Captured for the Captain's Pleasure

by Ann Lethbridge

  ‘Be calm, friend,’ he said softly.

  The marine jerked his weapon. ‘Stay back from the lady. I ain’t your friend, neither.’ Michael took another pace back, wincing at the knife-edge of pain.

  The young middy unlocked the cell, tossed the supplies to Bones and banged the gate shut again.

  Alice was staring at him, her face anxious. ‘Are you hurt?’

  He forced his lips to smile and felt the stiffness in his cheeks and wondered if it looked as bad as it felt. ‘I’m enjoying my vacation. Thank you for the supplies, Miss Fulton.’

  She glanced at the middy. ‘M—Captain Lionhawk?’

  Even his false name sounded as sweet as honey on her lips. He fought the insidious longing. She had almost given herself away. He didn’t want Liversedge using Alice against him. He didn’t want the lieutenant anywhere near her.

  ‘Miss, we gotta go,’ the middy said.

  ‘Yes,’ Michael said. ‘Go. Your friend with the musket looks nervous.’

  ‘Wait a moment.’ She gestured for the lad to move back and lowered her voice to barely a whisper. ‘Listen, Michael—’ her low tone contained urgency ‘—I will speak to the captain. Tell him that you are a half owner in the Conchita and haven’t committed any crime.’

  His chest contracted, the pain far more intense than that from his broken ribs. If she knew what he’d planned for her father, she’d dance for joy at his execution. ‘I don’t want you involved in my affairs.’

  Something shimmered in her eyes. Her small laugh sounded husky. ‘I am involved. We are married.’

  He shot a look at the marine and the midshipman lingering behind her. ‘Are you?’

  Doubt crossed her face. ‘Michael?’

  He wanted to swear and curse. He kept his face blank, unmoved. And yet the thought of letting her go held him in irons far stronger than those on his limbs.

  She must have seen something in his face because she stepped closer to the bars with a frown. ‘Michael, what is happening?’

  ‘Miss.’ The marine cocked his weapon.

  ‘Your hand,’ Michael whispered. ‘Quickly.’ He tossed the small gold circlet. ‘Keep it for luck,’ he said, his voice rough and hoarse around the odd dry lump in his throat. It spun, catching the light for a second before landing in her palm.

  The signet ring was the only thing he’d owned when he came to his senses on board his first ship. He’d taken his name from the figure carved on its face. He’d intended it for Jaimie, but now he wanted her to have something of his.

  He gave a black laugh at the way she closed her hand tight around it. ‘Call it payment for our time together,’ he added cruelly. Even if it only reminded her how much she hated him, at least he wouldn’t be forgotten.

  For a moment he thought she’d throw it back in his face, half-wished she would in some perverse desire to sever the bond. But then she pressed it to her breast and he almost broke. Almost said something he would regret.

  The midshipman nudged her elbow. ‘Come on, miss. You’ll get me into trouble.’

  Her eyes were misty as she turned away.

  Michael cursed and stepped closer to the bars.

  The marine thrust the stock of his weapon at him through the bars. ‘Get back. You’ll get it when I tell the lieutenant.’

  ‘Don’t come back, Miss Fulton,’ Michael shouted after her. ‘Your charity is not welcome here.’ Because whatever happened tomorrow, he didn’t want Alice to see.

  He closed his eyes briefly, focusing on the pain in his ribs, a pain he knew how to deal with, then turned to face his men.

  ‘Martin, where’s that whistle of yours?’ he called out. ‘Let’s show these navy bastards how real sailors dance a hornpipe. Jacko, let’s see you pick up those fairy feet of yours.’

  Hoots and laughter filled the cell.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Alice tied off the bandage around Gridge’s stump of a thigh.

  ‘You’ve a talent for this work,’ Smollet said over her shoulder

  Intent on her work, she hadn’t heard the surgeon’s approach. She kept her hands steady and her gaze fixed on her task. Any sudden movement would cause the poor man agonising pain. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘When you are done there, join me for a cup of tea,’ Smollett said. He squeezed between the row of hammocks, peering at his patients over the top of his glasses.

