The Pirate Takes A Bride (18 page)

A trunk with tightly packed skirts, blouses, and gowns had been brought ashore, and the women crowded around to exclaim over the bounty. The sailors, who had collected these gifts, were pleased with the reception and went back to their chores with chests puffed out like tropical birds. There were more garments by far than ladies, and Ashley had several pressed into her hands by the women. Most of them did not speak English, but conversed in what seemed to Ashley to be a mix of Spanish, French, and some other language. She understood enough to know she was invited to go with them to change her garments.

Eager to be rid of the filthy, tattered gown she’d been wearing for weeks, she followed obediently. The women led her to a small, fresh water pond. Without even a backward glance, the ladies threw off their clothing and dove in. Ashley, who had spent her life worrying she might be admonished for allowing an ankle to show, would have loved to defy convention and follow the women’s example. If she had not been so ashamed of her burned leg, she would have gleefully stripped down with the others. As it was, the sun was bright, and she wanted no one to see her ugly scar. She left her chemise on and bathed with it, glad to feel the cool water on her skin and washing the dust from her hair.

Once she was clean, she looked through the garments for a clean chemise or a new pair of stays. There were none. As the women finished their bathing, they dressed in the skirts and blouses with nothing underneath. Ashley did the same, careful to slip on a skirt under her wet chemise before removing the garment so that no one would see her leg. She donned a bright red blouse, which went well with the red, blue, and gold skirt she wore, but she felt strange to be dressed in a garment without a chemise and stays underneath. Her nipples rubbed against the cloth, making her feel altogether wicked.

At the same time, she was glad to give up the awful stays. She had struggled daily to lace them and then don the garment by herself. She’d taken to simply leaving them on so she would not have to bother with the chore. She certainly missed her lady’s maid more than ever, but with these clothes she did not need a lady’s maid. Indeed, any English lady’s maid would be shocked to see her dressed with nothing underneath.

The other women, still chattering, made their way back to the beach, but Ashley stayed behind to wash her stays and petticoats. She might need them again, and she wanted them to be clean. A few moments into the chore, she realized she was not alone. She turned her head slightly and caught Rissa watching her. Ashley went back to her washing, but the girl did not leave, which meant Ashley had to say something. What was she supposed to say to a child? Perhaps if she pretended she was Maddie…

“Hello,” Ashley said, remembering Maddie always greeted children warmly. “My name is Ashley.”

“I know,” the child said. “My Papa told me.”

Ashley nodded. She wondered what else Nick had told the child. But she needn’t wonder long, for once the girl began to speak, she warmed to the task easily. “He said you are his wife now, and you are from England. That’s why you are so pale and your eyes so light and strange.”

Ashley put a hand to her eyes. The color had been called beautiful many times, but never
strange
.

“I saw just now when you took off your dress”—she indicated the chemise—”you are white all over. Have you never gone in the sun?”

“I—” Ashley began, but the child did not wait for an answer.

“Papa says there is not as much sun in England as there is here. He says I will go to England with him. If you are his wife, does that mean you will be my mother?”

Ashley waited for the girl to prattle on, but of course, the one question Ashley did not want to answer was the one the girl silenced herself in order to hear the response.

“Ah…what did your Papa say?”

“He said
time will tell
. What does that mean?”

Not much to a child of five. “It means much will happen before we go to England. I don’t know if I’ll be your mother. I’ve never had any children before. I don’t really know how to be a mother.”

The girl’s eyes widened, and she looked stunned. “Really?”

“Really. And I know you lost your mother. I don’t want to take her place. Perhaps you and I can just be friends?”

But the girl didn’t seem particularly enthusiastic about that idea. She twisted her mouth down in a look of disapproval Ashley had seen Nick make many times. “Perhaps I could teach you how to be a mother.”

“Oh, you could?” Ashley hid her smile and then shrugged inwardly. The girl couldn’t know less than Ashley did. What could it hurt? “Very well. You can start after I finish washing these clothes.”

Rissa shook her head. “I’d better start now. You’re not doing it right.”

Ashley paused. “I’m not?”

“Haven’t you ever washed clothing before?” Rissa asked before kneeling beside her.

