by Andrea Jones
“I am known as James. Within the week, you will call me…Captain.” He signaled to the young woman. She came forward, the candle’s flame leaning backward and black smoke trailing.
The flame righted itself as she dropped a curtsy. “Shall I light your way up, Sir?”
“Yes.” He still watched Smee. “The landlord will lend you a place by the fire. Our first task is to buy your freedom. Rise early, and we will begin.” He pulled a gold coin from his pocket and clapped it on the table. The woman turned and, holding up the candle, rustled toward the stairs. Smee waited, then moved to the bottom of the steps to watch from below as her petticoats ascended and Mr. James’ fine boots followed. He was left by himself to the comforts of the common room.
That was all right with Smee. He knew his place.
It wasn’t in Ireland. Wherever it took him, his place was just to the right of that great man.
§ § §
An hour later, as Smee lay wrapped in a blanket and wakeful by the fire, he listened to the ashes resettling in the grate. He was satisfied. He had a job to do. Somehow he’d find a way to say goodbye to his Nancy. A new sound stole his notice. The murmur of petticoats slipping back down the stairs.
The young woman came to him. She set down the candle. Her petticoats rustled to the floor. She opened the blanket, Smee opened his arms, and she laid her slender body within them. Mr. James was generous, and Smee was grateful for her. Kindness deserved kindness in turn. Gently, he rolled above her and took her chin in his rough, sailor fingers. She raised her hands and drew him down, like a priestess summoning the moon.
When he kissed her, her mouth was full of another man’s kisses. The thought made this strong man suddenly weak. But he didn’t stop. When he nuzzled her neck, he scented beyond the fragrance of her skin a darker, richer aroma. Smee inhaled it.
When he filled her, she was already full of another man’s passion. Smee made that passion his own. And when he loved her, his heart filled to bursting with love.
So complete did he feel that night, Smee found no need to stir up the flames within the grating. He was grateful to the stranger, who had found it useful to save his Nancy. And after that moment, Smee never once thought of his Nancy again.
§ § §
It wasn’t just a story. Smee remembered it all. As if still linked to that woman at the inn, he felt Jill now, slender, refined, pressing urgently against him. He looked into her eyes, so like the captain’s. Tears pooled in them. He’d never seen tears in the captain’s eyes, not even as—
Smee dropped the papers, letting them sail away, each to a separate place on the carpet. He tore off his spectacles to toss them next to her teacup, and he searched her face. He’d been entrusted with her care. When he spurned her that first time, she fell square into the gypsy’s arms. Now, once more, she was pleading for deliverance. Counting on Smee to wrench her away. Counting on his devotion.
He’d sworn not to fail her again.
Jill tilted up her head, inviting, and with his thumb he touched her lips. Why hadn’t he seen it before? Like the tavern lass, no matter how many embraces she’d accepted from another, her mouth was full of those kisses. Hook’s kisses.
Smee placed his hands on her face, and made those kisses his own.
What happened next was exactly what he’d feared would happen. He held her in his arms, he pressed against the softness in the green-as-Ireland gown, and he kissed her, and he kissed her, and he was unable to stop. Lovingly, as she wrapped her arms around him, he bore her down against the pillows. Her golden hair was silk between his fingers, her body in his arms felt feverish. And she welcomed him. More, she strained against him, as if wishing to mingle her very flesh with his own. Smee knew what should happen next.
He mustn’t deny her. And he shared her desire. He whispered it against her lips.
“You’re mine now. By god, I’ll make you mine.”
With her pen, she’d written it in his story, and now she said it for him to hear. Nothing else she might say could encourage him more.
“Conor.”
“Jill. You know us. Better than we know ourselves.”
She raised her hands to draw him down, like a priestess summoning the moon. Implicitly, Smee trusted her. She had done— always would do— right by James. And the story, after all, had begun in her hands.
The captain’s hand, the iron one, rested in Smee’s toolbox. But whose hand had delivered it? Allowing Jill to fill his mind, to lead him to her heaven, Smee thrust the question away. She was just like Hook; she knew better than Smee what twisting paths would take her where she had to go. Her breathing was erratic, and his own hand worked behind her, to free her of her stays.