  Alice pulled the blanket up over the laudanum-infused Gridge. ‘He’ll need water when he wakes,’ she said to the man in the opposite hammock, who was lucky enough to have received only a broken collarbone when their gun broke loose. The sailor grinned, exposing a lack of front teeth. ‘Aye, aye, miss.’ He had the accent of a Yorkshireman. ‘Sight for sore eyes, you are.’

  She grinned back and made her way to Smollet’s surgery, where she found him behind a china teapot and a set of mismatched cups and saucers laid out on the operating table. Tired from being on her feet since first light, she sank on to a stool.

  ‘Rare to find a woman with skills such as yours, Miss Fulton,’ the surgeon said, dropping lumps of sugar into the cups.

  ‘Because we are not given the chance.’

  ‘Hmmph. Where did you learn?’

  ‘When I travelled with my father to India as a child the only person doing anything interesting was the surgeon. Much to his annoyance, I followed him around. More recently I’ve helped where permitted at St Thomas’s Hospital.’ She sighed. ‘Bringing soup to patients. Rolling bandages. Raising money.’

  He poured the tea and gave her a sharp look. ‘You know, it’s interesting, but the men behave better with a woman around. They rest easier too.’

  ‘Perhaps on those grounds women should be accepted into medical circles. The Ladies of Charity do wonderful work for the poor in Paris.’

  He sucked in his cheeks. ‘Nuns. I don’t doubt they are capable, but the work is too hard for most women. Too bloody. Look at you. Already worn to the bone.’

  Lack of sleep worrying about Michael’s rejection of her help, not the work for the doctor, had her exhausted. The cruelty of his words when he’d sent her away made her think he’d lost hope.

  She touched the ribbon around her neck. If they weren’t married, why had he given her his ring?

  ‘I’ve been trying to see the captain since yesterday,’ she said. ‘He didn’t come to dinner with the other officers. Every time I ask, I’m told to wait. You wouldn’t know where I can find him?’

  ‘Busy man,’ Smollet said. ‘We can’t make sail until the ship they took yesterday is repaired. He’s overseeing the work. Won’t want to lose a valuable prize. Drink your tea. It will put colour in your cheeks.’

  She sipped at the steaming brew and found it strong and sweet. ‘The marines won’t let me up on deck.’

  ‘Well, they won’t be stopping you this morning,’ he said. ‘They’ve other duties on their minds.’

  She raised a brow.

  He grimaced. ‘Punishment.’ He chuckled grimly. ‘Then it’ll be up to me to repair the damage.’

  ‘It’s cruel.’

  ‘It is the law. Take my advice, Miss Fulton, don’t go up there. It’s more than the strongest stomach can stand.’ He took a swig from his flask and began gathering up the tea things. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, duty calls.’ He glanced upwards. ‘I suggest you return to your cabin and rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  Dismissed, she could do nothing but leave.

  Resting was not an option. She must see the captain. Pausing to get her bearings, she realised she was outside the marines’ wardroom. They would be able to direct her. She peeked inside.

  Empty and as neat as a pin.

  Three keys hung on the wall beside the door. One of them she recognized. The key to the prison below. Her heart stilled. She shouldn’t.

  She glanced up and down the passageway.

  A breath caught in her throat. Her stomach flipped. Every muscle in her body tightened. She snatched the key. Tucked it up her sleeve, cold against t
he inside of her wrist.

  Breathing hard, she sauntered out of the door on legs as stiff as boards. Inside, her body shook, her heart pounded with the urge to run.

  No challenge rang out, no cry of alarm. She kept walking and her heartbeat slowly subsided, but the key felt as big as a house brick against her skin. A large visible lump.

  She glanced down. It was barely noticeable. And she wouldn’t dare use it. Would she?

  She headed for the lower deck.

  Pain bit into Michael’s ribs and bruised temple as Liversedge’s men slammed him, spread-eagled, against the grating on the Essex’s main deck. He bit back a curse of protest.

  They’d come early, the bastards. Brought him up on deck for questioning, wanting him to give up other supposed deserters.

  An excuse for the marine officer to lay on the cane.

  A drummer gave a few practice riffles on his drum. Sweet saints! Michael had thought he was done with the Navy and its love of the lash.

  Liversedge yanked his head back by his hair. Pain seared his chest. His eyes watered. He inhaled sour breath and stale cigar as Liversedge glared into his face.

