by C. K. Brooke
Capturing the Captain
American Pirate Romances,
Book 1
By C.K. Brooke
Capturing the Captain
Copyright © 2016 by C.K. Brooke.
All rights reserved.
First Print Edition: April 2016
Limitless Publishing, LLC
Kailua, HI 96734
www.limitlesspublishing.com
Formatting: Limitless Publishing
ISBN-13: 978-1-68058-596-4
ISBN-10: 1-68058-596-7
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
For my husband and my dad.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
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Author’s Note
All Bible verses in the text are quoted from the King James Version (KJV), first published in 1611.
Chapter 1
The Atlantic Ocean, 1720
Somewhere off the coast of the Colonies
“Sail ho!”
“Broadside!”
Abigail Clear leaned against the rail, cupping a hand over her eyes. It didn’t take long to spot what the men were shouting about. Illuminated beneath the high afternoon sun was the prominent shape of a ship, riding the smooth, crystalline waves. It sailed so swiftly, in fact, that the two vessels appeared to be in for a perpendicular collision.
“What’s the hurry?” she muttered, snatching the spyglass from Sorley’s pocket.
“Hey,” the old pirate chided her, but didn’t object as she extended the neck of the scope and held it to her eye. “Whose flags they flyin’?” Sorley asked her.
Before Abi could answer, Rags howled, “That’s Dagger Jim’s ship, it is!”
“Nonsense, you halfwit.” Bones elbowed him. “Let me have that, Abi.” He held out a weathered hand, and Abi passed him the spyglass.
“They be impendin’ too quickly,” observed Sorley ominously. “Headin’ right for us. Might be Calico Jack or Black Bart, come for another battle.”
“Nay.” Bones waved him down, squinting through the spyglass. “They’s flyin’ the King’s colors.” The instrument nearly slipped from his chapped brown hands. “The King’s colors,” he gasped.
Rags paled.
“Captain Clear,” bellowed Bones.
The others echoed his call as more of the crew scrambled across the deck for a look at the oncoming man-o’-war. Abi got out of the way, moving back as the men whipped out dirks and swords in preparation. Her pulse thudded with her every backward footstep. If the pursuant ship was a man-o’-war waving the King’s colors, it could only mean…
“The Royal Navy, eh?”
Abi swiveled around. Captain Abner Clear’s heavy boots clomped over the wooden panels in clipped, determined strides. She was awash with relief at the familiar sight of him, his silver-buttoned black coat whooshing behind his knees, royal purple cravat at his neck and, streaming out from beneath his hat, wispy red hair, identical to her own.
“Papa.” Abi rushed to his side. “Is it truly the Navy? What do they want?”
“Our heads, I reckon. All hands on deck!” Her father proceeded to bark out commands to the crew. The ship lurched beneath Abi’s shoes as the men rushed to their stations and began manipulating the sails.
The captain turned back to her. “I know you’re inclined to fight, daughter,” he said, unsheathing the scimitar he kept at his belt beside his favored cutlass. He’d won the exotic weapon in a duel against a corsair. Abi had always loved the way he told the story. “But I’d rather you remain below for this. However,” he offered the prize hilt to her, “keep this, just in case.”
Abi clutched the weighty scimitar, watching her father’s back as he strode ahead of her. She then stole a glance at the steps leading down to the cabin deck. She considered her fierce weapon. Using it would be a thrill. But she couldn’t disobey her captain.
Decidedly, she hastened in the direction of the companionway—an easy feat, considering she wore trousers—while holding her free hand over her hat, so that it mightn’t fly off.
Crash.
A mighty impact from the enemy ship quaked The Succubus and her every crewman. Abi stumbled to her knees amidst the others’ shouts. She gripped a rail to prevent herself from sliding with the rocking ship, and steadied herself long enough to read the name of the vessel whose cannon fire was pummeling them. The Indomitable.
She squinted at the letters. They weren’t prefixed with HMS. Neither did they spell a typical title for a naval ship, which were oft named for English cities. She was trying to guess at what it could mean, when a distant yell of “Fire in the hole!” and another blast of cannons interrupted her ciphering.
Abi hovered in the corner, hugging the scimitar to her chest, her hatted head bowed against any shrapnel that might rain down. Hearing new voices, she opened her eyes behind the curved blade.
Why, they didn’t look like officers of the Royal Navy at all. Dressed in an array of colors and garb, the diverse invaders shared no common uniform as they stormed her father’s ship. And that was when Abi understood. It was a private man-o’-war—deeming their assailants privateers.
One sporting longish gray hair stomped imperiously up the prow as though he owned it. He came to a stop before Captain Clear. With no further introduction, he demanded, “Where’s the Spanish Treasure?”
Abi’s father cocked his cutlass at the man’s throat in response. Yet the privateer parried the attempt with a swing of his sword. “I’ll ask ye again, Clear. Where is it?”
