Mark of the Damned | 18+

Byegone

"Get back to work, all of you," he shouts before turning toward me, "come, let's get you settled, young lady. I'll show you to your quarters."

Without waiting, he turns and climbs the rickety wooden board from the dock onto the deck. I can't move under the weight of Silver's searing gaze. I can feel him looking at me even without looking up.

When I take a step toward the ship, he steps in front of me. His hard, bare chest heaving as he looks down at me. "You need to leave. Do not board this ship. Go, run don't walk back to where you came from."

I hear him speaking but I can't register the words. The fear I felt before has faded away. He is looking at me like he hates me but I feel warm and safe.

"I need to leave Ireland," my voice shakes. "I can't go back home."

He groans and rolls his neck, looking up toward the sky with a deep sigh. "Go with my father to your quarters and stay there. Lock the door. Do you hear me?"

"I will." I nod, feeling overwhelmed by the thrashing emotions that are crashing together in my head. It's violent, cold, and dark but so beautiful. I don't know what the future holds but I know that Silver, this man I only just laid eyes on, holds the key to my future happiness. It's as if the weight of everything that has ever happened in my life, the circumstances out of my control, and the choices I've made have led me here, to him.

"Niamh," my name rolling from his tongue is the sweetest song I've ever heard. It's the wind blowing through the fields at dusk. "Do not leave your quarters."

With trembling knees, I walk toward the thin strip of wood that will lead me away from Ireland forever. As I take the first step, a hand takes hold of mine. Warm and strong, I know it's him by the way his touch makes my skin prick.

Without a word, he helps me aboard and turns around to growl at the men watching from the dock.

"Don't you have work to do?" He snaps at the men.

I watch as he lifts a barrel up to his shoulder. The way his muscles move and shift below his skin makes my cheeks burn and my heart race. Looking down at the floor, I follow the captain's voice down below deck. The large room is nearly full of barrels and crates of supplies. Lanterns flicker, hanging from the beams above as I follow him through the room.

"This is the galley," he points to a small coal stove. Pots and spoons hang from the ceiling with shelves covered in dust and crates lining the wall. "Keep the sheets of tin in place and clear of grease. If you drop lit coal onto the wood, you will set the ship ablaze." His voice is gravelly and stern. "Here are your quarters." He opens a small half-door beside the stove.

"Thank you, Captain." I crouch down onto the two small steps that lead into the space.

"Take stock of what we have here," he points to the shelves, "while we're in port we can get more lard or provisions if you need them." He tosses me a heavy key before turning on his heels.

The room is bare but for a tattered hammock hanging in one corner. I'll have to sew the holes and tears but it will do. One small window lets in a ray of sunlight that illuminates the room enough to see.

Setting down my bag, I pull myself up on my toes to peek out the window. My eyes move through the crew until I find him. He's standing with the captain. His face is hard and angry as they speak. With a sharp nod he quickly turns and walks away from the ship, following behind a few other members of the crew.

He told me to lock the door, but the captain told me to inventory the kitchen.

Biting into my lip, I step into the kitchen. Salt beef and pork, crates of eggs, biscuits, and large wheels of cheese make up most of the food rations. There are a few crates of potatoes and bread but it's not enough.

Thundering steps bring my attention to the captain and several members of the crew coming down from above.

"Captain, why so little bread and potatoes?"

"They rot. We'll have them for the first days of the journey, after that, we'll get our fill from ship biscuits."

"How long will it take to journey to Portugal?" My heart races. We will be at sea long enough for potatoes to rot?

"Fifteen days or more," The men laugh at my wide-eyed shock.

"Don't you worry," the captain places his heavy hand on my shoulder. "It will go by in the blink of an eye, I'm sure."

The men howl with laughter again, as if they are all in on a joke that I'm not aware of.

"Welcome aboard The Siren's Call."

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