“How did you come to be a cabin boy?” I asked.
Grant leaned back in his chair, and it creaked beneath his weight. The man was a mountain of pure muscle and as impenetrable as a fortress. He made all the furniture appear like children’s toys.
“It is a sad story,” he said.
I shrugged. “I’m Irish. I love a sad story.”
A smile pulled on the edge of his lips, but then he frowned, folding his hands in his lap. “I was born in a brothel.”
My eyes widened, and I leaned forward in my chair. “Oh, now this is a good story.”
Grant shook his head. “My mother had been a maid to a wealthy family, but she was…assaulted by her master and thrown into the street when she became big with me. She had no family, no connections.”
“Oh, that is sad.”
Grant nodded, wiping his hands with his napkin before setting it on the table. “Say what you will about my mother, about the prostitutes who raised me, but all things considered, I had a happy childhood. I was loved, which is more than one can say for most children.”
I nodded. “Being loved makes up for many sins.”
“Aye,” the Captain agreed. “My mother had one frequent customer, a Navy Captain, Captain Bloomfield. I do not know if he loved her, but he was kind to me. He brought me books, filled me with tales of the sea.” Grant’s eyes grew far away, clouded with the past. “And then one day, mother told me to pack my things.” He laughed low beneath his breath. “It was not much. And then the Captain came for me and told me to kiss my mother good-bye.”
Some force wrenched at my heart, and I imagined Grant as a boy, standing in the shadows, embracing his mother for the last time.
“So I went to sea,” the Captain continued. “Bloomfield promised we would come back, but when we did, my mother was gone. Diphtheria outbreak.”
“Oh,” was all I could manage.
Grant nodded. “I devoted myself then to learning the sailor’s trade. Bloomfield was an excellent mentor.”
“In what way?”
“He taught me everything he knew about commanding a ship, navigation, but more than that.” Grant took a long sip of wine. “He taught me etiquette, how to speak properly. How to be a gentleman.”
“And did he teach you the art of discipline?” I smirked, batting my eyelashes at him.
The Captain’s eyes narrowed on me. “He never touched me, if that’s what you’re assuming. Bloomfield was no pederast. I loved my Captain, and when I grew to a young man, I would do anything to serve him. He helped me rise in the ranks, put me in front of the right people. I owe everything I am to him.”
“Do you think you would like to be an Admiral one day?”
Grant shook his head. “I have risen as far as I can, given the humble circumstances of my birth.”
“Bollocks.”
He cocked his head to the side. “Language, boy.”
“No, sir, it’s bollocks. Thomas Paine says a man should be judged on his deeds and not by his birth.”
He folded his wide arms around his chest. “Thomas Paine said that? I had no idea we had a radical in our midst.”
I shrugged, lifting my eyes innocently up to the ceiling. “Irish.”
Grant took a sip of wine. “Cheers to merit, then, over rank.”
I grabbed my cup. “Sure, I’ll drink to that now. Sláinte. I mean, ‘cheers.’” The conversation dwindled. I cleared my throat. “Have you ever wondered who your father was? Have you ever gone searching for him? Maybe he could do something for you.”
Grant’s face darkened with rage. “I want nothing from that man. But yes, I have spent my whole life searching for him.”
“What for, then?”
“Because when I find him, I am going to kill him.”
My skin prickled, and I hid my shiver by taking a long sip of wine. I had tasted the Captain’s displeasure, and while it thrilled me to no end, God help the person who saw the face of his true ire.
“So,” the Captain continued. “I told you my sad story. Are you ready to tell me yours?”
I snorted, shaking my head. “Not so fast, Captain. You won’t get me to spill my secrets so easily.”
“You said there was trouble at home and that is why you came for Johnny. What does that mean?”
I shrugged, pursing my lips tight.
“I see.” Grant stood up and walked slowly to behind my chair. He clamped his hand territorially on the back of my neck, his other hand reaching down beneath the collar of my shirt to brush against my bindings. “You can try to hide, boy, but I will know the secrets of your soul soon enough.” He undid the knotted gauze, his hand slipping beneath the layers to find my breast.