The captain narrowed his eyes. “It ain’t on my ship, if that’s what you were hoping.”
The privateer frowned.
“And good luck findin’ it,” chuckled the captain, just as the flustered privateer flashed his weapon again. Captain Clear deflected it, and battle broke out across the deck.
Swordplay clanged in Abi’s ears, and she already smelled blood. The young woman scrambled to her feet, nearly deafened by roaring voices and the unsettling bang of a pistol. More enemies rushed past her, wrecking and ransacking whatever they could, as though in a mad search.
Pirate hunters—that’s what privateers were. Seafaring men, given permission by the King of Great Britain to loot the ships and rid the ocean of pirates like Abi’s papa.
Like her.
Before she reached the top sta
ir to safety, she dared a glimpse over her shoulder to see who was winning. She shouldn’t have done it.
A stranger’s eyes locked with hers, and his stubbly face twisted into a snarl. “One’s tryin’ to escape,” he told his fellows. They bounded after her.
Abi raised the scimitar. But with a savage swipe, the privateers knocked it clean from her grip. It clanged against the planks helplessly. She opened her mouth to scream, but was caught and smothered by a gloved hand. To her horror, none of The Succubus’s crew seemed to notice. Each pirate was engaged in his own battle against the invaders, dripping with sweat or blood, some even having fallen.
“Papa,” Abi tried to wail, when a gloved finger found its way into her mouth. She bit it. Her captor grunted and hauled her over his shoulder with renewed malice.
Abi grew dizzy as she was passed into another set of hands and hoisted over the gunnel. Just when she thought she would regain her breath, a black scarf was stuffed into her mouth. She had just enough oxygen remaining to witness her captors trying to do the same to more of her father’s crew. But they fiercely resisted.
Abi kicked her legs, but it didn’t help. She was suffocating as her feet met the deck of the enemy ship. “Take ’im to the brig,” she heard someone say, as a new bout of cannon fire pounded The Indomitable in retaliation.
“They’re firing at us,” yowled a foreign voice behind her.
The young men she’d seen rushing past her and ransacking her father’s ship climbed back across the rigging onto their own vessel. “We looked everywhere,” they called up. “We couldn’t find hide nor hair of it.”
“Get back aboard,” spat the one who contained Abi. The young sailors made it in time before The Succubus blasted another cannon.
Good, thought Abi breathlessly, sinking to her knees despite the stranger’s hold over her. We’re winning. I’ll be off this godforsaken ship in no time.
But the lack of air overcame her, and blackness settled in.
***
Her head felt cold. No, not cold—more than that. It was positively freezing.
Abigail’s eyes flew open. Immediately, she hissed and grabbed her head. She was lying face-down on a filthy floor, the wood damp from ocean air and slick with what could only be someone else’s long-dried blood. She shivered in disgust, still holding her throbbing head. She glanced up and around her. What was this horrid place?
The harrowing events of the afternoon rolled back to her, soaking her like a tidal wave. She’d been abducted! She was aboard that ghastly privateer vessel, locked away in the brig! Carefully, she got to her feet. Her legs felt delicate, jiggly. She gripped the bars behind which she was imprisoned and rattled them noisily, but no one was there. “Help,” she croaked.
She exhaled when she heard footfalls beyond the door. Low chatter filled the room as two sailors waltzed in, finishing their conversation before bothering to light a lantern. Their beards and hair looked scruffy, but their clean blouses were tucked into trousers held up in fine sashes.
They approached her, shining the lantern in her face. Abi shielded her eyes, backing into the corner. “Wot’s your name?” asked the first fellow.
Abi didn’t respond, only hid her face from their scrutiny in the blinding light.
“I ask you again,” he said, more aggressively, “wot’s your name, boy?”
Boy?
Abi stilled. But of course—she was dressed as a man. A boon, she was quick to realize, as she didn’t want to imagine what they might do to her, should they discover her to be female. She had grown up in the company of pirates, after all. She knew what men were capable of.
“Speak,” commanded his companion.
Abi said nothing. Her voice would certainly give her away. In that moment, she silently thanked her father, wherever he might be, for offering no objections when she first chose to dress herself in trousers, with a jerkin over her shirt to flatten her troublesome breasts.
The sailors stepped closer. “Where is the Spanish Treasure?” They reiterated the question the first invading privateer had asked her father.
Abi bit her tongue.
“Eh?” The light flashed as they shook the lantern threateningly. “Tell us!”
Keeping her face hidden, Abi only shrugged.
She stole a tiny peek as the men exchanged glances. The first sighed, lowering the light. “Fine,” he snapped. “If he won’t speak t’ us, then I’m sure our captain will loosen his tongue.”
