The Captain's Rebel (Irish Heroines)

by C. B. Halverson

  “He was going to sell me out to you and the crew!” I cried. “I couldn’t have that!”

  “But you could copy my private correspondence.”

  My throat tightened, and I tried to speak but only a sob escaped my lips. I closed my eyes, wishing I could disappear, pull Grant’s sheet over my head and, like in a magic show, turn into air. The enormity of what I had done washed over me, and I struggled to escape his gripping hands even as he dug in tighter to my flesh. The one man who had protected me, kept me safe, looked out for me on this crazy errand into the wilderness, the one man who ignited a kind of passion I had never known in my life…I had betrayed him. A sickening feeling churned in my stomach, tears rolling down my cheeks.

  “I swear I’m not a spy.”

  “You are not a spy, I know that much.” Grant pushed himself off the bed with his knuckles. “But you are selfish, Mary. Shortsighted. Do you have any idea what Andrews could have done with that information?”

  “I swear, I didn’t know—”

  “But rather than come to me, you served this traitor!”

  The air in the room crackled with tension between us. A dark hand passed over my heart, leaving my blood cold.

  “I didn’t serve Andrews. I killed him.”

  Grant reeled on me. “You wanted to play cabin boy, Mary. You should have put me, your master, before all things!”

  I leaped from the bed. “You’re not my master, Richard, and I’m sick of this stupid game!”

  He startled at the sound of his Christian name, but he recovered, snatching my wrist. “Where are you going?”

  “To sleep on the gun deck.”

  He pulled me closer to him. “No.”

  I wrenched my hand away and grabbed my clothes. He flung his arm around my waist and threw me onto the bed. I landed face down with a gasp, the air escaping my lungs as I struggled beneath him.

  His breath felt hot in my ear, and his cock hardened as I squirmed, tangled in the sheets. “You are a liar, Mary. I am your master.”

  “You are not!” I cried.

  He kissed my neck, and I moaned, my clit aching as he thrust against my backside. “That’s right, Mary,” he said, his fingers trailing down to my slit. “Look at how wet you are, even now, even when you struggle beneath me. You want to obey me, serve me.”

  “I do want to…I…I want you…I…” The words caught in my throat with a choked sob, even as my hips tilted up to give him greater access to my folds. His hands slipped back and forth, spreading our mutual come from our last lovemaking all through my private spaces. The tip of his cock grazed my opening, and I made a sound low in my throat, my spine melting under the force of his strong, sailor hands. I could not say no to this man. A helpless, wild, fevered feeling overtook me, and I threw myself into the riptide of his control, relishing in the way he pulled me under into some warm, dark place.

  “Tell me who your master is, Mary.” He pressed his cock a hairsbreadth deeper into me, but it wasn’t enough, and I arched my back, my hips gyrating to seek him out. A sharp smack cracked through the room, and a a hot ache spread through my backside. “Tell me!” he growled and spanked harder, the slap of his hand forcing a sob from my lips.

  “You are,” I gasped, my body contorted from the sting.

  “Tell me!”

  “You are my master!”

  With one hard thrust, Grant slammed into me, and I came instantly, his masculine power overwhelming me, sending my body over the edge. One hand gripping my hip, his other twisted into my hair, he invaded me, reckless and wild. He groaned and his seed erupted in my core, spilling on my thighs with each long thrust. He collapsed over me, his touch softening, his hands clearing my sweaty curls from my forehead. “Mary, Mary…” he whispered.

  “Are you going to turn me in as a spy?”

  Grant kissed me between my shoulder blades, and I shivered, burying my nose into his sheets. They smelled like him, like sex, like the musty damp of the sea. I wasn’t ready to leave him, not yet. Everything in me ached for him, a constant dull hunger, even then as he panted above me, catching his breath. Even then, I wanted him again and again.

  “Of course not.” He slid out of me and propped himself on his side. His hands swept up and down the hills and valleys of my curves, the movement lulling me into stillness. “We will not do anything, Mary. We will go on as before. You shall stay with Lord Edward when we sail.”

  I turned my head to face him. “Please don’t leave me here.”

