Captured

by Beverly Jenkins

  “Aye.”

  “Then I shall leave.”

  “No.”

  She sighed aloud. “What are you going to do with me?”

  “Offer you freedom.”

  She stared. She had to admit he was the handsomest man she’d ever seen. What with his roguish beard, his penetrating gaze, and the ornate gold hoop in his lobe, no woman alive would be untouched by the powerful aura he exuded, but he was still a pirate, and everyone knew what they stood for. “And in exchange?”

  He shrugged. “We’ll start with a meal. Are you hungry?”

  She was. The sea battle had interrupted dinner, and since then, there’d been precious little time to waste on such mundane pleasantries as a leisurely repast.

  “So?” he asked, bringing her back to his question.

  She nodded tersely. Starving herself would not be wise; she’d need her strength. “I will eat.”

  “Good,” and he gave her a saucy wink as if her agreeing pleased him. “Let’s see what Cook can surprise us with.”

  They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Gaspar’s voice called from the other side. “We’re under way, Captain.”

  “Aye,” Dominic replied. “Head for home.”

  “And that is where?” Clare asked.

  “An island where the wind blows fair and the air is sweet with freedom.”

  “You brag of freedom, yet you brought me here against my will.”

  In the doorway, Gaspar gave a tiny cough.

  The determination blazing in her cool gaze gave Dominic pause, so much so that he bowed low. “Touché, petite.” Straightening to his full height, he found himself even more fascinated by her. He knew she was afraid, but apparently not enough to be cowed. He wondered what her reaction would be were he to point out that her show of strength only added to her allure. Masking the thought, he turned to Gaspar. “The lady is hungry. See what Cook can find.”

  “Aye.”

  Upon Gaspar’s exit, Dominic gestured her towards the table, then helped her with her chair. “Wine?” he asked as he withdrew a decanter from within a short sideboard.

  “No, thank you,” she replied quietly.

  He poured some of the amber liquid into a jeweled silver goblet and took a sip.

  In the lengthening silence, he leaned against the sideboard and watched her. Clare tried her best not to be affected by his unhurried attention but it was difficult. She’d never been alone with a man this way, especially not one as dangerous as he’d proven himself to be. The room had become so still, one could hear the creaking of the boat around them and the voices and footfalls of the men up on deck, but his presence was loud as cannon shot. She cast him a nervous glance. Upon meeting his eyes, she quickly looked away. A knock on the door announced Gaspar’s return, and she inwardly sighed with relief.

  They dined on bowls of turtle soup, stale bread, and slices of oranges. The dried apple she’d had as a midday meal back on the frigate had long since been forgotten by her stomach, so she ate far more heartily of the pirate’s fare than she’d planned. She’d had turtle soup a few times in the past, but this version was far tastier and excellently seasoned. Looking up, she found him watching her, and her movements slowed in response to the return of her nervousness.

  “This is much better than being debauched, don’t you think?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  His amusement plain, he went back to his meal. “So tell me about yourself. What made your master educate you?”

  “A wager between Violet’s father and his sister Theodora. Theodora’s position was that a slave given the advantage of education could be as genteel as its betters.”

  “Betters being the slave owners.”

  “Correct.”

  “Novel, that,” he said with cool sarcasm.

  “The Sullivan family and friends thought the experiment novel as well—appalling, but novel.”

  “And you?”

  “I am happy to be learned, but it has only made the bonds of slavery chafe that much more. I’ve been given access to a world that I may not walk in legally.”

  He viewed her over his jewel-crusted goblet of wine. “How long have you been a captive?”

  “I was seven when I was taken.”

  “Where were you born?”

  “I don’t know. I remember mountains and desert, and a war that killed my parents and others in the village. Afterwards, men in long white robes riding camels and horses took me and many of the other children on a long trek before turning us over to the enslavers. Teddy, that’s Theodora Sullivan, believes I am from northern Africa, somewhere near the biblical Ethiopia.”

  Dominic thought that this Teddy might be correct. In his voyages he’d seen beautiful women from all over the world, but in his opinion, the Mother Continent offered the most striking. In Africa, the women were of every hue, shape, and size. The ones bearing Clare’s angular features were commonly found among the nomadic tribes and villages of the north and east. “Any children?”

  “Two, but they’ve been sold.”

  He stilled. She showed no emotion. Like most captives, she hid her true self behind a mask. He knew it was a necessary tactic for survival, but being privy to this tiny portion of her life only intensified his desire to delve further into the mysteries of the woman who lay beneath. He also wanted to ask if she knew where her children were, but didn’t, rather than add more pain to her loss.

  And for Clare, it was pain. She let herself remember the day her babies were taken away, and the blade-sharp grief rose up to engulf her as it always did, and as always, she forced the emotions back down into the secret place she kept locked away. “Tell me about yourself,” she asked, deftly changing the subject to move the focus of the conversation elsewhere.

  “What would you like to know?”

  She studied him over her cup of tea. “Your name? Where you are from?”

  “Dominic LeVeq. Born on the island of Martinique.”