“My soul is a locked door, Captain.” I made a sound low in my throat as he rubbed my nipple with his thumb.
He leaned down until his lips brushed my ear. “I want to unravel you, open you like the petals of a flower. I want you to bare everything to me.” He nipped my neck, and I gasped as he pulled my nipple taut beneath my loosened bindings. His lips found mine and he kissed me furiously, as if his mouth could part the sea surrounding the deserted island of my heart and make a path. I met his lips with the same ferocity, and before I could take another breath, the Captain had picked me up from the chair and brought me through the door to his bedchambers.
Settling me on the bed, he drew my shirt over my head, balling it and throwing it across the room. Then he set to work unraveling my bindings until he laid my breasts bare, my nipples hardening as they met the cool air of his sleeping quarters. He blew against them, taking each one in his mouth, creating a delicious suction until I arched my spine with a moan.
He pushed my breasts together, creating a ravine through which he stared up at me with his intense blue eyes. “Are you actually affianced to him?”
I rolled my eyes back in my head and lifted my hips to settle him deeper within the concave of my inner thighs. His cock pushed roughly against my folds, hungry and seeking.
He bit my nipple, and I let out a shocked squeal.
“Are you?” He raised his voice.
“Yes,” I whispered as his hand traveled down the length of my waist. He brushed against my belly, his finger twirling around my bellybutton. “I think so.”
He stopped.
“What do you mean? You are either betrothed to him or you are not.”
“There were…discrepancies.”
His hand slipped beneath my britches, grazing over my mound. “What sort of discrepancies?”
“’Tis none of your business.” I gasped as he found the small button between my folds and flicked it with his finger.
“You have made it my business,” he said in a dark voice.
“Captain, please,” I moaned, begging him. For what, I did not know.
He slid a finger inside me, teasing my opening while he continued working on my clit. “Tell me.”
“No.”
He inserted another finger, this time massaging the center of pleasure in my core.
“Ah!”
“Tell me,” he whispered, pressing kisses on my thigh.
“There was a lost letter, a ring they said I stole,” I blurted out in one fevered jumble.
Grant paused.
“I know,” I panted, rising to my elbows. “I know what it sounds like.”
The Captain continued exploring me with his hands as he breathed against my lower abdomen. He replaced his finger with his tongue, and he lightly licked my clit in a circular motion. The sensation sent me spinning, my head rolling back onto the mattress as I stifled a moan with my arm.
“It sounds like a string of poor luck,” he breathed between my legs.
“Bad judgment on my part. I don’t believe in luck.”
He licked me again, and I shivered, scissoring my legs. I hooked an ankle over his shoulder, and he pulled me closer to him. “An Irish girl who does not believe in luck. I have never heard of such a thing.”
“I suppose I’m lucky to b
e here right now.”
Grant’s tongue lapped against the space between my clit and my opening, drinking in the flood of wetness he produced with his fingers. He continued to search within me, his hand working faster inside as he licked harder.
“So you wish Johnny to claim you so you can clear your name?” he breathed.
“Yes, sir…ahhh! Sir…” I hissed.
His fingers dropped away, and his tongue darted inside me, jabbing, circling, licking. Jabbing, circling, licking. The rhythm intensified, his ministrations practiced to the point of intuition. He placed both hands on my hips, bobbing inches above the bed, and bore down on me until I came completely under his control. The sound of his face smacking against my wet folds excited me, and I rocked into his tongue even as he pulled me closer to him. With one last jerk, like the pull of a rope, my body collapsed inside itself. I tore into his sheets with my fingers, my spine contorted with endless pleasure.
He raised his body over mine, covering my scream of passion with a hard kiss. With one swift movement, he was inside me. He came fast, pushing my already pulsating body to greater heights with his violent pounding, and with each thrust he gave me more and more of his seed until he collapsed on top of me.
