by Lisa Olech
“I’m tempted to let you.”
Tupper nodded to the muslin. “Bind your chest. Make it good and tight.”
Samantha began to wrap the fabric about her, flattening the fullness of her breasts as best she could. She donned the strange-feeling pants and finally slid her feet into shoes two sizes too large.
“Now your hair,” Tupper instructed.
Samantha smoothed a hand down its long length. “My hair?”
“You’re passing as a lad. It has to go.” Tupper pulled a short dagger from her boot.
“All of it?” Clasping a handful, she held it to her heart. She always kept her hair long, but knew the cost of her freedom this night. She didn’t need to hear Tupper’s answer. Samantha closed her eyes and nodded.
The honed blade made short work of the task. Tupper began cutting through the thick shanks of hair. Soft brown locks fell in curled fistfuls at their feet. Samantha felt tears prick the backs of her eyes, but as the first length of hair fell, she knew there would be no turning back. Soon she’d be free of this hellish existence, and by the grace of God, she’d be saved.
* * * *
Later, as she struggled to keep pace with Tupper, the cold dampness of the night air upon her neck felt strange and only added to the surreal scene in which she found herself. How they found their way through the moonless night, she could not say, but soon her feet hit the sandy soil that harkened their arrival upon the shore.
A small skiff with four large men waited. Tupper helped her into the boat, retrieved the shoe that dropped into the water, and swung in to join the rest.
“Make haste, gentlemen, the tide won’t be waiting.”
The skiff jerked as each man tugged sharply on the oars. It took only a moment for them to find their synchronized rhythm.
The coal-black outline of the land against an ebony sky was Samantha’s last sight of Virginia and hopefully the last she would ever see of Damian Wessler and his evil children.
Samantha held her sodden shoe in her hands. The men made short work of bringing the skiff out to a tall, three-masted sloop anchored not too far off shore. There had been no conversation. Tupper sat facing her but paid her little attention, concentrating instead on the men behind her. One of them hummed to himself, pulling at his appointed oar in time to the song he sang only in his head.
When they reached the ship, a rope ladder lowered and soon the small party was climbing swiftly up the side of the dark ship. Samantha struggled to keep her footing. Her shoes making it near impossible to navigate the shifting rope in the darkness. Once she decided to shove them into her belt and make her way without them, it was much easier going.
Tupper pulled her over the gunwale and called out. “All set, gents, let’s weigh anchor and be off.”
Shouts and a flurry of activity erupted around them. The ship was dimly lit with a handful of low lanterns, but the crew worked as if by feel and instinct alone. Three men circled a pegged wheel of sorts. Its brass cap catching the low light as they turned it round and round. Heavy chain coiled around its center post. As they began to move, the ship creaked and popped. The deck beneath Samantha’s stocking-covered feet began to rock.
Overhead, the sails snapped as they caught the night’s breeze. Samantha stumbled and grabbed hold of the thick-tarred rigging as the ship came to life and began its leap across the water.
“You, lad,” Tupper called out. Samantha looked behind her, until Tupper stepped closer and jostled her shoulder. “You, lad, follow me.”
Samantha trailed her across the deck, moving between men of every shape and description. Some pulled at ropes others climbed up wide rigging into the dark of the night. She slowed her stride to watch, but a bark from Tupper had her rushing to catch up.
“I’m not a patient soul, boy. Move yer arse.” Laughter rose around her, and someone close to Samantha gave her a mighty shove in Tupper’s direction. She didn’t dare turn to see who had pushed her. Their coarse laughter followed in her wake.
Tupper disappeared down a stairwell, and Samantha hurried to follow. The passageway was dark as a tomb. She groped her way along the rough wood walls. Ahead of her, a door opened, and a blade of blessed light lit her way to the rear of the ship. She stopped in the doorway of a large, impressive cabin.
“If you’re waiting for a personal invitation, you’ll be standing there quite some time. Get in here and shut the damn door.” Behind Tupper, a ragged black bird squawked from atop an iron perch. “Hush, Leviticus.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Samantha scrambled into the room and shut the door.
