“What now?” Katherine said, turning sideways to look up at him; he would not be able to put his arm around her so quickly from this position.
He looked down at her, a faint alarm going off in his mind. She was pulling something—but what? “Why, when they come aboard, we cover them with our guns and explain our urgent need for their ship.”
Suddenly she flung her arms up and wide and screamed a high piercing scream. Immediately he threw both arms around her and crushed her against his chest. The men in the boat looked disconcerted, but when Hampton patted her back and stroked her hair and bent his head solicitously toward hers, to all appearances comforting her, they only wondered curiously what had caused her to give way to hysterics and kept rowing. Helplessly Katherine struggled, but he had her arms pinioned to her sides and her body tight against his; painfully her face was pushed into his chest to muffle her.
“Damn you, I ought to break your neck,” he whispered into her ear. “Fortunately, they did not heed you. But, believe me, I’ll take care of you later.”
She gave up her struggles as futile. How did he always manage to get the best of her?
“Good girl,” he said, but he didn’t relax his hold.
Although she could not see, she could hear the steady slap of the oars, then a man calling, “Ahoy there! Identify yourself!”
“We have no name yet,” Hampton called, giving a fair imitation of a nasal New Englander’s twang. “We were taking her out for a trial run.”
Now she could hear them climbing up the rope ladder over the side of the ship. Those fools!
“Captain Sloane, the Susan Harper,” a man said, coming toward them across the wooden deck. There was the sound of more men coming over the side.
“Captain Hampton,” she heard him say above her head, his voice reverting to his Southern drawl. “C.S.N.”
There was a shocked silence and Hampton released her. She staggered back from him, red with anger, and whirled on the luckless clipper captain.
“You idiot!” she said furiously. “Why did you think I screamed? Just for the fun of it?”
The men from the clipper blinked at her, still stunned. Hampton chuckled. “Please, dearest, they are not used to your way of expressing yourself, as I am,” he said, amused.
“Oh, shut up.”
“What—what is going on here?” Sloane managed to ask.
“Oh, nothing,” Katherine said bitingly. “You have just been captured by a Rebel pirate, that’s all. A Rebel pirate who, by the way, happens to be sailing a fisherman that you could sail circles around, and who has no cannon, only a few handguns, and who—”
“Katherine, for heaven’s sake, calm down. Don’t berate the man so. After all,” he winked meaningfully, “he is not the only person I’ve tricked into coming aboard.”
“Oh, you—” she fumed helplessly.
“Now, Captain Sloane, I’m afraid you and these men are my prisoners. Moreover, we are about to get back in your boat and return to your ship, which your men will turn over to me.”
“Don’t count on it,” Sloane said stoutly.
“Well, for your sake, I hope they do.” He turned to the civilian. “And who, sir, are you?”
“Dr. Edward Rackingham. We thought perhaps your crew was ill.”
“Well, I am happy to have a doctor aboard. I certainly hope I don’t have to shoot you. Now, gentlemen, if we may proceed to your ship?”
Hampton climbed over the side and down to the longboat and held a pistol on the clipper crew as they got in. Then Peljo and two other men with guns and manacles climbed in also. Katherine watched them row across to the other ship. She had no doubt that he would succeed. Her only hope now was that the delay would be costly. She watched Hampton standing in the boat, his pistol at Sloane’s head, calling up his demand to the first mate. Apparently he won, for Peljo went scrambling up the side of the ship, then Mason, and they began putting the irons on the crew. Then Hampton and his hostages went on board, and Mason and the other Southerner rowed back for more men to search the other ship for hiding crew members and weapons.
Katherine and the prison guards were transported last, after Hampton was sure the clipper was completely subdued. Fighting for delay, she made a great fuss climbing down to the longboat, pointing out how extremely difficult it was in her wide skirts and how frightened she was of trying it. Fortner, who had been assigned to bring her over, seemed nonplussed and plunged into begging and cajolery. Peljo, however, simply tossed her medicine kit down to the men below, then picked her up and unceremoniously threw her across his shoulder like a bag of meal.
