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The next morning, I woke by Tristan’s side, smiling at the way he’d continued to hold me through the night. He hadn’t been able to finish telling me about the Templars, his shoulder paining him too much, and we’d gone to sleep. All evening, I’d dreamed of stolen treasure and my descent into the pit, adrenaline pumping through me.
“If ye stare at me much longer like that, ye’re going to have to explain to the doctor what I was doing when my stitches came undone.” He cracked open an eye, one side of his mouth rising in a groggy smile.
“I like watching you sleep,” I declared, kissing him softly on the mouth.
“That’s going to end up with my stitches popped as well,” he said against my lips, clutching me against him tighter all the same.
A knock at the door interrupted us before he could continue what I might have been willing to let him do, and we rolled apart reluctantly as John Butler entered the room.
“Morning, Captain. Miss.” He nodded to both of us, apparently undisturbed by our bedraggled state. “Mr. Kelly located the dress maker for ye, last night. I’ve been informed that she’s awaitin’ ye at the brothel.”
“Oooo,” I snickered. “A wedding dress made by a hooker. How exciting!”
“Mistress Kane is a Madame for the brothel,” Tristan laughed. “And the best seamstress this side of the Cape. She’ll make ye shine like the sun.”
“She takes care of the girls, you mean?” I asked, not sure if I was remembering the job description right.
“Aye,” John butted in. “And she was none too happy to be told to wait, Captain. I had to promise her a hefty sum for the work and short notice.”
“It’s fine,” he answered, sitting up and rising from the bed. “Tell her we’ll arrive shortly, and with a bottle of whiskey as thanks for her time.”
With a curt bob, John left, closing the door behind him, and Tristan sighed.
“Would ye mind getting me a glass, lass? My shoulder is in a right fit this morn.” He touched it gently, grimacing as he rolled it a little, trying to loosen the muscles.
“Are you going to be okay to travel into town and do this?” I asked hesitantly. “You seem to be hurting more than you were at first. Maybe I should get the doctor?”
“I’m well,” he stated, watching as I crossed the room and poured him a cup of the whiskey. “The shoulder is tightening from healing, that’s all. It’s stiff to move, but I must if I want to keep any function in it. I can’t be a captain who can’t raise his arm.”
The last part was said jokingly, but I felt a cold wave drip through my stomach. Of course he needed to move it. He needed physical therapy to make sure his muscles all worked right. But there was no way to be certain he’d even been stitched up correctly, let alone someone to monitor his progress. Once again, I cursed my English major, wishing I’d studied something that would have been more useful to me here. Knowing most of the classic literatures and their symbolism wasn’t really helping all that much.
Carrying the glass over to him, I watched him drain it in two gulps and hold it back out, motioning for another.
“Just one more,” he explained. “To take the edge off.”
“I can go by myself,” I offered. “You can stay here and rest.”
“No,” he chortled. “I want to come with ye. Besides, what would it say to the crew, their captain hiding in his quarters like a baby the entire time we’re at port? No, I must make an appearance, at the very least to show to the other captains and crews that I’m not a cod fish.”
“Why would they think you’re that?” I asked, refilling his drink.
“The crew will have told everyone within ears reach of the mutiny,” he said conversationally. “Everyone will be looking for the new captain. I imagine they’ll be wanting to see ye, too. The woman crewmember. It’s not often they see something like that.”
A little while later, we were in the long boat, myself trying to row to shore as he hooted at me and my not-so-awesome skills.
“I grew up in the desert, you know,” I retorted, somewhat annoyed. “Rowing isn’t exactly something I had to practice daily, like you.”
“I didn’t practice daily,” he teased. “But yer right. I have lived by the water for most of my life.”
Thankfully, we landed soon after, and were on our way to the brothel. As we walked up the beach, curious heads popped out of tents and windows, looking us over before disappearing back inside. It was early enough that most everyone was asleep, some men even passed out on the sand from their drinking, but our arrival seemed to have sparked interest with the few who were up.
