by Lisa Olech
Outnumbered four to one on deck, the remaining crew of the Scarlet Night fought valiantly but the odds were far too great. One after another met a similar fate and joined those captured along the rail
Tupper saw her then. Sam. Poking her head up from below like a rabbit coming out of a hole. Bloody hell! She crept on deck, holding a pistol with two hands. Where the hell…? If that was the gun she’d given her when they’d engaged the Spanish ship, it was empty. Unless Sam had taken a quick lesson in loading a gun, she was heading into battle with nothing more than a vacant barrel and a prayer.
Sam raised her arms and took aim. Even from a distance, Tupper could see the tremor in her arms. The British soldier she was aiming at turned as she pulled the trigger, and caught her across the hip with a low slicing swing of his cutlass. At the same time, another man stopped her with a fierce blow to the back of her head. Sam crumbled at their feet. No!
Tupper wasn’t the only one watching in horror as Sam was taken down. Bump, fighting his own battle stepped away from his post and was distracted for a single critical moment. Plenty of time for his opponent to crack his skull with the pommel of his sword.
Fury and rage pumped through Tupper as Bump was bound and thrown into the growing pile of prisoners. Unconscious, he fell like a sack. Blood coursed from the gash above his eye.
Tupper struggled against her restraints, “Let me loose, ye bastards!” The coarse rope ripped at her wrists and ankles. “Ye fukin’ limey sons o’bitch—”
“Shut your mouth.” The corporal stood over her, pistol in hand. “Or I’ll shut it for you.” He raised his arm.
“Corporal!”
The man lowered his hand and snapped to attention at the approach of two officers. Both young. Green. One, a fair-haired dandy. A lieutenant by his uniform. The other, a higher rank. Tall. Broad in the shoulders. He scowled at the corporal.
“Sir.”
“We do not beat unarmed, bound prisoners. Is that clear?”
“Aye, Captain.”
“You can be flogged for such behavior.” The man turned his scowl on the prisoners. Ice-blue eyes captured Tupper’s. “You there, does your captain live?”
Tupper glowered back. “Aye.” She pushed to a more seated position. “I am captain of the Scarlet Night.
“Quinn?” The man before her appraised her more closely.
“Aye.” She narrowed her gaze. It was oddly disconcerting to hear this British whelp use her name. More prisoners were hauled to the ship’s side. The battle was lost. “I’d offer ye a proper salute, whoe’er the hell ye are, if I weren’t trussed up like some bloody Christmas goose.”
The lieutenant covered his laugh with a cough. “Fascinating.”
“Release Captain Quinn. I see no need for restraints just now, Corporal.” The young captain addressed her directly. “Do I have your word, Captain, that we can discuss our business in a civilized manner?”
The corporal bent to cut the rope at her ankles. She stood the moment her hands were freed. Rubbing her wrists, Tupper needed to raise her chin to glare at him. She straightened her hat. “Given the chance, I would drop you where you stand.”
He stared her down and moved his hand to the hilt of his sword. “Then I’ll see to it you don’t get the chance.”
“Bloody hell, I think I’m in love,” the lieutenant muttered under an amused grin.
“Lieutenant, I’ll leave you in charge. Transfer the prisoners, see the wounded to the surgeon, cover the dead, and assign a detail to secure the Scarlet Night and her goods. Captain Quinn, you’ll lead me to your quarters, where I will take formal command of this ship. If you’re foolish enough to make good on your declaration, my men have orders to kill the remainder of your crew.”
She notched her chin. “You’re planning to kill them anyway. What difference does a few days make? Save your empty threats.”
“You’ll soon learn, my threats are never empty.”
“And neither are mine,” Tupper countered. Around them, the British seamen snapped into action, following their orders. The wounded, Bump and Sam among them, were moved away first. “I don’t know who you are, Captain, but I’ve been fighting better men than you for more years than you’ve been in long breeches.”
“And yet, I’m the one who bested you.” He took off his hat. His hair caught the light. “The name is Steele. Captain James Steele.”
