MARRIAGE AND MONEY
Hester didn’t give Cecily any time to choke on her shock before she grabbed her hand and dragged her to the steep, narrow stairs descending into the belly of the ship. How the butcher girl already knew her way, Cecily couldn’t say, but she assumed it had something to do with the bald one.
Hester marched past a massive room filled with hammocks and small mattresses, toward the back of the ship and a skinny hallway lined with doors.
If the Fortuna Royale was foul, Cecily couldn’t tell, as her acquaintance with foulness skewed toward the more deplorable of definitions. The first thing she noticed was the smell—or lack thereof. It was slightly musty, like brine and canvas, and the portholes and floorboards were clean.
Luxurious by prison ship standards.
Despite this, Cecily’s stomach churned with the weight of meeting the captain and his first mate, and now learning her friend was ingratiating herself with these pirates— “You’re marrying one of them? Hester, it’s hardly been an hour!”
Hester snorted. “When do you think I’m gonna get a better offer?” Her voice held the slightest edge, daring Cecily to judge. She opened a door. Inside was a small cabin with single bed, its blankets tangled and pillow askew.
Cecily blinked, not bothering to hide her thoughts—or her judgment—from her face. “Didn’t you kill the first one?” she asked. “What makes you want a second?”
Hester didn’t flaunt her widowhood. It wasn’t a long story—her husband had suddenly taken ill and died—but Hester smiled when she told it, which made Cecily think his death hadn’t been wholly natural.
Hester shut the door, her smile cooling. “That’s…it’s not the same. I didn’t get to choose then, and this isn’t so bad. I get a room and I’m warm and fed and…please don’t look at me like that. Half the girls have already done the same, and the others are quickly being convinced.”
Cecily didn’t care enough about other people to have opinions on their decisions, but declaring marriage to someone after only a handful of minutes was preposterous to the point of lunacy.
They didn’t know these men or their intentions, and blind trust was one of the best ways to the worst outcomes.
She tried to swallow her grimace and said dryly, “Sorry. Congratulations on your marriage. I’m so glad you found each other.” It was a poor attempt to cover her disgust. Sincerity was hard to come by, but this was all Hester knew of her, so, thankfully, she never took it as an insult.
Hester smirked. “It’s more convenience, but I’m sure I’ll be obsessed with him. Oh!” She spun and grabbed a bundle of fabric. “I got you these. They were the least bloodstained, but they’re dry and they don’t smell terrible.”
Cecily took the shirt and pants, a spark of shame flaring through her middle. While she’d been debating on whether or not she wanted to live, Hester had been expecting her. Finding clothes for her. Saving them, because she cared.
“Thank you.” Cecily managed to sound sincere this time, if not a little guilty. Whatever Hester saw in her worth caring for was nothing short of miraculous, and damn if it didn’t make her want to deserve it.
“Eh. Figured you stink and should probably do what you can to win our host’s good graces.” Hester sank against the door, holding it shut as Cecily rolled her eyes and began to change her trousers under her dress. “What’d you do to the first mate anyway?”
“I cut him.” She met Hester’s gaze, daring her to tell her she was wrong for it. “But he put his hands on me.”
Hester’s brows rose. “And you only cut him? I applaud your restraint.”
Cecily shucked off her dress with a huff. “Copson’s none too pleased. Wants me to be an example, so now Jack is my shadow.” She stuffed her head into the shirt and pulled it down. “Or I am to be his. Either way, one of us is bound to kill the other.”
She wasn’t yet sure if she meant it, but she was sure Jack could persuade her.
“He’s handsome. If I weren’t already spoken for…” Hester trailed off with a suggestive wiggle. “Maybe you’ll grow to like him.”
Scoffing, Cecily shoved the hem of the shirt into her pants. “Not likely.”
“Well, he’s Greyson’s friend.” At Cecily’s confused look, Hester added, “Greyson—the bald one. Oh, and he has tattoos.” She bit her lip. “I found all of them.”
“God, Hester.” Cecily pulled her hair through her collar, fanning a few errant drips over the floor. “When did you have time for any of that?”
“Probably while you were antagonizing the captain’s son.” The edge of Hester’s mouth lifted. “You know, I was surprised you came.”
Cecily stilled, a little awkward as she admitted, “I didn’t know I would.”
“I’m glad you did,” Hester said, her voice softening. “I hope you’re glad too.”
