The Price of Loyalty
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own characters.
Author's note: Welcome back! And so we continue... Enjoy x
It had been years since the first face had haunted her dreams. She had been a much younger girl, susceptible to thoughts of superstitions and stories of the devil. The Spanish ladies were never shy to share stories of the unknown. It was part of the culture of the small island, courtesy of its closeness to the European countries. Stories, myths and whispers spread inland to the islands.
At first, she could not make out the features of the faces, could not quite take in the picture. Blurs of black, the darkest of blues and the brilliant whites of eyes merged into an eerie canvas that was painted across her closed eyes. What she did know, from the very beginning, was the smell.
The acrid stench of sweat, the bitter tang of fear mixed with the copper of blood. The salt of the sea was no longer a comfort to her, but stained the walls of her mind as she fought against it. The closer they got to her in her dreams, the stronger she could smell the toxic air. It made her stomach roll and she could barely draw a breath. This was only the beginning. Soon, the faces became clear, the source of the blood made evident. The whites of the eyes so striking, as they sat in dark, gaunt faces. Staring, always watching. Never speaking. She had seen similar faces on the island, so dark and beautiful. Some free, and others most definitely not. Freya had come to know which ones were not. She made the connection one day when gazing at the yellow and grey canary which sat caged above the archway to the balcony of her room. She had often sat here, the polished wooden floors cool in the morning before the blazing sun warmed them. The bird had been her 16th birthday present, a rarity all the way from Africa. Just like them. At first it had chirped and made its way around its steel cage, but slowly the sounds became less and less. It stopped seeking a way out, and simply resolved itself to its prison. Its small, black eyes held the same blank stare of slaves she had come to know. When she had opened its cage with shaking fingers, it had not even tried to escape. Freya remembered prying its small body from the cage and pushing it to fly to freedom. If only it were that easy for other caged beings. When she had tried to talk to her mother about the black slaves, and why they were not free, she had avoided her eyes and would not talk about it.
It was only when her father died, that the people in her dreams started to speak to her. Some screamed, some clenched their teeth at her in anger. The ones that did not speak were those that she feared the most. It was not until she heard of the slave ships and listened to the hissed threats made to her mother, that she felt the cold trickle of realisation sink into her spine. Her father's name was never far from their lips, whispered, hissed, cursed. These were the people that her father had sailed as slaves. Those that had sat beneath the decks of ships for months on end, shackles around their ankles and wrists. These were the eyes of those who had seen torture, fear and suffering. These were the eyes of the dead.
Freya shook herself from her thoughts as she stared into the mirror before her. The memories left her once gain questioning the balance she held between sanity and something much less. Was it that she had simply seen too much? Let her imagination run wild, and her mind would not let her forget it quickly…
She sat stiffly in the quarters of her father's ship, no her ship. It was late and she could see the flickers of the candle in the lantern beside her reflect the dark circles under her eyes. It had been a long time since she had thought back to the dreams in depth, she had become so used to the faces that they no longer woke her in a panicked state. Until recently.
Running her fingers through her thick hair, she untangled the knots created by the wind and salty water and wondered what had stirred the dead. They had been silent for years, now there was almost a desperation to their pleas, heated fear and rage that she could not separate. She could not help but feel that this awakening had occurred as the latest storm had brought in their new visitors. Freya knew that James Delaney had been on that ship. They had whispered his name in hushed voices. They spoke to him too. Her green eyes shimmered as she remembered his fingers around her throat, the emotion that had twisted his face into something demonic. She had not seen him since he had stumbled from her ship, and she hoped that it was the last she would hear from the traitorous man.
Any pink in her cheeks had paled with direction of her thoughts and she let out a small sigh, shaking away the unwanted memories. Her smile had been called beautiful, years ago, before she had lost her naivety. It was not often that a smile graced her features any longer, her full lips often set in a hardened line. Lifting a glass of amber liquid to her lips, she remembered the hours she and her sister would spend in front of this exact mirror, painting their faces and twisting their thick hair into the elaborate knots done in Spain. They had even tried to copy some of the woven braids that they had seen the African ladies prefer. Freya had never had the courage to sweep the paint under her eyes and across her cheeks the way that they did on special occasions. She had watched with intrigue and envied the joy they had found on such an island.
