Page 88 of Maggie and the Pirate’s Son

Ryna sat on the side of the bed and took Maggie’s hand sympathetically. “A young woman can always go home,” she said fiercely. “Haven’t you any family?”

Maggie nodded, blinking back tears. “A sister,” she said, “and a cousin.” She couldn’t say why she left her parents out. Would they be as happy to see her as Ellen and Jory? Would relief outweigh their anger? Did she even want their forgiveness?

Squeezing her hand, Ryna nodded. “They’ll be overjoyed to welcome you back.”

And she was right, of course, this stranger. For a moment, Maggie allowed herself to imagine the soft comfort of her sister’s arms, and the ache in her heart cracked wider. What she wouldn’t give to have Ellen beside her right now.

Somewhere in the distance, church bells began to ring, and Maggie realized she didn’t know the date or how much time had passed since the horrible scene in the fragrant, shady Eden. Could those be the bells of St. Andrew’s? Her heart squeezed. She had to know whether the emptiness inside of her was real or imagined.

“Are there a great many pirates around these parts?” she finally asked.

Ryna frowned. “Some. But none will trouble you here.”

“What a relief,” Maggie gasped. “I suppose they’re hanged fairly often?”

“Not so often as they used to be.”

Maggie closed her eyes. “Have there been any today? Hangings?”

There was a pause in Ryna’s voice before she said, “I don’t think so. Why don’t I bring you some more tea?”

Maggie nodded and relaxed against her pillow. At least maybe Bash was safe for now. Had he fought his captors? Slipped quietly away while they were busy with her and Mad?

No. He would never.

Had he gone quietly, then, after trading his life for her own? She had no idea how she might free him, but she’d cling to the hope that he was still alive for her to save.

The next day, Ryna brought her a visitor, the naval captain who had caused so much trouble. For a moment, when his impressive figure graced the doorway in his blue uniform, tricorne hat in his hands, Maggie wondered if she was indeed under arrest for piracy after all but treated gently on account of her sex.

“Captain Constantin,” she rasped, pulling the bedclothes up to cover her borrowed shift.

“Madam,” he said with a curt bow. “I trust you’re improving?”

“Ryna has been most attentive,” she said. “Her teas are quite irresistible.”

A small smile tugged at the captain’s lips. “Yes. She tells me you should be fit to travel in a few more days, when we’re ready to depart.”

“We?” Maggie stuttered. “I’ll be sailing aboard a naval ship?”

“Yes, if you’ve no objection. I should feel more confident in your safety if you allow me to escort you home aboard the Pursuit.”

He was kind, but she wasn’t sure she could stand it. Six weeks or more aboard the vessel responsible for… well… nothing had happened yet. Had it?

“You’re troubled,” he said, reading her face. “I assure you, we’ll be quite unmolested. No pirates would dare⁠—”

“Of course not. Thank you, Captain.”

He bowed and turned to leave.

“Sir?” Maggie stopped him. “The men I was with?”

“I must apologize for shooting so carelessly close to where you were standing. It was only because I could see you were ill, and because I have remarkably good aim. MacLeod’s shoulder was my target. Ryna assured me you suffered no more than powder burns. Still, I do sincerely beg your pardon.”

“Oh,” Maggie said. She hadn’t remembered it was his weapon and not Mad’s which had rent the silence, sending birds squawking into the air. Putting her hand to her throat she fingered the dressing where he’d cut her. “Then he’s—the captain, that is, he’s⁠—?”

“Quite dead.”

A sick dread crept into her stomach, and she licked her lips. “I seem to recall you placing us all under arrest,” she said.