Pirate Wolf Trilogy

by Canham, Marsha

Dante jarred her out of her thoughts when he wrapped a hand around her elbow, gripping it so tightly she thought he might crush through the bones.

  "Allow me to escort you back to the cabin now," he said, his voice ominous.

  "I... can manage on my own."

  "No, no. I insist."

  His fingers pinched deeper, sending her up onto her toes from the pain. She was led, almost dragged across the deck by his side, having no choice but to accompany him down the ladderway and below.

  When they were inside the great cabin, he released her arm and slammed the door shut. He tugged at the choking ruff and tore it off his neck, then attacked the row of buttons down the side of the doublet. When it was loose and he could breathe freely again, he rounded on Eva and glared her into slowly backing up into a corner.

  His eyes were cold and hard as he followed, step by measured step.

  "When I give an order, Evangeline, I expect it to be obeyed. I don't expect it to be questioned. Or ignored. Or embellished with hare-brained notions. A ship runs on discipline. My discipline. As my father is fond of saying, on board this ship I am God, king, and all the saints combined and if you pray to anyone to keep you safe, you pray to me."

  Eva shrank further back. "I only thought..."

  "And you don't think. You most definitely don't think, you just obey."

  Two hot spots of color bloomed on her cheeks. "Yes. Yes, I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

  "You're damn right it won't happen again. Because if it does—" he took another step closer and she felt the open edges of his doublet press against her. His face was only inches away. Anger was evident in every taut inch of his body, but most especially in his hands which he had to unclench in order to spread them flat against the wall, placing one on either side of her head. "If it does, Mistress Chandler, I will not be held responsible for what happens to you. I will only promise that it will be unpleasant. Extremely unpleasant. Do I make myself quite clear?"

  She could not speak, she could only nod.

  His eyes narrowed. He continued to stare until she felt as if she might melt into one of the cracks on the floorboards, and when he finally did relent and push away from the wall, she very nearly slid into a heap on her knees.

  "I can only hope your Spanish is as good as you claim it to be."

  She had to struggle to keep the tears from flooding her eyes. "M-my Spanish?"

  He walked over to the gallery windows, barely glancing back as he answered. "Were you not listening up there?"

  "To be honest, I—"

  "It seems your little performance was so enchanting, the capitan wishes to come on board to see if you look as tasty a morsel across a table as you do across three hundred yards of open water."

  Eva's jaw dropped. "Wh-what?"

  "He has invited himself to dine with us this evening. Can you flirt?”

  “Can I—what?”

  “Flirt. I vow it is a woman’s best weapon at the best of times and if possible I want that bastard lusting after you like a dog. Do you think you can manage that?”

  “I’m not sure I understand why. On deck just now—“

  “Look upon it as a chess game, Mistress Chandler. He moves a bishop, we block with a queen. Depending on your performance tonight, Estevan Muertraigo will decide whether to attack and try to destroy us, or put us into checkmate so we have no choice but to surrender.”

  “Who is Muertraigo?”

  “The chessplayer. He is using the name de Cuellar like I am using the name Padillo.”

  “You know him?”

  “I know of him. He’s a Spaniard with no scruples as to who he attacks: French, Dutch, English, Spanish… he has no allegiance to anyone but himself. He started out on his pirating ways with one ship about a year ago, so obviously he’s met with some success along the way. I’m guessing we look like a big fat prize and he would dearly love to stand on the quarterdeck as captain.”

  “What if I say something I shouldn’t? Or give him cause to be suspicious?”

  “He is already suspicious. I want him to be intrigued to the point where he wants you as much as he wants this ship.”

  “Intrigued,” she murmured, wiping damp palms down her skirt. “With me?”

  “You say that as if you have never enticed a man to lust after you. I assumed it was something every woman was taught at birth, since they know how to do it so well.”

  “I must have missed that lesson,” she said miserably.

  “You had a fiancé. You must have done something to attract him.”

