Pirate Wolf Trilogy

by Canham, Marsha

  “Well spent it was too, Cap’n! Well spent!”

  She waved her hands to bring an end to the hurrahs, and beside her, Nathan’s voice boomed out, ordering them back about their tasks. All save Johnny Boy who was called to the quarterdeck with a tilt of Juliet’s head.

  “Take his grace down to the galley and show him where he might find the victuals to prepare me a tray for supping. Oh, and fetch him a pot of bootblack. I seem to have won a few scuffs that need polishing out.”

  She smiled at Varian, then handed the helm off to a snickering Nathan Crisp before going below.

  Once inside her cabin, she closed the door and leaned heavily against it. She had got the better of him, but only by a hair’s breadth, for he was lightening quick and more resourceful than she had anticipated. There was dampness between her shoulder blades, more curling the fine hairs across the nape of her neck—the humid price of pride.

  Shaking her hands to ease the ache in her wrists, she went over to her desk. On a normal day, at noon, she would carry the backstaff up on deck and take a reading to determine their position, but since they were only a few hours north of Pigeon Cay, the need was not pressing. She looked at the new journal she had brought on board. She had entered their time of departure and the date, September 3, but otherwise the pages were blank. Chewing thoughtfully on her lower lip, she pulled out the chair and sat down. She stood a moment later and removed her swordbelt then sat down again, wondering how busy she should look on the first day of a voyage.

  Opening a drawer, she took out a quill and a small knife, and trimmed the tip to a fresh point. She unscrewed the pot of ink and set it in the well then ran her tongue across her teeth a few times between thoughtful glances at the door.

  Leaning back in the chair, she propped her boot on the edge of the desk.

