1744
Jamaica waters

“Well, it seems the rumor was right,” Commodore Jonas Berkely said as he looked through his spyglass from the deck of the Royal William at the battle occurring two knots east of his base at Fort Charles. “Strange…”

“Do you think it’s a trap, Jonas?” his executive officer, and this ship’s captain, Stephen asked.

“No. Three of the ships are Spanish and one of those is on fire and foundering. It’s the other two. They are marked as if they are merchant ships, but they seem to be winning this fight.”

“Most merchants just give over to ‘em even if they know they’ll be dead,”

That was exactly why Jonas had quickly assembled the seven ships that could leave the island immediately. Another merchant had seen the Spanish approaching these two ships on its way into port. Jonas had hoped he could save at least some of the crew.

“What are your orders?” Stephen asked, pulling him out of his thoughts.

One of the Spanish galleons had already grappled itself to what Jonas believed to be the main merchant ship. However, as he watched the other merchant ship let loose a round of cannon fire on the other active Spanish ship, causing it to list. Slowly, the newly damaged Spanish ship started to turn away from the battle.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Jonas said under his breath. “Signal Stapleton and Vaughn to go after the Spanish ship that seems to be trying to escape. Send Dennis to check for survivors from the one that’s going down. Run a shot across the bow of the rest to see if that gets their attention and breaks up the fight. Have Hughes and Elliot follow us, but if the grappled Spanish ship flees, they are to go after that. We’ll follow the two merchant ships with Lewis if either of those leave without permission.”

“But is that wise if they might not be merchant ships?”

“If they aren’t merchant ships, it’s our duty to capture them and arrest them.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bridge was irate with her brother.

“Bring her around the Palm Tree, tightly. We’re going to nudge them and see if we can get them to run, too!” she shouted to her crew as she watched the galleon that had been attacking them listing away.

She had told Christopher that coming back to Jamaica was a fool’s journey. The British Navy had only grown stronger here and the Spanish were fighting them for every little island in the Gulf and for the land both countries had already staked out in America. That was why they had moved their pirating operation to the Barbary Coast seven years ago, when he had taken her aboard. Their mother was dead—they had nothing left in Kingston. Unfortunately, once her brother got the idea in his head to visit her grave, there was nothing she could do to get it out of him. She firmly believed it was because he was the only person on their two ships who knew she was female, and he had some sort of male flaw that deemed women to be inferior. None of her crew or his hesitated to do what she said, thankfully, but they knew her only as Bridge—not Bridgett—the girl she left behind so many years ago.

The Oyster’s Pearl shifted under her feet at the hard turn and she had to grab one of the lines from the rigging to keep her balance. She tried to peer through the smoke on the deck of her brother’s ship to see how he fared, but it was useless. She had already decided that if he made it out of this alive then she would kill him.

Just as her ship was straightening out, cannon fire went flying over their masts. She turned and saw seven ships of the British Royal Navy bearing down on them, and her heart sank. One first-rate warship, four other smaller warships of varying classes, and two frigates. She decided that neither her nor her brother may make it out of this one alive.

“Pull off. We can’t visibly attack them anymore. We need to look like we’re complying with the Royal Navy’s order,” she shouted. “Harry, Arthur, John, Edmund, Owen, come with me, and bring a grappling hook. Simon, take the helm. We’re going for a swim.”

The men she had called stripped off their waistcoats and boots. They probably would have taken off their shirts, but Bridge had shamed them into swimming while wearing them. After all, she kept her waistcoat on when she swam—although she did it mostly because she did not want the clingy fabric of her wet shirt to reveal the binding she wore. She waited while John tossed the grappling hook twice before it caught. Then, she dove into the water and headed to the Spanish ship.

John swam with the rope in his mouth, so when they reached the side of the other ship, they could easily scale it. Well, the men always made it look easy. Climbing the side of a ship always made her arms ache, but she would not even let her brother know that. John was the last one up, and he removed the hook from its place.

“Very good. Now, I think we’ve got five maybe six minutes to help over here before we have to get back. Let’s finish this,” she said as they pulled their knives and swords from their sheaths.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jonas continued watching the battle through the spyglass as they approached.

“Good. It looks like one merchant ship has stopped fighting,” he said.

“Well, do you expect the people on the other ship to just lay down their weapons if the Spanish won’t stop?” Stephen countered. “I mean, just because they are still fighting doesn’t mean anything.”

“I don’t like it.”

“You’re just as suspicious as my brother,” Stephen reprimanded. “Granted, Marcus is usually right.”

