by Merry Farmer
Not a man who was likely to forgive a stowaway on his vessel, nor leave her untouched. And heaven only knew where their next stop would be. While she hadn’t been opposed to sailing across the sea to the Caribbean when she had thought this to be a merchant’s ship, she certainly had no wish to spend weeks onboard with pirates.
She thought she had found freedom, but instead, she simply found herself an even worse prison.
Penny had tried to sink deeper into the wall, to keep herself completely hidden, but apparently, her efforts had been futile as he had found her in seconds.
She hadn’t been prepared for him to attack so quickly, however.
All she saw were eyes so dark they seemed nearly lifeless, haunted, his lips twisted in a scowl, his hair as long as his beard. He was the devil. And he was about to kill her.
She squeezed her eyes tight now, cowardly hiding from her impending doom.
But the blow never came.
Instead, a bellow of a curse the likes of which Penny had never heard before flew from the man, his cutlass whizzing through the air to find home in the wood just two inches from her left ear.
Penny shrieked when she felt rather than saw it fly by her head, taking deep gulps of air as she attempted to slow her racing heart.
Perhaps if she simply sat like this with her eyes covered, she wouldn’t have to come to terms with the fact that an infamous pirate captain stood in front of her, one who seemed none too pleased that she had stowed away on his ship.
At least he hadn’t killed her. Although that likely meant—
“Have you a death wish, wench?”
Penny gasped at his words as she instantly dropped her hands from her face. Then she wished she hadn’t.
The pirate’s face was inches in front of hers, his eyes narrowed, a long, deep scar over his left eye somehow not detracting from his beauty. The wanted posters hadn’t been fair, for they had failed to capture his prominent cheekbones, his deep-set dark eyes, nor the golden highlights that shone within his hair which was so dark a chestnut it could nearly be considered black.
His linen shirt was open at the collar, and Penny couldn’t help but allow her eyes to follow his throat down to his chest, darkened by days in the sun, where lines of sculpted muscle showcased his strength.
Penny swallowed hard.
He radiated an aura that caused a tremble to begin deep within her and vibrate to the very tips of her fingers and toes. At first, she thought it was fear, but then she realized it was an indescribable attraction. She had an unnatural urge to reach out and run her fingers down his beard, to see if it was as silky as it looked.
But he acted first.
He reached out and captured her wrists within his strong fingers, hauling Penny to her feet with a gasp. Then he leaned in so close that she wondered if he was going to kiss her, and her pulse quickened as her eyes fixed themselves on his lips. She should be pushing him away, telling him to leave her be, but—
With his lips twisted into a silent snarl, he yanked his cutlass out of the wall, pushing away from her to cross his arms over his chest and stare down at her, the sword hanging in front of him quite a fitting accessory. Penny wasn’t a small woman — she considered herself of fairly average size — but this beast of a man dwarfed her.
“I asked you a question,” he said, reaching behind her to capture her hair in his hand. He slowly twisted it around his fingers before ever-so-slowly and gently tugging on it so that she had no choice but to look up into his eyes. “What are you doing aboard my ship?”
A slight whimper escaped her lips before she could keep it in, and she clamped her mouth shut to keep from making another such sound.
“I, ah,” she finally managed, “I didn’t quite realize that this was your ship.”
His grin was rather wicked and had her worried once more for her virtue. She may be attracted to him but that didn’t mean she would allow any liberties.
He let her go and began to play with the sword once more, twirling the edge of it on the index finger of his left hand, until he drew a drop of blood that began to drip down his finger. He didn’t seem to notice, but Penny couldn’t take her eyes off it.
“Well, now that you are here,” he drawled, looking her up and down, “whatever are we to do with you?”
“If you would be so kind as to leave me at your next port, I would most appreciate it,” she said with as much courage as she could muster. She was pleased that her tone came across as though she was asking for him to call upon her another day.
He began to chuckle long and low, his teeth surprisingly white and even. She would have expected a pirate to be missing most of them. Oh, blast her wandering thoughts. She had much more to be concerned with at the moment than how the man kept up his teeth.
“Surely you have heard of Captain Ramsay and The Raven’s Wing?”
“Perhaps.”
“We are not a passenger ship.”
“I hadn’t thought so.”
“We do not allow women aboard. Nor do we allow stowaways to simply leave our ship unpunished.”
Penny couldn’t tear her eyes away from the cutlass he was driving further into his own finger.
“What ah… what did you have in mind?” she asked, but then immediately wished she hadn’t. She was behaving an idiot, but she was in such a state of shock she seemed to have lost all of her senses.
When she had escaped this morning, it had been with the intention to stow away on a merchant ship until its next port of call. She had chosen this particular one as it seemed to be clean and not particularly crowded. But, of course, she had made a mess of things, as she always did.
He threw his cutlass in the air, catching it in his other hand. He brought the index finger of his non-bloodied hand to her face, stroking her cheek and causing her breath to catch in her throat, every nerve in her body now on edge at his touch.