  “It was my dowry that attracted him. He kissed like a cold fish and apparently preferred women with red hair and big—“ she caught herself before saying what she was thinking, but Dante interpreted her cupped hand movements and chuckled.

  “I see. Well then, perhaps if we give the capitan something intriguing to look at, he won’t be as concerned over what he hears. You can begin by stripping out of those clothes.”

  "I don't... What? Strip?"

  "A bath, Mistress Chandler. We can't have you smelling like tar and camphor and scratching under your arms all evening. I'll have Eduardo bring in a barrel of fresh water you can use for a tub. There is soap in the cabinet along with brushes and—" he waved a hand— "whatever else you might need. In the meantime I suppose I shall have to restore the scarlet bordello to its former glory.”

  “You threw most of the glory overboard,” she reminded him.

  “The ship is full of it. Eduardo should have no trouble turning the outer cabin into an elegant dining room. In fact, we’ll use the captain’s finest gold plate and cut glass to add a little luster to the offerings.”

  Eva wisely held her tongue and said nothing more. She watched him stomp about the cabin for a few minutes, shouting orders to Eduardo, to the ship's cook, to Stubs, all of whom had crowded into the doorway. Boys were sent to find enough linens and gold plate to impress a king; orders were given for a trestle table to be set up in the adjoining cabin where the guests would be entertained. The ship’s barber was called upon to give Dante a proper shave, while a half barrel was fetched and filled with heated water for Eva’s bath.

  With a nod to all the comings and goings in the cabin, a screen was erected in front of the tub, but if Eva thought she would be left alone to bathe, she was sadly mistaken. Eduardo and Dante, along with a dozen others marched constantly in and out of the cabin, passing within a few inches of the flimsy screen. It was the quickest bath she had ever taken in her life.

  When she emerged, scrubbed pink and dripping, she towelled herself dry and hastily donned the chemise and long underskirt, restoring some semblance of modesty while she brushed and dried her hair.

  She needn't have worried. No one had shown any interest in the screen or the splashing noises behind it. In her haste, she did not even have the pleasure of enjoying the sweet scent of the soap or the lather it produced in the fresh water. The few baths she had taken on board the Eliza Jane had been in cold sea water which had rendered the soap as frothy as a stone. She had not had the luxury of a warm bath since leaving Portsmouth. It was heaven to be rid of the smell of camphor on her skin, and sheer bliss to drag a brush through her hair and be rid of the tangles. It dried quickly in the warm, tropical air and she was able to braid it and affect an elegant coil at the nape of her neck.

  She had been shocked by her own reflection that first day she had come aboard. While she wasn't exactly blooming with health now, three days later, some of the gauntness seemed to have fled on the wings of the enormous meals she had been eating. There was color in her cheeks and, with the artful application of some powders she had found in the sea chest, the shadows under her eyes were concealed. As long as they dined by candlelight, she might pass a not too close inspection.

  “If you were my wife, I would insist you leave your hair down and not torture it into such tight, matronly wheels.”

  Eva dropped the stick of kohl she had been about to apply to her lashes and whirled around. Dante was watching
from the corner of the screen, his eyes offering no apologies for spying or for making a leisurely inspection up and down the length of her scantily-clad body.

  “And because I will be introducing you as my wife, in order to avoid any discussions as to why a duena is not present at the meal tonight, I think you ought to oblige my husbandly preferences.”

  Eva had her hands crossed over her breasts, hiding behind what little protection they offered. The same could not be said for Dante who was completely bare-chested, even to the absence of the bandages she had used to bind his ribs and back. He was dressed in only the tight white hose, which left nothing whatsoever to the imagination as to what lay beneath.

  His face was freshly shaved, his hair dripping wet as if he had just come from a dip in the sea, which, indeed, he had. The residual scabbing over his eye and down his cheek had been washed away, and with the swelling almost gone, the bruising faded, and the raggedy shadow of stubble scraped from his face, it again struck Eva that he was shockingly handsome and not at all the ugly brute she had first supposed him to be. Combined with the bare, bronzed chest, the sculpted muscles across his shoulders, the defined ridges down his belly, it was all Eva could do to remember to blink before her eyes dried out.