“Swing around to the free side of the merchant ship and prepare the marines for boarding. I want to approach with our bow and use the dories,” Jonas shouted. To Stephen he said, “At least that will give us a smaller profile if they decide we are another enemy.” Then, Jonas started walking to where the marines would begin their work.

“Are you going with them?” Stephen asked him incredulously.

“Yes, and I need you to lead half of them to the other ship.”

“I can’t believe I had to pay to get my position,” Stephen grumbled loud enough for Jonas to hear him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bridge had not had enough time to find her brother in the melee. Almost as soon as they boarded the Spanish ship, those of its crew who had remained onboard it had engaged her and her men. She had not expected them to continue fighting once the British made their presence known. Although her brother and her were in a precarious position, the Spanish were the enemy and would be dealt with accordingly. Once it was clear they would not be able to make enough progress before the Royal Navy had closed on them, she ordered her men to retreat. Her ship had rope ladders waiting for them on the far side—out of the range of the Spaniards. They had just gotten the ladders up, when a Navy boarding party appeared and requested they let them down again. Bridge ordered her men to do whatever the British asked. She hoped her compliance would keep them from examining her holds too closely.

“I understand you’re the Captain?”

Bridge stood at the helm as the man approached, sizing him up. He was her age or perhaps a few years older with black wavy hair that just passed below his collar and laughing blue eyes. He stood at least a foot taller than her and was definitely not one of those in a commanding position in the Royal Navy who had let themselves go. In fact, his well-fitted, blue velvet coat was the only thing that told her he must have some high rank. She stood a little taller and leveled her gaze at him.

“Aye.”

“Why are you dripping wet?” he asked.

“I landed in the water,” she added simply. “Thanks for saving us.”

“Are you a merchant vessel?” he asked without bothering to acknowledge her thanks. Her heart began beating so loudly that she was surprised he did not hear it.

“What else would we be?” she asked, trying to avoid answering directly. Although she had been living a lie since she was thirteen, she did not enjoy lying.

“Hmmm,” he replied. He watched her, and she was proud of herself for returning his gaze without flinching. One of the marines ran up and whispered something to him, causing Bridge to tense. After a few minutes, he said, “Well, the Commodore needs to meet you. If you will be so good as to hand the ship over to your first mate and accompany us.”

“Simon,” she shouted, and the man came running from where he was helping with some of the rigging.

“Yes, Captain?” he asked, glancing warily at the man who had been questioning her.

“You have the helm. Remember, we don’t want any trouble, and we owe the Navy our thanks for helping us,” she said. She said the thanks loud enough for the benefit of the British sailors nearby. Hopefully, this would be quick, and they would not feel the need to examine their hold, which mostly contained gold—not the goods or slaves a real merchant ship would be carrying to the Caribbean. “I shall return as soon as I finish my business with the Commodore” she continued, hoping her first mate understood just how big of a hornet’s nest they had summoned. She then allowed the man who had been questioning her to lead her to the pinnacle boat where four other rather large men waited to escort her to the largest of the Royal Navy’s warships.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

When the marines had breached the side of the merchant ship, the battle was still raging. The biggest problem was that there was no way to determine who was a merchant and who was a privateer. Jonas told his men to approach those who were fighting, make themselves known and see which of the fellows saw them as enemies and which did not. Then, he hoped for the best—there was always the chance everyone would see them as enemies, but it was one he had to take.

Thankfully, most of the privateers surrendered once they saw the British and the ships now surrounding them. They would rather be held as prisoners of war and live to fight another day than killed in a losing battle. The merchants’ reaction was not altogether welcoming, though. They set down their arms, but not in the way a man would if he were happy to see his liberator. The captain of the ship had an attitude of defiance that Jonas chose to ignore. The man was about the same age as him and wore a loosely fit red jacket with large brass buttons that had one ripped sleeve—presumably from the battle. His hair was powdered, although the natural brown showed through in places where sea spray must have hit him. A thin line of blood had formed across his right cheek.

“I was informed that you are the captain of this vessel. Is that correct?” Jonas asked.

“Aye,” he replied, as if Jonas had challenged him to a fight.

“The other ship—does it belong to you as well?”

“Aye.”

Jonas sighed. The captain was certainly not forthcoming with any information.

“Do you keep the documents for both ships?” Jonas asked.

“I did. I lost them,” he said, challenging. Jonas’ eyebrow hitched.

“You lost the documents showing both of these ships had registered with customs?”

“We haven’t been doing much trade with British colonies of late.”

