The Noble Pirates by Rima Jean Read Free Book Online Page B

couldn’t be denied, pirate or no pirate. “Sabrina,” he said, uttering my name for the first time, “I’m on the account. A pirate. I’m no hero – I’m an outlaw, a thief. I have my reasons, and they have little to do with enjoying mayhem, to be sure, but…” He sighed. “I must deal with those who do.”
    I watched my shoes peek out from under my skirts as I walked. “What are your reasons?”
    He stopped, turning to look at me. “What do ye know about the politics of the world in 1718? Do ye learn about these things in 2011?” I could see traces of skepticism in his eyes – he didn’t truly believe I was from a different era, but since he couldn’t make sense of me otherwise, he was going with it.
    I winced. “Well… We’re supposed to learn about these things… And at one time I knew enough to pass a test, but… I can’t say that I know about 1718 politics.”
    So England summarized it for me, telling me about James Stuart, the heir to the throne who was denied on account of his being Catholic; the German prince, George I who took his place because he was Protestant, even though he spoke very little English; and the Stuart attempts at religious tolerance.
    I scratched my head, embarrassed by my lack of knowledge on the subject. What I wouldn’t have given to be able to Google the terms “Jacobite” and “James Stuart.” I needed me some Wikipedia. “So,” I said, “your reasons for being a pirate are political?”
    The fire returned to his eyes as he replied, “That’s only part of it. It’s an entire system that needs changing. There’s a good reason why poor seamen and escaped slaves turn to piracy. It’s because under the pirate flag, we are all equals, and any man can achieve a captain’s status with cleverness and skill. Not to mention riches and – most importantly – freedom.” He caught the surprise in my expression and smiled. “Aye, lass. We’re not all of us merely cutthroats and drunks, despite what ye hear.”
    “So… you’re for… democracy?” I asked.
    He tilted his head. “I know not how you use the word, but I believe in equality and freedom.”
    I smiled. “Even for blacks and women?”
    He grinned back. “Are ye trying to get me used for musket practice, lass?”
    We continued to walk as I bit my lip, deep in thought. Edward England was something of an enlightened man. Without thinking, I blurted out what I did know about history, what had impacted me enough to make me want to go to law school: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”
    England looked at me, that expression – the one I still had a hard time placing – on his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Aye, that’s the gist of it.”
    I felt a stab of sadness at the realization that Edward England would probably be long dead before Thomas Jefferson would conceive of the words in 1776. Fifty-some odd years from now. I’d be dead too, if I didn’t get out of here. Out of here – 1718. If it were true, if I truly had somehow time traveled during the storm, via some time portal in the sea, what were the consequences of my being here? How much of the future should I reveal to England? Could I change history by revealing too much? Too little? I felt the now-familiar panic rising, and I shut my eyes, forcing myself to focus on the moment. I could think about all these things later. Right now, I had to think about meeting Charles Vane, not to mention other possibly unsavory characters. Once again in control, I asked, “Does Vane believe the same things you do?”
    He shrugged. “I doubt Charlie Vane’s thoughts go far past his own self-preservation. But he’s been chosen as a leader by the men here, and I’ve no choice but to follow.”
    “You’d never consider accepting the King’s pardon?” I asked.
    He