“Are you worried, wench?” he asked darkly. “You needn’t be concerned that I will take you against your will, if that’s what you fear. I do not need to bed the unwilling, for there are far too many women who are eager to join me.”
Penny’s eyes widened at his words. She had no idea how to respond to that, for the thought of bedding a pirate — or anyone at all, but a pirate most especially—
Suddenly a thump and a muffled curse came from near the entrance to the hold, and Ramsay sighed at the sound.
“I have much greater concerns at the moment than you,” he said, looking down at her. “Follow me.”
“No, thank you.”
“I said,” his eyes darkened and his lips tightened, “follow me, or I will send another down here who has the time to make certain that you do.”
She considered his words, realizing that now was not the time to make a stand, for she lacked any sense of power at the moment.
“Very well,” she acquiesced. “Lead on.”
He turned from her and weaved through the casks around them, pausing when he came to one that was marked with a giant red X. He crouched, and with a grunt heaved the barrel onto his shoulder. He still had the cutlass in the other hand, and he turned to her, slapping her on the backside with the flat side of it. Penny yelped indignantly.
“Move,” he commanded, pointing the way with the cutlass.
Penny sent him what she hoped was a dark look before begrudgingly walking before him.
She had woken this morning with the intention of escape. Now she would likely be fighting for her life — or her virtue.
She had made many mistakes in her life. But never one like this.
This was a catastrophe.
Chapter 3
Ramsay would never admit it to anyone, but the lass in front of him was providing the most entertainment he had in some time.
He couldn’t remember the last time someone had attempted to defy him. The girl had seemed to understand soon enough that it was not in her favor to do so, but he appreciated the effort.
Until, that is, her game went on too long. He h
ad things to do.
There was banging on the cask next to his head, and Ramsay was glad that it was not a far climb up the stairs to the main deck. There, he would interrogate the man before sending him to his watery grave.
When they finally reached the top, he heaved the cask from over his shoulder, sending it crashing to the deck below so that it splintered and broke apart, allowing the man inside to emerge.
“My God!” he heard the woman beside him exclaim, and he rolled his eyes. This was why he preferred to never have any women aboard his ship — far too many theatrics. “He’s injured!” she continued, tugging at his sleeve, but he shook her off, ignoring her.
“Captain!” his boatswain said, as much of the crew gathered around them. “Where did the woman come from?”
Ramsay looked behind him as though just remembering her. “She stowed away in the hold,” he said, and Aloysius was already shaking his head.
“We can’t have a woman aboard, Cap’n,” he said. “’Tis bad luck, it is.”
She began to reply, but Ramsay held up a hand to silence her.
“We’ll deal with her later,” he said. “She means nothing. First, we speak with our new friend.”
He fixed his gaze upon the man now lying on the deck before them, his face mottled in anger.
“Talk,” Ramsay said. “Where is Ortego?”
“I know nothing!” the man spat out.
“You were a member of his crew. Do not deny it, for we know the truth. You were only in Liverpool because you became too ill to serve him at sea any longer. Well, how do you feel after four hours on the water once more?”
“I’m not— that is, I—”
“He’s frightened!” came a female voice, and Ramsay turned to the woman, holding up a finger to quiet her.
“He is one of Ortego’s crew. It’s an act.”
“But—”
“Silence!” he roared. He would have no one questioning his actions, man or woman. He whirled around now, bringing his cutlass down and swiftly removing one of the man’s fingers. Ortego’s man began to howl in pain, and he heard the woman slightly whimper, though she remained on her feet, for which Ramsay gave her some credit.
“Talk,” he commanded once more through his teeth as he crouched down, “or that will not be the last digit you are separated from.”
That shut the man up for a moment, and he nodded hurriedly before managing to speak through the pain.
“He—he was going to Jamaica last I heard, then on to store his plunder.”
“Very well. And now more importantly, where is his hideout?”
“I-I d-don’t know. I was never allowed there.”
“Bullshit.”
“I-it’s the t-truth. But I h-heard a rumor.”
“Very well.”
“There’s an i-island off the c-coast of San Juan. Isla de Tarifa. It is said there, beneath a rocky outcropping, is where h-he takes his treasure.”
“Jack!” Ramsay bellowed. “Bring a map.”
His sailing master did as bidden, delivery the map to the deck, careful to dodge the blood that was now pooling upon it. Ramsay gestured for one of the younger men to come clean it while the quartermaster joined them to review the map.
“Here?” Ramsay asked, pointing to the north coast of Puerto Rico. The prisoner nodded.
Ramsay summoned him to his feet.
“Time to walk.”
“Please, no!”
“How about a compromise? I won’t bind your hands. But with your finger bleeding like it is, you best swim fast before the sharks start circling.”
Ortego’s man stared him in the eye as an understanding passed between them. He didn’t like it, but this was not an unlikely end for him.
“Go ahead, Bastian,” Ramsay said with a nod. “Keelhaul him.”
