The Black Morass (Pirates of the Coast Book 1)

by Barbara Devlin

  “Why does he live in Jamaica, when he is an English lord?” The ex-buccaneer tapped his fingers to the tabletop. “Is he a wanted man?”

  “Not that I know, but he is a stranger to me, in a sense.” And that bothered her more than she was willing to admit to herself or anyone else, as she knew not what awaited her in the equally foreign place. “I suspect his request that I join him has something to do with Aunt Eileen’s will. Given my mother preceded my grandfather in death, he left his vast estate, which includes a sugar plantation just outside Port Royal, to be divided between his surviving daughter and myself. As Eileen never married, there are no other beneficiaries.”

  “Am I to understand that, in light of your aunt’s demise, you are the sole heir to the family fortune?” With an expression of surprise, Jean Marc stretched upright. “Indeed, you are the owner, according to American law.”

  “So it seems, per an attorney and a probate judge in the Boston courts.” She nodded. “Now will you help me?”

  “Were you traveling alone, and what precisely happened aboard the Trident?” The menacing captain rubbed his chin and shifted his weight. “Did the attackers take anything or anyone? Did you see them? If so, can you provide a description, as I am curious as to their identities?”

  “My governess, Miss Wimple, accompanied me, but she was killed.” In a flood of unpleasant memories, Madalene revisited the screams of horror, and she shuddered and wrenched to the present. “I heard plenty, and it was terrible, but I saw nothing, and for that I am grateful. Captain Hammond bade me hide before the pirates overtook our ship. Once silence fell on the vessel, I emerged from my makeshift shelter and found everyone murdered and the boat in flames. Had you not come along when you did, I would have drowned, as I cannot swim, which I already told you, so I thank you for sparing me that fate.”

  “Believe me, it is my pleasure, Mon Chou.” For a while, he simply studied her, and she fidgeted with nervous anxiety. “You had a governess.” It was a statement, not a question. “How old are you?”

  “Eight and ten,” she murmured, as she toyed with the lace trim of her sleeve.

  “Why are you not married?” When she shrugged, Jean Marc sighed. “Given your beauty and your inheritance, I gather you are popular in Boston.”

  “While I appreciate the compliment, I am not interested in such flattery.” To her regret, she met his azure stare, which she suspected gleaned too much for her liking, and she swallowed hard, as he appeared on the verge of devouring her. “And I have no beau, given my father never negotiated a match.”

  “You would leave such things for your father to arrange?” He snickered. “The English treat the most important commitment a man and a woman can make as a financial agreement.”

  “If you intended to insult me, I take no offense, as I am an American.” Madalene sniffed. “And my private affairs are no business of yours, sir.”

  “In that you are correct, and I told you that I prefer you address me as Jean Marc.” He licked his lips, which she tried but failed to ignore. “Since you do not strike me as stupid, I can only presume you deliberately bait me, which is never wise, because I may take more than you are willing to give. Perhaps I should throw you and your private affairs into the sea.” He snapped his fingers. “Then again, you cannot swim, so I encourage you to consider your words with caution, in the future, else you may not enjoy the consequences.”

  “I apologize.” Never had she met anyone like Jean Marc Cavalier, and she wondered if the ocean might prove less dangerous. Still, if she hoped to reunite and reconcile with her father, she had to keep the irascible captain happy. Given her grandfather’s cantankerous nature, she knew how to placate a temperamental man, as they shared much in common with spoiled children, so she had but to appease Jean Marc until they reached Port Royal. “To my shame, I spoke in haste, and I humbly ask that you forgive my inadvertent slight.”

  “You choke on those words.” With a snort, he slapped his thigh. “Ah, but this crossing proves far more interesting with each passing minute.”

  “But I am sincere, Jean Marc. I do so covet compromise and will do my best to perform to your satisfaction, in whatever you command of me.” Fearing a watery grave, she accepted the lone option at her disposal. She would defend her chastity, maintain what she could of her dignity, sacrifice her pride, pray no one ever discovered her ill-fated trip to Jamaica, and persist. With that, she resolved to indulge her unpredictable host beyond the usual social dictates. “Given you wish me to serve you, where should I begin?”

