Corsets & Crossbones (5 page)

What a life that would be compared to the current one Brooke was living.  Expect the unexpected, living life day by day, rarely planning for the future unless there was some benefit to do so.  The currents of the sea could always change, the sun could always disappear. 
How excitingly dangerous life could be.

When Brooke finished, she stepped out of the tub and onto a towel that was one out of many that surrounded the tub so that water would not get anywhere, and it prevented Brooke from accidentally slipping.  She grabbed a towel from the rack and dried herself off quite thoroughly.  Afterwards, she placed the used towel neatly back on the
rack, and slipped into her comfortable nightgown.  Sighing with content, she grabbed the towel once again and, as she entered her room she proceeded to gently wring out the wetness of her damp hair.

“Fancy seeing you again, darling,” he said as he saw her figure walk gracefully into her room.  His chocolate brown eyes traveled up and down her body, an appreciative smile on his face.

“Seeing as how I happen to reside here, it is really not that much of a surprise now, is it?” Brooke asked, her face passive and yet inside, her heart was beating incessantly.  She continued to dry her hair, which was now brown due to the water that had previously consumed it.

Charlie watched her with his coal-rimmed eyes.  “I suppose you’re right,” he mumbled through his long fingers, which were resting over his lips.

“Why are you here?” Brooke asked him as she folded the towel neatly in half, and hung it up on her changing screen.  She would have slipped into his hidden trench coat had he not been present.  “I doubt it is to return my necklace.  Did you want your coat back?”  She turned to face him finally, arching a brow and giving him a challenging stare.

Charlie shook his head, his unruly brown hair swaying along.  “That was a gift in return for your generous gift,” he explained.  “We are square.”

“Do you really believe that your worn, old trench coat even matches the value of my necklace?” Brooke asked, keeping her voice even, although the comparison of the two inanimate objects still slightly infuriated her.

“If you don’t want it, then give it back,” Charlie said with a smirk.  The candlelight reflected off his two gold teeth and made it shine, even in the darkness.

Brooke glared at him.  One part of her wanted to throw the trench coat in question at the arrogant fool, and yet another part of her, more sentimentally inclined, wanted to keep it.  For some odd reason, the scent comforted her like no other, and she experienced a feeling of security, something she had never felt before and was not inclined to sacrifice just yet for the sake of her pride.  Of course, she would never give him the satisfaction of telling him that.

“I must have misplaced it,” she said quickly, averting her eyes from him.

Charlie grinned at her, knowing she was not telling the truth, and swaggered over to her so he was currently less than a foot away.  He rested the back of his fingers onto his hips and leaned his torso toward her so that his long, pointed nose was nearly brushing her small, upturned one.

“Liar,” he whispered, the tone of his voice causing her skin to prick more so than the slight sea breeze.

Brooke gulped, her face coloring due to the close proximity of her and Captain Charlie Colt, but more surprisingly to her, the way his voice made her feel.  A sense of vulnerability crept up to surround her, but with that vulnerability came a very subtle feeling of want, a feeling she was acutely aware of and did not fully comprehend.

Charlie grinned at her reaction, enjoying the power that he had over this girl.  Brooke, seeing his arrogant smirk, pushed her lips together and narrowed her eyes at him.

“Says you,” she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.

“No,” he said, his smirk deepening.  He extended both forefingers toward the ceiling, and then pointed both at Brooke, his gold teeth flickering along with the candlelight.  “No, sweetheart, says
you
.”  He paused, and then crossed his right foot over his left foot, his boots softly thumping as he slowly circled the young woman before him.

