Cavalier Prince of Pirates (Post 10)

*Bene — for you. And in honor of the Saints’ win. *

And tarry away we did — for a few weeks, in fact. Governor Agostinho lavished Howel and his crew with everything they could want, mainly wine, women, and good food. The crew of the Buck was welcome into the town, and the merchants happily traded their goods for the French cargo Howel had, unbeknownst to them, plundered in the Caribbean. Perhaps a few of the savvy among them wondered at Captain Charles Reed’s true identity — he and his men were quite the band of revelers — but said nothing, for the cargo he bore was valuable to them, and they paid in gold and silver.

While Howel conducted business in Ribeira Brava, I mingled with the Portuguese noblewomen who lived, either as relatives or wives of relatives, in the governor’s villa. Or, more appropriately, I tried to mingle. I had absolutely nothing to say to them, and they even less to me, especially considering the language barrier. The only pretty one among them, Fabia, was clearly a queen bee, and had made her disdain for me — and interest in Howel — very clear. I must have seemed awkward in their midst, as they embroidered together and practiced their music. I often hid in our rooms, practicing cuts and parries with a cutlass. I may not have been able to sing a song, play a pianoforte, or paint a bouquet of flowers, but I was going to adeptly sink several feet of steel into the vitals of the next unlucky bastard who tried to kill me. If my brain was going to rot in “leisure activities,” they were, come hell or high water, going to be activities of my choosing.

My brain was not at rest, either: I spent much of my time alone thinking about the future. I remembered Ruth’s words: You can go back… one who got here like you, he know how… he… black pirate… I had yet to see an African pirate, or an African who was not a slave. All I had to do was wait and keep my eyes peeled, since he would come to me. Despite finally having the long-awaited knowledge that Howel wanted me, my joy was shrouded in a mist of anxiety. Eleven months from the moment he became a pirate, Howel Davis was supposed to die “like a game cock.” June of 1719, and it was now February. It was as though an hourglass followed me, the sand trickling steadily, ominously through the narrow glass tunnel. I knew I would die trying to keep Howel from meeting the fate Rovers of the Sea had described.

There was another issue nagging me, chipping away at my happiness — what would I do if the opportunity to return to 2009 arose before Howel’s predicted death? Deep down inside, I knew I had already decided I would stay. The best case scenario would be if I could get Howel to come back to the future with me, but I had a feeling trying to convince him of this course of action would be a lost cause. I didn’t know what sorts of catastrophic events I would wreak on the future by bringing a pirate back with me, but that was a chance I was willing to take.

I wanted to go back to my time, there was no doubt. I could not see myself dying in the 18th century. I had to see Sophie and Jake again.

But I could not leave Howel Davis.

I rued the day when my biggest decision was whether to go to the office on a Saturday or attend Sophie’s soccer game instead. Had I really chosen mind-numbing, thankless work to the happy smiles of my child?

These were the things that plagued me in my solitude, waiting for Howel to return to me and rescue me from my thoughts.

In between his visits to the town to sell his goods, Howel retreated to our rooms in the governor’s home and into bed — with me. I was usually going crazy with cabin fever by the time he got back, and my moods fluctuated between thrilled to see him, jealous at his freedom, and anxious for the future. I would often jump him like a horny teenager the moment he walked in the door, then become sullen and combative afterward, resentful that he would have to leave me again in the morning. There was no question about it: The women of the 18th century got a raw deal.

One night several weeks into our stay in São Nicolau, Howel arrived at my door drunk and disheveled late at night, leaning heavily against Walter Kennedy and smelling distinctly of perfume. He and his “officers” Walter and Thomas had taken to calling themselves “The House of Lords,” and after selling their goods in the town would carouse with their crew, drinking and, from what I heard from those catty Portuguese women, visiting the brothels. The moment Walter left, Howel tried to take me into his arms. I dodged him, a hand firmly against his chest.

“Don’t,” I said icily, “even consider it.”

Howel’s eyebrows shot up. “Eh? What’s the matter, lass?” he hiccuped, swaying on his feet.

“You smell like a two-bit whore, that’s what’s the matter,” I replied, the fury building within me. “God, Howel, I hate sounding like a shrew, but I’ve been closed up all day in this room, trying to avoid Fabia and her boring friends, and I think I may go crazy!”

“I’m sorry for it, Sabrina,” Howel slurred, trying to pull me to him by my waist. I once again stopped him.

