The Valkyrie Series: The First Fleet - (Books 1-3) Look Sharpe!, Ill Wind & Dead Reckoning: Caribbean Pirate Adventure

by Karen Perkins

  I pulled the shirt she still wore from her breeches, and hauled it over her head—barely breaking the kiss until the material caught her chin and lifted her lips away from mine. I quickly discarded my own shirt and my hands explored her bare skin, caressing her back, shoulders, arms, then moving to her sides. My hands at her waist slid upwards until I was caressing the sides of her breasts. Her breath hitched, then I felt her own hands exploring my shoulders, my arms, my chest.

  I broke off and looked into her eyes, a question, did she want this? For answer she stretched her neck until we were once again lip to lip.

  I cupped her breasts with my hands, her skin delightfully soft under my rope-worn leathery palms and I groaned. I could not remember the last time I had felt something so smooth and soft.

  My thumbs circled her nipples and I gasped as they hardened under my touch. I realized I was losing control. It was too much. I had desired her for too long.

  I fumbled at the ties to her breeches and she brushed my clumsy fingers away and deftly untied her knots, then mine.

  I pulled her to stand, our lips not parting, and we stepped out of the remainder of our clothes, teeth clashing as we stumbled, the motion of the ship and the heavy beating of our hearts not aiding our balance.

  In the back of my mind I realized we had set sail; the old ship had sunk or would soon, and we were on our way. I felt a pang of guilt at shirking the mountain of hard work that was no doubt waiting to be undertaken, then gently laid Magdalena on the cot.

  I curled next to her in the narrow space and she shifted to face me, both of us lying on our sides, but it was not my face she was looking at. I grew harder under her direct gaze and ran my hand down her side, over the swell of her hips, then down.

  As I explored her, she tensed and I paused, then she relaxed and parted her knees slightly. We both groaned, then I lifted myself up.

  “Lie on your back.” My voice was hoarse, cracking with need. I could not wait any longer.

  I used my knee to nudge her thighs apart. Again she tensed before relaxing and I told myself to be gentle; this was no sailortown doxy, she was not used to this.

  I positioned myself and looked into her eyes. One final question, although I doubt if I would have been able to stop had the answer been no. Very carefully, very gently, I pushed. Magdalena’s eyes widened—in pain or surprise I did not know—then she closed them.

  “Are you well?” I asked.

  “Sí.”

  I carried on. Gently, gently, I told myself, but could not heed my own words. Soon, far too soon, I slumped on top of her. After a moment, she pushed me and I rolled to her side, taking my weight from her. She smiled at me, and I stroked her face.

  “It will be better next time,” I whispered.

  “Better?”

  “Aye, much better.”

  Chapter 31

  “Sail oh,” I roared down from my customary place on the maintop. “Two sail—looks like a fight!”

  I squinted to make sure I was right in my identification of one of the ships. “Freyja!”

  Below me, Tarr grabbed his glass and jumped into the ratlins to get a better view. I could hear his curse from my position forty feet above his head.

  Two minutes later, Little swung onto my platform. “Cap’n wants you on the quarterdeck, Mr. Sharpe, sir.”

  I grinned at him, loving the fact that this man who had tried to cheat me now held me in such high regard to necessitate both a mister and a sir.

  “Right you are, Little,” I said, and slid down the backstay to join my uncle, hardly feeling the burn now.

  “That damned Hornigold,” Tarr fumed.

  “What’s wrong?” I was puzzled, Hornigold wasn’t doing anything out of order to my mind. We both attacked any ship that caught our fancy. He held a Letter of Marque after all, giving him license to attack almost any ship at sea, so long as it wasn’t English.

  “What’s wrong? That’s a van Ecken ship! We took her a year ago! Van Ecken will kill us if he hears of this.”

  The elder van Ecken had died at sea not eight months ago. It was widely held to have been an accident, although I knew better. And I suspected everyone else did too. Erik van Ecken was even worse than his father, having not an ounce of compassion in his soul. I thought briefly of his wife, Gabriella, then pushed her out of my head. I could not bear to think of her married to that evil scum, but I could do nothing about it—yet.

