“Just what caused this incident? Or shall I pry the blade into you to find the truth?”
Instantly, both men turned peaked, Gene more so than the other pirate. “She was just standin’ here, all lone like,” Gene argued. “Pretty as a new shillin’ and got no ben’factor, sir. Just thought maybe she’d take a likin’ to us…”
“Not bloody likely!” the girl snapped back.
Trent was on the verge of laughing at her reaction, though he oscillated from wanting to agree she was evil to wanting to cut the heart of both Gene and the other, who’s name escaped him. Where the hell did this pirate sign up for his ship? He pinched the bridge of his nose again, squeezing his eyes shut. This must be hell.
“You do realize most of the men think you are also a thief or witch, depending.” He wanted to gauge her reaction to that accusation, believing he knew the answer but had a flicker of doubt.
A look of shock stole her words away. She gulped. He watched her throat bob as she swallowed. Her slender neck looked exquisite as the apple slowly lowered. His cock twitched. It irritated him and amused him that she could do this to him. But his rational thinking won. She had to go.
“A witch? Ha! If that stood the case, do you not think I would’ve found my way home?” Her face was flush with anger, her blue sapphire eyes ablaze. “And thief? Look at me! Do I sport anything of value? You gave me the clothes, for all that stands holy! What did I steal? You accuse me? You are all pirates, for pity’s sake!”
She was alive and so vibrant. It made her more beautiful and was in awe, for a moment. But as the silence thickened, his own fear of her grew. He realized he was growing too fond of her and that could not be allowed. He was in mourning and seeking vengeance, how dare he be attracted to another. It was the devil’s work!
“You took from our last haul,” he countered. His voice was steady and sure. He was now in agreement with his men that somehow she had cast a spell on them. “Treasured pieces small enough not to be noticed at first, but worth more than the bulk of the take.”
Her lips thinned as she obviously fought to retain more foul language. Pity, he thought. She gave an harrumph to curses like no one else.
“And where would I keep such pieces?” she challenged.
A shiver raced down his spine at the very thought that she invited him to search her. But before he could say a word, she spied the crew that had now drifted back to the perimeter to watch the show. Knowing that as they sailed on the sea, she could not escape. He didn’t move but watched as she scanned the pirates. He hoped the humiliation might make her tell him where the items where but as the seconds mounted, he decided to give his men the peace they wanted.
“It does not matter.” He cleared his throat. “The ship will return to London, where we will release you.”
She spun to face him. “Before you decide to do so, perhaps you’d like to know who your real culprits are, for I know they took your treasure.” A tight but smug smile came to her now controlled face. The type only ladies of the ton could master, he recalled.
“No, we leave for England.” He’d had enough. She was bad luck. He had a mission. His men wanted treasures. She stood in the way. It was time to take the thief/witch/seductive siren and leave her to where she could not distract him. He strode away, pleased with his decision.
“No! Wait! You do have thieves here! Ones who look to take and have you overthrown as captain!”
He stopped. Her voice was frantic, pleading and sincere. Pirates were a difficult lot. That he knew. He was captain because of what he could offer them in hauls, and the bigger the better. Any leader could be voted out. Pirates were more democratic and liberal than the colonies. He shook his head. It was possible, in his hunt for Rachel’s killer, he might have missed discontentment.
“What are you talking about?”
“There are men who decided they deserve more than you allot out.” She squared her shoulders, but there was a haunted look in her pleading eyes. He came to her and took her arm and steered her toward his cabin.
“How do you know? When?” His voice lowered, to try to keep the conversation between them. She walked slowly, aware the rest of the crew paused, hoping to hear.
“See the two standing up there? The one who wears the red bandana and the man next to him?”
Trent straightened and took a glance on the railing surrounding the lower deck. He found the two. “Yes. Carlos and Pedro. Joined the crew last season. Decent pirates, take ball and chain with the rest of us if captured, they have fared equally in our hauls.”
