Prequel
1720: The Caribbean
It was a stupid thing, when she’ll come to reflect on this moment later. But for now Clarke Griffin was unable to point out which one was more terrifying: the muzzle of the gun held to her head, or the sharp, narrow-eyed stare of the pirate who’d discovered her hiding in the hold and was now shoving her against the wall at gun point, silencing her with the simple command to: “Hold your tongue, or I’ll make you.” The stare, she decided. The bright green eyes looking out of a face that would’ve been strikingly beautiful in a London ballroom void of mercy, no doubt hardened by a cruel life led among the waves. She was hardly catching her breath, despite having just ran down the stairs into the hold just a few minutes earlier. The black streaks running down her cheeks only served to enhance the brilliance of her eyes, and here in the high seas of the Caribbean, it was the very painting of a nightmare by the devil himself.
The young woman had covered her head with a red scarf; her dark brown hair in intricate braids cascading down her back. The small silver rings through the lobes of her ears occasionally glinted merrily in the light from the opening on top of the stairs. The merriment from the simple jewellery somehow adding to her air of unforgiving menace. Clarke Griffin didn’t think her captor was any much older than her sixteen years, but her green eyes blazed with an ancient fire far surpassing her youthful appearance. A chill ran through her, racking her body with tremors despite the sweltering heat of the tropics. She doubted she’d find compassion in the pirate’s nature. That this brunette with undeterred glare in front of her was as ruthless as the barbaric pirates that have attacked their ship.
After all, she was one of them.
Clarke had been travelling on board the Arkadia with her father. King George had assigned Jacob Griffin the governorship of Mourning, a small, little-known island in the Caribbean. She’d thought the assignment appropriate as she and her father were still recovering from the sudden death of her mother, who’d succumbed to the fever. Abigail Griffin, bless her soul, had caught the fever herself when she generously employed her medical skills to treat the commoners who were suffering from the plague. Clarke was grateful of the opportunity to leave England behind, along with the painful memories of losing her mother. She had been looking forward to this adventure, having never before travelled on the sea. It was thrilling to feel the ship rocking in the waves. She had breathed in deeply the scent of the sea, and it brought her peace to escape the smell of illness and death that hung over London. Here, between the deep blue sea under her and the clear blue sky above her, Clarke Griffin picked up her brush to paint again. Lord Griffin was overjoyed to see his daughter engrossed in her task: intently mixing the paints to recreate the layers of blue she can see all around her on her canvas. Calmed. And healing.
But that was before the pirates had attacked. Clarke couldn’t help scoffing at the name of their ship. Polaris. The ever present North Star that had been guiding generations of sailors on the sea, to be the name of the ship heralding their doom. The irony!
Unlike the familiar black flag flown by most pirate ships, a red one waved atop this one. The captain had turned white as sheet when the red flag was visible over the horizon. The legendary Commander of the Blood, captain of the Polaris. Rumours have it that the red is the red cape of the Commander, flowing behind him as he pillaged ships. And yet another whispered that the red came from the blood soaking his sword. Blood from the victims of his ruthless attacks.
When the Arkadia’s captain had announced they were too weighted down by cargo to even attempt escaping the fast approaching ship, Lord Griffin had ordered his daughter to hide in the cargo hold. Clarke had wanted to defy him, but she’d known she would’ve been useless and helpless in battle, the only thing she knew being that the sharp end of the cutlass is the lethal one.
So she’d tore into the hold, finding a nearly empty crate, and crawled inside, pulling the top over her. But hidden in the darkness, the pain from losing a parent and the fear of losing another one suffocated her. Cannons boomed above her, accentuating the noise of steel clashing against steel ringing in her ears. Unable to bear the suspense of not knowing her father’s fate any longer, she left the safety of the crate. She had been quietly creeping towards the stairs when the young pirate came barrelling down them.
She’d barely had the time to turn before she grabbed her and pinned her against the wall. An ominous silence fell around them after the sounds of battle. A heartbeat later, yells of triumph echoed. Clarke knew the fighting was over, her heart sinking heavily with the knowledge. The pirates had won. A different set of sounds started around her. Crashes and thuds starting anew as the pirates began plundering their spoils.
What about her father? Was he alive? Or had she lost the only other family left for her in this world? Her heart thundered in her chest at the images of her father, dying, rushing through her mind.
“Please—“she began.
