by Shana Galen
beside the deck rail. Once she and Percy were away,
they’d haul the rigging back on board and secure
it. “After one hour, I row back and tell your father
Cutlass has kidnapped you. I don’t have to tell you
what will happen then.”
“You’ll be flogged and court-martialed for helping me.”
He shook his head. “That will be later—after your
father blows the Shadow out of the water.”
“I’m not going to allow anything to happen to you,
Percy,” Raeven assured him. “I’ll be on and off in less
than an hour. And then I promise the next time we go
ashore, I’ll buy you an expensive dinner with two—no
three—bottles of the best wine.”
He gave her a wan smile. “I know you will.”
Two hours later, Raeven stood on the deck of the
Shadow, cold and dripping. She wished she could towel
off so she didn’t leave a trail of water in her wake, but
most likely all but the watch were asleep. And the watch
would not be looking for wet footprints on the deck.
She’d climbed up the anchor cable in the bow of
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the ship, and now she made her way through the
shadows toward the stern, where Cutlass’s cabin was
located. The Shadow was a much smaller vessel than
the Regal, which meant she’d reach the stern faster. It
also meant she had fewer places to hide. But by the
time she reached the mizzenmast, she thought she was
doing rather well.
Until the bearded corsair stepped in front of her.
“Who the hell are you?” he asked in French.
She glanced at his hand and saw the glint of steel.
Her heart hitched, and her fingers itched to wrap
around her own dagger. “I’m not feeling well,” she
answered, lowering her voice and keeping her head
ducked. She wore a cap and hoped that, in addition to
concealing her long hair, it put her face in shadow. “I
needed some air.”
“You must have needed a swim. I saw you climb
up the anchor cable.”
She reached for her dagger, but he was too quick.
He caught her arm, twisted it behind her back, and
marched her forward. “I’m taking you to the captain.
He can decide whether we hang you or throw you
over the side with a rock tied to your feet. And that’s
after we sink that boat you rowed in on.”
Devil take it! The man had seen everything. She
had to think of a way to warn Percy he was in danger.
But the corsair was dragging her down a ladderway,
his grip rough and punishing. She didn’t think Cutlass
was going to be amused she’d sneaked aboard his ship.
She didn’t know him well enough to guess what he’d
do—take her prisoner? Send her back to her father?
Kiss her?
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Shana Galen
She shook her head to clear it. Why did she always
circle back to kissing him?
She had to think of Percy now. Cutlass would be
even less forgiving of the Regal’s purser.
So she would have to be certain he never knew
about him. In a deliberate move, she tripped and
allowed her cap to fall from her head. Her hair was
secured on her head, but she shook it free and raised
her head to give her captor what she hoped was a
feminine look of fear.
“What the…?”
He was distracted long enough for her to stomp on
his foot. When he bent over, she kneed him in the
groin. He went down on his knees, and she pushed
him on his face, shoving her knee in the back of his
neck. She had a length of rope secured to her belt in
case she needed it, and she used it to quickly tie his
hands. She shoved a handkerchief she found in his
pocket into his mouth.
The man was too large for her to drag out of the
companionway, even if she knew where to hide him.
Even now, someone might be coming to investigate
the noise of their struggle. So she took his dagger and
ran along the companionway. At the first ladderway,
she started up, intending to go directly overboard,
swim back to Percy, and return to the Regal. But she
heard voices above and turned back.
For three racing heartbeats, she stood undecided, and
then she knew what she would have to do. She knew
how she could get her sword and return to Percy safely.
“Fire in the galley!” she screamed. “All hands on
deck! Fire in the galley.” She shoved her cap back on
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her head and continued to call her warning as she ran
for the stern and the great cabin. Men were swarming
up from the lower decks now, and she had to shove
through them. They’d picked up her cry of distress and
paid her no heed as they raced for the bow and the
burning galley. If they wondered why one of their own
raced for the stern, they didn’t stop to question him.
A few moments later, the deck was empty and she
recognized the great cabin’s door. It would no doubt
be empty. A fire on board was no trifling matter, and
Cutlass would have gone personally to oversee the
efforts to extinguish the galley fire. Still, she only had
a moment before the crew realized there was no fire,
found the bound corsair—if they hadn’t already—and
started putting the pieces together.
