Once Upon a Pirate Anthology

by Merry Farmer

  Chapter 9

  “I did not give permission to keelhaul the prisoner!” Captain Shaw’s irate voice boomed across the deck.

  “Are you refusing to apply the punishment for theft?” Mr. Evans’ dark response floated around Alana’s mind.

  How could she hear them? She was underwater, scraping along the side of the ship… Peeling one eye open, she winced, staring at a bright blue sky. Her head lolled to the left, her eyes focusing on Mr. Wickes, who sat beside her, holding a cloth to her forehead, his focus on the two men arguing. How did she end up on the deck?

  “The punishment is too harsh,” snapped Captain Shaw.

  “Do you show favor to a prisoner? Perhaps you have become too soft in your leadership.”

  Captain Shaw nearly exploded. “The prisoner Dubois is a woman!”

  Mutters whipped across the deck, men exchanged uneasy glances with each other. Mr. Wickes lifted Alana’s hand, placing it on the cloth. “Hold this,” he murmured, then rose to his feet. “Were you aware of this fact, Mr. Evans?”

  “Captain Shaw searched her, not I,” retorted Mr. Evans, swiping his arm at Alana. “He should have informed us.”

  “I should do no such thing,” Captain Shaw snarled, stepping to Mr. Evans. “I am the captain of this ship, and it is my decision to reveal information about the crew and the prisoners.”

  “Are you denying her punishment?” Mr. Evans’ mouth turned up at the corners as if he were taunting Captain Shaw.

  “Certainly not,” he replied, his voice even. “I am suggesting the punishment chosen does not suit a woman.”

  “Then what would you suggest?”

  “I will slit her throat and throw her off the ship.” Spinning around, he raised his voice, addressing the entire crew. “Would that satisfy your desire for punishment?” Murmurs of ascent followed his question. Turning to Mr. Evans, Captain Shaw arched an eyebrow.

  He folded his arms, his eyes flicking down to Alana. “Yes, but I want to witness it.”

  “Certainly.” Captain Shaw spun around, extending his arms to the crew. “Would the rest of you like to witness?”

  Alana’s heart stopped. He couldn’t mean that! He was going to kill her in front of the crew! Why would he rescue her, just to kill her?

  Anger at his betrayal rolled through her body. She flipped onto her stomach, sliding her knees under her, and climbed to her feet. Fire blazed across her skin. Biting her lip, she glanced down and gasped. Her clothing, shredded as Mr. Evans had predicted, hung in bloody strips from her shoulders. She touched her stomach, wincing, her fingertips came away covered in blood. Her gaze rose to Captain Shaw, hatred poured through her veins. With a shriek, she threw herself at him, her hands curved into claws. He caught her easily, spinning her around to face the crew, locking her in his arms.

  “She’s a feisty one.” Laughter met his statement. Leaning forward, he rested his chin on her shoulder. “Are you going to give me any trouble? Do I need to tie you up again?”

  She snapped her teeth at him. “I trusted you,” she hissed.

  “You trusted a pirate; that was your first mistake,” he smirked. “Then you stole from one.” His voice dropped to a menacing growl. “That was your last mistake.”

  A coil of rope landed at his feet. Leaning over, he hoisted it above his head; the crew cheered. He wrapped the rope around her arms, pinning them to her sides, then tied the rope. Running his fingers softly over the back of her neck, he wrapped his fingers through her hair, binding it at the base of her neck. She shuddered at the intimate contact, opening her mouth to reproach him.

  “And we’ll have no more of your lies, thief.” Extracting a handkerchief, he wrapped it tightly around her mouth, gagging her. Placing his palm on her neck, he shoved her toward the stern of the ship. She stumbled, and his arm whipped out, immediately catching her. Her head twisted toward him, but he stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge her.

  “Think about Patrick,” she said, pleading with him, the words garbled, lost in the folds of the handkerchief. She stumbled again, pain radiating through her body. It felt as though her skin was aflame. Sliding his arm around her waist, he drew her into his hip, his eyes locked on the ocean. When they reached the stern of the ship, Captain Shaw rotated her toward the crew who had gathered in a half-circle around them.

  “Mrs. Dubois, you have been accused of theft. The missing items have been found in your possession. What do you have to say in defense?”