  "I was hoping I could impose upon you to bandage me up again. I would hate to leak through the capitan's fancy doublet."

  She found her voice with an effort. "Of course. I had extra strips torn from the bedsheet... somewhere."

  He held up a rolled ball. When she made no move to come forward or uncross her hands from her chest, he gave a dark little smile, turned, and held the roll out behind him. Eva inched forward and took it, then was distracted by his broad shoulders. She wound the bandaging front to back this time so that she could stay behind him, not that it helped much to settle the tiny showers of tingly pinpricks that rippled across her skin each time she touched him.

  When she finished, she cut and tied the linen then stepped away again.

  "How is your thigh?"

  "Fine. Thank you."

  "You don't want me to take a quick peek? Just to be sure?"

  "No. I do not."

  "Ah well, my mother lost half an arm and manages fine. I suppose you'll do well with only one leg." He chuckled at his own wit.

  "Your mother lost her arm?"

  "In battle, yes."

  "How awful."

  "Believe me, she would find it far more awful to sit at home embroidering her initials on table linens. Now come. Eduardo has found you something utterly charming to wear for the benefit of our dinner guests.”

  "I'm sure I can manage on my own, Captain."

  He sighed, turned, and snatched her by the wrist, hauling her around in front of the screen. Thankfully there was no one else in the cabin, but she could hear voices in the adjacent cabin arguing over the proper placement of table settings.

  He held up the farthingale and wordlessly bade her step into the center of the hoops. When she did so, he raised the cage-like garment and fastened it at her waist. Over this he dropped a wide underskirt of gold cloth then helped her into a rose-colored overskirt, which was open from the waist in a wide vee to show the richness of the gold beneath. A stiffened stomacher had to be laced up the back and drawn tight to exaggerate the slimness of her waist, which he did with such proficiency she guessed he had done it many times before.

  With the stomacher laced so tightly, her breasts were pushed up to form two pale mounds, which looked and felt ready to burst over the edge if she leaned the smallest bit too forward.

  "I can barely breathe," she gasped.

  "That will make two of us then." He gave the laces a final tug and reached for the bodice of rose silk embroidered with hundreds of tiny gold flowers, each with a pearl sewn in the center. The bodice was no higher than the stomacher and she realized he had forgotten to add the lace under-bodice.

  “I didn’t forget,” he said casually when she pointed out the omission. “I prefer it without.”

  She looked down, seeing nothing but bare pink skin.

  Just as on his doublet, the sleeves had to be attached under each arm by a series of ribbons threaded through eyelets. They were striped pink with wide bands of gold to match the underskirt, the cuffs trimmed with froths of delicate white lace seeded with more pearls.

  When he was finished attaching the second sleeve, he stood back to inspect and her cheeks flamed under the scrutiny. She could not lower her eyes without appearing to stare at the way his hose fit his legs, nor could she look up and meet his gaze—or the crooked smile that told her he knew why she would not look down. The compromise was to simply close her eyes.

  Gabriel was just as happy that she did. The bedraggled waif with the rat’s nest of yellow hair and big green eyes was gone, and in her place was a slender, beautiful woman who was making the blood flow hot and sluggish through his veins. Worse, he was having second thoughts about setting her out before Muertraigo like bait; the man would have to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to swell out of his codpiece when he saw her.

  Eva Chandler was doing a good job of putting up a brave front these past few days, despite everything she had been through. Indeed, he knew of few others who could have survived alone for two weeks on a plague ship, then come aboard a second vessel full of strangers and still stand tall and brave and be willing to do whatever was asked of her.

  He knew the reason for her compliance lay in the hope that he would help her find her father. But he hadn't known that her stubborn bravery would affect him the way it had. The kiss earlier had been spur of the moment, but once she was in his arms he had wanted to prolong it, had wanted to keep her there, had wanted more. His body had reacted then the way it was reacting now and looking at her standing there, with her eyes closed, her hair touched by the fading rays of sunlight streaming through the gallery windows, he had to fight the urge to take her back into his arms.

