The Siren's Song

by Jennifer Bray-Weber

  “Enter.”

  Valeryn walked in and handed Drake a mug. “Your tea.”

  “Obliged.” He sank in his chair and sipped the hot drink. Its warmth coated his dry mouth and satisfied his thirst. The herbal aroma awakened his senses.

  “You look like shit,” Valeryn said.

  “You say that every morn.”

  “Aye. This morning you look more haggard than usual. The lass keep you entertained last night?”

  “Not the way a tavern girl should.”

  Valeryn sat across from him and pulled out a pair of papayas and threw one to Drake.

  “I’d not imagine her to be a disappointment.” Valeryn bit into the fruit, wiping the juice from his chin. “Especially as fair as she.”

  “Nay. Quite the opposite.” Drake rolled the ripe fruit around in his palm. The skin was smooth and pliant, and not unlike the bosom rounding over Gilly’s corset. How he wanted to taste her flesh. He sighed and placed the papaya on the table. “But the evening did not end with her trembling below me.”

  “Too bad,” Valeryn said, chewing on another mouthful.

  Drake couldn’t agree more. He scratched his head and rubbed his hand down his face. “What time is it?”

  “Half a glass past four of the clock.” It was early, but with the Alligator on site, not early enough.

  “Has Lynch sent a messenger?”

  “Nay. Not yet.”

  “He’s become a pain in my arse as of late. Bloody bastard’s pilfering our salvaging profits. He’ll want to put his divers in the water at first light. Take what’s left of the Rowena.”

  “Shame you just don’t kill him, Drake.”

  “And have a bounty on our heads?”

  He glanced up at Valeryn and together they laughed. A hearty laugh was good for waking up his tired bones.

  “The larger the bounty, the more worthwhile the pirate’s course,” Valeryn said.

  “And the shorter the fuse,” Drake added. “Nay, it would hurt our profits to kill Lynch. He’s too well liked in New Providence and we’d sever our auction ties with the Bahamians.”

  “So we get Sam in the water first.”

  “Sam knows where those last chests lie. He has recovered goods from hulls with visibility black from foul water. I’ve no doubt he can bring them up without the benefit of light. If the sea is calm enough, we put him in before daybreak.”

  “I’ll go wake him.”

  Drake nodded and Valeryn took his leave.

  A familiar ache ebbed and flowed behind his eyes and throbbed in his temples. He looked to the mug warming his palms. He had a fondness for tea, but not the way he did for his rum. Tea was like a magical salve, an antidote, to his debauchery. His tea and a bit of sweat, and Drake would be remedied from the ill-effects of too much liquor, if there were such a thing.

  He finished off his mug and searched for his boots. He would be topside when Sam went into the water.

  * * *

  Gilly froze. Footsteps outside her door. She clutched her purse tighter to her chest. The hard bottles inside reminded her of how little laudanum she had left. After leaving the captain’s quarters, she came close to finishing them both off. It had been a miracle she had the discipline to ration herself since taking flight from Florida. She reminded herself to make the few spoonfuls she had left last until they arrived in Nassau. A beam of light broadened across the dark walls of her cabin. She dared not move, careful to keep her breathing steady so the unwelcome visitor would not presume she was awake. She prayed that whoever crossed the threshold was the captain. To be anyone else was unthinkable.

  What if the captain came to her now? Would he ravish her with his kiss again? Would she stop him once more?

  She had to stop thinking of the captain that way. She must remind herself of his cruelty. The harsh way he molested her. The crush of his hungry mouth. The heady way he made her feel with his roaming dexterous hands. His want, her need. Those moments scarcely left her thoughts since she laid her head down, tossing and turning in restless bouts of sleep.

  The light retreated with the closing of the door and the soft click echoed in the silence. No one had entered. She sighed. Just as well.

  * * *

  Sam and two other tars secured the sodden chest. He looked up to Drake and let him know the box was ready with a thumbs up. Drake tightened his grip on the rope. He signaled the command to the men behind him also holding the line. “Heave!” They tugged, the pulley jerked, and the wooden beam creaked under the load’s weight. Steady and swift, the crate came into view. Drake grabbed a fixed line and pulled it onto the deck.

