Turning to my right, I caught sight of Captain MacDonald facing a large man in tattered clothes, their blades stinging each other quickly and with the expertise that only came from years of practice. The captain was duel wielding weapons, though—a large, aged hammer was clutched in his other hand. He would thrust with his sword and quickly follow through with a wave of the hammer.
In the blink of an eye, another pirate appeared, behind him, a dagger clutched in his hands. Raising it high, he snuck toward the pair, his intent to kill MacDonald when he wasn’t looking obvious.
Darting forward, I yelled, catching their attention, but didn’t stop there. Before he even knew what was happening, the second pirate was fighting with me, fumbling to unsheathe his own sword, tripping and slipping across the deck. When he finally got his bare feet under him, he growled menacingly, probably trying to scare me.
Laughing, I settled into the stance I knew best, inviting him to come at me, if he dared. His eyes widened in distaste and annoyance, and he raised his blade to meet mine.
Spinning to the side, I stepped close, elbowing him in the spine. Apparently, I was faster than he’d expected. Watching as he adjusted his speed to match my own, I let my mind go to the calculating place I so often practiced sword play from. It was like watching a movie then, studying his steps and finding my own to counter him. We were a hurricane of jabs and clanging metal, dancing around the deck as we battled. After a few moments, I realized he might not be trying his best to kill me and a wave of anger overtook me.
I was so tired of being treated differently because I was a woman.
Shouting, I put in more of an effort, driving him back as I hacked and chopped. He wasn’t able to block every hit this time, receiving a cut on his arm and the thigh. While I was careful not to kill him outright, it was a struggle to try and wound him enough to stop him. I’d never thought I’d be in a situation where I didn’t want to kill whoever it was I was facing. All of my finishing moves were kill shots.
Someone bumped into me and I turned, barely avoiding being crushed by a falling Captain MacDonald. He either slipped or been knocked down, but I didn’t care just then—the hammer he’d been wielding had fallen to the ground beside him.
Grabbing the handle of the surprisingly heavy mallet, I grunted, swinging it to my front and up with all the force I could muster. The head connected with the jaw of my opponent, knocking him backward. When he fell to the ground, he didn’t rise, but he continued to breathe. Satisfaction settled over me and I smiled, feeling accomplished.
“Look out!”
Turning at the captain’s cry, I just managed to get my blade raised in time to block the blow coming from the same tall man he’d been fighting this whole time. The pirate was bloody and half crazed, but determined, it would seem.
Swinging the hammer, I hit him in the face, wincing as I heard the sound of his nose cracking beneath it. Just like his fallen brother, he stumbled, crashing to the ground, becoming still at last.
Breathless, I set the hammer on the deck and extended a hand to MacDonald, who was watching me like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. All the same, he took my help, getting to his feet with little difficulty.
Picking the mallet up, I extended the handle to him, smiling triumphantly.
He stared at me a moment longer and then turned to the rest of the ship, raising an eyebrow. I looked as well, smiling as I saw Abella expertly subduing her own partner, a blade at his throat as he threw away his cutlass in surrender. The rest of the pirates were doing so as well and I sighed.
The fight was over.
“I’ve never seen a woman fight like that.” Dagger appeared beside the captain, his shirt cut and blood running from his ear, but he was otherwise unscathed. “Least of all a couple of Frenchwomen.”
“I’m from the Americas,” I replied smartly. “And any Frenchwoman could fight like Abella if she took the time to learn and practice as she has.”
“Aye,” Captain MacDonald agreed. “Give a woman a weapon and she’ll send ye to yer grave with it if she must.”
“You’ve seen a woman do something like that?” Dagger asked, unbelieving. “Why haven’t I ever heard about it?”
“I have,” he confirmed, sheathing his blade and setting the hammer on the ground, head first. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell, Dagger.” He grinned, but there was a sadness to it. It made me think he didn’t want to talk about fighting women any longer and I cleared my throat, ready to change the subject.