Charlie studied the girl, his chocolate eyes once again running up and down her body with obvious appreciation.  Her wet hair tumbled down to her mid-back in waves, small droplets finding a home on Brooke’s off-white nightgown.  This only caused the pirate captain’s brow to shoot up as he took in her discolored skin through the thin transparent trails the small droplets left.  Her neck was long and sensual, a favorite part of a woman’s body for Charlie.  The gown was rather loose and nearly screamed to the floor.  It was formless, but cinched at the waist which emphasized the wearer’s bosom.  She was rather short, he noticed, but for some peculiar reason, her legs were long.  This not only baffled Charlie about the female’s anatomy, but intrigued him as well.  He was a fan of a woman’s body no matter what, and while there were obvious parts he did favor in specific circumstances, his favorite part of a woman’s body was her back.  And as of right now, there was no other back that he wanted to see more than Brooke Cunningham’s.

“Your eyes give you away,” he told her once he completed his circle around her.  He grinned again when he saw that his words colored her cheeks.

Brooke was enraged that he seemed to be amused by how uncomfortable she was, and bit her lip to keep from yelling at him.  She may be upset with the pirate captain, but she would keep her yelling under control so that he would not get caught.

“In this whole time you have been here I have not seen you look at my eyes,” she said through gritted teeth.

His teeth flashed as he smiled, which nearly caused Brooke to lose her firm composure.  “Well, I cannot be blamed if something so beautiful drew my eyes elsewhere,” Charlie explained in a low murmur, his eyes finally looking into hers.  They were green, he noticed, just like the color of the sea.

“Pretty words,” Brooke said, dropping her arms so they laid limply by her sides, “but even the prettiest song can lose its intended meaning if it is repeated constantly.”

Charlie curved his lips into an interested smile at Brooke’s words, his eyes never leaving hers.  They were growing on him, her eyes were, and while she had an abundance of good physical attributes, her eyes were more striking to him than he initially anticipated.

“What makes you say I have uttered said words before?” Charlie asked her, quirking a brow and tilting his head to the side slightly.  His eyes narrowed, not in suspicion, but in curiosity as he watched her, hoping for some sort of tell, a reaction to his words.

“I am not stupid,” Brooke told him, furrowing her brow.  “It is an easy trade to master, the art of flattery, but also an easy trade to recognize if you’ve got your wits about you.”

“So if my trade be flattery, then what is yours?” he asked her.  His tone was neutral, but there was a challenge that tainted his seemingly innocent question.

Brooke cocked her head to the side, realizing that now she had some sort of advantage, however slight it might be, and her lips curled into a smirk that mirrored Charlie’s previous one. 

“My trade is the art of secrecy,” she said in a soft voice, her eyes sparkling with mischievousness.

“Is it now?” Charlie
asked, his tone suggestive as well as interested.  He took a step closer to her, daring to be less than an arm’s length from her.  Again, she gulped, craning her neck so that she could look up at him.  “And what sort of secrets does a merchant’s daughter hold?”

Brooke just looked up at him, breathing hard yet silent, and opened her mouth to speak, hoping that when she answered, her voice would not shake.  “If I told you, they would not be secrets anymore,” she said, a taunting edge in her voice.  Her eyes only added to the unspoken challenge.

“You can trust me, though,” Charlie said, leaning down and turning his head so that she could merely whisper in his ear before the wind took whatever she said and her secrets were exposed.

“If I did that,” she said, almost husky, into his ear, a tad uncomfortable at the closeness between the two, “then I wouldn’t be a master of my craft, now would I?”        

Charlie pulled away, another one of his smirks upon his face.  “I s’ppose you’re right,” he said.  It was his cue to leave now, and he turned from her so that he was heading for the window.  He lifted his left arm, and wiggled his long fingers in a manner of waving, and turned his head so that his sharp profile was visible and his chocolate eyes were seeking her out.  “Ta for now, darling,” he told her, and before Brooke could respond, he was gone.

Brooke exhaled slowly, a breath she did not realize she was keeping within herself.  He had visited her once again.  She let out a surprised and yet happy smile slip onto her face as she just stared out the open window, wondering if he was coming back to see her once more.  She would not admit it aloud, but she did want him to see her before he left to sail the sea.  She sighed as she walked over to her desk and pulled the bottom right drawer open to reveal the worn, old trench coat.  She put it on, inhaling the intoxicating scent, a content smile resting on her lips.  With that, she slipped between her bed sheets, her eyelids heavy and eager to meet their opposite.  Soon, Brooke was asleep, and the only thing moving in her still room was the flicker of the dying candle.

