The Ladys Pirate

by The lady's pirate (lit)

  "Isaac!"

  * * * *

  Hal drew in a deep breath of sea air. The wind billowed the sails and Spring Moon rode the sea as though she had wings.

  Feet braced apart, he felt the lifeblood of the ship beneath him, almost like riding a good horse, when rider and mount become one, every movement in perfect alignment, harmony. Spring Moon was like that, too, riding the waves as she'd been meant to. In harmony with her world as her namesake was no longer able to be.

  Except for her unwilling passenger, Spring Moon was in fine fit.

  A tug at his elbow interrupted his enjoyment of the moment. Hal glanced down to see Isaac standing at his side. He sighed. From the look in the boy's eyes, he could tell the source of the summons.

  "The lady wishes to speak with me?" he asked.

  Isaac nodded and gave Hal a sympathetic pat on the back before running off to other chores. Somewhat envious of the boy's life right at this moment, Hal called over a hand to take the wheel before heading down below to wait upon Lady Greymere.

  As he took the steps below decks, Hal hoped the gentle lady he'd met on the road had returned. He didn't wish to deal again with the petulant child from this morning.

  Even as his thought formed, though, he chided himself for being too judgmental. She had a right to be angry. He'd forced her to come along-not that he'd admit to being wrong about that-but he could understand her anger. If only she could see his position. If only he could only tell her his reasons for doing what he had.

  He wouldn't. He knew that. The story lived inside his soul, examined every day of his life. He could recite the details, but he would not burden Elspeth with the horror. It was going to be bad enough when her husband arrived.

  He stopped before the door to his cabin, forcing himself to the unusual act of knocking.

  "Come in, Captain Merritt."

  The voice was that of the petulant child. Hal steeled himself, no more dodging from her presence before they had it out. He opened the door and stepped into his cabin.

  "You craved my attention, ma'am?"

  Her expression hardened. Where had she learned such control?

  "I crave nothing from you except-"

  "Return to England, I know."

  "At this point, any dry land under English control will serve, sir."

  "I explained this to you, my lady."

  "You have explained why you would not. Now let me explain something."

  She pulled her dressing gown around her, which, far from covering her from his appreciative gaze, only outlined her body more completely. One regal movement indicated the trunk.

  "I cannot wear these clothes. I require decent apparel."

  "What's wrong with the clothes?" he asked.

  She pulled a gauzy bodice from the trunk. "I can't wear this. It's indecent. And there are no... undergarments at all."

  "I'm afraid this is all there is. You'll have to find something in the trunk you can wear or you'll be in that dressing gown until we land in Jamaica."

  As he'd hoped, she pulled the dressing gown tighter.

  "That reply is insufficient, sir."

  "It's the only one I have, my lady."

  "How long before we reach Jamaica?"

  Hal had to force his mind off the curves beneath the delicate silk dressing gown.

  "We're making good time so far. If the wind holds we should arrive in no more than a few weeks."

  "Weeks?" Her voice weakened as she spoke the word. "Yes, I suppose it will be weeks, won't it?"

  "So, my lady, will you remain in this cabin for the entire voyage, or will you take advantage of such hospitality as I am able to offer and select some clothing so you may more fully enjoy the adventure?"

  For a moment she glanced at him, but cut away her attention to the wall behind him. He followed her gaze and saw the object which she studied. The painting of a plantation scene he'd picked up in a market in Spanish Town.

  "I am to dress as a common woman?" she asked.

  "I promise you, clothing could never render you common." Hal snapped his lips shut.

  Lady Greymere turned her jade gaze to him. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?" Her countenance showed no sense of humor.

  "It is a truth."

  She was an uncommon woman, a woman of courage, honor, with a sense of duty and responsibility. She was also young, and he realized she must be afraid. The idea shook him that she should feel fear while in his care.

  Meaning to reassure her, he blurted out, "Lady Greymere, I swear, I won't permit you to come to harm."

  "I have already come to great harm, Captain Merritt."

