Once a Pirate by Susan Grant Page B

skills—reading, writing, and sewing.
    This evening, though, she promised herself she’d keep those worries shelved. It was time to taste the freedom she’d long denied herself. Tonight was more than a party. It was her personal celebration of life.
    A gibbous moon rose opposite the setting sun, casting an otherworldly glow over the festive ship. With the bobbing lanterns and stars above adding their sparkle, it had the makings of a magical night. Her step quickened as she headed toward the sounds of laughter and music, and the smell of sweating bodies, tobacco, and grog.
    The men clapped and cheered at her arrival. Only Black Beard and his cronies glowered at her.
    She ignored them.
    Since Booth had assaulted her, she had carefully avoided being alone on a deserted deck. She dodged him during the day, as well, to keep the extent of their mutual animosity from Andrew’s keen eyes.
    “My queen,” Gibbons said. Dressed as Neptune for the night, he offered her his arm. Size alone was enough to make him appear regal, but with his cape of painted sailcloth, a cowhide belt with a buckle shaped like a sun, and the dented tin crown that sat atop his cottony hair, he looked like the genuine article.
    “I do believe I am in the presence of King Neptune himself,” she said.
    He eyed her in open appreciation. “You’re a sight for these old man’s eyes, if I may say so.”
    Her cheeks warmed with his compliment. She searched the crowd for Andrew, half hoping that he’d look at her the way Gibbons had. Disappointment flickered when she saw he wasn’t there.
    “After you, my queen.” Gibbons waved his hand above one of two roughly hewn thrones. “Let the celebration begin!” he bellowed when she sat.
    Jonesy was playing the fiddle, singing as his friend blew into a short wooden tube that resembled a flute.
    “Now let every man drink off his full bumper,
And let every man drink up his glass.
We’ll drink and be jolly, and drown melancholy,
And here’s to the heart of each true-hearted
lass.”
    Carly tapped her foot to the jaunty tune. She was dying to dance with Andrew. Where was the man hiding?
    “Sire, I should like the pleasure of a dance with your queen,” Cuddy asked Gibbons, dipping in a courtly bow.
    “Aye. Permission granted.”
    Cuddy offered her his arm. He wore a cropped royal blue jacket over a white shirt, spiced up by a jaunty crimson scarf tied around his neck. He led her to the center of a crowd of sailors, all of whom were drinking from tin cups filled with grog.
    As Cuddy whirled her around in moves reminiscent of square dancing, Carly had little difficulty learningthe steps. “Have you seen the captain tonight?” she asked.
    “Aye, on his way to his quarters to fetch a brandy. He doesn’t care much for grog.” Cuddy must have detected her disappointment, for he assured her, “He’ll be back.”
    “Think he’ll mind if I ask him to dance?”
    Cuddy laughed and spun her out to arms’ length before reeling her close. “I’d give a month’s wages to see you two dance. I told him so myself.”
    “Way to go, Cuddy. Now I’ll have to drag him out here.”
    “And I’ll give my next month’s wages to see ya do that.”
    The song ended, and he returned her to the throne. Breathless, she accepted a goblet of diluted grog from Gibbons. She managed one swallow before Jonesy, the helmsman, approached her.
    “May I have this dance?” the grizzled sailor asked.
    “Why, certainly.” She hooked her arm under his. She was ready for some fun.
    Freshly shaven, Andrew settled himself against a coil of rope, his bottle of brandy within easy reach. He had a clear view of the dance area but would not be easily seen from it.
    Amanda had returned to dance with his helmsman. The dress she had donned completely altered her appearance, changing her from pretty sprite to alluring woman. He did not know which Amanda he preferred, and decided he liked them both. In his days as a young naval officer, and during