“You wretch!” Katherine hissed at him. “How dare you manhandle me this way! You’re as bad as your wicked captain. When the Navy catches up with you, I hope they flay you alive.”
Peljo just laughed and scrambled down the ladder into the boat. She kept up a steady stream of vilification all the way across the water until Fortner began to look quite pale and weary, but Peljo merely grinned through her abuse and when they reached the clipper swung her over his shoulder once again to carry her up on board.
On deck she scrambled out of his grasp and slid to the deck. “Captain Hampton, did you see what he did to me? Are you going to allow your men to treat me like that? I have never been so humiliated in my life!”
“Ma’am, he did precisely what I would have done had I been there.”
“I don’t doubt that, for you are the lowest creature imaginable.”
“Please, what will our guests think if you talk that way?” he mocked.
Furiously she stamped her foot. “Damn you! You selfish, maniacal, murderous, traitorous pirate!”
“She sure has a tongue on her, don’t she, Captain?” Peljo said admiringly.
“Yes, she does. But I am greatly shocked to hear a lady curse so. What would your Great-Uncle Ebenezer say?”
“Who?”
“I thought all Bostonians had a Great-Uncle Ebenezer—you know, the one who wrote the book of edifying essays for Christian boys.”
“Don’t be so frivolous,” she said severely.
“Come, come, now, my girl, don’t be a poor loser. If it’s any comfort to you, had it been I approaching, your scream would have warned me off.”
“Had it been you, you wouldn’t have been stupid enough to have rowed over in the first place!”
“Why, thank you. I didn’t realize I was so highly esteemed.”
“Don’t make me laugh.” Suddenly her attention was caught by the longboat returning to the fisherman. “Why are they going back?”
“We no longer need it, so they are setting it afire.”
“You’re going to burn it?” she asked incredulously.
“Certainly. Why not?”
“But you built that ship!”
“We built it to escape in, and now it has served its purpose. I don’t intend to leave it around for the Yankees to use in any way. Even a fishing vessel destroyed is some loss. Nor do I wish to leave such an obvious indication of what we have done lying about.”
She watched the figures scurrying about lighting fires and then clambering down the ropes to the longboat. Something clutched at her throat as the flames began to climb. She felt some sort of an attachment to that craft. She hated to see it destroyed, although it was no more than one of her father’s ships. Yet he, who had actually built the thing, could burn it without a qualm.
“What a heartless man you are.”
“So I have been told. Now, if I may escort you to your cabin?”
“I would rather stay on deck,” she said quickly.
“Now, now. We have too much to do and you will only get in the way. Besides, I don’t want you pulling another one of your tricks on us.”
He grasped her arm firmly. For a moment she hung stubbornly back, but he jerked her forward roughly. He led her to the captain’s cabin and ushered her inside. “As you can see, the accommodations here are somewhat nicer. And the doors lock. Sorry to lock you in, but I haven’t th
e time to play hide-and-seek with you again. I am sure you will be quite comfortable,” he said and then left quickly.
Immediately she ran over to the door. There was no inside latch; it locked only with a key, inside and out, and he had the key. Sighing, she turned back to face the room. The cabin was small, but pleasant. It contained a comfortable-looking bed, a desk, a small table and chairs, a wardrobe, and a short chest of drawers with a mirror above it. At the foot of the bed was a large trunk. All the furniture was fastened to the floor. A small stove by the desk warmed the room. Grateful for the heat, she removed her cloak and muff and tossed them on the bed, then began to explore the room.
The wardrobe contained a few shirts and suits, a uniform, and a pair of boots. The captain’s desk held the usual paraphernalia of instruments, charts, maps, and logbook, as well as pens, ink, paper, a bottle of whiskey, and a bachelor’s sewing kit. A shelf above the writing area held several well-thumbed books and a traveler’s chess set. Katherine ran her index finger along the spines of the books: the Bible, Shakespeare, a set of Sir Walter Scott novels, an English naval history, Tom Jones, and Vanity Fair. Then she moved away and sat down on the bed. There was nothing left to explore; she could not bring herself to look in the trunk—that was too personal.
