The Captain's Rebel (Irish Heroines)

by C. B. Halverson

  The Admiral narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “Prepare yourself, Miss O’Reilly.”

  “For what?”

  “For hanging. At dawn.”

  Fear and rage exploded in my heart, and I shook my head, my hands clenched at my sides. “What about a trial? I know my rights!”

  “This is wartime, Miss O’Brien. You gave up your rights when you signed yourself up as a sailor in the Royal Navy. You may not care about these wars, but we do.” A dark purple flush passed over his weathered face. “And we will not have spies in our fleet.”

  The Admiral turned on his heel and left the chamber. I raced after him, but the door slammed in my face. I screamed, pounding on the door until my fists bled, but there was nothing for it. As night fell, the garrison quieted, and I curled up on the floor, waiting for death.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The sound of giggling on the other side of the door roused me from my numb stupor.

  “Do you not know how to stick a key in a hole?” The clanking of metal and the click of a lock sounded just beyond the wall.

  “I will stick this key up your hole if you do not shut your smart mouth, Lady Jane.”

  Lady Jane?

  I scrambled away from the door as she and Lady Catherine burst into my rude chambers with a whirl of satin and silk. Lady Catherine crouched to the floor and smothered me against her breast, the smell of gardenias and the shock of their sudden appearance nearly making me swoon.

  “Oh, you poor thing!” Lady Catherine exclaimed. “This is no place for a lady!”

  I rubbed my eyes. “Wha-what are you doing here?”

  Lady Jane grabbed my hand and placed a bundle in my arms. “Getting you out, of course! Grant told us your story and how you’re searching for your lost love. It is so romantic!” Her eyes glittered and she nuzzled up to my shoulder, her hands clasped against her breast. Heat bloomed in my cheeks as my mind wandered to the last time I met the fair lady, and my palms itched when I thought about where my fingers had been the other night. She gave me a small peck on the cheek, and shame, desire, excitement, and fear twisted my insides into knots.

  Lady Catherine flashed me a warm, sympathetic look. “We could not bear the thought of you swinging from the gallows.” She nodded toward the bundle in my arms. “Go on. Get dressed. We have occupied the jailer for now, but it will not be for long!”

  The women had provided me a fine but simple dress in blue silk, undergarments, a pair of slippers, and a long, soft grey cloak. Lady Jane wiped off my tear-stained face with her delicate fingers and settled a wig of chestnut curls over my head.

  “There now. That should do,” she said with a wide, impish grin.

  In that same moment, the sound of a great explosion rang out on the other side of the garrison.

  Lady Jane’s eyes widened. “What was that? Are they coming for us?”

  Lady Catherine peered out the window as another explosion blasted down on the docks below.

  “Lord God, Almighty!” she cried, clutching her pearls. “There is a fire. We have to hurry!”

  I raced to the window. Outside, the night sky burst with orange flames. “Is it the French?”

  Lady Catherine shook her head. “We need to move. Go!”

  She raced out of the chamber and down a long corridor. The garrison was in chaos, with soldiers clambering over each other to their stations. No one seemed to notice three women bound for the opposite direction. Plaster rained down on us as the garrison shook again with another blast. Lady Catherine grabbed my hand and pulled me into a tight corner with a small hatch beneath our feet. She lifted it up to reveal a rickety ladder leading into a dank, musty, dark hole.

  “Go! Go!” she hissed, waving Lady Jane and me down the hatch.

  My feet landed on a cave-like surface, a tunnel stretching out both ways into darkness. Lady Jane fell behind me in a fountain of petticoats, and I reached for her and lifted her to standing. Lady Catherine descended last, placing the hatch over our heads, only small pinpricks of light beaming down from above.

  “Only a few people know about this passageway,” Lady Catherine said, leading us one way down the tunnel. “It was created long ago for smuggling, but now they use it to press gang convicts. One way leads to a pub in town and the other way leads to the docks.”

  “Which way are we going?” I whispered.

  “We have arranged passage for you on a merchant’s ship bound for Belfast.”

  “Belfast! But—”

  “You’re getting aboard that ship, Miss O’Brien,” Lady Catherine snapped. “You have no choice.”