“Silence. Hold your tongue or I’ll make you. I won’t say it again.”
She was surprised by her accent. British, of course, but more refined than she’d expected. Rather than this bloodthirsty pirate before her,they were the words one would’ve heard coming out from the mouth of a gentleman. Or a gentlewoman, in her captor’s case. Despite herself, she was curious of the hand fate dealt her in turning her into a pirate. A moment later, she was ashamed of her own curiosity. She’s a criminal. All she should want was to be free of her.
Slowly, her gaze roamed over her face. Clarke flinched under her scrutiny. But the green orbs were lit with a curiosity of their own. And the look she gave her was careful, as though she was trying to memorise her features. What would become of her? Would she be taken aboard the Polaris to be the toy of the Commander and his men? Would they sell her when they tire of her? Horror stories she’d heard and read of the fates of captive woman began whispering at the back of her mind. But at the moment, Clarke doubted there could be anything worse than being wedged between the wall and her.
The pirate’s eyes dropped to the gold pendant hung by its thin gold chain at her throat. With her free hand, she slipped her fingers around it…
“No, please. I beg of you, have mercy. Please don’t take it,” she pleaded, her desperation overcoming the fear of the gun still pressed to her head. Her gaze shot up, fiery green eyes boring into her fear-stricken blues. “You dare defy me??”
Shaking her head and fighting back her tears with all the strength she could muster, she forced herself to answer. “I only sought to explain.”
“You don’t value your life.”
“I value the necklace more.“ Her eyes widened in surprise at the answer.
“Heda!” a far-off voice shouted.
The pirate’s attention darted towards the opening on top of the stairs. Clarke could see her brows furrowed in concentration and a thoughtful look entering those eyes; a notion that she might have the chance of escaping surfacing. Before she could make any move, the pirate had stared at her again, seeming more menacing than before. “I have to take something up or the Commander will be down here. Mark my words, the Commander will take more than your precious piece.”
“Here,” she said breathlessly, holding up her right hand, showing her the ring she wore on her ring finger. “Take it, it’s got diamonds. Much more valuable.”
Her eyes narrowed at the offer. Untrusting. Clarke figured that trust wasn’t a word she had use for often in her daily life. She forced herself to meet her gaze. “Why offer me something of greater value?” she asked, her words dripping with suspicion.
“The pendant was my mother’s, she died recently, and it’s all I have left to remember her by.”
“You want to remember her?”
It was oddly disconcerting, the question. Though Clarke had no idea why.
“Of course. Why would I not?”
She looked as if she was about to answer the query, before seemingly decided against it.
“The pirate way is to take the finger when we take the ring. If you want to keep your lovely hand whole, you’ll have to give me something else of value.”
She swallowed hard at the thought of losing her finger, but her desire to keep her mother’s pendant made her stand her ground. “I have nothing else.”
She grinned. A grin more terrifying than her eyes or her gun.”Oh, but I think you do.” Before she could protest, the pirate lowered her head and kissed her. Hard. She’d never before been kissed like this. Surprisingly, her chapped lips were eager. And tasting of apples. Sweet and tart. Clarke wondered if she’d been munching on one before the attack. She gasped when teeth dug into her lower lips, and seizing the opportunity, a skilled tongue probed at hers. Inviting. Dominating. The kiss grew more passionate, more demanding. Her knees buckled and she automatically clung to her.
For a moment, she almost forgot that this person was a pirate.
“Heda!Weron laik yu??”
The pirate drew back, grabbed her hand and yanked the offered ring from her finger. Chuckling as though she was privy to a joke, she stepped into her vicinity once more. Her breath hot on her ear.
“Alexandria Woods. Remember my name.”
She stepped away from her, backing towards the stair. Her grin was still fixed on her lips. The lips Clarke was just getting to know intimately not a short while ago.
“A fair trade, m’lady. I’m content with it.”
Pressing her trembling hand to her tingling lips, she stared at her. Her grin disappeared abruptly, her expression turned harsh and solemn.
“Now, hide until we’ve left,” she commanded.
She turned on her heel, dashing up the stairs. ”Ai laik hir,Onya! Der ste nou diya hir!”
Somehow with her quivering legs, Clarke made it back into the crate. Once inside and the top pulled into place, she curled into herself, shutting her eyes. Tears burned behind her closed eyelids. What does she do now?