“Pay no attention to him. He’s a crotchety old bird who’s long past the age of dying but too damn ornery to give in and keel over.” Tupper removed her hat and tossed it into a chair. A fine-tooled leather baldric soon joined it. Turning to look at her, Tupper ran a hand over her head, smoothing the stray hair from her face. The light from the lanterns caught at the wide streak of silver running through her long, dark hair. Piercing eyes of green appraised her as Tupper moved to stand behind a large oak desk.
Opening a drawer, she pulled a crystal decanter and two glasses from what looked to be a special carved niche designed to hold the delicate items. She poured a healthy draft of the liquor into each glass and handed one to her.
Samantha eyed her over the glass as Tupper tossed back the entire contents of hers in one swallow. She repeated the action and paused to refill Samantha’s glass, only to find it still full.
“Drink up.”
Samantha mimicked Tupper’s actions, and soon realized what a mistake she’d made. The drink burned her throat and stole her breath as it burned a fiery path into her belly. Tears filled her eyes as she coughed and sputtered, and tried in vain to breathe. Tupper filled her own glass again, smiled, and sat down.
“Have a seat.” Samantha did as she was told, wiping the tears from her eyes. Tupper frowned. “Are you all right?” She couldn’t answer but nodded her head. “Another?” Tupper held up the decanter.
“No,” rasped Samantha, “no, thank you.”
“More for me and the bird.” Tupper dipped a slice of cut fruit into her glass and fed it to Leviticus before downing the drink and pouring herself a fourth. She and the bird must have stomachs like iron pots. Maybe that’s the reason the bird refused to die.
Pulling a small pipe from another cubbyhole, Tupper packed the bowl and lit it before leaning back in her chair. Drink in one hand, pipe in the other, she rested her boot heels on the corner of her desk and locked eyes with Samantha.
“Now would you like to explain why I’ve been dragged into your particular mess in the middle of the night? I receive a frantic message from Isabelle Whitmore and, fortunately for you, I was close enough to port to be of some assistance. All I was told was, I had to get you away from a man named Wessler, and Virginia, as soon as possible.”
“I…I will be forever grateful to you and the Whitmores.”
“Isabelle is an old, trusted friend. If she went to all this trouble, the situation must have been dire. Your bruises have already told me as much.” Tupper blew a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling. “So can I assume Mister Wessler is at this moment sailing out with the authorities to meet us?”
“You needn’t worry. I still have two days.” Samantha ran her thumb over the intricate cuts on her crystal glass.
“I don’t understand. Two days?”
“When I got the news you were coming, I picked a fight with him. Openly flirted with an English naval officer at a party we attended night before last.” Samantha’s mind flashed back to her stolen kiss in the dark with the handsome Captain Steele. The dip of his dimpled cheek, his warm smile, the feel of his lips against hers. Perhaps it was the rush of nerves that had sent the heated flush through her when they kissed? What did it matter now? It was unlikely she’d ever cross his path again. She shrugged. “It cost me another few bruises, but I was guaranteed four days of being locked away as punishment. Wessler
won’t even open the door unless his cock decides to work, but I wouldn’t count on it.”
Tupper gave a snort of laughter. “What about when they bring your meals?”
“No meals.”
Tupper’s eyes narrowed. “He doesn’t feed you?”
Samantha notched her chin and held Tupper’s gaze. The last thing she wanted was her pity. “He believes it will break me.”
“Well, at least Isabelle didn’t exaggerate the situation.”
“I know I put her in a precarious position, but I had little choice and an even smaller chance.”
Tupper held her gaze as she set her pipe aside. “You’re tough, I like tough. A good thing, too, because I’m not about to play nursemaid to you. But understand, you’ve put me in a rather precarious position as well. With my crew. I’ve never lied to them before and don’t particularly like doing so now, but the situation here is quite simple. I’m the only woman currently allowed upon this ship. The fact I’ve been Captain now for more years than I can count makes it an indisputable fact. Hell, I doubt if many of the crew even notices I am not a man, and frankly, that’s the way I like it.”
