by Lisa Olech
Those members of the crew without carrots and turnip for noses set up an ungodly howl. They screamed and pounded on whatever was within their reach. Jocelyn rose from the deck and tried to imagine what an entire ship full of pirates must sound like during their battle cry. It must have been frightening.
“They’re not retreating,” Tupper came to stand at Jocelyn’s side. “This is not going to end well.”
“What else can we do?” A cold finger of fear clawed down Jocelyn’s spine.
Tupper pulled her cutlass and handed it to Jocelyn. “If they board, start swinging as if your life depends on it--because it will.”
Jocelyn tried to hand it back. “I can’t take your sword.”
“I have my pistols.” She pulled them both from her baldric and cocked the hammers. “Trust me, if they overtake us, it won’t make a difference. Nine cannot fight more than eighty men. We’ll just be buying time before they kill us.”
Kill us? Jocelyn’s hands began to shake. “W-we could surrender.”
Tupper smiled then. A dangerous, chilling smile. “This is the Scarlet Night. We never surrender.”
* * * *
“Shit,” Ric peered through the smoke from his cannon. The shot cleared the other ship’s bow as planned, but the Dutch frigate kept coming. He left his position in the front of the ship and moved toward the other swivel gun in the rear.
Passing MacTavish and Summer, Ric bid them, “Light the quick match and be prepared to fire all five cannons on my command as quickly as you can.”
In the midst of the chaos and noise. Ric searched the deck for Jocelyn. When he spotted her, he was shocked to see she’d torn her skirts and tucked the flagging hem into her belt. There was blood on her stockings and what had she done to her hair? In one hand she was holding a cutlass and looking for all the world like a pirate poised to fight.
Never in all his imaginings would he have envisioned her swinging a sword in the middle of a battle, but there she was, ready to do just that.
He wasn’t going to allow it to happen. She wasn’t going to fight, and she wasn’t going to die. Not while he still had breath in his body. Even if he had to fight an entire frigate of Dutch pirates singlehanded.
Ric angled the rear cannon and took aim.
A round of cannon fire from the frigate overshot the Scarlet. They wouldn’t make the same mistake again. Ric lit the fuse and fired a pinpoint shot, which shattered the other ship’s bowsprit.
Hollering back to MacTavish and Summer, he order them to level the guns and aim above the frigate’s waterline. What should have been one ferocious blast from all five cannon at once, was more a staccato-ed attack. But the effect was no less damaging.
The Dutch ship lurched and angled as seawater poured into great gaping holes in her side. Her speed dragged to a shuddering halt as the hull filled, dragging her over. The full sails continued to pull the sinking ship until the force snapped the main mast like a dried twig. The frigate began its death roll.
A cheer rose amongst the tiny Scarlet crew. Ric slumped against the rail. They’d won the day. As a forward gunner, when a battle was won, Ric would ride the wave of invigorated triumph for hours afterward, adrenaline pumping through his veins.
As captain, the weight of responsibility sat heavy on his shoulders. It wasn’t enough to win. It was bringing his men--and women--through the fight, and keeping the ship beneath their feet from sinking into the waves or being overtaken by their foes. It wasn’t invigorated triumph he was feeling at this moment, it was more akin to blessed relief.
He dropped his head, closed his eyes and pulled in a deep breath. Damn it. His first victory as captain and all he could smell was cabbage.
Chapter 16
Jocelyn’s hands shook as she raised the lantern’s wick. Her tiny sliver of a room being part of the forward hold was dark as night in the middle of the day. Water rushed past the hull as the Scarlet Night seemed to leap with victory. The wooden beast creaked and popped in its race across the waves. Their battle was over, and they were the victors.
She curled into her cot, trembling, weeping. It had been one of the most terrifying experiences of her life--as well as one of the most glorious, exciting things she’d ever done.
The wave of each blast coursed through her entire being when the cannons exploded, turning her legs to porridge, and punching through her heart. Deafening noise and the unexpected thrill of danger--it took her breath away. Had she ever experienced anything as awe inspiring?