“They believe they deserve more,” she stated. “In fact, they complained they have lacked a proper portion and decided they’d amend that discrepancy with the last.”
They rounded the corner to his cabin, Fitzgibbons in tow. Once inside the room, he frowned. “And they said all of this, with you present? If this is true, why didn’t they take you as prize?”
She gasped at his accusation. If it had been him unhappy with the arrangement, he would have swooped her up in a heartbeat, her beauty making her a priceless item to men who haven’t seen even a lowly woman in weeks. Even in his assessment of her as a treasure made his body tense, a shiver washing through him. Fitzgibbons’s harrumph returned him to now. He coughed, but reality struck him hard. The woman was getting under his skin. That he could not afford!
With a small but audible gulp, her tongue licked her bottom lip before she could speak. “They didn’t see me.” She stood silent, shifting on her feet. “They spoke a language that wasn’t English but, apparently, I understood it.” She shrugged, confusion in her eyes.
“It wasn’t French, by chance?”
She shook her head. “No, I’d recognize French, I believe. This, at first, I didn’t understand, but it wasn’t Français.”
He turned to his first mate. “What do you say? Do they speak the tongue of the West Indies? And where did we pick them up?”
The Irishman chuckled. “I believe in one of the Spanish isles, likely Hispaniola.”
“Yes!” She jumped. “It was Spanish.”
He blinked. “That language isn’t usually taught to the English lords or ladies. Or in London. So where did you learn that?”
* * *
Elle strained her mind to dig through the vines that barred her memory. Glimpses of a woman, dressed in stern clothes, came to her thoughts. She triggered a faint memory of direction and guidance, like a governess. The woman was strict yet loving.
“Someone from your past?”
She still gazed at the distant past, not yet focusing back in the present. “Yes. From my childhood. She watched over me. Isabella, I believe was her name. She was Spanish.” She smiled larger as that memory fought to be heard.
Trent snorted. “Glad a part of your past is dawning.” He turned toward Fitzgibbons. “Bring Carlos and Pedro here and let us see what they have to say.”
As the first mate left, Trent motioned for her to follow him outside the cabin. Gladly, she did, pleased to be out in the cooler temperature the open decking had, even doused in sun, over the enclosed cabin. Taking a breath of the fresh air, she closed her eyes, hoping the one thread of memory that came to of her governess would set other strands to show themselves. But as the seconds past and nothing more came. She bit her lower lip in frustration.
Within minutes, the first mate shoved the two pirates across the deck, both grumbling and dragging their feet. Trent waited a moment for them to quiet before he began.
“I have heard through the crew that certain items off the last bounty have gone missing. Small but highly valuable pieces.”
At first, neither moved but then Carlos spat, “Yes, and the lady there is a witch, damning all of us on this ship. Word goes she paid the devil with those jewels to aid in our destruction.”
Trent’s eyes widened the same moment Elle’s jaw dropped open. She was now a witch?
“I am not a witch!”
“Shush.” The captain clutched his hands behind his back a
nd paced before them. “Interesting point, sirs, is the fact that you two only recently joined us here on Equuleus, am I not correct?”
Neither answered but Pedro shuffled, his head low.
“What has tha’ ta do with this?” Carlos threw back, his jaw tense.
Trent stared at Pedro. About his waist was a sash, tightly wrapped around his middle and tucked in at the side. It also bulged there, more so than the fabric required. Elle bet he was hiding something and hoped the captain pushed.
Instead, he continued his pacing. “Did you not come from Hispaniola?”
Carlos frowned. “Yes.”
“Under the Spanish crown?”
Juan finally spoke. “Many places in the West Indies are ruled by the Spanish.”
“Yes, and do you not speak that tongue more fluently than English?” He stopped right before Pedro.
“Yes.”
Trent pointed to the sash. “Hand that over to me.”
Both men took a step back. “That is me personable stuff, sir.” Pedro’s hand instantly covered the bulge.