  A distraction, that was what he was. Just a distraction that would be gone from her life soon enough.

  ~~~

  Varian only bumped into two bulkheads on his way from the galley to the captain’s cabin. He balanced a wooden tray in one hand and carried a jug of ale in the other. The captain liked ale with her noon meal, Johnny Boy had informed him, then proceeded to show him where the wooden ladle was hung and which barrel had been marked for the captain’s personal consumption. Not watered down, he had confided in a whisper, not like the weaker brew allotted for the crew’s ration of two quarts a day. They’d all be drunken sots otherwise.

  Varian was still prickling over the laughter that had followed him below deck. How the devil a mere slip of a woman had bested him with a sword was completely and incomprehensibly beyond his ken. Johnny Boy had winked and told him it was a good thing he had let the captain beat him, and he had wanted to box the boy’s ears. Let her beat him? The thought had not even occurred after the first exchange of ripostes; in truth, he had been hard-pressed to keep her from slicing more than just his shirt into ribbons.

  He arrived at the captain’s cabin and, having no spare hands, knocked with the rounded shoulder of the jug.

  “Come.”

  He worked the latch with his elbow and pushed the door open, stumbling through with just enough balance left to keep the tray from tipping onto the floor. She was sitting behind the desk, a leg propped on the corner. A quill was in her hand, the feathers brushing her lips as she twirled the shaft between her thumb and forefinger. The bank of gallery windows was behind her, glaring brightly with the reflection of the sun off the water. She had taken the thong out of her hair and the dark auburn curls spilled loosely over her shoulders, the finest strands glowing fiery red against the light.

  He moved forward slowly, setting the tray and jug down on the desk. She said nothing, she just watched him and twirled the end of the quill against the soft pout of her lip.

  It was such a small thing. A feather dusting her lip. But then he saw where a dark curl of hair rested over her breast. From there, it was a graceless slip down to stare at the crease in her breeches at the top of her thighs. He felt another bead of sweat trickle down his temple and before he could even reason with himself, he was standing beside her, reaching down and pulling her up into his arms.

  She could have stopped him with a word, but she didn’t. She could have resisted, could have pushed him back and flailed him for the audacity, but she was too busy opening her mouth and taking the heat of him inside. She flung her arms around his neck and uttered a soft, throaty moan as his tongue lashed her mouth. Her fingers clawed into his hair so that even if he had wanted to, he could not have pulled away until she had had her fill.

  Varian’s hands went to her waist and tugged at the fastenings of her breeches. When they were unlaced, he pushed them down over her hips then ran his hands everywhere the moleskin had been—around the swell of her buttocks, over the flat plane of her belly, down into the warm nest of soft curls. He ran his fingers between her thighs and groaned into her mouth when he felt how sleek and slippery-wet she was. He stroked again and this time found the source of all that heat and moisture, curving his finger up and thrusting it deep enough that she gasped and shuddered in his arms.

  Without unmolding his mouth from hers, he lifted her and sat her on the edge of the desk. He managed to pull off one boot and one leg of her breeches before he reached a shaking hand down to the fastenings at his own waist. The laces were not fully loosened before he was sweeping the top of the desk clear behind her and easing her back onto the wood. He breached her hard and fast, each thrust winning a cry of pleasure from her lips. Her legs went around his waist and she kept him locked tightly in her embrace until they were both straining and clutching each other through a mutual and stunningly prolonged climax.

  He did not stop after the first flush of ecstasy, nor even the second. At some point he tore off her other boot and cast her breeches to the floor, and they moved from the desk to the chair. She sat astride his lap while his hands roved beneath her shirt and started the incessant throbbing between her thighs again. A small shift of weight forward and he was there, thick and hard, stretching up until she gasped and clawed his shoulders and could not breathe.

  “You are acquiring some bad habits, your grace,” she whispered. “You have learned to take without asking.”

  His mouth nuzzled deeper into the curve of her throat and his answer was muffled. She didn’t care anyway. She only laughed and arched her neck and felt him move inside her again, her body silky and lush with the overflow of their passion.

  He lifted his mouth from her shoulder and watched the pleasure streak across her face, wondering why... when he had ever thought her anything less than beautiful. Her eyes, her nose, her mouth—especially her mouth when it was trembling around a disbelieving cry—they were what had conspired to keep him restless and unable to sleep for eight days and nights alone on Pigeon Cay.

  “There?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now?”

  “Dear Christ, yes.”