“Jocelyn? Are you in there?” Ric pounded on the narrow door. “Jocelyn, let me in.”
In one seemingly single motion, she opened the door to him and was swept into his arms. He held her tight to his chest as sobs wracked her body. Before she knew it, they were in a tangle on the floor.
“Are you hurt? When I couldn’t find you…Oh God, don’t cry.” He wiped at her cheeks, ran his hands over her legs. “There’s blood on your stockings. Your hand is wounded.” His hands cradled her face. “Your hair, what have you done to your beautiful hair?”
“I-I gave it to you.” How could she explain that whatever she possessed belonged to him? Her hair, her heart, her body. She gave it all freely. He’d saved her that day in Port Royal. In more ways than one. She’d never be the same. He’d changed her and the course of her life forever. Lifted her up to fate. Whether he wanted her or not, she was his, and always would be.
He laid a kiss to her forehead and pulled her back against his chest. “Foolish woman, what have you done?”
She’d given him her heart. Fallen in love. How would she find the courage to tell him? Perhaps it would be easier to show him.
Jocelyn brushed the tears from her face as she raised herself to look into his handsome face. She could read the concern in his eyes. Running her fingers over the planes of his face, she traced the outline of his lips before lowering her mouth to his.
She pressed her lips to his. He stiffened beneath her. Still she kissed him until he began to kiss her in return. She trailed her hand down his throat to slip it inside the open front of his shirt to touch him. Feel the strength of his chest. Skip her fingertips across the flat of his nipple. She laid her palm over the steady beat of his heart.
His tongue swept her mouth as he deepened the kiss. The low moan he made in his throat only spurred her on. She wanted to touch all of him, and have him touch her. Make love to her. Claim her.
Jocelyn placed his hand over her breast, holding it there, arching into his hold, urging him on, but it wasn’t enough.
Breaking the kiss, she pulled her arms from the sleeves of her shirt and lifted it over her head before tossing it to one side. Naked to her waist, she placed his hand upon her breast once more. The roughness of his palm against the sensitive peak of her tightened nipple made her sigh against his lips before she returned to kissing him.
“Jocelyn…” He ground out her name in warning. “We can’t do this.”
“Yes, we can. I want you to.” She moved her kisses along his jaw. His day’s growth of beard tickled her lips.
His breath fanned her cheek. “It’s not as simple as that.”
“But it is.” She arched into his touch again. “I’m not a child. I know what is at stake. But I can’t deny it one more moment. I need your touch. I need you to cease this ache in me.” She slid her hand over the ridges of his abdomen and skimmed the top of his waistband.
“You’re promised to another man. I won’t ruin your life by taking what belongs to him.”
She kissed the side of his neck. His skin was salty as the sea. “I promised nothing.”
“Your father--”
“Won’t know. He’ll believe whatever I tell him. Please, I cannot speak of my father while my breast is in your hand and all I can think about is how I want you to stop talking and kiss me again.”
“God woman, you would tempt a saint.” He circled her ribs with his wide hand and brushed a thumb across the hardened tip of her
nipple. The sensation of that simple touch sent bolts of heat directly to her sex.
She gasped against his mouth. “You are no saint.”
“No, I am not,” he growled.
“Do you want me?” Jocelyn whispered. Almost afraid of his answer. Never had she left herself so vulnerable to a simple question. If he said no…
Ric took her hand and ran it over the hard ridge of his erection. “More than I’ve ever wanted anyone.”
“Then take me. I’m yours.”
In one fluid move, Ric laid her on her back and stripped his shirt away before covering her body with his. When he bent to suckle at her breast, she didn’t think she’d survive the rush of pleasure radiating through her.
“Ric…”
He pushed her ruined skirts out of the way. His hands stroked the inside of her thighs pressing them wide. She opened for him, as if by instinct. Her body somehow knowing what she needed to do to cease her building desire.