  “Mmph!”

  He cupped his hand to his ear, leaning toward her in exaggeration. “Pardon? I didn’t understand you.”

  “Mmph!” she yelled around the gag.

  Shrugging, he released her, stepping forward. “She has nothing to say in her defense. What is the decision?”

  “Death,” chorused the crew. Mr. Evans stepped forward, a knife glinting in his hand. “I volunteer to kill her.”

  “I appreciate your enthusiasm, Mr. Evans; however, she stole from me first.” Captain Shaw extracted a penny knife from his waist. Unfolding it, he waved it under Alana’s nose. “I believe you recognize this weapon, Mrs. Dubois. It was the same one you used to attempt to take my life yesterday, but you failed in that task as well.” Grabbing her arm, he yanked her to his body, pulling her in tight, wrapping his arm around her chest. Placing the edge of the knife against her throat, he spun her toward the railing, pushing her over the ocean.

  “Trust me,” he murmured in her ear.

  “I want to watch her blood spill.” Mr. Evans’ cruel voice floated over her shoulder.

  Captain Shaw stiffened, anxiety pouring from his body.

  “I have no intention of cleaning the deck again.” Mr. Wickes’ deep baritone countered Mr. Evans’ request. The crew agreed, several of them protesting the suggestion of additional work.

  Stabbing the knife into the railing, Captain Shaw pulled Alana away from the railing, spinning around.

  “Mr. Evans, I am tired of being questioned at every turn. This is my ship. Perhaps you would like to explain your mutinous intentions.”

  “I have none,” replied Mr. Evans, his voice filled with mollification.

  Turning around again, Captain Shaw wrapped his arms around Alana, untying a rope wound around the railing, attaching it to the rope binding her arms. “You’re going to get wet again, but you must trust me,” he whispered.

  “How can I trust you?” she murmured, her lips barely moving.

  “How can you not?”

  “I’m frightened.” Her voice cracked. She stared at the water churning behind the ship. What did Captain Shaw intend to do?

  “I’m very sorry.” The words brushed over her skin. Yanking the knife from the railing, his arms constricted around her chest. One hand wrapped around her hair, pulling her head back.

  “This may hurt a bit,” he announced. The crew cheered.

  Pushing her against the railing, he touched the blade to her throat, the cold metal caressing her skin. Her breath caught as a sharp twinge bit into her neck. Holding the blood-stained blade in the air, Captain Shaw waved it back and forth, encouraged the crew’s boisterous shouts. She felt faint, swaying unsteadily on her feet. That was odd… being cut didn’t hurt as much as she thought it would.

  His hand slid to the center of her back, shoving her forward. She tumbled over the side of the ship, somersaulting once, plunging feet first into the ocean. Choking, she swallowed a mouthful of salty water, kicking her feet desperately. She was going to drown!

  The rope tied around her waist tautened, dragging her through the water like a fish caught on a hook. Jerking her forward, the rope hauled her to the surface. Her head popped out of the water, and she sucked in a lungful of oxygen, her eyes scanning the ship. There was no movement on the stern. Had Mr. Evans foregone his desire for revenge? Yanking her forward again, the rope pulled her through the waves. Her gaze followed the path of the rope. It didn’t lead to the railing on the stern like she suspected but to the window in the Captain’s cabin.<
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  Squinting her eyes, she tried to see the face in the window, but the morning sun’s glare off the water blinded her. Coated in saltwater, the shredded pieces of her skin stung, tears springing to her eyes. The rope pulled her forward again, dragging her to the stern of the ship. She smacked into the rear with a grunt. Before she could react, she was lifted out of the water, sliding up the side of the ship.

  Voices echoed from above. “I don’t care what he said, I want to see her body.”

  It was Mr. Evans! Dangling halfway to the window, Alana flattened herself against the side, praying. If Mr. Evans discovered her hanging from the ship, he’d ensure both she and Captain Shaw were killed. The rope gave another tug, then ripped her upward, dragging her through the open window. Collapsing onto the floorboard in a pile of wet clothing and rope, a hand immediately clamped over her mouth, stifling her scream.

  “Did you hear that?” asked Mr. Evans.