  “Why pirating?”

  “I’m a second son. With no chance to inherit I have to feed myself.”

  “So you steal from others?”

  The censure in her voice made him smile. “Only those who can afford it, or deserve it.”

  “’Tis wrong.”

  He shrugged and said softly, “That depends, petite Clare.”

  The vibrant timbre of his voice made her feel caressed by someone who thought her precious. She’d never experienced such a feeling. He appeared to be a man who knew his way around women, so she cautioned herself to remember that, less she be lulled into believing herself anything other than his prey. “Surely there are legitimate avenues available to you?”

  He shrugged again. “None that I wanted.”

  “Stealing is easier, you mean?”

  “Is the world always so black and white for you?”

  “Answering my question with a question is not an answer.”

  “You’re proving to be a hard taskmaster.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  Merriment shone in his eyes. “I can see that this is going to be an interesting voyage home.”

  “Does your family approve of your way of life?”

  “In truth, no. But then I don’t approve of his life either, so we are even, he and I.”

  “This is your father?”

  “My brother. My father died four years ago.”

  “You said you were a second son, so he inherited?”

  “Everything, or so he claims.”

  “You doubt his claims.”

  “I do, but the will reads exactly as my brother’s solicitors say it does. Mon pere left everything to mon fair frere.”

  “You sound bitter?”

  He shrugged as if no words were necessary, then poured himself more wine.

  Clare had to admit he was far more complex than she’d first imagined, but it didn’t change her position. She had to find a way back to Savannah. Too much was at stake.

  Chapter 2


  W

  ith the meal now finished, Clare steeled herself for what might follow. Although he seemed at ease, leisurely sipping his wine, she fought to keep her anxiety under control. “And now?” she asked.

  He set the goblet aside. “’ ’Twill be dark soon. Would you like some air above deck before turning in?”

  She shook her head.

  “Bed then?”

  She looked around the small room warily. “Where?”

  “Here.”

  “Is there no other place?”

  “With so large a crew, no.”

  “And where will you sleep?”

  He studied her for a moment, touching her with his intense gaze. “Here.”

  “Can you not sleep elsewhere?”

  “And miss the chance that you might debauch me in the middle of the night? No, and it is my bed, after all.”

  She rolled her eyes and got up from the table, mostly in an effort to distance herself from his unnerving pull on her senses. “A pallet on the floor will suffice. It’s where I am accustomed to sleeping.”

  “Your mistress has no bed for you?”

  “Violet has never had a bed for me.”

  “You’ve never slept in a bed?”

  “No,” she replied simply. “I’ve slept on a pallet on her bedroom floor since the day I was purchased.”

  Admittedly, Dominic had no idea what to say to such a surprising response. Of course he knew that captives were given few luxuries, but when had a bed become so dear? Her response also made him wonder what else this beautiful, intelligent woman had been denied besides her liberty. “A pallet it will be then, if that is what you prefer.”

  “I do. Thank you.”

  He silently evaluated what he could see of her lovely form peeking out from within the confines of her heavy wool cloak. “’Tis a waste though, sweet Clare.”

  “The pallet?” she reminded him, refusing to let his teasing penetrate her resolve although it was difficult. A woman with less fortitude might have jumped at the chance to share his bed, but the hardships forced upon her by captivity had made her strong enough to know her own mind. That was not to say she was made of stone. Although she was still leery of him and unconvinced he’d remain so gallant, Captain Dominic LeVeq was a handsome man; too handsome for his own good maybe, yet there were far more important things in life than sharing the bed of one such as he.

  So, she watched and waited as he walked over to one of the large chests beside the bed and withdrew some folded rugs. He set three of them atop each other, then added a sheet that she prayed was clean. He retrieved a fat pillow from his bed, slid it into a pillow slip from the chest, and laid it atop the makeshift pallet. “Will this do?” he asked, turning to gauge her reaction.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  Dominic tried to remember if he’d ever been this accommodating to a woman before. Most females he encountered were usually so besotted by his charms that they made a beeline for his bed. Not this one. “Are you certain this is what you desire?”

  Clare was certain that velvet-edged voice had undoubtedly persuaded women to do his bidding from the day he was born, but she held fast. “What I desire is for you to take me to the nearest port so that I may return home. Short of that, I am certain I do not wish to share your bed.”

  He gave her a wry smile and rose to his full height. “Circumstances change.”

  She folded her arms and waited.

  “Besides,” he went on, eyeing her confidently. “When the time comes, you’ll be willing enough.”

  “Before or after pigs fly?” she tossed back easily.

  He bowed his head gallantly, “Believe what you will, but take it from a man who knows women.”

  “You do not know this woman.”

  “The pleasure we could share…”

  “Your pleasure, my displeasure.”

  “Will you be this spirited in bed, I wonder?”

  “Wonder until the seas boil, I’ve no intentions of providing the answer.”

  “I think the answer is yes, petite Clare.”