Ric moved his mouth and began lavishing equal attention to her other breast. She tangled her hand in his hair, holding him to her, thinking nothing had ever felt quite as wonderful.
But when his fingers parted her, stroked the tender folds of her, she cried out to him again. He pressed two fingers into her, making her writhe with pleasure.
Ric moved to kiss her. “You’re wet for me.”
“Is that bad?” She panted.
“No… that’s good. Very good.” As if to prove his point, he spread the slickness over her swollen flesh.
Jocelyn closed her eyes. Her thighs trembled. Lights sparked behind her eyelids.
“The first time…” he began.
“I know.” She gasped, past the point of caring. The same country girls who described their kisses had also whispered about this. There’d be pain and a bit of blood. If it all felt this good, how much pain could there be?
“I’ll be as gentle as I can.” He moved his fingers inside her, preparing her.
“I know…please…”
Ric fumbled with the front of his breeches and positioned himself between her thighs, bracing himself above her balancing with one arm. He continued to stroke her, building the pressure within her, making her ready.
Taking himself in hand, he pressed the head of his penis against her opening and eased into her.
Jocelyn’s first thought was there was no way he’d fit, but still he pressed forward. Pleasure and pain collided. She clutched at his hips. Her body trembled and tensed.
“Relax, Jocelyn… you need to breathe.” He held himself still. Nipping at her mouth.
“I am breathing.” She lied.
“Kiss me,” he murmured against her lips.
She did as he asked. Her body pulsing against the push of his.
In one sharp thrust, he broke through her maidenhead. Fire burned inside her. The searing bite of pain bringing tears to her eyes. She shoved at his shoulder and cried out as her body reacted out of instinct and she tried to get away from the pain. She looked at him in panic when he wouldn’t move.
“It’s done. Shhhh…I’m sorry.” Ric panted. He cupped her cheek with one hand and forced her to look at him. “I know it hurts. Be still for a moment, it won’t last. I promise. It’s only the first time. Lie still.” His body seemed to shimmer as he held himself steady. Sweat shone on his brow. “Let me know when it lessens… I’ll not hurt you again.”
Jocelyn nodded and whimpered. “I know.”
“You’re so beautiful.” He continued to murmur, telling her how lovely he found her skin, how sweet the taste of her breasts, and how tight and heated she was inside. And he waited. His jaw tensed with the effort, but true to his word, he never moved until at last the sharp edge of the pain lessened within her and her body once more pulsed with pleasure.
“It’s better,” she took a shaky breath.
He withdrew slightly and pushed in again. “Better?”
She needn’t answer him. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back. Her hips made a slow roll.
Ric moved again faster this time. Pulling out and thrusting in. Each drive of his body pinning her to the floor and pushing deeper. He dropped his forehead to her neck as he rocked into her over and over.
The pain was gone. In its place, a low fire burned inside her. Jocelyn moved against him matching his rhythm. When he raised her leg to hook her knee around his waist, his thrusts became faster, deeper, reaching a new place within her.
Soon, she couldn’t keep up with him. Holding on as he called out to God, he seemed to grind himself into her, as if he wanted to imprint the pattern of his skin upon hers. His body curled over her and he stilled at last. Ric kissed her neck, panting, before finally withdrawing from her and rolling to her side.
Jocelyn was afraid to move. Was he done? Her body hummed with the new sensation. Was that all there was to it? She didn’t know what to say. Were there proper words?
She looked over at Ric. His eyes were closed. He was still trying to catch his breath. A sheen of sweat glistened on his chest as he raised one bare knee.
Opening his eyes, he met her gaze. “Are you well?”
She nodded, still unsure what words to speak.
“I never intended this to happen between us, Jocelyn. But I’m not sorry it did.”
She lifted herself to balance on her elbow as she pulled her skirt back into place. “Neither am I.”
He reached for her shirt and handed it to her before he rose and slipped back into his pants. “I came down here out of concern. After the skirmish, I looked and you’d disappeared.”
“I was overwhelmed.” She held her top to cover her breasts and watched him dress.
