Chapter 12 The Port of Marigot
Surprising, nay, enchanting. That’s the only way Caleb could describe Miss Starr’s reaction to the town. He’d never seen such childlike fervor in anyone walking through a slovenly, uncivilized place. Though she tried to hide it, her wide eyes, tiny gasps, and swiveling head could not be denied.
’Twas like she’d never seen a port town before.
The thought both amused and stunned him.
Could this woman truly be from the future?
He’d thought her mad at worst, a spy at best, but now…
? He huffed, his thoughts drifting to his Aunt Morgan.
Didn’t she claim to also have traveled through time?
In truth, he hadn’t believed her or his Uncle Rowan, his mother’s brother.
The man had always been a bit unorthodox.
Still, perhaps Miss Starr was feigning her reaction. But for what purpose?
Nay, not even the best stage actress could enact such a grand performance.
Turning, he mounted the stairs to the last tavern in Marigot. He’d been hoping a reputable boarding house had opened since his last visit, but he’d seen none. Le Chien de Mer would have to do. ’Twas less nefarious than La Tête de Mort which sat nearer the docks.
Miss Starr hesitated, staring at the swinging wooden sign creaking in the wind. A snarling black hound standing proud upon a ship’s deck was painted upon it with the words, Le Chien de Mer, scrawled in bold French script beneath it.
The reek of roasted pork, rum, and pipe smoke spilled from the open windows, along with laughter, curses and the scrape of a fiddle.
Her blue eyes snapped to his. “Where are you taking me?”
“A tavern. An inn.” Caleb touched her arm, hoping to console her. “You need somewhere to stay while the ship is being repaired.”
“But in a bar?” A wrinkle formed between her brows as her chest rose and fell with heightened breaths.
“A bar?” Hmm. He’d not heard that term in reference to a tavern before. “You have my assurance you will be safe.”
A sailor shoved between them, showering them with breath drenched in rum. “Out of me way, ye bloody laggards!”
Miss Starr stumbled backward, and Caleb gripped her arm to steady her. He’d deal with the drunken sailor later. For now, he must convince this frightened lady that there was naught to fear with him by her side.
He gestured toward the door. “At least have a meal with me. You must be hungry.”
She attempted a smile. “Famished.”
After she placed her hand in the crook of his elbow, he shoved through the thick oak door and stood in the entryway, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim light. Air thick with the sting of spirits, roasted meat, and unwashed men assailed him.
The lady coughed. Her grip tightened on his arm as she took in the surroundings.
Sailors, privateers, and merchants crowded the room, sitting around wooden trestle tables and benches or leaning against a long bar at the back.
Behind it, casks of rum, brandy, and ale were stacked almost to the wooden beams above while workers ladled drinks from open kegs into pewter mugs.
Tavern maids skittered here and there, hoisting platters of bread, cheese and mugs of foaming ale to the patrons, who greedily received them as they laughed, sang, or played dice or cards.
To Caleb, ’twas a normal sight. But to Miss Starr, from the shocked, frightened, and oddly amused look on her face, they might as well have entered hell itself.
Dozens of eyes locked upon her as if she were Helen of Troy.
Granted, his sister’s gown fit her quite nicely, and the lady had a comely face, but you’d think these men had not seen a woman for years.
This may be harder than he thought.
Through the smoky haze and dim candlelight, Caleb spotted an empty table in the back and headed for it, one arm extended to Miss Starr, the other hand on the hilt of his blade.
He was in no mood for trouble this night, but he could more than handle it should it come.
Releasing the lady, he gripped the back of a chair and pulled it out for her.
She gave him the most unusual look before she lowered to sit.
He took the seat across from her, her gaze still wandering about the room, taking in the old fishing net hung across the wooden beams above, the cracked capstan decorating one wall, and the painting of a mermaid hung on the wall beside them.
A tavern maid slithered up to them, her painted eyes latched upon Caleb. “’Ello love, what’ll it be? Rum, ale? The meal tonight is pork stew and cassava bread.”
“Two ales and two stews.” Caleb shifted his gaze away from the woman’s rounded breasts peeking at him from above her bodice.
The woman remained. “Aren’t ye that Hyde fellow who…” She cocked her head, studying him.
“What if I am?” Caleb returned harshly. “Now off with you.”
The tavern maid pursed her lips, offered him a seething glance, then dashed away.
His gaze returned to Miss Starr. If possible, the candlelight made her even more beautiful. “See, not so bad?” He gestured around the tavern.
