Moonlight on the Caribbean

Chapter Thirteen

Shawn never failed to be awed by the abruptness of sunrise at sea.  One moment, all was dark, and he could navigate his ship by starlight; the next, a flash of orange lit up the sky.  Black became grey, and grey became blue.  If he closed his eyes for a mere moment, he missed it.  This morning, though, his thoughts were more prosaic.  He wondered where Belle was, and if she was witnessing the same sunrise.  Did her thoughts dwell on him with as much regularity as his did on her?

For a week, he had been sailing out upon the Caribbean, upon the trail of the Vengeance.  Each day, his patience wore a little thinner.  Each day, he looked out over the waves, hoping against hope for the first sight of his former friend's ship.  He had yet to understand Brady's motives for their capture.  Part of him wanted to believe the pirate truly had believed the Dolphin was in danger of attack, but the more sensible side of his nature showed the holes in that theory.  Blackheart was no fool.  What would prompt him to make such a move?

He could not help blaming himself to some degree for this turn of events.  After all, it had been he who first mentioned the Dolphin to Brady, who first told him of the impending arrival of the British ambassador—an ambassador who just happened to be his future father-in-law.  He could only assume the capture related entirely to that piece of information, which was supposed to have remained confidential from all except a few high-ranking officials in colonial government.  Yet Shawn had trumpeted the news to a pirate for the sake of a friendship which turned out could not have been very meaningful.  If Brady had trusted and respected him, he would have taken Shawn into his confidence.  Instead, the last Commander Brady had seen of him, Blackheart had been running out of the tavern with a head full of state secrets.  Damn his folly!

He could not say he worried about Belle's safety.  Despite his belief that he had mistaken the virtue of the man, Shawn still held fast to Brady's honor.  Blackheart would willingly run through man, woman, and child if they had Spanish blood flowing through their veins, but he had a great respect for all things English.  No, Belle was alive and unharmed.  He was certain of that.

Shawn's fear was on a more personal level.  He dreaded the thought of what could happen to Belle's fragile heart in a world of such brutality.  What horrible sights must she see in such a place?  He worried too that perhaps she would not come back to him the same sweet girl she had been; more than that, he worried she might not come back to him at all.

He was muttering a quiet prayer for her safe return, when he heard footsteps approaching.  Pulling himself militarily erect, he turned for the salute of his second-in-command, Rex Evans.  "Commander."

"What do you want, Lieutenant?" he asked sharply.

The tall sandy-haired sailor looked hurt at his captain's curt tone.  He had always considered himself to be one of the few men the commander took into his confidence, and that responsibility meant a lot to him.  He respected Shawn Brady and trie to emulate his honor and integrity in all things.  "I wished to inquire into your well-being, Commander," he returned in an injured tone.  "But as I see you're in no mood for interruption—"

"No, no," Shawn sighed, waving his hand.  "I apologize, Rex.  You disturbed a miserable fellow, I'm afraid."

"We'll find her, Commander."  Rex looked at his superior with a combination of sympathy and determination.  "You have the greatest ship and crew in the entire Caribbean at your command."

Shawn turned back to the rail, a wry smile crossing over his face.  "Thank you, Rex.  But we both know that's not true.  I have the second-best ship in the Caribbean.  Blackheart has the best with him."  He returned his vigilant gaze across the water, willing the Vengeance to appear on the horizon. 

~~*~~

Belle paused in her labors for only a moment as a glint of orange invaded the darkness of the hull.  She stood frozen, watching light fill the room which only a moment ago had been completely black, except for the small area illuminated by her lamp.  She closed her eyes and allowed the warmth of the sun to penetrate through the window and onto her chilled skin.  She needed the momentary relief.

In a few seconds, the sunrise was past, and the spell was broken.  Thankfully, at least, the hull was lighter now.  She turned back to survey the array of people watching her with a combination of awe and affection.  She smiled back and picked up a little girl who tugged on the hem of her skirt, dipping her down and back up again, causing the room to be filled with childish giggles.

Belle had been unceasing in her labors with these people in the week since they had come aboard.  Every morning, she descended to the hull before sunrise to begin preparing breakfast, and she didn't leave again until long after sundown when Mimi, Chloe, and Jason had to beg, plead, and occasionally drag her away to get some rest.  She couldn't help it.  For the first time in her life, she actually felt useful.  Years and years of education on how to be a proper English lady had taught her nothing more than how to be a helpless, lazy, fragile doll.  Now, she was finally getting a chance to realize life stretched beyond the sedate walls of drawing rooms and sitting parlors.