“You were amazing.” He crouched next to her and cupped her cheek. “Both above deck…and below.”
Jocelyn’s cheeks warmed and a flush rose on her chest.
He fingered her hair. “I wish you hadn’t done this, however.”
She pulled a curl straight and allowed it to spring back. “It will grow again.” She shrugged a bare shoulder and smiled. “The cabbage crew needed it more.”
“Get dressed. Your hand has bled through the bandage. It needs tending.” He tucked her hair behind one of her ears. “And we need to talk about what’s happening…between us.” Ric stood to his full height. “I’ll be waiting for you in the galley.”
After he left, Jocelyn rose and cleaned herself as best she could. She wasn’t in a hurry to join Ric. Somehow she knew both the tending of her hand, and the discussion to follow wouldn’t be painless.
But she hadn’t lied to him earlier. She didn’t regret a single moment of what happened. And she wasn’t as naïve as he believed her to be. Ric may hereafter hold her heart, but he didn’t hold her future. He would insist the plan to bring her to her father remain unaltered, and she had no unrealistic notion to believe otherwise.
And yet, everything was changed. In ways she had yet to figure out. She ran her fingers through her newly cropped hair. Smoothed a hand over her chest. A new lightness filled her.
No, she didn’t regret a thing.
Chapter 17
Hornbach hauled ten of the “cabbage crew” into the galley and dropped them on the end of Ric’s makeshift desk. “What the hell am I to do with these now?”
“Save them,” Ric looked over the pile. “Can’t tell if we’ll need them again.” He reached over and pulled a bit of Jocelyn’s hair from under a battered hat. The dark spiral curled around his finger and he smoothed the strands with his thumb.
“When you’re done there, I’ll need you to gather the surgeon’s bag. Jocelyn may need a stitch or two in a wound across her palm.”
“Maybe you should do the stitching, Capt’n. Other than Tupper’s head, last time I sutured a wound, I ended up stitching me own shirt te the man.” Hornbach lifted the tail of his shirt and shrugged. “’Blood makes me a wee light headed.”
Ric rubbed a weary hand over his forehead. Four men, two wome
n, two lads and a surgeon who faints at the sight of blood. The sooner he remanned this crew the better. “Bring me the supplies, and I’ll do it myself.”
“Smart decision.” The man huffed. Relief crossed his features. “That’s why we done made ye the capt’n.”
He’d take care of Jocelyn’s hand. Clean the wound. Stitch together the skin. Was it his day to do nothing but cause the woman pain? He pushed the ship’s logs away and grabbed for his mug of rum.
He rolled his shoulders trying to ease the tension there, but could only imagine the placement of five perfect fingernail crescents marring him where she had dug her fingers into his arm at the first thrust through her maidenhead.
Ric groaned and dropped his head. What had he been thinking? He hadn’t. He’d been riding the frenzy of battle and a blinding need to make sure she was all right. Finding her in tears had torn the heart from his chest. Then she’d kissed him. Bared herself to him. Laid his hand upon her breast.
Damn it, he was only human. Even now, the image of her naked to her waist brought a renewed tightening in his breeches.
Ric studied the length of hair about his finger. Her cutting her beautiful locks was not the only thing that couldn’t be undone. Yes, he could stitch the wound on her hand, but he couldn’t stitch her hair back to where it was, or restore her purity.
He’d ruined her. It was as simple as that. He slammed a fist on the table. Risking his life back on Port Royal, fighting an angry mob to get her away from the auction block, threatening his position on this ship when he’d brought her aboard, and putting what was left of the crew in danger, all to keep her safe and unharmed. He’d vowed not to touch her. Made her forbidden to him. What a joke, he couldn’t even save her from himself.
What was wrong with him? He wasn’t a man ruled by his cock. Ric had more control than that. The last time he’d lain with a virgin, he’d been a bloody virgin himself. It wasn’t as if he made a habit of leaving a trail of deflowered maidens in his wake.
