Justified Treason (Endless Horizon Pirate Stories, Book 1) (16 page)

Once everything was in place, I walked over to inform
Lawrence that I had to be leaving. He introduced me to his companion and after performing all the greetings of a proper fiancé, I attempted to head on my way. Of course Lawrence offered to walk me out but I insisted, “Do not let me interrupt your business, my dear.” To persuade him, I kissed his cheek and assured I would be fine. Through the flush on his face he agreed to let me walk out alone, and though I felt terrible for toying with his emotions, I was ever so relieved to be able to gather my guns from the hedges without his notice.

Stuffing the concealed weapons in the fluff of my extravagant dress, I appreciated the ridiculous layers of frill and lace like I never had before. The walk to the carriage was quite awkward, but Sampson helped me in without question. Knowing that
Lawrence would be leaving with his associate and then coming straight to my house for dinner, I could only hope that he would not notice my robbery until long after my plan came into action.

That evening I enjoyed an extravagant dinner with my family and friends whom I had come to love so much. Smiling and laughing as usual, I only drank a few sips of rum and found myself dreading the thought of the evening’s end.

Struggling to maintain my composure during our farewells, the swarm of butterflies that thrashed about in my hollow gut made me feel as if I might vomit. It was especially difficult to say goodnight to my father, and nearly impossible to keep my sanity as I hugged him goodnight. I squeezed him so tight that he laughed, “Good heaven’s my dear. You act as if I am sailing away.”

I kissed him on the cheek. “I just love you so much and appreciate everything you have done for me. I don’t think I tell you that nearly enough.”

“I love you too, my darling daughter. Have a good night’s rest and I will see you in the morning.”

Also dreading my farewell with
Lawrence, I told him I was too tired to stay out and chat in to avoid any unnecessary distractions. I could not help but feel guilty over my conspiring act of treason, but I reminded myself that this endeavor was in his best interest as well; for he truly deserved a much greater love than I could offer him. As the respectful gentleman he was, Lawrence Braddock merely kissed me on the cheek as he said goodbye. I hugged him extra tight before he slipped away.

Inspired by my cross emotions of heartbreaking devastation and thrilling anticipation, I rushed up to my room contemplating the words I might write in my letters. Lighting a candle on my desk, I took a deep breath and wrote first to my father.

Father,

I know that you have done your best to raise me as a proper lady, but like the sea, my heart cannot be tamed. Your consistent love and stable understanding have taught me to be strong, stronger than you will ever know.

Though my heart aches to leave you this way, I know I will survive because of the strength you have invested in my being. I promise to return to you safely and I love you with all of my heart.

               
Sincerely, Charlotte

It was far too painful to imagine what my father’s reaction to my letter would be. In fact, as I sealed the envelope, I promised myself that I would not think of it at all. Attempting to escape the guilt that weighed on my mind, I got straight to writing my letter to Lawrence.

Lawrence, my dear,

I am truly sorry to abandon you this way. You are entirely worthy of a love much greater than I could ever offer you. You are a good man and I wish you the best in your future, I know you will do well in everything that you do.

           
Sincerely, Charlotte      

              The Mistress of a Seafaring Buccaneer

After sealing my letter to
Lawrence, I assessed the final details of my plan. Pleased to see everything in place, I struggled to convince myself that sleep was the next step. Feeling it would be impossible to do so with the anxiety that was raging in my mind, I reminded myself that I needed all the rest I could get, and forced myself to bed. Managing to relax within my sweet dreams of Sterling, I imagined running my fingers through the length of his fire colored goatee. With the light of the shrinking moon shining through my window, I finally fell asleep.

Awaking before sunrise to prepare for my journey, I started off by wrapping a piece of fabric around my breasts to push them flat; luckily they were not very large, so they were easy to hide. After dressing in the clothing that I took from Lawrence, I holstered the two flintlock pistols into my leather belt and looked at myself in the mirror to assess my masculine image. Though the outfit was perfect, I still looked like a woman.

Deciding it was my hair that caused the problem, I tried first to tuck it into my hat, but I had little faith in the notion. For if it were to fall off, my identity would be too easily exposed. For a moment I fretted over the dilemma, but then I remembered my brother’s stories about Grace O’Malley; the Irish female pirate. When her father told her she could not join him at sea because her long hair would be caught in the rigging, she cut her hair off. I decided to do the same.

Having never done such a thing, I did the most terrible job. Once finished, my uneven and jagged hair hung just below my jaw, roughly trimming my face. I tucked the mess behind my ears and put the hat back on before I looked in the mirror. A young man ready for work smiled back at me through my reflection.

Sorting through my duffle one more time, I smiled at the things Mary had packed for me. The spyglass and the rolled rope that
Sterling had given me, along with the patch box of muskets that I had taken from Lawrence, were all stored neatly in the bag. She had also packed me a water canteen, some biscuits and dried fruit. The generous consideration and relentless support of my very best friend filled my eyes with tears.

Resisting the urge to cry, I dabbed a few drops of sandalwood oil on my collar and inhaled the scent to retain the strength I needed to carry on in my drastic flight. As I reveled in the reminiscent aroma, Mary snuck in my door and darted over to hug me. She whispered as if we were telling secrets. “Oh my. Look at you.”

She ran her fingers through my lack of hair and snickered, “I think we shall call you Charlie.”

We giggled together and after hugging again, Mary reached into her nightgown pocket. “I have one more thing to give you, Charlie.” She pulled out a bodice dagger. It was small and silver with red stones embellished on the handle and was stored in an embroidered black leather holster. I gawked over the beauty of the piece as Mary tucked it into my top. “Hide this near your heart to protect yourself and the love that you fight to keep.”