She wasn’t sure how she felt yet. But looking at Hester, her frozen heart lifted a little. If she were the same girl she’d been a year ago, she might have flung herself into her friend’s arms. But she was not that girl, and she didn’t care to be held by anyone.
“You said life might be good,” Cecily muttered. “And I’ve never seen you lie well.”
Her smirk was fast. “Greyson thinks I’m a pretty damn good lie.”
Suddenly Cecily would do anything to be out of the room, but Hester still blocked the door, snorting at her own vulgar cleverness.
“I said life will be good,” she finally said when she calmed.
“You really think it’s possible.” Cecily spoke quietly, as though leery to be overheard by anyone who might shame her for hoping. Hope was relatively useless, and she seldom bothered with it anymore.
“Probable, at the very least,” Hester said. “It’s certainly headed that way.”
Cecily couldn’t deny her friend was right. She cast a glance around the room and asked, “Do you have a knife?”
“No. Do you need one?”
If she was going to be surrounded by pirates and prisoners who had no reason to like her, she sure as hell wanted one. “Copson’s spawn took mine.”
Hester barked a laugh. “Can you blame him?”
“He asked for it.” She smoothed her hands over her clothes, bracing herself. She didn’t need a knife. She could improvise if a situation demanded it. “I assume you’re copulating in here with the bald one?”
“Copu-what?”
Cecily pointed to the floor. “This is your room with your…husband?” She congratulated herself on maintaining a straight face as she said the word.
Hester brightened. “Yeah.”
There was an untethering in Cecily’s chest, like she had been moored to something, an idea—God, she’d been hoping.
She wouldn’t have Hester’s company after all, not like she had on the Sparrow, but that was no matter.
She’d find a place to sleep, to manage without good company, and Hester would be there on the fringes with her pirate.
It would be fine.
A moment later, Greyson walked in. When he saw Hester, his unsettling smile appeared, and so did the butcher girl’s. Cecily scooped up her discarded clothes and scurried from the room, back to the main deck.
Night had fallen, and lanterns bathed the deck in glowing light, along with large, flame-filled drums that beat back the early spring chill. Pirates brought out instruments and alcohol, and they had begun to play and revel as the women celebrated their freedom and the men celebrated the women.
Most wore coats or blankets over their shoulders to protect from the cold, but Cecily didn’t feel it—at least not in any way that bothered her. She hadn’t felt properly cold since the night she’d been arrested.
She moved to the nearest rail and flung her old garments into the dark. They were a pale flicker against the stars before the wind caught them and spirited them away. The only remnants of prison she’d carry with her were the ones left inside her, the ones she’d have to bleed to be rid of.
Nearby, an old man handed out strips of dried meat. Cecily grabbed one and tore into it as she headed for the shadows beneath the foremast at the ship’s bow, moving past everyone dancing and singing as though all was as well as it would ever be.
They were all so trusting and happy. Good for them.
Not a minute later, Jack crossed the deck toward her, his expression cold and unforgiving. He was still clad with tiny knives and wore a long, black coat that hung to his boots. Now that the cut on his cheek had stopped bleeding, she saw it was more of a tear and would likely leave a terrible scar.
She nearly smiled.
As Jack drew closer, he wryly announced, “I’ve come to ask you to dance.”
She leaned back against the mast as though to anchor herself to it. In another life, she might’ve been glad to dance with someone who had so fine a face. “Was the cut not warning enough?”
“I thought I’d get another to match.”
Picking at her nails, she replied, “Oh, well I can give you that without dancing.”
He stopped next to her and held out a piece of parchment. “These are the articles,” he said in the same flat tone. “Laws for the ship. Sign them.”
She spared him a glance. “And if I don’t?”
He laughed once. “You don’t have a choice. Agree to the laws or get off the ship.”
She was suddenly very aware of the black ocean stretching in all directions. Thinking of the single survivor they’d left in that small boat, she suppressed a shudder and pasted on a sweet grin. “I’m sure you’d love that.”
“I’d adore it.” His lips curled to match her mocking smile. “Everyone has to sign them, even you. We don’t offer free passage, and there’s no easy way out.”
Stupid boy. Joining these pirates was the easy way out.
She took the page and skimmed the numbered paragraphs listing expectations for conduct as well as punishments and payments for breaking them.
As promised, there was an article specifically forbidding rape on pain of death, and the others spoke of fighting, mutiny, division of plunder, and all manner of issues.
Captain Copson didn’t stand for contention among his crew, and disagreements were to be handled swiftly.
It was surprisingly well thought out.
“Do you need me to read them to you?” Jack asked.