The Lost Pool of Time: Magical Waters - An Epic Fantasy, #1

By Susan D. Kalior

Ex-pirate Jaiden Quinn, a half Chinese refugee, takes on the task to clear the name of his dying captain, Robert Beckwith, a privateer for King Charles ll of England.

Shayla, Robert Beckwith's daughter, is a budding witch who lives alone in the forest with nature spirits and fairies, preferring the quiet life.

Sucked into the drama, she and Jaiden embark on a wild adventure involving a treacherous pirate, a chaos sea deity, and a magical nereid who leads them to a mysterious island with a pool that can transport people through time.

 

A test of wits, tangled in magic, and steeped in ancient wisdom, brings mythical beings to life in this unforgettable epic fantasy.

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Susan D. Kalior
• Release date: Aug 17, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393126270

Susan D. Kalior

        Susan was born in Seattle, WA.. Her first profession was a psychotherapist treating those suffering from depression, anxiety, post-traumatic stress, substance abuse, sexual abuse, family violence, and severe mental illness. She employed therapies such as communication skill building, relaxation training, systematic desensitization, bioenergetics, and psychodrama. She has facilitated stress management, parenting, and self-discovery workshops that have aided in the psycho-spiritual healing of many. She has lectured on metaphysical and psychological topics, and been involved in various social activist pursuits.          Her education includes an M.A. in Ed. in Counseling/Human Relations and Behavior (NAU), a B.S. in Sociology (ASU), and ten months of psycholog-ical and metaphysical training in a Tibetan community.          Susan writes entertaining books steeped in psychology, sociology, and metaphysics in genres such as visionary fiction, dark fantasy, horror, and romance. All her books are designed to facilitate personal growth and transformation.         In her words: I love to sing, meditate, and play in nature. I love fairy tales, going outside the box, and reading between the lines. I strive to see what is often missed, and to not miss what can't be seen. There is such a life out there, and in there—beyond all perception! So I close my eyes, feel my inner rhythm, and jump off the cliff of convention. And when I land, though I might be quaking in my boots, I gather my courage and go exploring.         Through travel, study, and work, I've gained a rich awareness of cultural differences among people and their psychosocial struggles. I have discovered that oppression often results from the unexamined adoption of outside perceptions. The healing always has been in the individual's stamina to expel outside perceptions of self and constructively exert one's unique core being into the world. I am driven to facilitate expanded awareness that people may separate who they are from who they are told to be. Embracing personal power by loving our unique selves in our strengths and weaknesses . . . forever—is a key to joyous living. My motto is: Trust your story. Live the Mystery..

Book preview

Blue Wing Publications

The Lost Pool of Time

Magical Waters-Book One

Copyright August 26, 2019

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this work in any form without permission in writing from the publisher, except for brief passages in connection with a review. All non-historical character or business names in this book are fiction; any resemblance to current names is purely coincidental.

Published by Blue Wing Publications

[e-mail]

www.bluewingworkshops.com

Cover design by Sara C. Roethle

Editor: Sara C. Roethle

Proof Reader: Cindy Kalior

Readers’ comments welcomed.

Other Books by Susan D. Kalior

The Dark Side of Light

Book One-Initiation

Book Two-Crescendo

Book Three-Eternity

Warriors in the Mist: A Dark Fantasy

The Mark of Chaos  (The Mark of Chaos Series)

An Angel’s Touch (The Mark of Chaos Series)

The Golden Disc (The Mark of Chaos Series)

The Goddess Returns (The Mark of Chaos Series

The Other Side of God

The Other Side of Life

The Other Side of Self

Growing Wings Self Discovery Workbook: Vol. One

Growing Wings Self Discovery Workbook, Vol. Two

The Simple Guide to Feeling Better

Manufactured in the United States of America

Chapter One

Whitby, England

1660

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Shayla stared out at the salty sea, frothing with the swash of incoming waves that faded before reaching her soft brown boots. She gazed out at the breakers, remembering the day the water so mercilessly took her mother. Killed her mother. Shayla was only nine years old.

