When a maid of honor to the Queen is rescued by a handsome and contentious pirate, she has to spend three days aboard his ship before returning to court. But is three days time long enough to truly get to know someone? And is English court as diffic...
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"Mistress Celia!"
An abrupt wake up call came from outside of the door. Celia's eyelids peeled open hesitantly, her eyes shocked by the sunlight that beamed onto her face. She squinted and rolled over, flopping onto her stomach.
"Mistress Celia!" The voice called again, in a more distressed tone, followed by a sequence of bangs against the door, causing it to shake.
Fear resonated in the pit of Celia's stomach. She shot up in her bed and padded across the floor, placing her right ear against the door. There was silence until the fist of the stranger on the outside collided with the wood once more. Her body flinched, sending a yelp of fear flying out of her mouth. The banging ceased.
"Mistress Celia?" The voice was softer now.
Celia licked her lips and stood taller, hoping to gain some courage. "Y–yes?" she stammered.
"My name is Frederick Pearson. This is urgent. Please, let me in. I've been sent by the captain."
Celia froze. How could she be sure he was telling the truth? There were a million indecent scenarios running through her mind and her brain was screaming at her to lean against the door with all of her weight to prevent his entry. Nevertheless, her hand found its way to the doorknob and twisted it open, revealing a short man similar to her own height. His hair was bleached by the sun and his eyes were a crisp blue, separated by a bulbous nose.
"Miss," he said frantically, his eyes widening as they grazed her body. Celia wore nothing but a sheer, white nightgown. She immediately folded her arms over her chest. Frederick cleared his throat and redirected his attention to her face. "Mistress Celia, there is an enemy ship close by. The captain wanted me to warn you to stay in this room at all costs. The chances of attack are slim, but it is a possibility nonetheless."
Celia nodded slowly. "Where is the captain?"
"Weather deck."
"I would like to speak with him. Could you fetch him?"
"I'm sorry, miss, but he should remain—"
"Please," Celia said. "At least tell him I asked for him."
The man squinted his eyes at her, relinquishing a sigh of defeat. "Alright. Stay safe, miss." The door creaked to a close as he left.
Celia quickly dressed herself, throwing on a gown and taking a strip of cloth in her hands, tying it around her unruly mass of curls at the base of her neck. She smoothed her skirt and inhaled slowly, closing her eyes while muttering a short prayer. Suddenly, the door threw open. She spun around on her heel, her frantic heartbeat slowing to a steady rhythm at the sight of Harry. His chocolate curls stuck to his skin with sweat and his eyes were ridden with worry. She stepped forward, halting as Harry did the same.
"You sent for me," Harry said.
Celia nodded. "Is it true? Spanish ships are near?"
"Only one," he answered. "No need to fear. No Tudor flag is raised. To them, we are strangers."
"But if they do attack—"
"I will do everything in my power to ensure your safety, Mistress Celia," he interrupted.
Harry nodded with assurance before turning and heading for the door, but Celia's voice stopped him in his tracks. "What if it's the same ship that attacked mine?" Harry pivoted on his foot to face her. "What if they have my family hostage?"
"There is nothing I can do if they are on the enemy ship. I will not put my men in danger for a lost cause." Celia's blood boiled at the sound of his words. Her jaw stuck out in front of her upper teeth, insinuating her anger towards Harry. His eyes softened. "I'm sorry."
"Leave, captain," she demanded as she fought back tears. "You've said your piece, now leave."
"Yes, and I am the one who acts like a king," Harry muttered as he stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
Celia felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. Unable to catch her breath, she pressed one hand against her diaphragm and the other to her gaping mouth. Hot tears burned tunnels in her cheeks as they escaped her eyes. She sunk her teeth into her bottom lip until the metallic taste of blood flooded her tastebuds. The grief she suffered was unbearable, and the words that Harry spoke only made the harsh reality of her unfortunate circumstances more true.
She was alone.
♛
Celia lay on her back, fading in and out of light slumbers as the boat rocked gently. She hummed a song her mother used to sing as she rocked her to sleep as a child, struggling to remember the words but the tune was as clear as day in her memory. A sudden tip of the boat caused Celia to roll out of her bed, landing on the floor with a thud and a bruise on her hip. Her cheek was pressed to the wood as she lay on the floor, scared to move.
What on Earth could have caused that? she wondered.
With a loud thud, the door to the captain's cabin slammed closed. Celia scrambled to her feet and looked around the room in a wild frenzy. Her eyes landed on the candlestick residing on the bedside table. She quickly snatched it, sending the candles plummeting to the ground, and held it to her chest.
Footsteps thundered from outside of her door, almost as loud as the pounding of her heart against her ribs. She crept to the door and stood silently, scared to death that the stranger on the other side could hear her rapid heartbeat and ragged breathing.
Was it Harry? A crewman? An enemy pirate?
The footsteps neared the door, and she immediately threw her body against the wall so that if the door opened, she would not be in view. She closed her eyes and sent up another silent prayer. Her palms grew damp with sweat as her grip on the candlestick tightened.
The door swung open. Her hand darted up to her lips, preventing her terrified squeaks from escaping. She brought her trembling hand back down to the candlestick and clenched it until her knuckles turned snow white, holding it by her shoulder, ready to attack.
The wood creaked as the mystery person rounded the corner, standing before Celia with a wicked smile, revealing a mouth full of missing teeth. His beady eyes widened with lust at the sight of Celia.
"Hello, señorita," he said with a thick Spanish accent.
Celia swung her arm to hit the pirate over the head with her weapon, but he was faster than she. His dirt-coated hand caught the candlestick mid-swing and twisted it out of her grasp. He then cocked his head and released a deep chuckle.
She gulped, her eyes darting around the room for any hopes of an escape or weapon to use against the pirate. With nothing useful in sight, she inched backward as the man moved closer to her until she hit the wall. Celia shut her eyes, accepting her fate. The sound of a sword being drawn from its sheath was the last thing Celia heard before it was followed by a thud.