  ‘One last chance, Lionhawk. Admit to piracy and spare yourself a flogging. You’ll hang, but it’ll be a quick death.’

  For a heartbeat, Michael considered the offer. He stared into Liversedge’s cunning eyes and saw the blood-lust. Liversedge wouldn’t forgo his pleasure, whatever Michael told him. Navy law required seventy-two lashes and Liversedge would see it carried out. Now or later.

  ‘Go to hell,’ he said.

  His cheekbone crashed back against the grating, and along with the dull pain, Michael tasted the copper of blood. Through his blurred vision, he glared at the stiff marine. ‘Die, you bastard.’

  The tinny drumbeat beat out the call. All hands on deck.

  The Gryphon’s men were slumped against the walls or stretched out on the floor, their faces sullen. Wishart came to the bars, carrying his chains, his fair beard-stubbled face looking grim. He leaned close with one eye on the guard who remained watchful at the door. ‘Michael doesn’t want you here.’

  She eased the key from her sleeve and held it through the bars, careful to shield it from the guard’s view. She glanced down. ‘Leave tonight. It’s your only chance. The Gryphon will cast off tomorrow with a prize crew aboard. But tell Michael, whatever he does, he is not to hurt anyone when he leaves.’

  The blond giant grabbed the key and shoved it in his pocket. ‘Michael won’t be going anywhere.’

  She stared at him. A strange feeling clawed at her chest. ‘Why not?’

  He grimaced. ‘They took him up on deck a few minutes ago.’ Wishart struck the bars with the flat of his hand, sending dull reverberations through the hold. ‘Seventy-two lashes for desertion.’

  It was as if a rock had dropped from the sky and knocked the bottom out of her stomach. She couldn’t move. Bile rose in her throat. ‘He’s a deserter?’

  ‘No. But his word counts for naught against Kale’s accusations. The lousy rotten bastards pressed him as a boy and now they’ve got him again. There’ll be no escape.’

  She grasped at a sick kind of hope. ‘He’s been through it before and survived.’

  ‘Aye. But Bones says the skin is too thin. If the pain doesn’t do him in, he’ll bleed to death. I’ve seen it before.’

  ‘There must be proof.’

  Frustration etched lines in his face. His hands balled into fists. ‘At the Admiralty, but they’ll not wait. We should never have taken prisoners. Women on board ship are bad luck.’

  The anger in his gaze landed so heavily on her shoulders she wanted to sink to the floor. ‘What can I do?’

  ‘Hear that?’ Wishart cocked his head. The faint steady beat of drums sounded above them. ‘They’re assembling the crew.’

  Clamminess cooled her skin, dampened her palms. She clutched the bars, fearing she would fall if she didn’t hold on to something solid in a world shifting beneath her feet. Why hadn’t she forced her way in to the captain, instead of waiting for permission?

  A scalding sensation behind her eyes and in the back of her throat thickened her voice. ‘I’ll speak to the captain.’

  The drumming stopped.

  ‘You’re too late.’ Wishart said. ‘They’ve begun.’

  Lifting her skirts, she fled for the deck.

  The midday heat beat down on Michael’s shoulders. Sweat trickled down his back, soaking his shirt. Fulton would never know how close he’d come to paying for his crimes.

  Michael wanted to hate Alice for diverting him from his purpose, but he only hated his own weakness, his cowardice, because something deep inside him felt glad Alice would never know.

  A seaman slopped two buckets of salt water beside Michael’s bare feet—to bring him round when he passed out, so he wouldn’t miss a moment of excruciating agony.

  The bo’sun sliced Michael’s shirt through with his knife, exposing his naked back. A mutter ran through the assembled men. Michael could smell their lust for blood on the breeze, and the stink of his own sweat and dirt.

  ‘You’ve been here before, mate,’ the bo’sun said.

  Michael relaxed the muscles across his shoulders to minimise the pain and braced his legs. He forced himself to empty his mind, willing himself not to cry out, determined to deny Liversedge the satisfaction, to defeat the bastard with silence.

  Liversedge counted out the drums’ first beat. ‘One.’

  The blow stung like raking claws. Michael’s breath hissed between his clenched teeth. The bo’sun clearly knew his business.

  ‘You’re a pixie,’ Michael gritted out. ‘My old mother could do better.’ The angrier the bo’sun got, the harder his strokes would fall and the sooner Michael wouldn’t feel it at all.