  The low heat resonating through his response made her senses ripple like a flag in the wind, but again she held fast. “I’m certain there are women who are flattered by your blarney, but I am not one of them, nor do I aspire to be. Why is that so difficult to fathom? Have you never been told, ‘No thank you’?”

  “Look at me. What do you think?”

  She assessed his superior physique and dark handsome face and sighed. “I think this ship is not large enough to hold the inflated value you place upon yourself.”

  He grinned. “We are going to do well, petite.”

  “And I think you’ve had far too much wine.”

  He laughed at that. “I’ll leave you now. Make yourself comfortable.” Reminding himself not to underestimate her, Dominic retrieved his laced pistols and the one he kept hidden in a drawer of his desk. He glanced around his quarters for anything else she might employ as a weapon. Seeing nothing, he picked up the china and cutlery from their meal and exited.

  When Clare heard the scratch of the key indicating he’d locked her in, she sighed with weary relief. The captain had proven to be a gentleman so far, but as she’d noted earlier, she doubted his largesse would last. With that in mind, she gazed around for anything he might have missed that she could use to defend herself. A quick search of the cabin turned up nothing. Beneath his bed, she found a white silk corset designed for someone far more buxom than she, but because it held no defensive value she tossed it back into the shadows and got to her feet, dusting off her hands. There was nothing in his armoire or hidden away in the drawers of the desk, either. Defeated, she focused on the pallet he’d fashioned.

  It appeared adequate enough, but she doubted she’d sleep. She was too anxious. The day had been an awful one, and she wondered if she’d ever see Savannah again. More importantly, would she ever see her children again? In the colonies, Sunday was the only day most captives did not have to work, so with the master’s permission, the Sabbath could be spent visiting family members in other places. For Clare, that family meant her ten-year-old daughter, Sarah, and twelve-year-old son, Benjamin. Eight years ago, they became the property of the Hamptons, loyalist planters in a neighboring county. By foot, the journey to the Hampton home was twelve miles there and back, but if Clare left the Sullivans’ place early enough on Sunday morning, she could spend most of the day with Sarah and Ben before having to return. The idea of never seeing them again was something she didn’t want to contemplate. They were her world. Finding a way to gain their liberty gave purpose to her life. She didn’t believe that anyone should be made to spend the entire time on earth as property of someone else. No matter what it took, she was determined to see them free before she went to her grave.

  Now, however, she was the unwilling captive of pirates on a ship heading to only the Ancestors knew where. Outside of convincing the captain to send her home, she had to escape. Her hope was that the opportunity would present itself soon. In the meantime, the only person she had to rely on was herself. With that in mind, she curled up on the pallet, tightened her cloak around herself, and waited to be delivered into the arms of Morpheus.

  After leaving Clare in the cabin, Dominic took the dishes to the galley. He then spent time walking the ship, checking on the welfare of his crew, and letting them know how much he appreciated their fine conduct during the encounter with the frigate. He called up his thanks to the men in the riggings inspecting the sails, and gave a good word to others going about their duties keeping the Marie in good sailing shape. With no battles ahead or prey to focus upon, many were relaxing, playing cards or listening to the merry tunes of the ship’s fiddler, a Frenchman named Pierre Tait.

  Below decks now, Dominic spotted one of the powder monkeys, fifteen-year-old Richmond Spelling, the grandson of his mother’s old friend Anna. The monkeys were responsible for loading the cannons.

  “You handled your chores well today, Spelling.” Richm
ond was one of the youngest of the crew.

  In response to the praise, he smiled through the grime and powder covering his young face. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Anyone injured that you know of?”

  “Not in my crew, sir. I hear Watkins got a bump on the head when he tripped over the rigging but Dr. Early would know better. How’s the lady, sir?”

  Dominic was caught off guard by the question. The crew knew of his reputation with the softer sex, but no one had ever asked questions about who might be sharing his cabin. Until now. “She’s fine. Why do you ask?”

  Looking uncomfortable, Richmond dropped his eyes. “No offense meant, sir. It’s just we’ve never taken a woman as a prize before. I—I was worried about her.”

  “I see. She’s faring well, and don’t worry, she isn’t a prize. For now, she’s a guest.”

  Richmond seemed relieved. “Thank you, sir. I’ll pass the word. I know that some of the crew had questions, too.”

  “Please do. Now, finish your duties and get some rest, you’ve earned it.”

  Richmond nodded, and Dominic went on his way.

  As the Marie’s quartermaster, Gaspar had many duties, and one of the most important was divvying up the profits among the crew.

  “How much gold was the frigate carrying?” Dominic asked Gaspar upon entering the small, shadow-filled room near the hold. The light sputtering from the candle stubs placed on the scarred worn table where Gaspar worked offered just enough illumination for him to see to the task. Also at the table were Dr. James Early and the ship’s pilot and navigator, a Spaniard named Esteban da Silva.

  Gaspar looked up from the gold coins he was stacking. “More than we expected. About ten thousand, wouldn’t you say, James.”

  The doctor agreed, “Aye, by the weight of the strongboxes, it’s ten easily.”