Defying a Pirate

by Camille Oster

  The ship tilted heavily as the forward cannons fired and as she had expected a thick cloud of smoke flared out in front of them—the wind spreading it down to the pirate ship. Orders were shouted out and Gemma felt the ship tug as the bow moved portside to change their direction. The ship was not a fast mover, but the obscurity of the gun powder afforded them a small advantage.

  As the pirate ship moved out of the cloud, she could see activity on board as they tried to move out of the way. They might be fast, but they were not fast enough and they were coming into their range of the starboard cannons.

  “Fire,” she shouted as loudly as she could and her order was repeated down the ship. The opportunity to fire on them was slight and they would soon move out of the way. She couldn’t wait any longer. It wasn’t ideal, but she would hopefully do some damage.

  The deck moved around her and she fell to the ground as the different cannons fired under her feet. The sound was deafening and she heard nothing but ringing afterward. They were encased in smoke like thick London fog, and even fouler smelling and more unpleasant if that was possible. She climbed up on the side to see across the smoke, but the wind caught her hair whipping it around her face. Yanking a ribbon off from her dress, she tied back her hair back as best she could.

  “Where are they?” she yelled. She suspected they would have turned as much as they could to retake the position at their bow again. When enough smoke cleared, she could see that they had turned toward them rather than away. He was protecting his stern, but it also brought him close and within range of only a few of her cannons.

  “They’re coming in with their broadside,” someone yelled. Gemma knew that the pirates could fire heavily on them now—not that their broadside had the capacity of hers, but they could inflict damage and they were likely beyond focusing on rigging now.

  “Steer hard starboard,” she yelled as loudly as she could.

  “That will bring them in range,” the Master of Marines said. “They will fire on us and we have nowhere to go.”

  “We’re going to ram them,” she stated. The Master of Marines stared at her.

  “There is risk we’ll incur damage in the process.”

  “There is, but more to them than to us. We are much bigger and the chances are good we will come out better off.”

  “And if we sustain damage?”

  “Then we sustain damage, it will likely be above the waterline. But if you have any other suggestions, I would really like to hear them at this point.” The only other option was to try to steer portside, which may avoid the broadside and the destructive cannon fire, but that would only expose their stern to the awful lengthwise cannon fire. No, the only true option was to see them off, damage them so they couldn’t continue.

  Standing on the ship that had been his for some five years now, Jack Mallory watched as his prey defended itself. It had resulted in more of a fight than he’d expected. The news had come to him that one of the great British ships was traveling with only a mere junior holding the command. It would have been a lucrative and easy picking, but he had got more of a fight than he’d anticipated. He had to give kudos to the young man who had a distinct gift for naval tactics and a knack for taking risks to achieve the better position.

  Jack hadn’t faced a full-on battle like this in quite a while. They tried, but it was almost too easy to pick through their tried and true defensive strategies. He always boarded his target. Sometimes they fought; sometimes they just stood on deck and waited like lambs. Mostly he would then leave them tied and naked in a small boat in sight of some island. Sometimes he would take the young ones with him to serve. The ponces were sometimes surly, but he never lost sleep over their insults or lost pride, especially the ones who seemed to come to an uncomfortable realization that their birth didn’t actually give them an advantage in battle. It still amazed him how so many of them thought so.

  Whoever this young pup was, he would have a close look at him. Watching the ship manoeuvring, he noted that they were yet again taking an aggressive tactic by moving toward them. Clever, clever, he thought. They were coming in for some physical contact. He waited for the right time to deploy his cannons while chewing an apple from the bunch he’d liberated a week earlier. There was nothing better than fresh apples—the gems of the north and a rare commodity down in these parts.

  He heard the impact from his cannons inflicting damage on the larger ship. He would never have taken on such a large target if he hadn’t heard it was practically undefended. He would have a poorer chance against a good Captain and he seemed to have run into one after all—not that he’d ever be amenable to give up once he actually set his sights on something.

  The smoke cleared and they were now close enough to see the frantic activity on the other ship and the large holes at her side. Looking over to the quarterdeck to see his opponent, he dropped his apple when he saw nothing there but a girl in a white dress with a long green ribbon dancing in the wind. Astounded, he watched as she shouted orders to the men, holding onto the rigging as she looked back toward them. A sight he had not expected—actually it was so far removed from what he’d expected, he was sure his jaw was hanging slack in shock and surprise.

  The British ship was coming in fast, he had to brace himself and he swore as the large ship made brutal contact with him. She rammed him, the girl—the bitch! The force of the large ship reverberated throughout his entire structure. The sounds of damage being inflicted to his portside were inescapable and he swore louder.

  The momentum of the other ship pushed them back bringing them side by side. The force of the blow would have retracted his cannons so he couldn’t fire at that moment either. The ships groaned in distress as the large man-o-war moved past them. There was nothing he could do but watch as she passed, along with the girl who stood with both hands on the railing holding herself upright. She was a slight thing, pretty with light brown hair. Not some whore either, quality if he ever saw it. He knew she saw him too as her gaze was fixed on him while her ship forced its way past.