“Where are Tristan and Mark? Did they fight? Do they need tending to?”
The men stared at me with blank expressions, as if they hadn’t expected me to flip so suddenly.
“Where is my husband?” I pressed, suddenly frustrated.
“We’ve taken the enemies ship, Captain!”
Drawn by the hailing of one of his crew, MacDonald shook himself, turning his attention away from me.
“Very well. Take their surviving crew to the brig, Mister Roberts. Prepare the fallen for burial.”
The man nodded and saluted, turning smartly and barking orders to those around him.
“Tristan?” I asked again, crossing my arms in impatience.
“Here, lass.”
The sound came from the stairs leading below deck and I turned, smiling as I saw him at last. He had definitely taken part in the fight and seemed tired, but he was standing tall, clearly not as hindered by his lashing as I’d feared.
“Ye should have stayed below deck.” Chastising me as I rushed to him, he smiled anyway, knowing full well that there was nothing he could have done to stop me. “Are ye hurt at all?”
Shaking my head, I wrapped my arms around his waist, gingerly trying to feel if he’d been struck there. He didn’t flinch at my touch, though, and so I leaned against him, inhaling the scent of him and feeling a peace wash over me that I missed whenever we were apart.
“I’m good, too, if you were wondering.”
Mark’s sarcastic tone made me laugh and I peered over my shoulder, watching as he crossed the gangplank between the two vessels.
“Sore,” he continued. “But fine.”
“That is good to hear.” Abella stepped in front of him, blocking his path and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.
Flinching slightly, he laughed, untangling her from himself. He didn’t let go of her hands, though, and smiled as if he were truly happy to see her. Once again, I felt that strange sense of jealousy toward the pair of them. It was a happy envy, as I was truly grateful to see the two getting along so well, but it made me face things I didn’t like about myself.
Turning my attention back to my husband, I put the uncomfortable thoughts from my mind and kissed his cheek before laying my head on his chest.
“Should we take the ladies to the brig as well, Captain?”
It was the Mate who had asked for orders earlier, his tone uncertain as he stood between the four of us, staring at his commander, who had taken up residence by the helm.
MacDonald studied us, pursing his lips and then shook his head. “No, Roberts. I dinna want them there with that lot. Ye can put them in my cabin for now. They can stay there until we land in Hispaniola and they’re set ashore.”
The color drained from my face at his words and I stepped away from Tristan, boiling mad. “What?” I demanded. “You’re still going to leave us there?”
“Ye’re still stowaways, are ye not?” He stared at me with a blank expression, as if waiting for me to somehow make a fool of myself.
“I just saved your life!” I reminded him. “We fought with your crew against pirates!”
“And it was very impressive, I’ll admit. But not necessary. Ye put yerselves in danger and could have endangered my crew yet again.” He sighed, rubbing his face and I was distinctly struck with the thought that he found me very tiresome.
“We didn’t, though. We fought well and helped your crew.” Staring at him hard, I stepped forward, hands curled into fists.
“The fact still remains that ye are here by unlawful means and will be put ashore in the Caribbean. Good day, Madame O’Rourke.”
He motioned for Roberts to take me, turning his back on me.
Shooting the Mate a death glare, I focused on the captain, trying my hardest to keep from screaming in rage. “I don’t care how many times you take me off this ship,” I stated, surprised by how calm my voice sounded. “I will find a way on. Even if I have to sneak onto another boat and chase you, I will find a way back here. It might take days, it might take months, but you can be sure that it will happen.”
Glancing over his shoulder, he gave me a withering look, supreme annoyance on his features, and then threw his hands in the air. “Fine. Meet me in my quarters and we can discuss your terms, Madame, since you seem so intent on holding me hostage against my better judgement.”
