Dressed, Miss DuBois stood gazing out of the stern window, her back to him. She’d braided her hair, which now hung in a thick plait to her waist.
“You must be hungry.” Jake set the plate down. “Help yourself.”
“The ship has just anchored.” She half-turned to look at him. “Where are we?”
“Southern Ireland.”
A brief flicker of surprise crossed her face. “What have you decided to do with me?”
He shook his head. “I haven’t decided anything yet.”
“Will you take me back to France?”
“Like I said, I haven’t decided anything yet.” He straddled a chair. “We need to have a little parley first. I have questions, and I want answers.”
A scowl darkened her brow. “Not really a parley then, is it? More of an interrogation.”
He ignored the retort. “Let’s begin with the silks. Who were they for?”
A guarded look came to her eyes. “How should I know?”
“Wrong answer. Try again.”
“I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”
Jake grunted. “Answer me this, then. Why would your father be concerned about you pissing in two of the trunks?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh, I think you do. Last night, you said you only did it to get back at your father. That makes no sense, unless, of course, the silks were for him.”
Cheeks flushed, she fidgeted. “I don’t remember saying any such thing.”
“You also said he has many mistresses.”
“He does. So?”
“Many mistresses, many gowns.” Jake scratched his beard. “Which equals many silks.”
“I don’t remember half of what I said last night, actually. I was tired and scared and also a little bit drunk, which I’m sure was your intent.” She gave him a tight smile. “Sorry about your floor, Captain. Captain who, by the way? It would be nice to know the name of the blackguard who’s holding me captive.”
“Captive? No. The door is not locked,” Jake said, nodding toward it. “You’re free to go, if you wish. We’re only about a half-mile from shore, so it’s an easy swim. The harbor, unfortunately, is crawling with more blackguards who make me look like a saint, so you’re probably safer here.”
Her lip trembled. “I hate you.”
“Aye, so you’ve said.” Jake sighed. “And I’ve had enough of your nonsense, Miss… er, actually, do you mind if I call you Amy?”
“My nonsense? How dare—?”
“Be quiet and pay attention. If you choose not to swim ashore, you only have three other options. One, I wash my hands of you today and arrange to have you taken back to France and dropped off at Le Havre, or Cherbourg, or whichever bloody French port you prefer. Regrettably, you’d be at the mercy of others who might not be as hospitable as me, and the odds of you of actually making it as far as France in one piece are probably not in your favor. Two, you remain under my protection till I negotiate a ransom for you, after which time I’ll return you safely to a specific location on a prearranged date. There’s a condition attached to this option, however.”
A tell-tale sheen came to her eyes, but to Jake’s relief, she blinked it away. “And the third option?”
“There isn’t one.”
“But, you said—”
“I lied.”
Frowning, she glanced at the bed and then turned away from him again to gaze out of the window. “What is the condition, Captain?”
Jake moved to stand behind her, and she tensed, visibly. “It’s not what you’re thinking, Amy,” he said, knowing what suspicion played in her mind. “If you’re ever fortunate enough to find yourself in my bed, it will be because you want to be there.”
A soft laugh escaped her lips. “And that will be when hell freezes over.” Hugging herself, she faced him once more, with nothing more than a handspan of space between them. “What is the condition?”
Being this close to the lass pushed Jake’s self-control to its limits. He wondered if she had any idea about the effect she had on him, and guessed she had no clue at all. She fascinated him. Enticed him. He found himself studying the inviting shape of her lips, the stubborn tilt of her chin, the way her eyelashes curled… and that damnable bruise around her eye. Jake’s fingers seemed to act of their own accord as they gently touched her blemished flesh. Amy drew a short breath but didn’t flinch.
“Who did this?” he asked, thinking he’d happily skewer the man responsible. “Tell me the truth.”
“One of the crewmen on the French ship, but only after I kneed him in the bollocks.” She glanced down at Jake’s groin and raised a brow. “Please explain your condition, Captain.”
