Pirate Latitudes

Chapter 10

CRAWFORD’S VALLEY WAS a pleasant half-hour ride to the north, through the lush green foliage at the foot of the Blue Mountains. Hunter arrived at a high ridge overlooking the valley, and saw the horses of Mrs. Hacklett and her two slaves, tied alongside the gurgling stream, which ran out from the rocky pool at the east edge of the valley. He also saw a picnic cloth spread, and food laid out.

He rode down to the horses, and tied up his own. It took only a moment for him to bribe the two black women, pressing a finger to his lips and tossing them a shilling. Giggling to themselves, the two women slipped away. This was not the first time either of them had been bribed to keep silent about a clandestine meeting, and Hunter had no concern they might tell anyone what they had seen.

Nor did he think they would not soon be peering through the bushes at the two white people, and cackling to themselves. He moved quietly along the rocks by the edge of the pool, at the base of a gentle waterfall. Mrs. Hacklett was splashing about in the waters of the spring. She had not noticed Hunter yet.

“Sarah,” Mrs. Hacklett said, speaking to the slave she still thought was nearby, “do you know that Captain Hunter, in the port?”

“Umm-hmmm,” Hunter said, in a high-pitched voice. He sat down next to her clothes.

“Robert says he is nought but a common rogue and pirate,” she said. “But Robert pays me so little attention. I was the favorite of the king — now there is a merry man and no mistake. But this Captain Hunter, he is so handsome. Does he have the favors of many women in the town, do you know?”

Hunter did not answer. He watched Mrs. Hacklett splashing.

“I expect he must do. He has that look in his eye which melts the hardest heart. And he is obviously strong and brave; no woman could fail to notice that. And his fingers and nose are of goodly length, which bodes well for his attentions. Does he have a favorite in the town, Sarah?”

Hunter did not answer.

“His Majesty has long fingers, and he is wonderfully well-suited for the bedroom.” She giggled. “I should not be saying this, Sarah.”

Hunter still said nothing.

“Sarah?” she said, turning. And she saw Hunter, sitting there grinning at her.

“Don’t you know it is unhealthy to bathe?” Hunter said.

She splashed about angrily. “All that has been spoken of you is true,” she complained. “You are a dastardly, uncouth, utterly foul man and truly no gentleman.”

“Were you expecting a gentleman today?”

She splashed more. “Certainly I expected more than a common sneak and thief. Leave this spot now, so that I may dress myself.”

“I find this spot most amiable,” Hunter said.

“You refuse to leave?”

She was very angry. In the clear water, Hunter could see that she was rather too thin for his taste, a small-breasted, bony woman with a pinched face. But her anger aroused him.

“Indeed, I fear I do refuse.”

“Then sir, I have misjudged you. I thought you would extend common courtesy and ordinary good manners to a woman at a disadvantage.”

“What is your disadvantage?” Hunter asked.

“I am plainly naked, sir.”

“So I see.”

“And this spring is cold.”

“Is it?”

“It is indeed.”

“You have just perceived this?”

“Sir, I shall ask you once more to cease this impertinence and allow me a moment’s privacy to dry and clothe myself.”

In reply, Hunter walked down to the edge of the water, took her hand, and hauled her onto the rock, where she stood dripping and shivering, despite the warmth of the sun. She glared at him.

“You’ll catch your death of chill,” he said, grinning at her discomfiture.

“Then let us be equal,” she said, and abruptly pushed him, fully clothed, into the water.

He landed with a splash, and felt a shock as the icy water touched his body. It made him gasp for breath. He floundered about, while she stood on the rock, laughing at him.

“Madam,” he said, struggling. “Madam, I beseech you.”

She continued to laugh.

“Madam,” he said, “I cannot swim. I pray you to help—” And his head bobbed underwater a moment.

“A seafaring man who cannot swim?” And she laughed more.

“Madam . . .” was all he could say as he came to the surface then sank again. A moment later, he struggled up, splashing and kicking with no coordination, and she looked at him with concern. She reached out her hand, and he kicked and sputtered toward her.

He took her hand and pulled hard, flinging her high over his head. She screamed loudly, and landed flat on her back, with a stinging slap; she shrieked again as she went under. He laughed when she came to the surface. And helped her out onto the warm rock.

“You are nothing,” she sputtered, “but a bastard, a rogue, a cutthroat vicious rascally whoreson scoundrel.”

“At your service,” Hunter said, and kissed her.

She broke away. “And forward.”

“And forward,” he agreed, and kissed her again.

“I suppose you intend to rape me like a common street woman.”

“I doubt,” Hunter said, stripping off his wet clothing, “that it will be necessary.”

And it was not.

“In daylight?” she said, in a horrified voice, and those were her last intelligible words.