  He’d just been bested by a girl, a mortifyingly embarrassing event that was so outside expectations, no-one would hardly believe it. He would never live this down, he thought as he bent down and picked up the apple that was rolling around on the deck. Now the little chit was sailing away and he was too damaged to pursue her. He narrowed his eyes with annoyance and anger.

  “Check if we are watertight,” he ordered his Quartermaster. He suspected that they needed to do some repairs, and he wasn’t thinking of just the ship either.

  Chapter 3

  Gemma settled into London life in short order. All aboard the ship had discreetly agreed that they would never mention what happened and that a woman had taken the helm of one of the proud British Naval vessels. While they were grateful to still be alive and out of the hands of the pirates, the fact that the feat was accomplished by a female was embarrassing and would not be welcome news at the Naval Command. It, for all intents and purposes, ruined Vivecka’s chances with Lieutenant Hashforth if she ever wanted to pursue her interest in him. Not that it seemed to bother Vivecka who still looked at Gemma as if she was a strange creature who’d taken to sitting in their parlor.

  Gemma didn’t mind her feat going unacknowledged; the last thing she needed now was notoriety. It was hard enough to find a husband without being hampered by such a scandal. In a vain attempt to avoid the subject, she gave herself some time to get used to being back in London before she had to seriously look around for potential prospects. She knew she should be very excited about the idea of having a husband, but she just didn’t feel that way. In truth, it was as exciting as this needlepoint she was struggling with—tedious and expected. A true shame that these pointless things were appreciated in a female as opposed to something practical. Perhaps it was still the grief of missing her father that made her so bleak right now. He would have been quite happy for her to remain a spinster so they could live in happy co-existence until the day he died. She just ha
dn’t expected it to happen so soon.

  Gemma declined the invitation to the evening’s festivities, but Vivecka had longed to get out of the house, which she did every night she had somewhere to go. Gemma usually went, but she was feeling particularly out of sorts tonight. It was just an odd night and she didn’t feel like venturing out into the cold English night. The change in climate required some adjustment and that turned out to be a slow process. The chill creeped into her bones like it never had before she’d moved to Jamaica, but she knew her body would adjust, or so she’d been assured.

  “It was just the best night,” Vivecka said with shining eyes when she returned. “There was this man there, Lord Howl. What a name—can you imagine? And the scowl on his face, you should have seen it. It makes you wonder why some people go to these things at all.”

  “I’m sorry I missed it,” Gemma said honestly. She actually might have made the effort if she’d known there would be a scowling man to remark on.

  “Handsome though. And Jonathan was there, sweet Jonathan; he’s bought a horse.”

  “I thought he already had a horse.”

  “A racing horse,” Vivecka stressed like there was a world of difference.

  “Oh,” Gemma said with distaste. Racing—the ultimate pointless activity in her book, but then men seemed to find diversion in it. “I did not realize he was one of those types.” The racing set did see themselves as a special kind of breed, a little bit apart from the rest as buying and keeping racing horses was a very expensive hobby.

  “He is going to show her to me tomorrow. Please come—you know I can’t go alone,” Vivecka begged.

  Gemma smiled tightly. The thing about being a companion is that one had to accompany, which wouldn’t be so bad if Vivecka wasn’t looking for diversion every single minute.

  “Of course,” Gemma said hoping she might get a nice walk out of it. She’d missed the English countryside the entire time she’d been away. The tropical island had its interesting points, but it wasn’t the English countryside—a treasure all its own. A nice walk in the country might be just what she needed at the moment. Perhaps a walk in Hyde Park would do if nothing else. She would have to go with a maid because Vivecka didn’t walk in any meaningful capacity.

  “I’m going to bed,” Vivicka said and got up. “I danced tonight. You should have come, you would have liked it.” Gemma did like dancing and she did so whenever the opportunity arose.

  “I am sorry I missed it. I was just a bit tired tonight,” Gemma confessed. “I will come right in the morning after a good rest.”

  Vivecka nodded and left, her skirts rustling as she moved. Gemma decided to follow suit and sought out her own room, shutting the door to her private sanctuary. It had grown late without her realizing it. She put down her needlework and moved to the window. London always looked a little crisper on cold nights. The moon was out, giving an eerie glow to the quiet street below. She placed her fingertips on the cold glass, feeling it draw heat out of her and making the two needle punctures throb. Winter had not given up its grip on London.

  Jack sat down on the bed in the girl’s room; the mattress gave slightly under his weight. The moon was high enough for him to see her, which was why he’d chosen this evening. She slept unawares, ignorant of what was about to happen. It had taken him some time to track her down, about a week in fact. The only thing he hadn’t known tonight was which room was hers, and then she had shown herself in the window, pointing her room out to him like divine providence.

  So this was the girl who’d bested him. There was nothing remarkable looking at her, just a girl—pretty enough, but nothing to indicate the gumption, skill and daring he’d seen—gumption that had cost him dearly in repairs as well as reputation. His defeat had become known around the Caribbean as it was bound to become, and there had been no way of hiding it. He was ridiculed—ridicule that would stick for a long time, unless he did something about it. So he’d come for her.

