Within A Captain's Power

by Lisa Olech

  Tupper narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t get cocky. There’s nothing more dangerous than angry men with nothing to lose.”

  * * * *

  As James returned to his quarters, a man exited quickly carrying a litter. He gave James a proper if not hasty salute as he flew past.

  Samantha was in his bed. Stitch checked her wound as James nodded toward the door. “What did you tell him?”

  “I covered her face and told him the patient might have the pox. Needed to be quarantined.” Stitch laughed. “Think the greenhorn held his breath the whole way up here.”

  “How is she?”

  “Surviving.” He straightened. “I got six more men who need my attention more than her, however. I can’t stay. She’s going to need tending, and I’ve got my hands full. May have to confide in another man for help here.”

  James planted his hands on his hips and tucked his chin. “I’ll see to her.”

  “You’re already being more than generous giving up your bed. Now you want to play nursemaid? You’re obviously acquainted. How well do you know this woman?”

  Forgive me. James shook his head at the memory. “We shared a dance once.”

  “Must have been one hell of a dance.” Stitch laid out a half-dozen rolls of bandages, a small brown bottle, and a shallow basin. He held up the bottle. “After she wakes, two drops in a cup of water for the pain. Every four bells. No more.” He stretched his back. “I’ll drop in from time to time. I want to keep her wound as clean as possible.”

  “I can change the dressing if needed.” Samantha looked impossibly pale lying there. His earlier anger ebbed into a consuming worry and fear for her.

  “If you insist. All you’ll need is here. Send a man to fetch me if you need help, or if she becomes feverish.”

  It was crazy taking it on himself—there was no denying it—but he couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else close to her. “I think I can handle it.”

  “I don’t doubt it.” He gave James a grin. “My curiosity would love to know why you’d want to.”

  James crossed his arms over his chest. He wasn’t sure he could explain it himself. “That’s my business.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.” Stitch flipped him a haphazard salute.

  James hadn’t known Stitch Taylor for long, but recognized a good man when he saw one. “I’ll send for you if I need to. Thank you for your discretion.”

  After Stitch left, James pulled a chair over to sit beside his bed. Samantha was as white as the sheet covering her. Her beautiful hair had been cut into a ragged cap. The shattered ends seemed to race in a hundred different directions. Lying there, she reminded him of a doll his sister Alicia had as a child made of fragile bisque porcelain. Alicia used their mother’s needlework scissors to hack off the doll’s hair, believing in her childish mind that it would grow back again.

  James reached out to brush at her cheek, expecting she might be cold and rough as the doll’s porcelain face, but his fingertips met warm satin. Thick, dark lashes swept her cheeks. Her lips curved into a gentle pink bow. How had anyone mistaken her for a lad? Was the crew of the Scarlet Night blind? The length of her hair only accentuated the lovely sweep of her jaw and gentle curve of her cheek. He tucked her hair behind one ear.

  Tupper’s men were nothing if not loyal. They probably never raised any question when their captain brought a new cabin “boy” aboard. Fools.

  And none a bigger fool than he.

  James covered Samantha with one of his blankets and left her to rest. Returning to his desk, he withdrew the ship’s log. It would make a fine novel one day, considering all that transpired in the last few hours. Had he not lived it, he would not have believed it. If this were some test of his steadfast resolve…

  Resolve, indeed. He lifted his gaze to the woman in his bed. A woman in his bed. It had been more than a year since he said those words. His relationship with Lillian was chaste. It would be his wedding night before he was allowed to unwrap his proper lace-and-satined wife. For the first time in near a week, he thought of Lillian. He couldn’t image what her reaction would be to this, even if the reasoning were purely innocent. Or was it?

  It wasn’t the first pang of guilt he’d experienced regarding Samantha Christian. Since the night of the Whitmore’s ball, he had struggled to get her out of his head. And now, here she was. As desperate as her situation, as hideous as the events that brought her to this place, past all the worry, a small part of him was elated. He feared he would never see her again. Never learn what prompted her to kiss him and cause him to question and relive that single moment over and over again.