  Grant swept his hand across my cheek and closed his eyes for a long time. I felt a possessive energy through his palm, as if he cupped something small and precious, like the last drop of water in the desert. It made me want to throw myself at him, cling to him, but I resisted. Instead I traced the planes of his perfect face with my gaze, the deep lines of his cheekbones, the curve of his brow, the set of his mouth as he frowned. He opened his eyes.

  “I will not be the one who places you in harm’s way, Mary. In spite of the play we are in, you have been my lover these past few weeks. While that may not mean much to you, as a gentleman, it means everything to me. You have been my woman, and I will take care of you as such.” His hand swept past my ear and ran through my sweaty curls. “At least for the time we have left.”

  My vision blurred with fresh tears, and I blinked them back. “It does mean something to me.”

  A ghost of a smile swept across his lips for a moment, but then his face hardened again. “I will arrange for you to stay with Lord Edward and Lady Catherine. They are eccentric, yes, but they will not harm you.”

  I nodded, even though I knew in my heart I would not stay there. I would find a way to return to the sea in pursuit of Johnny, in search of a way to clear my name and take back my land. A sickening feeling of betrayal coursed through me once again, and the emotion gave me pause. I looked away from Grant’s searching eyes. He would know my intent, and something in my heart didn’t want him to know.

  He collected me in his arms, and I buried my face into the hollow of his shoulder. We fit so perfectly, as if our bodies had been molded together by some divine force. My hand curled on his chest and he covered it with his own hand, and they rose and fell with the rhythm of his breathing. Outside the ship, a light rain fell, the soft pattering sound echoing into the walls of the chamber, sending us both to sleep.

  Chapter Twenty

  My shoulders ached from scrubbing the length of the deck, the sun a white-hot mass of flame in the pale blue sky. Sweat dripped from my forehead, soaking into the wooden planks and disappearing immediately from the heat. A scuffle and the shout of voices on the dock made me look up and wander over to the railing. Below, four soldiers in the scarlet of the English Army surrounded Captain Grant and two of his lieutenants. I couldn’t hear over the din of the docks and the incessant cries of the seagulls, but by the tense set of Grant’s shoulders, I knew the exchange had turned heated. Finally, he nodded and turned on his heel up the gang plank, the soldiers following in close pursuit, bayonets perched on their forearms.

  When the Captain reached the main deck, his eyes searched for me. I took a step forward and captured his gaze, and a glint of panic flashed in his irises for a moment until he hardened his stare again. In spite of the heat, a cold shiver shot down my spine.

  “O’Brien,” he bellowed.

  I dropped the scrub brush onto the deck with a clatter. “Sir?”

  The soldiers shoved past him, one of them hovering close to my face, his teeth stained yellow with tobacco. “Are you Michael O’Brien?”

  My mouth flapped open and closed, my throat tightening. Sweat broke out on my skin like a shroud of cold silk, and I flinched as the soldier’s hand clamped my arm.

  “Are you Michael O’Brien?” he barked again, louder this time.

  I nodded.

  The soldier gestured to another one who manifested a pair of iron shackles.

  “You’re under arrest.”

  “What?” My words sounded high and tinny in
my ears. The bright light blinded me, fuzzing the edges of the soldiers. A low murmur had arisen from the deck as sailors crowded over to see the commotion. The press of bodies sucked the air from my lungs and black spots crowded my vision as the shackles clicked shut against my wrist. The sound awakened something inside me, and I snapped back awake, my voice low again.

  “What have I done?” My voice quavered. I knew why they had come for me, but my mind refused to accept it. “Why are you arresting me?”

  One of the soldiers cuffed me on the side of my head, dragging me forward. I stumbled and I heard Grant’s voice booming over the rising hum. “You have no jurisdiction to touch my men aboard this ship!” A gentle hand helped me up, and in the chaos I heard his voice whisper, “I do not know what is happening, but I will get you out. I promise you.”

  I shook my head, trying to focus as Grant’s face came into view. The soldiers dragged me forward, and I looked over my shoulder as long as I could, taking in his stony, stoic stare, only his eyes deceiving the rage boiling beneath his skin.