“Woe unto you, bilge rat,” grumbled the other, turning his back on her. With noisy boot steps, the sailors departed, slamming the old wooden door in their wake. Once again, the brig was immersed in darkness. Abi took a breath, but it wasn’t one of relief. They were sending their captain down? How would he possibly force her to speak?
“Oh, Abi,” she whispered to herself, massaging her sore brow. What now?
***
Captain James Morrow rose from his chair, looking over his crew’s apologetic faces with blatant disapproval. With a cool wave of his hand, he dismissed them.
Once they’d shuffled out, the man shifted his focus onto Calahad. The older man stood before him, wearing a serious expression. “One prisoner?” Captain Morrow stared down at his first mate, his voice the dangerous purr of a surly tiger. “Just one? And it’s not Abner Clear?”
Calahad began to respond, but Morrow spoke over him, the volume of his voice rising, the tiger itching to pounce. “And none of the treasure recovered?”
“Charley and Pippin swore it wasn’t on the ship, Captain,” attested Calahad, removing his hat. His eyes twinkled with contrition, and Morrow heaved a puff of breath.
Straightening his cuffs, the captain made his way from the bureau. “God knows how many pounds of damage those bastards did to me ship,” he muttered. “Bloody cannonballs…”
“The captive’s in the brig,” Calahad informed him, joining him as they passed through the door.
Morrow had guessed as much. “Think he’s got any pertinent information?”
“He must,” said Calahad, although the older man didn’t sound too certain. “He’s one of Clear’s crew, isn’t he?”
“We’ll see what he’ll spill.” Captain Morrow strode purposefully to the companionway leading to the next deck below. “That is all, Mr. Calahad,” he told his mate, who was keen to follow him. “Please return to yer duties. I need you to oversee our course and the repairs while I deal with the prisoner.”
“Aye, aye.” Calahad saluted him.
Morrow resumed his descent. The belly of the ship grew darker as he reached the bottom stair. Just ahead, a lit lantern awaited him, hanging on a hook in the wall. Captain Morrow lifted it and, carrying it aloft, wove his way to the brig.
Impatient, he shoved open the heavy, grimy door. He was going to get to the bottom of this. He was done—so done—wasting time.
Peering into the cell, the man saw nothing, at first. He raised the lantern higher and stepped in to behold what looked like a pile of rags melded against the corner wall. “I am Captain James Morrow,” he announced imperiously, voice ringing in the gritty silence of the tiny jail. “And I warn, if you don’t answer my questioning—and with complete honesty—ye’ll meet the rope’s end, here an’ now.”
The rags trembled, a hat drooping down over the fellow’s face. He was shorter than most, and not very large. No wonder he’d been an easy capture.
“Remove yer hat,” Morrow said.
The figure shook its head in refusal.
Morrow was already fed up. He jammed the key into the door and pulled it. It screeched open, years of salt and rust and abandon decaying the hinges. With a single swoop, he reached into the cell and plucked the hat from its wearer’s head. He tossed it irreverently behind him, into the shadows. It could rot there, with the traitor’s corpse, for all he cared.
The prisoner hid his face in his hands.
“Look at me, coward,” growled Morrow in his most menacing tone yet.
The prisoner’s han
ds dropped away. And then, though with plain reluctance, he lifted his chin.
***
Abi tried not to squirm under the inspection of the imposing privateer captain. She hadn’t needed the brash introduction to guess his station, given the stiff, long-sleeved waistcoat and polished black boots, and the essence about him that he was a man accustomed to being obeyed.
He inched nearer, squinting down at her in the lantern light. Abi swallowed, gazing back. Beneath his tricorne hat fell a straight length of brown hair, gathered neatly back in a ribbon. The effect was somehow incongruous with his chiseled, masculine face, and the intensity of that charcoal-eyed stare.
Captain Morrow spoke in a gruff voice, flavored with a Scottish brogue. “Now remove yer jerkin. Cravat, too.”
Abi had no choice, no defense against the enemy captain. She untied the scarf at her neck and let it fall to the floor. With short, shallow breaths, she unbuttoned her vest. She prayed he wouldn’t notice the unfortunate bust poking behind her loose shirt, that the brig might be too poorly lit, or that a woman’s shape might be the furthest item from the man’s seaward mind.
Alas, her prayers were speedily rejected as Captain Morrow’s dark eyes drifted invariably to the swell of her chest. At first, he betrayed an unchecked look of surprise, before wiping his features stoic again. He appeared merely curious as he extended a hand, reaching to feel her breasts.
Abi thrust away. “Don’t touch me!” she cried, her voice high and pierced with panic.
A miniscule grin hitched the corner of his lip. “Ah.” He straightened. “My suspicions are confirmed.” The grin rapidly faded. “You’re a woman.” Coming from him, it sounded like an accusation. “What were you doin’ aboard a vessel like The Succubus, lass?”
“That is no business of yours,” replied Abi.