Jake suppressed yet another smile. The ransom for this lass would not be cheap. She was bloody priceless.
“I want no more lies,” he replied. “That is my condition. From now on, you’ll tell me only the truth.”
She pouted and pondered. “Will you agree to do the same?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then, why should I?”
He grinned. “Because of that first option.”
She stiffened, her eyes narrowing as her chin lifted. “I—”
“Hate me. Yes, I know.” Jake stepped back. “Assuming you agree to my condition, I’ll take you ashore tonight. Move you to a safer place until the details of your ransom have been sorted out.”
“A safer place?” She looked doubtful. “What place?”
“No more lies, Amy,” Jake said. “Agreed?”
“Since you’re using my first name, will you tell me yours?”
“No.” He rocked on his heels. “Well?”
“God, give me strength.” She looked up at the ceiling and blew out a breath. “All right, agreed. What place?”
“It’s called Dún Caorthann,” Jake replied. “I was born there.”
Chapter Four
The man was infuriating. An obnoxious lout. Ugly, too, with his unkempt beard and one-eyed stare. Amy, for shame! She silently berated her unkind turn of thought and slowed her back-and-forth pacing. Criticizing the captain’s appearance was shallow, to say the least. Uncalled for. To have an eye gouged out by a red-hot poker must have been excruciating. She wondered who had done such a thing, and why.
She had to admit, the captain’s remaining eye was actually a remarkable color. Green as the shamrock of his homeland, and flecked with hazel, although at times the green appeared to darken. As it had earlier, when he’d stood close to her.
The thought made Amy’s stomach flip and she cursed under her breath. She hated the way he made her feel, the ease with which he manipulated her. That, and the way every treacherous nerve in her body tingled in his presence. Her fingers sought out the bruise on her face as she recalled the way he’d touched her. Her heart quickened.
Damn him.
That she had vomited all over his floor the previous night had surely served him right. His fault, since he’d all but forced the whiskey down her throat, no doubt to loosen her tongue. Or to take advantage of her. No, not the latter. She’d seen no sign of brutality in the man. In truth, if he’d wanted to defile her, he’d have done it already.
“There is more to you than meets the eye, Captain,” she murmured, and then had the grace to blush at her rather tactless choice of words. But the statement had merit, nonetheless. She didn’t doubt the man’s Irishness, yet his brogue was subtle to the point of indiscernible. He spoke as someone who had spent a fair amount of time in England. He was obviously well educated and, despite appearances, carried himself with practised dignity. Why would such a man be captain of a pirate ship? The mystery of him intrigued her.
Weary of his presence in her head, she gave herself a mental shake. Hopefully, she’d soon be free of Captain Whoever He Was. For now, she needed to remain calm. It looked as though she’d be back on solid ground that night, which meant she’d have a better chance of escape. Till then, she’d play along. Be placid and obedien
t. Somewhat, anyway. She needed to be wary of her words and actions. The man seemed to have a knack for reading her mind.
Earlier that day, following her acceptance of his ‘condition’, she’d proceeded to tell him everything. Well, almost everything.
He’d apparently believed her and rightly so, since she hadn’t actually told him any lies. She had simply omitted a fact or two. Skirted around some of what had really taken place.
Yes, the silks had been purchased by her father, may the Devil take him. But not the brandy or the Madeira. She didn’t know who that was for. And yes, Amy had fled to France to escape marriage to Archibald Dalton. But she had not fled with her mother, she had fled to her mother.
Yvonne Marie DuBois, courtesan, had been one of her father’s many mistresses. For the first few years of Amy’s life, her mother had doted on her small daughter. But then, Yvonne had fallen into disfavor with her wealthy patron and was dispatched, with little warning, back to France, leaving Amy behind.
At the time, Amy had struggled to understand why her mother left, and why her father showed no sympathy for Amy’s grief. Even now, the recollection of those confusing, early days brought tears to her eyes. She blamed the whole thing on her father.