Here on her annual pilgrimage to celebrate her mother’s life and all the fond memories the beach had once brought them, she tried not to think of the tragedy, but the memory played anyway.

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They had been combing the beach, searching for kelp that so often washed ashore, for it was not only a food source, but had great medicinal properties. While her mother filled her basket, Shayla spotted a thick tangle of kelp all caught on a pile of giant boulders further inland. As she ran off to collect it, she heard a loud boom. Her head whipped to the noise. A mighty wave slammed against the rock cliff a bit down shore, creating a potent spray high and about.

She heard her mother scream, Shay-la! Run!

Looking to her mother, a fast hard wave had crashed in around her waist, the incoming surge rushing toward Shayla too. She scampered up the boulder pile, her heart pounding out of her chest. Barely making it to the top, the massive wave splashed around the boulders, dampening the hem of her brown skirt.

When she turned around, all she saw was the receding wave sweeping her mother, with arms and legs flailing, out to sea until she was visible no more. The sea had swallowed her, taken her mother from her—forever.

Helpless to save her drowning mother, deep sorrow weighed her down like an anchor. She could not move. She sat there on the boulder pile a very long time, unable to believe what had happened. After many hours, the sun went down, but still she could not move. Many more hours passed, and there she was atop the boulder pile staring out at the sea.

A villager named Jana Marie Cobb, found her the next morning still there, still in shock, the little girl frozen on a boulder pile. The little girl who could not, would not believe the truth. Surely, it was just a dream. She told Jana Marie Cobb her dream, but Jana knew it was real because Tamara, her mother, was nowhere to be found. And there, trapped in a tidal pool, was her mother’s soaked basket, still partially filled with kelp.

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Shayla shook her head to dispel the vivid memory that in twelve years had not faded, not even a little. That was the day the only person who ever loved her slipped into death. As her mother’s body had never been found, every year she childishly gazed out at the ocean, watching and waiting for her mother to return. Deep down, she knew her mother was long gone, else she would have come back before now.

She glanced back at the boulder pile she’d been perched upon so long ago, where she watched her mother die. A single tear slipped from her eye.

Feeling a warm glow next to her, she was reminded of the white light orb that was with her when she woke that morning. It always came from midnight to midnight on her mother’s death day. She used to think it was her mother’s spirit, but it really didn’t feel like that. About the size of her head, it had no face and never spoke, but it did seem friendly. The orb hovered at her right near her cheek, no matter which way she went or how often she turned.

Well, she’d been gone all day, and the sun would set in a few hours. With a four hour trek ahead of her, she best be getting back to her cottage in the forest. She buttoned up her green-leaf embroidered white jacket to block out the October chill. Gazing at the sleeve, she traced her finger along a leaf. This jacket had been her mother’s, and was all she had left of her.

As she turned away from the sea, long brown hair wisps escaped her ponytail and played upon the breeze, tickling her cheeks. She hiked up her deep green skirt a foot above her brown boots to hurry unencumbered along the sandy beach. She preferred breeches, but she was already viewed as an odd woman, and didn’t wish to make it worse should another see her.

From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed a distressing scene. Looking to it, she beheld a flailing seagull caught between two logs that had been tossed and tumbled by the ocean waves at high tide. Walking to the poor creature, she noted a bloody spot on its back. She slipped her hand into her medicine satchel at her hip, its strap diagonally crossing her chest.

I could not save my mother, dear bird, but I believe I can save you.

She withdrew a small pouch of powdered yarrow and sprinkled it on the wound. Then she rolled back one damp log, freeing the bird. She slipped her hands beneath its belly and lifted, pressing the seagull gently against her chest. She felt its rapid heartbeat, and for a moment, just a moment, found comfort in the closeness of another living thing. As it began to wriggle, she set it on the sand, and stood back. Not long after, it took to the skies, joining the other seabirds circling the shoreline.

That small joy motivated her onward with a spring in her step to the sandy embankment that would cede her to the meadow above, and the woods beyond where she lived. She made her way upward, scrambling at a pace that would empower her to reach the top without mishap. Once there, she stopped to catch her breath.

