He stepped over to lay an arm around Sophie’s shoulders. “My dear, as much as I understand your plight, you must realize you can’t just walk in here and expect me to snap my fingers and hand you a ship and title.”
“My father left me everything. That means his livelihood, which means his title and ship. Do not patronize me, Le Commandant. I want to become a pirate, and you are the person to teach me. I am asking you for your guidance. In return, I will give you the same percentage of my plunder as my father. But make no mistake. If you deny me this, I will simply go out on my own.” She shrugged his arm off, paced across the room, her mourning dress rustling from the unladylike strides she took.
Louis Dubois stared at his beautiful, young daughter-in-law, wishing he were forty years younger. Jesu, but she was a spitfire. so like his long-dead wife.
At first glance, Sophie Bellard seemed fragile and unable to take on the challenge of handling a pirate crew and ship. On a second, deeper perusal, he began to formulate a successful combination for this determined young woman.
Most of the men in his employ would oppose sailing under the command of a woman, no matter how beautiful she was. If they did agree, he would then worry whether the crew might gang rape their female leader. There were many young pirates on his various ships serving time in lowly capacities. What if he were to promote them onto a new ship, under a new captain’s leadership?
Swiftly turning to face his daughter-in-law, he approached her with care. “No need to get hasty, my dear. I am only concerned for your safety. Most men don’t like taking orders from a woman. Wait,” he raised a finger to stave off her interruption.
“I do have a possible solution that will hopefully make everyone happy.” He paused, waited to see if he had her continued attention. He did, narrow-eyed and suspicious. “I accept your request for tutelage in the pirate arts. But you must take the crew I hand pick for you, so that I may rest assured that my son’s wife is not attacked or killed while she sleeps, me comprends-tu?"
“What kind of crew?” She sneered. “A handful of geriatric pirates grateful for any job on board a ship?”
“Au contraire," Louis was quick to reply. “A young crew, used taking orders at the most menial of positions. they will be more likely work higher posts with loyalty for a woman, though you have worthy their allegiance. and that is where I come in." He smiled at the slight rise of excitement in her expression.
“I see you are interested. For the next few weeks, I will train you in giving orders, sword fighting, and guiding your ship. You will do exactly what I say. When I feel you are ready, and not before, we will gather the crew. You may have your father’s ship, the King’s Ransom, of course, but I will have changed all those crewmembers by then. Only a few of his will possibly stay with you. They were a ferocious bunch.”
“I want to rename his ship, for it to be totally mine.”
He gave a small nod. She went on.
“But the rest? I will gladly accommodate you.”
“Don’t be too eager, girl. I’ll work you until you cry, and then I’ll yell at you not to cry. No pirate crew wants to work for a sniveling female. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” she said with a raised voice, and he quirked a brow.
“That’s a good start. We will begin tomorrow. I will come to your place of residence for the first week, and then we will begin working on a ship. My ship.
“Now, be off with you and leave this old man to enjoy his last day of relaxation.” He watched the myriad of emotions cross his daughter-in-law’s face, all of them boiling down to excitement. Merde, she was so like his late wife.
“Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” she babbled, turning and almost skipping out of his office. He hoped he would not rue this day.
~*~
“Never, never, drop your sword, wench. You’re as good as dead now.”
The old man spun about, arm extended, long, graying locks swinging loose, coat jacket belling wide. His sword ended up inches from Sophie’s nose. She blinked, rearing her head back as she raised her weapon once more.
“Bah, too little, too late, baggage. Step back. We go again. And this time, keep your arm up.”
With sweat dripping from her chin and her long, scraggly braid sticking to her neck, Sophie hitched her stride and paced away from her father-in-law, tired but unwilling to quit. She was too close to perfecting the move to stop now.
She’d been working hard these past few weeks with the older Dubois, and had grown lean and strong. He told her often that she was improving daily, but still they practiced her swordplay.
