A Spirited Gift

“What now, Cap’n?” the boy asked, praying for the first time in his life that he’d hear a different answer than the one he expected.

Rafe laughed. “Now I give you a chance to live, my fine boyo. You swim, don’t you?”

He gestured with the saber toward the open sea. The boy began to walk into the cold water. “Don’t turn around,” Rafe instructed. “And don’t be telling everyone about this if you make it to shore. I’ll know if ye do and come after you. I’ll slit you from throat to gullet.”

The boy’s anxious eyes searched the horizon, hoping for some sign that the British ships were still out there. But the chances were that they thought Rafe had gone down with his men. They wouldn’t stay there to check the island. He was alone. There was nothing for it but to swim if he wanted to survive.

The water was up to his chin before he began moving his arms and legs through the waves. Maybe there was some small chance that he could make it. If he did, he vowed to come back for the treasure—and kill Rafe Masterson.

And I woke up, coughing and sputtering, my throat burning like I’d swallowed seawater.

I forced myself to take deep breaths until I felt more normal. It was morning. I got out of bed, thankful that my pirate ancestor was nowhere to be seen. It would take some time before I could look at him without remembering the terrible things I’d witnessed.

They were real events—at least they’d seemed real. I had the strongest feeling that the little cabin boy I’d spent time with last night had grown up and taken his revenge on Rafe. All I had to do was find some way to prove it.

I was thrilled to find out that we had hot water for a shower—the power must have come back on during the night. Every electrical gadget in my bedroom was blinking. I showered, got dressed and headed downstairs. I wanted to help Kevin today. He was going to need an extra hand.

Gramps was gone, leaving a note that asked me to keep an open mind until we could have a sensible conversation. I knew it would happen. We both loved each other. We’d find a way to make up. He’d forgiven me my youthful transgressions on numerous occasions. I wouldn’t be able to stay mad at him forever.

He’d left pancakes in the microwave and coffee in the pot. The sun was shining brightly through the kitchen windows. Everything was looking up—including the pirate sitting at the kitchen table.

“It’s about time,” he said. “I thought ye were going to lay abed like some princess all day! We have work to do!”

Chapter 23

I yawned and heated up my pancakes, then drank some juice. “Speaking of work, I did some last night after you were gone. I called you but you didn’t answer.”

“I’m not some damn lapdog to be at your beck and call,” he growled.

“Sorry. But I need to know the magistrate’s name.”

I found it difficult to talk to him after last night’s dream. But I had to keep this in context if I wanted to get rid of him. What he’d done had happened more than three centuries ago. I wasn’t so into history that it was like yesterday for me. Even if the dream was true—I had to move on.

“I don’t know his name,” he roared. “He was the magistrate who wrongly accused me and made me dance on the gibbet. What do I care about his name?”

“Pancakes?” I offered before I started eating.

He frowned. “Even a daft wench like yerself must know the dead don’t eat.”

“You’ve never seen a zombie movie, I take it.” I poured syrup on my plate. “I was just being polite. Did you find out anything last night about Sandi’s murder?”

“Mayhap,” he said in a coy manner, pulling at his mustache. “I’ll trade for your information.”

“I don’t think you’d want to if you heard it.”

“Tell me and I’ll decide.”

“You killed two sailors who buried your treasure chest on an island, and then you sent a young cabin boy to his death in the ocean.”

His black brows knit together over his fierce eyes. “It’s possible. What of it? What does it have to do with me being hanged?”

I shrugged. “Maybe nothing. I just wanted to know if my dream was real. It seemed real.”