The Siren's Song

by Jennifer Bray-Weber

  Nay, he didn’t act like the pirates of Hyde’s tales. If Captain Drake had wanted to rape her, he would have already done so. No, there was something about him he kept hidden, a gentleness. She saw it in his smiling eyes as she sang for him. She wouldn’t refute that he was dangerous though. He controlled his world and everyone within it.

  “We’ll be making port in a day and a half with favorable winds.”

  Less than two days. Not a terribly a long time. Or an eternity, depending on what the captain planned for her to spend her time.

  “Our shipboard day is divided into seven watches. The end of each watch is marked by eight rings of the Rissa’s bell. Watches begin at midnight. At the moment, we are nearly two bells into the forenoon watch.”

  “I see. You want me to ring your bell?” she asked.

  Captain Drake took a deep breath. Still, he did not look her way. The tip of his mouth twitched and she realized what she inadvertently implied. Her cheeks heated.

  “Oh, um, please, continue.”

  “When eight bells are struck—” his gaze slowly, finally, befell upon her, “—you are to give me a kiss.”

  Her head spun into a flurry. “Why that’s…” She counted, numbers swirling around in her brain. “That’s, that’s nine kisses!”

  “I think that’s fair, don’t you, Miss McCoy? Given the predicament you face and the many other dastardly things I could demand of you, including the one you just proposed.” Wickedness shimmered across his coal-black pupils.

  She bit her bottom lip. He was right.

  “Come now, Miss McCoy. Your bridegroom will be none the wiser, unless you wish for him to know.”

  “Bridegroom?”

  He lifted his eyebrows.

  “Oh, yes, my bridegroom. The one I have refused.” Did he still believe her story of fleeing a jilted betrothed or had she exposed her lie? “No, he must never know.” By now, she hoped Hyde’s killer had forgotten all about her.

  “So you agree to my terms,” he said.

  A kiss, nine kisses, was more than fair. She quite enjoyed kissing the captain. Perhaps she was the one being paid for passage.

  “Yes, Captain Drake. I agree.”

  “Very well. You may remain topside on one condition. You must stay on the quarterdeck within sight of the helmsman at all times. You are not to wander around the ship. Should you want to return to your cabin, Willie or Henri is to accompany you. Are we clear?”

  “Oh, very.” He led her to the ladder leading to the deck above. “You have become very generous with me, Captain Drake.”

  “And I am expecting the same from you at the end of this watch.” He gestured for Gilly to climb the steps. Leaving her, he said, “Eight bells, milady, eight bells.”

  Gilly had sat on a barrel beside the wheel for most of the rest of the morning, only going to the railing to wonder at the sea turtles dotting the bright blue sea. The sun’s rays brought warmth to her cheeks and her soul. Crisp, tropic breezes seemed more refreshing out on the ocean than the winds that blow across land. But they blew her hair in boisterous chaos and she had to tie her locks back. Henri would not give up one of his beard ribbons, yet, oddly, he had a spare in his pocket. He offered to give it to her if she’d stop prattling on and on about how lovely sailing on the open waters was or how she could understand why men were drawn to become sailors by trade. He shoved the ribbon at her and was quick to explain how living by the sea was hard labor. Never mind that. She felt alive.

  Willie had been friendlier. They chatted about how turtling kept their stomachs and coin pouches full. How turtles could be kept alive for weeks by flipping them on their backs. And how Henri made a delicious turtle soup. Gilly learned a great deal about what makes a ship run efficiently and the varying duties of each man. He explained techniques using the winds, depth and speed to steer. It was all very intriguing. She had asked about pirating but Willie plainly stated that a lady shouldn’t be privy to such things. Not once did he make her feel uncomfortable. In fact, with how pleasant the conversation, a passerby could easily mistake them for old friends.

  Willie also spoke of the colorful pirate captains who had mastered the Rissa in years past. And of the spirited women who tamed them. His kind eyes, crinkled with ages of squinting against the harshest of weather, twinkled as he recalled their adventures. He had paused then and given her a long thoughtful regard.

  She pondered about the ship’s present captain. What was his story? What were his adventures?

