Sarah rose from the chamber pot in Blade’s cabin, her head spinning, her heart racing. It had been over eight months since she and Elizabeth came to be with these pirates. Each morning she awoke to a spinning in her head, her stomach twitching with the life that grew within, her abdomen swelling larger as the days passed. The entire ship knew exactly what was happening to her, yet they silently agreed to hide it from her daughter. She was too young to understand, and her mother’s shame was too deep to explain it to her.

As the weeks turned into months, Sarah’s feelings of betrayal grew. Her father had yet to send the ransom Blade asked for, and although it was a considerable amount, she knew her family had it. The sensation of hopelessness for a reprieve from Blade’s brutality began to fill her soul. She was angry and hated the pirate in ways she had never known before. Even her feelings over the Americas shied in comparison to what she now felt.

Blade had not taken much notice of his lover’s physical change. He continued as he chose, molesting the woman at his will, attacking innocent vessels, slaughtering more men and women then Sarah could count, and drinking until he passed out. Sarah had grown cold and emotionless over the long months at sea. The only thing that seemed to soften her heart was Elizabeth. The thought of her precious daughter’s safety, made her bite back her disgust and oblige Blade’s will, though she was certain the time would come that even that would change.

The day started out much hotter than normal, as they neared New Guinea. Sarah prayed there would be an answer from her father when they docked but doubted the reality of it. She had given up hope of rescue months ago. Now, all she dared wish for was a swift release from this life of hell, before she bore the Spaniard’s bastard growing inside her. She had grown to despise and hate even that, regardless of its innocence. It was not the child’s fault it was there, nor was it the child’s fault its mother was tortured by its father on a daily basis, forced to perform unspeakable sexual acts for his enjoyment. Yet Sarah disconnected herself from the life inside her emotionally, bringing herself to the point of starvation in hopes of eliminating it from her body.

This was to no avail, however. When Stormy discovered what she was trying to do, he made her feel guilty. He insisted it was not just the child that would suffer her actions, but Elizabeth. The little girl needed her mother, so once again Sarah found herself forcing down the stale breads and tasteless stews.

The portraits she had been painting of the captain were done. Yet their completion brought no satisfaction to the artist, as her work had done in the past. One of them hung in the small corridor outside the captain’s cabin.

It was large and stately looking, portraying him as a noble commander. His long black hair blew in the painting’s wind as the dark skies grew threatening around him. He stood ready for battle on the bridge of his majestic vessel next to the wheel, his sword strapped to his waist, his right hand clutched in a fist across his heart. He looked out toward the storm, his face stern, his jaw set tight, revealing a man experienced in handling any challenge fate threw his way. Above him loomed his flag, the familiar black background, with its skull and crossbones warning of impending doom.

The second portrait hung above Blade’s bed. A sight to sicken anyone who entered the room. He was posed in his bed, a sheet draped across his left leg, his naked torso exposed to the candlelit dimness of a seductive setting. His hair tousled, his lips curled in a smile intended to represent seduction, yet it appeared more nauseating than sexy - the one satisfaction Sarah had when painting this hideous creation.

Even though it had cost her two days of beatings and repeated rape, she refused to change the smile as ordered. His left hand lay on top of the sheets, his right arm tucked beneath his head. His right leg lay bent, uncovered, and exposed, as was his manhood. Naked, fully erect, and uncircumcised, despite God’s commandments.

With the exception of his expression, it was Blade’s favorite of the two paintings. He was particularly proud of it since it portrayed him as having a larger than normal penis. He was sure it would appeal to the opposite sex. He was positive it set him above all other men, who thought to challenge his prowess with the fairer sex. A painting, in his mind, that showed the truth of his superiority over women. In other words; an artistic conception of reality.

Sarah continued to pray daily for an end to this hell, freedom for herself and her daughter, though in her heart she had long since lost faith. At first, she prayed for a rescue. A ship to save them, one strong enough to conquer the pirates, but lately her prayers had changed drastically. She began hoping for deliverance through death. She wanted Blade dead. She wanted herself dead, and most of all, she wanted the unborn child she carried dead. She didn’t care about anything anymore. Nothing mattered to her. She had even begun distancing herself from Elizabeth these past few days, leaving the girl’s care to Stormy and the others.

New Guinea was a busy port, its docks filled with vessels doing legitimate business, yet no one dared to look twice as El Orgullo del Atlántico pulled into dock amongst them, better known as The Pride. Even as courageous and experienced as the other captains and crews were, they dared not encourage an encounter with the pirate crew.

Blade ordered Sarah to be taken to the brig as he always did whenever they docked. He wasn’t about to risk her leaving the ship and seeking refuge with the authorities. Once that had been completed, captain and crew alike disembarked, heading straight for the bars and their usual round of whoring, leaving a skeleton crew aboard to guard the many treasures they had confiscated over the long months at sea.