“What port is your home port?” Jonas asked, knowing it did not matter where the ship traded. If it were British, it needed to be registered. If it were French, it needed to be registered. Without documents a ship could not trade. What was this ship doing if it wasn’t trading, he wondered.

“Tripoli at the moment.”

“You’re a long way from home,” Jonas said, noting that Tripoli was a pirate port.

“The crew wanted a little holiday.”

Jonas sighed.

“I think that we should continue this conversation on my ship. I invite you to dine with me there,” he said, nodding to one of the marines next to him so he would convey the message to Stephen.

The captain’s eyes narrowed.

“Aye. Just let me talk privately with my first mate for a minute.”

Jonas slashed his sword out, blocking the captain’s path.

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary or advisable. You are surrounded by seven Royal Navy ships and grappled to a Spanish one. Your men have fought one battle and are tired. Both of your ships have more than enough of my men on them to take them. If you wish to talk to your first mate, you may shout a brief order to him now, but it would be in your best interest and that of those sailing with you if you come to my ship with me right now without me forcing your hand.”

For a moment, Jonas thought the captain would fight despite the overwhelming odds against him.

“Pascal, you have the helm,” he shouted suddenly, without any outward sign he was conceding anything. He continued keeping his eyes on Jonas as he finished ordering his first mate. “Have the crew clean this mess up and be ready to sail quickly as soon as I return.” The captain narrowed his eyes. “After all, every minute we must delay is one minute less of their leave in Kingston.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

On the way to the warship, the sailor who had initially questioned her had explained to Bridge that he was Captain Duval, the executive officer for Commodore Berkeley—the man he was taking her to see. She gave him her name when he requested it, but said nothing else. She then listened to him chat about the weather and the best inns for her crew in Kingston. She was thankful that they arrived at their destination just as he was about to embark on a history of Fort Charles. It might have been seven years, but she had grown up here, after all, and she was not particularly interested in British naval history.

The best, or perhaps worst, thing about the chatter was it distracted her from the fact that she had not seen or contacted her brother since the encounter with the Spanish privateers had started. When she did not observe her brother as she stepped onto the warship, anxiety flooded over her. She tried to calm herself as she went to the sides of the ship to search for a boat from the Palm Tree. She was thankful when she found it and relieved to see her brother was in fact upon it. However, she noted his crossed arms and stiff body.

“C’mon, Chris, don’t make this worse than it is,” she said under her breath.

“Did you say something?” Captain Duval asked from behind her.

“I was just noting that my brother seems to be on his way.”

She allowed Captain Duval to take her down the ladder to the upper gun deck and into the Commodore’s dining area at the stern of the boat. Windows in the stern-side bulkhead of the dining room allowed a view onto a dayroom with a desk and chairs and doors off the sides of it that presumably led to the Commodore’s sleeping area.

“Please be seated.”

She glanced wearily at Captain Duval, but decided taking a seat was best. She smugly noted that he had to duck down a bit because of his height and the low ceilings.

She did not have to wait long. Her brother entered and she felt her own relief at seeing him alive as he appeared to feel the same upon seeing her. Six marines and the Commodore followed him into the room.

“Glad to see you survived the initial siege,” she said quietly, standing as the rest of the men entered the room. “Hopefully, you treated our rescuers kindly and are not the cause of this diversion from our course.”

He did not reply.

“Commodore, this is Captain Bridge Morgan,” Captain Duval said, motioning to her. “Captain Morgan, this is Commodore Berkeley.”

As Bridge looked up to examine the Commodore more closely, her breath caught. His curly blonde hair was tied neatly in back. His deep green eyes were kind, albeit shocked—not what she had been expecting. He was just as big as Captain Duval, but where Captain Duval was about her age, the Commodore looked to be as old as her brother. His presence commanded respect. His blue velvet coat was immaculate with gold trim and buttons. She wondered how he managed to keep such light tan breeches from looking shabby with stains. Brushing past one of the cannons on her ship would permanently stain whatever she was wearing with ash and gunpowder.

“He’s 20, Commodore,” her brother said, elbowing her hard enough to make her gasp. Then he turned to her, “This is not time to be ogling people, Bridge.”

A blush spread across her face as she realized not only had she missed some of the conversation, but she had probably been staring at the Commodore in a way that made everyone in the room uncomfortable since they believed her to be male.

“You need to allow the Captain to answer for himself, Captain Morgan.”

