“Merde! Do not dare set us adrift, you son of a whore. I demand you release me and my crew immediatment.” The man’s face darkened as he strained against the ropes. “You’ll regret this, salaud. I swear it. You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”
“Neither do you, cher Capitaine,” Jake replied. “As for being adrift, you’ll notice the knot in your bonds is within reach of your filthy French mouth. It shouldn’t take you too long to gnaw yourself free and limp back to port.”
He raised his blade in mock salute, leapt onto the deck rail, and cleared the narrow space between ships in a single bound.
“Cut the lady loose,” he shouted with some regret, sheathing his blade as he made for the helm. From there he watched as the two ships parted like lovers after a midnight tryst. Jake patted Padre’s shoulder. “Let’s take the lady home, my friend. Steady as she goes.”
The man gave an affirming nod. “Her arse is a wee bit lower in the water than it was an hour ago. Been a grand night for plunder.”
“That it has.” Jake scratched his beard and gazed across the empty waves. “A good haul.”
Padre sniffed. “Still got yer feeling, eh?”
“Aye.”
“Lots of night left. Perhaps whatever it is has yet to happen.”
“Or perhaps it’s just indigestion,” Jake replied, squinting up at the main mast. “Who’s in the crow’s nest?”
“Fez, Cap’n.”
“Good. Make sure he stays awake. I’ll be in my quarters if you need me.”
Jake entered his cabin, lit the lantern and threw his hat on his bunk. It had been a good night. Easy. Maybe too easy. Damnation. Why did he feel so unsettled? He shrugged off his jacket and began to remove his eyepatch as a knock came to his door.
“Come,” he called, and the door opened to reveal Fingal on the threshold. The man stepped forward, cleared his throat, and rubbed the back of his neck.
“Er, afraid we ‘ave a bit of a problem, Cap’n. With the booty, like.”
Jake frowned. “What kind of problem?”
The man grimaced. “Y’ain’t gonna like it.”
The frown deepened. “What kind of problem, Fingal?”
“Well, it, er… it seems the Frenchie had a stowaway, Cap’n.”
“A stowaway.”
“Aye,” Fingal replied. “A stowaway who is now, um, on board the Queen.”
Jake folded his arms. “And just how, pray tell, did he manage that?”
“By, um, hidin’ in one of the trunks.” Fingal cleared his throat again. “We didn’t have time to check ‘em all. Thing is, though—”
“Shite. Then he’s a dead man. Where is he now?”
Fingal gestured over his shoulder. “Outside with Wally. But Cap’n, he ain’t—”
“Shite,” Jake said again as he straightened his eyepatch. “Bring him in.”
“Well, that’s just it, Cap’n.” Fingal’s left eyelid suddenly developed a rapid tic. “See, the stowaway ain’t a him. It’s a her.”
Now, Jake truly liked women. He liked them in his lap. He liked them in his arms. He especially liked them naked on top of him or moving beneath him. Over the years, he’d bedded hundreds of lasses in ports all over the known world. Aye, without a doubt, Jake truly liked women.
Just not on his ship. They were way too distracting and nothing but trouble. Maybe he’d misunderstood.
“A female?”
“Aye, Cap’n.” Fingal rubbed at his twitching eye. “She definitely has female parts.”
“There’s a bloody female on my ship,” Jake said, it being an affirmation more than a question.
“Aye, Cap’n.”
“Curse my gut,” Jake muttered.
“Beg pardon, Cap’n?”
Jake shook his head. “Never mind. Bring the wench in, sailor.”
Fingal gave a nod and disappeared, only to return a moment later with a wildcat struggling at the end of his huge right arm.
“Let go of me, you bloody great ox,” she said, through gritted teeth, her free hand tearing at Fingal’s fingers that were wrapped around her other arm. “You’re hurting me. Let—”
“Here she is, Cap’n.” Fingal pulled the woman around in front of him. “Bonny to look at but a bit of a muck-spout. Ain’t got no couth at all.”
“Pah!” the woman spat, still struggling. “You wouldn’t recognize couth if it bit you in the bollocks.” She fixed a furious glare on Jake. “Are you the captain of this antiquated bucket? I demand you see me safely to shore immediately.”
