by Tamara Gill
“Report, Helmsman.” Adrian strode toward steerage, pinning the sailor at the wheel with a glare guaranteed to be obeyed.
“We should be ready to engage in less than ten minutes, sir.”
Adrian glanced at Elmwood, who stood in the background. “Confirmation, Elmwood.”
The red-haired man looked up from the charts he studied on a table behind the wheel. “He’s correct, Captain. The new sails have given us the advantage. Wind’s still favorable. The French ship won’t be able to turn about and flee even if they could pull up anchor in time.”
“Very good. Find someone to fly the Union Jack and our colors. Continue on.” Adrian grinned. He loved the days when the pirate flag waved from the mast. He jogged along the planking and clattered down the stairs to the gun deck. “Brax, what’s the word?”
The big man advanced toward him from between the dual rows of cannons, which were now being thrust through the openings in the ship’s sides. “Waitin’ fer yer orders, sir. All cannons are loaded and anxious fer a bite.”
“Patience, my good man. You’ll have your chance soon enough.” He appreciated Brax as a person and a first officer. He never had to question that an order would be obeyed or that the lines between his business life and personal life would not be crossed. His chest tightened. Not like my current conundrum. Though he’d try his level best not to mar those lines, he suspected Sarah would manage to destroy the plan. He relegated her to the back of his mind. “Carry on, Brax.”
“Good luck to ye, Cap’n.”
Adrian nodded. He toured the gun deck, stopping at every third cannon to check for himself that they’d been loaded correctly. Of course they had been. His corporal and staff were good at what they did. He trusted them implicitly, which was why they remained on his crew. Making his way along the deck, he mounted the stairs and gained the upper deck once more.
“Adrian, a moment of your time if you please.”
His pulse quickened at the sound of Sarah’s voice. She’d mucked up his address, but at this pass, he supposed it didn’t matter. The crew around him was much too busy with pre-engagement preparations to notice, yet rules were rules. “I thought I ordered you to remain in your cabin? I also thought I demanded you address me as Captain Westerbrooke.”
He darted a glance at the half-deck. She stood alone, clad in a red dress that had been left behind by a female guest, and well out of the way of the hectic activity. The lace edging the low-scooped bodice drew his gaze to the creamy expanse of her breasts. His cock twitched, hardening at the remembrance of how she’d felt beneath his body and in his hands. He cleared his throat. The fact she’d defied him yet again heated his blood with anger and left his ardor behind.
“You can order all you want, but I still possess free-will and you cannot control that.” She took a few steps forward, her eyes glittering dark with an anger of her own. Her glare didn’t lessen. “I’d like a moment of your time, Captain.”
Annoyed at her appearance on deck as well as his body’s response, he intercepted her. “Damn it woman, we had an understanding.” He pulled her into the storage room under the forecastle deck and slammed the door behind them. Sunlight streamed in from the dirt-streaked window, illuminating a couple of workbenches and one bare cot.
“We had. However, our interaction behind closed doors is much different than on deck. Out here, I demand the same respect as you’d pay to any one of your crew.”
“There is no difference between how we interact. Plus, respect is earned, and if you persist in violating my orders, you won’t win it.”
“We shall see.” She didn’t back down. Instead, she stood toe-to-toe with him, her chin thrust out and her hands on her hips. Her dark eyes brimmed with challenge. “If you think I’ll wait for this ship to be torn apart, cowering away like a typical miss while everyone else has a job to do, you can think again. I have fought hard all my life against various forms of personal tyranny. Just because I’m on a pirate ship doesn’t change that work ethic.”
“Privateer vessel. In the eyes of the government, the wording makes all the difference.” He smirked. She put him in mind of a female Napoleon, her stance no less intimidating. Her courage was unsurpassed. “If you fight alongside my crew that means you believe in what we’re about to do.”
“No, it rather means I will secure a place with this crew, to gain personal satisfaction in my own survival. My beliefs remain my own.”