In her time on a ship, she had been exposed to men with all sorts of body types and in all states of dress. At the young age of 13, she had been shocked, but since that time she had grown used to it. None of the crew from her ship or her brother’s had ever turned her head—except away from them as they urinated over the side of the boat. Perhaps she knew them too well.

She glanced at Captain Duval, who was not an unattractive man, but her heart had not skipped a beat the entire time he had questioned her or brought her here. She looked at some of the other crew in the room and likewise felt nothing. Then she dared to look back at the Commodore and found him to be advancing toward her. Her heart skipped, and she inadvertently took a step back.

He noted her retreat, stopped his own advance, and turned to her brother. Chris stood with his eyes straight ahead as the Commodore got extremely close to him and stared at his face. Again, Bridge flushed. She wondered if the Commodore was trying to make her brother as uncomfortable as she must have made him.

Then, he turned without saying a word and advanced toward her. This time she took courage from the way her brother had been unphased by the scrutiny. She remained solid, fighting her desire to step back or at least close her eyes. She wondered who this commodore was that could intimidate her so much while at the same time captivating her interest.

“You two look similar,” the Commodore said, keeping his face inches from hers.

“That’s be—” Christopher began.

The  Commodore held up his hand, silencing her brother.

“Let him answer.”

Bridge was not normally a praying woman. Although she had attended Sunday services in Kingston growing up, her mother had never been what she would consider a religious person. Once she had joined the crew of her father’s ship, the only exposure to religion that she experienced came from the occasional superstitions other sailors shared with her. Still, in this moment, with the Commodore inches from her face, her heart pounding, and her struggle for air, she sent up a prayer, hoping if there was a God that He would forgive her for not being devout and answer it anyway. Please, dear God, help me get through his scrutiny.

“H-h-he is my b-brother, Your Majesty,” she said, kicking herself the instant the words were out of her mouth. The Commodore struggled to maintain a straight face. The crew, including Captain Duval and her brother, broke into laughter until the Commodore flashed them a look.

“Captain Morgan, your brother has informed me that he has lost the documents that verify he has properly registered his ship as a merchant vessel.”

“You did what?!” she said turning to face him. As far as she knew, the documents had been forged anyway. If he had truly lost them, she did not understand why he had failed to purchase new ones before embarking on a journey that was already dangerous considering their trade. She could not imagine why her brother misplaced them. He shot her a look that told her to keep her mouth shut on the matter.

“Based on your reaction, I presume you do not have or know where these documents are?”

Any thought that they might get out of this easily and quickly fled.

“Nay,” she hung her head. She hoped her brother had a plan.

“Unfortunately, we’ll have to detain you both and your ships until we can resolve this matter,” the Commodore said as he stepped away from her and two of the crew stepped in and grabbed her by the upper arms. “Lock them in the brig.”

This book is meant to provide the background for my two Upsilon Andromedae serials: the sweet romance mashups and the cozy mystery mashups. Although the book is plotted, I want to do a collaboration on this one. It may take 1-2 years to complete.

This is the second book in the Histories of Eden series. It has been plotted out and the first chapter started, but unfortunately, my husband has not had the time to work on it. I am thinking about having him take a week off to write this year and see how far we can get. Even taking time off, it will probably take another 2-5 years for us to finish, though because he can only take a few weeks each year.

Rrrrriiinnnnggg.

“Hello.”

“You’ve got mail.” Click.

It happens the same every time. Why? I get into my email and click the box next to the untitled email. Without opening it, I change the title and forward it to the cryptic [email protected]. Where does it go? What is it? Like every other time, I get into my Paypal account. Sure enough the $500 deposit has been made. Where do they get the money from? Is this job really worth that much?

Long ago, I learned to stifle my conscious. It was a good job. The mysterious voice on the other end of the phone had contacted me six years ago after I posted my unimpressive resume on a job finding website. I was told by the voice that the job he wanted to hire me to do consisted of me having 100% availability by phone and email. I would receive the calls at any time of the day or night. I was to pass the emails on immediately after rewriting the title.

Like the Shakespeare study guide, I have embarked on creating an entire literature/language arts/math/logic curriculum based on works of literature that are mostly in public domain. These will target primarily homeschoolers but can be adapted to any classroom. I hope to have the full Kindergarten curriculum finished by summer of 2026.

The “theory of evolution” is currently being taught in schools today as “science.” However, it has been scientifically disproven repeatedly throughout history–stretching all the way back to Socrates. The simple fact is that every time evolution is shown to be false, scientists either ignore the truth or attempt to “tweak” the theory similar to religious “prophets” who proclaim some cataclysmic disaster on a specific date and none comes.