A Pirate's Heart (St. John Series) (2 page)

“Please, Mommy, give me back ma boat,” Max pleaded as he attempted to reach for the toy again.

“Don’t call me that!” Sybil hissed with disgust. “Ya ain’t been nothin’ but trouble since ya came out of me. I should’ve tossed ya in the sea when ya wuz born. Ya don’t deserve this.” She shook the boat in his face again. “Ya don’t deserve nothin’, ya ungrateful brat.” Max watched in horror as she pulled her arm back and threw the boat down the alley. He turned to run after the boat, only to feel his mother’s fingers around his arm. “I’ll show ya wot happens when ya steal and then lie ta me!”

“No!” Max protested as he placed his hands over his head to protect himself. He could feel her cold hands hit his face over and over again. Her last backhand sent him tumbling to the ground.

“Get up,” she spat with hatred.

Slowly standing, tears ran down his cheeks. He wiped them away with his dirty sleeve, leaving a mud and blood covered streak across his face.

“Dontcha be cryin’. Ya got what ya deserved, sa man up and take it. Now go ta yer room and change.”

Max nodded his head and made his way into the back of the tavern. The nauseating smell of the tavern hit him full force. Every tavern he entered had the same smell. The only description of the stench was dirty, disease-ridden women and sex. He climbed the steps, his heart filled with disappointment over losing his toy. The beatings he could handle. His mother had beaten him daily for as long as he could remember, but the loss of the toy was a different matter.

Max opened the door to the back room he shared with his mother. The strong smell of cheap liquor and opium was powerful, but he had grown accustomed to the irritating fumes. He took off his oversized jacket and placed it on the broken wooden chair by the window. He took off his thin shirt, folded it neatly and placed it on the chair. The sound of the door slamming caused him to jump with fear. Turning his head, his heart sank as he watched Sybil take down the brown, leather strap from the back of the door.

“Mother, please. I won’t do it again. I promise. Please don’t use that,” he pleaded with desperation as he pointed to the strap.

She said nothing as she approached him. She grabbed him by his thick, black hair and pulled him to her bed. He attempted to pull free, but his small frame was unable to overpower his mother. She tossed him onto the bed face down and placed her knee onto his legs to hold him in place.

“No!” he yelled with panic.

“I’ll teach ya, ya ungrateful thief!” she yelled as she raised the strap and brought it down across his back.

“Stop!” he pleaded to no avail. His desperate pleas for her to stop fell on deaf ears. She hit him over and over again with the heavy, thick strap. When he stopped begging, she stopped her beating.

She looked down at the welts forming on his back and sneered. “Now get dressed and get the hell out of ma sight. I have more important people ta attend to other than dealin’ with you.”

Max felt her body rise off him and winced as he pushed himself up from the bed. The door slammed behind him. He walked over to the chair and placed the same shirt back on. A grimace crossed his face as he pulled the shirt over his tender back. At least she didn’t cut his flesh, which was what he was expecting. Most of her beatings usually didn’t. All that they did was leave nasty red marks and dark bruises.

He opened the door. As he turned, a hand touched his shoulder causing him to jump as if the devil had just spoken his name.

“She wasn’t always so hateful,” the old prostitute said in a shaky voice.

Max did not turn towards the voice. He raised his hand and quickly wiped the pain-filled tears from his eyes.

“It’s the opium. Once she started usin’ it, it changed her.”

“And whose fault is that, Martha?” Max snapped in a quivering voice as he turned to face the aging woman.

She pulled her hand back, as if his anger had singed her flesh, and looked at him. Her eyes were cloudy and her pupils constricted from her recent opium usage. “I didn’t think she’d keep on usin’ it. If’n she hadn’t broken her leg, I’d a never give it ta her.”

“But ya did. And my life is hell because of it,” he said as he turned and went back down the stairs.

He spotted his mother at the back door. He knew why she was there. She wanted to make sure he was leaving.

As he walked past her, she pushed him out. “I don’t want ta see yer face again tonight. Find someplace else ta go and sleep sa I won’t have ta deal with you and yer thievin’ ways,” she hissed and slammed the door shut.

At that time a loud crack of thunder echoed throughout the town. Raising his face skyward, he watched as lightning streaked across the sky and the rain began to fall. He glanced back to the door and saw that his mother had left. Making his way to where Sybil had thrown his toy, he dug through the broken crates until he found the boat, intact with no damage. He placed it into his pocket and made his way in the pouring rain to the livery at the edge of town.