“It’s about time!” A woman yelled from the brothel’s doorway, her red dress hugging her tightly, the top skirt pulled back into a bustle. Her white hair, which may or may not have been a wig, was piled on her head like a tower, the curls cascading over each other and pinned into place with a flower here and there.
“Madame,” Tristan called back warmly, holding up the bottle of whiskey he’d promised. “Do forgive us.”
“Come in,” she replied amicably, eyeing the offering. As we neared and entered, she turned from us, moving through the tables of the crowded room to the bar, grabbing three glasses. “Ye’ll excuse my annoyance,” she chattered. “One of the girls was beaten by Conrad’s crew last night and he’s refusing to pay for her care. Says they paid her fine for her services.” Taking the bottle from Tristan, she poured a healthy dose into each tumbler, picking them up and nodding to the table closest to us. “It’s one thing to get slapped around,” she continued to complain. “But they broke her arm and fractured just under her knee. How am I supposed to turn a profit with that?”
All of the sympathy and concern I’d been feeling fled me at the callous response and I sat down, mouth clamped shut.
“I told her to not let them be so rough,” she resumed in a matter of fact tone, shaking her head. “But did she listen? No. They did pay her quite a bit.” She fell silent, thinking it over, before raising her glass and downing the entire thing. “No, he has to pay for her. I don’t care how much it was she took from them.”
“Madame.” Glancing at me and noting my somewhat affronted expression, Tristan redirected the conversation to the reason for our visit. “This is my betrothed, Samantha.”
Shocked, as if she hadn’t even noticed I was a woman, she looked me over with wide eyes. When she spoke, I realized the surprise wasn’t because of my gender. “Skinny, isn’t she? Don’t ye feed her?”
“I’m fed fine,” I replied, her blunt appraisal fueling my indignation.
“Samantha is a member of the crew,” Tristan interrupted.
“That explains it,” Madame said, studying me again. “Too much sea work. Not enough time to put some meat on her.”
My face burned at her comments. Never in my life had I been made to feel that skinny was a bad thing. Apparently, it was in the fifteenth century.
“Ye’ll be wanting a wedding dress, I presume?” she asked, staring at me hard.
“Yes,” I replied firmly. “And some new pants and a shirt, if that’s all right.”
“Yer man didn’t say anything about pants and a shirt,” she answered sharply, turning to Tristan.
“Ye will be paid handsomely.” He smiled at her, not put off even a little by her rudeness and greed.
“I want half up front.” Her voice was commanding and it suddenly occurred to me that she was used to selling women to men for the night, only to get them back beaten nearly to death the next morning. It was a man’s world that she labored in. Perhaps I did have some sympathy for her somewhere in me.
Tristan pulled a bag of coins from his jacket pocket and slid it across the table, watching as she counted the total.
“Deal,” she finally breathed. “Come with me, lass. We’ll get ye measured.”
“I’ll wait for ye here,” he told me, smiling.
Rising, I followed the woman out of the bar and up the staircase, pas
t several closed doors where there was low whispering and giggling. Finally, we entered the double doors of one room and she motioned for me to undress.
“Naked, dear,” she ordered.
Obeying, feeling somewhat self-conscious, I watched her pull cords from a desk and a piece of paper, tucking the bag of coins away in a drawer and locking it.
“Come,” she commanded, gesturing to a spot on the floor for me to stand. It was in front of a dirty mirror and I suddenly felt a pang of homesickness. I hadn’t looked at my reflection in a very long time.
Moving to where she pointed, I took in my reflection, marveling at how I could look so different and the same at once. My hair had grown out past my chest, which I’d already known, but it was strange to see it that length on my frame. My skin was tanned from my year at sea. The cut on my arm had healed, leaving a long white line to tell the story. There was a hardness to my appearance that dulled all traces of femininity. Even my chest, which was untied at the moment, appeared as if it had dwindled somehow, my breasts looking almost foreign to me.
At the same time, those were still my eyes that stared back, my lips that rested against each other. I’d gained some muscle, but my body was mostly the same. There was the scar on my knee from when I’d fallen and skinned it in the pool. My hand had the faded mark from a dog’s scratch. I was me, and yet I wasn’t.