“Like I said, Cap’n.” Fingal sniffed. “No couth.”
Jake regarded the lass, his initial anger dampened by a surge of raw male interest. Even in the shadows, the woman’s exquisite physical attributes were obvious.
He raised his chin a notch. “What’s your name?”
She raised hers too. “Go to Hell.”
Fingal gave her a shake. “Oy, watch yer mouth.”
“Bring her closer,” Jake said. “I want to see her.”
Fingal stepped forward and thrust the woman into the lamplight, although not without another struggle.
“Are ye this lively ’tween the sheets, lass?” Fingal asked, his lips close to her ear. “Got a cannon in me trews from thinkin’ about it. Got a couple o’ hefty cannon balls to go with it an’ all.”
“You’re disgusting,” the woman said, but her struggles ceased.
Jake folded his arms, perched his buttocks on the edge of his desk, and scrutinized his uninvited visitor. Though dishevelled, the wench was a fine beauty, with sweet features and alluring curves. Waves of auburn hair tumbled in a thick, turbulent mass around her shoulders, falling almost to her hips. And her eyes, currently hurling daggers his way, were as dark as the ocean at midnight.
Yet beneath their tempestuous glare there lay a glimmer of fear, one that implied the lass wasn’t nearly as cocksure as she seemed. And, to his growing puzzlement, she was obviously no backstreet doxy either. Her clothes were rumpled and dirty, but of good quality. Her mouth spewed filth, but the lass possessed an eloquence she failed to hide, a way of enunciating that implied education. Nay, no doxy this, but a lady of some intelligence and good breeding.
Stowed away on a French merchant ship.
Why?
The mystery of her had already aroused Jake’s curiosity. His scrutiny continued till it came back to her face, specifically the bruised swelling circling her right eye. Jake raised a brow and looked at Fingal.
Understanding the unspoken question, the man shook his head. “Nay, Cap’n. The wench was already marked when we found her.”
Relieved none of his men had been responsible, Jake shifted his focus back to his petulant passenger.
“Let her go, Fingal,” Jake said.
“Are ye sure, Cap’n? She’s a wildcat.”
“Yes, but I’m sure she understands that her foolish bravado serves no purpose.” Jake gave the woman a grave smile. “She cannot possibly dispatch our entire crew and take over this… what did she call my ship? An antiquated bucket?” Gratified to see an expression of indignation flit across the woman’s face, he chuckled. “Let her go. I doubt she’s stupid enough to try anything.”
With a grunt, Fingal released the woman and took a step back.
“Bastard.” The woman threw a defiant glance at Fingal and rubbed the spot on her arm where he’d held her. Then she aimed her mutinous glare at Jake. “I insist you return me to France forthwith.”
Jake blinked. “To France? After you stowed away on a ship bound for England? Why on earth would you wish to return to France?”
Her subsequent look of dismay lasted only a moment, long enough to tell Jake she’d realized her mistake. Her expression softened as did her voice. “Please, Captain,” she said, fluttering her eyelashes as her lips formed a sweet little pout. “’Twas a foolish venture, one taken upon without much aforethought. I… I have family in France and would really rather be returned to them. I’d be happy to compensate yo
u for the trouble.”
“Would you, indeed.” Once more, Jake’s gaze swept over her, purposely lingering on her rather splendid cleavage, which rose and fell like the soft swell of the ocean. “And how do you propose to do that?”
Color flared in her cheeks. “Financially, of course,” she said. “My family is not without means. I’m sure they’ll be willing to—” The same look of dismay came and went. “That is, they’ll give you whatever they can, as long as it’s not unreasonable.”
A second blunder. The silly lass had just admitted to the captain of a pirate ship that she came from wealth. Maybe even nobility. Whichever the case, the mystery surrounding her continued to deepen and add weight to Jake’s curiosity. There were aspects of her story that did not add up. Her claiming to be a stowaway for one thing.