  “Must have been a fish,” replied the other man, his voice disinterested. “Are we finished? I’d like to have breakfast before Mr. Wickes eats all the food again.”

  “I’ll meet you in the galley in a few moments.” Mr. Evans dismissed the other man.

  “Don’t speak,” whispered Mr. Hayward, his arms wrapped around Alana. After five minutes, Mr. Evans’ footsteps moved from the stern, heading toward the center of the ship. “I’m going to release your mouth; can you stay quiet?”

  She nodded her head, her eyes wide. Removing his hand, Mr. Hayward produced a knife, sawing through the rope binding Alana’s arms. The rope broke, falling to the floor. Her hands flew to her throat, touching the wound on her neck.

  “He had to cut you,” Mr. Hayward murmured, dropping the excess rope out the window and pulling the window closed. He passed her a handkerchief. “They wouldn’t have believed him if he didn’t show them your blood.”

  “Why?” managed Alana, pressing the cloth to her throat.

  Mr. Hayward shrugged. “Don’t know the captain’s mind.”

  “Why did you help him?”

  Tipping his head, he studied her for a long moment. “He’s my captain.”

  “But you risked your life.”

  His mouth pulled into a half-smile. “Captain says you’re worth saving.” Rising from the floor, he gestured to her trunk, which had been moved in front of the armoire. “Change your clothing, you are quite,”—he paused, searching for the correct word—“indecent at the moment. Then I’ll see to your wounds.” He touched her shoulder, and she winced, turning away. “You’re lucky the captain intervened when he did. Most men don’t survive a keelhaul.”

  “I’m not most men.” She forced an exhausted grin.

  “That is true, Mrs. Dubois.” He touched his hand to his forehead. “I’ll return in a bit with some food. I reckon you’re quite hungry after this ordeal.”

  “Mr. Hayward?”

  He stopped, his hand resting on the door handle. “Yes?” he asked without turning around.

  “Why did Captain Shaw rescue me?”

  “He thinks you are innocent of the crime of theft.”

  “How did he reach this conclusion?”

  “You’ll need to ask him.” He turned around. “I have duties which need my attention.”

  “What if…” She choked on the words. Fear bubbling in her throat. She forced herself to finish the question. “What if Mr. Evans comes searching for me?”

  “He has no reason to.”

  “What of the thief?”

  Mr. Hayward held up his hand. “There is only one man who can answer your questions, and he is occupied at this moment. Once the captain has some time, I suspect he’ll explain everything to you, but he demands that you remain inside his cabin. We’ve both risked our lives to protect you, and I have no intention of dying before we reach Ceresus.” With a nod, he partially opened the door, slipped through the small crack, closing it behind him. A lock clicked.

  Staggering to her trunk, she opened the lid. The contents, haphazardly thrown into the chest, indicated someone had searched her belongings. She knelt, digging through the women’s clothing until she found the sack of men’s clothing. Pulling out a shirt and a pair of trousers, she picked a strand of red hair from the shirt, sticking it back into the sack, then burying the sack in the trunk, she slammed the lid.

  The boom caused her to jump. She pressed her hand to her mouth, swallowing a shriek. Gently peeling the ruined shirt from her body, she gingerly dragged it over her head, hissing as it clung to her injured skin. She repeated the same painful process with her damaged trousers, sitting on the mattress to tug one leg off at a time.

  A key scraped in the lock. Her head whipped up. Had Mr. Hayward returned so quickly? Her stomach rumbled at the thought of food. Hastily pulling the new shirt over her head, she rose with a grimace, the shirt skimming the top of her thighs. Reaching for the trousers, she froze as the door inched open. Mr. Evans slipped into the room.

  Gasping, she dove underneath the bed, scratching her bare legs on the floorboards, agony pulsing through her body. Digging her teeth into her lower lip, she scuttled to the far corner of the bed, pressing herself flat. She laid her ear on the floor, watching Mr. Evans’ boots move through the room. He stopped in front of the desk, dragging the ledger toward him. Pages flicked slowly. After a minute, he snapped the book shut again. Strolling over to the armoire, he leaned over, lifting the lid to Alana’s trunk. Sifting through the clothing, he grumbled, “Where did he hide it?”

