The Siren's Song

by Jennifer Bray-Weber

  Chapter Six

  Fire simmered upon the Rowena wreckage lighting up the twilight vista. Gilly marveled at the orange ridge riding atop the water. The rippling waves reflected the flames in thousands of tiny dancing torches. The ship protested her demise with frightful crackling and hissing. Mild southeasterly winds blew the smoke away but not the smarting smell of burnt tar and wood. The sea breathed fire, or so it seemed, as drifting wayward planking burned.

  Gilly watched the ship burn with the same revere as the silent seamen around her. The glowing tinder exaggerated the tangible sadness upon their long faces. Livelihoods disintegrated with the gray smoke disappearing up into the night sky. To stand beside them at an old friend’s funeral pyre would have been no different.

  All except for Captain Drake.

  He puckered his bottom lip and viewed the charring with impatience. With each glance she stole, his agitation grew.

  “Do you not find this a great sadness?” Gilly asked. “The others, they are mourning the destruction of their ship. But you act annoyed. Why?”

  “’Tis business.”

  “That is all this is to you, a business?”

  He did not acknowledge her question.

  “These men will lose work. Does that not bother you?”

  “They’ll find more.”

  “But won’t they have lost wages?”

  Again, he said nothing.

  “And what about Captain Mott? His ship is destroyed. It isn’t as if he could merely find another ship to captain, now is it? Surely the owner will hold him accountable. Do you not feel some sort of compassion for a fellow captain?”

  “Are you quite through?”

  “No.”

  He arched his eyebrows, slow and deliberate.

  “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  He faced the burning ship. His silence drew on and Gilly decided something else weighed on the captain’s mind. Something more calculating. Without breaking his gaze on the bonfire, he spoke.

  “Let us return to my cabin. I am eager to see how well you satisfy your debt.”

  “As you wish, Captain, for I too am eager. You shall change this cheap opinion you have of me.”

  “We shall see.”

  He let her lead the way. A gentlemanly gesture? Doubtful. She knew he watched her backside. Didn’t all men? She put an extra swing in her step, glad he couldn’t see her mischievous smile. The familiar flutter in her stomach just before she performed twittered with relentless expectation.

  Doing what she did best, singing and dancing to entertain a man. This would be easy.

  Or so she thought.

  Her confidence faltered once they entered his chambers and he locked the door for his private show. Trepidation sneaked in through the rear door of her mind. Surely he would find her voice pleasing. Wouldn’t he?

  The captain scooped a flagon off his desk, plopped down at the table and wasted not a moment to pull from the bottle.

  “Well? What are you waiting for? Entertain me.”

  “Now? Without accompaniment?” He couldn’t be serious. She needed music.

  “This would not be a good time to play games with me, Miss McCoy. ’Tis been a lengthy day and I’m tired. There is no music.”

  ’Twas a terrible shame not to have music. She could hide behind a melody—the overture would dissolve her nervousness. And suddenly, his scrutiny had her as timid as a rabbit in a fox den. She’d never felt this fitful. Not even before her first time singing in front of the church congregation as a child. At twenty, age cured her of that.

  She must calm herself. Gilly gestured to his bottle. “May I?”

  A smile bent at the corner of his lips. “Of course.” He handed her the flagon.

  No cup? He must enjoy feeding her his crass lack of decorum. What would he think if she guzzled on his bottle like…like…well, like a pirate? Cups. Cups. Where are the cups? She scanned the cabin and spotted a cup on a shelf.

  Captain Drake blew out an impatient breath. Quite frankly, she, too, grew impatient. She drank from the bottle’s neck, careful not to swallow too much too soon as before. The warmth hit the back of her throat, then the pit of her belly. A second quaff and a third and the edge disappeared. ’Twas good, because Captain Drake didn’t look as if he would share more of his rum.

  “Are you quite ready?” he asked.

  She smiled. Was he?

  She chose a sweeping song of a lovesick couple frolicking in a rose garden. The tune required a high, strong vocal range. The harmonies came from deep inside her, filling her lungs before caroling from her throat.

