Moonlight & Voodoo: A Pirate Love Story (closed)

[Maka]

Being a TREW HISTORY of the ACTIONS and ADVENTURES of the most Notorious Pyrate CALICO JACK RACKHAM and the Female Pyrates ANNE BONNY and MARY READ; of his most SHAMEFUL SEDUCTION and RAVISHING of the former and of the DISGRACEFUL, WANTON and UNWOMANLY CONDUCT of the latter.


The muffled oars of the ship's boat cut noiselessly through the moonlit waters of the bay. It was a fine, still night with a smuggler's moon riding up high above the jungle-clad hills of Barbados. A warm breeze blew down from those hills, carrying with it the heady, enticing aromas of the tropics; orchids, spices, musks -a smell to quicken the blood and stir the sinews.

Six men sat in the boat, dressed in outlandish fashions, all with a brace or more of pistols slung around their shoulders and sabres or long knives belted at their sides. Even had they not been bristling with weapons, they would have presented a fearsome sight to any observer, for they were scarred, fierce men, each presenting an aura of danger and ferocity as potent and menacing as any wild beast. As they rowed, they cursed at and joked with their companions, showing their teeth and growling in an instinctive, habitual display. They were used to a life where the meek and the humble did not prosper.

But one man, sitting in the prow and taking no turn at the oars, remained above this conflict. Indeed, for all their aggressive banter, whenever his eye fell on one of the others, they seemed to cringe and bow their heads subserviently, animals recognising one with greater strength, greater cunning, and greater will than any of them.

He was a tall, lean man with the lithe, powerful muscles of a great jungle cat. Years of hard labour under the blazing tropical sun had tanned his skin deeply while bleaching blond-white streaks in his hair and the stubble of his close-cut beard. His eyes were the deep, clear blue of the Caribbean, and like those waters they could turn stormily intense with shocking speed, as capable of passionate love as they were furious rage. An enigmatic half-smile was never far from his face, but it did not have the effect of softening it -rather, it only intensified the challenge represented by those high, well-defined cheekbones and brooding eyes. He was dressed in soft mariner's trousers and one of the calico shirts that give him his nickname; his head was wrapped in a bandanna.

One could understand at a glance the respect and even fear his men held him in. It went beyond the obvious strength and speed of his body, or the danger represented by the bandolier of pistols worn carelessly over one shoulder, the captain's sword at his side. Other men were strong; other men were fast; other men bore arms. But none of them were him. Men -even the hardy, strong-willed breed of the Caribbean, found themselves bowing in his presence, obeying his commands almost instinctively. And women would fan themselves and bite their lips under his blue-eyed scrutiny, conscious of buckling knees and a rush of liquid heat through their body as their gaze travelled up and down his sculpted form, as they met his coolly mocking, challenging gaze.

He could set a straight course for his ship through a tropical hurricane, fight like the Devil himself in a brawl, hit a gull on the wing from fifty paces with a pistol shot, and reduce the most hardened, jaded Nassau whore to a state of delirious, panting and devoted exhaustion with pleasure. He was Calico Jack Rackham and tonight he raided the mansion of James Bonny, the governor of Barbados.

"I've heard she's a beauty," said Varney, pulling at his oar. He was an ugly, redhaired man, his face marked with the pox. "The governor's daughter, I mean. That Anne Bonny. They say she's willful, mind, but the comeliest young wench from here to Port Royal, all the same. Wouldn't mind finding her while we're here. Bet she wouldn't be so willful after a taste of pirate cock."

"No."

Varney started. It was the captain who had spoken, from his seat in the prow.

"We're here for the governor's treasure, that's it. We take what we came for, we leave. The rules are the same here as when we take a ship: we kill no one we don't have to, we don't torture and we don't hurt womenfolk."

Varney knew better than to protest. There were captains who permitted more license in such matters: blackhearted Charlie Vane; Ned Low; the infamous Blackbeard. But Calico Jack enforced his own code with iron rigour.

