by Vivienne Cox
“Not out of choice.” Alexander watched Thomas as he nodded slightly in agreement, or sympathy, he wasn’t sure which. The tension was thick in the air around them, and Alexander knew himself to be suddenly awkward. But so, so curious. “How long is it since you laid with a man?”
Thomas sighed. “Since you kidnapped me.”
“Just me.”
Thomas nodded. Then the comment sank in, and the pale skin flushed a shade deeper. “What have I embarked upon here, Cruise?”
“It’s called enjoying yourself. And less of that Cruise nonsense – I’ve seen ye naked, so no need to be formal, Admiral.” He brushed his hands together brusquely, point made, and turned his mind to the practicalities of rescue, not the delights of a willing Admiral. “Now, let’s get ye dressed. Then we can discuss how we get from here to there without O’Connell or his men distracting us.”
“Distracting?” Thomas’s dry laugh was amazed.
“Can you think of a better word?”
After a moment’s consideration, Thomas shook his head. “Sadly I appear bereft of vocabulary.”
“Good, as all ye need to be doing is getting dressed.” Alexander passed him a pair of cream breeches. They were even reasonably clean. With one hand on Cruise’s shoulder, Thomas stepped into them, letting the other man pull them up. He tackled the buttons himself. The shirt was loose, but it covered him well, and it had not one tear or stain.
“Better?” Alexander stood back to admire his handiwork. He even managed to do so with a degree of equanimity which made him quite proud of himself. The attraction was there, the arousal, but it was shuttered away, allowing him to think.
“Infinitely, thank you. Where on earth did you find them?” “Ah, well, I really am sure you want to know.” “Don’t I?” Light dawned. “Oh. No. Maybe I don’t.”
“Come on, sit down. I haven’t been thieving gold or jewels, just the things you need – and before you ask, how else was I to get ‘em in the middle of the night? Even Santo Domingo sleeps, you know. Or, at least, the tradesmen do. Except the carpenter, of course, and he didn’t have anything I wanted.”
“Sorry.” Thomas lowered himself to the floor, wincing slightly. “Forgive me.”
“Of course!” Legs crossed neatly before him, Alexander sat down next to Thomas, so they were shoulder to shoulder against the wall. “Now, what’s your plan?”
“I have none. All my energies were concentrated on getting out of that house.” He nodded as Alexander offered him more rum. He drank, and passed the bottle back. “Luck was with me that day, for I’m not sure O’Connell was going to let me live much longer.”
“You were lucky he went to sea for that month.”
“I prayed he’d never return.”
“God doesn’t listen to the likes of us.”
“Us?” Thomas considered, then nodded tersely as a nerve pulsed in his neck. “You may be right. Anyway, once he was back, the men stopped more or less ignoring me and started finding new ways to entertain their Captain.”
“So you found a way out.”
“I sweet-talked a boy. He liked me. I… I hope O’Connell hasn’t been too cruel to him.”
There was misery in Thomas’s tone, and an unasked question. Alexander answered it. “He has no idea who it was that let you go.”
“Really? Good for Adebayo - and for the lad’s sake, I hope it stays that way.”
“Agreed.” Alexander nodded. “An’ I don’t believe O’Connell was going to kill you, not as in murder with his own two hands, you understand. See, word got out that he was sellin’ you to the highest bidder.” Alexander smiled at the outraged expression that swept across Thomas’s face.
“Sell me!”
“Aye, but only to me. I came prepared to be sure of that.”
“But you might not have heard, or got here in time.” Thomas was spluttering, completely overwhelmed.
“But I did.”
Thomas took a deep breath, and let it all sink in. “So if I’d stayed, you would have got me out anyway.” He groaned. “Jesus, give me more rum.”
Laughing, Alexander handed over the bottle. “Here.” With a sigh he watched as the bottle was upended and drained. “Better?”
“No.”
Ah, intriguing indeed. Funny and clever and he looked good in a uniform. Probably better out of it, once he was back to eating and being less manhandled. Alexander swept a glance over him, seeing a man, not a Admiral. A man who, for all his airs and graces, liked men. Bloody hell, he even seemed to like one A. Cruise Esq. Amazing. Quite mad of course. “Your hair’s grown.”