Stormy was one of the men to remain on board. He knew Sarah’s time to give birth was coming close and he did not wish to leave her alone, for fear of what she might do to the infant once it arrived. He paced the deck above, waiting for a while until he was certain the captain wouldn’t return, before taking Elizabeth to see her mother. The child didn’t even pretend to understand what was happening to her mother, yet she could feel the pain and anger that consumed her. She ran down the steps to the locked outer door, unlocking it with the key Stormy gave her. She hurried to her mother’s cell, holding her hand through the iron bars and kissing each one.

Sarah smiled softly at her daughter, a tear running down her cheek. The little girl handed her mother a drawing she had been working on, showing a crude impression of the farm they had left in America. The woman’s eyes filled full, tears running freely down her cheeks. She had spent every day since leaving their home, regretting her decision to return to England.

“Don’t cry, Mama,” Elizabeth insisted. “I thought it would make you happy.”

“It does, my darling,” Sarah assured her, wiping the tears away with the back of her hand. “How is your writing coming along?”

Elizabeth sighed. Her mother had been helping with her daughter’s reading and writing during the times they were able to visit; she had also begun teaching the crew, though as secretly as possible. Stormy knew it was only to help with the child’s instructions, but he didn’t argue. His learning seemed to please the woman, which in turn made him happy. He knew she had very little to feel good about, but seeing progress in the crew and her daughter, always brought a smile to Sarah’s battered lips.

“I’m doing it, Mama, but I still don’t like it. Stormy says I’m doing real good,” the child answered, still holding her mother’s hand.

“You mean you’re doing well,” corrected her mother with a warm smile. “Just because we’re here with heathens, doesn’t mean you should speak as one. Now, show me what you’ve been working on.”

The two spent the next two hours working on the child’s handwriting and arithmetic and snacking on sponge cake Laddie brought back from the bakery for them. The time always passed so quickly when they were together.

“Mama,” Elizabeth began, once their work was finished and her mother took the storybook her daughter handed to her. “When is grandfather going to help us?”

Sarah looked at her daughter, unable to give her an honest answer. It was a question she had asked herself so often yet was never able to come up with a satisfactory answer.

“I don’t know, honey,” Sarah finally said. “I don’t know why he hasn’t sent the money the captain has ordered.”

“Maybe he can’t afford it,” suggested Elizabeth

“Your grandfather is a very wealthy man,” Sarah answered with a heavy sigh, as the child inside her began to move in the cramped confines of its tight home. “He is a Duke. He can afford the ransom and more.” Sarah paused, closing her eyes as visions of her birth home came into her mind.

“He has a beautiful house with lots of rooms and fine furnishings. There are horses and gardens and very nice people to talk with. There is even a lake on the property. I used to go down to it and go swimming as a little girl. My mama would get so angry because I would get my dresses muddy, but my daddy would say I was just not cut out to learn needlepoint and play the harp. There wasn’t a horse around I couldn’t ride.”

“That sounds nice, Mama, but we’ll probably never see anything else but this stupid boat and all this water.”

“We mustn’t give up hope, my darling. I know everything will be alright, someday soon.”

“You don’t really know that, do you? You’ve quit hoping, just like me.”

Sarah didn’t respond, she merely opened the book and began reading from the pages. Elizabeth pretended to listen, though she wasn’t into hearing the story her mother read. She laid her head on the dirty floor and closed her eyes, hiding the tears she cursed herself for shedding. Her mother knew as well as she did, there would be no answer from her grandfather. She just wouldn’t admit it. He didn’t want to help them, he didn’t want them back. Visions of horses and green gardens drifted among the thoughts of reality, lulling the little girl into a sound sleep.

“What is it?” Elizabeth asked, hearing the soft sound of her voice, and feeling Stormy’s warm hand on her shoulder.

“The captain’s back,” he told her, which meant it was time for her to return to her hammock with the crew.

She looked to her mother in the cell and sighed. Every time she was able to close her eyes, she saw their lives the way it used to be and the way her mother assured her it would someday be. But she always had to open them again, and again she would know the harsh truth of life.

“I’ll see you soon, darling,” her mother told her, kissing her little hand before releasing it. She watched as Stormy led her daughter away, knowing their time together was quickly coming to an end. She could feel a curtain closing on the ordeal, perhaps for them both.

Blade was just boarding the ship when Stormy brought the girl above deck. He hid the child behind him, pushing her toward the crews’ quarters as he eyed the captain with disgust. The entire crew was growing weary of this man. They all hated him with as much passion as the woman locked behind iron bars did. They had been with him for years, some, like Stormy, as long as twelve years. Yet his actions lately had become distasteful, even for a crew of savage pirates. They no longer found pleasure in killing and pillaging, though Stormy doubted seriously if they ever really did. Blade had become too arrogant for his own good. He had grown to think of himself as immortal, almost as a God, one who was to be worshipped and obeyed.