In an attempt to take her off guard, Dubois lunged, but she was too perceptive for that old trick, parrying his attack easily and advancing with confidence. This skirmish lasted much longer, Sophie emerging the winner with a surprising riposte that nearly unhanded his weapon.
Standing before him, sword pointing to the deck, she grinned while wiping strands of hair from her face and mouth. The brisk Gulf breeze ruffled her loose shirt and boy’s breeches.
“Much better, girl. Much better. Like watching a ballet. With weapons,” Dubois cackled. “Wipe down your sword and handle, and then join Philippe over there for more knot tying and line climbing. We sail tomorrow.” He turned away.
She gaped at his back. Had he just said what she thought he had? She went running around him to get in his face, bouncing up and down as she squealed, “We sail? I sail? Tomorrow? With my crew?”
“No, not your crew yet. My crew. Well, a few of them. The rest are retired and living off their plunder, ain’t that right, Philippe?” He called to his former first mate, who sat on a barrel eating an apple. Philippe grinned, saluted with the apple core.
Sophie complied, sitting cross-legged and knot tying against the clock, knowing she would soon be climbing the ratlines in another race against time. It had become a habit over these last few weeks. Finally, the reward was nigh on hand, and she would be sailing the ship out into the open ocean at last.
The next day it really was everything she’d dreamed of, and more. With the wind blowing her hair free from its plait and drying the tears straight out of her eyes, standing at the helm was heaven on earth. Louis Dubois actually steered the ship, but she was close enough to feel the freedom, the power of being in command.
The old pirate appeared to enjoy the sail as much as she did. He pointed out places of interest along the rapidly disappearing coastline, jabbering away at her. Soon only sun-drenched, sparkling swells surrounded them.
“Take her.”
Her gaze snapped to his. “Now? Really?”
At his nod, she gingerly placed her hands on the smooth spokes of the helm, felt the ship shudder and sway as if alive and sensing her trepidation. She snatched her hands back and stared at Dubois.
“It...it feels alive.”
He hooted. “Of course it does, girl. Isn’t the ocean a living thing? Now, get your hands on it and keep us at a southerly direction. Limey? Limey, ramène ton cul par ici.” Laughing, most likely at his cleverness for yelling in French to a Brit, he motioned for a tall, blond boy of maybe eighteen to join them at the helm.
The youth did so, looking ragtag in loose breeches stuffed into worn knee-boots. His shirt was gray from too much laundering. Sophie studied him as he walked with confidence toward them. He had close-cropped hair and a freckled nose, not at all menacing.
Stopping beside her, “Limey,” as he was apparently nicknamed, gave her a short nod of acknowledgment, and then raised his brows at Dubois. “Yes, sir?”
Louis stretched his arm over the towering youth’s shoulders. “Are you tired of caulking the boards, pretending you’re too simple to run a crew?”
The boy’s eyes lit up. “Aye, sir, I am.”
“Could you sail under the command of a woman, lad?” Dubois narrowed his gaze on the young man as the youth’s eyes shot to Sophie. She straightened her shoulders under his regard.
Limey looked between her and Dubois. “If she were kn
owledgeable and not afraid to work, tough but fair, then, yes, sir, I could sail for her.” He let his gaze rest on her.
“Would you defend her to your death, deliver what she asks without question, and help her when she needed help, without ridicule?” Dubois’s question cut into their mutual regard.
Without looking away from her, the young man replied, “Aye, sir.”
At his answer, she gave an almost imperceptible nod, turning her attention to Louis, who seemed pleased with his choice for her first mate. He gave her a quick smile, and then swung away. “Good, because you two children are in charge. Tell the crew what you want done, sail straight ahead until the sun hits the horizon, then drop anchor. Philippe and I will be below, wishing not to be disturbed during our card game. Unless, of course, we come under attack.” He paused in his departure, looking over his shoulder at Sophie. “Oh, and Captain Dubois?”
Was he talking to her? He must be. He continued, “Figure out on my charts where we are when you drop anchor, and come tell me. Now, ‘Ta.” He strolled away.