Blinking at the abrupt change of conversational tack, Thomas nodded, and fingered the straight dark brown locks that fell over his eyes. “It feels strange after so long of having it cropped short.”
“It looks good, better than that wig. An’ only a few days’ growth of beard…”
“I begged the lad to let me shave. He agreed a few days ago. My beard was foul, rank with sweat and blood and worse.” He paused. “Alexander, you know, I am most probably alive with vermin.”
There were a few bite marks on the fine-boned ankles. “Never mind – our fleas can mate too.” There, that colouring of the pale skin. Alexander smiled and leant over to plant a kiss on one cheek. “You like the idea of mating?”
“Alexander, stop it for heaven’s sake. I can hardly think straight.”
“That’ll be the rum.”
“And you.”
“Me?”
“Aye, Captain Cruise, you’re guilty of disconcerting an officer in His Majesty’s Navy, how do you plead?” The words were slurred, and his head tilted back as if suddenly far too heavy.
“Guilty!” Alexander grinned. Then, suddenly, was quite serious, his face intent, eyes fixed on Thomas.
” The Swift Siren ’s close by. If we wait out a day, AnaMaria will be here and we can get away.” As he watched the shadowed eyes closed, and a slight shiver rippled through Thomas.
“Do you think I am dreaming? Or dead?”
“No. I am real. And I don’t turn into bones in the moonlight or fade away in the morning sun.”
“Then it shall happen.” Thomas nodded, and slowly his head tilted sideways. “In the morning.”
“Ah, James. ‘Tis morning now.” But he whispered the words, and sat very still, Thomas’s head weighty on his shoulder.
::::
Chapter 8
Thomas awoke slowly. The room was warm, and sweat ran in a trickle down his neck. He wiped at it, and the sudden movement jarred both his ribs and his memory. Breath held tight in his lungs, he opened his eyes and looked around.
Nothing. Nobody.
He groaned, and closed his eyes, taking in a long breath. At least escaping hadn’t been a dream. That was something.
Pushing himself up, he sat against the wall. And looked down at the clean clothes he was wearing.
On the other side of the doorway stood a bucket and a jug, folded by it was an empty sack.
So that was no dream either.
Carefully unfolding himself, he sat up, then made it upright. Sleeping had stiffened all his muscles, and he felt as crabbed as an old man. Stretching eased matters, and he walked the confines of his kingdom a few times before halting by the jug. Drinking water helped too. He finished off the last drops in the jug, and put it back on the floor. By a dented floorboard he spied something shiny, and stooping down he plucked it off the floor. A coin. One with a small hole drilled by the side of a worn palm tree. Thomas rubbed his thumb over it, seeing the golden, intriguing face of the man to whom the coin belonged.
A pirate. Yet a good man, maybe.
Slipping the coin into a deep pocket, he sighed. And remembered that he was dead. It was a curiously liberating feeling. He hoped the obsequies had been fulsome. Shame about his hat. He’d been quite fond of that.
Dead in name only. Though he’d be dead in reality if he didn’t get away. After three months (and the thought still daunted him, for i
n truth time had seemed to both pass immeasurably slowly and yet also been gone in the wink of an eye) of alternate misery with pain and misery with complete and utter boredom, he had no desire to return to O’Connell. Of course, returning would surely be a one way journey.
Strange, that after so long when he really had no care about the value of his own life, that he should suddenly find a purpose here. With a good man. Maybe. The thought made him smile softly. It was, after all, perfectly possible for a bad man to be a king or a naval officer, so why not a good man a pirate?
Ah, but it was a fine conundrum, when not so long ago it had all appeared to be so clear cut. Good was good and bad was to be hunted down and hanged. Now he wasn’t so sure of any of it. Not of Cruise’s character – or even his own. All the years of serving his King and Country, of discipline and obedience, had it all really just been a mask for the degenerate self that lurked underneath? If he could still contemplate lying with a man as with a woman - and he certainly seemed to be doing just such a thing - then the Church and parliament quite clearly damned him. If he could fall into iniquity without a qualm, what did that make him? Certainly not a good man. And if not a good man, then what?
