Chapter 42
June 12th, 1803
Anchored in the shadows of St. Nicholas tonight, a hidden gem away from prying eyes and the King”s men. This island, cloaked in its wild greenery, serves more than just a refuge. It harbors my greatest treasure—not of gold or silver, but of heart and spirit.
Under cover of darkness, I stole away to the secret cove where the sea sparkles with living light, as if the stars themselves decided to swim in the waters. There, waiting, was my beloved Charlotte. She claims to be a maid in the home of a Scottish lord. But I know her real birthright. A princess of the King’s country and daughter of my sworn enemy. Would she but mine to take and keep.
She knows full well who I am—what I am. Yet her eyes hold no fear, only the burning truth that she, too, is a creature not meant for a tame and tethered life. In her company, I am not the feared pirate captain, but simply a man with a name and a heart capable of more than plunder.
Tonight, as my ship makes haste, the path illuminated by the shimmering sea, I carry with me the warmth of our shared moments, a silent vow to return as the wheel of time permits.
These lines come only after pages and pages of boring details about the ship, its men, and life dipping in and out of coves and bays. There are only a few passages about his love for Charlotte. But his love is deep and if they could be together, they would.
In August 1803, he returned to St. Nicholas and wrote:
Our love is not one for the faint of heart; it is as tempestuous as any Caribbean storm. We speak little of the morrow, for in our private world, the morrow is as uncertain as the winds of time. Instead, we speak of dreams bigger than the both of us—freedom, a life unchained, perhaps a legend of our own.
As I write this in the dim light of my cabin, the ship hidden away behind the dark folds of the hills, I am reminded why I return to St. Nicholas, why I risk my freedom. For those stolen hours in Charlotte’s embrace, I am more than my reputation, more than my deeds. And as I set sail at dawn, the echo of her sweet voice and the promise of return will be the wind in my sails.
My heart hurts for them. Theirs was a forbidden love and a doomed relationship.
But at least now I know that Kipson and Charlotte’s secret meeting place was where Keston took me to see the bioluminescence. That has to be the meaning of the words, “where the sea sparkles with living light, as if the stars themselves decided to swim in the waters.”Blue light. It’s what I saw in my dream.
My subconscious was busy deciphering the diaries where my conscious brain could not.
My entire body tingles as I turn the pages, reading slowly and carefully so I don’t miss a word. Even after I finish reading, I start over and read each page again. I must be missing something. Their love has no end. Where is the mention of a treasure?
Why does Charlotte’s diary stop abruptly? Her last entry reads:
Love grows in beauteous ways. And dies the same way.
Like what the hell, Charlotte, you can’t leave me hanging like that. I close my eyes and focus on the image of the woman in my dream. She was covered in a long cloak. She had red hair. Her eyes were far away. But looked green. Or grey. Or green and grey. Like Kelley’s. I can’t trust my subconscious.
I open her diary again and read each page the way I’d read each piece of evidence in one of my cases. The words circling in my head are: What am I not seeing?