he Pirate’s Betrothed Read online

  Moving took more effort than she was accustomed to. Her legs and arms felt heavy, as though she’d been shackled in irons. A loud whining buzzed in her ears, growing louder with each step closer to Abigail and her babe. She was unable to judge the length of her steps or the distance to the bed. She tripped over a bucket and fell against the bed, bumping the mattress and sending the bucket spinning sideways.

  As if in slow motion the bucket spilled its contents, splashing across the floor into the path of Hannah’s steps. Her foot slid in the sticky puddle and a metallic odor wafted in the air. Hannah slipped, nearly toppling onto the bed, but Mrs. MacCarthy intervened and set her right on her feet.

  “There’s so much blood,” Hannah whispered.

  “Never mind that.” Mrs. MacCarthy pressed a handkerchief into Hannah’s hand. “Gentle. Be gentle with them.”

  Hannah nodded, slowly lowering herself to sit on the edge of the bed. Abigail winced when the bed jostled. Her peachy pink cheeks and ivory skin were changed, gone was the liveliness, replaced by an ashen gray pallor. Dark grooves circled her cornflower blue eyes. Her dry, cracked lips moved, but no sound came.

  “Get closer. She wants to tell you something.” Mrs. MacCarthy motioned for Hannah to lean closer.

  “I don’t want to move. I don’t want to hurt her.”

  “Hannah.” The hoarse whisper of Abigail’s voice wrenched Hannah’s heart.

  “Yes, Abby?”

  “Isn’t he beautiful?” Abigail’s gaze dropped to the little bundle cuddled against her chest. “He’s perfect.”

  Swaddled so tightly in Abigail’s shawl and tucked under the blanket with his mother, the only proof to be found that he was indeed a perfect little baby was the sound of him sucking on his fingers. Hannah lifted her legs and slowly lay beside Abigail, scooting closer so she could see the face Abigail was so clearly in love with.

  “What do you think?” Abigail asked.

  “He sure is pink.” His bright pink face was a sharp contrast to his mother’s graying skin. He appeared to be a hot little fireball, brimming with life. Tiny, fat cheeks jiggled as he sucked his fingers. “And I think he’s hungry. He’s just like you.”

  Abigail smiled, though it wasn’t the wide brimming smile she flashed when they talked of happy times, and it wasn’t the forced smile of when they were trying to keep from worrying. It was a different smile, one Hannah knew she’d not see again.

  The corners of Abigail’s lips tugged upward ever so slightly, and her eyes filled with tears that ran over then rolled down her cheeks to fade into flaxen waves gathered about the pillow. Her eyes closed and she gasped a sharp, shallow breath. Her smile vanished. “Hannah, you promised.”

  Hannah shook her head. “No.”

  Abigail’s blue eyes opened and locked on Hannah’s. “You must. I have no one else.” She licked her lips, but they didn’t appear to moisten. Her voice came softer. “He only has you. Please.”

  The hot flash of fear tingled in Hannah’s chest, then spread throughout her body. Little beads of sweat formed on her lip and the back of her neck. “Abigail, you’re gonna be fine. You just need some rest, something to eat. Women have babies every day and then get up and clean the house. Why should you be different?”

  Abigail shook her head. “You promised.” Tears fell down her cheeks. Her nose ran. “Don’t do this to me.”

  “Don’t leave me.” Hannah clenched her teeth, fighting her own tears. She forced herself to swallow the lump in her throat. “I don’t know how to do this without you. You’re his ma. He needs you.”

  When Abigail smiled, her lip cracked and bled, and she winced. “You’ll do fine. We both know it.”

  “If you leave me, I have no one,” Hannah whispered.

  “Your nose is runnin’,” Abigail said.

  Hannah snorted, and a bubble formed on her nose. At the sight of it Abigail laughed a couple chuckles before a coughing fit set in. Mrs. MacCarthy scurried around the bed and lifted the baby from her chest. “Turn her toward you. It will help.”

  Hannah pulled Abigail onto her side and rubbed her back. After a few minutes the spell ended, and Hannah rolled her onto her back. Mrs. MacCarthy replaced the child on her chest. Except for the intermittent breaths, Abigail lay silent, her eyes barely open, yet fixed on her baby.