“I will miss you so, Mary.” I began to cry as I held onto my only true friend, but she insisted, “Pirates don’t cry, Charlie. Get on your way.”

I pulled the rope out of my duffle and unwound it into a repel pulley to slide down the wall with. My descent was hardly as graceful as
Sterling’s but it was quiet and effective. Once on the ground, I rolled up my rope and blew a kiss to Mary before I slipped off into the darkness.

On my way to the coast I rubbed sand and dirt on my cheeks until they were scuffed and dirty, figuring the rough look would increase my chances of being taken as a man. The night was coated with a heavy fog, and the further I walked away from the lights of my home, the more frightening the eerie haze of darkness became. Having never been out in the world alone, especially in the night, the familiar and beautiful shore suddenly seemed like a fearsome and foreboding place.

Every branch that cracked below my feet sounded like a gunshot, and the way my boots sunk into the moistened sand made me feel as if I would sink in and drown in the ocean. I knew the thought was outrageous, but my mind was running away with me; conjuring up the most ridiculous thoughts. Realizing that I had no idea what the world would be like outside of my father’s care, I began to feel suffocated by the fearsome possibilities that were running rampant in my unknowing mind.

Aside from all my worries, I continued to walk the shoreline alone, determined to get a hold of myself. Asserting my courage with the fact that I had two guns that I knew how to shoot, I also assured myself that the darkness was nothing more than nighttime. I had to be brave to endure this endeavor, and if I couldn’t handle a foggy beach alone, then I might as well turn around and go home. There was no way in the world I was going to do that. This was my dream. I was free like the wind, finally going where I wanted on my own terms, and I refused to let a little scare in the dark ruin the rare opportunity.

No matter how the fog had spooked me, it certainly aided the stealth of my arrival on the dock, for I quickly mingled in with the crew that was loading the
Blue Tide
without anyone taking notice of my appearance. Helping the men load their supplies, I kept quiet and listened in on the way they talked. There was an awful lot of cursing going on for such a wee hour, and though many of the things they said were quite shocking, it didn’t take me long to warm up to the colorful humor in their early morning profanities.

One of the men introduced himself to me as Clark Harold. He stuck his hand out to shake mine and laughed, “You can call me Clark or Harold, doesn’t really matter since they are both first and last names.”

Though I was mortified to speak to him, fearing that he might see through my disguise, I figured it would be far more awkward if I said nothing at all; so I deepened the rumble in my laugh as I reached to shake his hand. The callus that coated his paw reminded me how soft and dainty my own hands were. Not good at all. I told him that my name was Charlie and quickly realized that I had not thought of a last name. Knowing that I could not use my father’s, in case any of these men knew him, I smiled with pride as I finished, “Charlie Bentley.”

We parted ways to finish our work and I made note to avoid shaking hands with anyone else until I gathered a callus of my own.

Next thing I knew, the captain was calling his crew to line up on the deck. I was a part of his crew! Imagining myself giggling with Mary, I lined up with the men and stood with my hands at my sides. A hint of sunlight was glowing in the east, and the fog began to clear as Captain Willard Smith paced before us.

Scowling beneath his thinning white hair and well-trimmed white beard, the man of medium height sucked in his barrel of a gut as he bellowed, “Good morning men. As you know, we are on this pirate hunt to glorify our esteem for
England and to maintain protection over this island we call home. If you recall, Captain Morley is requested dead or alive, but it will be important for us to take as many prisoners as we can, in consideration of the one man that must be kept alive.

This man is a skilled navigator and an impressive artist of the sea. My sources tell me that he knows the bearings of a great treasure, and it is said that the wealth of this loot would ration beyond our wildest dreams. I can imagine that the bulk of you would be interested in acquiring such a prize?”

The men all agreed and though I chimed in on their bout of excitement, I cheered for a completely different treasure. Yet another example of how Sterling’s skill helped to keep him alive amongst the dreadful odds of his audacious lifestyle.

One of the men asked, “Captain, how will we know to recognize this man?”

The captain, who already appeared to be short of breath from his morning pacing, leaned against the rail. “My source says he has light brown hair that is long, and one would know him by the look of his fierce green eyes. He also has the arrows of a compass rose tattooed on his chest. There will be a great reward for the man that delivers him to me, alive and unharmed.”

We were released from the speech and ordered to set the rigging. Watching the men scale the mast and cut the sails loose, I wondered how in the world they could possibly know which line was for what. There were so many lines, hanging to and fro, crossing from the mast to the yardarms, and from the yardarms to the sails; there were so many sails! I heard the men shouting words like jib, mizzen, and spanker. Starboard, gunnel, fore and aft. Though portside, mainsail, and topsail made enough sense to me, the rest of their lingo was but a foreign language that I couldn’t wait to learn.

I was demanded to help raise the anchor, and as I pushed on the bars of what was called the capstan, I reveled in the strength that it took to do so. My muscles were going to strengthen while working on this ship. The men pushing along with me were insulting each other for weakness that was nowhere to be seen, and the humor of their vile insults made me think I would be catching on to their curse words before too long.

Soon enough we were free of the anchor weight, and as I heard a few men discussing the prospect of catching that pirate navigator, I laughed to myself. For tricky as the arrangement had become, I was pleased to know that I was not the only one that wanted Sterling Bentley alive.

By the time the anchor was raised and the sails were set, the sun had risen in clear sight. The misty morning breeze filled the enormous canvas drapes and began to push the
Blue Tide
across the deep water of the harbor. This was it. I was sailing! The wind on my face was exceptional and the smell of the sea had never been closer. It was so much better than I could ever have imagined.