If Varney had had any further intention of continuing to question his captain's authority, the presence of the captain's right hand, Mark Read, gave him pause. With his slight frame, delicate features, and smooth dark hair, Mark did not cut a menacing figure in the same fashion as his captain. But he was almost preternaturally quick with a blade, and his quiet, unshakable loyalty to his captain was a byword among the crew of the Adventure. For all his pretty looks and quiet charm, Read had a devil dancing in those fascinating, luminous grey eyes and the crew held him in a certain awe. It was obvious that he had secrets: some said he'd once been a strolling player back in England, others that he'd fought in the Flemish wars, but only Read knew the truth of all the rumours.

The boat crept closer to its destination -the private governor's dock. Govenor James Bonny had built his manor some distance outside the town. It looked like an English country house with its high, black and white timber frames, its expansive wings and leaded pane windows. Only the jungle all around it disrupted the illusion. Jack was the first out of the boat, and helped tie it up at the jetty.

The governor and his household should be sleeping. Jack had left a crew of his most reliable men on his ship the Adventure, anchored outside the bay. If all went to plan, the whole operation would be over and done with within a couple of hours.

Jack's half-smile turned into a swashbuckling grin. Since when had pirate life ever gone to plan?

 

[zora_little]

“All in all, it was a rather dull affair, the ball.”

Anne Bonny impatiently threw the shawl off her shoulders and almost angrily pulled hairpins from her thick, copper curls. The Champaign had made her slightly tipsy and now, in the privacy of her own chambers in the governor’s mansion, she felt no need to pretend anymore.

“And Holly Turner! What a silly girl she is. All she could talk about all night were tea sets and that exceedingly boring fiancé of hers. I cannot wait for her to get married and leave Barbados, so I don’t have to attend her social events any longer.”

Molly, her nurse and chambermaid, clapped her hands together in exaggerated disapproval.

“But you must not say things like that, Miss Bonny,” she said with a frown. “Holly Turner is such a well-behaved young lady. And how can such a lovely ball be dull? All these fine people, the nice dresses, the gentlemen doting on you…really, Miss Bonny, I would have loved to attend such a joyous event. A wee bit of London civilisation here in the midst of this…this wilderness.”

Anne chuckled. She was eager to get out of the confines of her dress. The heavy stitched silk and stiff corset were made for the cold and rainy days of London maybe, but here, in the sweltering climate of the Caribbean, it felt rather like an instrument of torture to the young lady.

“Why do women have to be dressed as if in ball and chains?” she complained, her voice muffled as Molly fretted to pull the overgown over her head. “Surely even the ladies of London society must have a desire to be able to move.” As Molly rapidly unlaced the corset, she inhaled deeply, almost gasping for air. “And to breathe!”

Having shed the numerous layers of fabric, Anne lifted her arms for her maid to slip a soft white nightgown over her head.

“He’s a fine man, that captain Mercer, is he not?” Molly winked at her, while fiddling with the almost sheer fabric. “A true picture of a man, if you ask me, miss Bonny. So handsome, and soon to be commodore!”

Anne laughed.

“Molly, has my father sent you to make his case? Really, it feels like the whole household has ganged up against me. He almost speaks of nothing else now.”

Molly, pursing her lips, reached for the brush to take it to Anne’s copper curls, now heavily spilling over her shoulders and back.

“But Miss Bonny, he is right, isn’t he? A girl must marry, and as any father, he is worried about finding the right match for you, my sweet. What better husband could be found in the whole of the Caribbean than captain Anthony Mercer? And clearly, the man is enchanted by the thought of taking you as his wife. He is an honourable man, and a fine soldier. Any woman from here to Manchester would give her soul to be courted by him.”

Anne laughed.

“Truly Molly, it sounds to me like you should marry the captain!” Molly blushed and tut tutted disapprovingly.

“You mustn’t say such things, Miss Bonny. Mock your old nurse like that?”

The young girl kissed Molly on the cheek.

“Forgive me, my dear Molly.” Then she became more serious. “It is just…I wish I had more to aspire to than to be some fine man’s wife.”

And Anthony Mercer, the captain of her father’s redcoats, was a fine man. Girls had almost shoved each other out of the way to gain the captain’s attention at the ball, while he had only had eyes for the young Miss Anne Bonny, who, as it had not been hard to notice, had shown nothing more than polite interest in his efforts.

