Chapter Five
Once they’d shared stories from their personal lives, Mercy and the captain found other topics to discuss as they dined – politics, art, literature, even the latest scientific developments. Despite his earlier misgivings, Teach discovered his unexpected passenger was a pleasing companion with whom he could while away the long hours at sea. She possessed a dry wit and a keen mind, offsetting her occasionally sharp tongue.
He came to admire the way she spoke her opinion on any topic in a way no woman he’d met in the past had dared to do. The nun was even a worthy opponent in chess, surprising him with her unorthodox but highly effective style of play. He soon came to look upon their hours together as the highlight of his day.
As for the nights, he, too, slept poorly, and not because of the unyielding timbers of the deck where he made his bed. His dreams turned into a series of erotic interludes with a woman who looked like Sister Bertilde, though she was anything but pious in her words and actions. He dreamed of striding into his chamber and pulling her veil aside to uncover long, dark, wavy tresses, of stripping off her rough robe, leaving it in a puddle at her feet.
In his nighttime fantasies, she was naked under her religious garb, and he finally saw the lush, full breasts clearly outlined even through the thick robes. Her rosy nipples were already drawn into tight peaks, teased by the rough fabric brushing them with every move.
When he first dined with her, James had noticed a wooden hairbrush lying on the bed. A tiny smile formed under his moustache as he remembered how he’d put a similar hairbrush to good use on his last stop in Port Royal, bringing a rosy blush to the nether cheeks of a certain sassy wench draped across his lap. And then the way she’d shown how sorry she was afterwards.
James held the belief a firm hand robustly applied to the bare bottom was the best way for a man to keep a headstrong woman in check. If only the sharp-tongued female currently occupying his quarters weren’t a nun…
He scarcely knew dreaming from waking at times, as fantasies continued to unfold, unbidden, in his mind’s eye. At times when they were together he imagined using the heavy chair in his quarters not to dine from, but to perch on as he drew her across his lap, kicking and protesting. He’d take that wooden hairbrush to her bottom, spanking her soundly for tempting and teasing him day and night. Her nether cheeks would be as rosy as her nipples by the time he finished.
Then he’d carry her off to bed and give her the good fucking she desperately needed to win her away forever from the claims of any lord, whether here on Earth or in Heaven above.
In one of his saner moments, Teach decided to change course and head for the port of Saint Domingue in Hispaniola, intending to leave her at a Catholic mission there run by the Church in France. If there be nuns at the mission, they would speak her language. Sister Bertilde was fluent both in French and in English, having spoken them interchangeably at home. In any event, the Latin prayers were bound to be the same.
If no fellow sisters were to be found on the island, then he’d let her presence be the cause of sleepless nights for someone else instead, perhaps a devout monk struggling with the temptation to break his vows.
***
About a week into their voyage, the captain appeared at the door near sunset one day, bearing another armful of dishes and pots. He sat down at the table, stifling a groan. Mercy was troubled to see an unhealthy pallor in his skin, save for his cheeks, which bore a distinct flush.
Ignoring his protests, she came to his side and put her palm on his brow. Her hand came away damp with sweat. He was burning up.
Dreading the answer she might receive, Mercy asked, “How long have you been feeling ill?”
“I’m not sick. I’m just tired,” he argued. “I’ve not gotten a decent rest since the night of the storm. My bones don’t forgive nights spent on wooden planks the way they did when I first set foot on board a ship as a young man not yet twenty.”
“I fear I am to blame for your discomfort, since you’ve given up your bed for me. Please, Capitaine, lie down here on your bunk for a little while. I will sit by your side and bore you with my endless chatter until you are forced to give way to sleep just to escape the sound of my voice.”
Mercy became even more concerned when he did as she asked without protest. Climbing into the bunk, he turned his back to her, mumbling he’d only close his eyes for a bit. Within minutes, he’d fallen asleep.
She pulled one of the heavy chairs over and sat by his side, watching closely for signs of the deadly illness she knew so well. They’d been at sea nearly a week. If he had been exposed to the fever on St. Thomas, it was possible, strong as he was, he’d been carrying the seed of it all this time without showing the effects till now.
Before long, he shook violently. It looked as if his iron will had been the only thing keeping him from succumbing to the illness. Once he allowed himself to let go and fall into a deep sleep, the fever seized his body.
She recognized the signs too well. Though her parents had been burning up, they shivered constantly and complained of a chill. She pulled the thin coverlet from the bed over him then hurried to the door of the cabin and threw it open, calling for the first mate.
“Mr. Sprague, can you come here? Le capitaine is in need of your assistance.”
Sprague appeared in the doorway so quickly she wondered if he’d been lurking nearby all the while. A short, stout man, he could have been anywhere from thirty to fifty years of age. His face bore deep lines from years spent under the pitiless tropical sun and the harsh conditions of life on the open seas. His tattered clothes smelled as though they’d been soaked in a foul concoction made up of rum and sweat.
With his thin greasy locks held back by a ragged red scarf, he looked every bit a filthy pirate. But Teach had spoken well of him and trusted him enough to relinquish command of the ship to his care for hours at a time. Mercy believed the captain was a good judge of character. In any case, she had no choice but to confide in the man.
She blocked the entrance to the cabin with her body and spoke in a low voice.
“We have not been introduced, monsieur, but I learned your name from Captain Teach. I am Sister Bertilde of the Sisters of the Immaculate Heart of Mary. Your captain has been good enough to allow me safe passage on his ship, even giving me the use of his own quarters. But I fear he has taken ill with the dreaded fever sweeping through the Indies. It is not safe for you or any other member of your crew to enter this room, lest you, too, succumb. I have had some experience with this illness, and I have medicines and herbs with which to treat it.”
She dropped her voice even lower. “I speak of this to you in confidence, monsieur. I do not know if it is safe for the crew to know their captain is too ill to assume command. I have heard talk of ships where dishonorable men took advantage of similar circumstances, forcefully taking possession of the vessels and all their contents.”
Sprague listened to Mercy without interruption, nodding his head gravely toward the end when she brought up the possibility of crew members seizing the opportunity to commit mutiny.
“Yer right, Sister, right about the whole lot of it. I trust most of me crew, but we took on a couple ’a new men this voyage. An’ I’ve seen the cap’n lookin’ weary at the helm the past few days. We all knowed of yer presence on board and noted how much time our cap’n spends with ye. I’d be much obliged if ye’d tend to him.”
He stopped for a moment, as though considering his next words carefully, before going on.