Right of Salvage

by Ashe Barker

  “Mrs Browne. Jane. Look at me.”

  Rob leaned over her now, cupping her cool cheek with his palm. She did not respond.

  “Jane. Can you hear me? Open your eyes.” His tone hardening now, he gave her a little shake. Still nothing.

  “Jane. Open your eyes. Now!”

  Rob was under no illusion that his crew recognized the terse voice issuing commands. There was not one among them who wouldn’t be leaping to attention by now if that tone was directed at him. But not so Mrs Browne, who continued to lie unmoving on the deck, her shoulders pillowed on his thighs.

  Rob patted her cheek, his touch light at first, then firmer. “Jane. Come back. Now!”

  A faint flicker of the eyelids, a slight shift of the lips. A soft murmur.

  “Leave me…”

  “Jane. Open your eyes. You’re safe now.” Still the low, commanding voice, but warmer, offering welcome and comfort. And the promise of a safe haven.

  Mrs Browne responded, opening her eyes to gaze up into his. She looked startled, wary.

  Rob smiled at her, she smiled back, her expression tremulous, hesitant, but willing to explore. Oh please!

  “Welcome back, Mrs Browne.”

  Chapter Three

  Every time I look up, he’s there. He was there, his appearance quite terrifying as his ship bore down upon ours, as he grinned down at me before the grappling hooks dragged us to a halt. Then, he was there again, the most welcome sight ever as he appeared through the watery depths. I reached for him, just before everything went black. And now, I look up again and he’s there, watching me with—what? Concern? Relief?

  I shiver, suddenly aware I’m wet and cold despite the sultry Caribbean heat. He’s wet, too, though he seems unmoved by the soaking. I recall being grabbed, lifted, hurled over the side of the ship. I remember the sheer terror as I fell, scrabbling for purchase but finding only air, then the harsh chill of the water as I entered it and sank. I went down fast, so fast, weighted by—what? My cloak. Yes, my cloak was dragging me down. It’s gone now. I glance to my side, see feet, some booted, some bare. I turn my head to face the other side, and find my nose pressed up against…

  Dear sweet God in Heaven! Not possible. This pirate captain, my rescuer, has the largest cock I could ever possibly imagine. And it’s rock hard. Right now, at this very moment. An inch from my face. I recoil, struggle, try to sit up. With a low chuckle, the pirate slips his arm under my shoulder and lifts me.

  “You’ll get used to my reaction to you, my sweet little Janie. But not quite yet, I think. First, we have unfinished business to attend to.” He turns, hauling me against his body.

  I’m sitting on his lap and his erection is firm against my bottom now, but even so, I’m glad of the support. Without his solid presence at my back, I would be flat on the deck again without a doubt. As I turn that notion over in my head, my savior shifts his attention from me to my husband.

  I only now register Giles’ presence, a few feet away, held fast between the beefy sailor who floored him before, and another more wiry chap. Neither of his captors seems inclined toward gentleness, and from his pained expression Giles is far from comfortable at this moment. Taking a few seconds to steady me then gesturing for Captain Carside to take care of me, the pirate leader at last stands up. And up. And up. Even allowing for my position seated at his feet, his height is impressive. I glance across at Giles, who would seem to have arrived at the same conclusion. He’s now cowering, his attempts to retreat as the pirate approaches him thwarted by the determined efforts of his two companions.

  “Let me go immediately. How dare you? And how dare you touch my wife? I’ll have your head for this, you thieving cur…” His actions belie his words, as ever puffed up with bluster and pomposity.

  The pirate comes to a halt before Giles, his casual stance only adding to the menace dripping from him now. My husband wisely falls silent.

  “Your wife? Ah yes, that would be the lady you just flung overboard. The lady who, if I hadn’t ‘touched’ her, would even as we speak be feeding the fishes on the seabed. Is that the lady in question, Mr Browne?”

  “It’s Mr Conrad Browne, to you, you thieving rogue. And how I choose to discipline my wife is no concern of yours. I’ll thank you to leave that matter to me.”