  “Maybe he hasn’t recognized the ship?”

  “Bollocks. This close to Sayba, flying Dutch colors? The ship could be no one else’s. What’s that bastard up to? All hands, clear the decks.”

  I winced as his words became a bellow.

  “Ready the bow cannon. Make your course north-north-west,” he shouted to the helmsman at the whipstaff below deck.

  Our bow nosed to larboard, the sails were adjusted, and we headed directly toward the ongoing battle, the wind with us.

  It took Hornigold longer than it should have to notice us, but when he did he fired a warning shot.

  “Raise the colors,” Tarr yelled. “And shoot back at that mangy cur!”

  Our bow cannon boomed, its ball falling short of the warring ships. I realized that Hornigold hadn’t recognized us in our new vessel, but surely flying a bloody flag on course for Sayba he would work out who we were? I glanced at Tarr and decided to keep my mouth shut. I had never seen him look so angry. In this mood, one push and he was likely to sink Freyja just for the hell of it.

  “What’s going on?” a feminine voice behind us asked.

  “Get back to your cabin, out of the way, woman. We don’t need your ill fortune on deck now.”

  I glared at Tarr, then turned to Magdalena and nodded toward her, indicating with my eyes for her to go back inside. Thank heaven she understood.

  Freyja did nothing, and I could just imagine the confusion aboard her decks. Then she fired another broadside at the Dutch ship and I sighed in relief.

  We drew closer and Tarr ordered the helmsman to bear up to starboard until our larboard side faced the battle.

  “Ready the guns.”

  “Er, which ship are we aiming for, Cap’n?” Gun Master Prince asked.

  “I don’t bloody care, just fire at them! That Dutch ship cannot be allowed to sail on, and if Hornigold is sunk as well, it’s his own blasted fault.”

  “Aye, aye, Cap’n.”

  Within seconds, the gunports below us were opened and two stories of muzzles hauled out and aimed at the warring ships.

  “Fire.”

  The cacophony of a dozen cannon going off deafened me and, when the smoke cleared, I reckoned both ships had been hit.

  “Reload.”

  Freyja ceased fire on the Dutch ship and bore off to circle away.

  “Get us broadside onto that prize. On my mark . . .”

  We were sailing at a right angle to the two ships, just passing the prize’s bows.

  “Steady . . . steady . . . Now. Hard to larboard!”

  Edelweiss swung around and men hauled on sheet and brace to keep the wind in our sails and the ship powering toward our prey.

  “Make ready on the guns . . . Fire.”

  Again, a dozen great guns fired. This time, when the sulfurous airs had cleared, the prize was already low in the water.

  “She’s going down, make chase on Freyja. Make your course due west.”

  Chapter 32

  “Ready guns.”

  The crew stared at their captain.

  “What are you waiting for? Jump to it, you lazy curs!”

  “Uh . . . Captain.”

  Tarr turned and glared at me.

  “They’ve fought alongside those men.” No reaction, I tried again. “Your argument is with Hornigold, not the crew.”

  Tarr clenched his fists, released and clenched again, his knuckles white.

  “We’ll only fire if he fires on us,” he said eventually. “Now, ready those guns, damn you.”

  The crew jumped to their tasks, ha
uling in cannon, sponging, reloading and finally heaving them back to their firing positions.

  Freyja swung round and Tarr followed suit until both ships were sailing toward each other. I held my breath. On our current course, Freyja would pass by fifty yards to starboard. In a few moments we would be in range.

  Tarr stood in the middle of the quarterdeck, legs apart, arms akimbo. I glanced at him; with his bright-red frockcoat, his hat, and the bloody flag above, surely Hornigold would recognize us. He came on, his own board bristling with gun muzzles.

  “Gunner Prince, fire warning shot.”

  The decks were deathly silent, the crew exchanging glances and raised eyebrows. Not one man began the battle chant. Not one man brought his personal arms to bear.

  The bow cannon boomed and Freyja’s outer jib split. I held my breath.

  I glanced at my uncle and the hard expression set on his face and for a fleeting moment felt pity for Hornigold and the Freyjamen.