These people needed her, and in a strange way, she needed them as well.  Her entire young life had been spent in a constant effort to earn approval and never feeling she quite measured up.  Her father loved her, she knew, but not enough for her to take away the pain when he thought about the life he had lost.  Her mother's own life had been plagued with bitterness.  Her first marriage to a man she loved had ended with her as an impoverished widow; her second had been a marriage of convenience and contained little love in it.  Belle could not help feeling at times that her mother wished she was never born.  At least, she knew she would never mean to either of her parents what their other children did.  The phantom of Brady haunted her father, and Lady Marlena dispensed all the love she had left in her heart upon Belle's half-siblings, Samantha and Eric.

Was it any wonder the young Lady Black turned to outside sources for validation?  Hers was an open, loving nature, but one that thrived on the good opinions of others.  She had found that, for a while, in a maid who looked up to her as the pinnacle of perfection and a best friend who adored the sweet nature in such opposition to her own.  But both of them had seemed to be slipping away from her since they took to sea.  While they had attended her during her illness and labored beside her daily now, she felt the distance growing between them.  Perhaps it was all part of growing up, but the three friends were seeing their lives pulling them in different directions.  Although, at times, Belle wondered if maybe Chloe and Mimi were traveling along the same path—a path she not only could not follow, she couldn't even see it.

Then there was Shawn.  A sad smile tugged at her lips as she thought of her fiancé.  Commander Shawn Douglas Brady had made her feel, for the first time in her life, that she could be happy—that she was worthy of being loved for who she was.  But it had been four months since she had seen him, four long months since he had held her in his arms and declared his undying love for her.  Now, she could only wonder where he was, what he was doing, and if his love did, in fact, still hold true.

But now, there was something beyond Shawn, something more important than even he was.  She was not only loved by the people around her; she was treasured, idolized, and needed.  It was the dearest feeling she had ever had.  For once, Belle felt important.  She felt there was some purpose to her life, other than wallowing in her own self-pity.  So she waited upon them, feeding the starving, bandaging cuts, sitting by sick beds, rocking children to sleep.  True to his word, Jason had begun teaching her the language, and she was now able to converse—in a broken, disjointed way—with the people surrounding her. 

While Jason stood by as a nominal guard, everyone knew no harm would come to Belle.  Even the man who had spit on her feet now bowed as she walked past him.  She had been simultaneously adopted as one of their own and claimed as their savior.  No longer did disgruntled murmurings run through the crowd when the pirates came in sight.  Indeed, a kind of bantering through sign language and deck games had been established between the men.  The children flocked around Belle, crowding her skirts for their turn in her arms, while the young women had taken to trying to style their hair in the intricate ways she did.

Mimi, Chloe, and Jan did their parts, but their duty was perfunctory; a way to please Belle and fill the long, hot hours of the day.  It was true Mimi found some satisfaction in giving bread to the starving, and Chloe had bonded with the children, even going so far as to sing them to sleep at nights—charming more than the children with the sweetness of her voice.  Yet on the whole, it was Belle who spearheaded their efforts, and it was Belle to whom the people meant the world. 

~~*~~

Mimi watched with silent approval as Belle knelt beside an old man's bedside.  She had known this would be good for Belle.  Even her constant worry about Belle's health was gradually giving way as she saw how much good this activity was doing for her.  Already, she looked stronger, healthier, more alive than Mimi could ever remember seeing her.  Actually, she thought, her gaze traveling to Chloe, Belle wasn't alone in that department.  Lady Wesley—always glowing with life—had seemed to come on fire over the past few weeks they'd been at sea.

If there had been a mirror for her to glance in, Miriam Lockhart might have seen that "life" wasn't confining itself to the two ladies.  For her entire life, Mimi had carried herself with a kind of innate dignity which rivaled her mistress's.  It had given her a regality which put her above her status as a mere lady's maid, but it had also given her a chill air of unreality about her.  Now, no one could accuse her of being made of stone.  Her green eyes sparkled with a secret passion; her cheeks glowed as if in a perpetual state of laughter; even the way she styled her hair now was looser, freer. 