“What does that mean?” came the sudden cry, and Ramsay tilted his head backward as he muttered a curse. He closed his eyes, hoping that when he opened them, the woman would be gone. He was sadly disappointed. She was now standing between him and Ortego’s man.
“He’s going for a swim!” one of the crew called, and Ramsay grimly smiled. That was one way of describing dragging a man under the ship and across the keel.
Ramsay was momentarily distracted, however, by the woman.
She was something to look at, though she wasn’t the traditional beauty he typically encountered. Her cocoa-brown hair floated in waves around her shoulders, her dress a muted red, draping over her frame that was not particularly slim nor particularly buxom. The one discerning quality to her looks was her piercing blue eyes that were currently intent upon him. If she could throw knives from them at him, he was sure she would.
He pulled his hat low over his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath to summon every ounce of patience he possessed — which wasn’t much but would hopefully be enough to keep him from killing this woman.
“Move, wench,” he said, motioning to the side with his sword, “or you will be swimming under the boat with him.”
She gasped as her eyes widened.
“You would not kill a woman!”
“I would if she continued to challenge me so. And this man you are so ardently defending is hardly anything but a poor man. He’s likely killed more men than you have ever been acquainted with.”
She turned around to look at the pirate, and he shrugged as he held up a hand, confirming that Ramsay’s words were true.
She returned to him with a pleading look in her eyes, and Ramsay was appalled when he felt the smallest of urges deep within him to do as she asked. What the devil was the matter with him? A pirate such as he didn’t show mercy. Merely justice, which was exactly what this was.
“If you do not wish to watch this, then turn around,” he said, training a hard look on her as he tamped down that most unwelcome feeling. “Otherwise, you will have to stand aside as witness. Bastian, move the woman.”
The quartermaster stepped forward to follow the order.
“After it’s done, bring her to my cabin,” Ramsay commanded, and then before anyone could issue a word of protest, he was marching down the deck, the only sounds upon his departure a shout, a scream, and a splash.
Had she eaten anything in the past twelve hours, Penelope thought she likely would have been sick. As it was, her stomach was empty, so all that rose in the back of her throat was bile at all she had just witnessed. She averted her eyes from the remaining bloodstains on the deck as one of the pirates marched her down the planks toward the stern, where she assumed the captain’s cabin was located. It had been on her uncle’s ship, anyway, though he was far from a pirate. He was a true merchant.
And it was her mission to find him again.
But first, to escape this pirate ship before she ended up like the unfortunate soul who was currently swimming with the sharks.
“Where is our destination?” she asked her escort, but he simply snorted.
“D’you take me for a fool?” he asked, though Penny wasn’t entirely sure how to answer that truthfully. His head was shaved, and he even had a gold tooth — he was exactly the man she would picture were someone to ever ask her what she thought a pirate might look like.
But he had survived thus far, so he must have some sense about him.
“I suppose not,” she finally decided, “but that doesn’t mean we cannot make conversation. What difference does it make if I know where we are going? It is not as though I have any power here.”
“’Tis for the captain to determine,” he said, eyeing her shrewdly. “You’re a lively one, aren’t you?’
“I am unsure whether or not you are meaning to insult me,” she said, rising as tall as she could, which nearly put her in line with this pirate, for he wasn’t an overly large man, “but I have decided to take that as a compliment.”
“Women,” he said, rolling his eyes, and she eyed him with what she hoped he understood was disdain.
He walked her down the stairs until they were underneath where,
she thought, the helm would be, and the pirate knocked on the door.
“Come in, Bastian,” came the voice from beyond, and Bastian gave her one more reproachful look before opening the door to reveal the captain’s quarters.
Penny couldn’t help her curiosity despite the circumstances as she surveyed the room to see just how a feared pirate such as Ramsay lived.
The only light in the room was from the row of windows across from her that looked out at the blue expanse beyond. Sunlight streaming through them left a pattern upon the thick red carpet that lined the middle of the room, upon which were two chairs around a table that was covered by a piece of parchment. Beyond it were thick crimson draperies, which hid what she assumed was the bed. The rest of the room was taken up with bookshelves, filled with not only books, which surprised her, but a variety of collected treasures.
Overall, it was quite comfortable, and not at all what she would have expected from a man like Ramsay.
“What is your name?” she heard from a dark corner and turned to find Captain Ramsay leaning against the wall in the corner.
“My name?”
“Is that a difficult question?”
She swallowed as he pushed off the wall and walked out of the shadows, though he didn’t quite step into the sun streaming in from the windows.
“Penelope Carstairs,” she said, noticing as she did that Bastian left the room, shutting the door behind him and leaving her alone with Ramsay. A shiver crept down her spine as the room suddenly became very small.
“Well, Penelope Carstairs,” he said, placing his hands on the back of one of the chairs and spinning it around toward her. “Sit down and tell me what you are doing aboard my ship.”
“I’d rather stand.”
His hard stare changed her mind and she took the few steps forward and sat. He picked up the other chair and twisted it around, straddling it as he faced her.
“Talk.”
“You should be ashamed of yourself.”
