Free My Seaswept Heart by Christine Dorsey

sailed the small sloop often and her
insides never threatened to wring themselves out. And when she came
to Libertia... True, she’d been much younger, but she didn’t recall
feeling as she did now.
    Perhaps it was just the idea of being aboard
a pirate ship. Or being so disgustingly dirty. Anne glanced down at
her shirt and britches. Filthy was the best way to describe them.
But then she decided dirt was the best camouflage she could find,
other than her men’s clothing.
    And she certainly wanted to keep her identity
hidden. Just her luck she chose the passageway in front of Captain
MacQuaid’s cabin to get sick in.
    But one good thing. He hadn’t recognized her.
No, he saw what he wished to see. A scrawny lad who couldn’t keep
his victuals down. Anne smiled despite her discomfort. But her
expression sobered as another wave of sickness made her break out
in a cold sweat. Leaning against the splintery bulwark, too weak to
go looking for her hammock, Anne wondered how wise she’d been to
come aboard. It had seemed the perfect plan while on Libertia. She
didn’t trust the pirate, so she’d keep a wary eye on him. And there
was also the problem of the jewels she’d promised him. Jewels she
didn’t have. But how was she going to watch him when she couldn’t
take her eyes off the pitching deck?
    ~ ~ ~
    A pounding woke Jamie and he leaped from the
bunk before he even opened his eyes. When he did he could see the
late-afternoon sun streaming through the salt-encrusted panes of
the transom windows.
    “Cap’n.” A pirate named Roger poked his fat
body through the door. He was out of breath and Jamie had to prod
him with a “What in the hell is it?” before he continued. “Ship off
the starboard bow.”
    “Is it d’Porteau?” Jamie strapped on his
cutlass and jammed a pistol into the leather sash across his
chest.
    “Deacon don’t know for sure. But he says she
looks French by her cut.”
    Before Roger had finished, Jamie was past him
into the passageway heading for the hatch. The main deck was alive
with activity. Powder monkeys, the boys who carried the powder and
shot to the cannons were scurrying around. Keena was doling out
weapons, muskets, and cutlasses to the men.
    Deacon stood on the quarterdeck and he handed
Jamie the spyglass after he bounded up the ladder.
    “Over there, Cap’n.”
    Jamie pointed the glass in the direction
Deacon indicated, though by now he could see the ship. “’Tisn’t the French Whore .” Jamie shrugged his shoulders. “So unless
d’Porteau is sailing a different boat these days, it looks as if we
have ourselves an innocent French merchantman.” When Jamie looked
around he was grinning. “Since the French and English are warring
as usual, ’twould seem our duty as fine upstanding Englishmen to
relieve the good captain of his cargo?”
    “Even though ye be a Scot by birth?”
    Jamie laughed. “Especially then.”
    ~ ~ ~
    The chaos was frightening.
    Men ran about, loading guns and flashing
swords. So much of it reminded Anne of the day d’Porteau raided
Libertia. It was a day she feared would burn in her memory
forever.
    Anne pressed her back against the foremast
and shut her eyes wishing the sights and sounds would go away. Her
lids flew open when something was shoved hard at her stomach.
Reflex had her grabbing the wooden canister.
    “Look lively, boy! This ain’t no time to be
dreamin’ of your momma’s teat,” a gruff voice yelled.
    Using her knee to keep the heavy barrel from
slipping, Anne looked around the deck, trying to decide what to do
with it.
    “Over here.” Anne glanced up to see a boy of
perhaps ten motioning to her with spindly arms. “Is ye deaf?” he
yelled when she continued as if rooted to the spot.
    “No, my hearing is perfectly fine,” she said
as she made her way across the sand-strewn deck to where the boy
stood.
    “That there is langrage. Scrap metal,” he
explained when Anne said nothing. “It chews up rope and