To Save a Fallen Angel (The Fallen Angels series Book 2)

by Julianna Hughes

"Maybe," she conceded.

  Peggy watched Pepe help Captain Stoughton to the companionway leading below deck. Vivid images of what she would like to do with the Englishman flickered through her mind before returning her attention to her first mate. "But I am unwilling to take that chance, Joc. Are you?"

  She turned and faced her oldest friend and surrogate father. "Marcus Hennessey will not escape retribution by a quick death from this Guerrant." She held up her hand to forestall Joc's protest. "Using this English captain is our best course of action, and you know it. It will not only get us the location of my father, it will allow us to get to him before someone else kills him."

  “Ma fille bien aimé,” he said.

  “Don’t my beloved daughter me, Papa. I want to see my father die. And by our hand and not someone else’s. And I would think you would want it too.”

  Her first mate glared at her and then turned to watch the man under discussion stumble down the hatchway. "That is not my main concern, and you know it."

  Peggy knew what his true concern was, and she was worried about it too. She was already having carnal fantasies about this strange Englishman. She had been since she had gotten a hold of his war record. And not the public one, but the one Sir Walter kept hidden in his office.

  The Captain Stoughton emblazed on those pages was mysterious, dashing, and extremely deadly. Just the type of man Peggy was drawn toward. But after her disaster with Gustav she knew she could control those feelings. She had to, if she wanted to avenge her uncle’s murder. And Gustav’s, she added as an afterthought.

  "We have no choice, Joc," she insisted stubbornly.

  Chapter 11

  Three men met Luc and his escort at the bottom of the stairwell. Two were wiry men with scruffy faces and dark yellow teeth that shone eerily in the dim light of the passageway. Dressed in sailor’s garb, they were obviously part of the crew.

  The third man was slightly taller, and much more muscular than his two companions. And he wore the uniform of a Petty Officer, or a bosun on most nonmilitary ships. The look in his dark brown eyes was pure hatred.

  “I’ll be takin’ ‘em from ‘ere, Mr. Báez,” the bosun told Luc’s escort.

  “But the captain done told me. . .” Báez started.

  “And I’m a tellin’ you that I’ll be takin’ the prisoner from ‘ere,” the bosun snarled, sending a quiver of trepidation down Luc’s back.

  The man beside Luc hesitated for a second, then released his hold on Luc’s arm. “Aye, aye, Mr. Thibeau. Then I’ll be gettin’ the surgeon, sees as the captain wanted the prisoner looked after.”

  Luc wanted to tell these men that he wasn’t a prisoner, but the rightful captain of the ship. But at the moment, he wasn’t sure what he was.

  The bosun took a step toward Luc and glared up into his eyes. “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Báez. I’ll be personally lookin’ after the English dog. You go on about yer job.”

  Báez hesitated then doffed his head, “Aye, aye, Mr. Thibeau.”

  Luc had the sinking suspicion that his protector had just abandoned him.

  “Take the dog to the ‘old,” the bosun snapped to the two men behind him. “And make sure ‘e’s made comfortable. I’ll be down as soon as we’s out in open waters.”

  “Aye, aye,” the men returned in chorus.

  Under normal circumstances, Luc was sure he could take all three of these men without any problem. Even now, suffering from a bout of seasickness, he was sure he could best them if he wanted. But he had heard enough to know that the gold was already on board the Coral Sea, and that the captain intended to sail to Tripoli.

  And since both those things were a part of his mission, he had no problems waiting in the hold. Judging by his past experiences with sailing, Luc knew he would be fully occupied for the next day or two. The usual time it took for him to get his “sea legs” as he had once been told. He fervently hoped that it wouldn’t take longer than that. But this was the first time he had been on a ship larger than a schooner or barge crossing the channel between England and France. He hoped (and prayed) that being on a larger ship meant his bout with seasickness wouldn’t be as bad.

  Around midday, Luc was wishing Peggy or her guardian had run him through last night. The trip down the Thames River was fair smooth, and he had regained a good deal of his composure. But he knew that the worst was yet to come. Once they cleared the mouth of the Thames and headed into open seas that was when the ship would begin to do its dance on the waves, going up and down. And lurching from side to side.

