Princess of Pirates

2_Attack

Zelia

I am surprised to wake up and find Charlotte’s bed all made up. Usually, I must drag her up and practically dress her to be on time in the dining room for breakfast. In record time, I am dressed and on the deck. Searching for Charlotte. I might still be upset with her, but she will always be my little sister that I adore, and I took responsibility for her when I told Father I would accompany her to Fort-de-France.

I see her talking and laughing with one of the officers, touching his arm. A light snort to my right catches my attention and I turn around. Madame Palomer looks at Charlotte down her nose in disapproval while her very plain and boring daughter stares in envy. I frown slightly as I walk closer to Charlotte and the officer. Honestly, has she forgotten everything she was taught or is she doing this deliberately?

“Mademoiselle Zelia,” the officer smiles brightly and nods as I join him and Charlotte. “I was just informing your sister how delighted I am to finally meet her.”

“I can only imagine,” it is with a tremendous effort that I keep my smile. “Would you excuse us? We need to freshen up before breakfast.”

I do not wait for his reply, I get hold of Charlotte by the elbow and practically drag her over the deck to our cabin.

“Are you insane?” I hiss as I close the door behind us. “Flirting with an officer unchaperoned in broad daylight for everyone to see? What happened to your undying love for Francois?”

“I was not flirting,” Charlotte looks at me indignantly. “He said something funny that is all.”

“You touched his arm, Charlotte,” I sneer at her. “You know protocol very well and you have just overstepped.”

“It was just an impulse, and it did not mean anything,” she defends herself. “And I am positive that he did not read anything into it.”

“But Madame Palomer and her positively boring daughter did,” I argue. “Do you have any idea the damage you can cause to your reputation if those two start to gossip?”

“Urgh, the ever honour of the Bordeaux name,” Charlotte rolls her eyes and sigh dramatically.

“No,” I put my hands on my hips and stare her down. “Not the family name, your name.”

“I am sorry, Zelia,” Charlotte looks honestly distraught. “I will be more cautious, I promise.”

“Let us go eat,” I shake my head and together we make it to the dining room.

Madame Palomer and her daughter are already seated, and disapproval is written over the Madame’s face as Charlotte and I join them. I smile politely at her and take my seat.

“So,” Madame’s stiff lips pull into something that is supposed to qualify as a smile. “I understand you are the daughters of Count Jacques Bordeaux?”

“Indeed,” I nod politely.

“I must say, I find it odd that the Count allows his daughters to travel unchaperoned,” she pulls her nose like she smells something funny. “I would never allow my lovely Celine to make a journey like this by herself. She is way too precious.”

“That is all right,” Charlotte’s eyes throw daggers at Madame Palomer. “Father raised us well and trusts us.”

“I am sure …” Madame Palomer stops abruptly when a sailor marches into the dining room and walks up to the captain. Curious we all watch as he whispers something to the captain. Without a word, the captain gets up and follow the sailor.

“Peculiar,” Madame Palomer whispers aloud. “Maybe there is a storm on the horizon.”

I look at Charlotte and signal that we should go. It cannot possibly be a storm. The sky was clear and blue a second ago. Something else is happening.

We say our excuses and hurry to the deck. Together we look at the captain where he is standing on the forecastle looking through his telescope.

I walk to the railing and squint my eyes in the direction the captain is looking at. At first, I do not see anything. But it is not long before I realize that another ship is making its way over to us.

More and more people make their way to the rail and start pointing to the ship on the horizon. I turn around and observe the crew. There is obvious tension building as they start running around.

“Come,” I whisper to Charlotte next to me and pull her by her elbow to follow me. I walk to the officer who was so friendly earlier. If anyone were going to tell us, it would be him.

“Excuse me, officer,” I smile friendly and bat my eyelashes a couple of times. By the way, he swallows, I know I have the desired effect. “Do we need to be concerned about the oncoming ship?”

“N … no, Mademoiselle,” he clears his throat and tries to focus to look me in the eyes and not at my bosom. “The captain just confirmed that the flag is French, it is friendly.”