  Gilly loved performing this song. It reminded her of elegant ladies on the arms of refined men, crystal goblets, flower-covered trellises and courtly orchestras. Perhaps she aspired to be respected by high society instead of looked down upon as merely entertainment for their festive affairs. A dream long gone.

  Her song carried her away. She sang of the lovers with the passion she envisioned the couple would have, whisking her arms open and twirling her wrists with emphasis. Near the end of the piece, she focused on Captain Drake. He enjoyed her ballad, surely. At some point during the song, he had removed his feet from the table and leaned forward resting his arms on his knees. His features had softened; the lines around his eyes were no longer deep with tension. Her confidence built with the bravado until she ended the song on a long rich note.

  The captain sat in silence, retreated in thought, staring at her. Did she leave him speechless with her performance? Oh, dear. Perhaps he didn’t enjoy her singing, after all. Perhaps she paled in comparison to songstresses he’d heard from his travels.

  “Did you not like my selection? I’m terribly sorry.” The captain frowned. She was right. He didn’t like her song. Her confidence unraveled. “If only I had been accompanied by music, I might have pleased you. A flute, violin, even whistling.”

  Captain Drake shook off whatever thoughts consumed him and sat back in his chair. He replaced his unreadable mask with a tilt of his lip.

  “Miss McCoy, you surprise me.”

  “Oh?” She hoped he meant it in praise.

  “I expected a jaunty tavern ditty, not an operatic piece. Your voice is magnificent.”

  With a polite inclination of her head she said, “You’re kind, sir.”

  He laughed. “Rarely. But I have misjudged you. Where’d you learn such a beautiful ballad?”

  “After my father died, a lady in our church’s congregation saw to my well-being by sending me to her aunt in Charleston. Miss. Brooks was the proprietor of a genteel school for young ladies. She taught girls how to be proper, learning to sing and dance. At sixteen, Ms. Brooks felt I was ready to be sent to social gatherings to entertain the societal ladies and gentlemen. Soon, I had become a favorite. Therefore, I had to be well versed in a great many songs.”

  “You said you worked at a tavern.” He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “Did you lie to me then or are you lying now?”

  “No. I did work at a tavern.” The captain did not need to be privy as to just how she ended up at the Peregrine.

  “There is much you are not telling me, chit.”

  “My circumstance doesn’t interfere with my ability to entertain you.”

  “No, I suppose not. Sing for me another one of these dulcet songs.”

  She performed four more melodies. Four more which garnered his full appreciation. She delighted in the way he absently fingered the rim of his bottle, the languid tilt of his head as he drank her in from head to toe. He not once smiled. But by the slow way he brought up the bottle to his lips and savored his liquor, she ventured to believe he thoroughly enjoyed her performance.

  The look he wore she knew well, had seen it on many a spectator’s face. Desire. Mesmeri
zing the crowd with what Miss Brooks called graceful zest was her special skill. She couldn’t say it didn’t thrill her. She was quite fond of the attention. But too much attention could be dangerous. Drunkards were known to become unruly and belligerent when turned away. Hyde tolerated none. No chap would get too close. She was his commodity, after all. He promised to protect her. He failed. All that attention she relished made it difficult to hide, and yet, when Abel recognized her, easy to escape.

  Desire was a fickle mistress.

  Did Captain Drake desire her? If she were honest with herself, she hoped he did. His rogue approach and devilish handsomeness were frightfully irresistible. She desired him. Oh yes, she desired him, desired him to wrap her in his brawny arms. If she were honest with herself, of course.

  “Very lovely, Miss McCoy.”

  “Thank you, Captain Drake. Can I assume I have paid my passage?”

  “Not in full, my dear.”

  “Did you not enjoy my performance?”

  “Very much. But I require more.”

  “Oh? Perhaps something with a little more spirit? I know a wonderful ditty about a haphazard sailor and a sea captain’s daughter I think you’ll like. I dance to all their silly antics. It’s quite hilarious.”