Max sat down under the corner roof of the livery, out of the rain. Pulling his now soaked jacket tight around his body, he stared out into the distance. A fancy coach drove past him. His eyes narrowed and he drew his mouth tight as he watched the coach. Tears began to stream down his cheeks. The Earl was inside the coach. Max clenched his fists into the dirt and felt a stone in his hand. Standing he threw the hard object towards the coach and watched as the projectile missed its mark and landed in the mud with a splash. As Max watched the coach disappear up the hill and out of sight, hatred formed inside of him. With each tear that ran down his cheeks, the more he hated the Earl and his family. It hurt Max that he was unwanted, unloved by anyone. If what his mother said was true about the Earl sending her money for his care, then why didn’t the Earl come to take him away from her? Max came to the conclusion that what his mother said must be true—he was an embarrassment to his father, a hideous mistake to stay hidden and tucked out of the way.

A shiver ran down Max as a cool breeze blew through the livery. He turned and went into one of the unused stalls, grabbed a horse blanket for cover and curled up in the corner. He drifted off to sleep, dreaming of a family who would love and want him.

Over the next few days, Max kept running into the blond-haired boy and they soon became fast friends, despite Nicholas’s father’s disapproval. The more Jonathan disapproved, the more his son befriended Max. Nicholas and Max were too adventurous for their own good. It came to the point that every other day Nicholas was getting into trouble with his parents. Whenever he was caught with Max in some grand adventure and gave his name in hopes of getting away, it spread back to his father before he could reach home. So Max came up with a grand persona, an alter ego, if you would. Nicholas liked the idea and began using his middle name of Alexander. He paired it with the name of a tavern owner Max knew and came up with Alexander Xavier.

* * * *

Fifteen years later. . .

Max stood outside at the corner of the noisy tavern, waiting for Alex to make his appearance. He hated this waiting game. He knew Alex was after something, but he didn’t know what. The warm ocean breeze caught Max’s shoulder-length black hair and whipped it around his head. He rubbed the day’s growth of beard on his face. He had a dark and menacing appearance. Even though he was tall, he vanished into the shadows easily, his dark clothing hiding him from those around.

A wolfish smile crossed Max’s face as a familiar woman’s soft voice behind him cooed, “You lookin’ for some company, darlin’?” The wench pressed her small breasts against Max’s back.

Max stood still, not turning to see who had approached him. He recognized her curves, and had enjoyed them many times in the past. “Not now, Mabel, I’m working,” he said, a slight hint of agitation to his voice.

“Ya sure, honey?” she purred. At Max’s curt nod, she turned to leave, “Well, if ya change yer mind, ya know where to find me.” She pinched Max’s backside as she left.

Max turned and watched the wench leave. He was tempted to follow, but he needed to wait for Alex first. As he turned his gaze back to the building he was watching, he saw his friend exiting Grimm’s Tavern.

“Where have you been?” growled Max, the displeasure evident in his deep voice. “We’re going to miss the tide.”

“Ah, Max, my friend, you’ll have to miss this tide on
The
Armada
.”

“What has happened, Alex?” Max questioned suspiciously as he eyed his friend.

“Well, I don’t plan on sailing on
The
Armada
. I’m sailing on
The Abyss,
” he said with a smile. “And hopefully with you as my first-mate.”

“What? Are you crazy? Henry will—oh, wait. You didn’t?!” Max questioned in disbelief.

“I most certainly did,” Alex smugly replied as he watched his friend’s mouth drop open. “I am now the owner, and captain, of
The Abyss
.”

A deep roar of laughter came from Max. “Alex, you are either the luckiest or cleverest bastard I’ve ever met.”

“Ah, yes. But aren’t you glad you know me?”

“Aye. I’d rather be your friend than your enemy,” answered Max. “Just for your information on a pirate ship the first-mate is not second-in-command, the quartermaster is.”

“Good to know. But who said I wanted you as my second-in-command.”