  Aside from the churning in my stomach, I felt numb, as if I were being swept up by a great gust of wind, unable to resist its hurricane force. One of the soldiers shoved me toward the plank, and my feet barely touched the ground as we walked the length of the dock before they shoved me into a cart bound for prison.

  The door of my cell opened, letting a small sliver of light through the darkness. Folding my knees closer to my chest and blinking hard, I inched backward as two soldiers came into view, their arms reaching for me. They grabbed the lapels of my coat and dragged me out of my cell, down a long hall. From faraway, someone belted out an unholy scream, and I swallowed the wave of panic bubbling up inside me.

  “What have I done? Tell me why I’m here!” I suppressed the high quiver in my voice, raising my chin to face my jailers. If they discovered I was a woman, for sure I would be done for. Neither of the soldiers answered me, but instead opened a door to a chamber empty save a few wooden chairs and a pair of shackles dangling from a low wooden beam. I backed away, struggling against the soldiers’ iron grip.

  “Don’t!” I exclaimed, my situation coming clear to me. They were going to torture information out of me. Information I did not have. And in the process of torturing me, they would discover my true identity as a woman. The discovery of a woman aboard the Elizabeth would not look good for Grant, and it would surely be the death of me. “I haven’t done anything!”

  They unlocked the chains on my wrists and wrenched my arms up to bind to the ones dangling from the ceiling. I made to kick one of the soldiers, but he diverted the blow and sent his fist deep in my side. My breath hitched, the pain blinding me for a moment. From faraway, I heard a low, animalistic gasping sound and a murky blackness passed over my eyes. When I opened them again, Admiral Endsworth stood in front of me, so close I could see the pores around his nose, the white hairs flecked on his jaw. The small chamber was oppressively hot, and a slight sheen cast over his rugged features. He studied me with a dark stare.

  “You are Captain Grant’s cabin boy. The Irish lad.”

  “S-s-sir…” I shook my head, trying to bring the world back into focus again.

  “Tell me how long you’ve been involved with Lieutenant Andrews.”

  “I had nothing to do with Andrews, sir. I swear to you.”

  The Admiral shook his head. “That is not what I heard, boy. I suggest you start talking, or you will not enjoy what is coming to you.”

  “Sir, I swear. I’m not a spy!”

  Endsworth nodded at one of the soldiers who marched across the room, a knife in hand.

  “No!” I cried. Fear gripped my belly, and I rattled my shackles in a vain attempt to escape. The soldier grabbed the hem of my shirt and shredded it in half, nicking my back. Blood trickled down my spine and into my trousers, and I went limp, the iron shackles digging hard into my wrists.

  “Stop!” the Admiral’s voice boomed through the chamber.

  I blinked, and his face was only a hairsbreadth from mine. He grabbed my chin and scrutinized me with his clear, watery eyes. He threw his arms around me, and with a rent beneath my fingers, the last of my shirt fluttered to the floor, bloodied and stained. Along with it, the last shreds of my gauze bindings drifted in the air like small white birds. Someone let out a low curse, footsteps shuffling. In spite of the heat of the room, my skin prickled with gooseflesh as the Admiral breathed fast against my cheek.

  “Set her down!”

  With one click, I stumbled to the floor, the room tilting as I tried to regain my footing.

  “You. Give her your shirt.”

  “Sir?” one of the soldiers asked.

  “Your shirt!” the Admiral bellowed.

  Endsworth crouched down and shook his head. “You have quite a story to tell us, my dear.”

  The last thing I saw were the flecks of bright silver in his irises before the cold stone floor folded over me and enveloped me in a well of darkness.

  …

  My mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton, my eyes gummy and stuck shut. Scrubbing my face with the back of my hand, I took stock of my quarters. Cleaner, no doubt, than the hole they had buried me in beneath the garrison, with a bed, a chair, a nightstand, and a pitcher. But the barred window on the door revealed my prisoner status. A maid came in with a bowl of gruel and a dress and undergarments. She wordlessly changed the bandage across my back and fled the room with a pinched look on her reddened, sour apple face.

