by Merry Farmer
“Yes, well, you can tell all you meet when you leave us that we are not the bloodthirsty villains that all believe us to be.”
Penny went silent for a moment as she considered his words. For once she left this ship, she would never see him again, and she wasn’t sure how she was going to spend the rest of her life knowing that he was somewhere out in the world, but would never again cross paths with her.
“You have yet to tell me what brought you here, onto The Raven’s Wing,” he said, unexpectedly breaking the silence, “besides the fact that you needed to escape from your father, the baronet, and are looking for your uncle.”
Penny nibbled her bottom lip as she considered just how much to tell him.
“My father arranged a marriage for me. I was not particularly interested in marrying the man he selected.”
“Why not? Was he not rich enough?”
Penny shot him a look of contempt.
“Do you not know me better by now?” she asked, furrowing her brow at him. “No. He was too old.”
He paused for a moment, his head now fully turned toward her. So she had finally captured his attention with more than her body.
“I’m old.”
“You’re not that old.”
“How old do you think I am?”
“Just past thirty.”
He muttered something she took to be an agreement.
“How old was this man?” he asked now.
“Sixty.”
“What?” he sat up in bed. “Forty years your senior? And your father arranged this for you?”
Penny cringed as she remembered the horrific week she had thought that it might all come to pass. “It was not just our age difference. He was horrid. Father eventually came around to understand that it was not a wise decision. But his next choice was worse. The man had three mistresses I knew of, for he flaunted them around. I had no wish to be the idiot wife sitting at home while he caroused with them.”
“Fair point,” Ramsay conceded. “So you are running away from this man?”
“No. I told Father I wouldn’t marry him either. But then there was a third.”
She shuddered, hoping he wouldn’t press her for more. He didn’t, but the way he was staring at her encouraged her to speak.
“That man attempted to force himself on me the first time we met, though fortunately a servant happened upon us in time.”
“What did your father do?” Ramsay asked, his voice dripping with anger. “Run him through with a blade?”
“Ah, no. He suggested the wedding be moved up. Just in case. He also advised me that I no longer had an option to say no.”
Ramsay sat up abruptly, his bronze chest glowing in the candlelight. “I would kill the man. I will, if I ever meet him. Your father, too.”
As much as Penny had no wish for any blood to be shed, her heart warmed at the thought that he would care enough to be so protective of her.
“Well, I would prefer you didn’t. He is my father, after all, as awful as he was to me. But you shall never meet him, remember? You will never even see me again after these few weeks are over. And there is no need to kill anyone, for I escaped, and all of that is behind me.”
“Your uncle will not return you to him?”
“No,” Penny said quickly, though she had to admit that the thought had worried her. She didn’t think her uncle would ever return her, but then, he had allowed her father to take her back the first time he had requested it.
“’Tis almost worse than having no parents at all,” he said, and Penny was taken from her own problems to picturing him as a child, so alone in the world that he would welcome being press-ganged to a pirate ship.
“What’s your name?” she asked, suddenly needing to know. He looked at her as though she were daft.
“Ramsay.”
“Your real name,” she said. “Your given name.”
“No one ever calls me by my given name.”
“But surely you must have one?”
“Yes.”
“What is it?” she continued, knowing she was pestering him, but no longer caring.
“George.”
“George?” Penny squeaked, unable to believe it.
“Yes, George. George Ramsay. Never repeat that, do you understand me? Ever.”
“Or else?”
“Or else you’ll be keelhauled.”
Penny rolled her eyes.
“You would never keelhaul me,” she said, to which he didn’t respond. She turned over, fluffing the pillow under her head. She smiled.
“Goodnight, George.”
Chapter 12
Ramsay crossed his arms over his chest as he stood at the rail and watched the darkening clouds begin to approach. He had known he was taking a chance, sailing to the Caribbean in June, at the start of hurricane season. But he didn’t want to miss the opportunity to capture Ortego and seize all of the treasure he had hiding in his lair.
There was a code among most pirates, but Ortego had never honored any code, and therefore Ramsay had no qualms about breaking it when it came to him.
The Spaniard was wanted by the English navy, privateers, and pirates alike, for he targeted English merchant ships and delighted in torturing those he took as prisoners. He broke all rules, and for that, Ramsay couldn’t stand the man.
Fortune had been smiling upon them when they’d found Ortego’s man in a tavern. They had been in Liverpool after taking a commission to transport a nobleman’s wayward son back home. There, they had been tipped off by the tavern owner about the pirate. The man had become injured and could no longer sail — but he did have information that Ramsay had exploited.
Ramsay only hoped that this decision to pursue Ortego now wouldn’t cost him — or any of his crew. However, they had made this choice along with him, so he shouldn’t shoulder all of the responsibility, no matter what happened.
And yet, he knew his crew voted according to his wishes, so he couldn’t help but feel a sense of duty to keep them safe.
“We’ve been in worse.”