Since the night Jason and she had kissed, her inner life had been one of continual agitation.  She could not help replaying every moment of it inside her head.  The comforting caresses, leading into the breath-stealing kiss.  She could only imagine what would have happened after that if Chloe hadn't walked in when she did.  That had been enough for Mimi to recover herself and jump out of Jason's lap, though the only emotion apparent on Lady Wesley's face was amusement.  Jason had made a hasty exit, and she had not been alone with him since then.

Perhaps that was a good thing.  Seeing him always in front of Belle and Chloe had given her a chance to get control of her nerves.  She could speak to him now without a stutter or a telltale blush.  In fact, any embarrassment she might have felt if she had been forced again into a secluded interview with him immediately following the event was now gone.  She felt only a growing desire to speak with him again.

In the meantime, she was enjoying working with Belle, Chloe, and Jason.  Though the labor occupied the majority of their days, there were still moments for talking and giggling with her friends.  Jason himself had proved to be a man with a wonderful sense of humor, managing to send both the English girls and the native men into fits of laughter several times a day.  She also noticed that while he displayed no overt signs of affection for her in front of the others, he was never far from her.  He seemed to make a special effort to draw her into conversation, and she often found his hand at her elbow as he escorted the ladies to and from their cabins every morning and evening.  Who could blame her then if she was growing to depend on him, to want him near her at all times?

"You seem pensive today, Mimi," observed Chloe as she sliced bread for breakfast and Mimi did the same with papaya.  "Jason Masters wouldn't happen to have anything to do with it, now would he?"  The lady could not hide her arch look at the blush that predictably rose into the maid's cheeks. 

Mimi let the knife fall onto the makeshift counter, as she took a frenzied look around to make sure Jason was not within hearing distance.  She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw him conversing with Belle and one of the native men.  "Shh," she hissed.  "Keep your voice down."

Chloe raised an eyebrow, trying to look stern but barely managing to repress her laughter.  "My, my, we have gone a long way from 'yes, m'lady, no, m'lady,' haven't we?"

The maid bit her lip, looking properly chastened.  "I beg pardon, my lady.  I spoke—"

"Oh, Mimi, stop it," Chloe interrupted.  "I was only trying to tease you.  If anyone should apologize, I suppose it's me.  I was being impertinent, but I really was simply trying to torment you a bit.  You are always so possessed about the way you feel, and I'm not sure how to deal with that."

Mimi returned her attention to the food, trying to hide her red face from the lady's sight.  "My lady, if you truly wish me to speak candidly to you…" she hesitated, indecision written over her expression.

"Go on, Mimi," Chloe returned quietly, her jovial mood falling off as quickly as it had come upon her.  "You know I have nothing but the highest respect for your opinions—even when they fall in condemnation of me."

The red-haired beauty dared raise her eyes to the lady after such words of encouragement.  "Then, perhaps you will take these words in the spirit in which they are offered.  This is no Sunday afternoon cruise we are on.  We have been abducted, are in the heart of a pirate ship, and any day—"

Chloe tossed her head disdainfully.  "You think I don't know that, Mimi?  I understand exactly our precarious position.  If I hadn't before, the battle and these people before us would be proof enough of it.  The problem is I do not feel myself a captive, and I don't believe you do either in your heart of hearts.  You are falling for Mr. Masters as completely as I am for the captain.  Don't deny it, Mimi."

A wistful smile crossed Mimi's features as she looked across the room to study Jason's profile.  His strong laughter carried over to her.  "I do not deny it.  I couldn't even if I wanted to after what you saw.  But you misunderstood what I was about to say.  I was not warning you about the danger of the pirates; I wanted to remind you that we will not be here forever.  Shawn will come after us with the whole of His Majesty's Royal Navy, and then what?  What will be sheer joy for Belle and her father will be the end for us."  Her eyes once again sought out Jason's rugged profile, and the smile on her face faded altogether.  She couldn't bear to think of losing him.

"You're right," Chloe whispered, the horror of that inevitable event dawning on her.  She could see already the outcome of Shawn's pursuit.  The Vengeance would not even fight the attack.  Brady had already hinted as much.  And then Brady and Jason and all the rest of them would be taken and hanged, and she would be alone…No, not alone.  She would be Mrs. Philip Kiriakis, spending out the rest of her days in the hopeless boredom of a plantation owner's wife and drowning in memories of the few short weeks when she had actually lived her life.  Tears unexpectedly pricked her eyes, and the knife she was holding clattered as it slipped from her fingers.  "Excuse me, Mimi, I…I—"

Mimi's heart was moved with pity and self-recrimination at the stricken look on Chloe's face.  "Oh, my lady, I'm sorry.  I should not have spoken.  I did not mean to upset you."