  The shaky whisper of breath on his cheek made him smile, made his flesh pulse within her. She melted forward against his chest, but there was nothing she could do. He was in control. Her feet hung several inches off the floor and with nothing to give her leverage, she was at his mercy... for once. He tightened his hands around her waist and held her until she stopped squirming, then skimmed his fingers down to cradle her bottom again.

  When she was able, she opened her eyes and glared into his.

  “You will pay for that,” she promised.

  “The coin will be well spent,” he murmured, his fingertips starting to roam in places that had her curling her lower lip between her teeth. A whimper brought her head forward so that her brow touched his chin and this time when he surged insider her, she groaned.

  “Is it because I bested you with the sword? Are you determined to prove yourself superior with a blade of another kind?”

  He laughed, low and soft. “If you had this kind of blade, madam, I would gladly concede without ever testing it.”

  “You will concede anyway
,” she hissed quietly. “I will have you on your knees begging, damn you. I’ll—”

  The knock on the door cut off whatever she was about to say and she froze.

  “Cap’n, you in there?”

  It was Johnny Boy.

  “Cap’n?”

  “What is it? I’m... I’m busy.”

  Varian’s eyes narrowed. He slid his hands up to her waist and exerted just enough downward pressure to win a shivered curse from between her lips.

  “Mr Crisp sent me down to fetch the chart.”

  “Wh-what chart, dammit?”

  “He says we’ll be passin’ Crooked Isle before the glass runs out an’ he had a thought that he might like to know where the shoals lie.”

  Juliet released her breath in a frustrated hiss against Varian’s throat."I have to get it for him. He won’t go away unless I do.”

  Varian relented. He lifted her enough that she could climb off his lap, but he kept his hands around her waist until her legs steadied beneath her.

  “Just a minute,” she said loudly. “I’m fetching the damned chart.”

  She walked quickly around the desk and crouched down to search amongst the rolls of parchment that had been scraped to the floor earlier. She found the chart and padded barefoot to the door, glancing back once before she opened it just enough to push the roll through.

  “Here it is. Tell Mr. Crisp I’ll be up on deck directly.”

  “Aye, Cap’n.” The boy tipped his head and tried to see behind her, but she closed the door with a firm slap and threw the bolt. She waited, her head and hands pressed to the wood, but it was several moments before she heard the telltale sound of Johnny Boy’s peg thumping away.

  Even so, she couldn’t move. Her legs were trembling, her thighs were running with pearly wetness and the breath rasped hotly in her throat.

  A glance told her he had not moved, not any part of him. He was still taut and full, his flesh quivering like his sword when she had driven it into the deck. Nothing moved except his eyes and they were inviting her back, promising she could take what she wanted with or without asking. She was not even aware of her feet touching the floor as she returned. She took the hand he held out to her and let him bring her back where she belonged, settling over him without a moment to spare.

  The orgasm was shattering and intense, no more no less so than any other had been in his arms, and yet it was different. It had no beginning, and when it rushed through her, it had no end. The flood of sensations just seemed to recede for a time, knowing that another look, another touch would bring the tide flowing through her again.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  From a strategic point of view, New Providence was ideal for privateers and pirates alike. The entrance to the harbor was protected by an island that allowed two ways in and out, making it impossible to blockade with anything less than a fleet of warships. The hills behind the beach provided an expansive view of the horizon, giving lookouts plenty of time to issue a warning if hostile sails came into view, plus an ideal vantage point to spot merchant ships that were weaving their way through the island chain. Less than a hundred yards from shore there was a tangled jungle of tropical vegetation where an entire crew could vanish within minutes and never be found by pursuers. While there were no permanent structures erected, the beach was transformed overnight into a city of tents, with canvas sails strung over spars stuck into the sand.

  The island was also the ideal base for launching attacks against merchant ships travelling from the New World to the Old, in particular the Spanish galleons that had been using the Florida Straits as a main route to the Atlantic since Columbus had first discovered land. Even those who chose a different avenue were fair game, for the island lay within a few hours sail from the Providence Channels, and the Mona Passage. Between one route and the next, there were thousands of low, sandy cays where a stalking ship could hide and pounce on its victim without warning, which was why vessels often banded together for protection, and why the rich treasure fleets were escorted by a small armada of warships.

  Varian was on deck as the Iron Rose sailed toward the mouth of New Providence harbor. As stimulating as the approach to Pigeon Cay had been, this was less blood-pounding by comparison but equally as intriguing, for there were easily more than twenty ships anchored in the bay. Lookouts posted on the outer island had obviously recognized Simon Dante’s silhouette and pennons. They waved and shouted hails across the water, curious to know about the Spanish galleon in their midst, a sight which filled the decks of every ship and brought men down onto the beach by the droves.