She slid her boot heels off the desk and leaned forward. “You, however, are a different story. From the moment you climbed out your window and down the rope at Wessler’s estate, until the time we deposit you wherever it is we are to deposit you, you are my new cabin boy. Samantha is now Sam, and you will do nothing to raise questions beyond that fact. Clear?”
Sam nodded. “Yes, of course.”
“You will put your mark to the ship’s Articles on the morrow and follow all the rules. You’ll be assigned duties and responsibilities to pay for our generous hospitality, and you shall do nothing to disrupt the running of my ship. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Tupper.”
Tupper pointed a sharp finger in her direction. “Nay, you say, ‘Aye, Captain.’”
“Aye, Captain.”
Tupper gave a smart nod and sat back. “Now, about your final destination…”
Samantha pulled a deep breath. “Take me anywhere.”
“Back to your family in England, I assume?” Tupper relit her pipe.
“No.” She turned the glass in her hand. “They don’t know the truth of what’s happened since I’ve been here, and I don’t want them to suffer for my shame. I’ll send word when I’m able, telling them I am safe and well. They do not need the disgrace this would bring them.”
“The only shame and disgrace is Wessler’s.”
Samantha gave a bitter laugh. “He doesn’t know the meaning of those words.” She pushed her glass across the desk. “Could I get a bit more of whatever this was?”
“It’s fine, sweet Jamaican rum. My personal favorite.” Tupper grinned as she lifted the bottle and filled both their glasses again. Her sharp green eyes sparkled, adding softness to her weathered face. “I’m beginning to think having you aboard may be all right after all.” She pushed Samantha’s drink across the desk. “How are you at shooting a pistol?”
Sam tossed back her drink and coughed. “If I were any good at it, would I be here?”
Chapter 3
Captain James Steele gave the order for full sail, as a rush of men scrambled up the rigging with practiced precision. Soon the pride of King George’s fleet, the newly appointed frigate HMS Lion, pounced like its namesake over the waves. The ship had been made flush for speed and power. Even with a company of more than three hundred men and fully armed with sixty cannon, the golden Lion could attack out of the blaze of the sun and seize her prey with speed and might. Perfect for her new assignment.
With the fresh rank of Post Captain, James Steele stood in the bow with his hands upon his hips and his legs splayed as he rode the ship through the wide-open waters. Salt air cooled his face. The wind lifted the tails of his heavy woolen coat.
As James marveled at the beauty and strength of the new warship, he couldn’t help but wonder what his father’s reaction would be to the news of his commission. Securing such an important post after only three years of captaining the Carlisle came as a surprise. As did his orders.
His father had passed along the seawater flowing through James’s veins. A marquee now, but a captain once himself, Captain Jaxon A. Steele had been the pirate of a great ship called the Scarlet Night. He’d argue that, added to the seawater pumping through James’s heart, there was pirate blood as well.
James smirked. Oh, beg pardon, “privateer” blood. In the years leading up to the decision to leave his lawless way of life, his father held tight to his Letter of Marque and Reprisal making him a privateer. A great distinction once. The ultimate honor among thieves. But now, that lofty distinction wasn’t worth the parchment it was written on.
A frown tugged at his brows. James pulled a great breath of crisp air into his lungs. His new orders weighed heavy on his head. His loyalty to his father was strong, but his sworn oath to king and country must overrule his nagging conscious.
James was to take the Lion and her seasoned crew, prowl the seas, and capture pirates. Six months past, the Crown had revoked all the Letters of Marque. Privateers who had fought and pillaged the Spanish, French, and Dutch in the name of Britain were once more labeled criminals and charged with crimes against the king. Treason was now their offense. Death, their ultimate fate. Their choices were few. They could surrender, whereby they’d be transported to the nearest British prison to be hanged. Or they could ignore the king’s call for surrender and await capture before meeting the same end. Either way, they would all die a few inches taller wearing a hemp cravat.