Chloe shook her head.  "It's not your fault.  But…I need some air."  With a frantic twirl of her skirts, the lady abandoned the hull which was closing in around her in favor of the open sea and sky from which she found her strength.

Mimi watched her go, sighing at her own foolishness.  Just because such thoughts tormented her didn't give her the right to bring Chloe down with her.  Holding back her own tears, she picked up the knife Chloe had dropped and finished slicing the bread.  It was easy for her to drown out her thoughts and rioting emotions in menial chores.  She had been doing it all her life.

Her task was halted by the feeling of two strong, roughened hands on her elbows.  "Mimi, are you all right?  What happened with Chloe?"  Jason's voice was a barely discernible whisper in her ear.

She closed her eyes, savoring the feel of his touch on her skin, of the warmth of his body behind her.  Moments like this she must remember long after he was gone.  "Nothing," she returned, the effort of speech almost choking her. 

Gentle pressure from his hands turned her around until she was confronted with the probing gaze of his emerald eyes—so like hers.  "Come on, Mimi," he said finally, taking her by the hand.  "We need to talk."  He tried to lead her out of the room.

Mimi pulled her hand out of his grasp, shaking her head.  "I need to serve breakfast."

"Lady Black and Jan will take care of it," he returned, in a voice that boded no argument.  "There are things we need to discuss.  I've been putting this off too long."  Without another word, he succeeded in pulling her away from her duty and out into the private corridor. 

Jason's eyes raked over her, taking in the lavender dress under the thick brown apron.  Her hair was pulled up in its traditional French twist, but already wisps had fallen down to frame her face.  Before long, he knew the sunlight streaming in, coupled with her work, would bring the sweat to her brow and the hair would stick to her face.  He had seen it happen every day for the last week, and she still was beautiful.  Unable to resist the impulse, he reached out and brushed the unruly tendrils back behind her ear. 

Despite herself, Mimi leaned into his touch, as his fingers paused to caress her cheek.  Taking the gentle encouragement, Jason forgot all the words he was going to speak and leaned closer to her.  His eyes flickered to hers once, asking permission, before settling on her lips.  One arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her to him, while the other hand abandoned her cheek to cup the back of her neck, moving her face closer to his. 

Mimi released the smallest of sighs before his lips touched down upon hers for the second time.  No grief intermingled with the affection to mar this kiss.  It was warm and passionate, as Jason seemed determined to memorize every facet of her lips.  She had no protest to make as he backed her up against the wall behind her.  Her hands snaked into his hair, pulling him closer, allowing more intimacy.  Of its own accord, her mouth parted to allow him greater access.  She released a moan of pure ecstasy the moment his tongue brushed against hers.  This was heaven.

An eternity later, Jason pulled away, that familiar, lovable, hated smirk firmly in place.  "I've been wanting to tell you that all week long."

A small smile made its way to Mimi's lips as she made no attempt to free herself from his embrace.  She felt comfortable in his arms, safe and right.  All her worries about what might happen—no, what would happen—in the near future fled as she stared into Jason's green eyes.  "What stopped you?" she found herself asking, almost flirtatiously.  Was this self-controlled, strong, independent Mimi Lockhart speaking?  No, that girl she had been had disappeared with Jason's first touch.  She was his now, whatever might come.

"People," he said, with quiet sincerity, as his eyes flickered to the door behind them.

"No one's here now," Mimi pointed out, glancing around them.  She was still smiling as his lips touched hers.  With growing familiarity, they explored the kiss, the magical blending of their lips.  Mimi felt near to fainting by the time Jason pulled away again.

Groaning, Jason allowed his arms to drop their hold of her, as his hand made the familiar pathway through his hair.  Her lips, still swollen from his kisses, eagerly awaited their next assault, and her eyes questioned his desertion.  He was so tempted to succumb to that desire in her expression, but he couldn't.  Not yet.  "Look, Mimi, I don't want you to think I brought you out here, just so I could kiss you."

Mimi frowned.  "Why did you bring me here then, Jason?"

"Well, to kiss you, of course," he teased, with a wink, bringing her smile shining back.  His own expression grew serious though.  "But I had planned on talking to you first.  I wanted you to know…well, first, I suppose I wanted to thank you."