While Freya's hair was unruly and dark, her sister was a vision, her golden hair falling almost to her waist. The dark green eyes and their mother's pale, Irish skin were the only thing the sister's shared. Freya had remembered cursing its ease to burn in the hot summers. Oh to have such trivial worries now.
Suitors came and went, though both sister's thought they had all the time in the world to find their handsome prince, and settle into their perfect world. Her sister's eyes danced in her vision as she stared into the mirror. Every time she looked at her own dull eyes, she would have the harsh reminder of who was no longer here. Freya could not remember the last time a man had looked at her as anything other than a captain, a traitor's daughter or a potential whore. There were no more suitors, and that was fine by her. Startled slightly from her dark thoughts, a sharp knock rang through the quarters, echoed on the wood around her. Placing her glass down harder than she had planned, the whiskey sloshed over the side and across the vanity table.
"You have a visitor Captain," a low voice rang out and she recognised the voice of the sailing master on her ship. Freya recalled how the young, dark boy from Africa's shores had never been far from her father's side when he was younger. William Taylor was now a tall and intimidating figure, that she found herself very fond of. His talents were well known and valuable, unmatched on this island at least. She had never had the courage to ask him whether he had served her father as slave or companion, though she had made it clear that he was a free man under her order. He had never left her side.
A visitor at this hour? Freya glanced out of the window at the moon which was high and bright in the star lit sky. She ran a mental list of those who wanted to speak with her through her head, none of them pleasant. However, Taylor would not have brought someone here that he had deemed a threat. She stood and made her way to the heavy door, pulling down the latch with a screech of metal. Freya's eyebrows rose as she saw who stood behind it. Taylor was glancing appreciatively at the women beside him, and Freya almost rolled her eyes. The man was barely older than her own twenty-eight years and had bedded more women than she could even imagine. Which was saying something on such a small island. He was handsome in a boyish sort of way, his dark eyes charming and teeth white against his chocolate coloured skin. He made his way with sweetly spoken words that he hadn't dare use on Freya. As he continued to stare at the women, Freya cleared her throat to break his trance. Taylor snapped his eyes back to Freya and had the decency to look bashful. The women was something, Freya had to admit. A beautiful, soft face with red lips and a dress to match, she was a sight not often seen aboard a ship. Her eyes too bright to be a whore, but her dress not modern enough to be the wife of a rich man. So who was she?
"Lorna Delaney," Taylor answered her inward query, and Freya's eyes narrowed. Another damned Delaney, it could be no coincidence. It was late and she had not had near enough whiskey to warrant this conversation. Leaning into the doorway, Freya folded her arms tightly across her chest. She could tell the women in front of her was not nearly dressed for the hot temperatures in her thick velvet dress. She wiped her brow delicately and looked almost longingly past Freya to the cooler quarters.
"Miss Delaney-" Freya started and was cut off almost absentmindley as the women corrected,
"Mrs Delaney."
Freya's frown deepened, she had no idea how that brute had managed to lock in such a beauty as a wife. Freya could not help but be curious as to why the women had come aboard her ship so late at night, with no one to escort her.
"Where is your husband?" Freya asked and Lorna's eyes finally locked onto hers. They were bluer than any ocean she had seen and were bright with the starlit night around her.
"My husband is dead," she began. "May I come in and speak to you in private?" Lorna glanced briefly at the hulking figure of Taylor beside her and Freya nodded once to him. This was bound to be an interesting chat, without a doubt. She was not a threat. Taylor almost reluctantly made to leave, tipping his hat slightly on his head before turning and walking away. Freya turned her body slightly to let the other women pass by her and the smell of night-scented lillies drifted past her. The scent suited her well, both delicate and beautiful. Closing the door, Freya ran her damp hands over the skirt of her light, cotton dress and turned to find Lorna standing in front of the mirror she had just sat in front of. Freya caught her startling blue gaze in the mirror and tugged her bottom lip between her teeth. A habit she had picked up when she was piecing things together.
"How may I help you, Mrs. Delaney?" she asked, her gaze not leaving the other women. She watched as the shorter women ran slender fingers over her hairbrush before speaking softly.
"I understand James came to speak with you about the purchase of a ship."
Freya's eyes searched Lorna's face in the mirror. She could not see fear, so she must have come of her own accord.
"I want to know why he came back with nothing but a foul temper," Lorna's voice was hesitant, as though she knew she should not be asking, but was stubborn enough to ask anyway. The thought of someone going against James Delaney's wishes was enough to warrant an answer from Freya.