Her mind whirled. What was she to do? A poor loser, he had called her. Well, she had a lot to lose. She was in a worse position than before. Any delay she had caused and the time spent trapping this ship would soon be made up by the clipper. It might be only sail, but it was built for speed, light and sleek. With good winds, they might be able to escape the Navy entirely; certainly, it would give Hampton several more hours. There was no hope that he might relent; he had already shown himself a ruthless, selfish man. And her trick about jumping overboard had enraged him. Now he was more determined than ever to make her submit, to hurt her. She longed to throw herself on the bed and indulge in a fit of tears.
Sternly she reminded herself that she could not be so weak. All she could do now was wait for the Navy and hope. Perhaps it would be calming to read; perhaps it. would even bolster her courage. She went back to the desk and paused for a moment. Suddenly a half-grin flickered across her lips. No doubt she ought to reread Ivanhoe, just to refresh herself on the noble example set for her by the virtuous Deborah. Determinedly, she sat down in a chair and opened the book.
Above her the deck swarmed with activity. While the fishing vessel burned steadily, some of the Susan Harper’s new crew scrambled up the masts to set full sail. Others secured the prisoners in the hold and stacked the arms they had discovered so that they would be ready for immediate use. When the sails were set, the men were put to making Quaker guns after the fashion of Captain Read’s. Spars were cut off and painted to resemble small cannon, then lined up at portholes below deck. The ship was already equipped with two real six-pounders on deck. Finally the men were able to eat and then go to their quarters to sleep in shifts, with only a skeleton crew on deck.
Hampton, after issuing orders and supervising the work, had to check the work on completion. He had a new crew, and he could not take chances until they established their reliability. So as the sun gradually inched down over the horizon and night came, he continued to work, checking, supervising, charting an immediate course. He paused only to eat and to have some food sent down to Katherine. When finally he was through, with the ship on course, watch set, and everything seemingly secured, he went down to his cabin to join the girl.
She was sitting at the table, every hair in place, calmly reading a book. He grinned; she could be cool, certainly enough.
“Good evening, my dear,” he said, locking the door and tossing the key onto the desk. “Have you had a pleasant evening?”
“Quite, thank you,” Katherine said coolly and turned a page, not even glancing up. Inside her stomach knotted. She had been waiting in fear for several hours, not really reading, just staring at the pages while her mind raced. Every minute had seemed an eternity, waiting, hoping, dreading, until she was almost anxious to get it over with.
Nettled by her indifference, he searched for something to say to spark her temper. It occurred to him that that was silly: he wanted to bed her, not fight with her. So he stopped the taunts that sprang to his mouth and instead searched the room for liquor. He found the bottle of Irish whiskey in the desk and poured himself a stiff drink. Katherine watched him out of the corner of her eye, keeping her head resolutely bent over her book. She did not look up when he sat down across the table from her and placed his glass and bottle on the table. He downed his drink, then poured himself another, never taking his eyes off her. The whiskey spread warmth along his veins. Slowly his taut nerves and muscles began to relax; for the first time that day, he had a moment in which to luxuriate in his new freedom. No chains, no guards, no ever-present enemy. He was back at sea, once more in command; free, and in the company of a desirable woman. His eyes roamed over her face and body; it was exquisite pleasure to have the time to slowly appreciate her, to know that his desire could run its full course without the fear of someone’s interference.
“Look at me,” he said quietly.
She raised her head and stared defiantly into his face. His eyes were bright and his face flushed. He had removed his coat and partially unbuttoned his shirt against the warmth of the liquor, revealing a V-shaped patch of his chest, hard and brown and covered with crisp, curling brown hair. Her stomach dropped peculiarly, and she primly averted her gaze from the sight of his bare chest.
“I want you,” he said baldly. “And I will have you. There’s little point in your struggling; I can overpower you. And I think you’ll find it much easier and more pleasant if you don’t fight.”
