Right of Salvage

by Ashe Barker

  He stepped over to the bunk and crouched beside it, waited for a few more moments to allow her to revise her current strategy and turn to face him. She made no move to do so. Reaching for her, he smoothed the hair from the side of her head to reveal her soft cheek, and tiny ear. She jerked under his hand, further proof of her awareness of him. Smiling to himself, he leaned in to murmur into the delicate shell of her ear, “I know you’re awake, Mrs Browne, but if you prefer to pretend otherwise I will not press the matter tonight. In the future, I will demand honesty from you, and you will be punished if I find myself less than satisfied on that score.”

  The sharp intake of her breath at his softly whispered threat—or promise—left him in no doubt that she was listening to him. Good. He had more to impart, and would start by attempting to forge a delicate blend of reassurance whilst also indicating to her what her new situation was. And what she might expect from it.

  “You are quite safe here, Jane. Only myself and Billy will enter this cabin. You will not be disturbed. The bed is yours for this night, though from tomorrow you and I will share it. Your body is mine to take now, Jane, but I will not force the issue with you. I hope I won’t have to. I want your willing surrender, and I intend to have it.” He paused, then, “I will fuck you, because you will ask me to.”

  He waited, watching her face for some reaction to his words. He had it, in the form of the hot flush spreading rapidly. He smiled, delighted at her response. This was ideal, her embarrassment an indication that she knew exactly what his words implied, what her future was to entail. And so far, she was holding her tongue. No protest, no argument—not that he would permit that. No outraged modesty. He’d settle for acceptance, her enthusiasm he could kindle later.

  “Billy will bring you food and drink in the morning, or if you prefer you can come on deck and eat with the rest of us. The cabin door will not be locked, you have the run of the ship. Your trunk has been brought across from the Golden Star, and I will have it conveyed to this cabin tomorrow so you will have your own clothes and other possessions about you.” He paused to let that information sink in, before delivering his final salvo. “I will have you, Mrs Browne. I will enjoy you greatly, and I intend the pleasure to be shared. I want you to be—content—while you are here with me, and I trust you will enlighten me, or Billy, if there are any needs of yours which remain unmet. Now, I will leave you to sleep. I will speak with you again in the morning.”

  He rose to his feet, taking a few more moments to admire the still but quite exquisite form lying silent between his sheets. Tomorrow promised to be a delightful day, in many respects. He turned and strode to the door. He was halfway through it before he faced her again. He noted that she had shifted, her head now turned toward his retreating back though her eyes remained tight shut.

  “Oh, and, Mrs Browne. One last thing. I intend to teach you to swim.”

  Chapter Six

  ‘I will have you, Mrs Browne. I will enjoy you greatly, and I intend the pleasure to be shared.’

  Sweet Jesus, what does he mean? What does he intend to do?

  Actually, it’s quite obvious what he intends to do. He stated that quite unambiguously. What is not so clear is the how of it all. According to the captain of this pirate vessel, I am to share his bed. He will fuck me, because I will ask him to. What a perfectly extraordinary notion. And how delightful, if it were not so absurd. Quite unthinkable.

  I lie in the bunk, the sheet and blanket pulled right up to my nose as though these might protect me from him. Do I need protecting? He said that the pleasure would be shared, and that sounded very much like a promise. Whilst not unaware of that prospect as a theoretical possibility, my own experience has never borne it out. But then, neither has my experience to date ever included the furious clenching now pulsing between my legs, and the distinct moistening I cannot deny. His words alone have done this to me, so I have no basis to doubt what more he could achieve were he to apply even more determined effort. As he surely will. Tomorrow.

  I roll onto my back, the fluttering in my stomach now quite uncomfortable. I am seized by an unaccountable urge to reach down and stroke the soft, sensitive folds between my thighs, a place I have seldom explored since my marriage to Giles. Apart from anything else, I’m usually too sore to want to bother. Will I be sore after the pirate’s done with me? Maybe I could ask him…

  Jesus, where did that ridiculous notion come from? Ask him? Ask him indeed!