  As Hannah watched her friend making peace with the end of her young life and the reality that she would not be here to raise her child, she wanted to scream at the world, to rail at God for such an injustice.

  They’d barely made it out of Ireland. The journey had been fraught with lies, stealing to eat, fending off sailors, and more lies that ended in an oath to never ask, nor speak of their real family names, or the towns they were from, or anything that could possibly lead to them being shipped back.

  Now here they were with no family to speak of, no one to help them, a baby to care for and Abigail was losing her fight.

  “Hannah.” Abigail’s voice quivered, but still Hannah heard in that one word the plea, and she knew they had to break their oath.

  “Tell me who the father is. I have to know at least that much about him.” She’d have to know something in order to tell this child who he was when he was old enough to know. She couldn’t simply tell him his mother was her best friend, but she didn’t know a thing about his father.

  Abigail coughed, and blood sprayed from her mouth and dribbled down her chin.

  Mrs. MacCarthy wiped her face and the baby.

  “Don’t move him. Not…not until I’m gone.” Abigail’s arms moved as though she might try to fight, then dropped back to the bed.

  “No child. I won’t. Let me tuck him in closer.” Mrs. MacCarthy shifted the boy, who made a sweet little baby gurgle. “He knows his mama.”

  Abigail sighed.

  “The name?” Hannah snuggled in closer to Abigail and brushed errant hair from her face. “We have to break the oath. It’s for his good.”

  “You first.” A slight twinkle lit Abigail’s eyes. “Where I’m goin’ they already know. Why shouldn’t I?”

  Hannah nodded, though it took several minutes before she could speak. Her tongue pressed to the roof of her mouth in an effort to keep the tears from pouring forth. Finally, after many attempts she said, “O’Rourke. I hail from Wicklow, not Dublin like I told you.”

  Abigail smiled and lifted her hand. “It makes me happy to finally know you.”

  Hannah clasped Abigail’s hand, bringing it to her lips. “Your turn. Who’s the father?”

  Abigail smiled, then gasped a series of short breaths.

  “Don’t you dare leave us without telling me!” Hannah squeezed Abigail’s hand. “Abby!”

  “Sean…Bl…Black. Swear you’ll find him.”

  Hannah’s chest clenched. It was not the name she would have ever expected. It was an awful name.

  “Swear it.” Abigail’s hollow breaths frightened Hannah. The gaunt look in her eyes told she was on the precipice of death, only hanging on to hear the one promise she needed to hear to know her boy would be taken care of. “Swear it so I can go. Please.”

  “I swear it. I’ll find him.”

  Chapter Three

  “Murphy is growing too fast.” Hannah held the four-month old boy in the air above the washing tub. “He’s like a bean. Are they supposed to grow this fast?”

  Mrs. MacCarthy poured heated water into the tub to mix with the cold, then dipped her elbow in to test it. “It’s ready. Go ahead and dunk him.” She splashed the water for the boy and cooed at him. “He’s growing just as he should. He’s a perfect little boy. Aren’t you sweetheart?”

  Murphy kicked his feet, splashing water down Hannah’s apron. “Och! You little beast.” The baby squealed and smacked his hands against the water.

  “I look forward to the day he bathes himself.” Water dripped from Hannah’s hair, down her face.

  “That comes much later, but first he’ll hate to wash and you’ll be chasin’ ’im to get him clean at all.” Mrs. MacCarthy gently poured water over the boy’s head. “This is the easy part.”

  “Hmph. Easy.” Hannah soaped Murphy’s hair, then scrubbed his neck and behind his ears. “I haven’t slept a full night in months. I’m so tired I’m making foolish mistakes. Yesterday I stitched the lace collar of Mrs. Martin’s bodice to me own skirt. It took an extra hour’s work to fix it.”

  “Babies take a lot of tendin’.” The older woman chuckled. “You’ve only one to worry you. Imagine having eight. I was ten years dealing with nursin’ and teethin’. Oh, the pain of it.” She smiled and poured more water over Murphy’s head, taking care not to let any suds slide onto his face. “But it was all worth it. Every ache and pain and sleepless night.”

  As usual Murphy thrashed and screamed as loud as he could when Hannah lifted him from the tub and wrapped him in a warm, clean linen to dry.