  “See about recovering any exposed copper sheathings or iron plates,” he called down to Sam.

  The sun had crested the horizon, but already sweat covered his body. The crates were heavy and unwieldy, making the job laborious. Once the first chest was on board, he had insisted on doing the bulk work—prying it open, helping inventory the goods, and then loading the crate into the hold.

  The undertaking cleared his head. ’Twas good, he bled out the rest of last night’s rum. The beauty of becoming sober was in the task of getting drunk again.

  Willie marched up next to Drake as he worked the crow into the chest’s seam.

  “The conch is askin’ for ya.”

  Drake took a rag from his pocket and wiped his brow. “He’s late,” he said. Handing Valeryn the tool, he picked up his pistol and shoved it in his waistband. He strolled to the rail with Willie alongside. Below, Jonah Lynch stood in a longboat, his boot propped on its bow.

  “Mornin’ to ye, Captain Drake.” Lynch tipped his hat. “Permission to board.”

  “Granted. Throw him a ladder, Willie.”

  The portly man had no trouble scaling the ladder, but he sounded like a snuffling hog swinging over the railing. Another fellow, the conch’s strong arm, followed.

  “What do I owe the pleasure, Captain Lynch?”

  The conch yanked down his dark blue jacket that had inched up over his rotund belly in his climb. The buttons strained against their confines and it crossed Drake’s mind that any moment they could become deadly projectiles. Someone might lose an eye.

  “Our occupation brings us crossing paths frequently, does it not, lad?”

  “’Tis an unfortunate fact, I’m afraid.”

  Lynch eyed him beneath bushy eyebrows the same shade of coppery red as his hair peeking beneath his hat. He fished a clay pipe from the inside of his jacket and stuck it in his teeth.

  “The ship, she had to be burned, did she…” pulling out his tinder box, he struck a spunk, lit the tobacco and puffed on his pipe to get a burn, “…for her cargo?”

  “Aye. She couldn’t be saved.” Blunt was the best strategy with any man who angled for advantages.

  He replaced the box back in his coat and gave it a pat. “That so?”

  “Aye.”

  Most men smoked a pipe for enjoyment. Not Lynch. The paddy puffed, sucking in his paunchy, whiskered cheeks, to give an appearance, an illusion to be sure, of a wise and important man.

  “My men can help ya with the rest of the salvage.”

  “Your generosity is ever kind, but as you can see, she’s been picked clean.”

  Smoke curled up from the pipe hanging from his lips, causing Lynch to squint. “Mayhap ya need another wrecker to help bring in the cargo.”

  “Your persistence is admirable.” Drake crossed his arms.

  “Free up space in your hold for another salvage.”

  “Do you wish to say something, Lynch? Speak up plain.”

  “Aye. I do.” He removed the pipe from his mouth. “How is it the Rissa is always first at a wreck this side of Cape Florida?”

  “Fortune smiles upon us.”

  “Nay, not l
ikely. Methinks something else is at work here. Something more…deliberate.”

  “Mind yourself, Lynch. Of all captains scouring the Keys, I would never have pegged you for one so foolhardy to rattle off accusations.”

  Lynch’s crony tensed and rested his hand on his pistol. The poor sap would be wise to ease off.

  “No accusations, only truths. Talk is ships are lured by a single light before running aground. By the grace of God, Captain Drake and his mangy crew appear and are duly serviceable. But ya not the Almighty Lord’s design, are ya, lad? Trickery is a parasitic pirate’s game.”

  Drake would stand for no more insults. He pulled his pistol on Lynch. The conch’s mate pointed his pistol at Drake. And Willie, too, pulled his piece, pointing it at the lackey.

  “None of your slurs for me, Jonah.”

  Lynch pursed his lips tight on the pipe’s stem. His stare narrowed.

  “The Rissa has done no wrongdoing,” Drake said. “Me and the boys are making an honest living off the sea’s bounty.”