But as their motions agitated the bed frame, the teacup rattled on its saucer above them. Smee looked up. He focused on the cup, and his forehead furrowed— and then his dream fell shattering into shards that lodged in the wound of his heart. He felt Jill’s body beneath him, uncharacteristically careless, flouting the discretion she employed so well, struggling instead like a wild thing to engulf him, and suddenly, the most intoxicating taste ever to bless his tongue bittered, and Conor Smee, that strong man, was afraid.
The storyteller was not the power devising this ending. She was not leading him where she chose to go. Someone else had chosen for her.
The captain’s words echoed in Smee’s head. Is there a better man?
No. There wasn’t. Smee shook his head.
Not a better man. But another. A gypsy. And surely, even Cecco wouldn’t sink so low.
Captain Cecco had to be told. His Jill had been dosed…with the lotus.
§ § §
Nibs and Tom had a fine time catching up with their mates from the Roger. They called across the narrow channel between the ships, and sometime during the jocularity, a letter winged its way over the brine, weighted with a flask, to be caught by Mr. Starkey. It was addressed to Jill, in care of the captain. Starkey rolled his eyes and tucked the letter in his pocket, then he flung the flask back, empty now. Grinning, Tom saluted him. Nibs nodded at Starkey, the crease between his eyebrows deepening as he searched for another face. Then both brothers ignored the couple on the quarterdeck.
As the sailors conducted their banter, Mr. Yulunga enjoyed his dalliance with the girl. She was attentive while her father was gone, and looked fetching in the gown he himself had given her. But he kept one eye on the French ship while the captain was away, and the quarterdeck was no place to get serious. Now Yulunga had business to look after.
“Get along, little girl. I’ll catch up to you later.” But his progress was delayed as Liza held fast to his arm. His wide smile shone down on her. “Don’t worry. When I want you, your father won’t get in my way. Not for long.”
Coloring, she released him and stepped back. He tweaked her earlobe, then adjusted his belt and sprang down the steps to make his way to the master’s quarters. Liza pressed her body against the rail and watched him go. She’d satisfied her father’s wishes with her attentions to Mr. Yulunga, but her own desires were only piqued. Now she kept to herself on the quarterdeck, waiting.
She didn’t wait long. Within seconds, the door to the master’s quarters swung open. Yulunga halted on the companionway, his face disbelieving, his shoulders drawing back from what he witnessed. For a moment he hesitated, as if in doubt whether to launch himself forward or turn and head for L’Ormonde. Holding tight to the rail, Liza stole down the steps to obtain a better view. Mr. Smee’s command surprised her.
“Mr. Yulunga! Fetch the captain— now!” Emerging from the captain’s quarters, Smee strode through the doorway.
Liza gaped at the sight. It was different from the scene she expected. Very different. Smee stood braced on the gilded companionway, a bundle of emerald satin in his arms. It was the lady, moving, twisting. Golden hair streamed all over Smee’s shoulders. Like cobwebs, some of it stuck to his beard. Jill’s arms worked as she clutched him, plucking at his striped shirt. Her golden jewelry b
lazed in the sun.
“Well, go on, man! The lady’s in trouble!” Smee wheeled with his precious cargo, heading back to the sanctuary of the captain’s quarters.
Yulunga ran. He didn’t need to do so; Nibs and Tom saw it all from the deck of L’Ormonde. Tom ignored Mr. Guillaume’s early admonition to tap, pounding instead on Captain LeCorbeau’s door. He shoved it open. Two seconds later, Cecco burst through it to stamp down the steps. Nibs swung him a rope and, mirroring Yulunga on the Roger, herded his shipmates aside. Cecco caught the cable and bounded to the rail. In an instant, he sailed over the channel between the ships.
§ § §
Cecco strode toward the bunk, unaware of the papers that harbored Smee’s memories, even as they crackled under his boots. One hand rested on his dagger, and he glared. His mate followed him into his quarters. His bo’sun sat bending over his bed. His disheveled bed— and his woman.
At Cecco’s advance, Mr. Smee straightened to face him. Jill clung to Smee, her breath catching in her throat and her blue eyes unseeing. In one awful moment, Cecco’s heart froze. He saw drops of blood where, in a line of crimson, horribly like a slash, the rubies quivered against her neck. Instantly, Cecco’s dagger steeled his hand, and he plunged it at Smee’s heart.