  Wincing in pain, I managed to throw the thin shift over my head, but exhaustion took over me before I could even manage dressing myself in the threadbare linen dress she had given me. Instead, I took a sip of water and tried to wolf down a few bites of gruel before my stomach protested, and I gave up. Lying on my side, I stared at the wall, wondering where Grant was and if he would hold true and come for me. A heroic man was wont to say those sorts of things in the heat of the moment, but the vengeful look he flashed the soldiers as they dragged me away spoke to a deeper promise.

  And if he helped you, what then? When have you ever given him even a glimmer of hope that we could have anything beyond what we experienced in his bed? Nay, Mary. He’s no doubt a hundred leagues from you.

  The thought brought hot tears to my eyes, and I wiped them away with the back of my hand. Gritting my teeth against the cut on my back, I went through my cover story from beginning to end.

  Hours later, the Admiral came in, escorted by several soldiers. He bid them to leave and we sat face to face, alone.

  “This was quite a good ruse you and Andrews set up,” the Admiral drawled. He sat still, not even the fringe on his shoulders quivering in the light breeze from the barred window.

  I gave him a blank stare, but my skin prickled with the mention of Andrews.

  “Did Captain Grant know of your disguise?”

  I paused for a moment, stilling my pounding heart. “No.”

  Endsworth leaned back in his chair. “I find that incredibly hard to believe.”

  I shrugged. “You didn’t seem to notice when we paid you a visit.”

  Irritation flickered in the Admiral’s clear eyes, but he quickly suppressed it. “What is your name?”

  “Margaret O’Reilly.”

  “And where are you from, Margaret O’Reilly?” He said my nom de plume with an arched eyebrow, sarcasm dripping from his lips.

  “From Donegal, sir.”

  “And how long have you been spying for the French, Miss O’Reilly?”

  I maintained my level gaze at the Admiral. “I’m not a spy, sir. I’m looking for my sweetheart who went off to war.” I blinked up some fake tears, which, given my state, were not difficult to muster. “You see, sir. I’m…I’m with child, sir.”

  I stared down at my hands, trying to make myself appear small, vulnerable. The silence in the cell stretched between us, until finally the Admiral spoke in a low voice.

  “Unfortunately, for you, Miss O’Reilly, I do not believe your hor
seshit story, and I do not care if you are carrying some sailor’s bastard or not.”

  My head snapped up to face the Admiral, my heart pounding in my chest.

  “I have two men who saw you go down to the hold to meet with Andrews.”

  I shook my head, fumbling with my words.

  The Admiral’s voice rose. “I also have the word of two Lieutenants about how Andrews, while drunk, bragged about ‘using you.’”

  “Sir! Andrews threatened to reveal my identity to the Captain, to the crew! That’s all. He…he wanted me to do things…”

  “And I also have word from Mr. McGregor that you discussed your involvement with revolutionary activities in Ireland, activities that allied you with French interests.”

  I felt as if someone had shoved a knife into my heart. Gentle, kind Mr. McGregor, one of the two men I truly trusted aboard the Elizabeth—my betrayer.

  “I swear.” The words caught in my throat, and I struggled for air against the bandages wound tightly around my chest. “I swear I wasn’t working for Andrews, sir. I’m not a spy. I’m just a girl looking for her man. Grant will tell you. I’m no spy!”

  “Grant has already set sail.”

  The walls closed in on me, and a rattling started in my ankles and swept up through to my shoulders. He had left me. I knew he would, but I still refused to believe it. My last ally on this earth had abandoned me in this prison. I buried my head in my hands, willing myself to remain calm, but the more I tried to stop the incessant shaking, the more my body betrayed me. It served me right. He had given me everything, and I had done nothing but bring him an ocean of trouble.

  The Admiral stood, towering over my bed. “Richard always did have a soft spot for the cabin boys.” He tsked, shaking his head. “You Irish scum. You think you are so crafty with your disguises and your intrigue. You think the French give a damn about you and your backwoods island?”

  I shot up, staring the Admiral in the eye. “I don’t think the French give a damn about us. I know they don’t! You think for one minute I would serve them? I was but a child when they abandoned us to your English guns, but I remember. You have the wrong person, Admiral. I may detest your King, but English or French, your wars mean nothing to me!”