“You never answered why you smell like a two-bit whore,” I said through my teeth. “I don’t want to catch any venereal diseases, thank you very much!” I hadn’t missed the way every woman in the place, genteel or otherwise, looked at him, the dashing English captain who had an air of danger — of piracy — about him. They were utterly titillated by him, and he did nothing to discourage them, smiling and bowing graciously at each as though she were the Queen herself, and the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen.

Howel’s eyes widened innocently. “‘Pon my soul, ‘twasn’t me, Sabrina. ‘Twas Walter and Thomas. I simply accompanied them. I’ve no interest in that, not when I’ve got this –” he stroked my face with his finger — “waiting for me here.” He smiled at me, that Howel smile, his eyes crinkling adorably, and I felt my defenses wilt as the desire to nuzzle his neck overcame me. Son of a bitch. He was so good at this game, so good at getting people to do what he wanted… Before I knew it, he had me in the bed and was pinning me down, dragging his lips along my throat, my collarbone, his rough palms on my breasts, my hips.

I was completely, utterly his, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.

As I lay curled up against him later that night, his arm around me, I said softly, “I would stay like this forever, if I could.”

He rubbed his face in my hair. “I thought you grew weary of this place, of the life of a gentlewoman.” He chuckled. “We’ve made a wanderer of you, lass.”

“I do grow weary of it,” I replied. “But I would stand it, if it meant keeping you from a life of piracy, from a certain fate.”

“We can’t stay here, even if I wished to,” Howel said. “Agostinho’s generosity will start to wane, and his suspicions will be roused if the good Captain Reed does not set sail once his goods have all been sold.” His hand stroked my hip mindlessly. “The men love it here. ‘Tis an island of pleasure. The drink runs freely, the women are more than willing, and the place itself is lovely. They’ll be hard pressed to leave it.”

“Let’s go back to the Caribbean,” I said hopefully.

“Sabrina, there ain’t nothing for me there, you know that,” Howel said with a sigh. “Nothing but the hangman’s noose.”

I pushed myself up on an elbow. “Then somewhere else. Somewhere far, far away from Prince Island, for God’s sake.”

Howel looked at me without seeing me, and I could tell he was thinking about his death, his mortality. Strange, the look he got on his face when thinking about it — more pensive and curious than fearful, sort of like he hadn’t fully come to grips with it yet. He knew, better than anyone, that he could die at any point, since his life was already full of risk as it was. To put a date on it, well… It was different than dealing with terminal illness, because he had never been more alive, more vibrant in his life. And, of course, there was always the chance that the book was wrong, that he could escape the fate I had made him believe waited for him.

“Howel,” I said, interrupting both our thoughts. “If I knew how to get back to 2009… Would you come with me?”

Howel shifted his body to face me. “How now? Are you saying you know how to get back?”

“No,” I said. “I don’t.” I hesitated, wondering how best to explain it to him. “A witch doctor in Nassau told me a pirate, a black pirate, got here the same way I did and knew the way back. She said he would come to me.”

Howel processed this information. “Is this witch doctor to be trusted?”

“She knew who I was, where I was from,” I replied. “The first time I went to her, she knew why I was there before I told her.”

Howel pursed his lips thoughtfully. “A black pirate? Who’d come to you, eh?” Then he looked at me and smiled wistfully. “You’ll be leaving me, then?”

“No,” I said fiercely. “I was asking… I want you to come back with me.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Go back with you? You ain’t serious, are you, lass?”

“I am,” I said. “Think about it. You would be safe. You would be with me.”

He blinked, shook his head. “2009 is very different than now, ain’t it? I’d be like a blind man there, like a man who be daft in the head, no?”

“Well, for a little while, I guess,” I said. “It would be an adjustment. But the same way I can adjust to being here, you can adjust to being there. Life is much easier, much more luxurious.”

Howel got a funny look on his face. “And your husband? What would you tell him? That you brought your pirate lover back with you from the past?” He laughed. “So then I’d be both daft and unable to touch you? Nay, thankee. I’ll stay here and take me chances.”

I tightened my jaw. “Then what? You’ll let me leave you?”

He responded by cupping my face in his hands tenderly. “Perhaps once upon a time I would have told you to go back to your family, but now? Now I am embracing the life of the selfish brigand entirely, and now I say you are mine, and that you should stay with me.” He smiled, but his eyes hardened a bit. “I don’t know how much time I have left on this earth, and I want you to spend it with me, self-seeking bastard that I am.”

It was what I wanted to hear, what I needed to hear. I twined my arms around his neck and kissed him hungrily, and he responded in kind, his arms tight around me, his mouth pushing against mine.

I would not leave him, not until I was sure he was safe. And even then, there was a good chance I still wouldn’t leave him.

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