Chapter 30
Turning Tides
Inches from Smee’s heart, the dagger dragged to a stop. Yulunga clutched Cecco’s wrist, struggling to check his captain’s wrath.
Smee leaned backward. His eyes went wide, lowering to focus on the blade. Cecco bore down upon him, but too entangled in Jill’s fingers, Smee was trapped.
“Captain! It’s not what you are thinking.” Yulunga restrained Cecco by the waist now, and with a grunt, he heaved Cecco away from the bed, nearly lifting him off his feet. The two men stumbled backward, and Cecco swore.
“He dares!” His dark eyes never left the bo’sun. Surging forward again, he burst from Yulunga’s grip.
“He’s been helping her, Sir.” In one swift stride, Yulunga shoved himself in front of Cecco, blocking his path to the bed. Wary of the blade, he braced his arms against Cecco’s shoulders. “It was Smee who called for you. The lady isn’t well, Captain. See for yourself.”
Cecco halted. Quickly he turned to stare at Jill. Realizing now that the drops of blood were only Jill’s necklace, Cecco breathed again. Her complexion was rosy— too rosy— and she moved, raising herself on the pillows, her hair tumbling all around her. She seemed unaware of the battle that had just taken place. Her face turned from Smee and slowly, she recognized Cecco. Her eyelids were heavy.
“Captain.”
All three men gazed at her, disbelief upon their features. She was smiling. Like she’d done so many times, Jill reached out her hand to Cecco. Unlike any other time, her left hand remained fastened on Smee. Her arms sagged, seeming unable to support the weight of Cecco’s gold.
“Please, Sir…let him stay.”
Yulunga moved aside, and Cecco strode forward. Infuriated as he was, he accepted her hand, the red one, as always. He would never refuse her hand. But he shook his head, fighting to suppress his rage. He accused the bo’sun.
“What have you done to her?”
“Sir, it wasn’t me.”
Cecco snorted. “You expect me to believe this?”
“Look at her, Sir. And take a taste of that tea.”
Cecco’s gaze darted to the teacup on the bed shelf. He tucked his knife in his belt. Waving Smee away, Cecco attempted to take his place at Jill’s side. But it wasn’t easy; like cat’s claws, Jill’s fingernails snagged Smee’s striped shirt as he pulled from her, and only when her fingers came free did she grope for Cecco. As he sat on the bed, she scratched at his skin.
“Sir—” Her words came haltingly. “I— need you.” Her tears had dried now, and stained her face, and her eyes were glassy. The air entered her lungs in bursts. The captain worked to contain her agitation, pinning her wrists to his chest. He wrapped an arm around her.
“Lovely one, I am here.”
Jill’s head rolled. She arched her back. Cecco supported her and confronted Mr. Smee. “How long ago?”
“Not half an hour, Sir.”
“The girl?”
“It had to be, Captain. The doctor was with you. But I’m doubting she acted on her own.”
Cecco smoldered while he weighed Smee’s words. His arms confined Jill, who fought to free her hands even as her body, like a caress, curled around him.
“And how do you come to be here, against orders?”
“The lady sent for me, Sir. She must have known she was in trouble.”
Cecco turned to Jill and shook her. “Lady—”
“Please—” She could manage no more.
“Jill.”
She blinked, but never stopped her tortuous movement.
“You must trust me. I will care for you.”
Jill stared at Cecco and then her eyes opened wide, as if seeing him for the first time. Her face drained of color and the ash of shock replaced it. She tugged away, but weakly, and immediately flung herself back upon him.
Cecco murmured into her ear. “Bellezza, do not fear. You have not broken your word. I excuse you.”
Jill didn’t seem to comprehend, but Smee listened, and a river of relief washed over him. Cecco twisted to face him.
“Leave now, quietly. Keep to your quarters. I will deal with you later.” Cecco summoned Yulunga, who grasped Jill by the shoulders. Cecco released her to remove his knife and unbuckle his belt.
Smee looked to the lady to determine her wishes. With her breathing still ragged, she pressed against Yulunga now. Her eyes closed; she rubbed her cheek on his ebony arm. Smee remembered his promise and, uneasy, shook his head. “I can’t be leaving her. Not like this!”