"I will not sell to your…" Freya raised her eyebrows to indicate that she did not know what relation this woman held to the more dangerous Delaney on the island.
"Son. By marriage," Lorna replied simply, offering no more explanation. Eventually Freya nodded slowly. So Lorna had been the wife of a rich man, but was no more. She did not begin to pretend to understand the dynamics of the two, and squashed down her curiosity to convince herself that she did not care. Freya's eyes darkened as she recalled the snarl on James Delaney's face, which she was sure had brought many before her to their knees.
"I will not sell to James Delaney," Freya repeated, and walked close to the woman to pick up her tumbler once more. The whiskey was a welcome burn in her throat and she envisioned it melting away the tension in her neck which was quickly building from this conversation. Out of the corner of her eye, Lorna shifted slightly and turned away from the mirror to look directly at Freya. Though shorter, she held herself with much more grace than Freya could ever hope to. Lorna shuffled slightly as if hesitating with a decision, and Freya waited with a patience she had not knew she had possessed. After some time, Lorna reached into the pockets of her heavy dress and pulled out a small, glistening jewel in her palm. A diamond. Holding it out in her pale palm, she pushed it towards Freya quickly before she could regret it. Neither woman moved for what seemed like an eternity, and the hand outstretched between them began to tremble.
"I do not know much about the business or trade," Lorna's unsteady voice finally broke the awkward silence, "But I do know that this is enough for a ship. Twenty ships even."
Freya pulled her eyes from the shining jewel that shook slightly and searched the depths of Lorna Delaney's face. Diamonds were not come across easily, and none where there were no slaves involved. Masters did not do the digging. Freya felt her skin cool even with the humid air around them. There was some kind of façade she was sticking to, something she was living that was not all that it seemed. Her sky coloured eyes were not quite clear, and had become glazed with something akin to tears. Freya felt her chest squeeze slightly. She could not stop the pity from seeping through her hardened posture. Vulnerability similar to what she had seen in her mother was written in bold ink across Lorna's face.
"Where are you headed in such a hurry, Mrs Delaney?" She asked evenly, needing to know why she would give up something so precious for something as simple as a ship. She could get a ship crafted for something so much less. Lorna sniffed slightly, it was hard for Lorna to hold back from this lady. It had been so long since she had someone to talk to who didn't think with his cock or brood in a desolate silence. Even the shadows beneath Freya Helia's emerald eyes could not hide the softness of her face and the rich milky tones in her skin. Lorna was so torn between wanting an ally like herself, and being that weak link that James had been so quick to pin on her. She knew he did not feel that way any longer, did not shy away from her touch. He had cared for her the past few months as she had recovered from her bullet wound. Her shoulder still ached in the cold and for that she welcomed the scorching heat that came with an island so close to Africa. James was unused to being cared about, and she would seek to change that. Clearing her throat past the indecision, Lorna took a deep breath and answered as best she could.
"My crew and I are on our way deeper into the North Atlantic," Lorna almost whispered, ridiculously afraid that even when he was not here, James would be able to hear her. She had no doubt about the look that would enter his fierce eyes should he learn where she was and with whom. She had been on the receiving end of that stare one two many times already and had seen what happened to those who he chose to act upon. Mostly it involved their entrails.
Frowning slightly, Freya's curiosity peaked once more. There were not many stops within the North Atlantic. This was a lady, not one that would often be seen in the Azores. That region was not a destination for those unprepared. Those who did not know what they were getting themselves into.
"What is it that you seek?" Freya asked, picking up the whiskey bottle and pouring another glass for the nervous woman behind her. As Lorna went to decline, Freya pushed the drink into her hand which did not hold the diamond. Her frown deepened when she felt how, even now, Lorna's hands were ice cold.
"It is a passage to the new world," Lorna rambled, trying to give enough information away, but also hide it deep within her. It became clear to Freya that Mrs Delaney possibly did not know exactly what the purpose of their visit across the sea was, but was more focused on their final destination. And even if she did know the purpose, she would not have been told about the dangers.
"Are you aware of where we sit, on this island Mrs Delaney?" Freya questioned, and Lorna took a long drink from her glass, searching for some strength within it. Lorna nodded resolutely but Freya carried on regardless, needing to stress her point. "We sit very close to our Spanish cousins. And our African ones."