  The pirate’s soft laugh echoes across the deck. “I’m afraid I can’t oblige you in that regard, my little peacock. From here on, any ‘discipline’ Mrs Browne might require will be provided by me. And whilst I can be quite exacting in my requirements, no punishment I would ever administer would amount to attempted murder.”

  I’m still reeling from his remarks regarding discipline, and miss the question he calmly tosses at Captain Carside, still crouching beside me, his arms draped around my shoulders. My current protector stiffens, appearing to be considering a matter of some weight.

  “Yes, I would have to concur with that assessment. Attempted murder. Definitely.” His answer seems decisive.

  The pirate nods, his slight smile at odds with the cool finality of his words. “Thank you, Captain. Now, I daresay you have some passing familiarity with Her Majesty’s justice. What would be the penalty back in England for attempted murder? And of a defenseless female at that?”

  No hesitation now on the part of Captain Carside. “It would be a hanging offense. Without doubt.”

  The pirate captain nods his agreement once more. “Quite so. And who are we, mere sailors, to take issue with Queen Bess on this matter? We, too, take a dim view of such things. So, we’ll be needing a noose. Billy?” He turns to a smallish crewman hovering at his elbow, little more than a lad.

  “Right, sir, a noose, yes. I know just where…”

  The lad rushes off, presumably in search of a suitable rope, while Giles gapes at the huge pirate in belligerent amazement. His mouth works furiously, forming words but issuing nothing apart from spittle.

  “Now see here, I don’t think—” It has fallen to Captain Carside to attempt to intervene.

  “Is there a problem, Captain…?” The pirate’s eyebrows are raised in silent inquiry as he turns to face the merchant ship master.

  His steady gaze now encompasses me, his deep blue eyes flashing wickedly. I’m chewing on my lower lip, only now starting to comprehend the full horror of what’s about to unfold. He means to hang Giles. He means to hang my husband, for what he did to me. No. Surely he can’t…

  “The vile man should hang, without a doubt. And probably will, in due course. But there needs to be a trial. What about witnesses? Evidence?” Captain Carside would seem to be of the same mind as I am. The pirate’s expression deepens into a wide and distinctly lustful grin, directed clearly and solely at me, as the valiant sea captain tries to inject a note of reason.

  The pirate nods, his gaze steady and unwavering. His intent does appear absolute, but somewhat to my surprise he seems ready to explain and justify his actions.

  “Normally I’d agree with you. But are not all the witnesses to the crime assembled here already?” The pirate turns to face the crew members still huddled around the deck, though some of the pirates have already started to drift away, back to the pressing business of transferring the captured booty to their own ship. “And does anyone here consider the matter to be otherwise? Does anyone want to argue a defense for this man’s actions? Or offer a more appropriate solution to our current dilemma?”

  Solemn head-shaking ensues, and a degree of nervous shuffling on the part mainly of the merchant crew. But the lone voice raised is that of the valiant Captain Carside, still making a stand for truth and justice. Or what might pass for it here on the high seas.

  “That’s as may be, but there’s a way of doing these things. A process.”

  The pirate steps over to us, as the lad—Billy—comes hurtling back up out of the hold with a length of rope coiled around his shoulder.

  “I found one, Captain Hawke, sir. Shall I rig it up now?” He comes to a shuddering halt beside his captain, quivering with
enthusiasm and a desire to please.

  The captain—Hawke?—turns to him, his smile somewhat tight. Despite the circumstances I get the impression that hanging violent husbands, however deserving he may consider them to be of that fate, is not Captain Hawke’s preferred pastime.

  “Thanks, lad. That’ll do fine. Yes…” He gestures upwards with his chin, to the mast. “The yard arm should be about right for this.”

  Leaving his nimble little helper to swarm up the mast, Captain Hawke resettles his attention on myself and Captain Carside. He crouches beside us.

  “In the normal run of things, I would find myself in full agreement with you, Captain. A trial, evidence, proof of guilt, all that, highly laudable. But we have to make do with what’s available to us in this life, I find. And here, now, we’re it. Our witnesses are all present, and your crew at least may well claim to be honest and upstanding Englishmen who would be believed in a court of law. Mine, sadly, probably would not be considered quite so reliable. However our evidence was clear for all to see. No one harbors any lingering doubt of this man’s guilt. The only individuals who could conceivably administer the justice required are you, and me. I hope you won’t mind me observing that currently you’re not in any position to do what’s needed, so the responsibility falls on my shoulders on this occasion”—with a curt nod at both of us, he makes to rise to his feet once more—“we’ll be having a hanging then. Billy…”

  I find my voice. “No!”