  “He’s struck his colors!”

  A cheer—more of reprieve than celebration—rang out and I sighed as I watched Hornigold’s bloody flag sink to the deck. His guns were drawn in and the relief on Edelweiss’s deck was palpable.

  I risked another glance at Tarr. He looked disappointed.

  “Bring us alongside. Sharpe, Little, Prince, Dupont, Fitzroy, Grosvenor, Fortescue, prepare to board. Blake, you keep these guns trained on that slimy bastard—I don’t trust him an inch.”

  *

  Hornigold, perspiring through his shirt, awaited us on the quarterdeck, flanked by Cheval and Neville, his crew milling about and trying to appear unperturbed by the showdown between the captains.

  I stepped up smartly from the longboat to ship and stood beside my uncle, hands at my belt, loaded pistols slung around my neck. I had to hurry to keep up with him as he strode aft to confront Hornigold.

  “What by the gods of Hades did you think you were doing? That was van Ecken’s ship!”

  Hornigold shrugged. “She was heavily laden.”

  “What does that matter? Is your head that addled? Nobody crosses van Ecken and lives—he’s a madman!”

  “There were no survivors, if you hadn’t joined us nobody would have known.”

  “No, just every damned sailor on this deck—each of whom only need a couple of pints of rum to loosen their tongues!”

  Hornigold surveyed the deck then brought his eyes back up to meet Tarr’s. “My men are loyal to me.”

  “Then they are fools!”

  I glanced around at the angry faces of insulted men and inwardly winced. My eyes met those of Cheval and I squared my shoulders under his mocking gaze.

  “I should flay you alive and string you up to the mainyards for the seabirds to feast. You’re a bumbling fool and you’ve put every life on this deck at risk for your greed.”

  Tarr’s face matched his frockcoat, his eyes bulged and spittle flew with each word. I had never seen a man so angry.

  The men surrounding us shifted at Tarr’s words, exchanging uneasy glances. Hornigold looked round at them and not one met his eye.

  “You were instructed by van Ecken to sail with me—under my command. You’ve mutinied. You know what that means—keelhauling.”

  Hornigold crumbled. He knew as well as every other man aboard that no one survived being dragged under the ship aft to stern. Flesh ripped open by barnacles was an easy meal for the ever-present sharks; it was a blessing to drown. But he wasn’t giving up yet.

  “No. Morgan appointed me, Captain. I answer only to him.”

  “Aye,” his men chorused, finally in support of their captain.

  I thought Tarr would burst; his whole body clenched in his efforts to retain control. But Hornigold was right. Tarr sailed for van Ecken; Hornigold sailed for Henry Morgan. And no man in his right mind crossed Morgan, even if he was in his dotage.

  “Very well. But Freyja was put under my command. Welcome your new quartermaster, my nephew, Sharpe.”

  “What?” Hornigold was startled.

  “Non,” Cheval protested, then quietened at a glare from Tarr. I kept my own lips sealed.

  “I will also be changing your crew—half your men will sail aboard Edelweiss and I’ll replace them with my own men. I’ll leave it to you and Sharpe as to who stays.”

  Hornigold opened his mouth, but no words emerged. He cast his eyes to the deck, deflated of all protest. He knew he was getting off lightly. He may be under Morgan’s protection; but Morgan wasn’t here.

  I glared at Tarr. Yes, I had received a promotion, but I did not want to sail with Hornigold. And what of Magdalena? My eyes narrowed as I realized he had neatly maneuvered his bad luck charm off his own decks.

  Chapter 33

  “Bear off, Cheval, we’re supposed to be running with the wind.”

  He scowled at me and adjusted the tiller until the wind was due astern. I smiled. Hornigold was in his cabin making up the log. I had command of Freyja; and of Cheval.

  I curled my arm around Magdalena’s waist, knowing it would inflame Cheval further, then stroked her cheek, wishing we could retire immediately to our cabin, but knowing that was impossible while I had the quarterdeck. All thoughts of Cheval had fled my head.

  I watched Magdalena retreat, skirts swishing, a sound and sight wholly incongruous to a privateer deck.