"Thank me?" Mimi echoed stupidly.  "What have I done?"

"You listened to me.  I know I didn't want to talk about…what happened, but you were right.  It was good for me.  I don't think I had really allowed myself to grieve since Maria and Tanama died."  Mimi looked ready to interrupt, but Jason waved her into silence.  "But I want you to know that the kiss we shared…it wasn't because of that, because you were comforting me."  He stopped, frowning as he tried to put into words what he felt.  Words had never been the pirate's strong suit. He had never needed them before.  "Well, partly it was…but I have feelings for you, Mimi.  I have since the moment I saw you, and they keep getting stronger all the time.  After Maria died, I thought I would never love again.  I thought I had my chance, and I lost it.  Now, I feel like I have—for whatever reason—this second chance, and I would be a fool to throw it away."

Mimi's raised eyebrow was her only visible response.  "Are you done now?" she asked curtly. 

Jason nodded, feeling suddenly sheepish for having been so straightforward towards her.  Maybe she didn't feel the same way…Maybe she still didn't trust him or any man…Maybe…

"Good."  Without another word, her arms had wrapped around his neck and pulled his head down towards hers for another all-consuming kiss.  For the time being, she didn't care about consequences.  Oh, they would catch up to her, she was sure.  But for the moment, all that mattered was the love she found in Jason's arms.

~~*~~

The boat rocked violently with the force of the storm, but the three souls in the cabin felt safe and warm.  Snuggled together under the blankets of the large bed, they listened to the rain pound down and the thunder roar with no thought for their safety.  Surely, nothing could happen to them here.  Theirs was a gorgeous, new-built clipper ship.  No storm would be able to sink it.

The littlest of the trio certainly had no worries of the kind.  His pudgy arms were wrapped securely around his mother's neck, as he slumbered peacefully on.  The dusky rose of his chubby cheeks contrasted with the gentle fluttering of his black eyelashes on them, his cherubic mouth half-open as his deep breathing made itself felt against his mother's heart.

She smiled softly, as she stroked the baby-fine blonde hair.  Peace was in her heart as well.  Her arms were full of this little bit of baby-love, and to her back, she felt the familiar hardness of her husband's body.  His arm held her close to him, as he buried his face in her dark, curly hair.  This was safety.  This was contentment.  Nothing could ever shatter the feeling of security she had in her husband's arms, with their baby in her own.

He felt it too.  All was right with the world as long as he held his loved ones close to his heart.  Storms could rail, lightning could strike, but nothing could break this forever bond.  "Isabella," he murmured, against her neck.

"Hmm," she sighed contentedly. 

"What are you thinking about?"  He pushed himself up on one elbow to look down into the face of his beloved; her forehead was creased with some secret contemplation. 

"I was wondering if it was right for one person to be so happy.  Surely, there are checks and balances in this world, and yet here I am."  That beatific smile he had fallen in love with spread across her face as she dipped her head to inhale her son's baby scent and kiss his head.  "I have my son."  She turned her head to lay a soft kiss on her husband's lips.  "I have you.  I doubt anyone has been this content since the world began.  So where is the suffering to counteract all this?"

His arms tightened around her.  "Do you know what I think, my love?  I think there will be no reckoning for us.  Your goodness brings goodness to us."

Isabella's smile turned a bit sad as she shook her head.  "No, John.  If earth was perfect here and now, where would be the longing for heaven?"

"I have heaven here, in my arms," he maintained, placing a kiss on her brow. 

"Then, I shan't stay in them for long," she contradicted, as a dreadful knowing entered her eyes.  "Mortals are not meant for too much happiness.  But John…whatever happens…"  Her hand reached out to clutch his arm, as her frightened look pierced his heart.  "Whatever happens, I'll love you always.  I swear it.  I swear it on the proof of our love, on our little Brady in my arms."

Longing to pacify his wife and have back that fleeting moment of contentment, John kissed her lips softly and then laid his hand on his son's head.  His hand was so big, it nearly covered the whole.  "Our son is the living proof of all the love I bear you.  No one and nothing could take away from that love.  Not as long as I live."  His blue eyes blazed into hers, before covering her mouth in a more passionate kiss. 