The Madame worked quickly, measuring me all around before she started asking questions. “What will ye be needing, then?”
“I don’t have anything,” I said, still studying myself. “Just those clothes over there.”
“Yer betrothed will pay for anything you ask, aye?” I could hear the conniving tone to her voice and knew she was thinking of how to get more money out of him, but I was also sure Tristan would pay for anything I wanted.
“I need just the one dress,” I said, my attention shifting away from my reflection to her. “And a shift and corset. However, I would like three pairs of pants, long enough to tuck into my boots, and three new shirts. They can be form fitting if you’d like, it doesn’t matter to me. I just need something I can cycle through, so I can wash whatever’s dirty.”
“And yer sure ye only want one dress?” she questioned uncertainly. “Maybe one more, for yer betrothed?”
“It’s hard to work on a ship in a dress,” I replied with authority. “How long before you can get all of that done?”
“A few days,” she answered, shrugging. “I’ll get some of the girls to help.”
“Wonderful.” Moving away from the mirror, an idea suddenly came and I turned back, cheerily. “I wonder, if you’d be willing to try and make something new for me? It’s a bit odd, but I think it will help on the ship.”
“What’s that?” She was instantly suspicious, her brow furrowing.
“Well, I can’t be wearing a corset all the time, can I? So I’ve been going without, to move easier as I do my tasks. I was thinking, if there’s no objections to making something to keep my chest supported, I have a design I can draw out for you.” Smiling as she pondered my request, I waited for her decision. If she wanted the money, she’d be a fool not to at least attempt it.
“Show me the design.” She exhaled, handing over the paper and pen she’d been using to write down my measurements.
Taking my time to make sure I got it right, I drew out a bra, happy that I’d thought to ask her for one in the first place. “It connects in the back, here,” I explained, showing her, “and is held up with the straps. The cups are measured to fit exactly.”
She examined the sketch curiously, a slight awkwardness to her as she looked me over again. “I’ve seen something somewhat like this,” she confessed. “On one of the Greek slaves. Perhaps I can work one out for ye.”
“Thank you,” I said happily. “I’ll let Captain O’Rourke know that it should be done in a few days.”
Crossing the room, I slipped into my clothes, glancing longingly at the mirror once more. How long would it be before I got to see myself again?
The Madame was still working over my drawing as I let myself out, mumbling to herself under her breath. Grinning, I closed the doors behind me, looking over the railing of the balcony to Tristan, who was drinking with John Butler. Concern for him bit at me. He’d never drank this much around me before and I was worried his shoulder was worse than he was letting on. As I came down the stairs, he beamed at me, seemingly fine.
“Did ye order all ye needed?” he asked, nodding as John stood up and left.
“I did, thank you. How is your shoulder doing? You’ve had an awful lot to drink today.”
“I’m going to need a bit more, I think.” Tristan winked, merrily. “I’d rather fight Rodrigues again than ride a horse sober at the moment.”
“Ride a horse?” The statement left me completely caught off guard. “Why are you riding a horse?”
“Ye mean why are we riding a horse,” he laughed. “John’s just told me one of the men had a run in with the slaves last night. Their prophet cursed him something good and he’s in a right fit about it. We need to go see if we can appease her.”
“I am so confused.” Sitting next to him, I tried to make sense of it all. “There are slaves here. Don’t they have a master, or something?”
“No,” he answered, shaking his head. “They were part of the cargo taken from a ship. Once they landed here with the pirates that took them, they scattered. Their camp is a ways out of town, and rightly so. Some of the men still think they should be sold.”
“How awful.” Wrinkling my nose in distaste at the thought of active slavery around me, I took a drink from my cup that I’d left behind.
“That’s not all I mean to ask the priestess about,” he continued, quietly. “They’re Greek slaves, lassie. Perhaps they know something about the vase, savvy?”
“Oh!” Realization dawned on me and it was suddenly clear why he wanted to go so far out of the way while he was hurt. “Yes, I suppose they might know something.”
“My shoulder won’t like it so much,” he added, frowning, “but methinks it will be worth it in the end.”