Lorna swallowed another heavy sip of whiskey and nodded, confirming what she knew.
"You are a long way from home, Lorna," Freya spoke quietly and placed her own glass down on the vanity. She placed both of her warm hands on Lorna's palm which held the diamond, and folded up the other woman's fingers softly to cover it once more. The movement caused Lorna's bottom lip to tremble slightly as she realised that Freya was denying her gift. "There are no tea parties here, no theatres or honest men. It is not a place for you to wander with such a jewel," Freya warned, her voice soft but with a note of urgency.
"I am not weak," Lorna pulled her hand back from Freya's roughly and pocketed the diamond once more. "I came here to ask for your help, not to be ridiculed."
Freya could understand that, she did not think the woman weak. Just in the wrong company.
"I am helping you, Mrs Delaney," Freya urged the woman to sit and found herself another seat. It took time for Lorna to battle with herself enough to lower into the stool behind her. When she saw the other woman perched quietly on the seat, she continued before she spooked her away. Lorna Delaney needed to know.
"The civilisation that you have come from has not yet found this part of the world, and the further you travel, the less you will see," Freya spoke, watching Lorna drain the remainder of the whiskey from her glass. She would need an escort home this eve. "Acts that are sins where you are from, are practiced in the open. Language and culture are things you will not know, that you will not be welcomed into."
The longer that Freya described her own island, and those beyond, the less colour was present in Lorna's somber face. The visions Lorna had imagined of the land they were headed, was green, safe and new. A fresh start. She had known it would not be the same, that she would need to adapt. She had envisioned James by her side and had as such thought herself prepared. James had been in a trance since they had left that she had become accustomed to. His barked orders at the crew, at her, had left her no opportunity to expand on where they were going. In the back of her mind she had known that she was fearful of the answers that he would give to her. Freya could almost see the connections in Lorna's brain confirming her fears, considering her past and future.
"James knows of the unknowns that you speak of," Lorna spoke, pulling herself from her thoughts and Freya was not sure whether her statement was directed at her, or was spoken as an attempt to calm her own fears.
"I am certain that he does," Freya nodded, "And yet, he would take you there. Take you to a place where you will not be welcome."
Lorna's gaze flicked to her own, and Freya could see unwavering loyalty in her eyes. "He will keep me safe."
Freya wondered why, if Lorna was so sure, that she had stayed to listen. She would offer her an out. She could not save her sister. Nor her mother. But maybe this woman, who had done no wrong except put her trust in a traitor.
"James Delaney is but one man, in an ocean where your screams would never be heard. Your body never found. Do you suspect that he would be by your side constantly, or would his business take precedence?"
Lorna's chin dropped slightly and her eyes glazed with tears, clearly these words were familiar to her. She had wondered them herself before.
"Will you be safe, in a world unknown, surrounded by a crew of paid criminals who would be offered the treasures of the new world? Do you trust all of the men on board that ship to turn down unseen jewels, unknown pleasures, just to protect you?"
Lorna's chair scraped back as she stood suddenly. She had heard enough, as evidence by the tears on her pale cheeks. As she gathered her skirts with shaky hands, Freya laid gentle fingertips on her velvet-clad wrist.
"I will help you to sail back to your home, to safety," Freya offered slowly, knowing before she had finished her sentence that Lorna would decline. Her loyalties ran deep. Loyalties, or maybe fear. Lorna did not raise her eyes again but shook her head slightly.
"I do not have a home any longer."
Brushing past her, Lorna rushed through the cabin door in a breeze of lillies, and Freya was once again left with the sound of rushed footsteps making their way off her ship. She did not need to turn to watch her leave, nor know that Taylor had make his way back down to her cabin.
"Follow her home, make sure no troubles come to her," Freya spoke clearly, slightly shaken by her conversation with the woman. "Do not get too close, Mr Delaney is a dangerous man."
No answer came from behind her, but the heavy boots on the deck indicated that he was following her order. Sighing deeply, Freya refilled her glass almost to the top. For not the first time this week, she prepared numb herself to the point where she hoped she could no longer feel a sinking dread leaking into her chest…
Weeeelllllll what do you think? Next up:
James is not pleased when Lorna returns and can no longer look him in the eye. He finds himself more and more willing to make the words of a certain captain become reality… to see her ships at the bottom of the ocean.