The lovers' moment was interrupted by a frantic pounding on the door.  "Lord and Lady Black!  You must get out, above deck.  The ship is going down…"

Brady once again had the feeling that though his father's eyes were on him, his thoughts were miles away.  What could account for that glazed look upon his face?  A moment ago, he could have sworn he saw a semblance of a smile cross the viscount's face; now, there was only pain.  His eyes flashed again and again with some remembered horror.  "Your Lordship?" he prompted, trying to draw him out of a vision so obviously painful.

John started, as the image of twenty-foot waves and black skies dissolved into the reality of a wooden room with iron bars, and a black-masked man keeping guard.  He thought he saw a flash of concern in the pirate's eyes before his face was wiped carefully expressionless.  The boy was a good actor, but eyes didn't lie.  Blue eyes, deep as the sea, crystal as the sky.  Eyes like his own.  "Yes, Captain?"  He managed to make his voice steady and emotionless.  Blackheart wasn't the only one who knew how to pretend.

"I believe you were having a waking nightmare of sorts, my lord.  I thought I would draw you out of it."

The older man nodded once, in silent thanks.  Those memories were pulling him down with greater and greater frequency now.  He didn't even have to be asleep anymore for his wife's image to appear before him.  It was almost as if he was being prepared for something…something at which he could only hazard a guess.  He studied the pirate in silence for a moment more, before venturing, "So what happened after?"

Brady's expression turned to one of confusion.  "After what?"

"After your mother died," John pressed.  "What brought you from the grieving little boy to the vengeful pirate?"

Brady immediately tensed, shrugging his shoulders in an unsuccessful attempt to appear nonchalant.  "What happens to all little boys?  I grew up."

"Yes, but where?  How?"  There was an urgency now to John's questions, as though he feared it would be his only chance to ask them.

Correctly reading how important his answers were to his father, Brady pushed aside his personal discomfort in order to relieve Lord Black's mind.  "I stayed at the monastery.  I eagerly learned everything they taught me.  I kissed their cursed crucifix, and in return, they gave me everything I needed to destroy them.  They taught me Spanish.  They taught me fencing.  At fourteen, my head full of tales of those blasted English pirates, I ran off to become a cabin boy on the first galley heading to the Caribbean. 

"I jumped ship within sight of land.  I didn't even know what island it was then or who had claimed it.  I just wanted to be free.  Luckily enough, I had stumbled across Jamaica.  Making my way to Port Royal, I joined a pirate ship about to sail.  They laughed at my enthusiasm, but their laughter died the moment I told them about the galley I had traveled over on…its exact location, where it was going to pick up its load of silver, and the weaknesses that would make it fall into their hands."  He laughed harshly.  "The rest, I suppose, is history.  I hoarded my takings until I was able to buy my own boat, and I've been making my own raids ever since." 

Sorrow swam over John's face as he stared at the bitter man before him.  If it was indeed his Brady, then he was only twenty-four.  Far too young to be so hardened.  "How old were you…"  He paused, the words nearly strangling him.  "How old were you when you first killed a man?"

The corners of Brady's mouth tipped up in a cold resemblance of a smile.  Who would have guessed his father was such a bleeding heart?  That was spoken like any sheltered English lord was apt to speak, he supposed.  "I could not have been older than fifteen, my lord.  But you must understand, to me, murder, death, is only one more aspect of life.  The harshest, 'tis true, but death comes to all men.  I have killed more than my share, and my life will be forfeit in consequence.  Justice will be served.  I am under no delusions about that."

"Then why do you do it?  Why do you murder and pillage and kidnap?" John demanded, delving nearer the heart of the matter.  "I sense you are a good man, with a good heart.  What makes you do such horrible things if you know you will be made to pay for them?"

Brady's jaw clenched as his father echoed all the questions of his own conscience.  He combated the accusations in the same way.  "If I don't, then who will make them pay?  My mother's life was worth something too, and I'll be damned before I let her murderers go unpunished."

"So you've made yourself judge and jury and found a whole race of people guilty for the sins of a few?" his father challenged. 

Unconsciously, Brady's hand tightened around his sword hilt.  "If you knew what they did to her, if you had seen what I did, if you knew what I knew, you wouldn't ask me why I am what I am.  You would join me in slitting the throat of every Spaniard you came across."

John had to admit the boy had a point.  The thought of his Isabella—if it was indeed his Isabella—in the hands of the Inquisitors was enough to turn his stomach, to scream to heaven for revenge.  "No doubt you're right, Captain, but I have one last question to ask you.  What would she want you to do?"  He knew his IzzyB.  If this was his son, Isabella would have taught him the faith she took such comfort from, the belief in mercy and grace towards all men.

