Page 76 of Maggie and the Pirate’s Son

“Get us out of here, boy,” he roared down the deck. “Give those bastards the slip once and for all before I throw you overboard and find someone who can.”

Chapter Eighteen

In the wee hours of the morning, before sunlight was even a suggestion, Maggie woke to a hand covering her mouth and soft lips against her brow. She startled awake, fighting off the shadow who loomed over her for only a second before she realized it was Bash. He had finally come to her.

“Gather everything you wish to take,” he breathed into her ear. “Quick as you can.”

It was then she noticed the difference in the ship’s movement. No longer flying swiftly forward—they almost wobbled, pummeled by surf as they had been when she first snuck aboard a lifetime ago. Had the navy finally caught up to them and anchored them with iron chains? Was Bash going to try and slip her overboard on some sort of raft?

He handed her a bundle, the skirts and earasaid she’d worn when she fled Orkney, folded and held fast by an old laundry peg decorated with chipping paint. Then he slipped a necklace of leather string over her head.

“What’s this?” she whispered.

“Nothing,” he replied, kissing her cheek and then lingering like he was smelling her, like he never wanted to step away.

Kes trilled softly at them, and Maggie gave her a piece of dried beef to quiet her.

“We must hurry,” Bash whispered, eyeing the bird skeptically when it flapped to Maggie’s shoulder.

“Shh, shh, shh,” she hushed the bird, and Bash led her out of the alcove and up to the deck.

Delicious warm air hit her face, and Maggie realized they were not moored in the middle of the ocean but in a secluded harbor near a beach lined with shadowy trees.

“Can you swim?” he whispered, hardly louder than a breath.

Maggie nodded once. She might be overselling her abilities, but her cousins had taught her to swim as a child in Loch Moy, while Ellen watched steadfastly from the shore.

Bash nodded back and put a finger to his lips, then pointed to a rope ladder folded at the port side railing.

Her hand felt safe and warm inside his calloused one before he dropped it to secure the ladder with a fancy knot, then he helped her up and over as Kes took flight. Bash watched her descend, and when she reached the cool water and slipped silently in almost up to her neck, her bundle of clothes piled on her head to stay dry, he followed her down with practiced ease.

Paddling together, the distance to the beach was much further than it looked, but Maggie couldn’t suppress her elation. The water was pleasantly refreshing, the exercise after being cooped up, divine. And best of all, free of the Revenge, Bash could do anything—be anything—with her!

When they finally straggled out onto the shore, she collapsed, breathing heavily and shaking with silent giggles at how they staggered as though the land pitched beneath them, but Bash wasn’t laughing.

“No time,” he whispered urgently as he dragged her to her feet and into the safety of the scrub.

His serious voice and eyes made the weight of their escape sink in. If they were found out, dozens of pirates could descend onto this beach to take them back in a heartbeat. Would they be flogged? Sweated? Garroted? She’d no interest in finding out.

They ran in silence until a cramp forced Maggie to slow down. Walking side by side with Kes following from tree to tree, she could almost pretend their situation wasn’t dire, pretend they owned this land, pretend they were Adam and Eve, the only two people in all the world.

Gradually, Bash stopped looking over his shoulder, though he still changed direction every few minutes. After two hours, the sun had long since risen, and it was clear they weren’t just wandering lost. The navigator had a perfect sense of direction. He obviously had a plan.

“Where are we? And where are we going?” she finally whispered.

“Welcome to Jamaica,” he said, with an air of reluctance. “When we reach Kingston, you can book passage back to England and on to Scotland.”

“We, you mean.”

But he looked away from her, facing forward, and a sick dread settled in her stomach. He couldn’t mean to stay behind, not after everything they’d shared. She couldn’t bring herself to ask.

After another hour they stopped at a stream and Maggie gulped the clean, fresh water like she’d never tasted it before. It was glorious. On her life, she would never take water for granted again.

Sitting back on her heels to catch her breath, she studied Bash. She didn’t want to take a single moment with him for granted either. He was unfailingly good and devilishly handsome, especially when he was concentrating.

Now, as he looked anywhere but at her, it seemed the thing he was concentrating hardest on was avoiding eye contact or conversation, and she couldn’t pretend the hard questions away any longer.

“So I’m to leave on my own and you’ll do what? Go back to pirating one step ahead of the navy, little better than a prisoner until the day you die?”