Max shook his head and rolled his eyes at his friend’s joking remark. “What about
The Armada?
How do you plan on getting her back to Governor’s Harbour without you on board? You know that pompous-assed Captain Andrew McClain
won’t leave without the Governor’s son on board?” You could hear the disgust in Max’s voice as he mentioned the captain’s name. He most frequently referred to the man by his last name out of spite. Most of the crew had great admiration for the captain . . . most, not all. Max and Alex were just two of several who knew how the captain really was.

“Ah, yes,” Alex replied. “I’ve already come up with an excuse as to why I won’t be on board. I’ll leave a note for good ole McClain and tell him I’ve already left for Governor’s Harbour on another vessel due to the fact that all this salty sea air was not good for my ‘delicate’ disposition.”

He grinned. Both he and Max knew that wasn’t true. Ever since he was a little boy, Alex loved the sea. But being the only child of the Governor, he was sheltered, protected, never allowed to explore without being watched . . . or so his parent’s thought. He’d lost count of how many adventures Max and he had.

“I’ll guess you’ll want me to contact some of my old acquaintances for a crew?” Max asked. At Alex’s nod, he continued. “I don’t know how well they’ll take to a twenty-year-old captain,” stated Max matter-of-factly.

“You’ll convince them, somehow, like you always do.”

“How do you get me into these messes?” Max questioned as he shook his head and headed towards the pier.

“Me?” Alex questioned with a pretense of innocence. “I was a perfect, well-behaved child when I met you. I believe
you
have influenced me and therefore
you
are the one who gets us into these messes.”

Both men looked at each other and laughed. Max swatted his younger companion on the back and said, “Well, let’s get to work before ole’ begrudging Henry decides to double-cross you and take back his ship.”

Chapter One

Cuba, 1792 . . .

Kristina looked out the
window of the run-down house near Matanzas. She pressed her forehead against the cool pane of the glass and watched the rain bounce off the large rocks in the yard. She had lived in the small fishing village her entire life. Her father, Natanael, was part of the Spanish Navy in search of Aztec treasure. His ship stopped for supplies at Matanzas twenty-two years ago. It sailed on in search of the treasure, but he did not. He abandoned his post, deserted his position, for the love of one of the villagers he met at port in Matanzas. Her name was Sophia. The Spanish ship returned for him, but he took refuge in the small unknown fishing village where Sophia lived. After several days, the ship left and never returned, their mission too important to spend all of their valuable time and resources looking for one deserter.

Soon afterward, Natanael and Sophia married. They built the little house and began raising a family. Kristina was their first child. Around Kristina’s third birthday, her mother gave birth to a little boy, who died shortly afterwards. A year later, she miscarried. A year after that, Sophia gave birth to another boy, who was still born. Natanael and Sophia could not handle the heartbreak of loosing another child, so they decided to have no more. Instead, they spent all their affection in doting over and spoiling Kristina. They were very poor, but what Kristina lacked in worldly possessions was made up to her with love. She and her parents had a very tight bond that the nuns at the local mission found sinful. Kristina’s parents did not care. They continued to outwardly show their love for their only child.

Kristina’s grandfather, Alberto, insisted Kristina knew how to protect herself. He and Nathanael taught Kristina how to fight with her fists, as well as with pistols, knives and swords. They made her practice daily so her skills were deadly accurate. Kristina’s grandmother, Amelia, wanted her to be educated. Amelia and Sophia made sure Kristina knew how to survive off of the land, how to read and write, how to cook and sew, how to heal with herbs, tend the ill and mend the wounded. Her grandparents were also adamant that she learn English, and she did so reluctantly.

Her grandpapa made sure she spoke English daily since many British sailors passed through the area frequently. He wanted to make sure she knew what was being said and how to interpret the sarcastic tones so she would know the actual meaning behind what was being said.

Amelia died when Kristina was twelve. Her grandfather was heartbroken and took to drinking. Even with the alcohol in his system, he was still a kind and caring man. He insisted she continue to do her lessons. Alberto visited her for many hours every day until he died two years later. Upon his death she started hearing the rumors . . . that he was a pirate. The nuns began shunning her family even more after that.

The nuns never liked Kristina’s family, but they disliked her mother most of all. Sophia was a proud woman who spoke her mind and insisted Kristina do the same. Despite this, the villagers loved her mother. Kristina assisted her mother on numerous occasions at mending the injured fishermen, their wives and the prostitutes in the village. Little did she know that the skills her parents taught her would help save her life on the day of their murders.