  My grin turned to a grimace as I caught the sight of the boom heading toward my head. I dived to the deck to avoid being knocked overboard, but was not quick enough.

  The sound of Magdalena’s scream accompanied the burst of blackness and stars that thrust through my skull.

  *

  “Henry, Henry. Can you hear me?”

  I tried to open my eyes, but they seemed glued together.

  A cool dampness swept across them, my forehead, and my face. I tried again, but could only see blurred shapes.

  I shut my eyes and squeezed them tight, then tried to re-open them. Blurry images confronted me. A brown haze—the deckhead? Am I below decks? How did I get here?

  Then a pale orb floating before the brown.

  I tried to concentrate, to focus. What’s that? Where am I? What happened?

  “Henry?”

  I blinked, painfully, and the orb took on the features of a face. I continued to blink until I could recognize it.

  “Magdalena?”

  She threw herself on me, her words indistinguishable through her tears.

  “What happened? What’s wrong with my eyes?”

  Another voice, a man’s voice. “We caught a bad windshift. Cheval could do nothing. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time, the boom caught you in the face.”

  The memories came back to me: the quarterdeck; Magdalena’s kiss; Cheval’s smirk. Then the wooden spar swinging toward me; diving to the deck to avoid it. It seemed I had not been successful.

  I put my hand to my face, but it was caught by a pale, dainty one.

  “Henry, don’t,” Magdalena said, pulling my hand away.

  “Why, what is it?”

  No answer.

  “What’s wrong with my face?” I bellowed.

  Magdalena sobbed.

  After a moment, I heard Little’s voice. “Quartermaster. Sharpe. Henry.” My heart iced as he fought to find the correct moniker.

  “Just tell me.”

  “You caught the boom full in your face. Thank God you were not knocked overboard.”

  “Tell me,” I shouted in frustration.

  “Your nose—is broken. Maybe your cheekbone too. And your eye . . .”

  I waited; he did not continue. I shook Magdalena’s grip away and put my hand to my face. Over my right eye, I could see it. Indistinct and blurred, but I could see it. I moved my fingers across to the other side of my face. I could still see, but only my thumb and the tips of my fingers. I moved it back to my right, my left, right, left, right, left . . .

  “Henry, I’m sorry.” Magdalena’s voice. “Your left eye is lost. I’m so sorry.” She collapsed into sobs
, draping herself across my chest. I made no move to comfort her.

  My eye? My left eye? Gone? I shuddered. I’m a sharpshooter and lookout, how can I do either now?

  I stared up at the deckhead with my one eye, the beams slowly—ever so slowly—taking shape before me. How will I survive now? How will I survive aboard ship, in the Caribbees, with only one eye?

  Chapter 34

  I winced at the glare of bright light in my remaining eye.

  “Shut the blasted door!” I roared.

  A swish of skirts announced my visitor. Why would she not leave me be?

  She crossed to the stern gallery and tugged hard on the coverings I’d nailed to the wood.

  “Damn and blast it, woman! Leave me be.”

  “Goddammit, Henry, you’re not blind. You’ve lost an eye, yes, but only the one. Yet you sit in the dark and won’t have candle or lantern lit. Enough.”

  I rose, grabbed the window coverings, and tore them from her grasp. I began the laborious task of hooking them on the nails by feel, the Caribbee sun so harsh on my eye it was squinted almost closed.

  “You’ve sat in the dark a sennight. If you don’t let light to your eye you’ll lose the sight in that one too and spend the rest of your life in gloom.”

  I found another nail with my fingers, forced the cloth onto it and made no reply. I worked in silence and turned to her—just as a lantern flared into life.

  “Magdalena. Devil’s bones, woman, douse that light!”

  She stood before the lantern, which at least dimmed its flare, but I would not be able to reach it without assaulting her. As I considered my options, she held something out to me. I stared. Well, half-stared.

  “Cheval is out on those decks, prancing and swaggering. He loves that you’ve shut yourself away, he’s calling you the sequestered quartermaster. You’ve become a joke.” She proffered the object once more. “Take it, put it on.”