  “He really loves his bath. Maybe he won’t become one of those boys who doesn’t care to bathe.” Learning to rub his wiggling body dry without losing hold of him had been quite an accomplishment, one Hannah was proud to say she’d mastered having only dropped him once. An incident she still could not think about without crying, in spite of the fact he’d survived the fall without a scratch.

  “Lord knows we don’t need a stinky boy living here.” Sitting beside the hearth with Murphy on her lap Hannah held his flailing arms down and nuzzled his neck, making loud kissing sounds that made him giggle.

  “It’s more likely his love of the water will drive him to the sea like it does so many men.” Holding the tub against her round body, Mrs. MacCarthy pushed open the door with her backside. “And we all know sailors and pirates aren’t known for their good hygiene.” She chuckled and leaned out to dump the water.

  Hannah sat M
urphy up. “You’re not going to be a stinky sailor, are you? No. You’ll stay here with me, my fine boy.” Combing her fingers through the soft blond curls and gazing at his sweet little face, Hannah was suddenly melancholy. Murphy looked so much like Abigail with his round blue eyes, peachy cheeks, and wide smile.

  Murphy was only her boy by default. He had no one else but Hannah since his mother died. She had promised Abigail she’d care for him, and care for him until her dying breath, she would. Beyond all logic the little boy had stolen her heart, and she couldn’t deny her love for him.

  The door behind her banged open and a ruckus barreled in, pulling Mrs. MacCarthy with it. “Pirates. I saw them myself. Three new ships in the harbor.” Molly MacCarthy took the tub from Mrs. MacCarthy and returned it to its place under the cabinet. “The nerve! No shame. After all he’s done from Ireland to here you’d think he’d not be so bold. He has no honor, that thieving, murderous man. He’s one to watch out for, I tell you. He’s no good. I shan’t go down to the docks until that ship sails.” She untied her cape and hung it on the hook by the door, then removed her hat.

  “Molly, you’re all worked up for no reason.” Mrs. MacCarthy grabbed the poker and stoked the fire, tossing a couple more logs on the grate. “Seeing pirates in Newport is as common as seeing any sailor on a ship. What are you worried for?”

  “’Tis not the same this time. Right now the Sea Maven is docked in port like any other ship.” With wide eyes and a face still very pink from running home, Molly waved her hands in the air. “As though he’s screaming out he’s a pirate come to plunder us and no one here can stop ’im. We’ve all heard what he’s done in other ports.” Tears threatened at the corners of Molly’s eyes and her breaths came heavy. “…and to other ships.”

  “Aye, but Molly, things have changed.” Mrs. MacCarthy’s voice hitched. “If the Sea Maven is docked in port, you must, we all must consider that something is very different. He’s never docked here before.”

  “Are you suggesting he’s grown a conscience? And if he has, don’t you think he should still pay for Thomas’ life? That’s a hanging I’d like to see. I hope the king’s men hang him from the yardarm of his own ship!”

  Mrs. MacCarthy squeezed Molly’s hand and pulled her in close for a hug. “Aye, love, the man who killed my boy should pay, but let’s be sure we have the right man before we demand our justice.” She pushed Molly back to look her in the eyes. “The Lord will keep Thomas close to him just as he will deliver the punishment due his murderer. Have faith.” She kissed Molly’s cheek. “…and trust in what I tell you.”

  Molly nodded. “I wish I could be sure as you.”

  “You will. You’ll see.”

  The logs crackled and hissed. Flames shot upward and several loud pops sounded, sending embers shooting onto the hearth. In spite of being near the fire Hannah felt a dreadful chill.

  The Sea Maven was in Newport.

  Hannah’s heart pounded in her chest. She, above all others, knew well what the captain of the Sea Maven had done in other ports as well on the high seas.

  Mrs. MacCarthy’s gaze met Hannah’s, and the slow dip of the boardinghouse mistress’s chin caused Hannah to tremble.

  Molly stomped toward the stairs. “I trust you ma’am, but I’ll not be buying our necessities this week. Give me some other chore, one that keeps me safely in this house. I haven’t come this far to be dragged off to sea to be made into some wretch’s wench!”

  Hannah glanced down at the baby cradled on her lap and felt the pang of heartache. Well-aware she was less than equipped to be his mother and that any child deserved to live in a better situation, one where his ma and da raised him up in their own customs, she simply couldn’t stand the thought of giving him to that man.