Mayhap he had more in common with the pirate than their differences had first seemed.
The thought alone would once have shocked him. Now it was merely unsettling. Like Captain Alexander Cruise himself.
Though whatever he was, surely he should be back by now? His skin prickling with sudden uncertainty, Thomas walked to the door. He could hear nothing on the other side, so he put his hand on the latch and slowly levered it open. Silence. It was cooler in the stairwell, and he slowly walked down, the stone steps cold on his bare feet. At the end, he stilled and listened again. Not even sure why he was so wary, suddenly so alarmed. But he trusted his instincts, and what could save a man at sea could just as surely save him in a den of thieves.
The second door opened at his touch. The ruined, looted church looked even more wretched in the bright daylight that flooded in from the ruined windows. Nothing moved. His breath caught high in his chest, he moved onwards. Stepping over broken stones and statues, across burned wood and puddles of indescribable filth, cautiously he kept to the wall and headed to the main doors. Two of the confessionals were still standing and he peered into each of them. Nothing.
Alexander, where are you?
Gone to find help, he answered himself. But… what if it wasn’t help he’d gone to find. The thought was chilling, and hateful. But it had to be thought. Trust was something to be earned, and Thomas wasn’t sure if the pirate had earned any as yet.
He cursed silently. No. Trust had to be there. Alexander had been so kind. And kindness counted for something, did it not?
A loud commotion sounded outside the broken doors. Voices, and the wheels of a cart, horses’ hooves. He waited, hoping it would all pass, but the sounds grew louder and then seemed to converge on the church. Fear turned his skin ice-cold. O’Connell. Sweet merciful heaven it had to be.
Scarcely capable of reason, Thomas ducked into one of the confessionals. In the dank, evil-smelling place he crouched, and tried to think himself invisible, just as the main church door crashed open.
“Admiral, you fuck, come ‘ere!”
Hardly the sweetest invitation he’d ever had. Thomas ignored it and tried to pray. He wasn’t sure there were any other options left open to him, even though no words sprang into his mind.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are…”
There was the sound of more booted feet running into the church. The unmistakeable sound of swords unsheathing made Thomas’s skin crawl. Pushing back into the shadows, his thoughts whirled, searching for some prayer that he could recall past the first few words. Strangely, he could think of none at all. All he could remember were lines from the Psalms. Ones that gave no comfort. He tried to blank out the words, but they ran mockingly through his thoughts: O God, my God, I cry while day appeareth: But God, Thy ear my crying never heareth…
He shook his head, fingers clutching at the cracked and scarred wood that encased him. Surely there was some verse, some prayer that gave more hope? He tried to concentrate, to not listen to the sounds of shouting, of men laughing, of wood breaking.
The Lord, the Lord, my shepherd is, And so can never I taste misery.
Oh, no, the psalmist could never have been in a dilemma such as his. Thomas swallowed, and knew it was hopeless. And surely better to stand and die than be dragged out like an animal. Better, indeed.
He counted slowly. Listening. He couldn’t hear Alexander’s voice among the tumult. That heartened him a little.
Inside the confessional he stood up, brushed ineffectually at his creased garments, pulled his fingers through his hair to straighten it, and then simply stepped outside into the light.
“O’Connell, I believe you must be looking for me.”
He stood straight, head high, and in sudden silence looked at his Nemesis.
A black-toothed smile greeted him. “Admiral.”
“I wasn’t receiving visitors this morning.” Thomas walked forward, trying to appear as if he hadn’t a care in all the world. “In fact, I don’t believe you even left a card.”
“Very funny. Isn’t he funny, boys?”
The assembled pirates all laughed obediently. Thomas took another two paces. “I’m sure you don’t care about the social niceties in a backwater like this, but you’d have to mind your manners in Port Wiley, O’Connell.” Another step and he could make a run for the door.
“A wit! Ah, Admiral, how we missed ye.”
