the captain called.
“Aye?” I recognized the burly pirate as he stepped forward.
“Would that be the truth?”
“Aye, for the most part,” he confirmed.
Turning back to me the captain prompted me to continue.
“I was sent to the brig.”
“And who sent ye to the brig?”
My eyes flickered to Nicholas. He lazily stood against the mast as if he were taking a break from the day’s labors. I could not read his posture or his face. “Th-the quartermaster,” I finally replied.
“How long were ye in the brig?”
The days and nights had all blurred together. “I do not know for certain.”
Captain Black called for the ship’s log and examined the records. “A fortnight and a day. A right long time to be in such miserable circumstance. What did ye do to cause such punishment?”
The image of Nicholas raising the cutlass at me flashed across my mind. I mimicked what he had said, “I insulted the quartermaster.”
“How did you insult good ol’ Marks?”
My heart faltered. I wrung my hands and tried to concoct a believable tale. What would it take to insult someone gravely enough to be locked in the brig for two weeks but wouldn’t make me appear more treacherous to these men?
“She spat on me,” Nicholas called to the captain. “And she called me a naughty name,” his tone was jaunty and laughter pealed from the crowd. I was glad for his interjection but at the same time I felt rebuffed by his laughter. I glared at his lax figure.
“Spitting on an officer. What an insolent little strumpet.”
Captain Black paused and scanned the crowd. He stopped when he found what he was looking for and the corners of his mouth lifted in a devilish grin.
“I understand you made a sort of friend, Miss Monroe,” Black sneered.
I followed Black’s gaze to Skidmore.
Sweet, quiet Skidmore. He seemed utterly incapable of telling a lie. Skidmore knew everything there was to know about me. About Nicholas. With the captain’s gaze locked on him, he looked terrified. There was no way he could remain collected under the captain’s scrutiny. He would break. He would tell of the mutiny. His testimony could put a noose around my neck.
My hope plummeted as I heard the captain call him.
“Mr. Skidmore. Please step forward.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
C aptain Black paced before me with delight.
“Skidmore, tell the court about Miss Monroe’s behavior when you saw her in the brig.”
Skidmore was standing near Nicholas. He shifted uneasily, pulling at his beard of straw. I silently begged him to defend me, save me.
“Miss Monroe was mostly quiet.”
“Mostly,” echoed the captain. “Did she or did she not act out aggressively when first placed in the brig?”
I sighed dejectedly. Any hope of my friend defending me melted. The captain would get whatever he wanted out of Skidmore.
Skidmore avoided my pleading stare. “She was upset.” His response was so quiet I wasn’t sure if I heard him correctly.
“How did this upset girl act that day in the brig?”
“She threw her furniture against the bars.”
“And she screamed like a banshee,” the captain added triumphantly. “We all heard her.”
Skidmore’s head bobbed slightly.
“And we all saw Wrack after Miss Monroe finished with him. It takes a certain amount of… nerve to attack a man who was only bringing ye a bit o’ rum.”
I shot to my feet. “He attacked me! He was not bringing me rum!”
“Sit down, Miss Monroe,” Captain Black growled.
I sat.
“Did he or did he not bring you a jug o’ rum?”
I sensed a trap. “He had a jug, but—”
“And he let himself into the brig to deliver a generous amount of rum.”
“He let himself in the brig to violate me!”
The captain ignored my outburst. “The two of ye must have exchanged words. He must have stated his purpose of being down in said brig.”
“He was down there to hurt me,” I seethed, my hands balling into fists at my sides.
The captain stopped his pacing and
“Aye?” I recognized the burly pirate as he stepped forward.
“Would that be the truth?”
“Aye, for the most part,” he confirmed.
Turning back to me the captain prompted me to continue.
“I was sent to the brig.”
“And who sent ye to the brig?”
My eyes flickered to Nicholas. He lazily stood against the mast as if he were taking a break from the day’s labors. I could not read his posture or his face. “Th-the quartermaster,” I finally replied.
“How long were ye in the brig?”
The days and nights had all blurred together. “I do not know for certain.”
Captain Black called for the ship’s log and examined the records. “A fortnight and a day. A right long time to be in such miserable circumstance. What did ye do to cause such punishment?”
The image of Nicholas raising the cutlass at me flashed across my mind. I mimicked what he had said, “I insulted the quartermaster.”
“How did you insult good ol’ Marks?”
My heart faltered. I wrung my hands and tried to concoct a believable tale. What would it take to insult someone gravely enough to be locked in the brig for two weeks but wouldn’t make me appear more treacherous to these men?
“She spat on me,” Nicholas called to the captain. “And she called me a naughty name,” his tone was jaunty and laughter pealed from the crowd. I was glad for his interjection but at the same time I felt rebuffed by his laughter. I glared at his lax figure.
“Spitting on an officer. What an insolent little strumpet.”
Captain Black paused and scanned the crowd. He stopped when he found what he was looking for and the corners of his mouth lifted in a devilish grin.
“I understand you made a sort of friend, Miss Monroe,” Black sneered.
I followed Black’s gaze to Skidmore.
Sweet, quiet Skidmore. He seemed utterly incapable of telling a lie. Skidmore knew everything there was to know about me. About Nicholas. With the captain’s gaze locked on him, he looked terrified. There was no way he could remain collected under the captain’s scrutiny. He would break. He would tell of the mutiny. His testimony could put a noose around my neck.
My hope plummeted as I heard the captain call him.
“Mr. Skidmore. Please step forward.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
C aptain Black paced before me with delight.
“Skidmore, tell the court about Miss Monroe’s behavior when you saw her in the brig.”
Skidmore was standing near Nicholas. He shifted uneasily, pulling at his beard of straw. I silently begged him to defend me, save me.
“Miss Monroe was mostly quiet.”
“Mostly,” echoed the captain. “Did she or did she not act out aggressively when first placed in the brig?”
I sighed dejectedly. Any hope of my friend defending me melted. The captain would get whatever he wanted out of Skidmore.
Skidmore avoided my pleading stare. “She was upset.” His response was so quiet I wasn’t sure if I heard him correctly.
“How did this upset girl act that day in the brig?”
“She threw her furniture against the bars.”
“And she screamed like a banshee,” the captain added triumphantly. “We all heard her.”
Skidmore’s head bobbed slightly.
“And we all saw Wrack after Miss Monroe finished with him. It takes a certain amount of… nerve to attack a man who was only bringing ye a bit o’ rum.”
I shot to my feet. “He attacked me! He was not bringing me rum!”
“Sit down, Miss Monroe,” Captain Black growled.
I sat.
“Did he or did he not bring you a jug o’ rum?”
I sensed a trap. “He had a jug, but—”
“And he let himself into the brig to deliver a generous amount of rum.”
“He let himself in the brig to violate me!”
The captain ignored my outburst. “The two of ye must have exchanged words. He must have stated his purpose of being down in said brig.”
“He was down there to hurt me,” I seethed, my hands balling into fists at my sides.
The captain stopped his pacing and
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