  “That be best if the capt’n told ya,” Willie had said.

  Henri offered his opinion. “He’s a hardened bastard with a black heart, he is. He ain’t ever said, but he weren’t born mean. Somethin’ made him that way. Somethin’ bad.”

  Gilly didn’t think he had a black heart or was mean, but she wanted to know what made him callous. Whatever that something bad had been, it undoubtedly cast him into the formidable man others feared and respected.

  Shortly after leaving the Rowena wreckage, Captain Drake had become intensely focused on a new ship anchoring beside the Irishman’s Alligator. He rubbed his chin, deep in thought. He had been suspicious for he watched until nothing but the tips of their masts were visible on the horizon. Gilly, too, had been watchful. She had watched him for some time and took note of the wide berth many crewmen made around him. He did not welcome conversation, did not acknowledge those nearby. Had any of those men ever tried to strike a friendship with their captain or was he that unapproachable and scurrilous? The winds had ruffled his long hair and whipped the sleeves of his bleached tunic. She had fallen enamored by him and studied him as if he were a fine specimen under a naturalist’s glass dome. Without his jacket, she had a sublime view of how well his trousers fit his backside. But he had turned and disappeared, and that was the last she saw of the captain. She had been quite disappointed, too. As beautiful and fascinating sailing across the pristine sea had been, he was far more pleasing to the eye.

  However pleasing, she grew more anxious about the bargain she agreed upon with each passing moment.

  The sun now blazed from its zenith in the sky. Only slivers of shade from the canvas sails overhead could be found hugging to the crevices and corners of the ship. Heat rose from the baking deck, and without the constant breezes, she would suffocate from the hot air.

  The ship’s bell struck and Gilly counted the rings. It was time to pay her debt to the captain. She’d been tallying the bells as they struck every half hour all throughout the watch. Two bells. Her chest tightened. Mixed emotions churned in her stomach. Four bells. She wanted to kiss him, didn’t she? Of course she did. Six bells. Was she supposed to go to him? Where would he be waiting? In his cabin? She glanced at Willie and Henri. They didn’t seem to know of her quandary. She couldn’t ask them for an opinion. How mortifying to think of it. Seven bells. Would she be good at it, good enough for him? How would she compare to others he had kissed? Eight bells. Lord help her, she surely was going to faint.

  Before the final peal of the bell faded into the winds, Captain Drake appeared at the top of the ladder. Time slowed as he glided toward her. She slid off her perch and met him halfway.

  “Eight bells, milady.”

  “I’m ready,” she said. Closing her eyes, she puckered, waiting for his lips to descend upon her. Waiting to inhale his delicious musk. Waiting for his hands to roam across her back and his fingers to thread through her hair. Waiting. Why hadn’t he kissed her yet?

  “What’s the lass doin’?” Henri asked. “Is she alright?”

  “Maybe the heat’s done gotten to her,” Willie answered.

  She popped open one eye. Gone was the captain’s mask of steely austerity. His amusement beamed brighter than the unforgiving sun. The heat couldn’t compare to her swill of embarrassment. Sweat beaded on her brow and she wished with all her heart she could disappear. Why
didn’t he kiss her? How idiotic she must look. She huffed, angry now. Mustering up a scrap of dignity, she confronted the cur.

  “What’s wrong? Why won’t you kiss me?” She propped her hands on her hips. “Have you gone back on our accord?”

  His smug laugh indicated he had not. “I never renege on a deal, Miss McCoy.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You have misinterpreted the terms. Our agreement stated that you kiss me. Not the other way around.”

  “Oh.” Won’t death spare me this humiliation?

  She was helpless. She had never kissed a man, only been kissed. This changed everything. It simply was not proper. Come now, Gilly. You haven’t been proper since the day Hyde laid eyes upon you. And besides, you want to kiss him.

  “All right, Captain Drake. I shall play by your rules.”

  She rose to her tiptoes and, quick as a rabbit dashing into a briar patch, she pecked him on his mouth.

  “There,” she said. “It’s done. I kissed you.” She grinned a self-satisfied smile. “Come back at the next eight bells. I shall be ready.”