Looking about her, the view revealed a wide berth of Whitby. To her right was the village of fifty-two cottages, some main buildings, a tavern, and a market place. New homes and establishments were popping up every day in this growing community. The people there were kind enough. She would bring them herbs or heal their ailments in trade for what she needed, but she would never bond. Losing her mother robbed her of wanting that.

Looking out to the docks, she noticed further out, beyond the many fishing boats that belonged to the villagers, a great ship with the king’s mark on a sail. What was it doing here?

Looking the other way, down at the isolated cove where more clandestine adventures were sometimes had, she noticed five rather rough-looking men hopping out of a rowboat, pulling it ashore. Pirates, she surmised, by their varied dress, heads topped with scarves, and hips laden with pistols and knives. Their ship was probably hiding behind the jutting mounds of rock that could be seen far beyond the breakers, or perhaps around the corner of the great sea cliff that snaked about the shoreline.

Pirates. She shook her head. What were they doing here?

Maybe the king’s men were after the pirates. That’s probably what it was. As she preferred to mind her own business, she turned and walked up the gradual incline of purple heather that would take her away from any impending drama.

She reached the top and made way across the meadow of knee high green and gold grasses, watching the fairy folk tend little yellow flowers. She smiled warmly at them, and many would wave at her. Finally, she came upon the forest path, whittled into existence by six years of her weekly treks into town on market day.

Entering the woods of ash, birch, and oak, she breathed easier. Sighting one of her favorite ash trees, she lifted her skirt to step over a fallen log, and made way to the tree’s smooth grey trunk. Pressing her hands against the bark, she pushed her nose close and inhaled its scent, letting it fill her lungs. Slowly exhaling, she felt sated.

She had become well acquainted with this tree’s spirit, and it always made her feel better. She looked up and waved at her friends, who she called the tiny people who lived in the trees. Sometimes she would climb the trees just to sit with them and watch their powers of protection at work. They could dissuade humans from harming the forest by planting thoughts in their minds such as: This tree is too beautiful to chop down.

The animals, the trees, and the spirits that inhabited the forest brought her solace and joy. She understood nature’s way even when it meant death and decay happened. She was alright with that as long as cruel intentions played no part in the demise. And really, only humans were capable of that.

She returned to the path and continued on. A bluebird landed on her head. She rolled her eyes up. Hello there. With evening encroaching, the chill air made her face cold. There was really no time to dawdle. The bluebird flew away. Goodnight, dear friend, she said to it.

As she continued on, the squirrels in the trees stopped what they were doing and began chattering, celebrating her return. The whole of the forest was her family, though her only human family was her father, Captain Robert Beckwith, a privateer for King Charles. With her father’s life at sea, she hardly ever saw him, though he was always on good terms with her mother.

Jana Marie Cobb had sent word to him of her mother’s death, inquiring if he wanted to claim his daughter, but all he did was make arrangements to keep her out of his life. He did not love her.

He had, out of duty, she supposed—arranged for her to stay with a well-to-do family in York, where she would be educated and learn to live in proper society in return for servicing the family in cleaning, cooking, and when she was older, caring for the younger children.

Off she went with a servant man from the York estate, shortly after her mother’s memorial. Her very own father didn’t even come for that. He’d stayed away then when she needed him most, and visited only twice after.

She hated York, the noise, the smell, and though she received lessons in education and etiquette, she felt rather like a slave to the family. When she was fifteen, she ran away and returned to Whitby. The family did not come for her, and she was glad. Taking solace in the forest she and her mother so often went foraging, she came upon an abandoned cottage near a waterfall and had been living there ever since.

She loved her little home, and after being gone from it all day, she couldn’t wait to return. Hurrying along for three hours more, darkness closed in around her, but she was almost there. Off to her left, was the little waterfall where she usually bathed. The water cascaded into the pool below with a mesmerizing splash.