“It is I who cannot leave her.” Cecco’s command came sharp. “Do your duty, Mr. Smee, before you forget to whom you owe it.”
Yulunga freed a hand from Jill’s grasp, and planted it on Smee’s shoulder to push him toward the door. Smee found he had no choice. Realizing the truth of Cecco’s words, he exhaled, and at last, the tension left him.
“Aye, Sir.”
Cecco pulled off his boots, throwing them aside to thump on the floor. One of Jill’s pages flew up in their breeze, as if startled. While Cecco was distracted, Smee collected the papers. The danger for Jill wasn’t over yet. Not until this tale was hidden. He squeezed the parchment small and held it against his side, heading for the door.
Cecco enfolded Jill in his arms again. “Mr. Yulunga. Get Hanover off L’Ormonde and sheer away. You will keep watch on him. Tell him nothing, and take nothing from him.” Anger emphasized Cecco’s words. “Or from his daughter.”
Yulunga nodded. “I will see to it, Sir.”
“Tell me every move they make.” Cecco looked pointedly at his mate. “Tell me, this evening.”
Smee snatched up his toolbox and with a last glance at Jill, left the cabin. He still felt her grip ensnaring him, still felt the cold threat of Cecco’s blade. It should have daunted him. But Smee was made of stouter stuff. In spite of everything, he’d do it all again, given half a chance. He’d held her in his arms, now, she’d shared her precious kisses, and for Smee, there was no going back. He was part of her story. Hook’s story.
Yulunga’s long stride caught up to Smee, and he shut the door. On the companionway, the two men regarded one another.
“Well, Mr. Smee.”
The crewmen milled about on the deck below, waiting for news, but Smee didn’t budge. He kept his voice low.
“Mr. Yulunga, the sooner you’re having the charge of young Miss, the better off we’ll all be.”
“I agree with you. Clearly, it is her father’s object to separate the captain and his lady.”
“Who knows what all he intended? I’d not be breathing if it weren’t for you. That Hanover’s a slimy bastard. Never to be trusted— except on one point.”
Yulunga raised his eyebrows.
�
�That love potion really works.”
“Aye, but it’s working against him now! And if I know the captain, he won’t allow Hanover to pull such another trick. The man will lie in chains again, a prisoner in his bunk.”
Smee’s head jerked up. “Aye.” His grip on the toolbox tightened. “That he will.” Smee collected himself and nodded to the mate. “I’ll be glad to take the job of chaining him, Mr. Yulunga, if you care to be passing it along.” And without further comment, Smee descended the companionway, to shoulder his way through the sailors and hurry below decks. He had orders to follow.
After that, he had an old memory to revive. And, in spite of its interruption, a new one to treasure.
§ § §
From the crow’s nest of the Roger, Bill Jukes observed as the rest of the day’s events unfolded below. He kept his tattooed eyelids open, but the doings on deck proved more informative than the leagues of empty sea. He watched to see if his suspicions were correct.
He saw Mr. Yulunga eyeing Mr. Smee as the bo’sun headed toward his quarters. Then, reassuring the waiting sailors, Yulunga shooed them back to work. Hustling to portside, the mate called to L’Ormonde, ordering the surgeon home. A few minutes later, Doctor Hanover emerged from below decks with his bag in tow and made a dignified crossing to the Roger. He kept his carved back stiff, as if the feel of his coat prickled against it. Once on deck, he looked around and questioned Mr. Yulunga, who answered briefly and sent him on his way before bellowing out the order to sail. The men scrambled to unfurl the canvas, and Mullins grasped the wheel. The doctor then strolled toward the hatch, taking his time to stare at the door to the captain’s quarters before descending.
At this point, Miss Liza materialized on the steps of the quarterdeck. Apparently she’d been hiding behind the ship’s bell, watching, no doubt, as keenly as Jukes in the crow’s nest. Then the sails dropped and Jukes lost sight of her behind the canvas.
Shortly afterward he saw her again. Her new skirt trailed behind her as she dashed for the hatch, but it stopped to swirl around her ankles as Mr. Yulunga turned just in time to catch her wrist. He issued a command, terse, and released her. She stood for a moment as if undecided, then scurried down the steps. Yulunga strode to the base of the companionway and took up his station, lounging against the stair rail.