  “Bounty, ya say.” He smacked his bristled chops. “Humanity be damned.”

  “Ha! We’re not trolling the coasts for the sake of humanity. I daresay, neither are you. Our business is to know the dangers of these waters. Not to keep ships from them. We, just as you, Lynch, are out here for gain.”

  “Is it humanity you seek from these men?”

  Drake clenched his jaw at the feminine voice. What the devil was she doing out of her cabin?

  “No lives were lost.” Gilly whisked in to stand among the draw. Lavender mingled with the sea breeze before the stout stench of tobacco smothered it out. She was like a pink flower in the midst of sea urchins, delicate and poised and naive to the dangers surrounding her. Drake lowered his gun, but Willie kept his sighted on Lynch’s mate.

  “Stow ya pistol, Jamison,” Lynch said.

  Only when the man complied, albeit slowly, did Willie lower his.

  “The Rowena was sinking,” Gilly said. “Men surely would have perished if not for the bravery of this crew. Why, Captain Drake, himself, dove into the raging sea to save me from drowning.”

  Drake groaned inwardly. She made him out to be some kind of hero. His kind were not heroes.

  “Well now, lassie, indeed that was mighty charitable of the captain.” Lynch reached out keenly for her hand. He took an interminable notice of the purple purse hanging from her wrist. “And who are you, dearie?”

  She hesitated to answer and passed a glance to Drake. Had he not a sheer dislike for Lynch, he might let her squirm her way out of the introduction.

  “She’s a passenger aboard the Rissa,” he said. “One who should be in her quarters.”

  Lynch’s smile reached the crow’s feet of his deceitful eyes. “When the mornin’ sun shines on a beautiful woman, a man’s heart is gay like the lilt of Irish laughter. As mine eyes gaze upon you, the laughter is everlasting. Surely this striking maiden has a name.”

  She brightened at his compliment and granted him a curtsy. “Gillian McCoy, sir.”

  “Ah.” Lynch appreciatively nodded. “An Irish lass.”

  “My father was Irish, yes.”

  This was no social party. The pleasantries would end, now.

  “You’ve made a serious claim, Lynch, and have disrespected me. Unless you want to take this disagreement to a final conclusion, you should be off my ship.”

  Lynch dropped Gilly’s hand and lifted his hard stare. He flipped his pipe, dumping the smoldering leaves on the deck, and gave it a tap on his boot. “Here our ways divide, Miss Gillian McCoy.” He tipped his hat to her. “Top of the day to you.”

  “Go your ways, conch,” Drake said.

  Lynch paused at the ladder, Jamison standing at his side, and hurled a futile vow. “I’m lookin’ to nail yar arse to yar mast, Drake. We wreckers don’t need a bastard with malign motives robbing our waters. So help me, I’ll heave ya to the shore.”

  Drake smirked. “Rot you, Lynch.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Is it true?”

  Gilly watched the longboat row the Irish captain back to his waiting boat. The hairs on her arms prickled at the sight of two cannons on the nearby sloop pointed directly at the Rissa.

  “What are you doing out of your cabin, Miss McCoy?”

  She turned and flinched. He hovered so near, glaring down into her face, her eyes. Staring down into her core. He captured her, a prisoner under his ravishing allure. With hands bound, she would freely go as he willed. She blinked out of the trance.

  “It’s been nearly a fortnight since I’ve walked in the warmth of the sun. I had but an hour in the dusk yesterday. I couldn’t stand another minute locked away, cramped, squashed, folded. Please, you must understand. My room is wonderful, to be sure. But tiny. It’s a horrid feeling to have no space. I’m certain there’s very little difference between a ship’s inner compartments and a pine box. Do you know just how maddening it can be to be unable to move? You’ve only yourself to keep you company and honestly, how long can one person stand themselves. Have you ever been trapped with just yourself, Captain, for so long you go astray from reality?”

  Captain Drake’s eyes lost their starkness during her rambling and glossed over. Now, they pivoted into a sinister pike skewering her to her spot.