Trent nodded and Fitzgibbons snatched out to retrieve the pouch from where he stood, behind the two. Pedro turned, his face beet red.
“That ain’t yours ta be takin’!”
But the bag was in Trent’s hands and he promptly opened it to find gold coins and a few gems. “I somehow doubt you owned this prior to the last raid.”
“Ya donna know what we possess!” Carlos pressed.
“The lady heard you speak, claiming you decided you two were more qualified to have more than the rest of the crew, including me.”
At that statement, both men tensed and lunged forward for a fight. Elle sidestepped and leaned back as Pedro aimed for her. Fitzgibbons’s first hit his jaw, swinging the pirate’s head to the side and he fell hard on the deck. Trent ducked Carlos’s swing and came up at him, a knife in his hand. He pressed the pirate against the cabin’s outer bulwark, blade against his throat. Carlos’s color drained as the knife lodged into the fold of his neck without slicing.
“Mr. Fitzgibbons, have these two thrown into the lower cell. We will rid ourselves of them shortly.”
“Aye, aye, Capt’n.”
As the two were hauled off by two pirates the first officer hailed over, Trent pulled one of the gold coins from the pouch and handed it to Elle.
“I believe you have earned a share of the treasure.”
She took the Spanish coin and twirled it with her finger, a thrill racing through her as she played with the gift from him. Perhaps she meant more to him than she thought and that pleased her. The piece sparkled in the sunlight. The entire spectacle had her thoughts jumbled with joy and frustration. A piece of her past had come to light but nothing more than a hint of what and who she was. A low hiss escaped her lips at how the door to the past opened but closed just as rapidly.
As to the pretty coin in her hand, another thought crossed her mind—was she now a pirate, having stolen goods?
* * *
Fitzgibbons watched her stare at the gold piece, the look of amazement on her face. As her hand fisted around it and she shoved it into the pocket of her pants, he smiled. That one item was worth thousands in pound sterling, he’d wager, but her aid and her beauty paled the item.
“What is that look for?”
He turned to find the captain glaring at him and he couldn’t help but snort because he knew the response before he asked it.
“So, you still be thinkin’ the girl is bad luck? Enough so to take the risks, considerin’ the latest catch here, to sail back the Thames and leave her?”
Trent’s jaw twitched and it made him smile bigger.
“Of course not,” Trent replied with a sigh. “She was admirable on this, despite the fear others have about her. Look about the ship now,” he motioned. “Those men have grins and nods directed toward her for disposing these thieves and miscreants. They will be easy to unload on one of those nameless outcroppings just north of France. Let them find their own way to hell. But her?” He shook his head as if in disbelief. “I fear not only the risk is too great to return her, but worse, as the men would pin me down for getting rid of the bad charm that is good.”
Fitzgibbons smiled. The girl needed to stay, if only to grant Trent peace, despite his claim he didn’t desire her. Only a fool would believe that.
As if reading his mind, Cavendish gave him a hard glare and muttered, “Get that grin off your face. She’s still bad luck, in more ways than not. But she has earned a right to sail with us for now. And once her memory returns in full, we may all regret this decision, for I’ll swear by God Almighty, she is a lady of the realm and not a pirate’s wench. We’ll all pay for keeping her here, despite whatever fear she has of returning home.” He spat and walked away.
The first mate wanted to laugh. The only one who’d pay was Cavendish and that would be he lost his heart to the beauty.
This Love Of Mine: Chapter Twelve
Buzzzzzzz
James swatted another fly away as if it was nothing and took sip from the cheap gin. He watched with minor amusement as Clearwater beat at one near him, only managing to slap his cheek instead, quickly followed by a somewhat muted curse.
“Was it truly a wise decision to frequent such a…” Clearwater’s gaze darted as his lips curled in a grimace. “Filthy place?”
James sat back in the creaky wooden straight chair and snorted. He had to admit wondering the same thing. Even as they sat there today, he halfway expected the chair, one of the only chairs as most of the tables had benches, to collapse underneath him.