The air left Tupper’s lungs in a rush. Bloody hell. It couldn’t be. Surely there were plenty of men named James Steele. A common enough name. A coincidence. Yet, as she tried to deny the possibility, the truth of it stared back at her. James Steele. The resemblance to his father was undeniable. His height and build. The blue of his eyes. He carried a fair amount of his mother’s genes as well. The red hair, blazing proof, even though it had darkened some since he was a babe. She flashed back to a sunny nursery another lifetime ago, rocking a sweet-smelling bundle with downy ginger hair.
Tupper blinked away the image of the child. The grown man now stood before her. Captain Steele walking the decks of the Scarlet Night. Jaxon Steele’s son. The irony was not lost on her. Did he have any idea of his connection with this ship? Perhaps he didn’t. For all she knew, he was never told of his heritage. His parents could have denied their past, lived their new life and never spoken of it to their son. They could be dead. She didn’t dare ask. The thought brought a deep ache to her chest.
Dammit, she could use a drink. Tupper moved past him, cursing the slight tremor in her knees. Make that two drinks. Or six. “You mentioned wanting to see my quarters, Captain Steele.”
Chapter 11
James followed the infamous Captain Quinn as she led him below. Accompanied by two of his men, he couldn’t help the slight surreal feeling. This was the Scarlet Night. It was smaller than he’d imagined. He had to duck his head to enter the Captain’s quarters. His men flanked him, guarding him.
The woman, Quinn, moved to the desk and retrieved a fine bottle of sweet rum. “I’ll be damned if I leave this to wet the whistle of one of your crew.” She lifted it toward James in invitation. He declined, “I’m on duty.” James watched as she downed one shot, followed closely by another.
“Might as well take my chair. It’s yours now.” She waved her glass toward the chair behind the desk before pulling over a flat-topped trunk to sit.
He paused to take in the beautifully carved oak furnishings. The expanse of leaded windows spanning the back wall of the cabin, and a crafted niche containing the bed. He gave a silent thanks Ducky was above deck seeing to duties there. Although he could almost hear the jibes on his behalf. This was where his parents were wed… by a one-legged cook if the stories were true.
“Handsome quarters.” He set down his hat and sat behind the desk, running his hands over the smooth rich wood. Was it the same desk Father had used, he wondered? Best to forget all that and remember why he was here. With a nod to his men, they stationed themselves on the other side of the door.
“Now then, as I’ve said, I am Captain James Steele of the HMS Lion, and I have been charged with returning you, as captain of the Scarlet Night, and your men to London to await trial for treasonous offenses against the king.”
“Treasonous offenses?” She cocked an eyebrow.
He lifted the ship’s log and glanced at its pages. “Piracy.”
“Wasn’t treasonous when we were filling the royal coffers.”
James shook his head. “Unfortunately, the political climate has changed. You’re to surrender your ship, along with any and all cargo aboard, and be brought back to English soil to face the charges set before a magistrate.”
“Where my crew and I will be found guilty and sentenced to hang in the gibbets lining the Thames.” The woman spoke into her glass.
“That is the punishment for the crime committed, yes.” James waited for her reaction. Stone still, she held his gaze. The damn woman never blinked. Didn’t plead her case. Rail against the injustice. Ba
rgain for her release. She was the picture of quiet resolve. It was most unnerving.
“I’ll need to confiscate your logs, and the signed Ship’s Articles. Your dead will be identified and receive a proper burial. Your wounded are being attended to by one of the finest medical crew to sail the Atlantic. Once the remainder of your men have been transferred to the Lion, they’ll be held in our brig. The best I can do for you, given your rank…and gender, is to accommodate you in a cell by yourself.”
“I’m in no danger from my men, Captain Steele.”
“Desperate men are unpredictable.”
She laughed and sipped at her rum, holding out her pinkie. “So are desperate women.”
“Touché,” he nodded. “Each member of your crew will be interviewed and processed, have the charges against them read and signed. They will have the opportunity to defend or deny their actions at that time.”
“Doubt any will deny they’re pirates.” She leaned forward. “I’ll need to demand one concession, however.”