“Are you in love with him?” he breathed, lifting himself up to scrutinize my shuddering, fevered body.
I looked him straight into his blue eyes. “You’ve already asked me that question.”
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head, staring down the length of my waist, my breasts, finally meeting my gaze once more. “I do not believe you.”
“I don’t care,” I spat, unsheathing his cock from my core and rolling over, my back to him. “What would you know about love, anyway? The only person you’ve ever loved was a pedophilic sea Captain.”
Grant paused, the tension in the room rising.
“Interesting,” he said, settling back against the mattress.
I turned around. His chest lay bare before me, each muscle so sharp and chiseled, like it was carved by the gods themselves. I shook my head. “What’s interesting?”
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “How defensive you get about it. As if you have something to prove.”
Forgetting myself, I threw a pillow at his head. He dodged it with ease, and before I could dart from the bed, he had me pinned against the mattress. His hair fell against his forehead in damp strands, his eyes blazing with blue fire. “You are still keeping something from me. I aim to discover it.”
“I dare you to try,” I replied.
“I believe you underestimate my power.”
My chest heaved, sweat beading on my forehead. Underestimating the power of this man would be an act of sheer ignorance. I changed tack, my wrists falling limp in his hands.
“If you have ever loved something, something you would die for a thousand times over, then please. Don’t ask me again.”
Grant’s eyes softened, and he nodded, releasing me with a long exhale. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall.
“Make sure my boots are glistening tomorrow, boy,” he said.
“I will, sir,” I whispered, gathering my clothes.
“And don’t forget to polish the buckles, either.”
“Of course.”
“And not so much starch in my shirt this time.”
“As you like it, Captain.”
“Good night.”
“Good night, sir.”
Chapter Fifteen
After that night, life fell into a steady routine. During the day, the quartermaster ordered me about like a slave, rapping me on the head every time I messed up an intricate knot or didn’t scrub the deck clean enough. But sometimes late at night, he would point to the heavens above, teaching me the complex system of stars and navigation. Beneath those twinkling beacons in the dark sky, with my eyes wide and the salty air stinging my cheeks, I began to see the order of things, the path laid before us.
As for the Captain, he remained cool and distant since our last exchange. During the day, he ran back and forth on the deck in a blur of blue, shouting orders at the herd of officers following him. But at the end of the day, he all but collapsed into bed, slipping into a deep sleep. Sometimes I wanted to reach out and touch him, soothe the creases in his brow, but what good would it do for him? For me? He knew it was Johnny I was after, and the sooner we found Willaumez’s ship, the better we would all be for it. Sometimes Andrews would pass me on deck, but he never glanced at me nor called for me as he had threatened.
The gun captain had decided to train me to be a powder monkey for the cannon. A tall, coarse man, he walked me through to where I would locate the powder in the ship’s magazine and showed me the most efficient way to carry it up to artillery. When we finished the tour, he spit out a blob of tobacco and pulled out a stopwatch from his coat. Even with the sailors tromping across the deck and the groaning of the beams above our head, the ticking hands pounded in my ears.
“Move yer arse, O’Brien! Ye need to get down to four minutes, ye worthless cunt!” he roared after me.
My blood raced through my veins as I bolted up to the gun deck, the heavy cartridge digging into my back. I passed it off to the gunner, who shook his head with a patronizing smirk.
“Six minutes!” the gun captain roared, slapping me on the back of my head. The sting of his hand made my ears ring. “The Elizabeth will be Swiss cheese at this point, and yer bloody mop top will be bobbing in the sea with the rest of yer severed limbs. Do it again!”
I clutched at my side, trying to catch my breath.
“Go, ye little shite!” He kicked me in the backside, and I went sprawling to the deck, the gunners howling with laughter.
“Ye think the French are gonna give ye a break?” he bellowed. “Ye think they’re gonna bring ye a cup of tea? Get yer arse down to the hold now!”
I scrambled to my feet.
