Page 19 of Her Perfect Pirate (Northfield Hall Novellas #4)

A platoon of red-coated marines awaited them on the top deck, bayonets at the ready.

At their front, a naval captain waited in a blue wool coat frogged with gold braids and crowned with epaulets that declared his great and mighty power.

The longboat wobbled against the frigate, and Rebecca clung to Chow’s hand.

Chow, who loved her and was her not-husband.

A lieutenant came forward, sword glinting in the sun, and told them to surrender their weapons. Chow handed over the pistol in his pocket but not the knife in his boot; Rebecca made a show of untying a blade from her ankle while keeping the machete strapped to her thigh under her dress.

The lieutenant searched Boukman with rough hands, then stepped back and nodded to the captain.

They were ordered off the longboat. Mrs. Adams objected to being pulled on deck—perhaps remembering the battle that had ensued the last time Rebecca had forced her on a journey like this. Rebecca willed her own heart to beat more steadily so that the goat wouldn’t sense her fear.

“I’ve never seen a pirate wave a white flag,” the captain said. “State your name and what makes you think we might show you mercy.”

“Sharkhead Chow—”

“The name your mother gave you, pirate.”

“Martin Chow.” Standing up a little straighter, he volunteered, “Of Berkshire.”

The captain’s eyes raked across him. “Of Lord Preston’s Northfield Hall, I wager.”

Chow nodded. “I am named for him.” His words were losing the roundness of the sea, getting sharper and more English, as if in the midst of British company he had suddenly remembered an old set of manners.

Something in the captain loosened in response, and a hint of friendship stole into his expression. “I sailed with Nate Preston for a few years. I hold the family in high regard.” Then he scowled. “How disappointing that a pirate should claim a connection to them.”

Chow did not flinch at the insult. “We are no threat to you, and to prove that, we offer you a prize: the famed Captain Boukman.” Stepping back, he gestured to Boukman, who wriggled in his seat on the longboat but could not get out a word around the gag.

“Boukman.” The captain stepped forward and examined their prisoner. Even tied up, Boukman was large and intimidating, his bent limbs showing off muscles that could pound a person to dust in a matter of seconds. “The slave traders live in fear of you.”

“You may try him for piracy, theft, and all manner of violence. With his capture, your name will be celebrated in the newspapers.”

“The Admiralty doesn’t pay prize money for captured pirates. Only for captured ships.”

“Aye, but we haven’t anything worth your time. All we have right now is food, water, and animals. Some gunpowder, too, but not enough to make you a fortune.”

The captain’s eyes fell on Mrs. Adams. On Rebecca, too. It wasn’t as much of a leer as the captain of the Whimsy had given her, but it was enough to make anger harden the blood in her veins.

“This is my wife, Rebecca,” Chow said, and she realized that all this time, he had still been holding her hand.

“If you decide that Boukman isn’t enough of a prize, then I beg only that you take mercy on an honest woman.

Perhaps—” His voice wavered a little. “Perhaps even help her get to my family at Northfield Hall.”

She was no honest woman, not by any definition of the term. But Rebecca could see that Chow understood a code of honor that existed in the navy, one that cloaked her like a suit of armor by announcing her connections to a family that mattered.

It wasn’t because she was some helpless woman Chow was protecting out of the goodness of his heart.

It was because she was his wife.

And he loved her.

“You have my word.” The captain nodded as gravely as if he had made a deathbed promise. “And the goat?”

This part, Rebecca had to say herself. “Is yours, if you would like her. In gratitude for letting us continue on.”

The captain stared hard at the Ghost behind them. Whatever he was thinking, he kept it to himself. Rebecca clung to Chow’s hand. His fingers were steadfast against hers, his palm pressed just as urgently to her skin as hers was to him. If this worked, they could sail away into a new life.

If it didn’t, these were their last moments together.

“My lieutenant will inspect your ship,” the captain announced. “If, as you say, there is no evidence of looting, we have no reason to assume that you were lately involved in piracy, and we will arrest only the known pirate Boukman. Otherwise…”

Otherwise they would all be hanged.

“That’s very fair, sir,” Chow said.

They made arrangements for the inspection.

The captain selected his lieutenant and a party of twenty sailors to row over to the Ghost , while Chow wrote a note for Jack Davies—or, more specifically, the literate Fearsome Fred—to approve this plan of action.

Meanwhile, a boy in a striped shirt darted forward and took Mrs. Adams’s lead from Rebecca.

“I’ll take good care of her, ma’am,” he said, his young eyes earnest and excited. “We’ve got two other goats to keep her company, Magpie and Frivolity. What do you call her?”

“Mrs. Adams. After the wife of President Adams. She is American.”

The boy grinned. “We won’t hold that against her.”

Still, Rebecca released Chow’s hand to circle her arms around Mrs. Adams’s neck and kiss her furry brow.

They had been through so much together in the short time they had known each other.

Mrs. Adams had been her company when stranded in the storm, then her ally on the Ghost and her protector on the Whimsy .

The animal had made Rebecca feel less alone as she faced the men and nature that wanted to tear her down.

From here on out, they would have to take on the world separately. Rebecca hoped the boy was right and that Mrs. Adams was about to make goat friends and live a better life than she could hope for on the Ghost .

She watched the boy lead Mrs. Adams past the marines and saw that, at least for now, her friend was safe.

It was a parting Rebecca had made a hundred times in her life—from her friends who were adopted from the almshouse, from familiar faces when her employer pulled her from one city to another, and, somewhere deep in a memory too old to exist, from the mother who had left her on the steps of Trinity Church.

That didn’t make it any easier to do it again.

She realized that a part of her had been counting the moments until she would need to say goodbye to Chow, too. It was inevitable that something would part them: he would leave her; he would force her to leave the Ghost ; he would die; he would fall in love with someone else.

That was all still true. Their separation was, quite possibly, minutes away.

Yet she suddenly wasn’t afraid of it anymore.

Even if he was arrested and she was shepherded to mythic Northfield Hall and they never saw each other again, Rebecca felt Chow would never truly leave her.

His memory alone would be strong enough, his heart true enough, that she could conjure him to her side even if he were on the other side of the world.

Because he loved her, and he had said it aloud.

And she loved him back.

The inspection organized and Boukman carried off to the brig, the captain invited Chow and Rebecca to wait in the shade of his cabin.

As he led them away, Rebecca took Chow’s hand again and pressed close.

They were in full sight of a hundred men, and in earshot of dozens, but she didn’t care who witnessed it.

Leaping onto her tiptoes, she pressed a kiss to Chow’s cheek and declared, “I love you, too.”