  Her light brown hair coiled out on the pillow, silky to the touch. The color couldn’t be seen in this light, but he remembered. The image of her on the British man-o-war had been burned into his mind. And now he was about to see if she had any fighting skills. He doubted it, but then he hadn’t expected her to be the one on the quarterdeck shouting out orders either.

  He noted the lovely curve of her cheeks; youth still rounding her face. He also noted the curves of her body under the blanket. Not bad curves all up, but she wasn’t his type. She wore a virginal night dress in white cotton with a ridiculously high neckline and small bows sewn onto it. It made his crotch tighten more than anything. The women he knew didn’t wear such innocent garb to bed. He could almost imagine slowly pulling the strings that kept that puritanical neckline in place, hearing her breath catch with fear. He didn’t normally go for fear, he preferred all out wantonness, but this girl was a special case. He wouldn’t have crept into her bedroom to kidnap her otherwise, he’d just have snatched her off the street, but he wanted to leave her with the impression that there was no safety from him.

  He ran the back of his forefinger along the smooth skin of her cheek and she twitched with the touch. As he watched, her eyes slowly opened, then widened dramatically as she realized she wasn’t alone.

  He clamped his hand down over her mouth, keeping her silent. She tried to scream, but his hand kept it a mere mumble. Placing his full weight on her, he kept her still as she struggled.

  “Do you know who I am?” he asked, his voice sounding calm but menacing in the silent room. She stilled and didn’t move for a minute, just kept staring at him. Their faces were just mere inches apart so he could clearly see the fear and disbelief in her eyes. She nodded.

  “You could scream, of course,” he said keeping his voice light and steady, and his hand firmly on her mouth. “They will come running to defend you. You know what I am. Do you really want them to come running? The end result for you will be the same either way.”

  He watched as she processed the threat in his statement. He didn’t revel in hurting the innocent people in this house, but he would remove anyone who got in his way all the same. He knew there was no-one skilled enough to actually put up a fight.

  Her eyes darted back and forth between his, picking up the moonlight as they moved. Finally she nodded and he tentatively withdrew his hand. She stayed silent. Clever girl.

  Withdrawing his weight from her, he pulled himself back to a sitting position.

  “Get up,” he ordered.

  She didn’t move for a few seconds. He could see her racing through her options in her head. He held out his hand for her to take, but she ignored it and he chuckled at the defiance. Standing up, she glared back at him; he could see the challenge in it.

  He looked her up and down, not hiding his perusal. “You might want to take a dress,” he suggested.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “Away.”

  “And if I don’t want to go.”

  “That won’t make the slightest bit of difference, you’re coming anyway.”

  “Perhaps I would rather die.”

  “Well, you’re still coming. A dead body could serve my purposes, but I’d rather avoid the smell if it’s all the same. Obviously, you could push the issue, but we’ve already talked about the consequences of that to the people around you.”

  Her lips drew into a firm line of displeasure, drawing the corners down slightly. Surely, she didn’t think pouting would dissuade him; he would be sorely disappointed in her if that was the case. He kept himself between her and the door in case she decided to run. Actually he wouldn’t mind if she did, but why make this messier than it had to be.

  Marching over to her wardrobe, she withdrew a dress.

  “Good, that will do,” he said and grabbed her by the wrist.

  “You’re not going to let me put it on?”

  “No. We’re going now.” He pulled her along.

  “Wait,” she said and pulled back against his grip. “I need s
hoes.”

  He considered it for a moment, then let go of her wrist and she returned to the wardrobe and picked up a pair. They were sturdy, good for running, he noticed. Smiling tightly, he bowed as she passed in front of him. He placed his hand on her shoulder as they moved forward, knowing full well that she had the advantage of knowing the layout of the house and he didn’t. He couldn’t risk her running, so he kept his hand firmly on her slim shoulder—the heat from her body emanating through the thin cloth of the nightdress. He noted the ramrod straightness of her spine. The girl certainly had gumption.

  They went quietly down the stairs toward the front door. The lock made a noise as it withdrew, and he waited to see if the house stirred, but it remained quiet. As she closed the door quietly behind them, he grabbed her wrist again and watched as the carriage approached.

  “After you,” he said when it stopped in front of them. She stared at him dourly, then looked up at the house. She was still considering her options and he knew that she would try to make a break for it as soon as they were away from her loved ones.

  Grasping her around the waist, he pulled her into the carriage to sit in front of him between his legs.

  “Can’t have you running,” he said. If he had her sitting across from him, he would be at the mercy of her kicks and that may give her advantage enough to get out the door. But why deal with a commotion? This way, he could also effectively keep her quiet if he needed to.

  She didn’t relax in her position, putting as much space between their bodies as she could without falling off the seat. She smelled like lavender. Her hair hung down her back in cascading waves. Looking down her back, he noted the rounded curve of her backside. Her body was feminine and tempting, and it might prove diverting on the long voyage across the Atlantic. He hadn’t really intended on using her that way, but now that she was here, he recognized the distinct possibilities in it.