  Lady Jane squeezed my arm in the darkness. “I know how far you have come to find your love, but you must have faith, my darling. He will come back to you.”

  I patted her hand and pressed on behind Lady Catherine. After a while, the lady paused, and I sensed her consternation as she felt across the wall of the cave for something. Finally, she must have discovered the secret lever, because a small door opened up for us, leading into a small chamber barely wide enough for all three of us to fit inside. The explosions sounded louder here, and I held my hands to my ears.

  When the chaos subsided for a moment, Lady Catherine pointed to another trap door. “This will lead you out to the docks. There should be a ship there, the Amanda.” She reached into her bodice and emerged with a short stack of papers. “Here is everything you need, plus some money to get you home.”

  She pulled something out of her pocket, and recognition flared in my belly. My knife. The soldiers had confiscated it when I was arrested, but Lady Catherine placed it in my hands with a wink.

  “You might want to keep this close,” she said.

  I took the knife from her graceful hand. “But why are you doing this?”

  Lady Catherine looked at Lady Jane and nodded. Lady Jane stepped up close to me and whispered in my ear. “We take care of our own, Miss O’Brien.”

  Her breath felt cool and sweet next to my ear, and I turned to her and smiled in spite of my racing heart. “I don’t understand.”

  Tilting her head, Lady Jane pressed her face close to mine, her big doe eyes shining in the cave where only a few slivers of moonlight fell through the cracks in the door.

  Lady Catherine came up behind me, her flowery scent enveloping me as she pressed her long fingernails gently into my shoulders. “You have touched my princess, Miss O’Brien. That gift comes with certain privileges.”

  Her low, feminine voice produced an immediate effect on my body, my stomach fluttering as her nails scaled my back. Lady Jane bit her lip before bringing her full mouth closer for a kiss. I made to back away, but another cannon sounded just on the other side of the wall, and I flinched forward, her mouth pressing against mine. Her small tongue darted against my teeth, and something in me collapsed as I parted my lips wider, letting her gain access. Her movements felt so precious, so gentle, and a wave of desire blossomed inside my core as Lady Catherine pushed me closer to Lady Jane, pressing us against the wall, deepening the kiss. Again, I felt the rush of power I had experienced before with my fingers deep inside her, and a tingle of excitement coursed through me as the small, fragile woman moaned in my mouth.

  The explosions ceased, and all I could hear was the sound of rushing waves just beyond the hatch.

  “The Amanda is waiting just out that door, Miss O’Brien,” Lady Catherine said. “Promise me you will be on it.”

  Tears stung my eyes, my heart heavy with gratitude.

  I pressed my hand into Lady Catherine’s. “I will pay you back someday.”

  She smiled, her arm curling tighter around Lady Jane. “Just promise me you will never don those horrible trousers again. A woman like you should show off her figure.” She winked, nodding to the door. “Now, go. Hurry!”

  I gave one last look over my shoulder at the two ladies, already preoccupied with each other in the dark chamber, and tugged at the ancient driftwood door. The smell of the sea and gunpowder hit my nostrils as I entered a cov
e disguised by formidable-looking rocks at the entrance. Just at the opening, a small ship sat anchored, the silhouettes of sailors scurrying to prepare for launch. In the moonlight they reminded me of the shades aboard Coleridge’s cursed vessel.

  I shivered, hugging my arms as a wave lapped at my slippers. One of them spotted me and signaled for me to come forward. I hurried my steps, the salty air filling my lungs. Strong, rough arms lifted me aboard, and before I could even ask if I had actually climbed onto the Amanda, the ship reeled, navigating the choppy waters with ease, setting a course for East.

  For home.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I leaned against the rail, staring out at the hazy horizon, glancing at the heavy clouds above. Behind me, a group of sailors chuckled at the punch line of a joke.

  “So the whore says to the dwarfman,” one of them hollers, “if you think I’m sucking on this lizard, you best go saddle up that horse!”

