Once Upon a Pirate Anthology

by Merry Farmer

  Alana exhaled slowly, then nodded. “Yes.”

  With a swipe, Mrs. Parker sliced through Alana’s hair, cutting it at the nape of her neck. Red hair tumbled around Alana’s face, framing it with loose waves of fire. Mrs. Parker dropped the knife on the bed, stuffing Alana’s hair into the empty sack. She glanced down at the pile of clothing, picking through the shirts. “These are too small for me, Mrs. Dubois, however, Hugh’s clothing will fit. I shall dash to my cabin and retrieve them.”

  Shouts echoed from the deck, followed by another explosion. Gunshots reverberated down the corridor. Alana grabbed Mrs. Parker’s wrist.

  “It is too dangerous.”

  “They will not believe me a man if I am wearing a skirt, Mrs. Dubois, even if my hair is short.” She extracted herself from Alana. “Get dressed. I will return in two minutes.” Unlocking the door, Mrs. Parker peered around the edge, her eyes scanning the corridor. “Lock the door,” she commanded, slipping out the door and closing it softly behind her.

  Alana crept across the room, pressing her face to the door, listening for Mrs. Parker, nodding when she heard the faint click of her cabin door. Securing the lock, Alana snagged a shirt and a pair of trousers from the stack of clothes.

  The floor vibrated. Boots thudded into the corridor, stopping at the first cabin door. It slammed open, crashing into the wall. A scream followed. Horrific laughter crept into Alana’s cabin.

  They had run out of time.

  Hastily ripping off her dress and petticoats, Alana yanked the trousers up her legs. The door to the second cabin flew open. Another scream… and arguing. From the words floating under Alana’s door, she assumed one man was a pirate, and the other had no intention of following that man anywhere. Their voices rose, joined by a third, deeper voice. A gunshot rang out, then silence. The third cabin door crashed open, followed by the fourth. Only two more rooms…

  Pulling the shirt over her head, she shoved the clothing into the sack, covering her discarded hair. She shoved the sack and her dress into the trunk, closed the lid gently, leaning her weight on the top until the locked clicked. Where was the key? Her eyes skated over the room. Something gleamed on the bed. Rising, she plucked the penny knife from the mattress.

  The door beside hers burst open, smashing the wall. A shriek escaped Alana’s mouth. Clamping her hand over her mouth, she sank her teeth into her palm, swallowing the scream. Her eyes locked on her door. The handle rattled. She pressed herself against the wall, her trembling fingers wrapped around the knife. There was nowhere to hide.

  “I heard you,” a raspy voice whispered through the door. “I know you’re hiding from me.”

  “Then come get me,” she hissed.

  “With pleasure,” the voice sneered. The door folded inward, disintegrating into pieces, the long blade of a sword sliding into the room.

  Grabbing the man’s wrist, Alana yanked him forward, swinging the knife at the same moment. It sliced upward through the air, stopping just before embedding itself the man’s face. Capturing her hand, he twisted her arm behind her back, squeezing until she dropped the knife. It bounced off the trunk’s lid, falling to the side. He slapped her, his heavy hand knocking her to the ground. Stunned, Alana cupped her face, glaring at him. How dare he strike a woman! She was halfway to her feet when she realized his reaction to her was based on her appearance, which was distinctly unfeminine at this moment.

  “What do you want?” she asked, forcing her voice into a dark growl.

  “Your trunk, jewelry, money, and anything else you may have of value.” The man tilted his head, amusement in his dark eyes. “However, judging by your clothing, I would assume that was very little.”

  “It cost me everything I had to purchase this ticket.” One little lie wouldn’t hurt, especially since she was negotiating her life.

  Mrs. Parker’s cabin door crashed open, another man dragging her from the room. She kicked him in the shin, biting the hand wrapped around her mouth. He doubled over with a groan, releasing her. She locked eyes with Alana, lifted her skirt, and slammed her boot into the man’s hand. A scream tore from his lips. A fleeting grin lit her face as she spun, racing down the corridor.

  “Do you need any help corralling that hostage, Mr. Evans?” The man refused to break his gaze with Alana.