To gain composure, Sophie took a quick visual reading of their location by the position of the sun, the direction of the wind, and their estimated speed. Satisfied with her educated guess, she turned to her first mate. “Make sure Cook gets the evening meal ready, Master—Limey?”
His sudden grin broke the tension.
“It’s just Limey, miss—Captain. I mean, Captain.”
She nodded acknowledgment of his apology. “Very well, Limey. Talk to Cook, and send our smallest member up to the crow’s nest for a gander. Savvy?” She smiled even as Limey gave a shallow bow and headed off to do her bidding. Then she released the breath she held.
She’d cleared the first hurdle.
~*~
She hadn’t needed to request Louis’s aid in any way that evening, a moment of proudness Sophie relished. The men, probably all of whom had received cautionary directions from Le Commandant, nevertheless took orders from first Limey, and then her without flinching.
Standing at the helm, where she’d spent a good portion of the afternoon, Sophie wanted to dance around in triumph. Since that wouldn’t look very captainly, she settled for a grin that threatened to crack her face after her father-in-law commended her chart work. Her marking of their course had been straight and true, and Louis’s quiet, “Humph,” clinched it for her. She was a damn fine pirate.
So now, with anchor dropped and a lesser crewmember keeping the first watch, she sat languidly upon one of the starboard guns. Unwilling to go sleep below yet, she stared up at the constellations, naming them in her head.
Her first mate approached, lowering himself on another gun. “Good job today, Captain. Begging your pardon, sir.”
Louis had told Sophie to accept the male form of respectful address instead of demanding to be called “Ma’am.” He had said it would include her with the men more easily. She turned to her younger first mate. “It was a good job today, wasn’t it, Mas—Limey?”
“Aye, Cap’n. I’ve served under my share of captains, and you’re up there with some of the best already. Of course, look at the teacher you have.”
She studied her first mate as he reclined upon the cannon and gazed at the stars in the now midnight sky. Curious about his past, she chose her words with care. “How old were you when you started sailing, Limey?”
He shifted his weight on the gun, looked everywhere but at her. “Eleven, twelve. Somewhere around there.”
She straightened, turned on her own seat to face him. “Why?”
He squirmed, continued to dodge her gaze, prompting her to retract her question.
“I mean, if you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. It’s just...you’re so good at what you do already. I’m...curious.”
He shook his head and began to speak.
“After me Da died, miserable bastard that he was, it was just me mum and me, trying to make our way in jolly ole London town. I’ll let you guess how she made a living.”
He paused. It was interesting how he fell back into a cockney accent when he talked about his past, yet for the majority of the day he’d spoken nearly accent-free.
“Y’see, she always sent me away when she was working. Sometimes I found a place to stay. Most others I slept on the stoop, or in the stable. Well, one day, one of her clients used her as a punching bag one too many times, and I came home to find her dead on the floor of our room. She never did find herself a man that didn’t use his fists. ‘Cept for one, but he was in love with another.”
“Louis Dubois.” Sophie made it a statement.
He nodded once, fidgeted again on the cannon, and looked to the heavens as if searching for his dead mum.
“Aye. Le Commandant. He started coming around when I was about ten. Oh, he used me mum like the others, but not as a punching bag. He was a man with needs and his wife was dead. If I happened to be there when he dropped by, he always spoke kindly to me.
“When our landlord found out mum was dead, he threw me out and had me mum sent to St. Dunstan’s, where they buried the poor. Lucky for me, Le Commandant dropped by shortly after, found me hanging about, and took pity on me. I’ve worked for him ever since. Would do just about anything for him, truth be told.”
Sophie nudged him with a whisper. “Even sail under a woman captain for him, Limey?”
A beat passed, and then he nodded once. “Aye, but only if I thought we were a good match.”
She blinked. “And?”
“I’m still here, aren’t I?”
She let out the breath she’d been holding, feeling an instant bond with this young man so near her chronological age, yet eons older than her in life experience.
