In The Arms Of My Pirate

Captured by Pirates

Late January, 1814, off the coast of North Carolina, United States of America

Octavia groaned under the weight of the water-logged ropes slung over her shoulder. She gritted her teeth as icy drops dribbled beneath the collar of her oil-skin coat, trickling over her spine and sending shivers down to her toes.

Sailing across the Atlantic during the depths of winter was not for the faint of heart, she knew. She had seen sailors lose fingers and toes to frostbite in minutes out on the deck of her father's ship. She had seen waves taller than buildings capsize neighboring boats, their sailors lost to the icy grip of the ocean.

But she couldn't ignore the thrill of being aboard a ship again after so long. It had been two years since she had last sailed.

"Get those ropes coiled, young master Palmer!" the second mate, Cribbs, shouted from the aft of the ship.

"Aye, sir!" she shouted back, tugging her knitted cap lower over her brow.

Dressed as a boy, she had found work aboard the HMS Pictou, a 14-gun schooner escorting supply ships from England to the British forces fighting in America. She'd passed herself off as Octavian Palmer, a 14-year-old boy, in order to get aboard.

As soon as the Pictou reached America, she would sneak ashore and search for news of her father's ship. She just needed to survive this storm, first. They were a week from the coast at most, if the weather didn't worsen.

Hunching her shoulders against the wind, she coiled the ropes near one of the center masts.

Small hands caught the rope as it slipped through her blistered fingers and Octavia looked up with a smile.

"Braving the cold, Oliver?" she teased the young boy as he helped her coil the ropes, the ship rolling and bucking beneath them.

"First mate says he'll tan my hide like leather if I don't," the boy of ten griped back.

Like most who join the royal navy as cabin boys, Oliver had been forced to sea when his family of seven could no longer feed him. The work was hard, Octavia knew, but at least the boy had a place to sleep and steady meals.

They finished coiling the rope and Octavia straightened, arching her back and rolling her shoulders. Pop. Pop. Pop. Her vertebrae crackled satisfactorily, and she smiled, crossing her arms.

"Won't be long now," she said, looking through the driving sleet at the ocean. "We'll see land soon."

"Not as soon as you hoped," Oliver said, his hands shivering as he wiped his brow.

She shot him a questioning glance. He was the only person aboard the ship that she allowed within five feet of her. He was the only one she didn't worry about discovering her secret; the lad was too concerned about food and staying warm to question why her voice was too high and her bones too delicate.

"Haven't you heard?" he shrugged his oil-skin closer to his thin shoulders. "That ship that we passed yesterday sent Captain James orders to reroute to the Caribbean."

"Why?" Octavia's throat tightened. She couldn't waste any more time. She needed to get to find the ships that the American Navy had captured and forced into service under their flag. The only way to do that was to find ship records in Baltimore.

"Got new ships to escort out of Barbados."

"Escort to where?" she asked.

"Back to England."

Her heart thundered painfully in her chest. She was so close. She couldn't go back to England now, not without her father's treasure.

***
Late January, 1814, the Pirate town of Barataria, Louisiana.