  "How?"

  "Your taking me and bringing me on this damned ship!" She gasped a breath and took hold of herself. In a more controlled tone she explained, "Your first mate says there are no other women?"

  Hal nodded, not understanding where she was headed.

  "Then my reputation is ruined, sir. Even if I receive my divorce, which is even less a possibility than before, I shall never marry again. No man of my class will have me now, even with all my fortune."

  Trying to make her feel better, Hal said, "I think you underestimate yourself-"

  "I do not underestimate myself. Nor do I underestimate the power of society to ostracize me." She sat on the bunk, wrapping her arms around herself, her whole appearance that of a lost waif. "I assure you, sir, you have ruined me. So it matters not whether you return me to England or sell me to a brothel. The result is the same. I will be considered a whore. I have failed my family and my people."

  Hal absorbed her words, only half believing them.

  "Your step-father told me the Queen is your friend. Can't she help you?"

  She laughed, but there was no humor in the sound.

  "I would not involve Her Majesty in this disaster."

  Remorse settled in his gut. "I'm sorry, Lady Greymere. I only did what seemed right at the time."

  She snorted this time, very unladylike, but made no other response.

  "If I could I would take you home now."

  Her gaze met his finally.

  "And you've already explained why you will not. So, we arrive at the real reason for my abduction. Not to protect me but so you would have bait to draw my husband to your preferred field of battle."

  "Must we go over this again?"

  "No, it serves no purpose." Taking a look at the trunk, she said, "Then I dress like a whore or I must stay in here?"

  "It's your choice, Countess. You may dress in these common clothes or you may promenade the decks in your dressing gown. I haven't locked you in here." He reached into the trunk and pulled out the green bodice and a full skirt. "I assure you, these are perfectly decent articles of clothing."

  "Do English ladies wear such clothing?"

  "No, not usually," he admitted. "But there are some sensible ladies who realize the tropics require some adaptation in their wardrobe."

  She didn't answer that. It seemed the audience was at an end. Hal bowed and turned to leave her alone to make her decision.

  "Captain." Her call seemed a question more than a command.

  "Yes, ma'am?" Hal turned back to her.

  "Did you mean it when you said you would allow no harm to come to me?"

  "I did. Though I suppose I was only thinking of physical harm. I hadn't considered what the current situation would do to your good name and I am sorry."

  She nodded, accepting his apology. "If I ask you a question, will you answer me honestly?"

  "Yes, my lady, I will."

  "Why am I here on your ship?"

  He owed her an honest answer, so he didn't blurt out what he wanted her to hear. Delving through his memory, back to the night he tossed her over his shoulder and carried her away from all she knew and into his own world, he searched for his reason. There seemed to be several possibilities-revenge, a lust for justice foremost in his mind-but he knew now that he cared for the lady. Desire mixed with fear for her had been his greatest motivator. At leas
t he could give her that.

  "Sir? Must you create an answer?"

  Forced to speak, Hal said, "I only mean to give you the truth and I had to ensure I knew what it was myself."

  "And have you determined what your reason was for bringing me here?"

  "Yes. I brought you here to protect you."

  "Not to ransom me later?"

  "No."

  "Not to draw my husband to Jamaica?"

  Hal felt his face burn. "I only said that in anger. Again I apologize. No, that wasn't my reason. I swear you're here only because I truly believe your life is in danger."

  Silence lingered between them. They stared at each other for a long moment. Hal felt the weight of the silence and noticed she held her broken hand to her chest. Another mark against him. He'd not even asked about her comfort.

  "Here," he said to break the ponderous silence, "let me take a look at your hand."

  "It's fine," she said.

  He heard the words, but he also saw her mouth draw in a tight line and saw the pain in her eyes.

  "Please," he said, "let me do what I can to make it better." He pulled out a chair and waited behind it until she sat down. "Lay it here on the table so I can unwrap it." He gently untied the bandage holding the splint, moving the broken limb as little as possible.

  She never made a sound.