  He prayed and begged God for the lurching and swaying of the big ship to not make him as sick as the smaller ones invariably did. But somewhere around midday, Luc knew that God was not listening to his pleas. The first few lurches were mild and unobtrusive to his stomach. But eventually a loud crash of waves rent the air, the timbers groaned, and the damn ship lurched to the side and then crashed down to another groan of the timbers around him. His stomach roiled violently, as if to say, “I told you so.”

  Fortunately, he had emptied most of the contents of his stomach last night. So all that came up were dry heaves. Unfortunately, the seamen had not allowed him to lie on the floor in what Luc knew was the brig. No, they had tied him to the hull in such a way that he could neither sit nor lay down. Consequently, he just kept getting sicker and weaker until he could barely stand. He thought he had known pain when his face had been flayed open by an assassins’ saber. But this felt much worse. He hadn’t wanted to die then, now he might welcome it.

  At some point he had lost consciousness. But he was suddenly awakened to the sounds of keys jangling, and chains clanking as someone opened the door to his cell. When he looked up it was to find the bosun and his two helpers standing in the entrance to his prison.

  “Well, look’e ‘ere, sleeping beauty has decided to join us again,” one of the sailors sneered.

  The bosun, Mr. Thibeau, if Luc recalled, took a step into the cell and grinned sardonically at him. “Do ye know what we ‘ave ‘ere, men?” Thibeau asked. “This ‘ere eez one of the ones that wanted to ‘ung us whiles we was in England.”

  “Do tell,” one of the seamen said, then laughed as if he’d told a witty joke.

  “I ‘ear he is a lord. A toff. Brother to a Duke o’ something,” another one said.

  “Is that right?” the other sailor said and punched his fist into his other hand.

  A cold chill flittered through Luc as a burning anger ignited in his chest. These men were cowards. He had seen their likes dozens of times during the war. Men who were too much a coward to fight openly, but enjoyed torturing helpless people. So he knew what was coming even before the bosun threw the first punch into Luc’s already abused stomach.

  When Luc caught his breath, he said, “I did no’ have anything-”

  The man’s next punch ended Luc’s words. “Ye is guilty as them that wanted to ‘ung us, as them that put us in prison.” His next punch caught Luc on the left side of his face, causing the light to sparkle in his vision.

  “And if’n that weren’t bad enough, I ‘eard the first mate sayin’ you was a officer in zee war.” Thibeau’s left fist connected with Luc’s right cheek. “And I lost family in that war.” His fist slammed into Luc’s left cheek. “And I’m betting you zee one that killed them.”

  Peggy stayed on the quarterdeck until the Coral Sea had made it to open water. But she’d not had her mind on piloting her ship, it had been on the Englishman locked in the fo’c’sle.

  Once the cliffs of Dover were no longer in sight, Peggy’s first instinct was to go and check on the dashing Captain Stoughton. After all, she expected the man was now engaged in a full-blown bout of seasickness. And as entertaining as that might be, as the captain of the Coral Sea she had more pressing business to attend to. Such as seeing to the readiness of her ship for the voyage ahead of them.

  Peggy took a quick glance at the fo’c’sle, then turned in the opposite direction and hurried to the companionway that woul
d take her to her cabin. Joc was right about one thing where Captain Stoughton was concerned, he could easily become a dangerous distraction for her and her mission.

  She reached the main deck and spotted Pepe Báez. Strolling forward as casually she could, Peggy approached the seaman. He was one of the older sailors on board the Coral Sea. He had served with her uncle for a number of years. And she thought she remembered him casting his vote with her as the next captain of the Coral Sea.

  “Good day, Mr. Báez,” she greeted.

  Turning, he smiled at her and doffed his head. “Good morn to you Captain Peri.”

  She smiled back. For years she too had been little more than another seaman on board the ship. Her main job had been to sneak into buildings when they were in port to steal things for her uncle. And she had been damn good at it.