  Captain Hawke turns to face me, his expression inscrutable. “I beg your pardon?”

  “No, you can’t hang him. You—just can’t.”

  “Can’t, Mrs Browne? I beg to differ. I think you’ll find I can.” His tone is low, no hint of anger at my interruption. But neither does he elicit any evidence that he may be relaxing his view on the matter. I start to panic, I have to stop this. Somehow.

  “Please, don’t do this. I don’t want anyone to die because of me.” I can hear my voice starting to catch, the tears now streaming unchecked down my face.

  “Your husband’s untimely demise will be the result of his own actions, Mrs Browne. No fault of yours.” Still that cool, clipped tone. Captain Hawke will do what needs to be done, as he sees it, with absolutely no compunction.

  I’m pleading now, desperate to end this madness. “Please, just leave it. I thank you for helping me, for rescuing me. But please, no more violence…”

  He reaches for me, cupping my chin with his palm. He uses the pad of his thumb to wipe my tears, the gesture achingly tender.

  “You plead for him, Mrs Browne? And what if I do spare him? Would you go back to him, take up your position as his devoted wife once more, as though nothing ever happened? As though he didn’t attempt to murder you just as casually as he’d swat a fly from his coat? Next time he becomes irritated with you, you might well die, Mrs Browne. Have you considered that?”

  “I, I… Please, Captain, don’t do this. I beg you. I’ll do anything.” A thought occurs to me. “You said you’d discipline me. Do that. Punish me instead.”

  His expression is now a mix of astonishment and frustration. “I’m not about to hang you, Mrs Browne. And in what twisted logic would the victim be punished rather than the perpetrator?”

  “Not hanging, no. But whatever else you see fit. Do as you like with me. Just, please, I don’t want any lives lost today.”

  He regards me silently, and when I would have spoken again, would have resumed my pleading, his raised palm is enough to stem the flow of words.

  “Very well, Mrs Browne. Your reasoning confounds me entirely, but I will do as you ask. I will spare your husband’s life today, though God knows he does not deserve the sacrifice you are offering to save his worthless hide. But for my part, now I do appreciate your offer. I will do as I like with you. You were mine anyway, already mine by right of salvage. But I much prefer your willing participation for what I have in mind.”

  I gape at him, open-mouthed, but Captain Carside is the first to react. “Now look here, I can’t allow…”

  Again that raised palm. “I’m not seeking your permission, Captain. I fully appreciate you would protect your female passenger to the best of your ability, but please, let’s not test that today. As Mrs Browne has made abundantly clear, she is reluctant to witness more bloodshed.”

  “All the same, sir—”

  Hawke interrupts the merchant captain’s further protests by the simple expedient of standing and turning away. “Billy, we won’t be needing your rope after all, at least, not for a hanging. Come here please.”

  In moments the grinning youth is back in front of his adored master, awaiting his next instructions. These concern me.

  “Please convey Mrs Browne to the Rose and make her comfortable. She is to have dry clothes, food, drink, maybe even a warm bath if we can manage that.” He turns to me. “I have matters to conclude here, Mrs Browne, but I hope not to keep you waiting too long. Billy will take good care of you.”

  I’m staring at him, shivering in earnest now, the combined effects of shock, soaking wet clothes and bone-deep terror as the reality of my current situation sinks in. I’m a captive, a hostage perhaps. Or maybe I’m to be punished. How? When?

  ‘For what I have in mind.’ What does that mean? My consternation must be written across my face, because he hesitates before resuming his pirating duties.

  “Mrs Browne, if I intended you serious harm, be assured I would not have bothered fishing you out of the sea. You will survive your coming encounters with me.” He leans in, his final words for me alone as he murmurs softly in my ear, “You may even enjoy my attentions, if you permit yourself to do so.” He straightens, his smile dazzling now, seductively so. “Go with Billy. He’ll take good care of you until I return.”