She had not been entirely abandoned by her mother, however. Three or four times a year, a letter would arrive from France, filled with frivolities and endearments. Amy always replied. She also felt determined, one day, to seek out her missing Mama.
Unfortunately, the fulfillment of Amy’s ambition had not quite lived up to expectations. Her solitary flight to France had been brought about through desperation and fear. The attempt had been precarious, too. Foolish beyond measure. But, by the grace of God, or perhaps by sheer good luck, she’d prevailed.
Her arrival on her mother’s doorstep had been met with cautious enthusiasm. The welcome had been tepid rather than warm. In truth, Amy’s dream of a tearful and heartfelt reunion had been disenchanting. Though treated kindly, Amy felt like she had intruded in the woman’s life. Her stay had been cut short, however. A mere fortnight later, she’d been snatched from her mother’s home and carted off to the ship meant to return her to England.
“Assuming all goes to plan and you return to France, what’s to stop your father coming for you again?” the captain had asked.
“Nothing,” she’d replied. “But I’d rather take my chances there than in England.” An honest enough answer. The captain had looked thoughtful but had not pursued it further. What did he care anyway? She wasn’t his concern. All he wanted was the ransom money. And that is where Amy’s main fear resided.
She doubted her mother would pay it.
The captain had left her with an assurance of his return at day’s end. So, now she waited, watching, with impatience, the daylight fade into dusk.
The door opened without warning, startling Amy, and a familiar voice spoke.
“Are you ready?”
She spun round, meaning to snap out a reprimand. “How dare—?” But the captain’s appearance stole her breath away. She barely recognized him.
Gone were the salt-stained clothes and sweat stained hat. His threadbare red jacket had been discarded in favor of a dark-green velvet coat that fell to the knees, collar, cuffs, and pockets edged in braided black silk. The coat fit him to tailored perfection, accentuating the breadth of his shoulders, and the tapered line of his torso. A pair of snug, black breeches complemented the ensemble, as did his black, Cavalier boots.
His head of wild, dark hair had been tamed, sleeked back, and tied in a queue. The unkempt beard had been trimmed close to his jaw, sculpting his previously undefined features.
The polished hilt of his cutlass, jutting out from beneath his coat, implied militant prowess, and the eye-patch added a hint of mystery and intrigue. He looked exceedingly handsome, Amy thought. And somewhat dangerous.
He raised a brow, which also appeared to have been trimmed. “If you’ve finished gawking, can we go? I’d like to reach shore before dawn.”
The remark brought Amy’s flight of fancy back to Earth with a thud.
“I wasn’t gawking,” she said, scowling. “I was merely startled, once again, by your rude entrance. Do you possess any manners at all? And yes, of course I’m ready. It’s not as though I have any luggage to pack.”
“Yes, it has occurred to me that you lack possessions.” He gestured toward his bunk. “Bring a blanket for the boat. It’ll be cool on the water.”
“I’m sure I’ll be—”
“A blanket, Amy.”
“Oh, very well.” She tugged the blanket from the bunk, folded it in a haphazard fashion, and hugged it to her chest. “There. I’m ready.”
A corner of his mouth lifted as he stood to one side and made a pronounced bow. “Then after you, mo chailín.”
“Thank you,” she said, and flounced past him, catching a whiff of a delicious musky scent. “I must say, your groomed appearance is a marked improvement, Captain, but you really didn’t have to polish yourself up on my account.”
“I didn’t do it for your benefit, as it happens,” he said, closing the door and falling into step beside her, “but I’m flattered that you find me handsome.”
“I didn’t say I found you handsome.” Amy started up the stairs. The first part of his comment, much to her chagrin, needled her. If not for her benefit, then whose? It occurred to her that she knew nothing of his personal life. Maybe he had a wife. Or a mistress. Her stomach knotted. “’Tis simply that you look…”
“Less like a pirate?” he finished.
Amy didn’t answer. Stepping out onto the deck, she’d found herself confronted by a vista that robbed her of speech.