Bastian joined him at the rail, apparently reading Ramsay’s thoughts as they stared at the approaching storm together. The sailing master and helmsman had already turned the ship south in an attempt to outrace the storm, but it only seemed to be gathering speed as it neared.
“Aye,” Ramsay agreed. “That doesn’t change the fact that this is one foe I would prefer not to fight.”
“No sailor does,” Bastian said grimly. “But we’ll battle through it. We always do.”
A crack of thunder boomed overhead before lightning rent the sky.
“We’re not going to outrun it,” Ramsay stated as the two of them stood there, watching their impending fate sneak ever closer. “Time to ready for battle. Turn us around and prepare the sails.”
“Will do,” Bastian said with a nod before taking off at a run, calling out instructions to the crew.
Ramsay soon sensed another presence at his elbow and turned to find a wide-eyed Penelope beside him. She gripped the rail as she looked out at the show before them.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she said quietly. “Until it hits.”
“It’s the one time I’d prefer to be ashore,” Ramsay said grimly, “when storm watching. You said you have been on board during a storm before?”
“One terrible one,” she nodded, turning those beautiful blue eyes, which had become quite serious, upon him. “We lost three men. They fell overboard.”
“That will not happen today,” he said confidently. “No man will be lost on my watch.” He eyed her. “Nor a woman either.”
“I know,” she said, rolling her eyes with a sigh. “In your cabin.”
“It’s the safest place for you,” he said. “But if you see water, you’ll have to come above to the main deck and tie yourself on. Look for me.”
She nodded sagely, and while he could sense her fear, he admired the fact that she fought it. Ramsay had never met a woman like her. She had such an air of innocence a
bout her, and yet also a daring sense of adventure. The combination scared him. She needed someone to be watching out for her, to keep her safe, protected.
But that man couldn’t be him.
He would get her through this storm, deposit her on the shore of Puerto Rico — hell, he might even help her find passage to Boston or wherever it was she wanted to go — and then she would be another’s problem. Her uncle’s problem.
“What are they doing?” she asked as the crew began to take down the back sails.
“We’ll stow the sails,” he explained. “If the wind gets a hold of them, especially at the stern, it can push the ship sideways. The lower course will come next, and then we’ll hold onto the fore topsails and the headsail as long as we can so that we can still steer.”
“You take down all of the sails?”
He nodded.
“That way, when we make it through, we will still have sails. I’ve seen too many in my time destroyed by a storm. The vessel makes it through, but then is stuck.”
“Why have we turned into the storm?”
“It’s our best chance,” he said, becoming rather impatient at having to explain this all to her when he should be rallying his crew. “The prow is the strongest and safest way to take the waves, so we sail into them at an angle.”
“You sound as though you’ve been through a few storms,” she said, looking at him with what he thought might be admiration, something he certainly didn’t deserve. What he had was experience.
“More than my fair share,” he agreed with a nod. “It never gets easier.”
The Raven’s Wing began to rock harder from side to side as the waves gathered size and speed.
“Into the cabin,” he instructed Penelope, taking her arm and leading her as quickly as he could down the stairs, grabbing a coil of rope as they walked.
“What are you doing with that?” she asked, but he didn’t respond, urgency now overwhelming him. Much of the desperation was to save his ship and his crew, but the rest — that which he didn’t want to admit — was to ensure her safety.
This was why he’d never wanted to care. It added far too much complexity to his life.
He lifted her onto the bed, tying one end of the rope to the bedpost.
“This could be interesting,” she asked with a bit of a laugh, annoying him.
“It is certainly not the time for jesting,” he answered her harshly, and her smile dropped.
“I was only trying to lighten the mood,” she said, and Ramsay felt guilt for but a moment, but it was replaced with the need to see to her safety as he tied the rope around her waist and to the other bedpost.
“The mood is fine,” he said, before striding from the room and slamming the door behind him without a backward glance. He stood outside the cabin for a moment, his hand on the doorknob. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before swinging the door open once more, striding across the room, taking her surprised face in his hands, and kissing her hard on the lips.
Then without a word, he was gone, ready to face the storm with his crew.
Damn it. He cared.
Had she been asked, Penny would have said that she was an exceptional sailor. That she had never experienced a bout of seasickness and had the sea legs of any experienced pirate.
Until today.
The ship heaved from one side to the other. Everything that wasn’t attached to the ship itself moved with the waves. She now understood why Ramsay had tied her to the bed — it was fastened into the wall.
When he had first left, she couldn’t tear her mind from his goodbye kiss. It seemed he had a way of doing that — kissing her just before battle, whether it was against a human enemy or a natural one. What it meant, she had no idea, but this time she was not confused over the outcome she desired. She wanted Captain Ramsay alive. Very, very much so.
Oh, she was a fool. He was not a man who would ever settle down — with her, or with any other woman. He belonged to the sea. He wouldn’t be the man he was if he left piracy behind in search of a vocation on land.