“You recall what those creatures said,” referring to the two sailors questioned in regards to Eleanor’s disappearance.
“You mean, that dribble they confessed? Yes, I do and remember quite clearly their blood spitting on the floor after you pounded them to get more information. Truly, understandable. I, too, would seek blood for stealing Eleanor, but what a ghastly appearance they made!” He shivered.
James couldn’t help but grin at the comment. He had spirited to the docks and found the two men scared half-witless when he stormed them into gaol, his sword lashed to his side. One way or another, he was going to get them to spill more information and figured if fear of a nobleman, especially one armed with a blade, didn’t do it, he’d resort to cutting off their fingers, or worse. The two understood him plainly enough and words flowed from their mouths like a river over a rocky bed, halfway confusing and contorted. But the basis was, she had somehow escaped and the last they saw, she ran from them at breakneck speed and to not be caught, jumped aboard a ship. After more cajoling, they spit out a name that took the Runner a few minutes to find—the Equuleus. A ship for a privateer named Cavendish.
They ran a quick search and discovered the ship pulled from anchor immediately thereafter with no one appearing to know her course. James collapsed right there, every ounce of energy—and hope—dashed.
“James, ole man, I realize you are hurting and want vengeance but that ship left just over a month or so ago.” Clearwater reached out and grasped James wrist, squeezing it. “I am sorry. You may never find her again.”
James’s vision blurred, as he too knew it was a lost cause in many respects but he loved her too much to give up hope.
“I do not believe that.” He inhaled deep, straightening in his chair, ignoring the shifting it did under his seat. He grabbed his mug and downed the rest of his gin, or the concoction they claimed was gin. Clearwater would never understand, he knew it. His friend, though, still stayed at his side, to help him if she was found, or worse. He shuddered at that thought.
“This is the most vile stuff I’ve ever tasted.” Clearwater put his mug down, his lips twisted in disgust.
Clearwater was right. “Granted, but it’s the best of the house.” James halfway shrugged. “But if I can pick up any news on the Equuleus, then all the swill in England is worth it.”
Silence passed with Clearwater staring at him. James wasn’t sure
if the flash he saw in his friend’s eyes registered too much other than thinking his friend was insane. At this point, he wondered that himself. She’d been gone too long, creating an emptiness in him that was unbearable. He’d rather die than give up on finding his love.
The half-rotten door to the pub creaked open and the sunlight poured in, lighting up the dirt and grime of the room. Most of the patrons looked away or shielded their eyes from the bright light. A shadow broke the glare as two more men stumbled into the dark room. James kept a watch on them without moving his seat. The two sailors were barefoot, their pants torn at the bottom of the leggings, and their billowy shirts gave the marks of being worn for days. Men from the sea and ones that were not happy. That intrigued James and he tilted his head to try to hear them as they slid into a table off to the side. What he heard was grumbles and curses laced with anger.
“…who tha hell does he think he be?” the taller one spat. “How dare he be leavin’ us out in tha mid of nowhere!”
The other one nodded furiously as the pub wench sauntered up, toting two mugs of gin. The complainer gave her a toothy smile.
“Thanks.” He took one of the mugs. His companion took the other one, nodding in agreement with him. As she left, their conversation dropped to barely audible. In fact, the only thing James could hear was their downing the liquor. He closed his eyes, counting slowly. This shack was the nearest to the docks, the one those two abductors ranted they had met the man “his lor’ship”. The man who hired them to take Eleanor. He planted himself here every evening, downing this horrible gin, dressed in his worse clothes—ones that still looked vastly better than anyone else wore in the tavern—and waited for another clue to where Eleanor was.
“…as if Cavendish owned the damn seas!”
Clearwater shot a glance to him from across the table. “Did you hear?”
James bent his head slightly, to appear that there was something on the table he found more interesting, curtailing his inclination to jump up. But he couldn’t stop the way his lips curled up.
Her Perfect Gentleman: A Regency Romance Anthology Page 10