  "Are you a quick healer?" he asked.

  "I don't know. I've never been injured like this before."

  Her words were a knife twisted in his chest. "You never fell from a pony or jumped off the chicken coop trying to fly?"

  Her smile became real. "I never fell from my pony. I must have had a tremendously good riding master. And it never occurred to me to go to the chicken coop. Though I did once try to fly from a table at a birthday party." She was silent for a few moments as Hal continued to unwind her. "Did you ever try to fly, Captain Merritt?"

  He raised his gaze to meet hers. "Hal." He waited for her to repeat his name.

  "Did you ever try to fly from the top of the chicken coop, Hal?"

  The sound of his short, plain name from her lips thrilled him more than the sweetest poetry.

  "Actually, I did try to fly once. But it wasn't from the top of a chicken coop."

  He pulled back the bandages and frowned. The broken bone seemed to still be set straight. He pressed his fingers along the break. She drew in a breath, but made no other sound as he probed.

  "It looks fine, my lady." He re-wrapped her arm, talking to take her mind off her injury. "Let's see, I was ten, I believe. My grandfather told me about the place where a Cherokee warrior took his sweetheart. It's in the mountains. Such a beautiful place. Cool, clean breezes sweep up the sides of the mountains, kissing the trees, carrying the scents of the forest up to the top. This warrior was from another tribe and the girl's father refused his permission for them to marry. Rather than be separated from her lover, the girl went to a high cliff and leapt to her death."

  "How sad." Her words forced him to look up at her. Her face was perfectly serious.

  "But, the Great Spirit took pity on her and caught her with his breath and she flew up the side again to her lover's waiting arms."

  "Ah, a happy ending."

  "So," he said as he finished tying her arm tight, "I went up there and, sure enough, there was a strong breeze flowing like a river up the side of that mountain. So I leaned over and got ready to leap out for the Great Spirit to catch me."

  She gasped. "You jumped off a cliff?"

  "No. I fell. Right under the cliff there's a shelf, no more than a couple of yards wide. That's how the Great Spirit decided to catch me."

  "Too bad. Not much romance in that story."

  They shared a smile. "Your arm looks fine. It'll ache pretty bad for a week or two, but the pain will subside. I can have the cook bring you some laudanum."

  "No. I don't want that." More calmly she added, "I'll have some willow bark tea if it isn't too much trouble."

  "None at all," Hal said, "I'll send him with it right away. Just keep your arm as still as possible and you'll be good as new by the time we get to Jamaica."

  "I didn't ask earlier how many weeks it will be?"

  "Four, if we have a good wind."

  A sigh greeted his words. "Well, if that's what it takes," she said with a shrug.

  It seemed they'd made peace. Hal was glad for that and now it seemed time for him to go, so he turned and headed for the door.

  "Captain. Hal." When he turned back to her, she rose and took a couple of steps toward him. "Thank you."

  He made a little bow and left.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Elspeth stared at the closed door for some time before she drew a huge sigh and turned back to the trunk. Her arm ached, just as Hal had promised it would, making her wonder if it wouldn't be all right to have just a little bit of laudanum to help.

  "No, no. None of that, Elspeth." She settled herself on the floor by the trunk and raised the lid. "Well, let's see what the Captain has in his trunk."

  Using her good hand, Elspeth dug through the clothes. Some were too small, probably made for a child, a discovery which raised a whole new set of questions. At the bottom of the trunk were bodices and pleated skirts and below them a yellowed shift and a half-corset.

  Satisfied she'd found the best the Captain had to offer, she got up from the floor and undressed. Her progress was slow, owing to having to do the job one-handed, but she finally managed to get out of her slept-in dressing gown.

  There was no way she could manage the corset with one hand, so she settled for struggling into the shift. Then she pulled a green silk bodice over her head. The cool material kissed her skin, sinfully light after the heavier clothes she was used to.

  The satin skirt of blue fell in full pleats around her. She was able to tie the tapes after a minute of fumbling.