“Thank you,” I nod and turn away.

“And you accused me of flirting,” Charlotte giggles softly next to me.

“Just a means to an end, sister,” I smirk.

We walk to the mainmast and while Charlotte is caught up in the excitement of friendly visitors, I observe the crew. They still seem tense as they man their posts. Sailors are making their way to the forecastle to the cannons, and I frown. If this is a friendly ship, why all the scurry and precautions?

“Only precautions, Mademoiselle,” a sailor smiles at me when he observes my worried expression, revealing that he has some teeth missing. “I am sure it is nothing to worry about, this is just our routine when a ship passes. It is usually just a friendly.”

“Usually?” I flip my eyebrows at him, not in the least concerned at that moment that he dares to speak to me first.

“Yeah,” he shrugs. “I mean there’s …”

“Sea rat,” the officer shouts next to me and I jump. “Since when are you allowed to speak with the passengers?”

The sailor does not say a word, he just scurries off below deck.

“My apologies, Mademoiselle,” the officer bow lightly. “It must be the excitement that made him forget his place.”

“No need to apologize,” I turn to look at the oncoming ship. “I gather that this is not an everyday occurrence?”

“Undeniably,” the officer scoffs. “But that does not excuse his behaviour.”

“Tell me, officer,” I turn to him, bored of his excuses. “Why are the crew so tense if this is a friendly ship?”

“It is our protocol, Mademoiselle,” the officer replies uncomfortably. “We need to be ready for every situation.”

A commotion from the onlooking passengers catches my attention and I look to where they are pointing. I watch as the oncoming ship lowers its French flag in utter shock and disbelief. Minutes later, a black flag with the white skeleton symbol rises.

“Prepare for an attack!” The captain bellows. “It is the Whydah Gally!”

Chaos erupts around me as people start running and screaming. Charlotte scurries over to me and grabs my arm.

“I do not understand,” she whimpers as she looks at me with big eyes. “What is happening?”

I am at loss for words, and I just hold her hand tightly. What can I possibly say? That everything will be, all right? How can I say those words if I do not believe them myself? None of this is all right and I am terrified to death. Growing up as a woman with the elite, you only hear bits and pieces of the real world in the passing. Conversations of pirates are not meant for women.

In horror, I watch as the Whydah fires its first session of cannonballs. Our ship retaliates by firing back. Time loses meaning as the fight continues. At one point our ship tilts to the side from the impact and I grab onto the mast with one arm while the other is clinging to a crying Charlotte.

“You need to go below deck,” a sailor shouts. “This is no place for women.”

But I am unable to move. My eyes are unwavering on the pirate ship that is attacking us mercilessly. And that is when I see him – the captain of The Whydah Gally.

He is standing on the forecastle, shouting orders with a devious smile. His brown hair is long and tied down in his neck. The wind playing through loose strands of hair. He is not wearing a shirt. His muscular chest bare for all to see. The tight navy pants he is wearing edge his toned thighs and calves.

I stare at him in awe. He is magnificent. Confident and completely in control as he orchestrates the attack on us.

Ropes with hooks on, fly through the air and land on the deck, pulling our ship closer to them. Sailors run towards it and start cutting the rope. But for every one they cut, two new hooks land.

We have lost, I know that with certainty, but still the sailors fight. Even when the crew from Whydah set foot on deck, they do not give up. Swords are drawn and I am surrounded by the sound of metal clashing with metal. I stare in disbelief at the chaos around me, my back pressed against the mainmast and a sobbing Charlotte clinging to me.

And just as suddenly as it began, does it finish. I look around me – the deck is scattered with bodies and wounded sailors whimpering in pain. I fight nausea that is building up inside me as I look down and see blood crawling ever so slowly towards my silk shoes.

Incapable of moving or looking away, I watch the blood move closer and closer until a pair of black boots steps into my eyesight. Slowly, I look up from the boots … right into the cold, piercing blue eyes of the captain from The Whydah Gally.