James narrowed his gaze. “You’re hardly in a position to make any such demands.”
“Very true, but there is a member of my crew who won’t answer your questions without my presence. My first mate.”
“Absolutely not. I can’t allow your coercion.”
The woman crossed one leg over the other. “Wouldn’t dream of it. The man I refer to is a Jamaican. He’s among the wounded.” She pointed to the area over her eyebrow. “One of your men tried to split his skull. He’s deaf. Speaks only with his hands.” She frowned. “Now I think on it, it’s probably best he’s unconscious. Having his hands bound is akin to gagging him. He doesn’t take to that well. I’d hate to see his obvious panic misconstrued as aggression.”
“I see.” He nodded. “In his case, I’ll agree to your request and make what allowances I can.”
“What about the ship? Will you scuttle the Scarlet Night?”
He scanned the room before answering. “No, she’s still a fine sloop. It’s my plan to include her in the store of bounty.”
“Ah, a gift for the king.” She cocked her head, holding his gaze. “Or is it more a gift for your father?”
The question caught him off guard. She was shrewd; he’d give her that. She played her cards close to her chest. Ducky was right, she was intriguing.
James sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “You know of my father’s association with this ship, then.”
She gave him a smug smile. “Of course. Captain Jaxon Steele was well respected by this crew.”
“You joined the ranks after he’d left, am I correct? I’m curious to hear how you came to the Night.”
She paused to pour another drink. “That’s a long tale. I dropped onto her decks close to a year after your father turned over the ship to Gavin Quinn.”
“Your husband.” It wasn’t a question.
“Not immediately, but yes. Gavin and I married. That day I signed the Articles and became a full member of the crew.”
“And you chose to assume the position of captain after his death.”
“Again, not immediately. He died in the earthquake of ninety-two. Yet another long tale.” Captain Quinn emptied her glass and reached for the bottle once more.
A flash of gold caught his eye. Her signet ring. Handwrought, hammered gold, with a fine-scripted “A” holding a tiny pearl in its tail. It looked exactly like—he grabbed for her wrist before she lifted the bottle. The logic of what he was seeing escaped him.
His eyes snapped to hers. “Where did you get this ring?”
Unblinking green eyes fixed on him. The corner of her mouth lifted in a grin. “It was given to me by the finest woman I’ve ever known. I believe she’s your mother. Does she still wear its twin?”
Her words punched him in the chest. What was she saying? “W-who the hell are you?” He still held tight to her wrist.
“My crew calls me Tupper.” She shrugged a shoulder.
“Dear God…Alice Tupper,” he breathed.
“Alice Tupper Quinn,” she smiled. “Sounds odd to hear the old name. Few have called me Alice since Gavin died.” She tugged at his hold upon her wrist.
James released her arm and dropped back into his chair. Tupper finished pouring her drink and offered it to him once more. “Yer lookin’ a might pale. Sure you don’t want a quick one? You can be off duty as well as on. I’ll never tell.”
He shook his head. His mind reeled. “It’s been thirty years.”
Tupper sat back and crossed her legs once more. “Aye, sounds about right. So, you’ve heard tell of me, have you? You were just a wee babe when I left.”
“You saved them,” he blurted incredulously. “My parents. Me. I grew up hearing the tale. Aunt Alice. My younger sister carries your name. She’s called Alicia. We all believed you to be dead. How can you be here? Without a single word from you that you’re alive? After all these years?”
Tupper shrugged again. “Hardly worth it now. Thanks to you, I’ll be dead again in a few short weeks.” She leaned forward as if confiding a secret. “I’m not actually your aunt, you know.” Smiling, she added, “You have a sister, Alicia. How sweet. I imagine had I ever been blessed with a daughter—”
“Bloody hell!” he burst.