Kristina could hear the bells from the mission ringing, signaling they had visitors. She sighed as she looked around the small room of the falling down structure. This had been her home, the place she grew up in until her parents were murdered five years ago. She was sixteen at the time and there had been a battle at sea. Several of the injured men washed ashore and were treated by the local fishermen. The injured sailors were only in the village for a few days, just long enough for their wounds to be mended and to regain their strength.

Sophia and Kristina tended one of the men in their home. He had several small cuts and a large gaping wound running diagonally on his back. There was a menacing feel about him. He was tall with black hair and a black beard. When he spoke, his deep voiced caused a strange fluttering sensation deep within her. The few times that his eyes were open, they mesmerized Kristina. They were black as night and appeared to be looking into her soul at her deepest, darkest secrets. Despite his injuries and his menacing appearance, Kristina found herself fantasying about the man—even to this day.

The nuns did not like the look of the man or his companions, and the abbess sent a messenger to the main city to alert the authorities of the possibility of pirates being in the village. Just as soon as the injured men were collected by their comrades, the British Navy arrived. They accused the fishermen of harboring the enemy and began attacking the village. When the British soldiers attacked, it was growing late in the day, the sun was in the early stages of setting, casting a red glow over the village. They attacked without warning, without inquiring of the circumstances of the villagers’ assistance to the wounded sailors.

Kristina closed her eyes, tears rolling down her cheeks, as she remembered that dreadful day. Her father had been protecting one of the older fishermen. The images of her father being run through with a sword and of her mother running to him and being beaten unconscious were burned in her memory. Kristina attempted to reach them, but soldiers kept blocking her path. When she did finally manage to reach the home of the fisherman, a man was exiting the hut. She would never forget him. She memorized every detail of his image, his short brown-hair, his amber-colored eyes. He was a little shorter than average, but he was stoutly built. She wasn’t sure of his exact rank, but the gold adornments on his navy coat indicated he was a ranking officer.

She charged at him with a sword in her hand but was forced to retreat because of the number of men beginning to surround their commander. They chased her into the jungle. She stayed hidden for several hours until the navy left. When she emerged from the darkness, she entered the hut and saw her mother’s beaten body. No one had to tell her what had happened to her mother—Kristina saw the evidence. Sophia had been brutally raped and stabbed numerous times, dying a horrific death, drowning in her own blood.

After her parents’ murder, the nuns at the mission insisted Kristina stay with them for her safety. Kristina knew their reason was guilt, for they had been the ones to summon the navy. Because of them, her parents were dead and many of the villagers were hung for treason. The abbess at that time was overwrought with guilt. She left the village, and Sister Nina was appointed to the position of abbess.

Kristina refused to stay at the mission, but the villagers insisted. She was sixteen and unwed. It would be improper for her to live alone. She reluctantly agreed and the nuns gave her a room in the tower overlooking the meadow facing her home. She still frequently visited her old home. It was where she was born and raised. It was where her memories were made. It was where she felt safe.

Unconsciously rubbing her arms, Kristina walked to the door and peered out across the meadow towards the mission. Thunder rattled the windows as lightning streaked across the sky. In spite of the violent noise and lightning, she could see the telltale signs of the storm ease up as the red evening sky began to make its appearance on the horizon.

Kristina sighed, turned away from the door and sat down on a small, narrow cot. She picked up the book she had placed on it earlier and began to mindlessly thumb through its pages. Her thoughts were interrupted by a faint knock.

She walked to the door and pressed it the rest of the way open. She glanced down at the little girl in front of her. “The Abbess is asking for you,” the child said nervously.

“Thank you, Victoria,” Kristina replied. They probably needed help in the kitchen. The nuns frequently fed the weary sailors that made their way to the mission. Many were honest hardworking fishermen who were just looking for a hot meal and a warm, dry place to stay between the fishing villages up and down the coast.

Kristina stopped by the door and placed her feet into her brown leather-strapped sandals and proceeded out the door. The water from the rain-soaked ground seeped between her toes. A childlike smile crossed her face as she hopped over a mud puddle. Oh, how she would love to hop into the puddle like she did when she was a child. But being poor she had to constantly be mindful of any possessions. Sandals could not be come by easily and her mother would always scold her, “Kristina, if you must do these things, please take off your sandals.”

