Once Upon a Pirate Anthology

by Merry Farmer

  “With my father,” she spat, regaining some of her bravado. “He has no intention of dying any time soon.”

  “Is that why you were sailing for America?” he asked, grabbing the bottle.

  “I was starting over.”

  “Not quite the direction you anticipated traveling?”

  She glanced around the dim room and shook her head. “Not quite.”

  A bell tolled, clanging from somewhere above them. Captain Shaw lifted his head, listening. It rang two more times in quick succession. Pushing back from the table, he stood, walking to the large window and peering into the darkness. A small light flickered in the distance, fluttering like a firefly. He turned with a growl, his face hardening. His eyes flicked to the cannonball.

  “No, please,” Alana pleaded with him, a phantom pain shooing through her ankle. “I swear to remain here, in this very chair, until you return.”

  He nodded once, spinning and exiting the room. The door slammed behind him, followed by the light click of a lock. Truthfully, she felt safer with the door locked. Waiting until Captain Shaw’s footsteps faded, she leapt up from the chair, rushing to the window. What had he seen?

  Pressing her face against the cold glass, she strained her eyes, searching the night for the tiny light. It appeared to her right, bobbed in the ocean. A second light appeared behind the first, much smaller but growing steadily. They were being followed! Her heart leapt into her throat. It was the Navy, they must have discovered the burned ship. She was going to be rescued!

  The ship lurched, and Alana stumbled, crashing into the window and rebounding into the desk, knocking the chair aside. Had their ship increased its speed? It felt as though they were moving much faster, slicing through the water like a bullet. But that wasn’t possible. Her gaze returned to the window. The lights had disappeared. Captain Shaw couldn’t control the wind… could he? Pacing, she shuffled between the bed and table talking to herself.

  “It’ll be alright, Alana.”

  “You swore to remain in the chair!” Captain Shaw’s deep voice rolled through the cabin. Alana whipped around with a squeak. How had she not heard him?

  “I fell.”

  “You fell?” He folded his arm across his chest, kicking the door closed behind him.

  “The ship,” she said, gesturing around the room, hoping to distract his anger. “It’s moving faster.” Stealing across the room, she dropped back into the chair, folding her hands on top of the table.

  “Aye, it is.” His dark eyes followed her movement.

  “Why?”

  “You don’t expect me to reveal all my secrets, do you?” Moving around the desk, his gaze stopped on the chair, a strange look passed over his face. Scooting the chair back into its original position, he glanced up. “Was Alana the name of your wife?”

  Bloody hell, he’d heard her! She nodded, picking at the last piece of bread on her plate. Yawning, she clamped her hand over her mouth, stifling the sound, her eyes flying to him. A sheepish blush crawled through her skin.

  “I suppose you are tired.”

  She nodded again.

  He gestured at the armoire. “Take a blanket and spread it on the floor in front of the armoire.

  “But—”

  “Did you expect to sleep in the bed with me?” He smirked, tossing a small bag on the desk, the contents clinking together softly.

  “No…” She drew out the word. “I didn’t expect to sleep on the floor.”

  “Are the accommodations not to your liking? Would you prefer to sleep in the brig with the rest of your shipmates?” he snarled, dropping into the chair.

  Rising, Alana grabbed the bottle of whiskey from the table and walked to the desk, holding it out. “Do they get a bed?”

  “No.” Snatching the bottle from her hand, he toasted her, then took a sip.

  “I’ll stay here.”

  “Wise choice, the brig is much colder.”

  Crossing the room, she opened the armoire, selecting a folded blanket from the base of the worn piece of furniture. Shaking it out, she spread it on the floor. Lying on the blanket, she pulled one side over her shoulder and curled into a tiny ball. Shivering, she drew her knees into her chest, closing her eyes. The soft clink of coins accompanied his low muttering.

  Alana peeled open one eye, furtively watching him count. Opening a ledger, Captain Shaw, grabbed a quill, scratching it across the page. His head jerked up, gaze shifting over to Alana. Quickly shutting her eye, she exaggerated her breathing. The quiet jingle of gold coins tickled her ears again, then the floor creaked, and the light was extinguished.