  “Uh-uh. Not quite, lass. That’s not at all how I want you to kiss me.”

  “A kiss is a kiss.”

  “Nay, lass. That is how you kiss a codfish.”

  She gasped and her hand flew to her bosom at the insult. “And just how am I supposed to kiss you, Captain? There were no stipulations on the manner of kiss.”

  “Kiss me as you did last night.”

  She poked him in his chest. “You kissed me.”

  “At first, yes. But then you lost your chaste modesty and your voracious appetite took over.”

  If she could get her hands on his cutlass, she would end her suffering. Gilly glanced over her shoulder. Both Henri and Willie quickly, but not quickly enough, became occupied, pretending miserably not to have been listening in on their exchange. Henri fiddled with his vest pocket and Willie tapped at the compass he kept fixed to his wheel.

  “You need not let shamefulness get the better of you, Miss McCoy. You’ve nothing to be embarrassed about,” Captain Drake said.

  She frowned. He did not make things any easier by calling her on her discomfiture.

  “Well? I’m waiting.”

  What a wicked, wicked man. The only way to wipe that smirk from his face was to give him the best kiss he ever had in his wretched life.

  Gilly grabbed the back of his neck with both hands and smothered his lips. Long and hard, she pressed against him. He tensed under her grip. His arms reached out, as if to hold her. But he didn’t. Nevertheless, she felt his smile. And that pleased her.

  She broke free of him. Excitement coursed through her veins. Liberation was hers. She could do that again. Eight more times, in fact.

  “’Twas a very nice start,” he said. “Now don’t look so troubled. I am happy with your kiss. It is my hope that you will work yourself up to last night’s performance.”

  His gaze dropped to the exposed skin of her bosom and lingered. “Sweetling, you are burning. Perhaps you’d like to wait out the next watch in my cabin.”

  Her skin did feel warm to touch. However, she did not want to be locked away any more than necessary. She admitted that an invitation to stay in his room was tempting. What treasures would she find in there? Did he trust her enough to keep her in his private cabin? How odd, and alarming.

  A revelation struck. She wouldn’t be alone.

  “No,” she said. “I prefer to stay topside. ’Twould be a waste to not enjoy this beautiful day.”

  “Certainly. I shall have a hat brought to you. It will be difficult to keep on with the wind gusts, but please do your best.” He cupped her face in his rough palm. “I don’t want a sunburn to keep you from your duty to me.” He winked and left her to count out the bells until the end of the next watch.

  With eyes upon her back, Gilly took a deep breath and spun around to face Willie and Henri. She felt compelled to share with them the meaning behind her improper behavior with their captain.

  “Ah, criminy.” Henri retrieved a flask from his vest and took a quick swig.

  “Capt’n be a resourceful one,” said Willie, with a smile.

  “It be bad enough havin’ a woman on board,” Henri groused. “He’s just beggin’ fer trouble.”

  “Women are bad luck?”

  “Capt’n don’ believe in such, Miss McCoy,” Willie said.

  Henri eyed Gilly with his curmudgeonly pout. “I do.” He wagged his finger at Willie. “Lookit what happened ta Tyburn and Fox. Lookit all the trouble we had when they let them lasses on Rissa.”

  “What kind of trouble?” Didn’t Willie tell her they fell in love? She couldn’t figure out how love would be trouble.

  “It ain’t nuthin’ to worry ya.” Willie snatched Henri’s flask away and held it overhead out of the little man’s reach.

  “Gimme that!”

  “Not until ya shut yer trap. Turn around three times, kiss yer witch’s knot and throw a farthing in the sea, ya superstitious ol’ fool.”

  Despite their bickering, the two gruff men had an obvious fondness for each other. In some strange way, she found that comforting. Even pirates had friends.

  Listening for the tolls soon became a game. Willie explained that the next two watches, the dog watches, were split into two two-hour shifts. She’d only have to wait two hours between rendezvous with the captain. Gilly anticipated the half hours and perked up each time someone walked near the ship’s bell.