The next morning, Liz woke her sleeping mistress up earlier than what was normal.  Today, Brooke would be going to Governor Radcliffe’s mansion for the day because she and Fiona received their academic lessons together.  The two young women in question were not too happy with the prospect of waking up early, but lessons were important, and they were glad to get the opportunity to receive an education together.

Master Cunningham escorted his daughter to the Governor’s mansion, which was slightly out of the norm.  Usually when she had her lessons with Fiona, she went unaccompanied because her father usually had more important things to do.  However, today was apparently different, and when Brooke and her father entered the mansion, she suddenly wanted to know why.  Not only were the Governor and his daughter waiting in the drawing room for the Cunningham’s, but Joel Donahue was waiting as well.

Joel Donahue was two years older than Brooke and Fiona, putting him at two and twenty, and the three were close friends.  Brooke even considered him to be an older brother of sorts.  Fiona, on the other hand, did not consider him to be an older brother at all.  She would never admit it, of course, but Brooke suspected that Fiona had feelings that ran deeper than sisterly affections for the young man.  Brooke could understand if her suspicions of her friend’s feelings were correct.  Joel was incredibly handsome with short, strawberry blond hair and clear blue eyes.  His skin had a peachy tone to it, and his lips were red.  He was tall and lean, and when he smiled, people could not help but smile along with him.  His voice was low and tainted with humor, and when he spoke, witty satire sprung from his red lips like water from a fountain.  Joel was quite charming and highly-sought after, but Brooke could see that he, too, had eyes only for Fiona.  However, he was merely a mapmaker, and while there was an undeniable and unspoken attraction between Brooke’s closest friends, society would say that their match was not a smart one.

Once the greetings were over, Brooke and Fiona were led to their study hall while Joel surprisingly followed Governor Radcliffe and Master Cunningham.

“Why is Joel going with our fathers?” Brooke asked Fiona in a whisper.  The servants residing in the Radcliffe mansion were all shameless gossips, so any secrets must be spoken as though walls could hear.

Fiona shrugged and gave a sideways glance at her friend.  “I have not the slightest of clues,” she responded, her voice just as soft as Brooke’s.  “All I know is that Father called for his presence early this morning.”

“I’m sure you had no objections to that,” Brooke teased lightly.

Fiona’s cheeks colored slightly, but before she could respond to Brooke’s jest, the two had reached their study hall.  A short, squat man was writing on a green chalkboard with his right hand, and with his left, he was holding onto a bundle of cluttered papers.  When he would glance down at his notes, his hard, grey eyes would squint, and when he copied his notes onto the board, his writing was small and hard to decipher.  He was wearing a wrinkled tunic that was only halfway tucked in, and his dark trousers were loose at the waist and ran well into the floor, masking his dirty shoes.  His grey hair had thinned on his round head, and the color was so light that depending on the lighting, one could not make out if he had hair or not.  His eyebrows were dark and bushy, and his nose was round and touched with an apple-red color.  His chin camouflaged with his neck, and his cheeks were sagged in.  He spoke with a rough voice, and his teeth were crooked and yellow.  He taught with little patience, his naturally short fuse further shortened by his two young pupils.

When he finished writing his notes, he turned and set the papers down rather noisily on the desk before him.  He immediately narrowed his eyes at the two young women seated in front of him, innocent smiles on their faces.

“Good to see you again, Mister Slater,” Brooke said.  Her face was angelic but there was a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

“You watch your tongue, Miss Cunningham!” he exclaimed sharply, pointing a thick, stocky finger at her.  “I may not be able to see well, but I can hear trickery from a serpent’s tongue!”