  Ever a cautious man, Dante had elected to leave the Tribute, the Valor, and the Santo Domingo cruising offshore with the Christiana, but there was no mistaking the enormity of the warship, even at a distance. Jonas and Geoffrey Pitt were on board the Avenger, Gabriel was sailing in with Juliet though he was politic enough not to crowd his sister’s quarterdeck while the ship was maneuvering into port.

  He was, in fact, standing beside Johnny Boy in the waist of the ship, laughing and whooping along with the rest of the crew as the lad tied small molded cartridges packed with charcoal, lampblack and copper filings to the tip of an arrow, lit the fuse and launched the missile up into the sky. When the arrow reached the top of the arc, the packet exploded, sending a fountain of burning blue sparks showering over the water. The rockets were sent up in response each time one of the other privateers fired their bowchasers by way of greeting the new arrivals.

  When several dozen arrows had been spent, Johnny Boy slung the longbow over his shoulder and happily caught the coins some of the men flipped at him for the show. Gabriel’s contribution was gold, accompanied by a pat on the tousled head before he sauntered over to join Varian by the rail.

  “I was not aware the longbow was a favored weapon so far south of English forests.”

  Gabriel hooked a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the quarterdeck. “Jolly thought it was something the lad could handle. Muskets and arquebuses are too heavy, too cumbersome to load and fire with just one leg. He is adept with a dagger and is able to throw one with the skill of a gypsy. But when he fit the bow to his hand, it was like fitting a woman’s breast to the palm. In a matter of weeks he could shoot an arrow from one end of the ship to the other without taking out anyone’s eye. Nog assisted in the endeavour by making him a special bow, sized down for his height and weight. After that, well, he was unstoppable. And there is, of course, a more practical side to the skill—aside from displays of flying sparks. Arrows can carry a pitch-soaked fireball to an enemy’s sails from three hundred yards out, and with Johnny Boy sighting the target, can strike to within a finger’s width of where it is aimed.”

  Varian glanced at the boy, who looked hardly old enough to have acquired such skills, much less that he should have been faced with the need to learn them.

  “Are you well rehearsed for your role, your grace?” Gabriel asked, his eyes scanning the beaches, the surrounding hills.

  “As ready as I can be with forged documents and a lie on my tongue.”

  Gabriel smiled. “Ah, but they are excellent forgeries you must admit, and your tongue seems smooth enough to have already taken you places that few men have dared to go before. Mind, you do not seem to heed warnings very well, do you?”

  Varian kept his gaze trained on the forest of swaying masts that filled the harbor and refused to acknowledge the barb. Juliet had insisted on some degree of discretion throughout the past two days, although it seemed from the moment they had emerged from her cabin that first morning, the entire ship’s crew was aware of their transgressions. Gabriel Dante had been on board less than half an hour and it was apparent that he had already been informed that their afternoon in the cavern had not been the end of it.

  The golden eyes were not going to relent and Varian braced himself to meet them, but won a moment’s grace as Juliet came up behind them.

  “What are you two plotting?”

  She was dressed in her black double
t and breeches. The black cape with the scarlet lining was as striking as the whiteness of the ruffles on her shirt.

  “We were just discussing how truly handsome you look, Captain,” Gabriel said, bowing over her gloved hand. “And... dare I say it?... happy. There seems to be a bloom in your cheeks these days and a wicked liveliness in your step. Indeed, I fear for the safety of Van Neuk’s manhood if he attempts to pinch your rump tonight.”

  “Faith, he has been trying to pinch it since I was eleven.”

  “Ten years, without success,” he mused aloud. “Perhaps, if he had condensed his efforts into ten days, he would have had more success.”

  Juliet smiled. “Behave. Or I will stab you.”

  Gabriel raised his hands. “I am only saying aloud what most of your crew is whispering behind their hands.”

  “Let them whisper. And when you go ashore tonight and bury your face between the breasts of the first whore who lowers her blouse, I pray you suffocate on your piety. Now, and again when you return to Pigeon Cay and explain to Melissa why your prick is red and itchy. Did you by chance meet my brother’s paramour in your wanderings on the cay?” she asked, turning to Varian. “You could not possibly have confused her with anyone else if you had, for she stands over six feet tall, has breasts the size of ripe melons, and a temper hot enough to fry an egg.”

  The sudden infusion of dark blood to Gabriel’s cheeks caused him to waver slightly with the light-headedness.

  “Yes.” He cleared his throat. “Well.” He squinted up at the sky. “We should get ashore just in time for a sunset.” He lowered his head again, and after a few more moments of silence, his eyes slanting toward Juliet. “Yes, well okay. Just be careful, that is all I’m saying. You would not want to give a room full of freebooters any reason to think you have gone soft, or worse, that you have been swayed by more than just the rhetoric of the king’s envoy. I doubt Father would be too keen on knowing it either.”