The once golden age of piracy had tarnished like brass in the salt air. With more sea traffic came more protection and less opportunity for these thieves. Their time of pillaging for profit was over. James’s duty was clear. The list of criminals, their ships, last known locations, and preferred routes awaited him in his quarters. He’d receive a healthy bonus for each capture and, if successful in bringing the most notorious to trial during this sweep of the Atlantic, he would be elevated to the rank of rear admiral of the blue. His career would be secure. He could return home a hero. Wed his fair Lillian. There, at least, he hoped to emulate his father by knowing a great love and ending up happily married.
“Bloody hell, James. You certainly sucked a juicy tit this time.”
“Damn it, Dunbar, you can’t talk to your captain like that.” James hissed as Lieutenant Richard “Ducky” Dunbar moved alongside him.
“No one can hear us, you great prig.” Ducky issued a crisp salute before James noticed he only used one finger in the sharp execution of said salute together with a puckering of his lips to complete the rude gesture.
“One of these days you’ll push our friendship too far and land us both in the brig.” James returned the proper statute of salute and headed toward the aft of the ship and his quarters.
Ducky fell into step alongside. “Oh, pardon me, sir. A thousand lashes for me, sir. Feel free to keelhaul my sorry arse.”
James shook his head. He and Ducky had served together since their first day of training. They had both been lieutenants upon the Carlisle until James’s rise in the ranks. When appointed captain of the Lion and asked which officers James might want to accompany him, Ducky had been first on the list.
Even given his cheek, Ducky Dunbar was a fine seaman and a good man to have around when the fighting started. They had protected each other’s backs on more than one occasion. Ducky was his best mate. He was to stand up for him at his upcoming wedding, too.
“I’ve never seen a more impressive ship, you lucky sot.”
James led him into the rich appointment of his quarters. He hung up his hat and baldric as Ducky helped himself to a brandy and flopped into the nearest padded leather chair. James snatched the etched crystal bottle from his greedy hand and corked it. “I’d like to think luck had little to do with it. I’ve worked hard for this.”
Ducky raised his glass. “Fa
r harder than I, for sure, and yet…” he glanced around, “here we both are, walking her fine decks, lounging in the richness of the captain’s quarters, drinking fine brandy.”
“If you drank a bit less brandy, you could have your own ship.”
Ducky only smiled. “True. But if I were captain of my own tub, I would carry all the burden and headache. And I wouldn’t get to see your ugly face every day.” He lifted his feet to rest upon the corner of James’s desk.
“Please.” James shoved his feet off their perch. “A little respect.”
“Fine. Your ugly face, Sir.” Ducky swirled the amber liquid in his glass. “I should thank you, I suppose.”
“For your new assignment?”
“Nay, for getting me away from Virginia’s shores….and Justine’s claws.”
“Justine?” James searched his memory. Ducky’s list of female admirers was larger than his good friend’s ego. “I don’t remember a Justine.”
“Of course you do. Met her at the Harvest Ball last week. Red hair, pink gown, overflowing corset.” Ducky’s hands indicated an abundance of breasts. He propped his heels back on the desk. “Never fails. Give a woman more than one night of pleasure, and they’re ready to grab a fistful of flowers, find a preacher, and march you down the nearest aisle.”
At the mention of the Harvest Ball, James once more thought of Samantha Christian. The surprise of her heated kiss, followed by her blatant lie about being drunk, had thrown him. Forgive me. She had worried his mind for days. He couldn’t make sense of what happened, nor could he stop thinking about the way that Wessler cad had physically dragged her from the ball. The hostess, Missus Whitmore, had been most distressed after they left. James had been filled with the uneasy feeling that Mistress Christian was in need of his protection. He was tempted to inquire as to the whereabouts of Blackwater Plantation and visit to ease his concerns; assure himself she was well. But business with the admiral precluded any such plans. Days later they’d set sail.