  "Well," she said, catching her breath, "let's see."

  Truth be told, she was a bit afraid to look into the mirror. Her arms were bare to the shoulder and the neckline of the bodice dipped across her bosom. Yet her usual evening wear was more revealing, so why did she feel almost naked?

  Finally she braved the mirror. Her breath caught in her throat. Was the brazen woman in the mirror really herself? Reflected in the glass she could see the bodice was not only green, but the brilliant shade of emeralds which brought a richer color to her eyes. Her carefully parted and styled hair certainly didn't fit the rest of her appearance.

  On a whim, she pulled out the pins, letting the braids from Patsy's last creation fall over her shoulders and down her back. A brush lay on the dressing table. She couldn't remember ever brushing her own hair. Either her mother or Patsy had always done the service for her.

  She set the bristles to her head and pulled.

  "Ow."

  The adventurous night before had left tangles behind. Patsy never pulled her hair when she brushed it. Elspeth thought of how her maid would take her hair and gently brush out all the tangles, working through one section at a time. She tried this tack but her wrist kept her from being as careful as Patsy. She settled for forcing the brush, ripping and tearing her hair.

  Her struggles were soon rewarded and the brush flew more easily, making her hair shine, reddish lights glinting in the filtered sunshine.

  A knock at the door made her look up.

  "Yes, come in."

  A man stuck his head around the door. "Cap'n bid me fetch you a cup of willow bark tea."

  "Thank you." Elspeth rose from the chair at the dressing table and approached the man.

  "You the Cap'n's doxy?"

  "Pardon me?"

  "I say, is you the Cap'n's doxy?"

  My God, was that the story going around the ship? She knew she could have stayed in her dressing gown. She'd never leave the cabin now.

  "No. I am not. How dare you ask such a presumptuous question?"

  The man set a steaming cup on the small table and scratched his chin.

  "Seemed a re
asonable question, Miss. You be in the Cap'n's cabin, 'n all." He squinted his wrinkled face. "Redhead. You virgin still or has Cap'n took care o'that?"

  Her mouth opened, but Elspeth had absolutely no words to reply to the outrageous question.

  "Never mind, girl. Don't make no difference now." The man turned and left her alone.

  Elspeth snapped her mouth shut.

  What a strange man. Then she thought of what he'd said.

  A redhead? Was she really? She turned toward the glass and studied her hair. It did have some red in it, but she'd always thought her hair just plain brown. After all, red was such a common color. Loose women and actresses had red hair.

  She saw a smile bloom on her face and let it flower. In her unconventional attire and her, yes, red hair, flaming around her head, Elspeth suddenly saw a woman with possibilities. Perhaps in the mirror was a woman who could face Society's condemnation and survive.

  "Jamaica," she whispered to herself. Countess Greymere had property there, property neither she nor her father had ever seen.

  It had long been her desire to be an active manager of her own wealth. Soon she would have her chance.

  Her gaze fell upon the cup of tea cooling on the table. With a new sense of mission, she raised it in a toast to the strange woman in the mirror and smiled as that woman returned the toast. She drained her cup to seal the deal.

  Now, how to entertain herself for the long voyage? Ladies usually traveled with a maid or a companion who would read aloud or converse or play cards or in other ways make the time pass more quickly. Another realization crushed her in a quiet avalanche.

  She had never really been alone. Now, even though she could hear the footfalls of the crew she realized she was quite alone.

  She walked around the small cabin, which seemed even smaller with each circuit. How she missed Patsy. Patsy never seemed to be at a loss for occupation. With a huff, she flopped onto the bed and immediately regretted it when her wrist shot out a pain to remind her to be careful.

  Elspeth clasped her hands in her lap, suddenly realizing how adrift she was. Accounts and reports from her far-flung interests had taken much of her time before and social obligations filled what was left. The constant activity of her life had made it possible to survive her disastrous marriage, but now, without her steward, solicitors, servants-especially faithful Patsy-she was alone. And quite useless.