  It was wrong to compare Lillian to Samantha. Completely unfair. But he couldn’t help but think if their two lives reversed somehow, Lillian wouldn’t have survived the trials Samantha had lived through and would continue to endure. The future for Samantha would not include endless debates over the color of shoes, or an elaborate wedding with a dozen attendants and more guests than this ship would hold.

  No. Samantha had made it here through some miracle and faced a future of pain and uncertainty. Once more, she would be fighting for her life. He wouldn’t abandon her and allow her to walk alone into hell, as he had unknowingly done the night of the ball. She deserved someone to defend her. Tupper had risked a great deal to help her. It was only right for him to do the same.

  Chapter 14

  Samantha struggled to swim to the surface of a dark, fathomless sea. Her head pounded. Pain sliced through her when she tried to move. Opening her eyes, whispers of panic tickled up her spine. Where am I? The last thing she remembered…what was the last thing she remembered? The throbbing in her head made thinking near impossible. She moaned and covered her eyes.

  Deep breaths began to clear away the cobwebs hanging in the corners of her mind. Peeking beneath her hand, she tried in vain to recognize something—anything—to give her a clue as to where she might be and what happened.

  “Samantha?” A gentle hand moved hers away from her eyes.

  “Thank goodness,” she sighed, smiling. “I know you. Your handsome face. I shouldn’t be so bold to say, but you have the most beautiful eyes…” Hers closed. Their lids weighing more than she could lift. She remembered where she was at least. The Whitmore estate. The harvest ball. “Has the orchestra stopped playing? I-I don’t hear the music.”

  “Samantha, open your eyes.”

  “I can’t. I’m so sorry. I’m afraid you’ll have to dance with someone else, Captain Steele.” She laid a hand on his shoulder. “James…” she sighed. She brushed her fingers across her lips, remembering the feel of his against them as they kissed. Why were hers so dry? Parched?

  “I don’t wish to dance with anyone else.”

  His voice was gentle. She smiled, then gasped as she tried to move and a shock of pain burned across her hip. “Why does it hurt so badly?” She gripped his sleeve. “Did Wessler…?”

  “You were injured in a battle. Do you remember? You were fighting against my men on the Scarlet Night.”

  The Scarlet Night? Her eyes flew open as the memories flooded into her consciousness. The battle. Noise and smoke and… “British soldiers and cannons. There were so many men. And blood everywhere. Tupper? Is she okay? How…? My mind is muddled. My head is splitting.” She frowned at him. “James… It is you, isn’t it? How is it you?”

  “Aye. Lie still. I’ll bring you something for the pain.”

  She closed her eyes, trying to piece everything together. A moment later, he held a glass to her lips. “Here, drink this. It will ease your discomfort.”

  The liquid tasted bitter, but if it would take away this excruciating throbbing, she would drink it willingly. She finished the cup and thanked him. When he leaned to set the mug aside, she saw past him to the rich appointments of the room. “We’re not on the Scarlet Night.”

  “No, you’re on my ship, the HMS Lion.”

  Samantha clutched at the blankets. “You…you
captured the Night.”

  “Yes. You were injured during the battle.”

  “Tupper. Is she alive? Bump?”

  “Tupper is alive. I’m afraid I don’t know anyone named Bump.”

  “That’s not his real name…. I know it…. I can’t remember.” She rubbed a hand over her eyes.

  “I’ll see if I can find out for you, but you need to rest now.”

  “What will you do to them? Tupper and the rest? Don’t hurt her. Please.” Sam tried to sit, but the searing pain made her cry out.

  He laid a firm, yet gentle, hand on her shoulder. “You must lie still.”

  “You don’t know her as I do. She’s brave and kind. Don’t judge her too harshly.” She tugged on his sleeve. “Please. You must understand. I owe her my life. Bump, too.”

  “You’ll tear your stitches if you don’t lie still.” He eased her back.

