The Scot Corsair (Bonnie Bride Series Book 3)

by Fiona Monroe

  There were no letters for her at Freetown. She had hoped for some kind of note from someone, anyone, but there was nothing. Perhaps any communication had been sent ahead to Barbados, but it was just as likely, she thought bleakly, that her family were simply going to pretend she did not exist any more. It surprised her how hurt she felt at this neglect. She would not write to James, but she did dash off a quick note to Henrietta, saying only that she had arrived in Freetown and that it was hot.

  The very next day, fresh cargo had been loaded, the ship had been resupplied, and they set sail once more.

  Elspeth was glad to be back at sea, which surprised her. But as she watched the coast of Africa retreat and vanish below the horizon, she could not help but think that next time she saw land, it would be the first glimpse of her prison.

  Three weeks, or some days more, seemed like an ocean of time as limitless as the warm, heaving sea around her, but the days dwindled down alarmingly fast.

  On the morning of the day which marked three weeks after setting sail from Freetown, Elspeth awoke with pure panic in her stomach. Without summoning the sewing maid, she dressed herself hurriedly and ran up onto deck.

  A blank, limitless horizon was the blessed sight that greeted her still. She sagged in relief against the railing. She caught sight of Lieutenant Wardle strolling across the deck as he so often seemed to, and he bowed to her. She waved to indicate that he should come over to her.

  "Good morning, your ladyship." He bowed again. "You are up and about early today."

  "Good morning, Mr Wardle. Yes, I thought I might be able to see—land."

  Lieutenant Wardle laughed, and when he laughed it made his bright blue eyes crinkle almost closed. The deep tan of his skin contrasted well with his sandy-coloured hair and those very blue eyes.

  If she had to marry someone immediately, why could not it be someone like Lieutenant Wardle? She would have no objection to a handsome, gentleman-like sailor, none to Mr Wardle himself. She knew the answer, of course; Mr Wardle was nothing more than the youngest son of a minor squire from somewhere in Dorset—or was it Cornwall?—with, he had cheerfully admitted, no fortune but what he could get for himself. He was a gentleman, but that was all. Without the amelioration of fortune, someone of his station would never be considered an admissible match for Lady Elspeth Dunwoodie.

  "No, your ladyship, not for another two days at least. We have been blown somewhat off course and have lost time."

  "Oh! Might we end up somewhere other than Barbados?" She had a surge of hope. How was it possible that the sailors could know where to direct the ship, in the immense, featureless expanse of water? Might they somehow land somewhere far distant from Mr Isaac Crowther and his sugar cane fields, and be unable to get there at all? It was the most childish of fantasies, she knew that well enough even as she derived a few moments' comfort from it. If only they could keep sailing, keep sailing and never land.

  "By no means. No need to worry. We should sight land by Saturday night at the latest."

  She gripped the rail tighter, and nodded.

  He hesitated. "Your ladyship... forgive me... are you suffering from sea-sickness again?"

  "No, no, sir, I thank you, I am quite well."

  "Because I have a draught that might help. At least, it is supposed to help. I'm never much troubled that way..."

  "No, Mr Wardle, thank you. I promise you I am quite well." She straightened herself up and attempted to look more composed. It was immensely important to her sense of pride that none of the officers who were escorting her should have the least idea that she was making this voyage under duress, that she had been packed off in disgrace. She knew that Charles would not have intimated any such thing to Captain Cardrew in his correspondence with him. If anyone asked about her business in Barbados, she would explain with calm and indifferent dignity that she was going there to be married, as if it were her own free choice.

  She wondered, however, if Lieutenant Wardle had guessed something of the truth. Either that, or he was a little in love with her. It was unquestionably true that he did always seem to be around on deck whenever she took a stroll. Ought he not to be off doing some rigging, or something?

  A warm, wet breeze suddenly lifted her hat a little from her head, and threw locks of hair into her eyes. She plastered them aside, and took a sideways look at Lieutenant Wardle, who was still there. His face broke into another wide, crinkling smile at the sight of her windswept confusion, and he looked as if he very much wished to brush her hair from her eyes himself.