She reached for the door and found it locked. She’d
picked the lock once before, and quickly extracted
a pin from her wet, tangled hair. She remembered
the lock mechanism and thought she could disable it
within seconds. She inserted the pin and turned right,
then left, then harder left…
The door opened, and she stumbled, all but falling
inside.
She saw black boots that rose to a knee covered in
black trousers. Above that were muscular thighs, slim
hips, and a white shirt, untucked. The sleeves were
rolled up, showing tanned, corded wrists and forearms.
The linen was open at the throat, and she swallowed
at the bronze skin visible in the vee. Above that was a
strong chin, a slash of a mouth, and hard, cobalt eyes.
“Good evening, Miss Russell,” Cutlass said. “I’ve
been expecting you.”
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Eight
She looked like a wet rat. Her dark hair hung in
her eyes and around her shoulders. Her black shirt was
too big for her and made her look small and sunken.
Somewhere in there was the voluptuous body Bastien
had seen at the pasha’s ball. But kneeling before him
in a puddle of water, she looked very little like the
beautiful woman who’d claimed every man’s attention
when she’d entered the ballroom.
Except the eyes. T
hose emerald eyes, now wide
with surprise and shock, were the same. And even
the shocked look was quickly replaced by anger. He
almost laughed. What did she have to be angry about?
The disruption of her plans, no doubt.
He reached out, offered his hand. “Please come in.
You must be cold. I’ll fetch you a towel.”
She didn’t move, and he looked up when he heard
footsteps in the companionway. “Mr. Ridley,” he said
before his bosun could speak. “I gather there is no fire.”
“No, Cap’n. It were a ruse. You told us to expect one.”
The man must have wondered at the urchin on her
knees before him, but he didn’t even glance down.
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“Is the ship secure?”
“Yes, Cap’n. We found Jolivette bound and
gagged, but he’s unharmed.”
Bastien glanced down at his petite cabin girl.
Jolivette was easily a foot taller and a stone heavier than
she. “Give him a week in the brig for allowing her to
get by him.” The brig was little more than chaining
the man in the hold, but it served well enough.
“Yes, Cap’n. We’re bringing her accomplice in now.”
Bastien raised his brows. “Accomplice?” He looked
down at the girl, but she avoided his eyes. “Chain him
in the brig, as well. I’ll speak to him in the morning.”
“Yes, Cap’n.” Ridley nodded and started away then
paused. “Mr. Maine goin’ to want to give you a report.”
“Tell him I’ll send for him when I’m ready.” Bastien
leaned down and hauled his cabin girl up by her wet
shoulder. “Right now I want a few moments alone.”
“Yes, Cap’n.”
Bastien pulled the girl inside his cabin and closed
the door. He heard her gasp immediately and didn’t
have to look to know she was staring at his wall and
her sword on display.
“You bastard! You had it here all along.”
He gestured to it languidly. “Go ahead and take it.”
She blinked, and without waiting for a second offer,
crossed the room and snatched it off the wall. She
cradled it a moment, like it was an infant, and raised
her eyes to meet his. “That’s all I wanted. I didn’t
harm your man or your vessel.”
He crossed to his desk where a bottle of wine and
two goblets waited. “I wouldn’t have allowed you to
do so.”
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She bit her lip. “How did you know I was coming?”
He uncorked the wine and poured it. “There’s a
towel on the bed. You’re dripping on my rug.”
She seemed confused, opened her mouth to speak,
then closed it and gathered up the towel, pressing it
first to her face and hair, then quickly over her body.
He watched as she did so, noting the flatness of her
chest. She must have bound her breasts again.
When she was through, he held out a goblet. She
stared at it as though it might be poisoned. “Would
you like to change first? I have an assortment of
clothing in the trunk. A few gowns might fit you. But
then perhaps you’d rather borrow something of mine.
You seem to have a proclivity for dressing as a boy.”
He gave her legs a long perusal. “Not that I mind.”
“I-I’m not going to take off my clothes.”
Since she didn’t appear likely to take it, he set her
wine on the desk. “No? Then why are you here? And
don’t tell me it’s simply to retrieve your sword.”
She clamped her mouth closed.
“You could have had another sword made.”
She cocked her head to the side. “Why do you
think I’m here then?”
He shrugged, drank some wine. “Me.” He looked
pointedly at the large berth.