  Peering into the darkness, the room illuminated by moonlight streaming through the window, she watched him drag toward the bed, exhaustion etched into his face, his heavy footfall sending vibrations through the floorboards. Sinking onto the mattress, he pulled off his boots—one foot at a time—and dropped them to the floor. The bed groaned under his weight as he leaned back, punching one of the pillows into shape.

  Something soft smacked her in the face. It was the other pillow. Gratefully, she tucked it under her head. Fatigue taking hold, she drifted into a fitful sleep.

  A gunshot echoed in the distance. Terror seized her throat. Running down the hill toward her father’s house, Alana tripped over the hem of her long skirt, hurtling to the ground and sliding down the remainder of the slope. Coming to rest at the hill’s base, she sucked in a ragged breath, then pushed herself up, racing toward the small garden and her father, who laid immobile in the dirt.

  “Da!” Screaming, she flung herself at the shadowy figure standing over her father’s body, knocking him aside. She rolled with the man, crashing into the base of a rose bush, thorns scratching her arms and face. Ignoring the cuts, she crawled on top of the man, whose face resembled that of Mr. Franklin Morris. Her hands wrapped around his neck, crushing his throat, but as she squeezed, her brother’s face materialized, replacing Mr. Morris’ evil sneer. She toppled backward with a shriek.

  Her eyes whipped open. She stared upward, her eyes focusing on a wooden ceiling as the nightmare faded from her mind. Where was she…? She pushed up with a start. She was on Captain Shaw’s ship, and she’d been dreaming about…

  “Who’s Aidan?” Captain Shaw’s leaden voice rolled from the bed.

  “Pardon?” Alana pulled at the front of her shirt, which stuck to her sweaty skin.

  “Aidan,” he repeated, sitting up. “You were screaming his name.”

  “He’s my brother.”

  “The oldest?”

  “The second oldest.”

  “I most certainly kidnapped the wrong brother.” Snickering, Captain Shaw rose from the bed, ignoring his boots, and padded over to his desk. He sat in the chair, selecting a sheet of paper from underneath the ledger, and lifted a quill—one of two—from a golden inkwell. “Do you think your brother would pay for your life?”

  “Yes,” Alana replied without hesitation.

  Captain Shaw stared at her, brushing the top of the quill underneath his chin.

  “You seem quite sure of your family.”

  “They would do anything for me.”

  “You can sleep in the bed.” Waving his hand, he bent over the parchment, scratching the tip across the paper.

  “Will you not be returning to it this evening?” asked Alana, pulling herself onto the bed.

  “It’s morning, and I rarely sleep,” he replied without lifting his head.

  “That is a pity.” Alana crawled toward the pillows, nestling down on the soft mattress, and sighed.

  He dipped the quill back into the inkwell. “Did you love your wife, Mr. Dubois?”

  “Every moment I was with her.” Rolling onto her side, Alana propped herself up on her elbow, leaning her head on her hand. “Were you ever in love?”

  “It’s difficult to do in my profession.” The quill scratched across the parchment.

  “You told Mr. Hayward to propose to the woman he loves.”

  “Mr. Hayward
is not meant for this life.” He glanced up, his hand hovering over the paper.

  “And you are?” Silence met her question. She flipped onto her back, closing her eyes. “Would you not prefer your distillery to sword fights?”

  The chair scraped on the floor, and a moment later, the mattress dipped. Alana’s eyes flew open. Captain Shaw stared down at her, his stone face devoid of emotion.

  “Do not presume to know my mind.”

  She folded her arms behind her head, returning his glare.

  “Is my assessment of your character incorrect?”

  A bell rang, followed by two short clangs. His head jerked to the window.

  “It’s the Navy, isn’t it?”

  He turned, his eyes narrowing. “How do you know?”

  “They have the fastest ships.”

  A ghostly smile crossed Captain Shaw’s mouth.

  “That is no longer true… Would you like to see?”

  “Yes.”

  Yanking on his boots, he rose, walking to the door, unlocked it, and pulled it open. Alana climbed from the bed, following him through the door and across the deck. Men rushed about, driven by the barking of Mr. Evans, who stood behind them, his hands on the ship’s wheel.