With her eyes tightly closed in the darkness, every crash and bang was intensified to her hearing and she flinched at each violent noises. She prayed to God, to every patron saint that she could recall desperately for help. For salvation. She had no idea how long had she waited, but eventually the sounds ceased and she was painfully aware of the silence. The uncertainty of the situation shot another arrow of fear deep into her heart. What could it mean? Had the pirates left?
When footsteps thundered down the stairs, she braved herself to lift the lid the slightest.
“Miss Griffin! Miss Griffin!”
She recognised the voice. Bellamy Blake. One of the younger officers. He was undeniably handsome, with dark hair and dark eyes. Although he rarely spoke to her, she’d caught him staring at her when she was strolling about the deck several times.
“Here! I’m here!” she shouted.
She tried to push back the top when suddenly it was thrown off and Mr. Blake appeared. His face and clothing were streaked liberally with blood, his expression serious.
“Your father sent me to fetch you, “his words as he helped her to climb out sending waves of relief through her. “Oh, thank goodness. Is he all right??”
“He’s hurt but alive. We’re abandoning ship.”
“Why?”
“Because the pirates set it on fire. Come quickly!”
He grabbed her hands, pulling her along. It was difficult for her to keep up with his frantic pace with his legs longer than hers. When they reached the top, bile rose in her throat when she was treated to a scene of carnage; mangled bodies littering the deck.
“Don’t look," Mr. Blake ordered.
How could she not?
He urged her across the deck where Captain Miller was standing. “I’m glad to see you safe Miss Griffin," he said. ”Your father’s waiting.”
Looking over the side, she saw four longboats waiting. Her father and several crewmen were waiting for her in one of them, bobbing on the sea.
“How do I get down there?”
“You just climb down Jasper’s ladder, “Captain Miller replied. He lifted a rope ladder and let it drop back against the side. “Mr. Blake will go first, then you so he could help prevent you from falling. I’ll follow once you’re safely in the boat. Go now, lad. Hurry. The longboats must be far from the ship before she sinks or they’re all in danger of being pulled under.”
Clarke watched as Bellamy Blake climbed over the side of the ship, holding firm to the ladder, waiting for her to join him. The captain helped her to climb over the side.
It was awkward, him being so near. But his presence lent her the confidence to step down quickly. When they’ve descended near enough, he hung on with one hand, swinging himself to the side. His other hand guided her as others took hold of her and helped her into the boat. When she finally settled beside her father, he wound his arms around her.
“You’re safe,” he whispered brokenly. She buried her face in his jacket, muffling her sobs. She nodded.”
“You’re safe too, father. Thank goodness, Thank god.”
“They took the ivory chest,Clarke. The one King George entrusted to me. His Majesty wouldn’t be pleased to find out I let it be taken.”
She knew the gold coins that were to be used to build a splendid palace and fort on Mourning had been stored inside. King George had plans for the newly acquired island to be the jewel of the Carribbean, and had suggested that British men-of-war accompany the Arkadia. Lord Jacob Griffin had argued against it as an escort would alert pirates that he was carrying something precious and he refused to let them sack Mourning before he’d even begun to build its first township.
Clarke pulled back.” What choice did you have? Surely His Majesty will understand, Father.” Lord Griffin didn’t seem to be listening. He stared straight ahead as though witnessing the curtain rise on a horrible future .
The boat rocked as Captain Miller boarded it.”Let’s be off, men!” he shouted. “Row handsomely now!”
The crewmen began rowing. It was only then that Clarke noticed Bellamy Blake sitting across her. With what tattered remains of her strength, she gave him a shaky smile.
“You’re trembling,” he said.
“I’m freezing. Isn’t that s-s-silly?” she powered through her chattering teeth.” We’re in the Caribbean and I feel as though I’ve been buried in snow.”
He removed his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Your reaction is quite normal,” he said. “You’ve just went through a frightening experience. I’m quite shaky myself.”
The smile she gave him this time was a little more solid. She pulled his jacket more tightly around herself, absorbing the warmth, hardly noticing the blood marring it.
As the men rowed out further, she glanced towards the Arkadia, watching in horror as flames engulfed the ship and the mutilated bodies she remembered strewn aboard. Then she eyes shifted to the south where another ship boldly sailed away. She thought of the pirate who’d accosted her in the hold.
Alexandria Woods. She’d remember her name. She’d remember her face.
And worst of all, she would never, could never, forget her kiss.