The bruise on her face had obviously been put there by someone’s fist, nor was it the only sign of mistreatment. The lass had also been bound recently, the ligature marks on her wrists faint, but still noticeable. A captive, then. But why would she wish to hide the fact?
Jake remembered the puzzled expression he’d seen on the French captain’s face.
“Was the door to the French cargo hold locked, Fingal?” he asked, dropping easily into his mother’s native Irish lingo.
Fingal nodded. “Aye, Cap’n. ‘Twas padlocked. Didn’t delay us much, though.”
“Hmm.” Jake scratched at his beard and switched back to English. “You can leave us. Rustle up some sustenance for our esteemed guest, though, will you?”
The man gave Jake a wink. “Aye, Cap’n.”
“I’m not hungry. And that man is a brute.” The woman rubbed her arm again as Fingal closed the door.
Jake said nothing. If Fingal had marked the lass, it had not been done in malice. The crew of the Vagabond Queen ravaged the seas and plundered only the ships thereon. Jake did not hold with the abuse of women and would not tolerate such behavior from his crew.
His intriguing guest didn’t need to know that right now, however. The lass’s presence on board still irked, but he had a feeling she presented an opportunity. A chance to profit from this unforeseen consequence.
“Who struck you?” he asked,
“No one,” she answered, a little too quickly. “It… it was dark in the hold, and I bumped into the wall.”
A lie.
“Ah,” he said, nodding in feigned acceptance. “That would explain it.”
She shifted on her feet. “I want to know what you intend to do with me.”
“Well now, mo chailín, that depends.” He wandered over to his cabinet and set up two small glass beakers, filling each from a bottle of amber liquid. “How about we discuss your fate over a drink? Uisce beatha. The water of life and Ireland’s finest. It’ll light a fire in your soul.”
And it’ll also loosen your tongue, with a bit of luck.
The woman looked dubious. “I’m not sure I want a fire in my soul.”
“Ah, come on, lass. It’s barely a mouthful.” He offered her the drink. “It’ll calm your nerves.”
“My nerves are fine,” she said, but took the offering, albeit hesitantly.
Jake raised his glass. “Sláinte,” he said, and threw the whiskey down his throat.
The woman took a tentative sip, grimaced, and then took another. “I demand to know what you intend to do with me.”
Jake gave her a brief, sardonic grin. “You’re in no position to make demands, lass. I’m granting you some leniency because you’re a woman, otherwise you’d have been tossed overboard already. And the likelihood of that happening has not been ruled out, by the way.”
Her eyes widened. “You wouldn’t dare,” she said, and took another drink. More of a gulp, this time.
“I suggest you don’t put it to the test.” He cocked his head. “What’s your name?”
It stumbled clumsily from her lips. “Maria.”
“Your full name.”
Her mouth opened, closed, and then opened again. “Um, Maria Elizabeth Brookes.”
Jake felt equal measures of impatience and amusement. The woman was an atrocious liar.
“Brookes? Not very French, is it?”
“My father was English.”
“Was?”
“He’s dead.”
“Ah. My condolences. So, what awaits you in England?”
“Nothing. I told you, didn’t I?” She drained her drink. “It was… it was all a misunderstanding.”
“Where did the ship sail from?”
“Um, Cherbourg.”
Her hesitation implied another lie.
“So, let me understand what you’re telling me.” Jake topped up her glass again. “You mistakenly stowed away on a French ship heading for England.”
“Yes. Well, no. I changed my mind once we set sail, so if you could return me to France, I’d be very grateful.” She eyed her drink for a moment, and then took another swig. “As I already mentioned, my family will pay whatever they can, but I would ask that you not be unreasonable.”
“What if ‘whatever they can’ is not enough?” He softened the tone of his voice. “Might you be willing to personally enhance the compensation a little?”
A guarded expression shadowed her face. “That… that depends on what you mean by personally enhance.”
His gaze settled on her cleavage again. “A couple of things come to mind.”
She blinked and swallowed more whiskey. “I hope you’re not daring to suggest that I sleep with you.”
“No, mo chroí,” he said. “Sleeping with me is not what I’m suggesting at all.”
“Then what—?”
