Fingers in her hair stirred her from a restless slumber. Her eyes flew open and she retreated pinning her back to the wall. The man from the kitchen stumbled backward landing on his bottom from a kneeling position in front of her, pulling some of her hair with him. “What are you doing?” she shrieked.
He trembled and stuttered. “I… am sorry, so sorry. Please don’t tell, Spoon. Um, the quartermaster… Master Davies. Please.”
Quartermaster? Master Davies. She figured he held a position of importance, but quartermaster? The poor old man looked more scared of her than she imagined ever being of him. “Well… answer me. What were you doing?”
Reaching behind him with shaking hands, he held out a tray with a cup of what she assumed was water, and a chunk of some form of bread. “I… I thought you may be thirsty. Hungry?”
Opening and closing her palm, she indicated she would take it, if she could. Her chains limited her range of motion, but she could touch her face so drinking shouldn’t be an issue. “Put the cup in my hand. Please.” Setting the tray down, he did as she requested, and she drained it. “Are you going to tell me why you were touching me?”
Lowering his eyes, his head followed. He clasped his hands together, wringing them in his lap. “You are… are just so beautiful. Your hair is like, like, some of the sands I seen. I apologize, Miss. Honestly, I do.”
“What is your name?”
“They call me Bird, ma’am.” Peering at her, with his head still lowered, she noticed the cloudiness in his left eye. She wondered if he lost sight in it.
“Bird? That is your birth name?”
He chuckled. “Oh no, Miss.” Unclasping his fingers, he pointed to his nose. “They call me bird because of this beak.” He chuckled again. “They claim I descended from some ancient bird form because of my large nose.”
Though she thought it rude of anyone to laugh at another’s birth given physical traits, she couldn’t help herself. His nose did remind her of a bird. She shared a laugh with Bird. He seemed harmless enough. She worried they didn’t treat him right. An elderly and fragile man, tasked with cooking for the ship, in that sweltering kitchen. “So, Master Davies is the quartermaster of this ship?” she probed.
Glancing behind him, towards the door, he lowered his voice. “This ship, the Valiant, is captained by Archer. Davies has served as his quartermaster for many years and I hear he will be the captain of the Intrepid, Archer’s other ship.”
She considered this, thinking what to ask next. She had him talking, she wanted to obtain as much information as she could. It’s not as if she expected Spoon or Davies to. “Is that where we are going? To his ship?”
Shrugging his shoulders, he rolled to his knees, positioning himself to stand. “They don’t tell me when we stay, go. Or where we stay or go. I figure they go home when they got what they came for.”
After minutes of Bird’s bones cracking and his continual groaning, he made it to his feet. Bending for the tray and reaching for her cup, she stalled him. “Can I have a little more water? Please.”
“I’m not s’posed to, but I will for ye.” Taking the items, he limped out, mumbling more to himself than to her. “Always ration the water. Especially this early after leaving land. Always.”
Returning with another full cup, she dreaded drinking it all. How did Davies expect her to relieve herself? “Bird. How long will I be shackled?”
Answering first with a shrug, he replied, “I don’t know.”
“How long does he usually leave women in here?” She hated that her voice conveyed her impatience, but she knew he had more to share.
“Finish your drink.” He kept looking over his shoulder toward the doorway. After repeating his head turn several more times, he spoke so low she struggled to hear him. “They don’t keep women in here. No women are aboard when we pull anchor. If they are…” He looked back again. “They just can’t be.”
He answered her questions, yet it only presented her with more. Deciding she couldn’t stall him any longer, he was plagued with obvious fear, she worried he may fall over dead. Finishing her water she held the cup out as far as she could. “Thank you, Bird.” Producing a polite smile, she whispered, “I’m Priscilla.”
Returning her smile with what one could only describe as a toothless one, he took her cup. He dropped it more than once on his way out. Closing the door behind him, he left her with her continuous ponderings. Davies didn’t take her for the entertainment of the crew. He couldn’t use her as some form of negotiation for anything, as she didn’t give her father’s name or title. He didn’t even know the name of the ship she arrived on. Trying to focus on the swaying of the ship and the creaks and bangs that went along with it, and not her increasing worries, she hoped Davies returned soon. To offer any form of explanation.
Without any further visits from Bird, the time dragged on. Her wrists ached, her arms as well from keeping them elevated at such a level. The sun lowered through the porthole, and she became restless thinking he may not return for her.
Hearing his voice out in the kitchen, relief rushed her first, then irritation. How dare he? The door burst open, followed by him ducking through the opening. “Did you have a peaceful afternoon, Angel?” His voice and his smile grated on her. Both smothered in sarcasm and arrogance. His masculinity, the rawness of him, enticed and thrilled her. And frustrated her more than anything he could say or do to her.
“Release me this instant!” She shook her chains. “Pleasant afternoon? You can’t be serious! Let me loose.”
He stood firm. His hair tied at the back of his neck, gold earrings hanging from his earlobes, his eyes became more prominent. She wished he didn’t look at her as he did. Suffused in warmth from her scalp to her toes, concentrated in her middle, she shook her chains again.
Kneeling, out of reach of her, she kicked at him. He grinned. Unlike the other men aboard, he had straight, white teeth. “We need to have a little talk, Priscilla,” he declared.
Hearing him speak her name again, her insides contracted. She shifted her body, wishing these sensations would leave her. There were too many other things taking precedence. “I agree. We do need to talk. Why did you take me? What do you plan to do with me? Are you going to chain me up every day?” she blurted.
The small space filled with his laughter. It aggravated her that he laughed at her so much. “I meant I will do the talking. You agree and behave as I say.”
Believing he didn’t plan to harm her, her anger flourished. He may hold a position of authority on this ship, but she didn’t answer to him. “I think not. I agreed that we need to talk. I won’t agree to you doing all the talking… and me just obeying,” she insisted.
“Tsk, tsk. My, my. Your father must have had to keep you over his knee as a child… or he needed to.” Resting his elbows on his spread knees, he clasped his hands together. “If you wish to remain uncomfortable, so be it.”
“Don’t you talk about my father. Or my childhood. You don’t know anything about me. What about you? Did you grow up without one? Is that why you have this false sense of authority?” As soon as the words passed her lips, she knew she made a mistake. But he had no right to mention her father. She had
