Plunder (The Pirate King Series, Book 1)

Chapter 3: Ship, Ahoy!

The Pirate King may not have gotten me a pretty dress like Willie had joked, but he did leave me some other clean clothes that may not even be second-hand. Although clearly a man's cut, they're smaller than average and therefore, fit me well.

I've never worn anything but a skirt before, andhaving fabric rub between my legs feels awkward. My nightgown, however, isunsalvageable, and I end up wearing the loose, black breeches and frilly, white shirt to bed. When I awake the next morning, they're both a bit crumpled, but it soon becomes clear that's not my biggest worry.

Although I'm still lying on a comfortable mattress surrounded by puffy pillows, I'm in a totally different room than the night before. Gone are the fabric-covered walls and fireplace.Instead, almost everything around me is made of wood. I knew I had been tired,but I guess I didn't realize how much this ordeal had taken out of me. Afterseveral restless days and a few glasses of rum, my slumber last night must havebeen deep enough to miss being moved. My throbbing head makes me wish I stillwere in such a blissful state. Slipping out of bed, I hobble to the wall of windows and confirm my suspicions. Beyond the glass, a foamy wake splashes below. I'mback on a ship, and we're at sea.

Pressing my forehead to the cool pane, I take a deep breath consider my options. One, I can crank open the window and jump to my most certain death. Two, I can keep a low profile, perhaps even gain the sympathy of a crew member or two, and attempt to escape at a better moment. Not dying before breakfast seems more practical, and Ichoose the second alternative.

I remember the captain's words from last night and know that I'm nothing more than an asset. He needs me—or rather, he needs Luciana—to get something. What that is, I don't know, but until Kincade achieves his goal, I can't reveal I'm just a housemaid born to a lowlySpanish soldier and a poor, native girl. As long as the Pirate King continues to believe that I am the daughter of Admiral Francisco Mercado, chief officer of the Fort of Portobelo, Panama, I am safe.

This is affirmed when I find the cabin door unlocked. Kincade also obviously agrees that as long as we're in the open waters, I'm not prone to escape. This gives me hope, and I peek into the empty hallway. Returning to find my boots, I pull them on while testing my knee's movement. Although it's still a bit stiff, walking gets easier with every step. I'm so focused on this progress I almost head out before realizing there's something I've forgotten.

The captain has displayed chivalry towards me, but I can't expect his men to do the same. Twisting my hair into a knot, I cover my head with a drab kerchief. Even though I can't hide my gender, the less attention I attract to myself, the better.

Ready to tackle the unknown, I leave the room and walk past the mates' quarters. Pushing open a door, I exit onto the main deck. The bright sunlight hurts my eyes, but I squint upward at the sky. Apart from a few small clouds, the weather is clear and it leaves the rays unobstructed. I walk forward, enjoying the newfound warmth on my face.

"Hey! Wotchit!" someone yells as my boot connects with wood, and water sloshes out of a bucket.

Sidestepping around the puddle, I look down at a boy about my age kneeling in my shadow. I mumble a curt "sorry," but he's already gone back to scrubbing the knotty planks. Uttering the small word is enough to make me aware of my parched mouth, so I turn back toward the lad.

"Is there anything to drink around here?" I force a smile.

He doesn't look up, but instead nods toward a large, upright barrel behind the door. "Ova' there."

After removing the container's lid, I fill the attachedcup to the brim. I take a large swig, but instead of the sweet taste of fresh water, I get a mouthful of the vilest thing I've ever tasted. It's what I imagine water tastes like after being used to wash soiled linens and left out in the sun for a week. I didn't think it was possible, but it's even worse than last night's rum.