  A lady does not ask that sort of thing of any man, not even her husband. And definitely not a handsome, charming pirate intent on seduction. But just the thought of what tomorrow might bring is causing my juices to flow yet more freely, and my pussy to spasm in a most uncharacteristic manner. I close my eyes, my sigh deep. I wish he had not left, I wish he might return this night. I wish I had not feigned sleep. If I hadn’t, he might have climbed in beside me and even now be demonstrating the truth of his promises.

  A thought occurs to me. He said the door would be unlocked, I could go and seek him out.

  No. I could not!

  This handsome, roguish captain may have piqued my interest, but there are some things I will not do. And running around half naked on a ship full of pirates, looking for a sexy, terrifying man with a view to asking him if he wouldn’t mind fucking me please, is definitely among those things. Tomorrow will come soon enough—the matter can be settled then. Meanwhile, I have other questions to contemplate.

  He had my trunk brought to the Lady Rose, intends to restore my belongings to me. I am not a prisoner, it would seem, and thus far I have been treated with care and respect. Apart from the occasional references to my status as his property, and the possibility of punishment, of course, but those are just words. Actions speak louder. I am warm, dry, bathed, well fed. And, most strange of all, I feel safe. Captain Hawke saved my life, and has now been generous enough to allow me time and space to adjust before embarking on my new role in the world. Without doubt, he is a much nicer man than my husband. On the face of it, my situation could be deemed to have seen dramatic improvement in the last twenty-four hours.

  Chapter Seven

  “Is Mrs Browne awake yet, Billy?” Rob Hawke addressed the question to his cabin boy as the lad scurried across the deck below the wheel.

  “Yes, sir. I took her some porridge in just a few minutes back, sir.”

  “I see. Thank you, Billy.”

  So, not coming up top to socialize then? He would allow her a little more latitude to adjust to her new situation before forcing the issue. For certain though, his latest acquisition would not be spending much more of her time cowering below decks.

  “The lady was right glad of her trunk, captain.” The lad was still bobbing about on the lower deck, his hand now raised to shield his eyes from the rising early morning sunshine.

  “Ah, you took it down to her then?”

  “I did. Just like you said to, sir.”

  Rob grasped one spoke of the great wooden wheel, sub-consciously adjusting the course of the ship as he contemplated the boy’s message. He winced as he flexed his hand, glancing down at the bruised knuckles. He had the not inconsiderable satisfaction of knowing that Giles Conrad Browne would be feeling a great deal less comfortable than he was this morning. He dismissed the vile little maggot from his thoughts, preferring to dwell on the man’s wife instead. Now his property, by right of salvage.

  Rob Hawke grinned wryly to himself. He wasn’t altogether sure why he’d said that, more for the husband’s benefit than hers he felt, on reflection. The woman may be in his power, but she was most assuredly not his property. He would need to clarify the situation with Mrs Browne before they could proceed much further.

  And on that subject, he assumed that his ‘guest’ was probably getting dressed, her own clothes now restored to her. Patience, he would give her time.

  “Thank you, Billy. Have you eaten yet this morning?”

  The lad always looked much too thin, though he seemed fit as a lop and without d
oubt ate enough to feed two men twice his size. Rob felt responsible for the boy all the same, and the knowledge that the captain was looking out for him protected the youth from all but the most gentle ribbing from the crew. Bullying was rife among sailors, the small, the young, the vulnerable usually its victims. Such cruelty was not encouraged on board the Rose, but you could never be sure.

  “Just on my way, sir. Do you want anything?”

  “Maybe later.”

  The tilt of his captain’s head was all the signal required to send the lad scurrying toward the stern of the ship in pursuit of sustenance, as Rob continued to idly contemplate his immediate future. And that of his beautiful captive.