  "Mr Wardle, can I ask you something?"

  "Of course, your ladyship."

  "As I told you, this is my first time on board a ship. I know so little of nautical matters. How commodious is your accommodation? Are first lieutenants obliged to share with other officers, or... do you get a cabin of your own?"

  He was clumsy, too eager in his kisses, and kept breaking off to utter exclamations such as, "I ought not—your ladyship—if we are discovered—the Captain—"

  "Then lock the door," said Elspeth impatiently. Already, this was not working out as she had hoped it would. She had imagined that Lieutenant Wardle would be firm and commanding, as she had seen him be when ordering the men below him and the common sailors to their duties. Instead, his hat removed and his uniform jacket on the floor, he had turned into a fumbling, uncertain boy and she was having to unbutton his shirt herself. She yearned to see and touch the muscles below the rough, sweat-sticky cotton.

  A wild recklessness had come over her. She felt no fear, no guilt, nothing but an angry longing. If she was going to be married within days to a man she had never met, who might be ugly and slow and stupid, then there was no reason at all not to have one hour of passion with a man who was handsome and fair and strong. James already believed she was guilty, Mr Isaac Crowther for all she knew believed it too. Why should she not be guilty in truth, then?

  He stayed her hand as she tore at the unfamiliar studs, and drew her into an embrace that at last began to ignite a fire within her. His mouth tasted of rum and tobacco, both sweet and salt. He pulled her on top of him, clasping her too chastely as he lay back on the bunk, then rolled her over so that she was pressed against the wall of the cabin. The bed was narrow, scarcely large enough for a single man to lie in comfort.

  "You are so beautiful," he said, sounding out of breath. He hesitated, before tracing his fingers gently down the side of her face. "So lovely. Lady Elspeth—I do not wish..." He slid off the bunk and knelt on the wooden floor beside it, still clasping her hand. "Ever since I first set eyes on you, when you came on board at Southampton—I have loved you. I know how far beyond my reach you are—I do not wish to dishonour you."

  She wished he would talk less. She said nothing in return, for she could hardly respond as she ought to his declaration of love without causing an immediate breach, nor could she contradict him when he said that he was too far below her to address her honourably. She only stroked his thick, sandy hair, squeezed the hand he clasped, and leaned forward so that he could see her breasts roll under the low neckline of her light muslin gown.

  His breath caught in his throat, he seemed to swallow, and a dazed, desperate look came into his eyes. Slowly, he rose to his feet, stumbled half a step to the cabin door, and turned the key in the lock.

  When he turned back to her, he fell upon her with a ferocity of passion that belied his initial delicacy. He flung himself onto his knees before her once more, but this time he seized her around the waist and buried his face into her bosom, kissing and biting the exposed flesh of her neck over and over until he had worked the neck of her gown down over her breasts.

  Elspeth gasped as they sprang free to the air and his mouth clamped over one nipple. This was much more the thing. She took his arms and tugged at him, encouraging him to join her on the bunk itself. He climbed up into the narrow cot and lay fully on top of her, pinning her down with a weight that was solid and unexpectedly exciting. She could not have wriggled free had
she wanted to. Her claimed her mouth again with his, one hand still squeezing her breast, the other running up under her skirts along her outer thigh.

  A sweet burning had ignited between her legs, but his fingers did not seek her there. Instead, he pulled at her stocking, then caressed her backside. Then he sat up, as far as he could in the confined space of the bunk. His head was touching the sloping roof of the cabin as he gazed down at her, his face flushed under the tan, his eyes heavy with need, his breath short and ragged. He put a hand on each of her knees.

  Meekly, enjoying his taking command at last, Elspeth let him part her legs wide. She smiled shyly as he slowly rolled up her skirt and petticoat to bare her calves, her knees, her thighs, and then expose her secret place to his hungry gaze.