A nervous chuckle escaped her lips as she shook her head. “You can read about it in books, see it in movies, but nothing prepares you for reality. If that’s even what this is.”
Movies? By thunder, the woman spoke in riddles. Which intrigued him all the more. “To what do you refer, Miss Starr?”
“Call me Desi, please.” She swallowed hard. “I refer to this”—she waved her hand over the room—“and to the town we just walked through. I refer to your ship, to the battle, the rats...everything. Either I’ve gone completely nuts, or I really have somehow been transported to the past.”
Caleb searched the lady’s eyes. He’d seen madness in people’s eyes before. He’d seen evil as well. Neither sparked in this woman’s. Just strength and bewilderment. But he’d been fooled by a woman before.
“I just wish I could record it all,” she said. “Take a video, even just a picture.” Her intense gaze traveled over the tavern once again. “So I can remember every detail. Even the sounds.” She blew out a sigh. “Where is my phone when I need it?”
Caleb wasn’t sure whether the lady still spoke English. She seemed sane enough, but her words whirled in the air like bees disturbed from their hive. He stared at her, unsure how to respond, his expression, no doubt, a mask of confusion.
Her eyes met his. “Even pen and paper would be great for now.”
Pen and paper? Caleb frowned, searching for meaning to her words. “Ah ha, you refer to quill and parchment? You wish to write an account of your travels.”
“Yes.” Her smile lit the room. “I’ve always wanted to write a historical novel. It’s been a dream of mine.”
Fascinating. “A thieving sea nymph who fancies herself an author,” he said teasingly.
A playful glint crossed her eyes. “Very funny.”
The sound of a fiddle screeched through the room, followed by a chorus of sailors singing a ditty, stealing her attention.
“Am I spending the night here?” she asked.
“Aye, there are rooms upstairs.” Caleb gestured to a rickety staircase behind him.
“I’d rather stay on the ship.” A tremble, ever so slight, quivered her voice.
“My crew are working on the repairs through the night. You’d not get a wink of sleep.”
“I don’t know…” Desi started to say as the tavern maid returned, slamming two mugs of ale onto the table, along with two chunks of bread and two bowls of stew, both of which spilled onto the already sticky wooden top.
The spicy scent of roasted pork sent his stomach churning, and he grabbed his mug and took a long draught, wiping the foam from his lip.
The lady smiled. “I thought missionaries didn’t drink alcohol.”
“Christ followers don’t get drunk, Miss…but an occasional ale to wet one’s thirst is no sin.”
She sipped her drink. “Not as potent as the beer in my day.”
Caleb closed his eyes. “For this food, Lord, I thank you. Bless it and us this night.” When he opened them, he found the lady staring at him as if he’d invoked a curse upon them. Which reminded him of the Ring in his pocket.
And the fact that she’d somehow stolen it before.
“Eat.” Picking up his spoon, he gestured toward her bowl and then started on his own stew, a delicious blend of pork, onions, spices, peppers, and sweet potatoes.
She seemed to enjoy it as well as she brought spoonful after spoonful to her mouth.
“What do you mean by your day?” he finally asked.
“I know you don’t believe me,” she said between bites, “I’m not even sure I believe me either.”
Caleb chuckled, grabbed cassava bread and dipped it in his stew. “I’ve seen many strange things in my life, I’ll grant you, but traveling through time?” He took a bite of his bread and glanced around the tavern. More eyes than usual were directed their way. Not a good sign.
“This is pretty good.” Desi took her bread and soaked up the rest of her stew. “It’s not a burger and fries, but not bad.”
Burger and fries? Caleb should ask but several men were heading his way.
And by the snarls on their faces, they weren’t the welcoming committee.
?
The stew, delicious as it was, began to bubble in Desi’s stomach.
She must be in shock. She knew it, had read about it in articles, seen it in movies.
A shock that numbed her mind, kept her from fully accepting what was happening.
It was one thing to be on a ship at sea in 1718—something that could be conjured in her dreams or faked with actors—but it was another thing to walk through a town and eat in a tavern.
Everything was so authentic, down to the minute detail, including the pirate-priest sitting across from her.
That he didn’t understand her words was obvious. That he found her odd was evident. That he didn’t trust her glared from his stormy blue eyes whenever he looked her way.
There was no way to know how or why she had landed in this time. At least not yet. What she could know…what was still in her power…was to find a way to get back home.
And it had something to do with that Ring.