Ashley bit her lip, reluctant to admit her lack of knowledge. “Not in a pond.”

“You need a rock. Over here.” The girl picked up Ashley’s wet garments and struggled to carry them to another location, where she knelt by a large flat rock submerged in the water. “You have to rub the dress over this rock, like this.” And she began to scrub the material over the rock, the friction doing more to rid the cloth of stains than Ashley’s half-hearted dunking of the material had.

“We used to have soap,” the girl told Ashley. “We can make more, and I’ll show you how to use it. Just do it like this, then you can hang the clothes on the branch to dry.”

Ashley took over from Rissa, feeling like she was the child as the girl watched her and said, “Good job!” Finally, the task was done, and they started back toward the beach. Rissa was obviously eager to begin her instruction because she told Ashley that mothers had to hold little girls’ hands. Ashley complied, leading the little girl until she realized she did not know the way. Rissa, with a long-suffering sigh, that—again—reminded Ashley of Nick, steered them both in the right direction, and they emerged onto the beach. The bright colors of their clothing seemed to draw attention, and several men turned to look. Ashley felt all but naked without the protection of a chemise and stays, but she kept her head high, not meeting the men’s gazes.

Except one.

She felt more than saw Nick’s eyes on her, and she flicked her gaze to his. He was watching her with something like shock on his face. She followed the direction of his gaze and saw he was looking at her hand joined in Rissa’s. Ashley wondered what he would think if he knew the girl was giving her lessons in being a mother.

Ashley spent the rest of the afternoon with Rissa, who showed her how to make a fishing hook, how to dig for crabs, how to start a fire—a task that particularly unnerved Ashley—and how to draw pictures in wet sand. The last was not strictly a survival skill, Ashley noted, but she applied herself anyway.

By dusk, the beach was crowded with crates, cannons, and rigging. The men were tired and sweaty, and the smell of cooked fish—some of which Ashley (oh, very well, Rissa) had caught—wafted through the orange-tinted breeze. The women cooked the fish, while the men gathered in small groups to drink rum and boast about the hard work they had finished. Rissa tugged Ashley toward one group of men who stood, hands on hips, as a man placed an empty cup on the sand a few feet away.

“A shilling says I can hit it.”

“Two says you can’t,” another man answered. When Ashley and Rissa came into view, the talk quieted. Ashley was well aware the men were careful of what they said in her presence. She was not certain if it was fear she would repeat something to Nick or simply the fact that she was a noble-born lady that curtailed their speech. Tonight, though, she wanted to be one of them. She was certainly not above them.

“I don’t have any blunt,” she said, “but I haven’t had my share of rum yet. I can wager it. What are we betting on?”

One of the men cleared his throat, but Rissa answered. “It’s a spitting contest, and I put my faith behind Lank.”

Lank, it turned out, was a big man with hands like hams who worked under Shanks as a gunner. His opponent was a yardman who Ashley had heard called Mr. Sumner, but who Rissa called Joe. Ashley had some experience with spitting contests. Her brothers had participated in more than their share, and though she was not permitted to join them—or even to be present for such activities—she always found a way. The fun of circumventing the rules superseded the actual event. Since she had so often skirted the rules and been present for the spitting contests and won a few herself, Ashley knew something about the skills required. She did not know whether Lank or Sumner had the advantage, but Rissa had not steered her wrong yet.

“I put my rum behind Lank too,” Ashley said and waited for the other men to make their wagers. Predictably, Lank won and then set about to boasting. Ashley murmured to Rissa, “He is not so good. My brothers could beat him easily.
I
could beat him.”

“I’d like to see that,” a voice said from behind her. It was Chante—her steadfast enemy. Ashley shook her head, but Chante motioned to Lank. “Mrs. Cap’n say she can beat you.”

“The devil she can! No woman can beat me.”

Ashley shrugged, glad for the excuse to walk away. “Another time then.”

“You too scared to compete, Mrs. Cap’n?” Chante asked. She knew he was taunting her. She knew she should ignore him, but the idea that she was scared—of anything—chafed.

“Scared? Of a few little pirates? Hardly.”