  “You may pour me a drink.” In that moment, he lowered his chin, scooted the bottle in her direction, and cast a half-grin, which she viewed as an olive branch, of sorts, until he whispered, “For now.”

  THE BLACK MORASS

  CHAPTER TWO

  The sun sat below the yardarm, as Jean Marc leaned against the stern rail and admired his new cabin mate. No, they had not discussed her quarters, as he saved that particular joy for later, and he sincerely looked forward to what he anticipated would be a heated but restrained exchange.

  A compelling mix of innocence, polite decorum, and fire, Lady Madalene conversed with members of the crew at the waist, without care, given she had no idea what naughty games he planned for her, but she would learn soon enough with whom she tangled. Rubbing the back of her neck, she shifted and peered over her shoulder. When she met his gaze, he smiled, and she dipped her chin.

  “The lady is a kind soul, Cap’n.” Tyne scratched his cheek and frowned. “She treats the men with respect.”

  “And your point would be—what?” Ah, the curve of her jaw presented a tempting confection he would trace with his tongue, and he would suckle and nibble her sweet flesh that night. “Have the tars completed the task?”

  “Aye, but I do not like it, as she is young.” The bosun shuffled his feet. “We could empty one of the storerooms, and create a private lodging for her. Say the word, and I will see to it.”

  “If I heeded your advice, how long do you think it would take before I had to kill a horny sea dog bent on sampling her honey?” Jean Marc snickered and descended the companion ladder, with Tyne bringing up the rear. “Now I will approve of the arrangements, ensure everything is as I commanded, and then you will send my guest to my cabin.”

  “We could post a guard—”

  “No.”

  “Jean Marc, I know you are unhappy with the bargain you struck with the British, but she is a guileless babe.” Tyne grabbed Jean Marc’s arm. “Do not use her as a foil for your frustration, as you will never forgive yourself.”

  “I will do with her as I choose, which is none of your affair, and I have no conscience.” Wrenching free, he turned on a heel and stomped into his domain. In the corner hung a small hammock, which had been strung unusually high and taut, to discourage Lady Madalene from using it. As he tugged on the stiff rope, he laughed. “Perfect. Now, bring her to me.”

  “Cap’n, please.” With a huff, Tyne lingered in the doorway. “Will you not reconsider?”

  “Do as I say.” When Tyne folded his arms, Jean Marc narrowed his stare. “What is wrong, old friend? What is she to you?”

  “In truth, nothing.” The bosun furrowed his brow. “But she reminds me of Adele, God rest her, when we first married. And Lady Madalene is not your normal fare. She can be hurt.” Tyne raked his fingers through his hair. “I have known you since you were a wee lad, when I sailed with your father, and we have committed some horrible deeds in our lifetime.”

  “So?” Jean Marc shrugged. “What of it?”

  “Signing that pact was the smartest and most selfless thing you have ever done, and I would hate to see you ruin it for a woman.” Shaking his head, Tyne glanced at the floor. “Our time is ended, and either we change with the evolving world in which we live, or we cease to exist. Your sacrifice ensures the crew’s future, and I am proud of you. Yet I know the decision came at a steep cost, as you pace the decks like a caged jungle cat. But Lady Madalene is blameless.
Do not use her like some cheap brothel whore.”

  “I am only going to engage in a bit of sport, and then I will release her.” Not for an instant did he suffer a twinge of reluctance. “And who knows, she might enjoy it.” Then he bared his teeth. “Have the men bring in the tub, fill it with warm water, and then fetch the lady. And refrain from further criticism of my actions, for which I alone shall atone.”

  “Aye, Cap’n.” Grumbling under his breath, Tyne slammed the oak panel behind him.

  Two pillowcases perched on the table, and Jean Marc untied the knots at the openings. One bundle consisted of ladies garments, which he found rather mundane, but the other improvised sack held a collection of documents, some books, and several miniature portraits. An impressive leather journal caught his attention, and he flipped through the crisp pages, as the mates, carrying loaded and steaming buckets, fulfilled part of Jean Marc’s orders.