“So you are, Limey. So you are.”
~*~
“Open your purses, Mesdames, your pocketbooks, Messieurs. Do not be afraid. we have no interest in physical attributes. Only monetary ones."
Andre strutted around the small group of passengers aboard the little frigate they’d commandeered without a fight just moments earlier, waving his sword at the knot of frightened hostages. Several of his crew quickly gathered money and jewelry from the prisoners, making faces and feinting jabs to see them squirm.
As he circled the little huddle, Andre paused before a young woman of about seventeen. She stared at him, wide-eyed, her cherry-red lips puffed out in either fear or titillation. He was probably the first pirate she’d ever encountered. With a wolf’s grin, he stepped closer, letting his sword drift behind him.
“Although you might seriously tempt me. What is your name, mademoiselle?"
Frightened, cornflower blue eyes fluttered to his even as the square, swollen matron clutching the sweet morsel interrupted, “Leave my daughter alone. Take me, if you must.”
Her melodramatic words drew his attention to the middle-aged biddy. He frowned in momentary confusion. “Why ever would I?”
Nervous giggles and smirks erupted from both the crew and, surprisingly, from the knot of captives. Andre straightened, cast his amused gaze over the lot of them. “I mean, if taking hostages were my plan, it would behoove me to take the ones easiest on the eyes, would it not, gentlemen?”
The matron puffed out her ample bosoms while the pirates laughed in agreement.
He turned the tables once more, leaning in close to the debutante’s mama and saying sotto voce, “Although, there is something to be said for experience, is there not?”
“Oh!” Offended, she reared back as far as she could from him. He reached out a tar-stained forefinger and gently ran it down her cheek before stepping away with a wink.
Seeing that his crew had finished their plundering and were ready to depart, he turned to address the captain of this unfortunate passenger ship. “Our business here concludes, Monsieur thank you for allowing us to conduct it without bloodying our weapons. More ribald laughter burst from the crew."
He continued. “When you arrive at your destination, be sure to proclaim to all that you were boarded and accosted by none
other than Captain Andre Dubois and the crew of the Jade Princess. Give the devil his due, eh, mes amis? with a flamboyant bow and touch to his hat brim, he turned grabbed swaying line from beautiful, green-tinted ship, took running start, swung across it, men mimicking exit.
Soon they were underway, hollering good-byes to their victims before they turned rudder and sailed off, parting the Caribbean Sea in their rapid departure.
Chapter Four
“Sail ho!”
Everyone’s eyes rose to the main mast lookout, then out to the horizon. Peering through her spyglass, Sophie heard the buzz of anticipation course through the crew. After weeks of preparation, it was time to make some money.
Pocketing the spyglass and wiping sweaty palms on her breeches, she made her way to the helm. “Ready the larboard guns for a warning shot. Do we have the weather gauge, Limey?”
“Aye, Cap’n. The wind is with us. She’ll not be escaping.”
With the barest of nods, Sophie reached for the wheel while shouting to the crew, “Hoist the colors.”
Then the ship was hers, straining forward as if requesting to be freed to sail with the wind. The Phoenix, as she’d renamed her father’s ship, for its rebirth as well as her own, was a nimble schooner. Smaller than her father-in-law’s caravel, it nevertheless bore eight guns—more than enough for most raids.
With the stiff breeze filling their sails, the Phoenix made short work of overtaking their prey, the name Dolly Mae now discernable on the sluggish merchant ship. Perhaps it rode low in the water because of its great volume of swag ripe for the taking. By now, there was no question its captain had recognized their threat from the proud phoenix emblazoned on their flag, whipping and snapping in their rapid approach.
“Is that warning shot ready, McFarlane?”
“Grape, sir?”
The redheaded Scotsman turned to her. She started to nod when her first mate said so only she could hear, “Do you want to be known for killing your captives?”
She blinked at Limey, made up her mind, and turned to the gunner. “No, no. A round, McFarlane. A round.”
The Pirate's Bride Page 3