  “No,” growled Mr. Evans, his face darkening with humiliation. Rising, he stomped after Mrs. Parker.

  “I’ll take the trunk, Mr…” The man tilted his head, offering a pleasant smile.

  “Dubois,” replied Alana, climbing to her feet. “Sebastian Dubois.”

  “Open it.” He gestured at the trunk.

  With a nod, she knelt beside the trunk, lifting the lid. A scream vibrated down the corridor, then a curse word. When the man turned to glance at the doorway, Alana’s arm whipped out, closing around the knife. She folded it closed, quickly stuffing it into her waistband. Another curse word, louder than the first, exploded in the hallway. Alana smirked, hiding her smile when the man returned his attention to her.

  “Does something amuse you?” He arched an eyebrow.

  “I hope she kills your friend,” growled Alana.

  Reaching down, the man’s hand closed around Alana’s shirt, yanking her to her feet. He towered a full head over her.

  “You should pray she does not. The punishment for death is worse than you can imagine.”

  “You attacked our ship. Would you consider defending yourself a crime?”

  “I would when it costs me one of my men.”

  Alana gasped, her jaw dropping. She swallowed, her eyes drinking in his hard stature—tall, muscular, and dark, his skin tanned by a life lived in the sun.

  “You’re Captain Cedric Shaw.”

  “Captain is sufficient.” His eyes glinted, cold and cruel.

  “You’ve murdered hundreds of people.”

  He released her with a chuckle. “That number has been exaggerated.”

  “Any death is unforgivable.” Alana folded her arms, matching his glare.

  Leaning forward, his eyes narrowed. “If I were you, I would not anger my captor, Mr. Dubois; I am the only reason you are still alive.” Lifting his left hand, he pointed a pistol at her heart. “Pick up the chest and carry onto the deck.”

  Licking her lips, Alana bent, hoisting the chest from the floor. She grunted under the weight, staggering, then dropped the trunk. It landed on its side, popping open, clothes spilling onto the floor.

  Captain Shaw crouched, rooting through the clothing. His fingers hooked around the collar of a chemise, dragging it from the pile. “Women’s clothing?”

  “It belonged to my wife,” snarled Alana, snatching the chemise from him. Flipping over the trunk, she slammed the chemise into the bottom, scooping up the rest of the clothes.

  “And why are you carrying your wife’s clothing to America?” Captain Shaw picked up the sack, peeling open the top. Seeing the men’s clothes, he retied the sack, passing it to Alana.

  “Because I could not bring my wife.” Alana refused to look at him, organizing the trunk into a semi-presentable state, then tucking the sack into the center.

  “Where is your lovely wife?”

  “Buried in France.” She exhaled slowly, fighting the tears which gathered in her eyes, and closed the lid, glancing up.

  Captain Shaw nodded his understanding, rising. “Is your trunk secure?”

  “Yes,” she replied. Leaning over, Captain Shaw jerked the trunk from the floor, placing it on his shoulder. He pointed the pistol at her again, gesturing toward the door.

  “Time to leave, Mr. Dubois.”

  Alana stepped into the corridor, her eyes searching for Mrs. Parker. The pistol’s muzzle gouged her back. A low rumble crawled over her.

  “I am willing to carry your trunk because I suspect you are a businessman, not used to physical activities; however, I am not a patient man. Unless you wish me to shoot you, I suggest you don’t stop again.”

  Shuffling down the corridor, Alana twi
sted, staring at him over her shoulder.

  “I am worried for Mrs. Parker.”

  “Is that the woman with whom you were traveling?”

  “We only met this evening.”

  “And yet, you’ve developed such a strong affection for her?” He raised both eyebrows, insinuating impropriety.

  “Concern for another human being is not an attachment,” retorted Alana in annoyance.

  He chuckled, shifting the trunk. “Are you worried for Mr. Evans?”

  “No.” Alana’s forehead scrunched. “Why would I?”

  “Is he not a human being also?”

  “He attacked an innocent woman!” Alana spun, flinging her arms in the air. “He will perform all manner of horrific actions on her personage.”

  Captain Shaw’s face darkened. “Regardless of the rumors you have heard, not one man under my employ would harm a female.”

  “What would they do?”

