Havana 1558
Disguised as a man, Isabella Espina was moving freely in a world that would have otherwise confined her. Among sailors, superstition ruled, and a woman aboard was said to bring ruin. Her secret was known to only one person: Captain John Roxton.
By day, they were allies. When night fell, the façade dropped. In the safety of John Roxton's arms, Isabella was free to be herself. The hardened pirate faded, and in his place stood a beautiful and passionate woman. Isabella was both John's equal in skill and the woman who had stolen his heart. Their nights were theirs alone. They made love with the intensity of people who knew their lives were always at risk, savoring every second as though it might be their last. They were so intoxicated by each other that they sought every opportunity to be together, no matter where they were. It didn't matter if it was beneath the stars on the ship's deck, hidden away in a forgotten corner of a port town, or in the middle of chaos of preparations for their next raid. Their passion knew no boundaries.
On the night before the raid of the tobacco plantation, they were stationed in a small, makeshift camp just beyond the reach of the plantation's guards. The crew slept scattered among the trees, but John and Isabella had claimed a modest tent as their own. The canvas walls provided little more than privacy from curious eyes, but it was enough.
"We raid right after midnight," John murmured.
"Then we should probably get some sleep," she replied.
"Agreed," John said but instead of lying down, he leaned in, capturing her mouth in a deep, passionate kiss.
"So much for sleeping..." Isabella said, when their lips parted.
"How can I sleep, when I haven't tasted your lips one more time?"
He captured her mouth again, this time slower, deeper, savoring the kiss. His teeth gently grazed her lower lip, drawing a soft gasp from her.
"And your neck," he continued, pressing a warm, lingering kiss against her throat.
"Your bosom," he whispered, as he kissed the delicate curve above her dress.
When they later lay together, she was sleeping peacefully, and John couldn't fathom how such a woman could exist—so beautiful, so fierce, so utterly passionate—and yet, she was his. He found himself staring at her in awe. What had he done to deserve this? What had he done to earn the favor of God Himself, to be rewarded with such a treasure?
When the time came for the raid, John and Isabella dressed in silence. Slipping from their tent, they merged with the darkness. They were following the head guard, a man they had tracked since Santiago de Cuba. He patrolled the plantation's edge, his torchlight lighting up the tall tobacco plants. He addressed one of the sentries nearby.
"Has everything been set up?" He asked.
"Don't worry, sir. We've got everything sorted," the sentry said.
"We'll soon see, won't we? You must double the watch this evening."
"Double, sir? Whatever for?"
"I believe I was followed here. By pirates, if my eyes honor me. Although the ship was uncommonly large for such rascals."
"Pirates, sir? Here?"
"Just follow my orders. Double the watch."
The head guard parted ways with the sentry as he proceeded to bark orders to the scattered guards.
"You up there! Look alive! You've got a job to do!" he shouted at the watchman stationed in the lookout tower.
As he approached the large alarm bell, he snapped at the guard swaying unsteadily beside it. "For God's sake, how do you suppose you'll be able to ring that alarm if you're piss drunk and barely able to stand?"
The head guard moved further into the plantation, unaware of the two shadows that followed his every move.
When John and Isabella sensed the moment was right, they moved into action. They began eliminating guards one by one. They didn't kill most of them—instead, they used small darts coated with a sleep-inducing toxin. The guards crumpled silently to the ground, unconscious but unharmed. By morning, they would wake groggy but alive. However, not every encounter allowed for mercy. Two, perhaps three guards proved too alert, too dangerous. For them, John's blade struck true, swift and final.
When the path was cleared, John and Isabella reached the large storage barn. Together, they opened the heavy wooden doors. Inside, they smelled the sweet, earthy aroma of dried tobacco, bundled and ready for transport. At that moment, the rest of their crew emerged from the shadows. The sailors worked quickly, loading sacks of tobacco, crates of supplies, and anything else of value they could carry.
They celebrated that evening on the deck. Barrels of rum were opened, and mugs were passed around as the crew sang rowdy sea shanties. Isabella, back in her guise as Joaquín, was leaning against a stack of crates and watching the revelry. She exchanged subtle glances with John, who stood a few feet away, a mug of rum in hand, a parot on his shoulder and a rare look of ease on his face.
John raised his mug to the crew. "To the finest band of scoundrels the sea has ever known!"
The crew erupted in cheers, clanging their mugs together as they roared their approval. Then, as if on cue, they started singing a triumphant sea shanty:
"Heave away, me jollies, heave away!
We've plundered well this fine, fine day!
Heave away, me hearties, heave away!
And sail to freedom with no delay!"
John looked at Isabella. A roll of the freshly stolen tobacco was balanced between her fingers and in she held a mug of rum in her other hand, raising it occasionally for a long, careless sip. To anyone watching, she was the very image of a roguish pirate, confident, even cocky, as she laughed and bantered with the men around her. She played the part so convincingly that even John sometimes forgot the truth beneath the disguise. But as she exhaled a plume of smoke, her sharp eyes briefly met his and he was reminded of the fierce, beautiful woman hiding in plain sight.