  “Captain, they’ve found us.”

  Turning, Captain Shaw scaled a ladder to his right, leaving Alana on the deck below, his gruff voice floating down. “Are you certain it’s the same ships? It would be difficult for them to catch us.”

  “Are you suggesting we are so unlucky as to come across two different patrols?”

  “It is possible, Mr. Evans. We will easily outpace them. Go below, release the men from the brig, and have them assist Mr. Hayward.”

  “Yes, Captain.” Mr. Evans descended the ladder, hissing at Alana as he passed.

  She snapped her teeth at him. If there was any breath in her body, she’d make sure he hung for murdering Mr. Parker.

  “I don’t think your new pet likes me,” called Mr. Evans with a smirk, traversing the deck and disappearing down a hole near the center of the ship.

  Alana craned her head, staring up at Captain Shaw. “How exactly do you intend to escape the Navy?”

  He grinned.

  The ship lurched, pushing through the water as though propelled by an invisible wind. Alana grabbed onto the ladder, wrapping her arm through the rungs.

  “How are you doing that?” she asked breathlessly, climbing onto the first rung and pulling herself up the ladder until her head was even with Captain Shaw’s boots.

  He glanced down at her. “Steam.”

  “They won’t catch us, will they?”

  “No,” he smirked, his eyes flicking across the deck. “Ceresus is nice this time of year.”

  A splash drew their attention. Mr. Evans turned away from the railing, lowering his arms, a smear of bright red stained his shirt. He pointed a grimy finger at Alana.

  “I need him below.”

  Captain Shaw jerked his head. “Take him.”

  Mr. Evans appeared at her side, his hand closing around her arm. Tearing her from the ladder, he dragged her across the deck.

  “You’ll be of better use with a shovel in your hand.”

  “Down there?” Alana gestured at a dark hole in the center of the ship. A ladder extended downward into blackness, heat billowing up from the hole, burning her face.

  “Mr. Hayward needs assistance.” He put his hand on Alana’s shoulder, shoving her toward the hole. She scampered down the ladder, her bare feet sliding on the rungs. When she reached the bottom, Mr. Hayward greeted her with a grunt, thrusting a shovel into her hands.

  “Over there.” He gestured to two other men, who lifted shovelfuls of coal into a blazing fire. “Help them. Don’t stop until I say, understand?”

  Alana nodded silently, joining the other two men, neither of which she recognized. Were they the only men left from the original ship? The shovel scraped along the floor. Groaning, she hoisted the coal toward the fire. She glanced up at their sweaty, coal covered faces. They wore grim expressions.

  “Faster,” muttered one of the men.

  Alana dug her shovel into the mound, tossing another load of coal into the fire. “What happened to—”

  “Mr. Williams?” asked the other man, flinging his shovelful into the flames.

  “Yes,” replied Alana, matching pace with them, her arms burning.

  The first man shook his head, his eyes gesturing toward Mr. Hayward, who passed beside them, holding his hand out to the flames. Nodding, he continued walking. Waiting until Mr. Hayward disappeared, the first man set his shovel end up, leaning against the handle. He drew in a breath, sweat dripping from his forehead. Extracting a handkerchief, he mopped his face.

  “Mr. Williams refused to help.”

  “Why?”

  “He said the job was beneath him.” The first man lifted his shovel, stabbing it into the coal. “He said if we refused, the Navy would catch us, and we would be rescued.”

  “We all refused to work.” The second man paused, his shovelful of coal halfway to the fire. “Mr. Evans shot Mr. Williams in the chest and told us if we continued to refuse, we would be killed as well. It didn’t matter to him.”

  “We picked up the shovels,” interrupted the first man, bitterly flinging his load into the flames, “and I suggest you do the same.”

  Digging her shovel into the pile, Alana dumped the coal into the fire. Mr. Evans stepped from the shadows, placing a heavy hand on Alana’s shoulder.

  “Enjoying yourself, Mr. Dubois?”

  Alana shook him off, throwing another shovelful into the fire.