  An explosion of laughter reverberated in my chest, and my knuckles gripped hard on the wooden rail, not just in offense for that poor prostitute, but because their very presence offended me. Everything about this journey offended me. Returning to Ireland without Johnny, without Dunraven. And what of it? The thought of working in Belfast in disguise in some backstreet pub as a barmaid sent a wave of rage down my spine. It wasn’t supposed to end like this, and yet it had. Even Grant had abandoned me in Port Royal. I gazed across the still water, the flat grey sea stretching endlessly into an equally dull sky, wondering where he was now, what he was doing. My chest tightened at the thought of him, and I looked down at my hands, taking in a deep breath.

  “That’s enough, men!” the Captain barked. A rustle of movement sounded behind me as the sailors resumed their duties.

  Captain Wilkes walked up beside me and leaned his back on the rail, peering into my face. Short and wiry, he still commanded the Amanda with the same fierce dominance as Grant, but I had come to have my doubts that the Amanda was a supply ship. A privateer at best, and at worst…well, I could only hope Lady Catherine wouldn’t have thrown me to pirates.

  “I apologize for their behavior.” He gave me a deep bow. “They’re not used to having a woman on board.”

  I gave a slight curtsy to Captain Wilkes before returning to my meditation of the sea. “It’s quite all right, Captain. I am used to it by now.”

  “Still,” Wilkes said, his eyes never leaving my face. “It gives no reason to be acting like a tribe of bloody savages, now, don’t it?”

  A sly smile spread across my lips. “I’m sure that whore and dwarf joke would outdo any so-called savage, wouldn’t you agree, Captain Wilkes?”

  He chuckled. “Indeed. I do like a good whore and dwarf joke now and again. It’s a wonder they let the English in charge on this side of the pond.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “It’s easy to ‘let’ someone in charge when they threaten to kill your family and burn your homes.”

  Captain Wilkes let out a low whistle. “My, you do have some interesting opinions, milady.”

  I shook my head, the heat clouding my thinking. “I apologize, Captain,” I said with a slight bow. “I speak out of turn. It’s been a long time since I have been in polite company.”

  He smiled. “In that case, would you do me the honor of dining with me this evening, Miss O’Brien?”

  I had taken most of my meals in my room, trying to mingle with the ship’s crew as little as possible. Finding myself in a position where declining would cause more alarm than accepting, I nodded assent. My eyes traveled back to the sea, both of us quietly contemplating its changing colors in the late afternoon. My gaze wandering, I spied a small black dot on the horizon.

  “Captain Wilkes!” I pointed to the smudge.

  His muscles tightened, his teeth grinding in his skull. He took a spyglass from his coat and peered through it. He turned on his heel, shouting orders to his men before clutching my sleeve.

  “You best be going down to your cabin, milady. I’m sure it’s one of ours, but we’d rather be safe than sorry if it comes to an attack.” He barked another order over his shoulder, grasping the ship’s wheel. “And lock your door,” he called out after me.

  My stomach fluttered as I made my way below to my cabin, snapping the lock in place before I settled upon the hammock. A part of me wished I could remain above to see what was happening rather than sit here wringing my hands like a little girl. I could at least run powder for them.

  No sooner than the thought flitted through my head than an explosion shattered through the ship, sending me to the floor, dust and debris raining on my head. My ears rang, my hearing momentarily lost. The ocean poured into my room, soaking my dress, and I raced to the door just before another cannonball burst through the side. The ship reeled dangerously, and I gripped the doorknob, using it to propel myself up and out to the galley.

  The shouts of men and gunfire echoed in my ears, and I panicked, seeking out a place to hide. The telltale sounds of French voices boomed from the raiding ship and another cannonball skimmed not two feet in front of me. With water up to my ankles, I had no choice but to climb through the hatch to the upper deck.

  A grisly sight met me. The boards were soaked and stained with blood, sailors collapsed in pitiful piles of flailing limbs and anguished cries. Someone shoved me from behind, and I fell to my knees, blood splattering across my dress, seeping between my fingers. Rough arms lifted me up, screaming at me in French, alignez-vous! Alignez-vous! Line up! Line up! His voice sounded muffled, low, as if he called to me from a long tunnel. The French sailor shoved the butt of his musket against my shoulder, and the sharp pain brought me back to the surface.