His estimation of her integrity raised a notch. “Is this conversation only about finding you a job or is there something else you’re trying to tell me?” One could never be certain with a woman, but with Sarah, he suspected she had her own agenda.
“It’s about level footing. I refuse to be locked away like a china doll. Everyone in my life has been guilty of doing that at one time or another. Do not make the same mistake.” She poked him in the chest with a forefinger. “As for agreeing with killing and plundering, my morals and yours may be at cross purposes for the moment, but that doesn’t mean I cannot fight in a common cause if it threatens my way of life.”
She had considered her lot on the ship a way of life? None of his prisoners ever thought thusly—but then, her detainee status was in flux at the moment. Hell, he’d never offered a prisoner her own cabin, not once in his command. “How adorable that you believe pirates have morals.” Adrian captured her hand, pressed her fingers to his lips then twisted the arm behind her back and brought her body flush against his. The scent of lavender soap wafted into his nostrils. Beneath the floral, the scent of sex clung to her. It undermined his ability to think clearly. Best to make certain she knew where she stood before he did something rash. No matter that he’d enjoyed his time with her in bed, he was in charge. “I have a vested interest in you, remember. I killed the man who ended your father’s life, who took your fiancé from you. You belong to me until you’ve worked off that debt.”
“Yes, but you also made me a wanted criminal in Florida.”
“True, yet I saved you from a trip to the gallows. Seems to me you’re still in my debt.”
Emotion he couldn’t quite pin down flickered in her eyes. “And if I do not agree to your terms?” A lock of hair fell over her brow and brushed against her cheekbone.
“I don’t recall giving you a choice in this matter.” He increased the pressure on her arm. Pain clouded her gold-flecked eyes. He didn’t regret the treatment. She must understand the stakes. “If something goes wrong—God forbid—and the French crew boards the Lady Catherine, I want you away from those frogs for as long as possible. Unless you want to be raped by French scum, then by all means flaunt yourself on deck.” Why didn’t she understand he tried to protect her? While he admired independence in a woman, when that trait carried over into stubbornness, it bordered into annoying and possibly dangerous.
“You do not own me, Adrian.” Her expression said otherwise. Her lips were slightly parted, a flush stained her cheeks, and her eyes held a blatant invitation through the discomfort. Her little panting breaths warmed his chin and fanned his desire.
He stifled a groan. She probably had no idea what a delectable picture she made, and she’d adopted this attitude after only one initiation into sex. Holy Mother how would she act once he’d put her through her paces?
“I think we both know that is a lie, and one I fully intend to bust wide open at the next opportunity.” If circumstances had been different, if they hadn’t been on the brink of engaging a ship in combat, he would have thrown her on a workbench and shown her exactly why he ruled her life. Right now, there simply wasn’t time for frivolity. Concentration for the task at hand demanded his attention. If he kissed her now, he wasn’t certain he could stop. She was like no one he’d known before. “My duty lies elsewhere at the moment.” He released her and stepped away. “We can revisit this conversation later.”
Confusion filled Sarah’s expression. She rubbed her arm. “I…” She shook her head. “If you manage not to get yourself killed or maimed, we’ll talk.
In the meantime, may I at least have a weapon?”
“You may, but only for the event of defending yourself in this battle. The second you choose to draw it on me, you forfeit every concession I’ve given you.”
“Agreed. I won’t go back on my promise to you.”
He nodded. “Go see the constable before we—” The boom of cannon fire resonated through the air. “Shit. We’ve engaged. Be vigilant, or so help me Sarah…” He let the threat trail off. There wasn’t time to banter.
Another cannon blast sounded. A tremor went through the floorboards. Adrian yanked open the door and strode onto the deck.