  Instead, he turned and stepped into the Spaniard's melon-shaped trunkhose again. At least they covered what was going on beneath his hose. Eduardo had found a less hazardous doublet, still thickly padded but with a band of jeweled pecadils around the waist instead of the stiff, descending vee. There were at least forty small gold buttons closing it in front, something Gabriel's large fingers stumbled over until a pair of soft white hands pushed them aside and finished the task for him.

  "My previous boastings aside, I should confess I am out of practice in my speaking of Spanish," Eva said softly in that language. "I fear I may confuse a word or two."

  "You will do fine," he answered in melodious Castilian. "If you're not sure of something just look to me and, like a proper boor, I shall interrupt and steer the conversation in another direction."

  "I truly am sorry to have caused this trouble."

  Gabriel tilted his chin up as she fastened the last few buttons. "You didn't cause it. The greater trouble would have come when I gave the signal to open fire."

  Her eyes rose to his and she switched back to English. "You were going to attack them?"

  "I was considering it."

  "What stopped you?" she asked on a hushed breath.

  "The fourth ship."

  "The fourth—? I don't understand."

  He watched the little flush of vanity mottle her cheeks when he didn't attribute his change of mind to her appearance on deck. "The fourth ship has not moved any closer over the past two hours. It is staying well back, just out of range of our ability to identify her."

  "I see."

  He chuckled and lowered his chin. "I'm sure you don't see at all, but then there is no reason why you should. I'm not even sure I see it myself. It's more of a feeling, a sensation here—" he raised his hand and trailed a forefinger across the nape of her neck.

  Eva shuddered as an entire waterfall of icy prickles and shivers flooded down her spine... a reaction that was not missed by the amber eyes. Once again he came perilously close to curving his hand around her neck and pulling her forward. Instead, he unfastened the thick coil
of braided hair and let it unravel down her back. While his fingers untwisted the braid she stood perfectly still, focussing on one of the buttons on his doublet. When he was finished and the soft blonde waves were rippling through his hands, he thought he heard her whimper, but she adamantly refused to look up at him.

  “Poco esquilo,” he murmured.

  He started to bend his head, but the sound of the ship’s bell forestalled him, warning him a longboat had been launched from the San Mateo.

  He reached instead for the neck ruff and crouched down so she could fasten it around his collar. That done, he scraped a pair of brushes through his ragged mane to tame it, waited for her to affix a delicate lace veil and jewelled biretta in her hair, then offered up his arm to escort her on deck.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Eva stood nervously by the gangway as the Spanish pirate and five of his officers from the San Mateo came on board. Estevan Muertraigo, calling himself Francisco de Cuellar was in his mid thirties, tall and lean, with jet black hair and deep-set black eyes. More than half of the left side of his face was stained by a birthmark which marred what otherwise might have been a regal countenance. The imperial on his chin was trimmed to a fine point and there was not a speck of dust or wrinkle to be seen anywhere on his doublet or hose. Among the men accompanying him was his quartermaster, introduced as Salvador Diego, a short strut of a man with spindly legs and a large paunch made excessively prominent by the extra padding of his doublet. While the Spanish captain assessed his counterpart in Gabriel Dante, Stubs MacLeish eyed Diego. The other officers were in full armor with steel helmets and breastplates.

  It was as much of a charade as the ranks of scarlet-clad crewmen Dante had assembled on deck. They stood at ramrod attention holding pikes with scarlet pennons hanging limp at the tips. That there were muskets, swords, and pistols tucked away behind capstans and netting went blithely unnoticed by Muertraigo, who merely nodded belligerently at the display.

  Dante presented Eva as his beloved wife, Carmelita, at which time Muertraigo offered an elegantly flared bow as he bestowed a kiss on the back of her hand.