  It was hijinks, great fun, and an adventure that she had loved. Peggy had also loved the camaraderie she had shared with the crew. Not only as the ward of the captain and his first mate, but of being one of them, just another one of the crew. But that was now gone thanks to Joc’s machinations to make her the new captain.

  She could see it in the faces of the crew. They either viewed her circumspectly because of her new rank, or with skepticism as she had always been more of a loner – and a prankster – than a leader. That had been fine with her as she had never had any aspirations to be the captain. Most of them, Peggy was sure, believed she had taken the job from a better qualified man, their first mate. Pepe was of the first group.

  “Did you get Captain Stoughton squared away, Mr. Báez?”

  He blinked at her several times, then looked troubled. “Beggin’ yer pardon, cap’, but Mr. Thibeau took charge of the prisoner. I believe he took ‘im to the ‘old.”

  “Bloody hell,” Peggy whispered.

  The bosun was one of the men who had fervently argued against her being the next captain. He had even put forth his own name as a possible candidate for the position, even though he had only been on board the Coral Sea for a month at that time. In the end he had voted for Joc, then switched his vote to her when Joc had pressured him to do so.

  On the voyage to England he had been respectful, but she had caught glimpses of resentment burning in his eyes when he looked at her.

  “Do you want me to inform, Mr. Malveaux, Captain?” Báez asked.

  She thought about it, then shook her head. She hadn’t told Pepe where to take Captain Stoughton. Nor had she welcomed him on board with open arms. So it was reasonable for the bosun to assume that she had wanted a man that had been caught sneaking onto the ship to be held in the brig. And as the bosun he was in charge of the deck crew, so it made sense that he would take a prisoner to the hold.

  “I’ll take care of it, Mr. Báez. You go on about yer duties,” she told him.

  “Aye, aye, captain,” he replied as she turned and headed for the hold.

  The sounds of grunts and soft thuds reach her as she descended the stairs. She did not approve of torture nor the abusing of prisoners. Peggy's blood began to boil, believing that Joc had decided to hurt Stoughton after all.

  What met her when she dropped down the ladder stunned Peggy. Captain Stoughton was tied to the bulkhead with a short rope, and her bosun and two other new crewmen she hadn’t gotten a chance to know yet were taking turns beating the Englishman.

  "What the bloody hell is going on here?" she snapped.

  Peggy pulled up short and glared at the scene before her. Stoughton was a bloody mess, and his clothes were tattered and hanging haphazardly from his bruised body. Her eyes fell hard on the three crewmen rapidly backing away from her. She locked her gaze on the highest-ranking man in the room, the bosun.

  "What is the meaning of this, Mr. Thibeau?" she demanded. She glanced from him to the nearly unconscious man tied to the wall.

  “E’s English, Captain,” Thibeau said and smiled at her.

  “So am I Mr. Thibeau. And so is more than half our crew,” Peggy snapped back.

  He shrugged his shoulders. “That is different, le capitaine. This one tried to have us ‘anged.”

  Gripping the hilt of her cutlass, she took a step toward the bosun. “The English government tried to hang you and my crew, Mr. Thibeau. Captain Stoughton had nothing to do with that.”

  His eyes narrowed. “He works for zee man who betrayed us and had us arrested,” he countered.

  Peggy’s own eyes narrowed. “Sir Walter Fletcher with the English Home Office betrayed my crew, not Captain Stoughton.”

  Thibeau glanced over his shoulder and then back at her. “I ‘eard Mr. Malveaux say that this mon,” he nodded at Stoughton, “works for this Monsieur Fletcher. That makes him as guilty as zee man who threw me in prison.”

  Peggy took a threatening step toward the man. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the other two seamen scrambling out of the way.

  “On my ship, Mr. Thibeau, we do not punish someone for the deeds of someone else. Is that understood?”

  The man continued to glare at her silently. Finally, Peggy had had enough.

  Her cutlass hissed as she quickly drew it. She then stepped around the bosun and walked over to Captain Stoughton. Without taking her eyes off the crewman, she sliced through the prisoner’s bonds. The Englishman dropped to the floor beside her.