“Oh.” The soft exclamation was all she could manage as she moved to the rail and absorbed the spectacle. The sun had already sunk below the horizon, but evidence of its recent departure remained, the skies glowing shell-pink against the grey pallor of twilight.
Beneath, the coastline appeared dark against the paler backdrop, its silhouette softened by a forested landscape hemmed in by rocky shores and stretches of pale, ivory sand.
Amy breathed deep, allowing the air to cleanse her lungs.
“God’s country,” the captain said, standing so close his arm brushed against hers. Her heart gave a funny little flip. “It’s beautiful,” she said.
“Aye,” he replied, “there’s nowhere else like it in the world.”
The reverence in his voice drew her gaze. “Are you well travelled, Captain?”
Her question seemed to surprise him. “Aye, I suppose.”
“Which countries have you visited?”
“I’ll be happy to tell you, but, for now, our boat awaits.” He curled a callused hand around hers and led her further down the deck. The intimate gesture was unexpected yet felt oddly natural. It sparked a flood of heat in Amy’s cheeks. Aware of eyes upon her, she glanced about the ship to see a number of crewmen watching them.
“It appears we have an audience,” she said.
“They’re making sure you leave.” Jake gave her a wry smile and took the blanket from her. “I’ll go first. Be careful descending. The rungs are wet.”
It took a moment for Amy to understand his meaning. Of course! They were anchored, not docked. Disembarking had to be done by means of a rope ladder.
As if reading her mind again, the captain spoke further. “It’s known as Jacob’s Ladder,” he said, “named for the biblical Jacob who, of course, dreamed about the stairway to Heaven.”
“Befitting, then,” Amy replied, “since you claim to be taking me to God’s country.”
He chuckled and raised her hand to his lips before releasing it. “Indeed.”
Amy peered over the rail to see the big Irish crewman sitting in a rowboat, awaiting them. The captain tossed the blanket into the boat and began his descent with practised ease, pausing part-way down.
He looked up at her. “Come on. Don’t be afraid.”
“I’m not,” she replied, a
lthough the slight tremble in her legs implied otherwise. She gritted her teeth, gathered her skirts and, with as much grace as she could muster, swung herself over the deck rail and felt for the rungs with her feet.
“That’s it.” The captain reached for her. “Steady. Take your time.”
He helped her into the boat, his large hands fastened about her waist. Was it her imagination, or did his hold on her linger a little longer than necessary? Cursing her propensity to blush, Amy straightened her skirts.
“My thanks,” she said and sat down. Almost immediately, a loud cheer rang out from above. The big Irishman grinned and said something in Gaelic to the captain, who glanced at Amy and laughed.
She bristled. “It’s easy to mock someone when the person being mocked doesn’t understand the language.”
The Irishman’s grin widened. “Aye, that it is,” he said, earning himself a glare from Amy.
The captain sat beside her. “I’ve been to Greece,” he said, “Turkey, Egypt, Malta, Spain, Italy. Most of the Mediterranean countries, actually. France too, of course. Further afield, the Virginias, the Carolinas and the Bahamas.”
As they pushed away from the ship, a breeze skipped over the waves and wrapped around them.
Amy shivered. “An impressive list, but I was expecting a little bit more detail.”
The captain picked up the blanket. “I told you so,” he murmured, shaking it out and placing it about her shoulders. “Details? Where would you like me to start?”
“Egypt, please,” she said, ignoring his jibe as she tugged the blanket tight around her. “I’ve always wanted to go there. Did you see the pyramids?”
“From the back of a camel,” he replied, “which is the only way to see them.”
The big Irishman pulled the oars cleanly through the waves, remaining silent as the captain continued to speak. Amy, snug in her blanket, soon became accustomed to the rise and fall of the small boat and surrendered to a ridiculous illusion of comfort and safety. Two things she had not experienced in a long time.
Stolen by Starlight: A Pirates of Britannia World Novel Page 4