For she knew that for the rest of her life, she would remember this time with him as likely the best experience she had ever had. The one in which she had learned the most about herself, had come to understand that her life could be what she made of it, and not what someone else thought it should be.
But very soon, he would be nothing more than a memory.
The thought caused a pang in her stomach, but it was quickly replaced by a very real physical seasickness as the waves began to toss the ship about.
Penny closed her eyes and began to pray that God would spare them. I know they are pirates, but they are good men. Help us through the storm.
She wasn’t sure if God was punishing her, but suddenly the ship rocked so far to one side that Penny wondered if she was going to be pelted with objects flying off of Ramsay’s shelves. The man was smart, but he hadn’t thought of that when he had tied her down. She may not fall over but hadn’t considered what else could hit her.
She waited for the ship to right itself once more, but it stayed where it was for a moment, and Penny began to panic — were they capsizing? If the ship turned over or took on too much water, they were done for — all of them. The windows showed nothing but black nothingness beyond them.
But then ever so slowly, the ship began to right itself, and Penny saw water begin to trickle in from under the door. They must have nearly capsized and had taken on water.
Penny breathed deeply as she attempted to calm her heart and her stomach. She could get through this. And then they tilted again, books came flying off the shelf toward her, and everything went black.
Bastian had been wrong.
They had seen many storms before, but none had been worse than this one. As Ramsay tied himself to the rail and looked at his crew about him doing the same, he knew they would be lucky to survive. The wind and rain whipped his hair around his face and into his eyes so that he could barely see, so strong was the water pelting against him. Whether it was from the sea or the sky, he wasn’t entirely sure, but it didn’t much matter at the moment. The crew struggled to keep the ship moving at an angle through the waves. Ramsay knew how easy it would be to give up, to allow the storm to take them where it may.
But to give up meant death, and Ramsay would never willingly succumb.
“That’s it!” he screamed, offering encouragement the only way he could now. “We’ve got this. Hard, men, pull! That’s it!”
They hit a wave so huge that had Ramsay not been tied on, he would have slid over the rail and off the ship. As it was, the rail came precariously close to the water — so much so that had he reached his arm over, he was sure he could touch the surface of the sea below.
But fortune must have been with them, for they soon tilted back the other way, righted once more.
They were in the heart of it now. If they could withstand this for just a bit longer, fight their way through to the other side, they would be free of it.
And then another wave came, similar to the last, and Ramsay held on tightly with both hands as he looked around him as best he could to make certain his men were still with him. They were.
He couldn’t help his thoughts from straying to Penelope, alone in his cabin. He only hoped that she was safe, that water hadn’t begun to seep down. Perhaps it had been foolish to tie her to the bed, to restrict her movements. But at least she wouldn’t fall or get thrown about the cabin.
Ramsay cursed as he thought of the table and objects littering the room. They were now likely acting as projectiles, being thrown about at Penelope as she sat like a target on his bed.
But there was nothing he could do about that now.
There was nothing any of them could do now but hold on and hope their ropes were tight enough, that they wouldn’t be thrown overboard, and the ship would stay upright.
And pray.
Ramsay hadn’t prayed in so long he wondered if he even remembered how. But in moments when death wa
s near, it seemed to come back much more naturally.
Lord, please don’t let Penelope die. I may deserve it, but not her. She has a lot of life to live.
The woman was turning him soft. She was a weakness. One he didn’t need. He should be focusing on his crew, his ship, and not be concentrating on the woman in the cabin below.
Once they were through this, there was only one thing to be done — to distance himself from her as much as he possibly could. It was the only way to keep them both safe.
Chapter 13
Ramsay knew he was fully displaying his weakness to his crew, but he didn’t seem to have any control of his actions.
The moment the storm subsided enough that he could safely untie himself from the rail, he barely paused for a moment to check that the ship was intact and all of his crew had survived, and then he was down below to check on Penelope.
He hardly registered his movements as he descended the stairs, so focused he was on finding her and confirming that she was well.
He put his hand on the knob to let himself in, but the door wouldn't budge. He tried again, but still it wouldn’t move. It must be blocked by something on the other side. Likely the table. It was thick, oak, and heavy, and if it became wedged against the door it would be difficult to budge.
“Penelope!” he called, hearing and hating the desperation in his voice.
No answer.
“Penelope!” he tried again, but when there was still a lack of response, he took a running start and shouldered the door, finally shifting it a fraction.
It was enough that he could wedge a hand in, and finally his foot, moving the table out of the way. Once it was cleared, he pushed the door open the rest of the way and rushed inside toward the bed.
Penelope lay there, so still and so silent that he wondered if she was even breathing. But when he took a few seconds to check, he saw the soft rise and fall of her chest and he exhaled a sigh of relief.
“Penelope!” he called once more, shaking her by the shoulders, and when he did, he saw the spot of red on the pillow. He turned her over, finally spying a gash just over her left ear.