The captain’s quarters were somehow like all the others I’d seen, yet nothing like them at the same time. All of the usual things were there—bed, desk, bookshelves, maps, navigation tools, and the large window overlooking the rear of the ship, boasting magnificent views of the sea and all her wonders. But there were also comfortable reading chairs, dog beds in the corner, a tartan blanket folded over the end of the bed, herbs hanging in front of the windows to dry, plants growing in containers that had been tied down around the walls, pictures of landscapes and people displayed on every surface, and a pot of soup boiling over in the fireplace on the right hand side of the room. It felt so distinctly like a small Scottish home that I found myself taken aback, having not expected it to be so personal and welcoming.
Roberts deposited me inside, Abella quickly pushed in behind me, and closed the door, leaving us without another word.
Slowly, I took in everything, still in awe of all he’d managed to gather. Pausing in front of a small picture on his desk, I tilted my head to the side, studying it. The ability of whoever had drawn it wasn’t at a professional level, but the portrait was still well done. It was a woman with long red hair, her slim figure clothed in a white dress, purple heather in her hands. She was smiling, standing in front of a brick hut surrounded by trees.
“Isobel.”
Captain MacDonald’s voice broke through my thoughts and I jumped, having not noticed that he had entered. He was standing in the doorway, his dogs at his side, watching me with an odd expression.
“I’m sorry?”
“That’s this ship’s namesake, Isobel.” Moving inside, he shut the door and ordered the dogs to go lay down in their beds, next to the chair that Abella had seen fit to settle in.
Leaving his hammer by the entrance, he strode to the fireplace, using a rag to pull the boiling soup from the fire and set it on the hearth. “It’s not a verra good likeness of her—I did it myself—but it’s enough. Enough for me, anyway.”
“Is she your wife?” I asked, curious.
He laughed, shaking his head. “No, just a lass I knew, a long time ago. She was a stubborn and independent as yerself.”
My heart fell at his words, the tone of his voice telling me all I needed to know. “Was?” I asked quietly, moving to the chairs on the left and sitting by Abella.
“She’s dead.” He paused, swallowing hard. After a moment, he rose, moving to his desk and taking a seat behind it.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Oui, very sorry, Monsieur. It must be hard, losing the one you love.” Abella frowned, looking over at the dogs.
She didn’t know what else to say, I realized, and was uncomfortable. The captain seemed to pick up on that as well.
He cleared his throat, shaking his head. “It’s been thirty years. My old heart has had plenty of time for condolences and well wishes. Thankfully, that’s not what we’re here to discuss.” He sighed then, his earlier tiredness and annoyance returning as he moved his chair to face us. Stroking his beard, he stared for a moment and then stood. “What exactly are ye wanting me to do, Madame O’Rourke? I canna very well allow ye to stay on board as a guest. Privateering is dangerous business and I have secrets I must keep for The Order.”
“First, you can stop calling me Madame,” I replied roughly. “Samantha, or Sam, will do just fine.”
He smiled, amused, and then motioned for me to continue.
“I don’t want to stay on board as a guest. Do you Abella?”
She shook her head beside me. We had already discussed how we would try to convince him to let us stay before we ever even climbed aboard.
“Ye want to go ashore, then?” He looked confused.
“No. We want to join your crew.”
Silence stretched between us, his eyebrows raised high as he stared at us in disbelief. “Have ye lost yer minds?” he finally asked. “Ye can’t join the crew!”
“With all due respect, Captain, we can.” Sitting straighter I swallowed, hoping that my argument would convince him. “If we had been men caught stowing away, you could have pressed us into service as punishment. I request that you do that to us now.”
“But ye’re women!”
Raising a hand to stop him from continuing, I watched him evenly. “Women who just proved they can hold their own in a fight. I’ve lived among pirates before, disguised as a man and as myself. I know how a ship works and how to do my part on it.”
“I’ve also traveled on ships before,” Abella added. “I may not know as much about how to sail, but I can work in the surgery, or the galley. I follow orders well and can do any chore, so long as I’m shown how to first.”
