Sully turned his attention back to the billowing gray fog that lay just before us, covering the water as far as the eye could see. “The trouble with fog, my dear, is different for both of us. You see for me, there is the ever-present trouble of pirates. Scalawags who prefer to skulk about in the shadows and take that which is not theirs. For you—” He let go a throaty chuckle. “A silly girl like you may be in danger of falling overboard and drowning.”
Sully’s chuckle at my expense transformed into a deep, bellowing laugh as the soupy fog curled across the deck in fuzzy, beckoning fingers.
“Pirates?” I’d seen wanted posters in London, offering handsome sums for the lifeless bodies of such sea raiders as China Joe, Russian Jack, a fellow named Bluebeard and the infamous cutthroat Blackbeard himself. “Between England and Jamaica?”
“Yes. These are Blackbeard’s waters, the same waters that transport Spanish riches between the Caribbean, Europe, and the New World.” Sully studied the fog. “And everyone who’s anyone knows that Blackbeard is a fiendish hound from hell who does the devil’s work on earth. Or, should I say, on the water.”
Redella placed her hands over her mouth and willed the burning swells of sea sickness to subside. “Do tell me more.” Anything to keep my mind occupied and off this infernal nausea.
Sully looked thoughtful. “Well, there’s China Joe, who prefers to keep the captain of overtaken vessels alive.”
I hiccupped. “Alive? Why ever for?”
Sully looked sternly at me . “So as to torture them, of course.”
I gulped.
A strange grin twisted his mouth into an odd, smiling shape. “Silly girl. Do you know nothing of the real world? Some men are rumored to have lingered alive for two agonizing weeks at the skilled hand of China Joe.”
Sully had the capability of making me feel only inches tall, and stupid, when he spoke in such a manner. Whether he realized it or not, he seemed to become emboldened by the sound of his own voice.
“And don’t let us forget Russian Jack Rackham, son of a filthy English whore and the godless Siberian pirate Vladimir Nemirovsky.” Sully spat into the thick fog that engulfed the deck. “Took his mother’s last name. Still has a penchant for the whoring faction, like that mucky Bonney Anne of Ireland.”
I rested my head on the side of The Scarlet Rose and closed my eyes. “I’ve heard of Irish Bon. Same woman?” I hiccupped again. It burned.
“Yes, that’s right. Sailed beneath Russian Jack.”
“He allowed a woman on board? Not bad luck?”
Sully shrugged. “She behaves like a man and is said to look like a man. So, he signed her on like a man. They had a falling out over a game of cards, I believe. Then Bon took to manning a whoring ship that caters to pirates.” Sully squinted into the fog. “Enough talk of those cursed sea gypsies. Come here, Redella,” he commanded. “Come near to my side where you’re sure to be safe.”
I prefer to be called Red. Not Redella, I thought. Thankfully, the thick grayness descended over The Scarlet Rose before I could push myself up from my seat. The world I’d known moments before disappeared.
“Redella?”
I thought briefly about hurling myself overboard. Perhaps the dolphins would be kind to me and take me back to shore. Or, the more likely scenario, perhaps I would get eaten by a shark.
“Redella!”
I imagined his freckled hand flying through the thick fog to strike me. I lifted my head and wrinkled my nose in what I figured to be his direction.
“Ignorant whelp you are! Answer me now!”
My thoughts turned back to the sharks that may or may not be circling The Scarlet Rose. I’d never been a strong swimmer, especially not stronger than a shark.
No, I won’t make it. This, such as it is, is destined to be my life, so I may as well make the best of it.
“I’m here. Darling. I’m safe.”
“Stay away from the railing,” he growled.
I reached my arm over what I figured was the railing and wiggled my fingers. “Yes, Darling. I won’t fall over.”
“No,” a foreign voice growled. “She won’t be going anywhere.”
Pirates.
My blood turned to ice within my very veins and my fingers froze in mid-wiggle as I tried to place the accent.
Not English pirates. Not Welsh—
The Scarlet Rose tipped and lurched as the anchor was hoisted over the side by unseen hands and splashed into the water below. My stomach lurched, too, and I vomited over the side. As the fog gave way to a gauzy mist, like when you’re waking from a dream and you aren’t sure what is real and what isn’t, I realized the seasickness subsided a bit. The profile of a man, a burly, big man, filled my vision. I jerked my hand behind my back, lest Sully see that I’d been defiant about the railing.
Notorious pirates have taken The Scarlet Rose and you’re more worried about Sully admonishing you? I tried to shush the small voice in my mind.
“You in command of this sloop?”
That accent is Russian.
Clad in black, the pirate towered over Sully and his words were like Russian hammers on an anvil. Hard. Unforgiving. Unrelenting. “By the sound of it, you wouldn’t be the kind of man who would allow a mere slip of a girl like this one here—”
The pirate whipped his jeweled cutlass from its scabbard and pointed it toward me. Our eyes met. His, piercing green and mine, widened by the sight of him. I paid no attention whatsoever to the blade.
His physique was one of a man who hefted heavy loads for a living. Strong arms, a wide chest. An angular jaw gave the appearance of a man in charge, no matter the company he was in, be it governors—or pirates. A tall fur hat, like something sent back from the New World, sat on his head and looked as natural as the nose on his face. Wisps of blond hair that peeked out from beneath the gray fur were sun-bleached almost white. A deep tan colored his face and his wide, full lips flickered into a smile.
Staring at me, he spoke to Sully. “No, you wouldn’t let a woman like this command anything.”
Something twisted in my stomach.