  The man grunted and drew his arm back. ‘You’ll be talking out of the other side of your mouth by the time I’ve finished with you, lad.’

  ‘Two.’

  Searing pain. The knotted ends scored the sensitive flesh of his side. ‘A maid could lay it on harder,’ he taunted. ‘You must have lost your strength arse-licking the lieutenant.’

  Trickles of warmth ran down his back. Blood. Too much blood for so few blows.

  ‘Well, what do we have here?’ a light female voice said from behind him. His gut tightened, the pain from his back screamed into his conscious mind as he fought the gut-wrenching horror. She’d come to witness his punishment. He tried to see behind him. All he could see were the nearest men, their mouths open in shock, their eyes avid. The thought of her standing there behind him, looking at the ruined flesh and the blood filled him with helpless fury. His fists opened and closed against ropes that bit into his wrists.

  ‘What the deuce?’ Liversedge muttered.

  From the corner of his eye, Michael saw a red flush rising up the lieutentant’s neck.

  ‘I heard the drums,’ she said.

  ‘You have no business here, Miss Fulton,’ Liversedge choked out as if his collar was cutting off the air from his windpipe. If things hadn’t been quite so unpleasant, Michael would have laughed at the man’s discomfort.

  ‘This is a Navy matter,’ the lieutenant said. ‘Please be so good as to go below.’

  Alice strolled into Michael’s line of sight. She looked pale and calm. Too calm for the feverish glitter in her eyes. ‘Why?’ Her gaze swept the deck. ‘Isn’t this a public event?’

  Michael cursed. ‘Get her out of here, Liversedge. Aren’t you in charge?’

  ‘Silence!’ Liversedge roared. ‘Sergeant, escort the lady back to her cabin.’

  Alice crossed her arms over her chest and tapped a foot. She looked so damned small beside the bulky officer, Michael feared for her safety. The man had no control on his temper, which was the reason why Michael’s cheek was laid open and he could only see out of one eye.

  ‘I am not under your orders, sir,’ she said. ‘I would like to know why this man is being punished. That is not too much to ask, is it?�
��

  ‘He’s a deserter,’ Liversedge said. ‘Articles of War require a minimum seventy-two lashes at the mast.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  He looked blank. ‘It is in the book.’

  ‘I didn’t mean the rules,’ she said, as if speaking to a rather dull child. ‘I mean, how do you know he is guilty?’

  A couple of men snickered. Liversedge glared. He tugged at his collar. Trickles of sweat ran from the hair at his temples down the side of his face. ‘I can assure you the proper inquiries have been made and the verdict rendered. I really must insist you leave.’

  The captain’s word was law. There was nothing anyone could do, least of all a civilian and a woman to boot. Worst of all, she was defending a man who’d had every intention of ending her father’s life and ruining hers.

  Damn it all. He’d sworn that if by some miracle he got out of this alive he’d pursue his justice to the bitter end. If she knew, she’d cast him into the sea.

  ‘Get the woman out of here,’ he ground out.

  Eyes cold, she stared at him. ‘You, sir, are a thorn in my side.’

  Perhaps he had it wrong. Perhaps she’d come to enjoy his punishment. Perhaps she really was her father’s daughter. His gut roiled at the thought.

  Liversedge bared his teeth in a triumphant smile. ‘Seems like the lady doesn’t care for you any more than I do. Why don’t I take you below deck, Miss Fulton?’ The man tucked her hand under his arm.

  At the sight of the lieutenant’s hand on her, rage consumed Michael, blinded him, shut out reason and logic with an urgent need to take the smirk off the other man’s face. ‘She liked me enough to bed me.’

  She stiffened.

  Liversedge’s eyes widened.

  ‘Wishful thinking,’ she scoffed with a brittle laugh. She turned to the lieutenant. ‘He’s nothing but a common sailor.’

  The scornful curl to her lip felt like a sabre going right through Michael’s heart. But she was right to deny it. He should have kept silent.

  ‘I’m glad to see you are not one of those foolish women who fall for a rogue’s silver tongue, Miss Fulton. Now, my dear…’ he patted her hand ‘…we must continue on with this unfortunate business. I really must request that you leave.’