“As can I. I’m quite familiar with the galley and how to cook for a whole crew.” Smiling, I tried to guess if we were convincing him yet or not. “We’ve both fought for The Order before, myself on several occasions. Abella was part of the siege in Arizona and the reason that many of the men of your Order returned home instead of being left for dead in the desert.”
“And Samantha was the key consultant in the construction on Oak Isle. She fought Thomas Randall there—and in Arizona—and has been one of the biggest advocates I know for protecting the treasures of the Templars from him.”
“Ye mean she was the reason Randall managed to have a go at either of those treasures in the first place,” MacDonald argued. “If not for her, they would both have remained safe and undiscovered.”
“Randall would have found a way,” I replied coldly, not liking how he’d turned that part on its head. “He is ruthless and uncaring. He means to discover all the treasures, no matter the cost to him or those around him.”
“Or the world.” Abella had mumbled the reply, but we all heard it.
“And ye think all this makes ye eligible to have on my ship, with my men?” He shook his head, frowning. “I have a rule, one that I follow to the letter. Nothing that could cause harm to my men can be allowed to happen. There is no dying on this boat—not unless I go first.”
“How are we compromising that rule?” Frustrated, I huffed, leaning against the chair.
“Randall has a tendency to find ye, no? Who’s to say he’s not on his way to ye right now, ready to kill the lot of us?”
The question stung some and a trickle of fear jumped through me. It took a second to gather my bearings—a second that he noticed.
“Even if he were, it wouldn’t have to be a danger to your crew.” Looking him in the eye, I lifted my chin, trying to show how resolute I was on the matter. “I would kill him before he even had the chance to lay a finger on any of them.”
“Ye’re certain of that, are ye?” He laughed slightly, smiling. “A feisty one, eh?”
“Oui. Feisty, like your Isobel.”
I could have kissed Abella for the comment. It seemed to hit him harder than anything else we’d said to him and he paused, glancing over at the picture on his desk once more.
“Aye. Like Isobel.”
Sighing, he seemed to consider our words and then nodded, turning his attention to us once more. “Fine. I’ll press ye into the crew.”
“Yes!” S
tanding in triumph, I grinned, feeling an excitement rush through me.
“However,” he said loudly, giving me a pointed stare. “When we arrive at the treasure port, ye must stay on the ship.”
“You don’t trust us?” I asked, taken aback.
“It’s not that.” He grimaced, sitting back in his chair. “The port is protected year round by . . . well . . .” He tapered off, seemingly at a loss for words as he stared out the window. A beat passed and he blinked, gazing back at us. “They dinna take kindly to unexpected visitors, that’s all. Since ye’re technically not part of the crew commissioned by The Order, I expect they’ll not be happy to see ye.”
“Fine,” Abella agreed. “We’ll stay on the ship. Anything else?”
He nodded, stroking his beard in thought. “Aye. Ye’ll both work the galley and the surgery, since ye said that’s what ye ken. Ye’ll have chores, too, just like the rest of the men. I willna be givin’ ye any special treatment because of yer gender.”
“I think that’s fair and preferable.” Grinning, I couldn’t help but feel like I’d won all around. I would be with Tristan, at sea, doing work, and feeling useful once more.
Captain MacDonald stood, motioning to the door. “Get on with it, then. Ye have dinner to cook for the whole crew and a brig full of prisoners to attend to.”
“Yes, Captain.” Dipping my head as a sign of respect, I continued to smile, feeling like the world was finally getting back on track.
Hurrying out the door, followed closely by Abella, I ran right into Tristan. Grabbing onto him for support, I accidentally touched the lashes on his back and he sucked in a sharp breath, eyes widening.
“Sorry!” Letting go, I stepped away, filling with guilt for hurting him yet again.
“What happened?” he asked, brushing the incident aside. “What did ye talk about?”
Hidden Away (The Swept Away Saga, Book Three) Page 21