There were fairy folk there too. Really, they were everywhere in the natural world. She’d always found it strange the villagers never spoke of them, apparently unaware of their existence. Just as well, that way she and her forest friends would be left alone.

This had been her world and would be until she died. All the tales of those who had worldly adventures seemed fraught with danger, and she wanted none of it. As long as she had the forest, she was alright.

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魔

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Jaiden loved the sea. Sailing through the raucous ocean at sunset, salt water sprayed his face and dampened his black hair as the ship’s bow plunged down from a ten-foot swell of a passing wave, then up again. He loved the sounds of ship and ocean, water lapping against the hull, the creaking of the hand-hewn timbers, and the mighty swells beneath giving him a ride into adventure. Life on the sea was dangerous. He would not play life safe. And that made him feel alive. And if he couldn’t feel that, what cared he of living at all?

The ship’s captain, Robert Beckwith was gravely ill and unable to master the crew and ship. In his stead, he himself had been voted in by the crew as acting captain with Beckwith’s endorsement.

Sadly, they were forced to leave their beloved captain with the ship’s physician and five crewmembers on the hideout island they’d established, as a series of events had come to endanger them all.

Though Beckwith was a mostly honorable man commissioned by King Charles ll to attain treasures from ships of enemy nations or to apprehend offending pirates, he had of late been falsely accused of skimming bounty meant to fill King Charles’ own coffers.

Not only was Beckwith’s stellar reputation in peril, but that crime was a hanging offense. As Beckwith’s quartermaster, his neck was on the line too.

His next task was to collect the captain’s daughter and bring her to him, mostly for her own safety. The king had ordered her arrest as a ploy to manipulate Beckwith into surrendering. And that was not the worst of it. She was also wanted by the infamous pirate, Sully Draiden, better known as Captain Dread.

This knowledge came to them in one of those rare, fated times when in a bordello, two of Beckwith’s crew overheard Captain Dread drunkenly bragging that he would get revenge on Beckwith for stealing his booty, and sinking his ship, the Devil’s Brew, by kidnapping his daughter for ransom. The vengeful pirate had learned of her whereabouts from the scuttlebutt going around about the king ordering her apprehended.

The ship’s bow rose again, and plunged down as determination coursed through Jaiden’s veins to retrieve her before Sully Dread or the king’s men.

Captain Dread, he shook his head, thinking of the sinister man who once was his captain and the most dreaded pirate in four of the seven seas. Not that he ever wanted to be a pirate or anything, but it was a way he could remain at sea and have adventure. However, the adventure before him charged his body, and he felt more alive than ever.

And in tumultuous times, like the one at hand, being tossed about in the ocean was preferable to the tossing he’d had in his life since he was a small boy in China. There was the massacre, the murder of his mother, escape on his English father’s merchant ship, his father’s death, and the thunder of abuse after. Striking out on his own, he found that living at sea, going from ship to ship: merchant, cargo, pirate, and now privateer for the last twelve years, staved off the need to reckon with those painful memories.

Even now, he was grateful for the adventure before him so that he could distance himself from the misadventures behind him. As long as he had sea, he was alright.

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Shayla came upon her cottage just before night embraced the land, the bright orb lending a measure of light.

Entering her humble abode, she removed her prized jacket, medicine satchel, and waterskin and hung them on the wall. Then she quickly lit a fire in the hearth, as autumn nights could get quite cold. She settled onto her straw pallet under a woolen cover, too weary to change into her nightclothes.

Lying there, the sounds of night filled her ears: the owl hooting, frogs croaking, and crickets chirping. She smiled faintly, then turned her head to stare at the orb by her pillow, knowing it was somehow associated with her mother. Oh mother, I miss you so. She closed her eyes and drifted into a dream.

She was sailing on the ocean in a ship with strangers. She was running across the ship’s deck when a giant wave washed over her and pulled her into the sea. She drowned and saw her mother.

She awakened and bolted upright in a cold sweat, her cover falling on her lap. She told herself that surely the dream was brought on by reminiscing her mother’s drowning, and how in a way, so much of her died that day too. She looked about her dark abode with crackling embers still burning. The orb was gone. She lay back down and fell asleep.