When Kristina reached the mission, she quickly went to her quarters to change into some dry clothing. Once changed, she headed towards the kitchen to see what the abbess wanted. She approached the staircase that led down to the kitchen in the back of the mission, but paused when she heard an unfamiliar voice shouting angrily.

“Shut up!” the voice yelled at one of the nuns in English.

“
No hablo
—” Sister Corena’s confession was met with a backhand to her face by the man. The nun fell to the floor and placed her hand to her stinging cheek.

Kristina peered around the corner of the staircase. There were four men in the kitchen with Sister Corena. They were dirty and their foul stench easily reached Kristina thanks to the breeze coming through the open kitchen door. She knelt down lower to the floor to get a better view of the men. The dimly lit room made it hard to get a good look at them, but Kristina could tell from their dress that they were not fishermen. Their backs were towards the staircase. Kristina squinted her eyes in an attempt to get a better view. She could make out their dirty linen shirts, black pants, and then she caught a glimmer of something hanging from the side of one of the men’s hip. Her eyes widened with fear.

“Pirates!” she softly exclaimed. Realizing she had voiced her deduction out loud, her eyes grew wider and she quickly placed both hands over her mouth. She held her breath, waiting to see if they had heard her. When no one moved, she let out a relieved breath.

“You
no hablo
what I’m sayin’, but you’ll
hablo
this,” said one of the men as he grabbed the habit Sister Corena was wearing and ripped it from her head. He grabbed her brown hair, pulled her up to him and tried to kiss her. Sister Corena slapped the man fiercely. An evil smile crossed his lips. “I like fighters,” he said coldly as he slapped the sister again.

Looking around the room, Kristina wondered where the other sisters were. She saw no one. Realizing she must get help, she turned slowly, stood and began to climb the steps only to be stopped by a figure blocking her path.

A shiver ran down her spine as an evil smile crossed the man’s face. “Well, looky here,” he said as he roughly grabbed Kristina’s arm. “I believe I’ve found somethin’ that made the trip ta this useless mission worthwhile.”

Kristina smiled sweetly as she batted her soft brown eyes at the short, fat man in front of her. In a honeyed tone, she asked, “Is there something I can help you with,
Señor
?”

The man looked at her suspiciously. “What ya up to, little Missy?”

Before he realized what she was up to, Kristina reached up and grabbed the man’s dirty tattered shirt collar and yanked, sending him tumbling down the stairs. She quickly jumped out of the way as he bounced down the stairs past her.

“Run, Kristina!” she heard Sister Corena scream.

Kristina ran up the stairs to the landing and headed down another set of steps. She stopped short when she saw the shadows of men on the wall in the stairwell. Turning, she raced back up the stairs to her bedchamber and quickly dropped the heavy wooden bar to block the door. She could hear the echo of boots running up the stairs. She ran to the window and crouched down, holding her breath, hoping the men would run past her chambers. The footsteps ran past her door and she let out a relieved sigh.

“Search everywhere for her!” a nasally voice shouted. “She’ll bring a fortune at Tortuga!”

Kristina turned towards the window and lifted the latch. Placing her dainty hand on the window she slowly opened it, praying the rusty hinges would not creak this time. Her appeal was not answered as the hinges softly creaked in protest of movement. She slipped her other hand out of the window to hold on to the frame, but the wind caught it, flinging it open, causing the hinges to creak loudly.

“She’s in here!” a voice shouted from the other side of her bedroom door.

She could hear the intruders attempting to open the door, but the heavy oak bar prevented them from gaining entrance. She didn’t look back at the door, but instead took a deep breath and jumped from the second story window. She landed with a loud thud on the porch roof. She quickly scurried to the small ladder that was propped against the roof, left there from repairs earlier that day before the rains came, and rapidly descended the ladder. As soon as her feet touched the rain-soaked ground, she heard the men exit the back door of the mission. She began running as fast as her legs would carry her towards the small village.

As she rounded the corner of the mission, her feet slid in the slick mud. Catching herself with her hands, she quickly regained her footing and headed towards the path to the village. When she reached the tree-lined path that led to the village, the sight before her stopped her in her tracks. The village was under attack! Flames could be seen shooting from the thatched rooftops of the small stores and houses. She looked towards the shoreline beside the village and could make out the sails of the ship docked several meters off shore.