  "Good God," said Lieutenant Wardle, in a low and strangled voice. His fingers were trembling as he began to tear at the buttons on his breeches.

  Elspeth longed for him to touch her where she throbbed and burned. Even more, that he would kiss her there as Sir Duncan had for those few delicious seconds. But she was also desperately curious, and half-afraid, to see what would emerge from those breeches, to look for the first time upon a real manhood.

  And then he stopped, with both hands hooked in his waistband, poised in the very act of pushing down his breeches.

  Elspeth, whose breath was coming short and quick, thought for a moment that he had been overcome with another scruple. "Please," she moaned.

  "Hush!" His voice was suddenly sharp. His attention was no longer focused on her, he had lifted his head and was listening to something without the cabin.

  Elspeth drew her knees together and listened too, a chill of fear settling like ice in her stomach. Had he heard someone coming towards the cabin, was she about to be discovered in a disgraceful situation again?

  But she could hear nobody immediately outside the door. What Lieutenant Wardle was listening to were distant shouts from somewhere else in the ship, and even she could perceive a sharp serious note in the cries.

  Lieutenant Wardle was just getting up off the bunk when there were running footsteps directly outside, and the door handle rattled. Whoever was without, finding it to be locked, started pounding on the door.

  "Lieutenant! Lieutenant Wardle, sir!" It was the rough accents of one of the common sailors, and he sounded to be in nothing less than a panic.

  "Just a moment, man." He cast about and found his jacket.

  Hopelessly, Elspeth drew the blanket in the bunk right up to her chin.

  "It's the black flag, sir! Coming fast to starboard! Pirates, sir!"

  "Get to your station, Jackson. I'll be there with all possible speed." He was buttoning the front of his breeches back together.

  "Pirates!" Elspeth cried.

  "Your ladyship." Lieutenant Wardle was all seriousness now, the ardent boy and the lustful man gone in an instant. "You must lock the door behind me and do not open it again, do not open it for anyone until I return and speak your name. Do you understand? Your reputation and your safety both are at stake."

  She was too frightened to say a word in reply. With a quick formal kiss on the back of her hand, he was gone.

  Chapter Five

  She lost no time in obeying his instructions. As soon as the door slammed, she slipped out from under the blanket and turned the key with shaking hands, then removed it for good measure. She hitched her dress back up around her shoulders, securing her generous bosoms together in the bodice, and put the key safely between them. Once she had checked that her stockings were re-attached and her skirts smoothed down, she was decent in outward dress.

  Now there was the obvious peril of her situation, of being in Lieutenant Wardle's cabin at all. What would happen if the Captain or one of the other officers found that she was not in her own cabin, and went looking for her? A moment's reflection, and she determined that she would claim that when the alarm was raised, Lieutenant Wardle hurried her into his cabin and told her to lock herself in for her own safety. Perhaps it would make more sense if he had told her to lock herself in her own cabin, but if they both adhered to this story, who would dare to question her, Lady Elspeth Dunwoodie?

  Her heart tripped and banged within her chest and gradually slowed down to normal, as she felt the risk of discovery and disgrace dwindle to nothing. She had no idea how her situation could be made any worse if Captain Cardrew were to find out that she had misbehaved with his first lieutenant, but letters to her brother the Admiral were likely. Any report of that nature reaching home could have terrible consequences for herself and James. Little as she wanted to marry Mr Crowther, she could not bear the prospect of being thrown off afterwards.

  Reassured that her reputation was not in danger, she had leisure to turn her attention to the rumoured pirates. A little part of her, she was almost ashamed to discover, was thrilled. She had read Robinson Crusoe, of course, and there was another book which was all about pirates in the library at Dunwoodie, called something like Robberies and Murders of the World's Most Notorious Pirates. Her head was filled with images of wooden legs, Jolly Rogers, cutlasses, buried treasure and women wearing breeches and pretending to be men.