A knock came to the door. “Come,” Jake called, and Scouse, the ship’s cook, wandered in and placed a platter on the table.
“For our esteemed guest, Cap’n,” Scouse said, giving the woman a blatant and appreciative once-over. “As requested.”
Jake nodded his thanks and waited till the door closed again. “Please sit, Maria,” he said, pulling a chair out, “and help yourself.”
“One minute you threaten to throw me overboard.” She dropped into the chair and simultaneously downed her whiskey. “And the next you ply me with food and drink. It won’t work, you know.”
“It won’t?”
“No. I’m not that stupid.”
Jake took the chair opposite. “To what are you referring?”
“To whatever bloody game it is you’re playing.” She hiccupped. “’Scuse me. By the way, has anyone ever told you that you don’t speak like a pirate?”
“Not until now.” Jake only filled her glass half-way this time. The lass’s eyes had already begun to acquire a certain glaze. He wanted her complaisant, not unconscious. “Tell me, how should a pirate speak?”
“Well, more, um, rough, I suppose.” Without further hesitation, she tipped the whiskey down her throat like a practiced tavern wench. “You know, common. Like… like your crew.”
Jake coughed to hide his laughter. It surprised him to realize he was enjoying himself. The lass was amusing. Arousing too. “Common, ye say? Aye, well, ye see, mo chailín álainn, I can speak that way if ye wish.” Jake tipped his chair back and stuck his thumbs in his belt. “There now. Is that more to yer likin’?”
“No, actually. It doesn’t shu… suit you.” She frowned at her empty glass and then at Jake. “What happened to your eye?”
“Gouged out by a hot poker.” He leaned forward again and reached for his eye-patch. “Would you like to see the hole?”
“No! God, no. Thank you all the sh-same.” She hiccupped again, picked up a slice of cheese and nibbled on it. “Name your price, Captain. What will it take to return me to France?”
Jake’s gaze settled on the marks around the woman’s wrists. “Ten thousand gold livres.”
The faint roses in her cheeks vanished. “Are you mad?”
Jake smiled. It was, of course, an outrageous amount. “You asked for my price. I gave it to you.”
“But she�
� I mean, they can’t possibly pay that much.”
She?
He gestured to the platter. “Then enjoy your meal, lass. It looks as though it might be your last.”
“You…” Another hiccup interrupted her response. “You’re not serious.”
Jake shrugged. “I can assure you I am. This is a pirate ship, not a pleasure barge. You’re here because, according to your unlikely tale, you foolishly decided to stow away on a French merchant ship. And now you expect me to risk my life and the lives of my crew to deliver you back into enemy territory. The risk is high. Therefore, so is the price. If you cannot meet that price, you’re worthless to us. And what is worthless is discarded.”
“Discarded?”
He flashed her another brief smile. “Overboard.”
“My God.” Her lip trembled. “Only a bloody savage would do such a thing.”
“Yes, indeed.” Jake picked a grape from the platter and popped it into his mouth. “And there’s an entire crew of savages manning this ship. Unfortunately for you.”
The lass’s glazed expression spoke of both intoxication and fear. Her hands, atop the table, were tying themselves in knots as if they possessed a life of their own. Jake tussled with his conscience. Despite all appearances and a carefully cultivated reputation, he was not without a heart, especially when it came to women. But he knew, by grace of that same heart, that there was more to this woman’s tale. Much more. And he was beginning to resent her lies.
“You mentioned additional compensation earlier,” she said, a tremor in her voice. “Is my virtue worth something to you, then? I am untouched, but… but I will, um, lay with you, if you wish.
Jake sighed. “Ah, how you disappoint me, mo chroí.”
“What do you mean?”
He rose and moved to the stern window, seeing nothing but blackness beyond. The small panes of glass reflected the lamp-light at his back, and in one pane, the pale and beautiful face of a young woman. For an instant, the lass seemed unearthly, almost saintly. It was an oddly profound moment, one that seared itself into his memory. The potency of it shook him to the core, and he scowled into his glass. Maybe the whiskey had gone to his head as well.
Stolen by Starlight_A Pirates of Britannia World Novel Page 2