She stepped out onto the balcony. The earlier light breeze had begun to pick up, and muffled sounds down from the port drifted across the bay. She loved the fresh smell of the sea at night, the faint taste of salt on her lips. It was a clear night, and thousands of stars dotted the night sky like scattered pearly from a broken necklace. She looked up, and it was at that moment that a falling star drew his fiery arc across the velvety black canvas of the night sky. She caught herself wishing for an escape from what seemed increasingly her inevitable future.

Anne, while not opposed to Mercer as such, for he was indeed a very handsome, intelligent man with a bright future ahead of him, dreaded the idea of being locked away, of becoming Misses Anthony Mercer, of being whisked away back to England, where her days would be spent planning teas and attending stifling social events. There must be more to life than that. Her mind wandered to the encounter of a few days hence, a brief glance that since had set fire to her easily inflammable mind.

She had caught sight of the young man only once, while wandering alongside the port with her nurse to watch a large trading vessel being unloaded. Their eyes had met briefly. He had been very handsome, yes, but it had not been his slender, graceful good looks that had captured her imagination so, or not them alone.

He had been dressed in the garb of a trader on the seas, and Anne wondered what it would be like to travel the world in a ship, going all the way to India, to Singapore, to the north and south poles, to the African continent. The things one could see, experience, taste there! The adventures one could surely encounter! What would it be like to travel as a trader like this, to live a life that was less bound to convention and boredom than that of a lady of the high London society?

The young trader had smiled at her, and that one smile had set her imagination on fire more than all the courtship of Anthony Mercer had yet been able to do. Several times she had woken from almost feverish dreams in which the luminous grey eyes of the man down at the port had sent hot shivers through the core of her body, and had awoken strangely troubling longings she had never experienced before.

“Don’t stand on the balcony in the nightgown, Miss Bonny, or you will catch a cold,” Molly scolded her from within the room. “The hour is late, you should try and find some sleep. Maybe tomorrow we can get permission from your father to visit the royal navy docks?”

Anne sighed, and reluctantly tore herself away from the sight before her to slip between the soft covers of her bed. And even before Molly had put out the candle on her bed stand, Anne Bonny was fast asleep.

***

Mary – or Mark, as the crew of the Adventure had come to know her – quietly drew the oar through the black water of the sea. Nobody could ever claim that she had less strength in her arms than any of her companions on the vessel, and in truth nobody would ever have dared to do so, unless they were prepared to risk their tongue, or worse.

She had an uneasy feeling about this raid. For days she had scouted the port and the docks, rigorously taking note of the itinerary and walking times of the sentries and redcoat guards. She had obtained an exact plan of the governor’s mansion, and knew every closet, every corridor of the house as if she had grown up in it. And yet she knew that it was a risky endeavour, and no other place on the island – except maybe the garrison itself – was crawling with as many redcoats as the mansion of His Majesty’s governor James Bonny.

In her distraction, she only caught the last words of Varney’s vile monologue.

“Wouldn't mind finding her while we're here. Bet she wouldn't be so willful after a taste of pirate cock.”

It was because of despicable men like Varney that Mary had decided to become Mark for the time being. Sometimes she wished to be able to shed her disguise in order to prove to Varney and his likes that she could stand her ground as well as any man sailing under the black flag, but what good would it do? For all their swashbuckling bravery there were few men under the sun as superstitious as pirates, and most of them believed that having a woman onboard a ship would draw the ire of the jealous, unpredictable sea – unless of course she was firmly confined to the captain’s own bed.

She threw Varney a quiet look, but the red-haired man did not manage to hold her gaze for long. Mary did not trust Varney. He was a scoundrel, a ferret-faced loafer who would sell his own mother for an opportunity of gain. Indeed, there were rumours that he had already done that, and Mary had been opposed to the idea of bringing him along on this raid. But now he was here, and she vowed to keep an eye on him, and that, should he as much as throw a lingering glance at the window of Miss Anne Bonny, throw him into the sea herself.