  Numerous entries detailed an estimable fortune, along with various properties, and he realized his passenger was, indeed, an heiress. For a scarce second, he mulled Tyne’s protest and reappraised the situation. The prospect of seducing and corrupting a gentle creature of such wealth and prestige fueled an intense hunger impossible to resist. He had to have the exquisite Lady Madalene, and he counted the utter defilement of her virtue as a boon he would seize to quiet the turmoil raging in his veins, which he would claim without compunction.

  “You summoned me, Jean Marc?” The soft, melodic tone of her American accent kissed his ears. “Have you a service for me to perform?”

  Oh, yes.

  “I do.” Glancing at the hammock, he nodded. “Your accommodation is prepared.”

  “What?” As he expected, she shrieked. “You must be joking, as I cannot share a room with you. It is out of the question.”

  “You will sleep here, and you will show proper gratitude for my generosity.” Doffing his boots, he smiled in anticipation of another outburst.

  “But we are not married. It is undignified, and I will not do it.” With clenched fists, she opened her mouth, peered at him, and compressed her lips. “What manner of man are you, to take advantage of a woman in distress?”

  “One with little patience for mutiny, Mon Chou.” In seconds, he unbuttoned and shed his shirt, and she averted her gaze. “If you would rather bunk with the crew, I grant permission.”

  “You call that an acceptable alternative?” She buried her face in her hands. “In either case, I shall be ruined.”

  “How so?” he inquired.

  “When it becomes known that I shared a room with you, I will never find a husband.” It was a rare sight to witness the death of naiveté, and he savored the moment, as she gave vent to a sob of despair and slumped forward. “It is bad enough that I journey without a chaperone.”

  “Come now, you act as if I just announced an intent to kill you.” Never had he understood the female penchant for drama.

  “But it is a death, of sorts.” There was a certain beauty in her misery that reminded him of another time and place. “I wish to wed and build a family, but my shame will fill the scandal sheets and end all hope for a match. To know I will never achieve my dream breaks my heart.”

  “You do not think you overestimate the circumstances, given you were marooned, in a sense, and had no choice but to avail yourself of my hospitality? Or would it have been better had you gone down with the ship?” In that instant, she seemed preoccupied with his bare chest. “Do you believe my men and I mingle in polite society and spread gossip, as I can assure you we do not move in such circles?”

  “No.” When he unhooked his breeches, she met his stare. “What are you doing?”

  “I am going to bathe.” Quick as a flash, she turned toward the door, and he stripped off the last of his clothing. “And that is why I requested your attendance.”

  “Oh?” Stiffening her spine, she trembled. “But I am not sure what your personal habits have to do with me.”

  “You will scrub my back.” A bar of soap and a sponge rested on the washstand, and Jean Marc retrieved the items before sinking beneath the water. “We have an agreement, and I hold you to it, Maddie. Whether or not you prefer it, we struck an honest bargain, and you will serve me.” The pet name came to him as if from nowhere, and he braced for another outburst. Standing in the middle of his cabin, she all but filled the space with her presence, and he awaited her response. Would she acquiesce, or would he throw her to the sharks? Growing impatient, he sighed. “My bath cools, Mon Chou. So what is it to be—the sponge or the plank?”

  For a few minutes, she remained mute and stock-still. At last, she whirled about, squared her shoulders, and lifted her chin. “The plank.”

  #

  Perched at an impasse, tension invested her frame, as Madalene challenged the captain and tried to ignore his nudity, but never had she glimpsed a naked man, and curiosity beckoned.

  Praying for deliverance, for some small measure of compassion from a rogue who seemed bent on unutterable destruction of her character, she clung to the last vestige of hope for survival. But if he tossed her into the ocean, at least she would die, integrity intact, on her terms—not those of a pirate.

  “You prefer the company of sharks to mine?” To her dismay, he stormed in her direction, but she held her ground.

  “From my perspective, there is little difference, sir.” Yes, she intentionally disobeyed Jean Marc’s command, as she had nothing to lose.