  The porthole was over the bunk, and she knelt on the blankets to peer out. And there it was, so close that she felt she could reach out and touch the rigging; a ship, somewhat smaller than the one she was on, and even seen from afar nowhere near as smart. The other ship's sails were a patchwork of colours, its hull was painted with streaks of red that she realised after a moment were meant to be claws, and the flag fluttering at its mast was no skull and crossbones, but a solid black, ragged at the edges. The deck, the rigging, the raised bits at either end, were crowded with men, and they were... glittering, somehow. She felt a shiver of fear and excitement as she realised that this effect was caused by the sun glinting off dozens of swords, raised high over the men's heads.

  The pirates' ship seemed to be heading straight for the Heron, at a startling clip. As it drew nearer she could make out the faces of the pirates themselves, fearsome and baked in the sun, their heads wrapped in colourful scarves. Near the front was a huge blackamoor, who looked fiercer than all the rest; but instead of brandishing a sword and shouting, as the others seemed to be, he had his arms crossed across his broad chest and was glaring grimly ahead.

  Perhaps this was the captain. She had heard that pirates allowed blackamoors to mix with them on equal terms and even to become officers; but then, she had also read that there was indiscriminate mingling of rank, too, so that a gentleman might find himself under the command of a man of low birth. The idea was at once both revolting and intriguing.

  She was staring with the same mixture of revulsion and admiration at the massive black man when there was a roar like close thunder, a flash of orange fire from the hull of the pirates' ship, and the whole cabin rocked violently around her. Elspeth screamed and pulled Lieutenant Wardle's blanket over her head. It smelled of his sweat and tobacco.

  Silence followed, and she began to wonder why they were not firing their cannons again. How many cannon hits did it take to sink a ship? A cold panic rose in her breast. She would rather run out onto the deck and take her chance with the more fearsome of the buccaneers, than cower in here and drown. But there were no more explosions, and for a while, no more sounds of any kind.

  Slowly, and because she was beginning to feel unbearably hot and stuffy, Elspeth emerged from under the blanket and risked a peep out of the porthole. Her heart bounded at the sight of clear, sparkling azure, with no pirate ship to be seen.

  Something fell past the porthole.

  It went by so rapidly that she could not distinguish it, but she knew very well that the something had flashed navy and silver and white. She knew very well it had been a man, in the uniform of the King's Merchant Navy, and a second later there was a heavy splash from the water below.

  All at once, shouts and cries and yells erupted overhead, followed by the clang of blades and the dull resonating thuds of what she imag
ined to be gunfire. The crew must be fighting off the pirates. She could see nothing through the porthole but the deceptively calm, glittering sea, and she concluded that the pirate ship must have manoeuvred around to the other side of the Heron.

  There was nothing she could do but sit tensely on the bunk, hugging her legs, and wait for Lieutenant Wardle to knock at the door to tell her that the pirates had been driven off. She wondered if the men would have to kill them all, or if the pirates would beat a retreat to their ship once they were overpowered.

  The noise of battle seemed to go on for a very long time, although she had no way of determining how long that was. At one point she heard screaming, a man's screaming, which was a sound that chilled her and made her wish earnestly that someone would come quickly and tell her that all was now safe. Every now and then she checked the view from the porthole to make sure that the horizon was still level and the ship was still afloat, and she was not in danger of drowning. She smelled smoke, which also frightened her, but she could see no flames nor hear the crackling of timbers ablaze.

  Then, rather suddenly, all went quiet. Minutes crawled by, and Elspeth could hear nothing at all.

  She began to pace the tiny floorspace of the cabin, wondering if she dared unlock the door and venture out. Lieutenant Wardle might have told her to remain there until he came to tell her all was safe, but what if he had been injured in the fight? None of the rest of the crew knew that she was in here. But surely, Captain Cardrew would be looking for her. Once the coast was clear, he must have gone to her cabin to check that she was unharmed; and not finding her there, must be seeking her now. Captain Cardrew was certainly a gentleman, but interest was involved, too. Valuable as his cargo doubtless was, she knew that she was the most important item of merchandise he carried.