  Chapter Four

  Captain Hawke’s cabin is comfortable enough, if somewhat small. I find myself surrounded by polished wood, bright, spotless upholstery and bedding, and there’s even a privy secluded behind a movable screen. A case of books has my envious attention, but I haven’t dared to examine the contents as I’ve yet to learn just how proprietorial Captain Hawke is regarding his possessions—other than myself of course. He did make this attitude to me abundantly clear.

  ‘Mine. By right of salvage.’

  So now I sit to await my fate, huddled on the corner of a well-proportioned bunk, dressed in clothes I assume were once the property of young Billy. At least they are dry, and seem quite clean if somewhat less than feminine. The loose cotton shirt and leggings are coarse against my bare skin beneath, but I consider it unlikely that Billy would have a store of ladies undergarments readily to hand so there is no point in taking issue with him over that. Now his master perhaps…?

  The lad has done just as instructed and has taken great care to ensure my comfort as best he can. He produced a meal of salt pork and potatoes, washed down by a small mug of ale. And most welcome of all, Billy did indeed manage to conjure up the requirements for me to take a bath, actually dragging a wooden tub into the cabin and proceeding to fill it with tolerably warm water. He even succeeded in locating a small piece of soap, much to my amazement, and a length of rough cotton to use as a towel. Satisfied with my assurances that I could manage for myself from there on he left me to it. I wasted no time in divesting myself of my soaking dress, my shift and my petticoats, and sinking into the heated water. I couldn’t recall how long it had been since I enjoyed such a luxury, and would never have anticipated a pirate ship might supply it.

  There has been no sign yet of Captain Hawke, though I have no doubt he is back on board the Lady Rose, known as Rose to her closest associates I gather. I watched through the small porthole as the pirate craft disengaged from the Golden Star, relieved that Captain Carside was still in possession of his precious ship, if not its cargo. Despite straining to see, I could make out no sign of my husband on the deck as the ship receded from view. Repeated attempts to drag information from Billy when he returned to collect my cooled bathwater yie
lded nothing either.

  It’s dropping dark now. Night falls quickly here in the Caribbean. Still alone, I hesitate to get into bed, though my body would welcome such respite. My aching muscles and bruises have been much eased by the bath, and now I’m just bone tired. I want to sleep, though I doubt I could, not when every footfall on the planking outside the cabin door could herald the return of Captain Hawke.

  I continue to sit, and to wait. An hour passes, perhaps two. The darkness beyond the porthole is total, black and inky. At last, exhausted, I decide to make use of the accommodations. I remove the coarse leggings, but opt to retain the shirt. It drops to my knees in any case so is as decent as I might expect to achieve in my present circumstances. I pull back the blanket on the bunk and slip under the covers.

  I’m surprised to find the sheet is smooth and comfortable—this pirate captain evidently appreciates the finer things. I stretch, tug the coverlet up to my chin, and close my eyes. Despite my determination and utter exhaustion, sleep does indeed elude me. But it’s good to be at rest, the gentle motion of the ship soothing my jangled nerves. As I drift on the edges of sleep it occurs to me that I really should be more apprehensive than I find myself to be at present.

  I’m dozing, but come instantly awake as the cabin door opens, then clicks shut. The footsteps crossing the narrow space between the door and the bed I now occupy are heavier than Billy’s. This is him. Captain Hawke. I know it, even without opening my eyes. I remain still, concentrate on keeping my breathing even, my eyes tight shut. Surely he won’t wake me?

  Why not? Why wouldn’t he? He probably wants his bunk, or at least a share of it.

  Chapter Five

  Deluded woman, if she thinks to deceive me by pretending to be asleep.

  Rob Hawke closed the cabin door and silently regarded the small figure curled up in his bunk. She was turned from him, just one shoulder and the top of her head visible, her dark brown hair spread artlessly across his pillow. Her breathing was slow, steady, but despite this he knew her to be awake. Alert, her body coiled tight in anticipation. Or fear. He needed to address that as a matter of urgency. Anticipation, curiosity, even healthy trepidation were all to the good. But fear was no use to him at all. Fear would cloud and confuse her responses to him, create barriers he did not want.