  “They offer them a choice.”

  “And the men?”

  “Are you worried for yourself, Mr. Dubois?”

  “I cannot swim.”

  “Then, you are lucky you are a man as that is not one of your options.” He gestured with the gun, indicating for Alana to turn around.

  Reaching into her waistband, Alana discreetly pulled the penny knife from her trousers. She clasped her hands in front of her, cautiously unfolding the knife. Dropping her arms to her sides, she hid the knife against her leg. As they neared the end of the corridor, she whipped around with a shriek, swiping the knife through the air.

  The tip caught Captain Shaw’s shoulder, slicing down his arm. With a snarl, he swung, striking her in the face. She crumpled, crashing to the floor in a heap of twitching limbs. Snorting, Captain Shaw stepped over her body, dropping the trunk beside her head.

  Crouching down, he leaned forward, whispering through the blackness clogging her mind. “The next time you attack a man, Mr. Dubois, I suggest killing him.”

  Alana moaned, rolling her head. Her cheek ached, no doubt, a bruise blossoming on her face. She’d seen her brothers return with bruises on numerous occasions, but never experienced the violence herself. Perhaps she should reconsider her opinion on dressing as a woman. Pain detonated in her face, her teeth knocking together. He’d stuck her a second time, his hand balled into a fist. Whimpering, she rolled to her side, drawing her feet into her chest.

  “Please,” she begged.

  Fingertips bit into the fleshy part of her upper arm. Pulling her toward him, Captain Shaw’s eyes narrowed. “Coward,” he muttered, releasing Alana’s arm. Rising, he kicked the trunk toward her. “Lift it.”

  “I cannot,” replied Alana, her voice hitched.

  Jerking her to her feet, Captain Shaw shoved the pistol into her stomach. “Either you carry it, or I shoot you right now, and I pray you will be dead before I set this ship aflame.”

  Swallowing, Alana bent over, grabbing one end of the trunk. She yanked, but it refused to budge. Keeping her eyes on the trunk, she walked around the opposite side, her hands planted on her hips. Placing one foot on the seam, she shoved, and the trunk slid forward. A tiny grin broke out on her face. Stepping forward, she put her foot on the trunk again, kicking it. It flew down the corridor, crashing into the door.

  “Now, what do you plan to do?” Captain Shaw’s amused voice came from behind her. Ignoring him, Alana stepped over the chest, pushing the door open.

  “Bloody hell!” Mr. Evans dove out from behind the door, glowering. “You could have hit me.”

  “That was not my intention, sir,” replied Alana. Where was Mrs. Parker? Had she escaped Mr. Evans? Or had she been dumped into the ocean…? Terror bubbled in her throat.

  “Sir,” Captain Shaw’s snicker floated over her shoulder.

  “Mr. Evans,” Alana pasted a smile on her face, swallowing her fear, “would you assist me with something?”

  “No.”

  Alana arched an eyebrow, folding her arms across her chest.

  “Would you assist your captain?”

  Mr. Evans’ gaze jumped between Alana and Captain Shaw, who stood behind Alana, his pistol jabbing her back.

  “I do whatever my captain commands.”

  “Carry that trunk.” Alana pointed at the chest.

  He glanced at Captain Shaw, a question in his eyes, but Captain Shaw remained silent. Mr. Evans folded his mouth into a grimace.

  “If that is what my captain wishes…”

  “He does.”

  “Why does he not tell me?”

  “Because I am telling you.”

  “Who are you?”

  “My new cabin boy,” snapped Captain Shaw, his harsh tone causing Mr. Evans to cringe. “And he has issued you a command.”

  “Yes, Captain.” Mr. Evans nodded once. Jerking the trunk from the floor, he turned, walking stiffly toward the bow of the ship.

  Alana glanced back. “Your cabin boy?”

  “Boy… man.” He shrugged. “You’re youthful enough, you can carry either moniker.” Leaning forward, he inspected her face. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-nine,” she replied, stating Sebastian’s age... or the age he would have been, had he still been alive.

  He drew a finger down her cheek. “You must be the youngest.”

  “I am.” Which was true; both she and Sebastian were the youngest children in their families.