  “You don’t know what insanity is, chit.” He took an impossible step closer leaving hardly enough space for a breeze to pass. “Let the devil lead you through his inner sanctum then speak to me of madness.”

  His reply came more as a threat. The air around them suddenly seemed as chilly as winter’s first frost.

  She swallowed. “I came in search of you. I knew you’d be displeased if I wandered about. You warned me of beasts prowling your ship. I fear I have made a mistake seeking out your company. My apologies.”

  “Nonsense.” He dipped his chin contritely and stepped beyond her to the railing. “’Tis I who should apologize.”

  “Oh?”

  “Captain Lynch and I are not on cordial terms as you may have noticed by our, shall we say, disagreement.” He scrutinized his rival.

  Captain Lynch had boarded his boat and activity increased. What the seamen were doing she could not say. However, it appeared they were not readying to set sail.

  “He may convince other salvagers to go into contracts and divide profits,” Drake continued. “The Rissa will do no such thing. The crew is quite capable of handling wrecks ourselves. We’re not of the mind to share the wealth.”

  He signaled one of his crew to join them. “Willie, see to it the gunners are ready should Lynch be so imprudent as to fire his guns.”

  “Aye, Capt’n.”

  Oh dear. Would the conch, as Captain Drake called him, really attack their ship with her on board, even after he was so kind to her? She shivered.

  “’Twas foolish of you to step between men willing to meet with death,” he said.

  “You might have shot each other if I hadn’t.”

  The captain laughed. “Sweet child, never underestimate hatred between men. A woman, even one as fair as you, wouldn’t stop the pull of a trigger. Be sure of that.”

  Her blood ran cold. Mother of heaven. What had she done? She could’ve been killed! How often did Hyde warn her there was no place for a woman in the business of men? How often did she not listen? ’Twas what got her here. Likewise, ’Twas why she still breathed.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” she said.

  “What question was that?”

  “Is it true? Do you lead ships to run aground?”

  Captain Drake spun from the railing. “Valeryn! Willie!”

  The first mate and helmsman joined him midship. Gilly followed, too afraid to be left alone, especially so close to the edge of the ship where cannons would surely b
low her to bits.

  “Get Sam and the others back on board. Leave the rest of the metal parts. We need to get underway. Lynch will be heading back to Nassau to cause us trouble. Let’s not let him stir up too much before we exchange our goods. I want to rid ourselves of Mott and his men, and then make our course to Havana.”

  “Havana,” Valeryn said. “I like the sound of that.” He promptly left to do as his captain bade.

  “We be searchin’ for our own bit o’ trouble in Havana, Capt’n.”

  “That we will, Willie. That we will.”

  Willie straightened and grinned big. He strode away hollering, “Cinch up, scratchlings! We set sail!” Willie pointed this way and that to the men scurrying to their duties. “Yarely, now. Heave ho!”

  “Miss McCoy.” The captain did not turn to face her as he spoke. Instead, with his hands clasped behind his back, he watched his crew toil about. “I’ve given thought to a way you might earn your passage.”

  “I have as well,” she said. “I know how to sew. I can mend clothing, darn stockings, even stitch up sails.” She could be useful not just to him, but to the entire ship.

  “A nice suggestion. But, no. I have something else in mind.”

  Uh-oh. The last time he had something else in mind, she nearly compromised herself.

  Gilly waited, wringing the strings of the bag she still carried, anticipating what he would require from her. Would she be able to follow through with his demands?

  “Tonight, I will expect you to sing for me again.”

  She relaxed, loosening the grip she had on the twisted cords. “Of course.” To watch him watching her with the appreciation he showed last night would be divine. She wanted to please him. Why, she couldn’t be sure. His confidence, his dominance, his decisive mannerisms, he fascinated her.

  “That is not all, my sweet.”

  She looked up at his profile. His smile flickered. She should’ve known better. He was a pirate. She wouldn’t get off that easy. Pirates did not have a speck of respect for their victims. He planned to treat her as the spoils of plunder. And there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.