Brady rose from his seat, turning his face away from his father's knowing gaze, as he leaned onto one of the hanging buttresses towards the wall.  He didn't want to hear these things.  He had spent so long focusing on the way his mother died he had forgotten how she lived.  On the most miserable of his nights, when he would sneak down to be by her side and find her sweet face beaten beyond recognition, the rags covering her body not enough to hide the bony ribs and spine which poked through from the excess of starvation.  And still, even then, she would speak to him of forgiveness, of God's love, of her love, of his father's love.  Love, she spoke of.  Love, she believe in.  Love, she lived.  Not hate, not death, not judgment. 

"Have faith."

"Why do you torture me now?" he groaned miserably under his breath.  His entire face contorted with the pain of allowing in those memories.  He didn't want to remember.

"Your mother was an incredible woman."

If John held any last doubt about the captain being his son, it disappeared with the sudden panic and wonder in Brady's eyes as he whirled around.  He tried to hide the reaction after the fact, but the damage was already done.  "You…you…how do you know my mother?"  He tried to sound casual, but he knew he failed miserably. 

John's reply was halted by the pounding on the door that signaled Kevin's arrival.  In retrospect, Brady considered it a fortunate occurrence.  Some things were better left unspoken.  As he made his way topside, he mulled over these new discoveries.  It was quite possible John now knew who he was…Of course, it was equally probable that me was speaking generally from what he knew of good Christian mothers. 

Either way, Brady knew a repeat of that conversation was most likely inevitable…and he knew now why he had been so reluctant to reveal his identity to his family.  He knew he was going to die.  All along, as they planned the abduction from the Dolphin, he and Jason had left one thing unsaid.  The inevitable conclusion of their actions was their own deaths.  Whether Shawn or some other English naval officer caught up with them, they would be hanged for their offences.  And yet, they had to allow themselves to be caught for the sake of Lord Black and the women within their care.  They would not truly be safe until they were in government custody.

And so, Brady must die.  It hadn't particularly bothered him before.  One thing a man in his profession learned to accept was the unavoidability of death.  It was what made them so fearless in battle.  Kill or be killed was a way of life.  But there was no fear of death.  How could there be when there was nothing to live for?  He had been quite happy without any ties to this life.  He had been prepared to meet his Maker and face his certain future in Hell.

Then, he had found reasons to live.  He had found his father.  He had found his sister.  He had found her.  Suddenly, death didn't seem like such a pleasant alternative.  For the first time since his mother's death, he wanted to live…just as he was about to die.

He needed the fresh sea air on his face to carry away his worries.  The calming effects of the Trade Winds had never yet failed him.  He knew they wouldn't now.  Lifting the hatch, he climbed above deck and surveyed the sea stretching on as far as the eye could see.  This was peace.  This was the serenity for which he yearned.  Only his satisfaction was short-lived as he noticed once again Chloe was standing against the rail, staring out to sea.

She didn't seem to notice his appearance this time, however.  Her face wasn't raised to the sky as it always had been before.  The bright blue sky of the afternoon was apparently not as attractive to her as its nightly counterpart.  Her head was lowered, as she contemplated the endless depth of the sea.  The wind played with her long, dark hair, scattering tendrils to the waves, but she took no notice.

Brady frowned.  Something about the slump of her shoulders told him all was not well with her.  His personal problems no longer concerned him as he was filled with worry for her.  "Chloe?" he questioned softly, as he closed the gap between them with sure, long strides.  "Are you all right?"

The enchanting face lifted towards his was lined with tear-tracks.  Remnants still swam in her eyes, rivaling the ocean with their depth.  She shook her head in answer to his question.  All denial would be pointless with such clear evidence before him.  Not waiting to hear the reason for her sorrow, acting purely on instinct, Brady folded her within his arms.  She leaned her head against his solid chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart and deriving comfort from it.  He whispered soothing words in her ear and stroked the silky strands of her hair. 

Chloe could have stayed like that forever, safe and happy in the close confine of his arms.  But the moment was shattered as Brady pulled away to look into her eyes.  His thumbs gently rubbed away the last vestiges of her tears.  "What's wrong, Chloe?  Tell me."