She laughed. “Oh, really? You have a rather high
opinion of yourself.”
He sat down behind the desk, lifted his glass to
examine the red wine in the candlelight. “You went
to a lot of trouble to see me again. Perhaps my arro-
gance isn’t entirely misplaced.” He gestured to the
untouched glass. “Have some wine.”
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She shook her head. “You can hardly expect me
to sit here drinking wine with you while you put my
friend in the brig. I want you to order your men to
release him and send him back to the Regal.”
“No.”
“No? You owe me, Cutlass. I saved you the
other night.”
Now it was his turn to laugh. “You saved me?”
He stood. “You got me shot, mademoiselle . And my
shoulder is doing much better, merci.”
“I didn’t ask you to challenge El Santo. You should
have run away when you had the chance.”
“I know.”
“You—” She stopped, obviously not expecting
him to agree. “So you would have left me to that
barbarian? You really do have no sense of honor.”
“I never claimed to. Is that the reason you’re drawn
to me?”
“I am not drawn to you. What you think of as affec-
tion is nothing more than a desire to see you dead.”
“Ah, that tired story.” He stood, brought the goblet
to her. “Drink this. You’re shivering.”
“I told you, I’m not going to sip wine while
my friend—”
“He’s fine. I’ll order my men to see he has a meal
and dry clothes. Will that suffice?”
“No. I want to be released. You can’t hold me
captive. I’m Admiral Russell’s daughter. When he
finds out I’m on board he’ll—”
He put a finger over her lips. “He’s not going
to find out you’re on board. He believes you’re fast
asleep in your cabin, does he not?”
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She didn’t have to answer. He could see the truth
of it in her eyes.
“And by the time he realizes you’re gone, it will
be too late.”
“What do you mean?”
He grinned, pushed the goblet into her cold hands,
and went to the door. “I’m going on deck. Change
into something dry while I’m gone. You’re still drip-
ping on my carpet.”
He opened the door, stepped outside, and shut it
on her curse.
Raeven waited exactly two minutes before she went to
the door. He’d left it unlocked, and when she opened
it, she saw why. He had a guard posted outside. The
man was bare-chested but for a long, gold chain. In his
hand he held a sharp dagger. He was in the process of
cleaning his fingernails with the tip when she opened
the door, but he paused to grin at her, showing two
gold teeth. Before she shut the door again, she noted
he also had a pistol
and a cutlass at his belt.
She was definitely in trouble. Percy, too. Oh, why
hadn’t she listened to him? But now wasn’t the time to
bemoan her choices. Now was the time for action. She
had to figure a way to get her and Percy off this ship.
She paced back and forth, formulating and dismissing
half a dozen ideas. Finally, she paused. She was indeed
shivering and cold in her wet clothes. She couldn’t
think when she was last so cold. Or thirsty. Telling
herself she was drinking only to ward off the chill, she
sipped the wine.
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Not surprisingly, it was good wine.
She took another sip then opened the trunk he’d
indicated earlier. His clothes were neatly folded and
organized, and she thought immediately of her own
haphazard trunk. She could never find anything in
it because she always pawed through the items and
didn’t bother to restore the contents to rights.
But Cutlass’s shirts and breeches were neatly pressed
and folded. She imagined the wardrobe against the
wall held his coats and boots. They were probably
similarly arranged. Below the neat stack of his clothing
peeked something silky and feminine. She tossed his
clothing onto the floor, knowing it would annoy him,
and pulled out the rose-colored gown. Below it was
another in a vibrant shade of blue. And below that a
gown in white…
The man obviously did not lack for female compan-
ions. But did the women leave naked, or did he buy
gowns with the expectation of meeting women who
would need them?
She shoved the gowns back into the trunk and
reached for one of his shirts. As a rule, she was more
comfortable in male dress, and she did not want to
draw attention to her femaleness on board the ship.
But even as she lifted the fine linen, she realized her
mistake. She remembered the warm way Cutlass had
looked at her at the pasha’s ball. She might have more
sway over him dressed in a gown than a baggy shirt.
Ten minutes later, she glanced in the large mirror
secured to the far wall. The rose-colored gown was
sweet and pretty with long white sleeves and a delicate
trim of narrow lace at the hem. But there the sweetness
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ended. It was made for a woman taller and slimmer
than she. The skirts dragged and the bodice was too