  * * *

  The next two kisses were much like the first one. There was less talking and each kiss lasted longer than the preceding. No—only flames bursting across every raw spot of her body. But the last kiss left her befuddled. Drake had embraced her and her heart had lurched. He wasn’t merely receiving a kiss, he was an active participant. How much would he participate next time? Her mouth grew dry.

  “I need a drink of water,” she said.

  “I can’t be leavin’ the wheel, Miss McCoy. Can ya wait for Henri to get back?”

  “If he’s in the galley preparing the meal, won’t he be a while? The rain barrel is just down there.” She pointed to the mainmast down on the ship’s waist. “I’ll be within sight the whole time.”

  “Well…”

  “I promise not to dawdle. Please, Willie?”

  “Ah, Jesus. All right. Show a leg, Miss McCoy.”

  She gave him a confused look. Why would she show him her legs?

  “Be quick,” he clarified.

  Gilly nodded and rushed to the ladder and straight to the rain barrel. The cool water, flavored with a hint of oak, refreshed her parched mouth. She dipped the ladle in and bent for another sip. A hand, fisting a knife, came to rest on the cask’s rim. She froze as light glinted from the blade.

  “Captain Mott dismissed me from the Rowena. He’s heavin’ me to the shore at Nassau.”

  Gilly straightened to face Abel. “You deserve far worse.”

  “’Cause of you, I ain’t got work, I ain’t got pay, and I got caned.” He shrugged off the shoulders of his tunic, giving her his back. Angry, seeping whelps crisscrossed across his red flesh.

  She swallowed back her horror and remembered how he earned the punishment. “You won’t find pity with me, Abel. You were going to let me drown and sooner or later you’ll have to answer for that.”

  Abel twisted his repulsive lips into a snarl. “Be well advised, I answer to no one, now.”

  Gilly looked beyond his shoulder to Willie on the quarterdeck. The helmsman’s brow furrowed and he waved her back.

  Abel followed her line of sight. “Least of all, the self-righteous dogs of this ship.”

  “What a foolish thing to say. I understand these men are dangerous. Who are you to insult or defy them?�
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  “Who are they to call me rotten? Who are they to punish me?”

  “Cowards are wont to be imperious and boastful, until they lose. And they always lose, Abel. Then they are weak and sniveling weasels when in the face of judgment. How do you suppose your judgment will end?”

  “Bitch.” In an impossibly fast move, he poised himself so she could not escape his rancid breath. “Watch yourself in Nassau.” He flourished the gleaming knife between them, his message clear. “I hear bad things happen to pullets walking the streets alone.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “I ain’t readin’ ya poetry.”

  “Pray tell, what do we have here?” Valeryn appeared from nowhere. His shadow cast upon them both.

  Abel scurried two steps back and palmed his knife.

  “Abel’s threatening me.”

  “That so.” Valeryn clamped down on Abel’s shoulder.

  “Just offering a little friendly advice for when she’s in port, is all.”

  “What a thoughtful thing to do.”

  “Aye, bad men be there and I was stressin’ the dangers to the girl.” Abel winced under the pain of Valeryn’s grip digging into an open lash wound.

  “Drop the gully, boy.”

  The knife clattered to the floor.

  “I have the pleasure in saying Captain Drake will be very upset to hear of this. You see, he doesn’t accept threats of any kind against a woman, most certainly a physical one.”

  “I weren’t makin’ a physical threat,” Abel replied.

  “Tut! I’ll have no lying!”

  Valeryn’s fingers pitted into Abel’s injury. The mean-spirited knave whimpered.

  He leaned close to whisper in Abel’s ear, but Gilly heard him just the same. “Any man making a threat to a lass, well, Drake sees to it the man suffers a Spanish’s torture, by inches. Have you ever seen a man hang by his bollocks?”

  She gasped. Valeryn looked up. Abel’s already distorted face under the duress of Valeryn’s grip squinted imagining the torture.

  “I have a threat of my own,” Valeryn added. “Henceforth, I don’t want to see your ugly mug for the rest of the voyage. When we reach New Providence, you make haste out of port and leave Nassau. You are not to come within a stone’s cast of Miss McCoy again. Do this or Drake’s wrath will smite you.”