“Afraid to say, I haven’t missed you at all.”
And at that the laughter seemed to double. “Imagine! Boys, imagine the pretty officer here not having missed us. Bet he doesn’t mean it, what d’ye all think?”
A shout echoed up into the rafters, and at that moment Thomas ran.
Fear lent wings to his speed. Somehow he slipped past O’Connell’s reaching hands and was at the door, hesitating for the briefest of moments there as the sunlight blinded him. The shouts grew to a clamour. Panic seized him, and he ran, stumbling down the steps but somehow keeping his balance, heading towards the far side of the square and the faint possibility of losing himself in the dark alleyways and narrow streets that led towards the sea. There was a carriage in the way and he almost ran into the horses. They reared in their traces, snapping their yellowed teeth at him. Past them he veered right, running hard, his bare feet slapping on the filthy, uneven cobbles.
He evaded the first hand that reached for him, but the next took hold of his arm and he was half-turning, half-falling, screaming his rage as a large body collided with him, brought him down, breathless, and the world exploded into red and gold as his ribs hit the ground.
Somehow he stayed conscious, though it was hardly a blessing. Held down, his arms twisted behind his back, he coughed into the foul dust that covered the street and waited for death. A sword at his throat brought the instant closer.
“Bring the bastard back here.” O’Connell’s bellow could probably have been heard in Port Wiley.
Hauled to his feet, Thomas felt the world turn alarmingly around him as they forcibly dragged him across the square to stand in front of the pirate captain.
“Hurt ‘im, lads, just a little bit.”
His arms wrenched brutally back, Thomas bit down on a scream. Another inch and he knew his shoulders joints would give. Head down, sweat dripping into his eyes, he stared at the stones, at the boots that surrounded him, though everything was curiously tinted red as the pain overwhelmed him.
“Enough.”
The hands relented, though they still kept a firm hold. Almost sobbing with relief, Thomas straightened very slowly and looked up. Just in time to see the slap that rocked his head.
Thomas licked his bloodied mouth. Squinting in the dazzling morning he was suddenly very weary. “Go on, O’Connell, just do it.”
“What? Ye think I’m about to kill yo
ur precious self?”
“Yes, the thought had occurred to me.” Thomas winced as a big hand took hold of his chin.
“But I’m not. Not yet.” The hand tightened its grip. “You shamed me in front of me men, Admiral. What am I going to do about that, eh?”
“If I were you, Connor, I’d slap his wrist and sell ‘im to me.”
The voice was lazy, amused. All heads turned. Thomas closed his eyes, but the image of Alexander Cruise was burned into his retina, so he gave in and looked his fill instead. Alexander, looking sprightly and larger than life as he walked up, braids dancing, body moving like a wave breaking over deep water, all insolence and bravado.
“Alexander Cruise, I wondered when ye’d turn up.” O’Connell, one hand still closed around Thomas’s jaw, grinned.
“Think I’d miss this? Nice to see you found ‘im.” Cruise nodded at the captive. “Good. Better keep a tight hold, lads, we don’t want the nice Admiral skipping away again, do we?”
“How did you find us, Cruise?” O’Connell’s eyes were narrowed.
“Someone told me that this little bird was nested in the church – I came to see if it were true.” He closed the distance between himself and the tableau around Thomas. He smiled, gold teeth flashing in the bright sunlight. Thomas looked at him and doubted. Doubted everything with a misery that twisted his soul.
“And hoped to get away with him without giving me the jewels, no doubt.”
“Connor!” Hand on his breast, Alexander turned and looked shocked. The dark paint under his eyes made his pupils seem black. Thomas looked at the dirty, proud, fine-boned face and prayed neither he himself nor Black O’Connell was right. There had to be at least a chance that Alexander was simply making the best of finding O’Connell here. Didn’t there?
“Aye, look askance, Captain Cruise. But where else did ‘e get the fine new rags he’s a wearin’, eh?” He turned back to Thomas. “What about that, Admiral – who helped ye this time?”
Alexander leant in and spoke close to O’Connell’s ear. “Let go his face, mate, and he might be able to tell you.”