The men grumbled, but Chante held up a hand. “Oh, ho! Then prove it. What do you have to wager?”

Ashley released Rissa’s hand and moved into the circle of men. “I still have my share of rum.”

“I’ll put mine in for her too,” one of the men said. Ashley whipped her head to see who had spoken and felt her jaw drop when she recognized Mr. Johnson. His face was burnt from the long hours he’d spent tied to the topmast under the glare of the harsh sun, but his eyes were clear when they met hers. “Seems as good a way as any to make amends.”

Ashley blinked and then nodded. Like the shot of a pistol, the betting began. Wagers swirled around her, but Ashley kept her gaze on Johnson.
Argh
, he mouthed. Wonderful. Now she had even more pressure. Her gaze flicked to Chante, who gave her a cold smile. What was he trying to prove? Rissa was watching her too, and Ashley did not want to disappoint the girl. Not that spitting was a very motherly—or ladylike—activity. Maddie would definitely frown on this sort of example.

But Ashley couldn’t back down now. The men had drawn a line in the sand and placed the cup a few feet away. The sailor—or lady—with the best aim two out of three times won. Ashley was ushered to the line. Apparently, ladies were first even in spitting contests. She gathered some saliva and sent it toward the cup. She missed, but not by much.

Behind her, the men were all silence. She doubted any of them thought she
could
even spit, much less aim so close to the target. Lank was next, and he had perfect aim. If he didn’t falter on the next two, he would win.

Ashley stepped forward for her second turn, studied the cup, closed her eyes, and spit. She hit the cup perfectly, and lifted her arms in victory. Lank gave her a courtly bow and stepped to the line. Ashley watched him, noting that their audience had now grown. Most of the sailors on the beach were gathered in a half circle behind them. She was half afraid she’d spot Nick, if she looked too closely. She focused her eyes on the target and watched as Lank made his second effort.

He reared back to achieve distance, but his head snapped forward too late, and his attempt fell short of the cup. Ashley blinked, surprised at her good luck and then filled with nerves when the crowd pushed her forward. If she missed, she would surely lose. Lank would not fail again. She could hear him cursing nearby. But should she even attempt to win? Her mother was always admonishing her to be a lady. Winning a spitting contest would only prove, once and for all, that Ashley was not a lady.

“You can do it, Ashley!”

She turned and spotted Rissa on Nick’s shoulders. The little girl had the best view of any of them. Ashley gave her a quick smile and then her gaze met Nick’s. His expression was bemused, one brow raised slightly, his mouth quirked. She would show him. And she would win for Rissa. After all, Lady Brittany was not present, and really, after everything else Ashley had done in the last few weeks, what was one more transgression against the strictures of femininity?

She toed the line, closed her eyes, and gathered as much saliva as she could. Her mouth was dry now with nerves, but she was a Brittany. Failure was not an option. Visualizing the distance and the arc she needed in her mind, she tossed her head back and spit. The cheers told her, before she ever opened her eyes, she had hit the target.

With a curtsey, she stepped back and Lank moved forward. “Luck,” he told her. “Don’t cry when you lose.”

She smiled, not rising to the bait. Her brothers had teased her with far worse. Lank made a disgusting sound, gathering saliva and God knew what else in his mouth, aimed, and spit. For a moment, Ashley’s heart stopped beating. It seemed a perfect effort. And then to her astonishment, Lank missed the mark. The cup was left untouched as Lank’s effort had overshot the target.

Ashley jumped and screamed, and before she could protest, Johnson and the other men lifted her onto their shoulders and were running about the beach with her. She laughed, a deep, joyous laugh. She could not remember when she’d laughed so.

When she was put down, Lank grudgingly shook her hand, but Chante did not speak to her all through dinner. Or perhaps he could not as Rissa never stopped talking. Nick sat on one side and Ashley say on the other, and Rissa retold the story of the spitting contest again and again, even though they had all been present.

The little girl was quite animated, and with the closeness of the fire in the center of the circle of people, Rissa’s movements made Ashley nervous. Three times she reached out and moved the girl away from the fire, and at one point it appeared Rissa might lose her balance, and Ashley screamed and yanked the girl down.