Page 78 of Maggie and the Pirate’s Son

“It’s too dangerous. If the navy hasn’t caught them yet, he’ll be searching for it even now.”

“I’m not afraid,” she lied.

“You should be. I’m a thief and a scoundrel, raised by men who measure human lives by how hard they can row or how fast they are with a knife.”

“Your mother raised you first,” she argued, and his face clouded over, nearly breaking her heart.

“We have to keep going,” he said in a raspy voice. “We’ve at least another two hours.”

“It’s starting to get dark,” Maggie pointed out, as a cool breeze made her shiver.

Bash looked at the sky in surprise and in the distance, thunder sounded like a rumble of cannon fire. “Come,” he said, putting his arm around her and tucking her under his shoulder before setting a faster pace in the direction they needed to go.

It was torture, leading Maggie towards Kingston, but it would be an even greater torture putting her on a ship in the morning. Bash kept track of the transit schedules as best he could, and if he was right, there should be a ship departing for England—so long as it hadn’t been delayed or its captain hadn’t set sail early to capitalize on more favorable winds.

Deep in his heart, he’d secretly hoped stopping in Tortuga would cause them to miss the outbound vessel by a few days, allowing him to revel in Maggie’s company a bit longer. When the navy beat them to Tortuga, forcing them on to Jamaica right away, he knew better than to question Providence. It was time for her to go.

But walking towards that fate, on legs that already felt like a newborn fawn’s after so long at sea, made every footstep heavier, like marching to his own execution. He sometimes thought he’d sooner survive being drawn and quartered than watching her sail away, taking a piece of his heart and all the good parts of his soul with her.

Maggie hadn’t spoken since they’d fought about the journey, which he hoped and feared meant she’d accepted his plan. They were probably an hour from Kingston still, both of them covered in mud from the heavy downpour, and she was beginning to tremble. When she sniffed, he asked softly, “Are you crying?”

“No,” she snapped, and who was he to argue, when the heavens themselves seemed to weep for their plight.

“Then you’re catching a chill,” he reasoned, scanning the forest around them. “We must get out of the rain.”

“Perhaps a nearby kirk will grant us sanctuary,” she quipped, and he chuckled. Even when she was angry with him, she could tease. It was one of the myriad little things he loved about her.

“Come.” He led her under the wide, sheltering leaves of a banana tree. “Wait here. Promise?”

“Will you bring the ship to me now, anchored on your back like the rest of the weight of the world?” she asked, catching his sleeve, and he laughed again.

“I go in search of a kirk.” He grinned, delighting in her perplexed little frown. Then he took the liberty of kissing her cheek, and she didn’t pull away. In fact, he felt her eyes on him as he wandered off in the direction his gut told him to go.

He was only delaying the inevitable of course, latching on to any excuse to stop time before they had to say goodbye. If a ship were leaving today, it would have already done so, and if not, it could wait until the morrow. Soon he found what he sought—a small cave, empty and dry.

Bash held his breath all the way back to the banana tree, half expecting Maggie to have plunged off into the wilderness on her own without looking back. But there she was, sitting at the base of the tree, small and vulnerable, with her knees tucked up and her head resting on the bundle of clothes he’d first met her in. She looked tired, thirsty, and achingly sad.

“Come,” he said, helping her to her feet, and then sweeping her up into his arms so her head rested against his shoulder, her damp hair tickling his nose.

“I can walk,” she murmured sleepily. “You needn’t carry me.”

“I know,” he agreed, his heart beating so wildly at the nearness of her that he dared not set her down.

“A cave,” she said with wonder when she spotted it.

“We can dry off, at least,” he said, setting her gently on the ground inside. “I’ll have to find some chert to start a fire.”

When he turned to go back out into the rain, Maggie called, “Wait!”

Unfurling her bundle of clothes, she dug in the pockets, finally fishing out a piece of flint and grinning angelically. The little wonder.

Bash gathered some twigs and branches which had been mostly protected from the rain, and he took them deep into the cave to build a fire. Then he spread out Maggie’s old clothes nearby to dry, and he laid his own plaid a bit closer to the entrance, cheeks burning at Maggie’s little gasp when she realized he’d hidden the cloth amongst her things. He’d meant her to discover the gift only after she was long gone.

“I’m filthy,” Maggie announced, breaking the awkward silence and looking down at her mud-spattered legs. “I’ll get it dirty.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me,” she said, and then with an impish smile, she pulled her sark over her head and tossed it to him. She was completely bare from the waist up, having unbound her breasts last night to sleep.