The Noble Pirates by Rima Jean

shook his head. “Nay. A pirate I am, and a pirate I will be for the rest of my days.”
    Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate’s life for me … I couldn’t help but smile. I had no idea where that was from or what the rest of the words were, but I was fairly certain they said something about plundering and looting, and villains and scoundrels… ‘Yo ho’ indeed. The song had clearly not considered pirates such as England, the political and social dissidents.
    Chapter Seven
      Far too quickly, we found ourselves standing beneath a canvas tarpaulin, surrounded by extravagantly-dressed men who were sitting on stools around tables and casks, drinking and smoking. Women, their faces painted and powdered with a heavy hand, pranced between the men, refilling mugs and cups and goblets, swinging their hips as they walked. Funny, how I knew I was in a pub without being told. Some things, apparently, do not change with time. The raw smell of unwashed bodies wafted at me with the breeze, and I found that, slowly, I was becoming used to it. While it still had the potential to knock me senseless, I had stopped gagging every time I smelled it.
      One man in particular seemed to be the focal point, as all bodies were partially turned toward him. He, like many of the others, was adorned with every imaginable luxurious cloth and embellishment: a scarlet broadcloth coat, a cravat of silver lace, a flowered velvet sash, fine black hose and shiny buckled shoes. Everywhere I looked, I saw Persian silk ruffles and taffeta and gold buttons… It was as though they had all these gentlemen’s clothes, but no real occasion to wear them. All dressed up with nowhere to go. For a second I felt, again, as though I were on a movie set, as though this was just one big game. That feeling quickly dissipated as the men began to turn and look at us, their eyes curious and – when looking at me – rapacious. I knew to be afraid of that look. Nothing like hanging out with eighteenth century prostitutes to make a woman feel gorgeous, let me tell you. If a pirate here decided he wanted me, there was no one but England to stop him. The pirates were the law in Nassau – for now, at least. England’s esteem among his peers, and then his own skill and strength as a fighter, were the only two things I had going for me.
    The man at the center of all the attention wore a large cocked hat with a feather plume on top of his wig, and he sat back leisurely, leaning against a cask, swinging a fine gold watch on a chain from his forefinger. He looked up at England from across the outdoor pub and nodded acknowledgment at him, smiling slightly. Then his dark eyes shifted to me and stayed there as he continued to swing his delicately engraved pocket watch. Kat suddenly materialized next to him, wrapping an arm across his chest and nuzzling his ear, but he brushed her away, his eyes never leaving me. I looked at England, but if he felt anger or betrayal, he showed none of it.
    Charles Vane caught the watch in the palm of his hand and signaled to England. England put his hand on the small of my back, encouraging me forward with him. Oh, no. I wasn’t ready for this. What would I say? How was I supposed to behave? I looked to England, panicked, and heard him mumble under his breath, “Let me do the talking, lass. Just sit and look yer pretty self.”
    All eyes were on us as we sat with Vane and his companions. Vane smiled at me, saying, “Well, Edward, what have we here? Lovely, simply lovely.” A London dialect, and I knew enough to guess he wasn’t ‘upper class.’
    England’s hand moved up to my shoulder, then to the nape of my neck. “Sabrina. We found her afloat, and she has no memory of what happened to her.” He shrugged and smiled, as if that explained everything. The absurdity of the situation struck me – here I was, an Ivy League educated attorney, barely a year shy of making partner, and I was being treated like a piece of meat, like a prostitute from the London