumed her, even now, though their lives were, if not quite in mortal peril yet, then certainly peril adjacent.

If Jeremiah were watching up from his grave, he must surely feel vindicated for all the times he blamed her frigidness on whoring with other men, using up her lust to cuckold him, like lust was an expendable resource.

She knew better now.

Bash had unlocked something in her which had been hidden away, something Jeremiah had never reached. But Jeremiah was gone, and she wasn’t wicked. How could she be, when she loved Bash so very deeply?

If only she could think of some way to show him as much. If only she could be useful to him, now when he needed it most.

But that was ever the problem, wasn’t it? It wasn’t helpful to need to be told what to do. Ellen and Jory were so very good precisely because they didn’t need to be told. They put themselves to work, carving out spaces, forging paths all on their own. Bash didn’t have time to educate a silly stowaway on what needed doing. He needed her to help intuitively or stay out of his way.

It had been high on the list of Jeremiah’s many complaints, too.

Maggie’s nature was to daydream. She could lose herself for hours, not even noticing her own hunger or a chill from the fire burning itself out.

In Jeremiah’s mind, her failure to anticipate and wash his shirts before he noticed he’d run out was purely spite on Maggie’s part, to punish him for some perceived slight. If he had to remind her, it was somehow as bad as having to do the chore himself. He’d rather rail at her and wear a dirty sark than tell her he’d donned the last clean one.

Never mind she didn’t particularly love him, and he knew it. If she was distant, he would accuse her of being cold and heartless, deserting her wifely duties. If she tried to summon the energy to shower him with affection, he would push her away, annoyed by her clinging suffocation.

Maggie had always found it better to be perceived as apathetic than to suffer the shame of rejection for being needy. Even now, that fear kept her below deck where she couldn’t make a nuisance of herself. Because she was needy.

Bad enough that before last night, their interactions had all been one-sided. He’d given so much, and like a glutton Maggie had allowed herself to take and take and take, indulging in her own pleasure and never providing his in return.

Was that simply who she was—who she’d always been? Yet another character flaw she was only now seeing clearly?

It put her in mind of Ellen and all her sister had done for her growing up, all that Maggie had allowed her to do. Suddenly homesick and guilt-stricken, she busied herself writing a letter to slip inside a bottle in case the navy caught them and they should all be drowned. Or hanged. Or worse.

Addressing it to Lady Len MacKenzie of Castle Leod, Ross, she apologized for every cruel poke she’d ever inflicted as a child, and thanked Ellen for being the very best of sisters. She explained why she’d run from Orkney, her regret for any worry she’d caused. She described the wonders she’d seen, the thrill of climbing the tops and trying to count the endless stars. And then she wrote of Kes and Custard, of Langley who’d become like a little brother, of Roo’s cheese, and of saving Bash’s ear.

And Bash.

She confessed to her big sister that she’d fallen in love.

And then she sealed it up like a secret in an empty bottle from the galley, tight so the tide wouldn’t seep in, and she crept back onto the deck and cast it out into the sea.

Throughout the day and into the night, the crew of Auldfarrand’s Revenge worked tirelessly to put a great deal of distance between themselves and the naval ship. Though he didn’t allow her close enough to know for certain, Bash believed her to be the Pursuit. She flew a red duster, unmistakable as the standard of the British Caribbean fleet, and that was enough to convince him.

The christening of HMS Pursuit might’ve been irony, unless the ship was actually named for them as they liked to joke it was. Sometimes Bash wondered if they’d rechristen her the Victory once Auldfarrand’s pirates were all finally dead.

Their course would have taken them between Saint-Domingue and Santiago de Cuba, but in trying to outrun fate, Bash had tacked north. Now he intended to shoot around Nassau and skirt the Spanish coast of Florida. From there, it would be easy to hide out and bide their time in the Dry Tortugas. At least they could dine on turtle. Most importantly, the Pursuit should not expect such a move.

The only drawback to this plan was the added delay in sending Maggie straight back across the ocean. Every moment they tarried brought her one step closer to the danger Bash and his companions flirted with daily. But he could only manage one crisis at a time.

If they were finally unlucky enough to be caught, Bash would claim he had kidnapped her and kept her as his concubine. But he would do everything in his power not to come to last resorts. It was like a hand of Ruff and a sailor’s jig, this game he played with the navy man. He had to wager everything on the Tortugas keeping them safe until they could dance their way back to Kingsport.