Brooke and Fiona exchanged an amused look as soon as Mister Slater glanced down at his papers, and both had to bite their lips from laughing.

“Now copy these notes without a word out of either of you!” he said , and plopped down into the seat to go over his wrinkled sheets of paper.

Brooke and Fiona both started to copy his notes on the chalkboard, albeit with slight difficulty at recognizing a particular word from time to time.  A moment went by when all that was heard was the scratching of the pens writing, and Mister Slater’s heavy breathing coming from his mouth.

“I received a visit from my stranger last night,” Brooke whispered as she wrote.

Fiona glanced up sharply from her work to make sure Mister Slater had not heard Brooke’s soft murmur, but he was currently occupied scratching out some of his notes, and therefore, did not notice.

“Did he return your necklace?” she asked, keeping her peripheral vision focused squarely on their cranky instructor.

Brooke shook her head.  “No,” she replied, glancing up at the board and then down at her paper, filled with neat, elegant notes.  “Apparently he was satisfied with merely my company.”

“What kind of company?” Fiona drawled suspiciously.

“Of course you are not implying the sort of unrespectable company a man usually pays for, now are you?” Brooke asked with a smirk.

Fiona smiled and shook her head.  “No, of course not,” she conceded.

“He would not be able to afford me, even if that was the case,” Brooke mumbled, causing Fiona to laugh out loud.

Mister Slater’s eyes snapped up to stare at his two students.  His brow furrowed so low that it nearly interfered with his sight.

“I hear you!” he exclaimed, eyeing the laughing woman and then shifting his eyes over to the quiet, smiling woman.  “I know you’re the cause of this, Miss Cunningham!  You left-handers, you’re always up to sinister trickery!”

Once he focused his attention back to his papers, Brooke rolled her eyes.

“The only thing we are up to is trying to figure out how to keep from smudging our writing,” she said dryly and sighed.  Today was going to be a very long day.

Both Brooke and Fiona were incredibly educated women.  They were taught everything one could be taught; English, French, Latin, mathematics, sciences, an assortment of religions, as well as varying assortment of elements in etiquette, all taught by the versatile Mister Slater for nearly fifteen years.  They were both bright young women with an envious education, and beautiful in their own right.  Men were besotted at first glance by either of them, and while Master Cunningham wanted Brooke to marry as quickly as possible, Governor Radcliffe deemed no man worthy of his daughter.  Currently, both daughters were not married, and while Fiona had a particular person in mind to marry, Brooke was happy just the way things were.  She did not wish to sacrifice her individuality for a man at all, much less right then.

When lessons were over, Brooke and Fiona traveled down to Joel’s small home that was near the docks of Port Royal.  Fiona’s grandfather Oral accompanied the two young women, but once they entered the small home, he kept his distance, leaving the children their privacy.  Joel led the women through his house and into his study where maps were decorating the walls, the desk, even the floor. 

“Someone has too much time on their hands,” Brooke murmured with a smile.

“Ah, but time leads to talent, it would seem,” Fiona replied, looking at Joel with pride in her eyes.

Joel smiled at Fiona, and Brooke had to strain herself from rolling her eyes.  As Joel continued to walk with Fiona throughout the room, and explain to her the different maps he had created, Brooke stopped walking and simply just looked at his designs.  There were maps of the Caribbean, maps of England, the Americas, and even a map of the scattered ports throughout the Caribbean.  One particular map caught her eye, however.  It was wrinkled and plain; there was nothing special about it.  And yet, the small islands that were etched on the map were formed in the shape of a five-pointed star.  They were adjacent to the island of Cuba, and a big X on the top island.  The islands were nameless, and Joel’s signature was not on the bottom right corner of the map.  Joel did not make this, she realized with wonder.  Without fully thinking about what she was doing, she folded the map up so that she could stick it between her bosom without notice.