She shook off his touch, the reason for her distress coming back to her as she looked into the crystal eyes full of such concern.  She tried to sound aloof and cold, though she knew the trembling of her voice gave her away, as she asked, "What are you going to do when Commander Brady catches up to us?"

Brady pulled back as though she had struck him.  How could she know exactly the direction his thoughts had taken today?  Had hers followed a similar path?  Be that as it may, he could not force himself to lie to her.  "Nothing.  I'm not going to anything, m'lady."

Chloe winced, as the reality of Mimi's words was brought home.  "They'll hang you," she whispered desperately, pleading with him to offer her some assurance to the contrary.

"Yes," he responded.  There was no quaver to his voice.  His eyes didn't falter.  They only flashed a slight pity for her.  For himself, he cared not at all.  Only for her. 

"Then…then…that's why you pushed me away," she struggled to speak over the tears that were rising again into her sapphire eyes.  "You want to spare me that pain."

He didn't deny it.  He merely watched her, arms crossed, as the full weight of the situation sank in on her.  For a moment, the lady looked ready to break, and he wondered if she would faint again.  But he underestimated the determination and strength of Lady Chloe Wesley.  Within the space of one deep breath, she had pushed back every last hint of her tears and raised her chin, as if to spite death itself.  Her eyes met his directly, as stoic and controlled as his own.  If this was his fate, then it was hers as well.  She had made her choice long before.

"I will be spared nothing, Captain," she voiced the resolve he already knew she had. 

"Chloe…" he tried to object.

"No, Brady."  She placed her gentle hands on his crossed arms and looked up unflinchingly at him.  "If only for a week, a day, a moment...for whatever time we have, I want it.  I want to live every moment I can with you.  Whatever comes of it, whatever cruel destiny awaits us, I will not turn my back on this, on you.  To live without you would be to not live at all.  You said the emptiness afterwards would be too great if we allowed ourselves to love.  I say it would be even greater to never love at all."

Something broke inside him as he stared down into her determined face.  This was one person he could not fight, one emotion he could not run from.  His hands abandoned their defensive position to cup the back of her neck, locking her eyes with his.  With one more small nod of assent, she sealed her fate.  Brady's lips crashed violently down on hers, and they held onto each other as onto life itself.

~~*~~

"Commander?"  Rex reluctantly disturbed his captain's solitude once more. 

Shawn looked up from the maps he had been pouring over on his desk, trying to find exactly where Brady would go to hide.  "Yes?"

"We…uh, found something."  His grimace was enough to let Shawn know the discovery wasn't a pleasant one.

"Enough with the stalling, Lieutenant," Shawn growled.  "What is it?"

"I'm afraid you'll have to come see for yourself, sir," the subordinate officer said, stepping back from the doorway to the captain's cabin. 

His curiosity growing as well as his dread, Shawn followed his first mate out onto the deck.  From the crowd gathered at the railing, he knew the sight wasn't an ordinary occurrence.  No stray pod of dolphins, this.  The sailors pulled back to allow their commander through.  Shawn nearly retched at the view before him.  A small dinghy floated by his own tall ship.  It had been secured by line and was being brought up.  In the tiny boat were piled the rotting corpses of many men, some burned beyond recognition, some disemboweled, some headless, all gruesome beyond compare.  Over the heap was carelessly thrown a strip of canvas—possibly belonging formerly to a ship's topsail.  On it was distinctly written a single word: 

Vengeance.

Pulling away from the spectacle, Shawn issued his orders.  "Bring up the canvas, then sink the boat.  Let those wretches have some peace.  Lieutenant, come with me."  He returned hastily to his cabin, Rex falling dazedly behind.  Shutting the hatch behind them, Shawn's serious express turned into one of almost…glee. 

Rex watched in astonishment as Shawn bent over his map, smiling.  "Sir?"

Shawn raised his head.  "Have you ever heard of a pirate crew leaving the dead to float like that, especially with a marker that identified the ship?"

Frowning, Rex searched his memory.  "No, sir.  But then, they say the Vengeance is more ruthless than any other ship on the Caribbean, so perhaps—"

"Ruthless, yes, but stupid, no.  This means only one thing, Rex.  Do you know what it is?"  Rex only shook his head in bewilderment.  Shawn's eyes blazed as he made his confession.  "Captain Blackheart is leaving us a trail to follow.  He wants to be caught, and we're going to oblige him.  Within the fortnight, we will have the captives free."