  A flip of her skirt and Gilly twirled around, acting out a silly part of the tune. Captain Drake snatched her wrist and, rather by surprise, she landed upon his lap.

  “Nay. I was thinking of something more…intimate.”

  She caught her breath on his earthy musk, tainted with smoky cinder. Nose to nose she sat staring into his dark eyes which brazenly wandered over her face, pausing upon her lips before continuing its lascivious course. The soft feel of his worn tunic under her palms was a scant barrier against his solid chest. That scarred, yet magnificent, chest. Her heart skipped upon his steady rhythmic breathing.

  Something hard pressed against the back of her thigh. She gulped. Her stomach fluttered and his gaze landed upon her lips again. Damn, but she needed another stiff drink of his rum.

  His hand wound around the back of her neck and he crushed his lips to hers, kissing her hard and furious. She struggled against him, tried to push away. But only for a moment, and rather half-heartedly. There was no denying him. She opened for him, readily receiving him with equal zeal. She tasted rum, rich and delicious. He was delicious. Her thoughts scattered and she bunched her fingers into his shirt. She wanted more, so much more.

  Didn’t she? Oh my, she was kissing a complete stranger. That had to be bad, and scandalous if she were the proper lady she had once thought herself to be. He saved her life, she reasoned, and she was terribly attracted to him. Stopping herself was like trying to give up air. It was useless. She wanted this.

  A twinge of betrayal stabbed her heart. Hyde was gone yet she had forsaken him for another man, disloyal to him when she should be mourning his death. With whatever Hyde had done, with whatever mess he had gotten her into, there had been no time for bereavement. She was shameful to have this strong allure to Captain Drake.

  He let go of her wrist and found his way to her waist. Her head spun and teetered as he groped her hip and rubbed across her thigh. No. This couldn’t go any farther. For goodness sakes, he’s a pirate.

  She pushed away from him. He moaned his disapproval and opened his eyes slowly, marking her with an uneasy stare for her refusal to continue this madness.

  “I…um.” She must clear her mind. Shake off the tendrils of carnal lust snaking through her good judgment. “I had hoped you were a man of honorable decency in the company of a woman.”

  “Oh? What gave you that idea?”

  “You have seen to my welfare far more than any pirate I have heard.”

  “Pirate?” He grinned. “The likes of a pirate is to poach what he will against those unwilling. From the way you kissed me, lass, I’d say you were most accommodating. Your lusty tongue and lack of fight makes you no more decent than I.”

  “How dare you!” Her face warmed with embarrassment. ’Twas true, she succumbed to unchaste appetite. With his touch, her body deserted her sensibilities. How was it that she craved him so? The truth angered her. “You have preyed upon me and took advantage where there was none given.”

  “Tell me you did not enjoy our kiss.”

  “No. I didn’t.” Oh, but she was a liar. She enjoyed it far too much. So much so she was certain she needed to repent.

  He languidly grazed his fingertips down her back. A layer of her resolve peeled away, as if her clothes melted from her body in the wake of his strokes. She must maintain herself lest she do something she would regret.

  “Tell me you don’t enjoy my touch.”

  “No.” His fingers paused at the small of her back, distracting her further. Clothing did little to thwart the tingle on her skin under the skill of his caress. Warmth from his fingertips tickled and she anticipated more marvelous fondling before he resumed their ascent along her spine. “I don’t enjoy your touch.”

  “Well then, chit.” He shoved her off his lap. “I’ve no more use for you tonight.”

  She plopped onto the floor with her legs splayed out in a most disgraceful pose. “Captain Drake!”

  He waved his hand toward an open chest in a weary and annoyed manner. “Hand me a fresh bottle and see your way out.”

  When she did not move, he growled. Or she thought he growled. The low rumbling warned she had worn out pleasantries. His good cheer faded into anger.

  “Get up.”

  Gilly scampered away until her back pressed against his desk. Hand over hand, she pulled herself up, not taking her focus from him.