Tupper continued as if she hadn’t heard him. “Moot point, I know. Gavin and I were never blessed with children. I had a bird, a crow, but he’s dead. Now your name.” She pointed at him with her glass. “James Samuel Herbert Steele. Herbert was an uncle of yours. A great-uncle, I believe. Did they ever tell you where the ‘Samuel’ came from? This very ship. He was the cook. Samuel ‘Cookie’ Burrows. Grizzled, I’m told, but kindhearted. Loved your father like a son. Had a peg leg.” The liquor had loosened her tongue. “Tell me about your parents, are they well? Still residing in Weatherington?”
“Yes, of course, but…”
She patted her heart. “I’m so glad to hear that. I was almost afraid to ask.”
The conversation went on as if they were at a dinner party. Captain T. Quinn was Alice Tupper! The more he ran over it in his mind, the more unbelievable it became. Yet here she was, sitting across from him, across from his father’s old desk, swilling rum as if it were weak tea and honey. Alice Tupper. Her mother’s best friend. His sister’s namesake. And he was the one assigned to bring her to justice? To hang?
“I want your word as an officer and a gentleman, you won’t tell your mother you found me.”
He jerked back into the conversation. “Wait. What? Why the hell not?”
“I have my reasons, and if she believes I’m dead already, why change that only to have me die all over again for her. It’s kinder this way, don’t you think? I never wanted any of this life I’ve led to tarnish my relationship with her.” She pointed at his chest. “You have to promise me you’ll say nothing.”
“How am I to do that? I have to tell them about the Scarlet Night.”
She waved his concern away with a flick of her hand. “No matter. Make something up. Who did you suppose I was?”
“Captain T. Quinn. I knew you to be a woman, Gavin’s wife. Possibly Jamaican? But in all my imagination, I couldn’t have guessed this.”
“So that is who you’ll say you brought to trial. Gavin Quinn’s wife. A lusty Jamaican with long, dark shining hair and beautiful tanned skin.”
“I can’t possibly lie.”
“Of course you can. You must.” She slammed her glass to the desktop with a crack. Her rum-induced glibness dissolved. “I’m not asking you for lenience. I’m not asking you to go against your orders. In fact, you’d not be your father’s son if you defied your responsibilities. Hell, I’d stripe your back myself if you even suggested it. I won’t fight you. Shoot me, hang me, burn me at the stake. I don’t care. All I’m asking is for you not to tell your sainted mother our paths crossed. A simple lie of omission. Save her from more pain.”
“Seems you’re still saving her
.”
She lifted a shoulder. “I love her. I’ve loved her since we were children together. Let the story they told you be my legacy.” Tupper gave him a saucy grin and cocked an eyebrow. The glibness was back. “It’s either that, or I tell your entire crew how I used to change your nappies.”
His eyebrows pushed toward his hairline. “That’s blackmail.”
“That’s correct. Is it a deal?”
“I know better than to deal with pirates.”
Alice lifted a hand. “Call it…my final wish.”
She had him there. Who was he not to honor the final wish of the woman who literally saved his family? She’d freed his father from certain death, and rescued his mother from the hands of a madman? Nursed her through a horrible sickness on their voyage back to England. Was present at his damn birth! “No mention of nappies?”
Tupper shook her head. “None.”
“You have my word.”
She drained her glass and stood. “Good.” She smoothed her hair away from her face and pushed her hat back upon her head before recorking the near-empty rum bottle with a sharp squeak. Tupper wobbled slightly. “Isn’t it time you ez-corted m-me to my cell?”
Chapter 12
James hit his quarters like a rogue wave. Dropping himself into his chair, he tossed his hat to land wherever it chose, tore loose his neckcloth, and ran his hands over his face before vaulting to his feet again. Captain Tupper Quinn is Alice. The circling of that singular thought was sure to drive him mad. He paced the floor, wearing a path along the rich carpet.
Tupper had the right idea when she began downing close to a full bottle of rum. He stopped pacing long enough to pour himself a healthy measure of brandy. The liquor burned his throat and blazed a trail into his belly. Perhaps it would numb his mind to the impossibility of the situation he found himself in.
What could he do? Nothing. His hands were tied, and with his promise to the outrageous, outspoken Captain Quinn, he was gagged as well. Did he actually think he could keep his word and not tell his family? He had to tell them eventually, but how?