  She didn’t know what he’d given her to drink, but it was making things haze around the edges of her vision. “I…please…”

  Sitting next to her, he held her shoulder with a warm hand, keeping her from shifting again. “You need to rest. We’ll talk more later.”

  Some of her anxiety eased. His voice and his touch wrapping her in a comforting cocoon. She could feel herself slipping back into sleep. “But she’s unharmed?”

  “Aye. I give you my word.” He cupped her cheek.

  * * * *

  James stroked the outline of her lower lip with his thumb as the laudanum pulled her back into a dreamless sleep. How could his heart fill upon hearing her whisper his name, only to shatter when reality slammed into the middle of his fantasy?

  She was here. With him. He was touching her lovely face. And the next time she awoke, he would have to tell her the truth. James closed his eyes to the ache and utter frustration.

  Samantha had looked up to him with such pleasure upon recognizing him. She thought they were still dance partners. Then pleading with those eyes, imploring him to help. He didn’t want to imagine how she would look upon him when he had to read the charges against her.

  This was impossible. He wasn’t made of stone. Yes, he had a responsibility and a duty, and he would see it carried through, but Tupper was right. This girl was guiltless, a victim of circumstance. She was gray in a sea of black and white.

  He would defend her position with his dying breath if need be. She would rest and recover from her wounds and he would build a case in her favor. By the time they reached the mouth of the Thames, she would be free to…to….

  James stood and looked back at her. She would be free to pursue her life and return to her family. Without him. He could have no possible claim to her. Either way, he would lose her. But somehow he could live with the hurt that came with such a realization. What was important was she could live her life however she chose.

  Samantha breathed deeply. James guessed she would be asleep for hours. The processing of this prisoner could wait forever if he had his way, but now would be the time. He moved to his desk and gathered the necessary articles. Never before had he been mired in such conflicting emotions where his duties lie, but one duty was clear. The prisoners below could wait no longer.

  James drew to his full height. He would deal with each thing in turn. Order and efficiency had always served him, and now was no exception. He was facing challenges beyond his wildest imaginings, but he would face them one after the next, and see them to their right and proper conclusion. If the outcome was not to his liking, he could find solace in knowing he’d done in this as he had always done…his best.

  James closed his eyes with a grimace as he screamed within his own mind. What a load of steaming horse droppings.

  * * * *

  A table had been set up outside the brig. Four guards stood two abreast, flanking the door behind him in case the prisoners decided to become foolish.

  The first captive to be processed would be the captain of this pirate crew. James kept his eyes averted. Desperate to remember his place. Follow proper protocol. Do his duty with necessary precision.

  “State your name.”

  Tupper dipped over the table. “Sweetheart, you know my name.”

  He lifted his eyes to hers. “Please. This is difficult enough….”

  Tupper straightened and snapped to attention. “Of course, sir. Forgive my impertinence.”

  James slammed his hand upon the table. “Do you think this is some kind of a joke?”

  “Frankly, yes.” She waved her hand over the desk before her. “Do we need all this pomp and parchment? Hang me and be done. Or throw me over the rail with the dead. I’d much rather die with sea water in my lungs than hemp burns around my neck.” She stroked at her throat.

  “If she be going in the drink, shove me over as well.” A large Scotsman standing behind Tupper added. “’Course, if ye could wait till we get a bit farther north, save the cannonballs. Surely, I’ll float. Maybe I’ll wash ashore closer te home.”

  “No one is going in the water,” insisted James. The muscle in his jaw clenched. “State. Your. Name.”

  “Tupper Quinn. Oh, sorry, Alice Tupper Quinn.” She leaned forward to inspect his writing. “Wait…shouldn’t that be Captain Alice Tupper Quinn. Or, Alice Louise is my full given name. Okay.” She stood at attention. “My name is Captain Alice Louise Tupper Quinn.” She turned back to the Scotsman. “That’s a three-ink dipper, that is.”

  “Wait ‘til ye git a load of my moniker. Da was shiteface pissed when he landed me with my string.”