  I scrambled to the edge of the bulwark, Captain Wilkes reeling beside me, holding his shoulder where a burst of bright red blood dripped from his coat.

  “I’m sorry, milady,” he said beneath his breath. “I’m sorry I couldn’t outrun the bastards.”

  The surviving English sailors lined up on the deck while the French scurried like ants to lift cargo from the hold. In the midst of it all stood a portly rooster of a French Commander, gesticulating wildly even as the waves threatened to swallow the small English ship. One French sailor, a lieutenant maybe, gestured to us, and I overheard them conversing. My French was never as good as my Latin, and I was a wee bit rusty from my hedge school days, but their intent was clear.

  “Qu’est-ce que nous ferions avec l’equipage?” What shall we do with the crew?

  The Captain’s eyes scanned the line of the crew, his eyes resting momentarily on me. My skin prickled beneath his dark gaze, but he passed over me to assess the rest of Wilkes’s men. “Nous n’avons pas de place pour eux.” We have no room for them.

  The sailor produced a pistol and cocked it. My knees began to shake, my heart pounding in my chest. “Et la femme?” And the woman?

  The Captain gave a Gallic shrug and commenced bellowing at a group of soldiers about to drop a crate of gunpowder.

  The French lieutenant walked up to the first crewman who simply stood there, blood smeared across his face, his chest heaving, barely conscious. A shot rang out. I yelped, flinching at the sound, and Captain Wilkes grabbed my hand.

  “Just close your eyes, milady,” he gasped, still holding his shoulder, his face ashen, and sweat and blood streaming down his forehead. Another shot exploded on the deck, and another crewman collapsed with a loud thud, his blank eyes staring up at us with a small pebble-size hole between them.

  “You won’t feel any pain, I swear,” the Captain breathed.

  Another shot, another thud.

  The Lieutenant raised his pistol to Wilkes’s forehead.

  “Oh God,” I gasped, closing my eyes. Tears streaked down my face.

  “Spare the woman. She had no part—”

  Bang!

  Wilkes dropped my hand with a spasm, his body going rigid before falling limp at my feet.

  Terror, pure and penetrating, coursed through my veins, my lips trembling as I strugg
led to search for words. The young Lieutenant stared at me through dark brown eyes, almost black, and pressed his pistol against my brow.

  “S’il vous plait—non!” I begged. Please don’t!

  The Lieutenant lifted the pistol from my forehead, doubt passing through his face. He bit his lip, cocked the pistol, and pointed it at me again.

  “Arretez!” a voice cried out in horrible French. “Arretez! Ne tirez pas! C’est ma femme!” Stop! Don’t shoot! That’s my woman!

  The lieutenant looked over his shoulder, lowering his pistol. Blood pounded in my ears, my heartbeat slowing to a crawl, for there running toward me, eyes wild, blond hair sweeping away from his ears, was Johnny.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Johnny’s large frame ducked into the cabin and he shyly handed me a new dress to replace my stained one.

  “From one of the officer’s wives,” he mumbled, his eyes smiling brightly through his thick eyelashes.

  I reached for it, my hand trembling from the swirl of emotions buzzing through my mind. The close calls with the cannon. The death of the crew of the Amanda. Finding Johnny aboard a French war vessel, in French officer garb, no less. Questions flooded my mind, but all I could do was grasp onto the pale green fabric with trembling hands, making sure it didn’t touch my stained gown as I laid it across Johnny’s hammock.

  “There’s some water in the pitcher there for washing up, too.” Johnny’s eyes darted to the floor and his feet shifted nervously. “My goodness. Mary. What a shock.”

  My throat tightened, my movements purely mechanical. I struggled to make sense of his presence, his boyish grin, his glittering eyes as his fists clenched open and closed in a fitful gesture of barely contained energy. Unable to stay still any longer, he charged over to the basin and lifted a sponge, wringing it out before placing it against my cheek. Pink water slipped down my arms and onto the floor. The cold water snapped me awake, and I grabbed Johnny’s hand.