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魔

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The sea had calmed as darkness gave way to a glittering star-studded sky. Jaiden had ordered the sails to remain up through the windy night along with enough crew to manage them. That way, on the morrow, they could arrive on the shores of Whitby, England to track down Beckwith’s daughter, Shayla.

He made way to the captain’s cabin to rest up for tomorrow’s big day. Lying on the rather plush bed, he stared at the wood-planked ceiling before closing his eyes. Images of waves rolled in his mind as the sea rocked the ship like a cradle putting its babes to sleep. Beckwith came to mind as he recollected their last conversation three days previous on the island, in the roughshod hut they’d built for him.

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Lying on a mat, Beckwith’s gaunt face and sunken blue eyes bespoke urgency. His chest rose and fell with a struggle to breathe. Even his shoulder-length graying hair and beard appeared limp and unhealthy.

Jaiden had knelt before him to hear the last of what he had to say before leaving him there that day.

Jaiden, he said, I want to tell you about my daughter before you bring her to me.

Yes, Jaiden leaned forward to hear.

Shayla’s world is small, but her gifts are big. She is special. His eyes sparkled. She either has the sight or she is touched.

The sight? Jaiden asked.

She can see what most relegate as myth and fairy tale, or she thinks she does. I am not sure which. I don’t really know her, having been at sea most of her life, but I’ve heard it told she spends a great deal of time in the forest, gathering from the natural world what could heal others.

So she may not be in the village?

Not likely. I had received a letter about six years back from a villager, Jana Marie Cobb, stating she had run away from the family I placed her with in York after her mother died, and came to live in the Whitby woods. I suspect she is still there.

So, she likely lives alone?

I believe so. She will need special care. Just be gentle with her. Convince her to come. If that cannot be done, you must just take her and bring her to me. I must make my peace with her especially if I am to die. However, expediently removing her from danger is what matters most. 

Jaiden nodded. I understand.

Beckwith tensed. And if I do not make it—swear to me you will not let Sully Dread get her—you must see to his end, for he will never stop seeking revenge. And if you can clear our names, then she can return to the forest. At the very least, I could give her that.

Jaiden said, I give you my word, I will do my best. You have been more of a father to me than I have ever had.

And you have been like a son to me. You must go ashore alone, as she will be less frightened that way. Just befriend her. Beckwith sighed as if all the life had gone out of him. I must rest now.

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Jaiden’s eyes burst open from the memory as he stared at the wood planked ceiling once more. He must rest now too. Trying to quiet his mind, his heart was stirred. He was helping Beckwith face his ghosts by retrieving his daughter, when he himself could not face his own. He just couldn’t.

He was not a cold man, just a lone man who felt very little about anything, save an odd sense of justice to preserve the innocent from tyranny, an old wound in him really that never did heal. When he was fifteen, the Manchus took over Yangzhou in China. All the freedoms once enjoyed were being shut down to the outer world, including seaports. His father, being an English merchant, would be cut off from him as well, which is why he and his mother were making their escape that fateful war torn day.

Running toward the dock, his father would be there to collect them and get them out before the borders were sealed. Almost there, his mother was struck in the back with a Manchu arrow. She died on the spot, but he couldn’t leave her. She was one of the 800,000 people who died in that massacre for resisting the imposed restrictions that would end the Ming dynasty.

Some man grabbed his arm and pulled him away to the dock. Jaiden had gazed into his face and would never forget it. The man had saved his life by making him leave his dead mother. He was going to bring him aboard his own ship, but before he could, Jaiden saw his father rowing out to him from the merchant ship.

Jaiden pointed that out to the man and nodded thanks, as fighting broke out around them. He dove into the water and swam out to his father, escaping the tyranny of the dictator who’d taken possession of the land in which he was born.