“I am sure you would much prefer it,” Katherine replied scornfully, the color rushing into her cheeks. “But I am not the sort to acquiesce in my own shame and dishonor. I promise you I shall fight you to the utmost.”
“Somehow I suspected that would be your answer,” he said wryly. “You’re a damned difficult woman.”
“Because I have the temerity to oppose your base plans for me?” she sniffed.
He reached out to touch her face and she jerked away. He rose and came toward her; she dropped her book on the table and backed away from him. Suddenly she darted toward the door, but Hampton was too quick for her, and he grabbed her wrist and pulled her back against his chest. His arms imprisoned her like bands of steel; she struggled wildly, but to no avail. Holding her with one hand, he tore out the pins from her hair with the other, so that her hair tumbled down wildly over her shoulders. Shoving his hand into the luxuriant mass of her hair, he held her head immobile. Fiercely his mouth descended onto hers, forcing her lips apart. His tongue took possession of her mouth and his lips crushed hers against her teeth.
Katherine brought her foot down hard on his instep, and he gasped in pain, loosening his hold on her. She tore away and darted toward the door, but he was on her before she reached it. With one hand he tore down the front of her dress, ripping the bodice apart. She gasped and tried to cover herself, but he pulled her hands firmly away and to her sides.
“Lovely,” he murmured, staring hungrily at the swell of her creamy breasts above her chemise. Then he bent to kiss the top of each ripe breast. Slowly his lips roamed over her neck and chest, his breath softly tickling her skin. Backing her against the door, he kissed her again, a burning, consuming kiss, grinding his body into hers. His hands released her arms to slide up and cup her breasts. She kicked and screamed and struck out at him, but it had no effect.
Suddenly Katherine simply went limp; her shift in weight caught him off balance and she managed to slide away from him. He grabbed for her and the rest of her dress came away in his hand. She dived for the bed, reached into her muff, and turned to face him, a tiny silver gun in her hand. He stopped in mid-step, stunned.
“Don’t come one step closer. I promise you I won’t hesitate to shoot, and at this range, I can hardly miss.”
“Exactly
what do you think you will accomplish?” he said, keeping an eye on the gun. Guns in the hands of women made him very nervous; in some ways a novice was more dangerous than an expert. “Are we to remain like this all night? Who do you think will relax his guard first, me or you? You can’t watch me every second; you will get tired, sleepy; you’ll blink. And I shall take it away from you. Or suppose you manage to kill me. What then? You would be fair game for all the men. Do you enjoy the prospect of being passed around from man to man, of being raped over and over, until you scream for death?”
Suddenly he dived at her; a bullet whistled past his ear. His shoulder slammed into her at the waist, sending them both to the floor and knocking the breath out of her. He grabbed her wrist with both hands and slammed it against the floor, sending the pistol flying from her grasp. Unceremoniously he hauled her to her feet and shook her until she felt her head would separate from her spine.
“Never,” he hissed fiercely, “never try anything like that again.”
He flung her away and she fell onto the bed, gasping for air. Savagely he ripped away her multitude of petticoats and her hoop. They were damn nuisances at any time, he thought, but with her squirming and struggling, they were almost impossible. The last straw was her stays; corsets were as effective as armor. Exasperated, he pulled his knife. At the sight of it, she paled and scrambled across the bed away from him and flattened herself against the wall.
He grinned wickedly and said, “Ah, a little more compliant now, aren’t you?”
With one swift stroke, he sliced her laces neatly. Her eyes narrowed. What a brute he was to scare her so, knowing he only meant to cut her laces. Furiously she sprang at him, scratching, biting, and kicking; it was all he could do to subdue her. It was like trying to hold a twisting wildcat in his arms. Finally he managed to pull her back against him and wrap his arms around her, pinning her arms to her sides and holding her still. She was able to do no more than kick backward at him and turn in his grasp. He held her thus until finally she exhausted herself with struggling and stopped, limp and trembling like a horse after a hard race.
Gregory, Lisa Page 13