  Initially he’d had no intention of abducting her, if indeed that was what he’d done. He supposed the good Queen’s justice would view it so, though he preferred to think of his actions as more in the nature of a rescue. He entertained no doubt whatsoever that Giles Conrad Browne would have murdered his pretty little wife, sooner or later. Probably sooner.

  Rob had first noticed Jane Browne, huddled on the deck of the Golden Star as his own Lady Rose had borne down on the hapless craft. The smaller vessel never had any chance of escape, though he was prepared to acknowledge the skill of Captain Carside in eluding capture for longer than he’d anticipated. Still, the end was inevitable, and as the pirates had boarded the captured craft he had again noticed the slight woman as she’d struggled to maintain her footing on the heaving deck. Her brute of a husband had no interest in anyone’s welfare but his own, offering her no help or protection. Not that the crew of the Rose had murder on their minds. Rob always favored an effective early attack, his aim to subdue the captive crew as quickly as possible, make sure they were secured, then he could get about his business of relieving them of their cargo. He wasn’t squeamish, would live with bloodshed if such was not to be avoided, but he wouldn’t deliberately provoke it. He liked things clean. And he wouldn’t risk his crew needlessly.

  He’d intended to flirt a little with the woman, brighten up what was otherwise an unremarkable day. Perhaps offer some reassurance that she and her companions would not be harmed, that the pirates’ mission was robbery, not assault or murder. He had not reckoned, though, on the deranged reaction of her vicious spouse, first his insane jealousy, then his deluded attempts at self-defense by using his wife as some sort of decoy to deflect attention from himself. Or maybe his act of brutality had been one of simple revenge, his idea of dishing out her just deserts for daring to seek help from another. Rob did rather wonder at that. It had been unexpected, but the woman had without doubt sought his protection in that moment. And he’d been unhesitating in his response. He would have protected her. He found her appealing on many levels, and in ways he couldn’t reconcile or understand himself.

  And he’d hesitated only momentarily before launching himself into the sea to her rescue. He shuddered as he recalled the first awful moments after his crew had hauled her back onto the deck of the Golden Star and she’d lain lifeless at their feet. He’d breathed her life back into her, and from that moment on he’d intended to claim her. She would be his.

  Right of salvage? No, not really. It was simpler than that. He just wanted her, and if he could win her over he would. If not, he’d let her go. Eventually.

  A slight movement to his right caught his eye. He turned to see the object of his musings emerge from the narrow opening leading to his own quarters. Just her head and shoulders visible, she was looking around her, taking stock. From his position above and behind her, Rob had a few moments to watch her progress unobserved before she would turn and see him.

  Wearing a light, lilac-colored dress, the sleeves loose in deference to the searing Caribbean heat, her dark brown hair now coiled into a knot at her neck, his little soon-to-be bedfellow cut a fine figure. He was right about the reasons for her delay. She had been dressing, tidying her hair, no doubt attending to her toilet. So feminine. He smiled, loving that trait in her. She wanted to face him, and the rest of his crew, looking her best. Quite right too. Rob spent most of his time among males, but he loved women. He loved their smell, the way they felt, the way their voices tinkled. He adored their laughter, their soft curves, their small, delicate fingers. Especially when wrapped around his cock, but he knew he was getting ahead of himself now.

  He leaned forward, watching her as she continued up the ladder, admiring her shapely bottom as she emerged onto the deck. He had particular plans for that sweet little arse. His palm itched in anticipation as he flexed his hand against the smooth contours of the wheel.

  Soon, Mrs Browne. Very soon.

  Slowly, swaying in time with the motion of the ship, she turned to face him, at last looking up to catch sight of him. He had a moment to admire the cut of her bodice, low but not immodest, a generous flash of cleavage rising above the soft lilac, before she sank into a deep curtsy. And he forgot to breathe.

  Beautiful. Absolutely fucking perfect!