Six months following, he began learning the way of ships and was becoming quite skilled when his father took ill and died. The captain of that ship was a small-minded sort, tainted with prejudice of everything Chinese. With his father gone, so was his protection. Though a mixed breed, he looked neither Chinese nor English, but somewhere in-between. However, the captain harangued him, tantamount to enslavement. Jaiden escaped and became a crewmember on a cargo ship.

He grew up fast then, going from ship to ship, adventure to adventure, never really bonding with anyone, for to him, that meant they would be killed. However, if innocence in any manner was in danger of being snuffed, as was his mother’s, and really his own, he felt bound to preserve it when he could—to honor her, and maybe in some strange way, to honor himself. Beckwith’s daughter fell into that parameter.

With his mission clear, Jaiden fell into a restless sleep.

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Morning came, and Shayla rose to greet the day, and commence her usual routine. It began with bathing at the waterfall pool in an extensive hygiene ritual, learned in part from her mother, and in part from the upstanding York family. She enjoyed taking care of her body and had learned to make products from scratch like soap, perfume, and beauty potions.

Then she set out to collecting herbs and roots to make into medicine and other products to sell or trade at the Saturday market in town. Her products, especially beauty potions and perfumes, were of such high quality, those of means from York often came down to buy them.

Everything she needed was in the forest, and what wasn’t, she made enough to buy or gain in trade.

By afternoon, she finished collecting and creating, and now it was time to play with all her friends in the natural world.

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After spending the better part of the day trying to locate Beckwith’s daughter, Jaiden came upon her in the deep forest. He was glad to affirm that she did appear to live alone, just as her father suspected. The faint path into the woods pretty much led him right to her, albeit it a far trek in. Then noticing broken twigs and crushed leaves at one spot that seemed fresh, he followed them until he spied her climbing an oak tree.

He held back, peering out from a clump of thick trees to observe her for a bit. Clad in brown, she wore breeches, a simple linen shirt, and soft ankle boots, sensible for one who likes to climb. He too wore soft boots, more to feel the vibrations of what was going on around him, thus giving him the edge in matters of self-defense.

He shook his head. A female climbing a tree in men’s clothing, not your typical English woman at all. Once situated on a branch, little birds came fluttering at her, and perched upon her shoulders and knees, chirping happily. He’d never seen anything like it. Beckwith wasn’t exaggerating about her ‘specialness’.

Her rich brown hair was tied back, the tail draped across her chest. She seemed so content in her solitude, filled with joy. He had never really seen that before, nor had he felt it. Bliss yes, for the sea brought him that. Excitement, of course, with his lifestyle, how could that not be. And satisfaction, indeed, when accomplishing a mission or having relations with women of the non-emotional variety.

He stayed away from prostitutes as his mother told him that is how men can die of disease after lying with them. She also taught him natural contraception from the acacia plant that he insisted the woman implement, and he wore a condom when available. He didn’t want children born without a father there to protect them, for he’d not be about long enough to even see the birth. But joy? No, he could see it on her, but never on him.

He observed her carefully trying to discern how to best approach her to cause the least amount of upset.

After apparently talking to the birds for a while, she scampered down the tree with ease, and skipped about the forest, singing cheerful songs. Once she huddled to the earth, pushing her nose into a patch of foliage, seemingly talking to someone or something, perhaps the foliage itself.

A flurry of butterflies flitted around her head in a spot where the sun shined down. As they flew away, she spread her hands toward them, and cried out, I love you!

She was free in her heart, innocence personified. Not innocence born of sweetness or naivety per se, but more like animals behaving naturally without masking intent, incapable of greed and sabotage. What a peaceful life she had here, and he felt remorseful that he soon must disturb it.

Once she whipped her head his way as if sensing his presence, as he was quite near her, but well camouflaged. His martial arts training, given him by his uncle in China, had taught him the fine art of invisibility. Not actually becoming invisible, but moving unseen and unheard by others. And his soft boots gave him the privilege of silent stepping.

Her rich brown eyes and hair complemented her olive complexion, earthy as the soil at his feet.

As she went back to her play, he would call it, he decided he’d present himself as a friend of her father’s and lure her away by informing her of his ill-health, leaving out that pirates and soldiers would soon be at her back.