  When he burst into laughter, she jumped but focused her attention on his gaze. “I can see this crossing will be nothing if not entertaining, but you will remain in my cabin, as my guest, and in that I will abide no objection.”

  “Why?” The prospect terrified her, as she conjured all sorts of horrible fates. “What have I done to you, in our brief acquaintance?”

  “You have to ask?” She did not understand his query. As if they were old friends, sharing countless personal secrets, he retraced his steps, baring a stunning backside that left her clutching her throat, and eased into the tub, and she almost swooned. Then he picked up the bar of soap. “Now you will scrub my back.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I will not.”

  “You gave me your word, as a lady, that you would serve me in exchange for passage to Port Royal.” Canting his head, he narrowed his stare. “How did you put it? Ah, yes, I remember. You said you coveted compromise and would do your best to perform to my satisfaction, in whatever I commanded of you.” He snorted. “So your word means nothing to you?”

  “It means everything, as I am a Davies.” And he was correct in his assertion, as she said that. But never had she anticipated he would ask so much. “I should have qualified the conditions of our arrangement, as I negotiated in good faith and believed the same of you. And I still do not understand why I must share an accommodation.”

  “First, this is not a hotel. It is a ship, in the middle of the ocean, filled with randy sea dogs who would love to give you a quick poke.” She was not sure what that meant, but she suspected it did not bode well for her. Jean Marc collected a washcloth and again motioned for her to take the item. “Second, as long as you are a guest aboard the Morass, it would be better for you to avail yourself of my protection. If you sleep in this cabin, the crew will presume you are mine, and they will not touch you.” He shrugged. “Otherwise, you are fair game, Mon Chou.”

  At his pronouncement, she gulped. “Fair game?”

  “No prey, no pay, Maddie. And we accept all forms of compensation, especially those of the flesh.” With a flick of his wrist, he beckoned, and despite her reservations she took a single step in his direction. “If you wish to avail yourself of my cabin and, thereby, my protection, you must obey my orders, as agreed. What is your answer?”

  With nary a protest, she stomped to the tub, snatched the soap and cloth, worked up a thick lather, and scrubbed his back.

  “Lower.” He chuckled, and she bit back a curse but, oh, what she thought, as she inched further below the water l
ine. “Lower.”

  Biting her lip, she stretched long, grazed the cleft of his bottom, and shrieked. Recoiling, she met his taunting expression, flung the wet rag at his face, and fled the cabin.

  THE BLACK MORASS

  CHAPTER THREE

  A sennight later, anchored just off the coast of a tiny island, Jean Marc handed Maddie to Tyne, who stood in the jolly boat. “Careful, as she is valuable cargo.”

  “Where are you taking me?” The lady yelped, as a wave crashed against the hull of the Morass, and the smaller craft shifted. With jerky movements, she glanced left and then right. “Are you sure this is safe?”

  “Easy, Mon Chou. You will be all right.” In a flash, he slid down the rope. When he sat on the bench beside her, she scooted so close she might as well have occupied his lap, which was fine with him. “Shove off, Tyne.”

  “Aye, Cap’n.” With another scowl of disapproval, the first mate grabbed the oars and heaved hard.

  As they neared the coast, he admired the palms gently swaying in the soft breeze, while she fidgeted and peered over the edge. Ah, his plan worked perfectly, and with a little luck she would sleep in his bed that night. A sharp lurch signaled they landed on the beachhead, and she jumped.

  “Oh, dear, are we sinking?” With a death grip on his elbow, she met his stare and widened her eyes.

  “No.” Laughing, he shook his head, stood, and leaped into the tide. Then he turned, outstretched his arms, and flicked his fingers. “Come.”

  Just as he expected, she hesitated. “But I cannot swim.”

  “It is shallow enough that you can walk, Mon Chou.” At the end of his tether, he cursed, and she gasped.

  Wrinkling her nose, she looked on the ocean as though it were some sort of mud pit. “But I will get my dress wet.”

  To wit he snapped his fingers. “I am waiting.”