  James took a deep breath. “Captain Quinn. Do you understand the charges against you?”

  “Of course. Save your breath. I’m guilty as the sea is wide.” She leaned over again. “Where do you want me to sign?”

  “You have nothing to say in your defense?”

  “I did what you say I did. And a good deal more. I’m only surprised it took you this long to catch up to me.”

  James shook his head and marked that the prisoner denied making a statement. When he lifted his gaze, Tupper’s grin had disappeared. She captured James’s gaze and held it firm. Bravado gone, she spoke just to him. “There is little I regret, and nothing that can be changed. This was to be my fate with or without you. Understand?” She plucked the quill from his hand. “Where do I sign?”

  Spinning the parchment, he indicated where her mark needed to go. Tupper never lowered her eyes from his as she scribbled her signature. She handed the quill back to him and smiled before stepping aside.

  The Scotsman now faced James. Tupper lingered to the side. James scanned the other prisoners. The first mate they’d discussed earlier hung toward the back of the group, if her description of the man was correct.

  “I’ll hear this man’s statement before I take care of your first mate.”

  Tupper nodded and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Your full name?” James asked the unkempt kilted beast before him.

  The man scratched at his beard. “Malcolm Fergus Francis Eugene MacDougal MacDonald MacTavish.”

  “Bloody hell,” Tupper snorted.

  The man, MacTavish puffed his chest and pointed. “Got ye beat…mine’s a five dipper.”

  James finished writing the man’s name. “Your rank.”

  “Aw, fuk. Battling is strenuous work.” He lifted an arm and sniffed beneath. “Did ye expect me te smell like a garden o’ roses?”

  James ran a weary hand over his eyes while several men, his own included, laughed loudly.

  “I was asking about your position on the ship, sir.” James glared at his men to stop. “Not commenting on your body’s pungent odor.”

  “Oh, beg pardon.” The man stood proud. “I be Master Gunner.”

  “Do you understand you are being charged with piracy and treason?”

  “Aye.” He shook his head. Braids in his beard danced.

  James waited. “And did you wish to defend yourself?”

  “Nay.” MacTavi
sh scratched at his jaw. “Been a pirate all me life.” He shrugged. “Well, ‘cept fer that month I spent in bed wit a fine English lass. Right a’fore I signed on te the Scarlet. Bonny lass she was. Priscilla be her name. Hair like spun honey. A smile te rival the sun. She hated her pa. He hated me more. Paid me a fair quid to pack up me tartan and quit soiling his daughter or he’d rid me of certain bits of me manhood I was fair fond of, if ye gather me meaning. Week later, I sign on wit Captain Quinn. Gavin be a fair man. Fought wit two rogue crews ‘fore finding my place wit this lot.”

  James narrowed his eyes. “So your answer is ‘no.’”

  “Aye…no.”

  James groaned to himself. If every man told him his life’s story, he’d be at this for a week. “Here.” He pointed to the parchment. “Make your mark.”

  Malcolm whatever-his-ridiculous-name MacTavish signed his warrant.

  “I’ll see to the first mate.”

  Tupper got the man’s attention and beckoned him over. He was tall, broad through his shoulders with hair hanging past them in long, twisted hanks. A line of fresh stitches closed the flesh above one eye nearly swollen shut.

  “State your name.” The man stared at him with oddly light eyes given his Jamaican heritage.

  Tupper made a few quick moves with her hands. “He’s known as Bump, but his given name is William.”

  Bump. This was the man Samantha expressed concerned about. James wrote the name “William” on the order. “His surname?”

  Tupper translated. The man shook his head before Tupper interceded. “His last name is Quinn.” As she repeated herself using her hands, Bump gave her a look of surprise.

  He wasn’t the only one to be surprised. James looked to her. “Is this man your son?”

  “As far as I’m concerned, he is.” Tupper held Bump’s gaze as she answered. Her hands moved quickly. “I didn’t carry him in my belly, but he’s as close to my son as any being alive.”