As the king’s ship was not far from shore, he knew that time was near. Sully Dread’s pirates would be closing in too, for when seeking a place to stash his small rowboat, he came upon another with a few teeth embedded in the bow. Jaiden knew that boat.

At least he’d beat them all to her. Having information about her lifestyle, along with his early training to move swiftly, gave him an edge to locate her more expediently.

Thinking it best that she came upon him instead of the other way around, he moved ahead in the direction she was walking. He planted himself at the base of a sprawling oak tree lying on his back, hands behind his head and ankles crossed as if enjoying the natural world. To appear less alarming, he positioned himself at an angle that kept his pistol and knife from her view.

He heard her nearing by the crunch of leaves and twigs underfoot. He quickly closed his eyes to appear napping, and hence more innocuous. He felt her presence stop at his side.

Are you well, sir?

His eyes opened to see her face looking curiously down at him. If he were a predator, her nearness could have been a fatal mistake.

He sat up. I am.

Are you lost, sir?

He bent a knee, pivoting his elbow there, dangling his forearm. I am not.

Very well. She turned and began to walk away.

Are you Shayla Beckwith? he called out.

She narrowed an eye suspiciously. Why do you wish to know? Before he could answer, she blurted, Are you from York?

She seemed apprehensive about York and he remembered Beckwith mentioned she ran away from there.

I am not from York.

She scrutinized him. Of course not, you don’t really appear to be an Englishman, then she shrugged a shoulder, not that you’d have to be. Your English is perfect.

I have a gift for languages. He remained seated in his casual stance lest he frighten her. I am a friend of your father’s.

She huffed with a swift turn and hurriedly walked away.

He rose quickly and caught up to her, walking by her side until he had to loop around a tree or smack into it. He sent me to find you.

Ignoring his statement, she hurried along, but the man stayed right beside her. She wished he’d just go away, but as that wasn’t happening, she discretely glimpsed him to make a further assessment.

His eyes were deep set, but not so deep to be Asian, though he had an Asian look, judging by one she’d once seen at Saturday market. His jet-black hair had a bit of wave in it, and she’d heard most Asians had straight hair.

He seemed so relaxed and confident looking rather slick in black pants, white linen shirt, and long-sleeved black jerkin with silver buttons. She scolded herself for finding him attractive, for she was determined to never fall for a man, especially a seafaring man. My father sent you?

He did. He is gravely ill and wishes to see you.

She stopped walking and glared at him. Why? she pouted. He doesn’t care about me, her eyes sharpened looking into his, and I don’t care about him.

Jaiden raised a brow realizing this task would be harder than expected. He does care about you, more than you know.

She glanced at the pistol holstered on his belt, and the knife sheathed at his ankle, then started walking again. You work with him? You are a pirate?

A privateer.

She smirked. Same thing.

She was kind of right about that. Privateers were legal by the countries that employed them to rob ships from other nations of their cargo, and many privateers had been pirates first and vice versa.

He said, You might be surprised to know that your father is a man of honor. He saved my life—twice.

Oh, and so now you are indebted to him?

Not really, I have saved his life too.

Oh, she snarled, so now you are best friends, pirates together?

Jaiden stopped walking. He’s dying Shayla. If you do not go to him now, you can never get this moment back.

She stopped and faced him in contemplation. I’m not saying I’ll go, but where is he?

On an island, not far from here.

She glared. An island? That means I’d have to go out to sea.

He nodded. Yes.

She shook her head vigorously. I can’t go out to sea! I will never ever do that. Her chest rose and fell with a deep huff. Never. She turned away and began walking faster than before.

He realized time had run out to convince her as a flurry of shouts and the sounds of a scuffle sounded not far behind them.

Shayla turned on her heel with a gasp.

He said to her in a low voice, If that scuffle is what I think, the king’s men are clashing with pirates. I saw their boats yesterday.

I did too. I saw five pirates, and a royal ship. Her eyes fixated on where the conflict seemed to be. "The king’s men are likely here to get