  “There are worse duties I could have been assigned.”

  He laughed, the cold, brittle sound rippling down Alana’s spine. Captain Shaw was dangerous, but he was honorable. She doubted Mr. Evans obeyed the same morals.

  “Captain says you’ve completed your task admirably. The three of you are to receive extra rations for your effort. Come with me.”

  Crooking his finger, he led them through the bowels of the ship toward the cargo hold. Stopping at the first box, he pried off the lid, collecting four bottles of rum and handing each of them one bottle; the fourth, he tucked under his arm. At the second box, he repeated the process, extracting three loaves of bread, handing them each a loaf. Leading them back out of the cargo hold, he called to Mr. Hayward as they passed beside the pile of coal, “Captain says you earned this.”

  Mr. Hayward popped out from behind the pile, his eyes gleaming. “I’ll see to these two, you take Mr. Dubois back to the Captain’s quarters.”

  “Put them back in the brig, Mr. Hayward,” warned Mr. Evans, stepping toward him.

  Arching an eyebrow, Mr. Hayward pulled the cork from his bottle. “You’re in my domain, Mr. Evans. I am king down here.”

  “And I am still your superior.”

  “They will be in the brig before sunrise,” replied Mr. Hayward, taking a long drink from the bottle. “Gentlemen, if you would follow me. Our card game is not quite finished.”

  Fuming, Mr. Evans shoved Alana toward the ladder. Putting his hands on her butt, he shoved her up the rungs. She burst out the hole, rolling onto the deck, and crashed into Captain Shaw’s boots, losing the bread and rum.

  His gaze dropped to her, hatred blazing in his dark eyes.

  “On this ship, we do not tolerate thieves.”

  “Captain?” She stared up at him, perplexed. How could she have stolen anything? She had been shoveling coal.

  His fist closed around her shirt, ripping her from the deck. She dangled from his hand, her feet swinging.

  “I have given you more forgiveness than any other man in my employ. Tell me why I shouldn’t just throw you overboard right now.”

  “I didn’t take anything.”

  He arched an eyebrow, rotating his hand, the material around her neck tightening. “And how do you intend to prove that to me?”

  “You can search my trunk,” Alana choked, her hands wrapping
around his fist. She pulled away, sucking in a deep breath.

  “He probably stashed it in his clothing,” murmured Mr. Evans, circling around Captain Shaw. “Force him to strip.”

  “No, please.” Alana pleaded, struggling against the iron grip wrapped around her shirt.

  “Why do you protest?” asked Captain Shaw, bringing Alana within an inch of his face.

  “I don’t want to disrobe on deck.” She swallowed, her teeth sinking into her lower lip.

  “Are you shy, Mr. Dubois?” snorted Mr. Evans.

  She glared at him. “I have no intention of allowing you to enjoy my discomfort further, Mr. Evans. I am not denying the request, I am asking for privacy.”

  Captain Shaw held up his hand, stifling Mr. Evans retort.

  “The gentleman has asked for accommodation. As it is I who has accused him of theft, I will determine if he is the culprit.”

  “Yes, Captain.” Mr. Evans shot a sneer at Alana. “If you think he will be kinder in private, you are mistaken.”

  Setting her on the deck, Captain Shaw flung her toward the aft. “March,” he commanded, following her closely. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck, the anger rolling from him, singed her skin.

  “What do you think I took?” she asked softly, afraid to turn around.

  “Gold.”

  “I’m innocent.”

  “Then you should have no difficulty proving that to me.” He leaned over her, unlatching the door to his cabin, pushing open.

  Alana slid under his arm, stepping into the room. One lamp flickered on the desk, casting ominous shadows over the walls. Behind her, the door closed and locked. Her heart dropped into her stomach.

  What would he do when he discovered she was a woman?

  Chapter 7

  “I am an impatient man, Mr. Dubois. I have other duties to attend.” Captain Shaw’s menacing voice crawled over her shoulders.

  “If you are in a hurry to kill me, then do so and prevent me suffering the embarrassment of undressing in front of you,” said Alana, turning around, forcing a smile.