It was obvious, just by looking at the man as he boarded, that he was drunk, yet again. Stormy watched as he staggered up the plank, a whore tucked under each arm and a partially drank whiskey bottle clutched in his fist. The laughter was nauseating, as the three made their way to his cabin.

The door slammed shut and the laughter continued, causing Stormy to shake his head. Being a pirate once meant something to him. Notoriety, the thrill of adventure, even the lust for blood, but all of that had changed. For the first time in Stormy’s life, he was ashamed of the path he had chosen so many years ago.

An hour passed, before Blade emerged from his cabin, a new bottle of whiskey pressed to his lips. His chest was bare, as were his feet, his hair tussled and snarled from the events that had gone on behind closed doors. He staggered his way to the side of the deck, looking out over the railing. A noise caught his attention, and he turned to see a young boy slowly, cautiously, walk up the gangplank. Blade smiled, knowing his appearance was menacing and intimidating, especially to an innocent child. The boy handed a package to the gruff-looking man, then turned and hurried down the wooden plank, not waiting to receive his customary tip, which he wasn’t about to get anyway.

Blade’s hearty laughter followed the boy back to town as Stormy stepped to his side, looking at the package in his hand. It had over a dozen new addresses written across the brown wrapping, each in different handwriting and each from a port they had stopped at over the past eight months. The package was addressed to the captain, and the return address had an English postmark. Stormy frowned at the man’s attitude. He didn’t appear to be surprised or happy to have it, and he didn’t bother to open it. He tucked it in his waistband, then turned to eye the grey-eyed man next to him.

“Is there a problem, Captain?” Stormy asked, hiding the fact that he had mastered the art of reading, enough to make out every scribble across the package at least.

“Nothing, just a gift from an old friend,” the man lied.

“I was wondering, Captain,” Stormy began again, his voice holding a slight degree of suspicion. “Why do you think the girl’s father hasn’t sent the ransom?”

“He’s English, who can say what’s in his mind. They have no consideration toward people, especially their own.” Blade turned with a smirk of knowledge, feeling secure with his secret.

“I still don’t understand why he hasn’t at least written you back, refusing to pay the ransom.”

“Are you questioning me, Amigo?” Blade demanded, his tone sharp and slurred with liquor.

“Nay, Captain,” Stormy replied as innocently as possible. “I just don’t understand a man who can turn his back on his only child, ‘tis all.”

“As I said, he’s English. They ain’t exactly a caring sort.”

With that said, Blade turned around and went back to his cabin. Moments later, the half-naked whores came running out of the room, their clothes in tatters across their bony frames. They scurried down the gangplank like frightened rabbits, dropping a shoe behind them, and choosing to leave it lay where it was.

Stormy watched them leave before he turned his suspicion back to the closed door of his captain’s cabin. He knew the package hidden in the man’s waistband was from Sarah’s father, but it didn’t seem logical for Blade to hide it. He had ransomed many people over the years, and never hid the reward when it arrived. Why now? They were here. New Guinea would provide the perfect port to release the woman and her daughter, yet he chose not to let them go. Stormy wasn’t ignorant by any means. He knew of Sarah’s pregnancy and knew she was nearing the end, but she wasn’t the first woman Blade had gotten a child on.

So, why hold Sarah here any longer? The reasoning was unclear and completely beyond Blade’s usual attitude. Stormy did know, however, if Sarah was to learn that her father paid the ungodly amount demanded and Blade refused her release, she was liable to have her throat slit for trying to kill the man herself. No, he decided, it was best she never learns the truth.

The door to Blade’s cabin opened again as he staggered back out on to the deck. He made his way to the brig, stumbling down the stairs as he descended them. The sound of the cell door being thrown open echoed through the small corridor, then footsteps on the stairs resounded through the quiet ship as Blade pulled the pregnant woman alongside him, causing her to stumble several times on the deck in his haste. The wind had picked up and the ship rocked in the water, making the drunken man become unbalanced on his own vessel. Blade cursed angrily, finally surrendering his attempt to make it to his cabin, he threw the pregnant woman to the floor of the deck, unlaced his pants, and raised her skirts. Stormy turned away, unable and unwilling to watch the man’s crimes any longer.

The sounds of grunting were deafening, indicating the man’s orgasm as Sarah whimpered in pain and embarrassment. Her sobs were difficult to listen to, yet Stormy refused to turn, his feet frozen where they stood by the railing, his back toward Blade’s barbaric actions. His hands gripped the railing so hard his knuckles turned white. He swore the man would someday feel Sarah’s vengeance, yet it wasn’t he that would come to her rescue. He had seen Blade’s skills first handed. Several scars proved his superior ability with a sword was yet unmatched, even by one as skilled as himself. He wasn’t about to interfere now, yet he knew there would be someone to challenge him, and when that happened, God help the barbarian.