Chaos reigned, but it was an organized chaos and one his crew had gone over at least once a week during drills. He darted to the starboard railing. The Lady Catherine had pulled parallel to the Casabianca. Fifty feet of sea separated the vessels. Sailors, their crimson waist sashes stark against the light blue uniforms, acting as targets, scrambled on the French ship’s deck. He walked the deck, assessing the ranks of his crew that lined the railing with grappling hooks, ropes and all manner of blades in their hands. “Swift and sure, boys. Mistakes mean accidents. I don’t tolerate half-done jobs.” He clapped a hand to a crewman’s shoulder in passing. “No prisoners unless there’s a good reason. The quicker we’re in, the quicker we’re out and enjoying a night of leave.”
His standard encouragement speech delivered, he hurried to the gun deck and did the same, adding a few differences. “Take out their cannons as quick as you can. The less damage the Lady Catherine sustains means more money for your pockets, men.” The ship pulled hard to starboard then leveled out. Elmwood must be battling crosswinds in order to keep them on target. “Fire at will, boys.”
The world erupted into sight and sound. Shouts from the crew on both decks rang in the morning air. Explosions from cannon fire echoed in his ears. The sharp scent of spent gunpowder clogged his nostrils. Flashes from the huge artillery mirrored the same from the French ship. Bits of the hull splintered down the line. Screams from the injured quickly followed. The ship rocked. Adrian fought to keep his balance.
“Brax, report!”
“One of ours is dead and the cannon taken out. Returnin’ fire, sir.”
“Give it all you’ve got. Take out their masts if you can.” The masts were akin to a backbone in a ship. If they went down, so did the sails, leaving the ship crippled. Adrian dodged running crew members as he gained the stairs. Rigging covered the decking like snakes. The sails snapped in intermittent gusts of wind. Unsecured cargo slid over the planking like discarded children’s toys.
From the deck above, the ring of steel-on-steel cut through cannon fire. He hurried up the stairs and drew his pistol. A handful of French sailors had boarded his ship, most likely from the same tactics his own men had employed. A glance to the rail showed ropes and grappling hooks crisscrossing the chasm between the two vessels, confirming his assumption. The saving grace appeared to be that more of his men had gone over than those who’d reached the Lady Catherine.
Excitement and thirst for the fight pumped through his veins. His chest swelled as his men engaged the enemy in hand-to-hand combat. Like him, they cared about the ship. It was home to them, provided a livelihood, coin and security—a place for a life in an uncertain world. He surveyed the deck from steering to forecastle. Everything seemed under control. Moving to the upper deck, he took position behind the mast. This spot enabled him to have a bird’s eye view of all activity, from the gun deck to the waist and everything in between.
Heavy clouds of smoke obscured part of the deck. The cabin boys rushed through the waist with buckets of water for a small fire that had erupted from falling embers. Elmwood and the men in steering worked to keep the ship steady while Brax’s bellows drifted upward between the roar of cannon fire. Another wave of his men swung over to the French ship by way of ropes and dangling rigging. Fighting doubled on that vessel. Soon, his crew would subdue the Frenchmen, and with any luck, the damage to the Lady Catherine would be minimal.
Then he heard the most chilling noise since the battle began—a female scream, high-pitched and full of terror.
*****
Sarah tightened her fingers around the blade of her third dagger in as many days. She’d no sooner shoved her way to the upper deck when a couple of French sailors ambushed her at the stairs. Their black hats, reminiscent of Napoleon’s influence and decorated with black rosettes, cast weird shadows on the planking. With her back pressed against the railing, she fought off her attackers the best she could. In retrospect, she should have chosen a pistol, but not knowing how to load it would have put her at a disadvantage. A knee to the groin stopped one of the men. A slash of her dagger made the other wary enough to give her a wide berth. When a third man joined the fray, her luck evaporated. He plowed through her defensive slashes and grabbed her by the neck. She dropped her blade but continued to fight hard. She pushed at his shoulders, even landed him a facer that bloodied his nose. With his free hand he delivered a backhanded slap across her face and she saw stars.