  Captain Shaw reached out, squeezing her arm. He clucked. “A few weeks at sea will add some strength to you.”

  “Weeks? I thought…”

  “What did you think?” He tilted his head. He was laughing at her.

  “I thought you’d put me ashore at the next port.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  She faltered, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth. “Because I can’t swim.”

  “I haven’t thrown you into the ocean.” He shoved her forward. “But I never promised to return you to land.”

  “You expect me to be your cabin boy forever?” she said over her shoulder, catching sight of her image in a brass railing. She gasped, shocked by the deep purple discoloration of her cheek. How hard had he struck her?

  “Forever seems quite a long time, Mr. Dubois. I have no intention of continuing my career into forever.”

  “Do I have another option?” She stopped walking, spinning around. The pistol crashed into her breastbone. She grimaced, expelling a low moan.

  “Instead of working for me?”

  “Yes.”

  His mouth crooked into a half-smile. “Allow me to show you the other choice.”

  Wrapping his fingers around her arm, he pinched the flesh, dragging her across the deck, stepping over broken bits of wood—pieces of the mast. Pushing her toward a group of men, he flung her at Mr. Evans.

  “Mr. Dubois has decided he’d rather not join our crew.”

  An evil grin slid across Mr. Evans’ face. “That is a pity.”

  “Wait!” Alana twisted around, but Captain Shaw had vanished.

  Winding a thick rope around Alana’s wrists, Mr. Evans shoved her down on the deck, tying her hands above her head to the lower portion of the broken mast. Kicking her foot, he stepped over her legs, grabbing another man and repeating the process. The man fell beside Alana with a grunt, gasping when he recognized her face.

  “Mrs.—”

  “Mr. Parker.” Alana cut him off, widening her eyes. She hoped he understood her silent message. “I am surprised to find you here. I had hoped you escaped.”

  He leaned closer, dropping his voice, his gaze locked on Mr. Evans, who lashed another man on the opposite side of Alana. “I had hoped you and my wife managed to hide yourselves. Does she look as frightful as you?”

  “I don’t know. They separated us,” replied Alana, bending her head and whispering. “She said if they found us, they’d give us a choice between swimming or staying aboard the ship and burning to death.”

  A man stumbled, crashing to his knees in front of them, blood
streaming down his forehead. Mr. Evans appeared behind him, smacking him in the back of the neck with the butt of his pistol. The man collapsed, his body twitching. Mr. Evans glanced up, his black eyes locking with Alana. He touched his hand to his forehead, saluting her, his eyes flicking up.

  “Throw that one overboard.”

  Rounding the mast, two pirates hooked their hands under the man, tossing his body over the side of the ship. A loud splash followed, flinging water droplets across the deck.

  “Bring me the crew members,” commanded Mr. Evans, balancing his pistol on his shoulder. His gaze dropped to Alana’s shocked face, a smirk tugging at his mouth. Turning, he lurched toward the stern.

  “You should have gone with her,” murmured Mr. Parker, his eyes on Mr. Evans’ back.

  “I cannot swim.”

  Mr. Parker’s head whipped toward her, drinking in her hacked off hair and masculine clothing. “Louisa cut your hair?”

  “She went across the corridor to grab clothing so we both could dress like men, but they discovered us before we could disguise her. She ran.”

  “I’m not certain pretending to be a man was a better choice, Mrs…”

  Shaking her head violently, Alana flicked her eyes to Mr. Evans as he dragged another man toward them.

  “My name is Mr. Sebastian Dubois.”

  “There is no purpose in introductions,” Mr. Evans said, shoving the man to the deck and binding his arms to the mast. He offered Alana a vile grin. “I intend to kill all of you within the hour.”

  Chapter 4

  “Why would you kill us?” Alana’s heart thudded rapidly, threatening to break through her chest. That was the choice… work for Captain Shaw or die?

  Mr. Evans leaned over, his grimy face filling Alana’s vision.

  “That was your decision,” he hissed, his sour breath washing over her. Her nose wrinkled.

  “I’d like to reconsider my position.”

  “Would you?” He tilted his head. “Captain already made his judgement.”

  “Please inform him I wish to speak with him.”