“And keep yer bloody head down unless ye want a bullet between yer eyes, ye bastard!”
Cheeks burning, my sides twisting in pain, I raced to the hold, the quartermaster still hollering behind me.
The darkness below deck swallowed me, but with the efficiency of an automaton, I grabbed the cartridge and hoisted it over my shoulder. Just as I ran to the stairs, a hand shot out from the darkness and covered my mouth, smothering my scream.
“Where have you been, my little cabin boy?”
Andrews.
Cold sweat broke out like pond scum on my skin. I wrestled away from him. “I’m wanted on the gun deck.”
He grabbed my arm, thrusting me back to him. “I have been thinking of you.”
I struggled against his bruising fingers. “Go fuck yourself.”
Andrews’s grip tightened around my wrist, bruising my flesh. “Meet me back here tonight with the maps, or I go straight to the Captain.”
I slammed my heel on Andrews’s boot, and the Lieutenant let out a yelp. I darted for the hold, his hands flailing in the darkness for me. I did not look back until I returned to the gun deck.
“O’Brien, you bloody scab!” The quartermaster’s hand slammed in the back of my head, and I crumpled to the ground like a sack of potatoes, the cartridge rolling out of my hands. He towered over me, his hands on his hips. “Ye taking a nap down there? Ye want his King’s finest standing around deck with their cocks in their hands waiting for yer sorry arse to bring them some bloody gunpowder so maybe, just maybe we can get this whoreson Napoleon?”
He spit out a fresh glob of tobacco and reached down to me with a hand blackened with gun oil. “Get up, ye sniveling shite. Yer poxy mother should have thrown ye into the river for as good as ye are to anyone. Get up now!”
Sailors sniggered behind their hands, and my face flamed, my stomach still churning from Andrews ’s requests. I could do nothing but run again and again, until finally, sometime near sundown, I made it to four minutes.
I breathed a sigh of relief when I entered Grant’s chambers
and found him missing. Looking around to make sure I was alone, I darted to his desk, rummaging through the papers in search of the maps. Finally, I found them buried in a drawer underneath some old correspondence. Taking out a fresh sheet of paper and a quill, I set out to sketching them, my hand flying across the page before I could even think of my betrayal, of the consequences of my actions. Andrews may have been a spy, but if I went to the Captain, the Lieutenant would tell everyone what was missing beneath my trousers. Word would get out and Grant would lose his credibility, and I would be locked in the brig or thrown overboard. They were just some bloody maps, the edge of some island in the Caribbean.
With trembling hands, it took me almost an hour to complete the copies. Boots thundered behind the door, and I finished up, throwing the original maps back into the desk. I stowed my drawings in my coat pocket, and when Grant opened the door, nothing looked out of place. I pushed a broom across the floor, but he barely said two words to me as he remained locked in conversation with two other officers. Setting my broom down, I dashed downstairs to the galley to retrieve his dinner, a clawing, churning feeling in my gut for what I had done.
My hands shook as I poured Grant’s wine, my entire body a mass of nerves and exhaustion. The officers had left and only the two of us remained.
He grabbed the pitcher from me and pulled up at my sleeve, eying the bruises on my wrist. “Where did you get these?”
I blinked, hesitating, remembering Andrews’s strong grip in the hold.
“Oh, this is nothing,” I said, waving him away. “The gun captain, sir. He was training me to be a powder monkey.”
The Captain grunted. “Much good it will do you. I will make sure you will never see battle.”
“I’m not afraid of war,” I said beneath my breath.
“That is because you’ve never seen it.”
“I saw my fair share during the 1798 uprising, and again in 1803.”
“You saw it. You did not fight it.”
I stifled a laugh with a cough. Now was probably not the best time to tell the Captain my Ma and I ran weapons to the front lines of the rising. Da had taught me how to shoot, and I was a crack shot. A natural, he had said. But like the Captain, he refused to allow me to do any of the real fighting.
The Captain's Rebel (Irish Heroines) Page 12