  “Take heed, Miss McCoy. Go straight to your cabin and stay there. A woman on a ship full of sea scoundrels would do well to listen. They may not be as gentlemanly as I. And, according to you, I am not a gentleman.” He held out his hand. “My rum.”

  Tears stung at her eyes. Humiliated. He humiliated her again. “You rake.”

  “Make haste, Miss McCoy. I’m long due to retire for the evening.”

  She snatched a bottle from the chest. With deliberate force, she shoved it at the cad, causing his chair to buck backward. They locked eyes and an artful smirk spread across his lips. His thank you was delivered with a single nod.

  Ooh. Insufferable. She turned on her heel and stomped out of his cabin.

  * * *

  Drake shouldn’t have been so aggressive and churlish with the bonny girl. His behavior was inexcusable. Inexcusable and pointless after she had lulled him with her magnificent voice. She had put him in a trance, a sweet and peaceful trance, with her beauty and her song. She spared no talent and performed for him as if she were entertaining a king with a private recital. Grace and harmony. Pure and alluring. With each song, he became more enthralled. With each verse, he grew more restless to kiss her bewitching mouth.

  If he were to believe her, and she once sang for high society, why did she work her talents in a tawdry tavern? How did an elegant lady like her wind up stowed away in the filth of a bilge? What could have her running scared that she would risk her life so carelessly? He was curious, but he had his own demons to slay. He had no room to contemplate hers. No. ’Twas better not to know what torments haunted her.

  He took a long pull from the bottle, still staring at the door Gilly had slammed shut. She may have played coy, may have meant it when she said she didn’t invite his advances. But she lied about not enjoying his touch. Oh yes, the lass lied. Her quickened breaths and the way she relaxed under his careful strokes and alleged otherwise. A war raged across her features even as she declared no.

  But alas, he had grown weary, weary of the bantering game she played. He was unwilling to share the rest of his evening if she was unwilling to warm his bed. Come now, Drake, aren’t you as guilty as she for deceptive pursuits?

  His demons ca
lled now that he sat alone and he greeted them as he always had. He swallowed half the bottle of rum, wiped his wet lips with his sleeve and slouched down in his chair. He waited, waited for the dizziness to abate and the liquor to dilute his body. His heartbeat slowed as the rum replaced his blood. Distant sounds crept out of the shadowy realms of his mind. Horse hooves stamped the dry ground. Dust swirled around its legs. A sword scraped across its metal scabbard. Drake could still make out the distinguishable cries from the dying. He swallowed the remaining rum to dull the memories he wished to forget.

  One more drink should do.

  He rose, unsteady on his feet. Making his way around the room, he extinguished all the lanterns with the exception of one. He removed it from its hook and plucked another bottle from his treasure of spirits. Rounding the desk, he set the items on top, removed his shirt and opened a window. Burnt drafts fanned over his face. The murmur of the sea whispered becalming lullabies. With ballads, booze and a fair maiden to dream of, he may get sleep this night.

  Drake twisted down a bent nail from the pane and hung the flickering lantern from its crook.

  “Here’s to bloody fools.” He raised his bottle, reciting his favorite overture to the powers that be. “May the light lead you to the reefs and your fortune be mine.”

  A last swill of the rum and he sank down onto his bed, kicked off his boots and closed out the light with the heavy black curtain. He draped his arm over his eyes and a vision of a blonde, angelic songbird materialized then slowly faded away.

  * * *

  Blast! What was that rapping sound? There it was again. Drake moaned. He had indeed fallen asleep, for how long, he did not know, and now someone knocked at his door.

  “Shove off!” he snapped.

  “Captain. The Alligator has dropped anchor on our larboard.”

  “Lynch.” Drake ground out the Bahamian conch’s name through clench teeth. “Sonofabitch.”

  He flung open his curtain. Night’s shroud still cloaked the dawn. He took the lantern from the window and peered up into star-studded sky. Morning winds had not yet begun to push across the horizon ahead of first light. The world outside lay asleep.