  What was Mr. Evans searching for? Alana held her breath, her gaze following Mr. Evan’s boots as he paced the small room, crossing to the table and chairs. Stooping, he rooted through the trunk beside the desk, his mouth pulling into a thin line. Glancing up, his eyes searched the room, stopping on the bed. She gulped. Had he seen her?

  Rising, Mr. Evans walked past the window, trailing his fingers over the wooden pane. Rounding the desk, he strolled to the bed, sitting on the mattress. Suddenly his feet disappeared, and his dark face appeared, floating upside down. His eyes locked on Alana, a horrid grin splitting his mouth.

  “Mrs. Dubois, what a pleasure to find you here.”

  Climbing from the bed, he dropped to the floor, and reaching out, his hand closed around her wrist. She screamed, fighting against his iron grip, but could not stop him from dragging her out from underneath the bed.

  “Captain Shaw—”

  “Will do whatever I say once I reveal he falsified your death. The crew will see him hanged.” His face stretched into an evil sneer. “But since we have some time before that happy reunion…”

  Alana swung, smacking him in the face. He released her with a howl, and she darted around him, running for the door, yanking it open. Mr. Evans tackled her from behind, shoving her into the door, her forehead smashing into the edge. She staggered, unconsciousness threatening to overtake her.

  The door slammed shut. Spinning her to face him, he thrust her into the door, pinning her against the wood. Reaching around her, he inserted his key into the lock and twisted it sharply.

  “I can make this really pleasurable or really painful… your decision.”

  He drew a finger down her cheek. Shivering, she turned away. His fingers dove into her hair, gripping the loose strands. Yanking sharply, he lifted her to her toes, walking her over to the bed, flinging her onto the mattress. She bounced, rolling sideways. Grabbing a pillow, she flung it at him. He stepped back, smacking it away. She snatched the second pillow, holding out in front of her, his taunting laughter echoing in her ears.

  He was going to kill her… actually, he was going to more than just kill her. Something metallic caught her eye. The pistol!

  Grabbing the gun, she lifted it, dropping the pillow and pointing the pistol at Mr. Evans’ chest. “Unlock the door,” she commanded, her voice unwavering.

  “Are you going to throw that at me too?” he sneered, taking one exaggerated step toward her.

  “No.” She drew back the hammer. He stopped at the sound, setting h
is boot back on the floor. Raising his hands, a sneer hovered on his lips.

  “Do you know how to use a pistol?”

  “I do.” She rose from the bed, her free hand tugging down the shirt as she stood. She gestured to one of the chairs. “You and I are going to wait for Captain Shaw.”

  Sliding one foot behind the other, Mr. Evans kept his eyes on the muzzle. “He will still hang. What explanation can he give to the crew? You are standing here in front of me… alive.”

  “And you are in front of me as well. Pray tell, why were you sneaking around the captain’s cabin?”

  He paled at her words. “I have my reasons.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “I’m sure Captain Shaw would be interested in those reasons as well.”

  “Perhaps we can work out an agreement, Mrs. Dubois?” His eyes flicked to her face. “My silence for yours?”

  Alana shook her head, pointing the pistol at the chair. “Sit.”

  Mr. Evans snarled, launching himself at her. He knocked her backward, landing on top of her, stretching for the gun. His fingers closed around the pistol, yanking it. They rolled across the mattress, fighting for the gun, and tumbled onto the floor, narrowing missing Alana’s trunk.

  A deafening gunshot reverberated off the walls.

  Alana froze, pinned underneath Mr. Evans, her eyes flicking up to his face. Had he been shot?

  He glared at her, his mouth twisting into an evil grin. “You missed.”

  Chapter 10

  “It’s useless; only one shot in that pistol.” Mr. Evans slashed his arm down, knocking the gun out of her hands. It skittered across the floor, sliding under the desk. His hands wrapped around her neck, squeezing. Leaning forward, his heavy body ground against hers. “I will kill you myself.”

  A second gunshot exploded.

  The grin on Mr. Evans’ face froze, and his fingers released her neck. Touching his chest, a look of shock passed over his face as blood seeped through his shirt. Slowly, he turned his head.

  Vibrating in the doorway, Captain Shaw lowered his pistol, hatred blazing in his dark eyes. “I knew not to trust you.”