Suddenly, a shot was heard, fired into the sky.  It whistled low, and then increased in sound as the ball crashed into one of the meadows that adorned Port Royal.  A rumble caused Brooke to lose her footing, but she grabbed the edge of the desk to maintain her balance.  Joel had grabbed Fiona to make sure she did not fall, his hand gripping her forearm
firmly, a protective look cascaded in his blue eyes.  His jaw was set, his lips pressed together.  Brooke and Fiona, however, felt not determined, but fearful, and they did not shield their feelings behind a mask.

Another canon hit Port Royal, this time shaking much more violently than the first blow.  Even Joel’s look faltered, and his eyes sought out Brooke.  “We have to leave now,” he said tightly, his hand still wrapped around Fiona’s wrist.  “I shall escort you home, Brooke.  Fiona, you must go with your grandfather.” 

Fiona nodded, and once the two pairs got into their separate carriages, they were off.  Joel kept glancing out his window, hoping to catch a glance at Fiona’s carriage as it made its way up to the Governor’s mansion.  Another cannonball shot through the tension-filled silence, causing Brooke to let out a yelp of surprise.  Her eyes were rimmed with tears, her lightly tanned face pale.

“What is happening, Joel?” she asked the man besides her, her voice shaking as she spoke.

Joel turned to face her as they pulled into Brooke’s driveway.  “I do not know, Brooke,” he said softly.  “I do not know.”

Once the carriage came to a stop, he climbed out and helped Brooke out as well.  They dashed over to the front door.  “I have to go now, Brooke,” he said, and pulled her into a tight hug.  “Please be careful.”  Another shot was fired, and Joel turned and dashed back to his carriage.

Captain Charlie Colt was leaning back in his chair in the back of the pub, his boots crossed and resting on the table he was currently occupying.  He kept his eyes on the door, watching different people go in and out, something he naturally did.  He loved to study people, to watch how they spoke, how they carried themselves; something always gave people away.  People always had some sort of tell, whether it was as simple as rubbing their fingers together, biting their lip, or maybe it was as simple as their eyes giving them away.

A woman walked in now.  She was stunning, her long ebony locks curling down to her hips, her smooth, light brown skin glowing in the candlelight of the bar.  She had a sharp face, and a strong chin, and her eyes were a caramel brown.  She was incredibly tall, curvier than a winding road, and her aura just eroded with sensuality.  As she walked, her hips swayed hypnotically to each side, causing men to look at her with desire in their eyes.  She was wearing a form-fitting tunic and a high-
waisted pair of tight slacks that accented her hips perfectly.  Her boots were made of black leather and went up just past her knees.  When she saw Charlie leaning back so casually, her full lips curled into a smile and her eyes sparkled with mischievousness.  She walked over to him, and then pulled out a seat right across from him.  Without a word, she sat down.

Charlie gave her a dry smile, and raised his arm and motioned toward the seat.  “Please, have a seat,” he offered.

“Captain Charlie Colt,” she said slowly, her heavily accented voice articulated.  “How nice to meet you again, after so many years.”  She leaned forward, her arms crossed casually so that Charlie received a generous flash of cleavage.  “Miss me?”

Charlie let out a mirthless laugh.  “Let’s not waste our time with formalities, Esmeralda,” he said, narrowing his eyes at the woman before him.  She was obviously incredibly attractive, but in his eyes, she was quite the opposite.  He knew her too well to consider her beautiful.  “Why are you here?”

Esmeralda smirked again and she straightened her back.  “Always cutting to the chase,” she scolded, shaking her head.  “Charlie, you used to be fun.”  She paused, tilting her head to the side, a finger tapping against her chin as though deep in thought.  Charlie swung his feet down from the table, and interlocked his fingers before he rested them where his feet had previously resided.  He knew she was toying with his patience, but he waited for her to answer on her own accord.  “Well,” she said finally, her tone of voice lower, husky, “something is about to happen, and since we are close acquaintances, I wanted to warn you.”

“We are not close nor acquaintances,” Charlie corrected her.  “You are wrong on two accounts.”