She planted a foot against his chest and shoved. The stalwart man didn’t move. Instead, he released her neck, hooked a hand beneath her knee and pushed back. Her upper body slid over the waist-high railing. The smooth wood dug into her back. She glanced over her shoulder. Another two French sailors waiting on the deck below to “catch” her. No doubt they’d move in for the kill once she hit the deck. The rail bit into her tailbone and recalled her to the present moment. If I die I’m bringing one of these men with me. She scrabbled to grip her captor’s sleeves, hoping to take him down. Hellfire, I’m done for.
“Unhand her now or invoke my wrath.” Adrian delivered the threat in a deadly calm voice. Seconds later, he came into view as he jumped from the upper deck and landed upright behind the sailors.
“Who are you to order us about?” One of the men inquired in accented English, waving the bloody blade of his dagger toward Adrian’s midsection.
“I am the captain of this vessel, and the last person you’ll talk to in this mortal world.” He leveled the pistol at the speaker. When the man took a step forward, Adrian squeezed the trigger.
The sailor collapsed as blood seeped into the wood.
Sarah choked back a scream and used the distraction to shove her attacker. He stumbled backward, tripped over his fallen mate and reeled into Adrian. The third sailor ran toward the bow of the ship. A bastard and a coward, is he? Leaving Adrian to his own devices, she stooped and retrieved her dagger. She held it steady, eyed the fleeing sailor then let the knife fly, much like she’d done at the hangman’s gallows. Sunlight glanced off the metal as it arced tip-over-hilt, but this time, it found its intended mark and thudded deep between the sailor’s shoulder blades. He fell without even a cry, and she felt nothing for the kill.
There would be time for self-recrimination later.
When she turned to help Adrian, he’d taken care of his combatant. As she struggled to contain her growing revulsion for life’s brutality, he yanked his dagger from the man’s chest and calmly wiped the blade on the dead man’s shirt. She sought his gaze. A jolt of shock slammed into her chest at the anger burning in his eyes. “Adrian—” Damn it all. Why couldn’t she remember to address him as captain?
He held up a hand. “Not now, Miss Covington.” Striding past her, he barked orders as his powerful legs ate up the decking.
Men jumped to do his bidding. Cannons continued to fire. Crewmembers swung between ships while Adrian issued a steady stream of commands. At one point he stood with arms crossed over his chest, continually instructing his men with the skill and precision of an army general. Officers communicated with him with the ease of familiarity. Minutes ticked by, slowly and full of action and sound, until one by one, every deck quieted, every member of the crew stopped moving as frantically.
Sarah shook off the spell the macabre opera had captured her in. She raced over the deck, avoiding dead bodies or those of the wounded, and came to Adrian’s
side. He didn’t glance at her or acknowledge her in any way. Familiar knots of fear tugged at her insides. “Is it over?” She knew it wasn’t. As yet, the French crew still lived.
He ignored her. “Little Jim, status?” He didn’t raise his voice, but kept full control as he looked toward the deck of the French ship.
The man who’d had a hand in the flogging incident of the day before swaggered into view. “We be ready to snag the cargo. Half their crew be dead. The rest be in the hold.”
“Excellent. Make it so.” Adrian glanced toward the steering area. “Elmwood, bring us as close as you can. The rest of you, prepare to transfer cargo. I want this done in less than a quarter of an hour.”
The Lady Catherine scooted toward the Casabianca. Adrian called a halt when he deemed the distance good enough. Long gangplanks were slid between the two ships, and once again activity erupted. Nary a question sounded in the group; they all knew their tasks. A large swarm of crewmembers went aboard the opposing ship then disappeared below deck.
“What are they doing?” The whole scene seemed bizarre to her, like a bully stealing a younger child’s toys in a nursery.
“We’re taking on her cargo—at least the valuable contents. It’s why we engaged them in battle.” Adrian gave her a courtesy glance. “Pirates are consummate businessmen. The cargo each ship carries is more valuable than the men who haul it. Whether gold, fabric, spices, rum, water or anything else, we use it, barter it or sell it. Such things make our lives possible.”
Sarah swallowed around a lump in her throat. Never had piracy been put so bluntly or in such a matter-of-fact way. “And after that? What happens to the ship?”