  If she was truthful with herself she couldn’t stand the thought of giving him to anyone. She loved him. As far as her heart was concerned he was all hers.

  Both women remained quiet until Molly vanished up the stairs and slammed the door to her room.

  “You promised.” Mrs. MacCarthy held a small nightshirt before Hannah.

  “Aye. I promised, but it’s clear you know as well as I that Murphy should not be with that man. You can’t expect me to give him to a murderer.” Hannah slipped the shirt over Murphy’s head and pulled his little arms through the sleeves. “He’s capable of things no child should witness.”

  Mrs. MacCarthy wiped the table of the water left behind from Murphy’s bath. “I’ve seen and experienced many things that young women have not.” A tear dripped from her face to the table and she swiped it away. “Some things I’d never wish on anyone.”

  Murphy cooed, then giggled. The sweet sound squeezed Hannah’s heart. The thought alone of losing him made it difficult to breathe.

  “I’m sorry about Thomas, ma’am. I can’t imagine how you’re able to go on without him. You and Molly.” Hannah nuzzled her cheek against Murphy’s and breathed in his clean, sweet baby scent. “Murphy isn’t even my own, and yet the very thought of losing him makes my heart ache.”

  “We’ve no choice but to go on. It’s God’s will, and we both know Thomas would want it that way, too.” She smiled, and her glistening eyes held the same warmth of Hannah’s ma’s. “In fact, Thomas would not be pleased to know his brave young bride hides upstairs because this ship has come into port or that she keeps using his death as an excuse not to allow anyone to court her. My boy has been gone nearly two years. That’s long enough for a young woman to grieve. It’s time my daughter took another husband.”

  “You don’t expect her to marry a pirate, especially not one from the ship that…that’s responsible for her being a widow, do you?” The ridiculous idea made Hannah worry that the woman she’d looked up to for wisdom and guidance might be slipping into a state of grief so deep she couldn’t think properly.

  “No, child, I don’t.” She hung the damp cloth on the line near the warm hearth before turning toward Hannah. “Sometimes life is not what it seems and many times doing the right thing appears to be wrong, but we must always strive to do the right thing. A promise is a promise.”

  “I promised to keep him safe and raise him up, and that’s what I’m doin’.”

  “You also promised to find Se—”

  “Don’t say his name. Don’t ever say his name.” Hannah hated the sound of it. She’d not once called Murphy by that dreadful name, not once his whole little life, and she wouldn’t tolerate hearing the name, not ever.

  “Why she ever named you that I’ll never understand.” Molly kissed Murphy’s cheek, then rubbed her nose to his and let his sweet giggle push away the thought of his father.

  “He has a right to know about his boy.” Mrs. MacCarthy sat beside Hannah with a napkin on her lap. With practiced skill she scooped Murphy from Hannah, pulled up his shirt and lay him on the napkin. Before he had a chance to complain, she had the fabric fastened and his shirt pulled down.

  “If he’d wanted to know about his boy, he’d have married Abigail before makin’ ’im.” Hannah turned her chin up at the idea. “That’s what good, righteous men do.” She hung the linen on the line by the hearth to dry, then swept the ashes of the cold embers into the fireplace. “Good men, the kind that deserve to marry a girl like Abigail, don’t go plunderin’ towns, killin’ men, and rapin’ women. And they certainly don’t leave a girl in trouble to fend for herself.”

  Mrs. MacCarthy placed Murphy on a blanket on the floor near the table in the same spot as usual. “You don’t know that he knew about Murphy. If he’d known, maybe—”

  “Maybe what?” Hannah shoved the broom into the corner so hard it bounced off the wall and hit her in the chin. “Maybe he’d have married Abigail? Is that what? It’s unlikely, and do you want to know why?” She threw the broom down and turned to face Mrs. MacCarthy. “He was supposed to marry me.”

  Chapter Four

  “What do ya mean he was supposed ta marry you?” Mrs. MacCarthy handed Murphy a spoon and the rag doll Hannah had sewn for him.

  “Captain Black is the man Da sold me to.” Hannah picked up the broom and propped it in the corner, careful not to be so forceful. She fisted her hands, wanting to squeeze something to a mash. “Da wanted the means to buy the Riordan property so he sold me to a pirate. Apparently, land is more precious than a daughter.”