  Chapter Eight

  I keep my eyes downcast for several moments, the curtsy allowing me the welcome opportunity to regather my wits. I’m aware of his gaze on me, and wonder if perhaps I should have selected my other day dress. The yellow one with a more demure neckline. No need to advertise—he’s made his intention to sample the wares quite clear already. Now I just feel self-conscious. Obvious. And exposed.

  The silence between us lengthens, though the sounds of the ship around me continue unabated. The creaking, the gentle lapping of the waves against the bow, the murmur of voices, occasional calls from the deck to the rigging and back again.

  “Good morning, Mrs Browne. Please get up and come here.” At last, the captain breaks the silence. His tone is low, even, though it carries easily to where I’m still crouching in a curtsy.

  My pussy clenches again. Sweet Jesus, what is wrong with me these days? I stand, my movements as graceful as I can manage given the tilting of the planks beneath me, and raise my eyes to meet his. His expression is impossible to judge, his features blacked out by the intensity of the light at his back. He is just a silhouette. I move toward the narrow stairway which will lead me to the half-deck where he stands, waiting for me.

  The stairs are not easy to negotiate in flowing skirts, but Captain Hawke makes no move to release his grasp on the ship’s wheel and come to help me. He watches, patient, while I struggle. At last I manage to ascend the shifting stairway and find myself on the higher deck. We are quite alone here. I can hear the low voices of the crew, or at least those who are awake at this early hour, and glimpse the occasional flash of movement as the pirates go about the business of running the ship. So far, though, the only real encounter I have had was with Billy who brought me my breakfast but was less than forthcoming when I quizzed him for information regarding my likely fate at the hands of his captain.

  The lad has been friendly, and helpful, solicitous regarding my welfare. And apart from my nocturnal visitor, he is my only link with the wider world. I asked him if there were other females aboard, other captives or hostages perhaps. He regarded me as though I might be quite deranged.

  “No! Of course not. Hostages? What hostages? Why would there be hostages?”

  His expression of pure outrage was sufficient to convince me that abduction is a less than regular occurrence on this ship. I wonder, then, at my own presence here.

  “Does he… I mean, has Captain Hawke had other…guests on board?” I’m not sure of my status exactly, but I suspected Billy would find mention of prisoners or captives as unpalatable as he had done hostages.

  The boy shifted under my gaze, uneasy and clearly less than keen to engage in further discussion. I really should not have asked him, but he was there, and he seemed forthcoming enough. Or he had, until then.

  “Not to my knowledge, miss. I’ve been looking after him for four years now, and you’re the first he’s had in here. You’ll be needing to talk to the captain, though, if you want to know things. I got to go now.” He bobbed his head at me and scu
ttled out without further comment.

  My called out “thank you” echoed behind him along the companionway.

  I regret having embarrassed him, but my situation is sufficiently precarious that I make no apology for disregarding the normal rules. Not that I have the faintest idea what etiquette might apply to this circumstance.

  And now, I find myself facing the captain himself, who regards me with ill-concealed amusement as I make my unsteady way toward him. I halt a couple of feet away as he turns to flash me a bright smile of welcome. And congratulations, perhaps, on having made it to his side without breaking my neck.

  “Good morning, Mrs Browne. That was a pretty curtsy. I am most impressed. So, can I hope that perhaps you are more inclined to make conversation with me now than you appeared to be last night? You have at least opened your eyes on this occasion.”

  His tone is soft, mocking almost. But I detect the stern undercurrent of displeasure, and I shudder within. My instinct is to apologize, to seek forgiveness. So I attempt just that.

  “I am sorry, sir. That was ill-mannered and ungracious. You have been most kind, you and your crew. I appreciate the comfort you have afforded me.”

  “You are very welcome, Mrs Browne. I want you to be comfortable, at ease here. With me.”

  “Thank you for accepting my apology, Captain.”

  “Thank you for offering it, madam. Though I have not yet accepted it. I will though. After you have accepted the punishment you have earned for your attempt at deception last night.”