  Peggy then swung the cutlass around and pointed the tip at the bosun. "Mr. Thibeau, you are fairly new to this ship, so I will make an exception this one time. But onboard my ship no one is confined to the brig, or tortured without mine or Mr. Malveaux’s express orders. Is that understood?"

  She turned to include the two men cowering in the corner. The silence that followed her order was interminable. Peggy knew from experience that the men were trying to assess her right and ability to command.

  The two crewmen, as one, glanced down at her cutlass, still held firmly in her hand. The effortless manner she had drawn the weapon and used it to free the bound Englishman apparently played in their minds. They quickly capitulated and lowered their eyes before scurrying from the hold in a haste to avoid further angering their captain. The bosun held his ground for a moment longer before allowing a knowing softening of his harsh consternation.

  "Aye, aye, le capitaine," he said and swaggered from the room, unapologetic for the injuries he had inflicted on the Englishman.

  Peggy wondered if she would have problems with the man. She hoped not, as the bosun was an important member of any large ship. She would have to have a talk with Joc. As the first mate, he had hired Mr. Thibeau and would know the man's history.

  "Ahaaa."

  A moan from behind her reminded Peggy of the battered man on the floor. She turned and lent a hand as he rolled over and attempted to sit up against the bulkhead.

  “Being a pirate isn’t turning out to be what I thought it would be,” Stoughton said when he looked up at her.

  Her eyes narrowed as a shiver ran down her spine. “It rarely is, Captain Stoughton. It rarely is.”

  Chapter 12

  “How well do you know our bosun?” Peggy asked Joc when she joined him at the helm.

  He glanced at her then returned his attention seaward. “Not as well as I would like. As you know he signed on when we were last in Tunis.”

  Peggy startled as she gaped at her papa. That was when she had met Gustav. And a month before her uncle had been murdered by her father.

  She had been so wrapped up in her late fiancé’s courtship of her that she hadn’t even known the old bosun, her friend Jack Peterson, had been gone for a fortnight by the time she noticed. All she had been able to think about was the charming French merchant, Gustav Demont, who had asked for passage to Tripoli.

  Eddie had been just as charmed by Gustav as Peggy, and had welcomed the man on board without hesitation or questions. Joc, on the other hand, had never trusted the charismatic Frenchman. Fellow countryman or not.

  And since Eddie’s murder, all Peggy had thought about was finding her father and exacting her revenge on him
. She couldn’t even remember when she realized the Coral Sea had a new bosun. Probably about the same time it sank in that she was now her captain, the week before they saw the white cliffs of Dover. But she had no intention of telling Joc that.

  “I just found him in the hold, beatin’ Captain Stoughton,” Peggy said.

  His head jerked and he turned toward her. “He was what?”

  She scrutinized him and tried to gage how sincere he was. “Then you didn’t order the beating?”

  He hesitated then the corner of his lip kicked up a little. “No, ma fille chérie, I did not. But. . .”

  “Papa!” she snapped.

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I still say we do not need this Englishmon. We have the gold. We use some of it to bribe Chevalier. And he will tell us where he hides yer père. If he refuses,” he shrugged again, “then we convince him.”

  Peggy knew how he would convince Chevalier to reveal where he was holding her father. If her plan failed then it might be their only choice. “You think this Guerrant will not be watching Chevalier?”

  Joc just stared at her.

  “I will not take the chance. I do not want my father to die at his or Chevalier’s hand,” she said.

  Joc grimaced then looked away. “Nor I, little girl. I will have my revenge, just as you.”

  Peggy knew his grief was as great as hers. Maybe even more. But she couldn’t think about that now.

  “Stop callin’ me that. I am the captain of this ship now.” She glared at him. “Thanks to you and your intimidating the crew to vote for me.”

  “Not all had to be persuaded. Many of the men saw the right in you bein’ the new Capitaine Peri.”

  She turned and gazed off into the rolling seas as she recalled the day the crew had voted on who would take Eddie’s place. Less than a quarter of the men had initially supported Joc when he put forth her name as the new captain. A few more were willing to accept her with just a few words of encouragement from the first mate.