4. Isla
Isla
The day had started out bright and beautiful, a vivid contrast to the news that the King had granted a hoard of pirates a thousand acres abutting Isla’s lands.
Their little port city was in an uproar, with some vowing to run the blaggards out of town and others excited to have a new, roguish, and, most importantly to all the unmarried hopefuls, unattached wealthy landowner in their midst.
Isla stood inside a rocky wind tunnel on the precipice of one of several massive cliffs overlooking the bay.
The circular opening in the cliffside stared out over the sea, bringing to mind the single baleful eye of Fachan, a mythological creature with one eye, one arm, and one leg. Hence the name Fachan’s Bay.
Isla’s ivory skirt swirled this way and that as the playful wind grabbed the woolen material and tugged it one way and then the other before threatening to lift its hem up over her hips, possibly exposing her silky, laced-bottomed pantaloons to anyone watching through a spyglass from the crow’s nests high above the sailing ships anchored in the bay.
Holding her skirt down with one hand, she watched as a tall, four-masted ship sailed to just shy of the mouth of the bay and dropped anchor.
Sailors often bragged about the ocean's depth as it flowed between the twin cliffs bracketing the bay’s ingress.
The cliffs, with their gaping maw open wide to swallow the sailing ships that ventured into the busy port, were said to be the most fearsome sentinels of the sea, guardians of ancient secrets and protectors of those who lived upon Fachan’s shores.
At least their newest visitor wasn’t flying the black Jolly Roger that was the preferred symbol of pirates everywhere.
That would have been too much for Isla, who’d been a mere seven-year-old child desperately in love with a father cut down by men sailing beneath such a flag.
After her heartbroken mother had given her the news of his death, Isla had climbed to this very spot day after day, expecting her father to sail into the bay, exclaiming it had all been a horrible mistake and he was alive and well and coming back to hold his daughter in his loving arms.
No, this ship wasn’t flying that detested skull and crossbones.
It flew the flag of Isla’s kingdom below a second, personal flag, probably to give it more respectability in the eyes of the people who’d have to put up with their captain’s unwanted presence as he roamed these hills as a free citizen of their land.
That didn’t change the fact that her gut twisted into a tight, angry knot as she pictured men like these, or perhaps even these very blaggards, killing her beloved Papá.
The wind tugged at her hair as she shaded her eyes and stared further out to sea, where several other ships had anchored offshore.
She counted six and wondered how many pirates each one carried.
Returning her attention to the biggest one, she studied its lines, curious about the appearance of the larger ship.
Of course, she’d seen them in books, but having a ship of war right in one’s backyard was another thing altogether.
Thanks to her mother’s generosity, the library in their town was one of the largest in the kingdom, stocked with books on every subject imaginable, including pirates and sailing ships.
When Isla had heard about the pirate taking possession of the neighboring estate, she’d read several books on the subject to be better equipped to deal with the invasion when it finally happened.
As she gazed at the massive ship, she realized that day had arrived.
With those books on her mind, her thoughts briefly turned to her mother, who believed in educating the common man, and woman, for that matter, and had made it a condition of her endowment that the library was free for all, regardless of age, gender, or social standing.
She’d also insisted on retaining ownership of whatever books were bought with her money simply because she’d wanted titles that not only dealt with the popular, accepted ideas of the time but ones that also spoke on such diverse topics as sexuality and gender roles, social class and inequality, slavery and whatever else she could think of to tweak the noses of the so-called “morally upright” souls in their community.
Whenever prudishness reared its ugly head, and one of her books was banned, her mother, Lady Brighton, and now Isla, took possession of it and added it to the private library Mathilde had built on their land.
This library was also open to the public and had such a regular stream of visitors that Isla’s mother had brought in a part-time librarian.
A few years earlier, Isla had learned that the local school had banned little girls from learning to read and write. She’d hired a part-time tutor to sit in their library and hold classes for anyone interested in learning.
Shaking off her woolgathering, she returned her attention to the ship anchored below.
With a long, drawn-out sigh, she thought of the man responsible for bringing that ship to their little kingdom.
Everyone had heard of the infamous Captain Jonto, who, if the King’s messenger could be believed, only preyed on other pirates or ships belonging to those of dubious character who deserved to be brought down a peg or two.
And, because he’d frightened away the ships from countries that had united to overthrow King Jaydon and take possession of the Jewel of the Northern Isles, as their little kingdom was known, the man was no longer Captain Jonto but now was to be called Admiral.
He’d been granted immunity for all his pillaging and, to Isla’s considerable consternation, given the land that should have been offered in sale to her when old Count Deverell died earlier in the year without family or heirs.
She grudgingly admitted the ship was beautiful, with its four tall masts and the figurehead jutting from its prow.
She leaned forward, placed the edge of her hand over her eyes to shade them, and squinted across the water.
Was that? It couldn’t be. It was. Jutting proudly from the prow of the ship was the figure of a naked woman.
Or rather, perhaps a mermaid naked from the waist up?
Isla smiled at the thought that her mother would have reveled in the view of that woman’s two beautiful breasts with their nipples proudly erect and pointing at the sea.
In fact, Isla quite enjoyed the view herself.
Though she couldn’t make out the features of the mermaid’s face, she could clearly see the wild strands of thick hair as it streamed back toward that magnificent prow.
Isla pictured the hair blowing in the wind as the ship sailed through the waters on its way to Goddess only knew where.
She’d never traveled far. The furthest she’d wandered from home had been when she’d occasionally visited the capital city.
In addition to those excursions, her holidays were often spent in the southern part of the kingdom where she and Celie could escape the harsh, brutal winters typical to this part of the world.
But as she stared down at that mermaid, she couldn’t help but wonder what that proud woman had seen and what exotic places she’d traveled.
A fleeting, absurd pang of jealousy welled as she gazed at the magnificent wooden masthead, its proud, erect nipples bared to the sea.
She’d always longed to see distant lands and experience new cultures.
The number of books she’d read on faraway places was vast. They’d painted vivid pictures of turbaned riders on elephants or of children who played with monkeys and ate exotic dishes prepared by women wearing colorful, flowing scarfs and body-hugging wraps.
A small sailboat the size of a child’s toy next to the towering man of war was being lowered over the ship’s side.
Its lines were sleek, as though it was made for speed and not a casual sail around the bay, although Isla supposed it could be used for that purpose, too.
Despite living in a port city, she’d never ridden in a sailboat and envied the two tiny figures climbing down a rope ladder onto the sloop.
Although her chances of traveling on the open sea were as improbable as her one day sighting a mythical unicorn, she felt an irresistible pull toward the horizon, where adventure and mystery awaited.
But as she stared down at the ship anchored on the outskirts of their bay, Isla remembered that it was pirates like this Admiral Jonto who’d killed her father.
Those ill-bred heathens raped and murdered scores of people whose only crime was daring to venture out to sea looking for the very adventure they, themselves, must crave.
No, she knew she’d never go out on a ship, but oh, how she wished she was brave enough to stand on that deck with her hair blowing in the wind, laughing in the face of danger.
The tunnel’s ever-present wind swept the loose strands from her neatly pinned bun and sent them flying into her face.
With an irritated sigh, she picked them from her mouth and ran them behind one dainty ear.
One of the reasons they’d chosen this estate for the captain, or admiral, Isla reminded herself, was because the sea in their half-moon bay ran deep, and smaller ships could sail right up and dock to deliver their cargo.
Not so this big brute, however. It had to remain far enough away from land that its monstrous keel wouldn’t be caught in water too shallow to safely turn and leave the port.