So how did one climb aboard a ship at anchor in the middle of a river? The anchor chain came to mind. But that seemed so obvious that he was sure the crew had taken steps to prevent such an incursion. If not, then once he had command of his ship he would take steps to insure it wasn't used in the future.
With that in mind, and the fact that the rocking of the little rowboat had turned his stomach to mush while sitting there. He stuck the oars back in the water and gave another hefty pull. His stomach gave an equally hefty heave and spewed what was left in it all over his legs and shirt. Damn! This was not the way he had wanted to greet his new crew.
After his stomach finished trying to heave up his spine, he sat back and took in quick, shallow breaths, mentally cursing his own (quite pervasive) stench. After several minutes and no further eruptions, he gingerly dipped the oars back into the water and gave a gentle pull until he was sure there would not be an immediate recurrence of his disgrace.
Luc had worried about his habit of becoming seasick when Sir Walter first told him his mission would involve a sea voyage. But he had assured himself he could handle it. What a load of poppycock that had been.
The Coral Sea was a larger ship than the barges and small ships that had ferried him across the English Channel. That, he had reasoned, would make a huge difference in his affliction. He just had to get the hell out of the damn dinghy before he became completely useless. Something that had occurred on more than one of the crossings he had made between England and France during the war.
Sweating profusely and gagging occasionally, he made his way to the bow of the Coral Sea. He pulled alongside the anchor chain and clutched it desperately.
Under normal circumstances Luc had no doubts about his ability to scale the chain to the deck. However, this was no longer a normal situation. Or more to the point, he was no longer in his normally hale and healthy form. Climbing the chain would be difficult under any condition. Doing so when he was seasick and weak as a three-day-old kitten was going to be a Herculean effort.
Taking a breath and swallowing the bile that threatened to choke him, Luc scanned the gunwale for signs of the watch. He was no longer worried they would arrest him if they discovered him trying to sneak aboard, he was praying for it. In fact, if he had the strength to do so, he'd probably cry out to them and ask to be arrested just to get out of the damn dinghy.
As hope faded for a quick rescue, his eyes fell upon a number of ropes dangling from the gunwale and open gun ports. He didn't stop to wonder about their purpose or reason for being there, he just pushed off from the anchor chain and grasped the first one he could reach. The ropes were knotted every few feet, making an ascent to the upper deck easier than the rusty and hard-to-grip chain would have been.
Breathing a sigh of relief, he hoisted himself out of the blighted little boat and hung suspended above the water that lapped against the side of his boat as the dinghy banged into the ship. His ship, he sighed again and leaned his cheek against the rough timbers as if it was the sweetest of lovers. And maybe it was. Ships were ardently referred to as she. Since being given command of the Coral Sea, he had begun to understand the predilection for sailors the world over to refer to their ships as women. And often in the same way others would speak of a beloved lover.
Right now, he was just extremely grateful to be out of the hated dinghy and on a much steadier vessel. Even if he was just hanging from the side of said vessel by a rope. Glancing up, Luc listened to see if anyone had discovered his attempt to board. Nothing. No sounds, no lights, nothing stirred from the deck above. He might yet make it onto his ship without being found out.
Taking another breath and forcing down the bile that still turned in his stomach, he began the slow climb to the deck above. With his mind clearing and his stomach settling, he allowed his thoughts to wander to more important things. Like why were there ropes haphazardly hanging over the side of his boat? And where was the watch? Shouldn't they be aware of his presence by now? Even he knew he had made enough noise to wake the laziest watchman. So where was the watch?
Suddenly he and his rope were jerked upward. As his head cleared the top railing, the point of a sword presented itself. Finally, the watch had discovered him.
His eyes had barely registered the disheveled Marine uniform holding the sword to his face when he noted the hole in the shoulder of the uniform. A second set of huge hands hauled him over the edge of the railing and flung him violently to the deck.
"My God!" a disembodied voice scoffed from above him. Or more to the point, the voice said, "Mon Dieu," in French. However, the man's next words were in perfect English and more of an order than an exclamation. "Kill him and throw him overboard."
Scrambling to his feet, Luc faced the man who had just ordered his death. His first thought was this was no man, this was a mountain. His second thought was that this was the finely dressed gargantuan that had been following him earlier that night. He was also the pirate that had casually argued that they should just kill him.
Staggering like a drunken sailor, Luc clumsily pulled his sword from its scabbard and readied himself to meet his death with as much dignity as he could muster under the circumstances. To die before he had even left port was the height of failure. To do so because he was too sick to defend himself was the height of idiocy.
"Damn you, Joc. I told you I wanted him alive and unharmed!"
The cultured voice was that of a woman. A woman with a sadistic sense of humor. Luc turned toward the voice as a large wooden pin flashed toward his head. Pain exploded and he fell at her feet with a bone-jarring thud. His brain fixated on the blood red underskirt she was wearing as he crumbled to the deck.
He tried to make sense of what he was seeing, but the queasiness in his stomach had just become a full rolling boil, and the blow to his head was bringing on the sweet haziness of unconsciousness.
Chapter 10
They were discussing him. It had taken Luc awhile to realize it because of the pounding in his head and the rolling of his stomach. And the fact that they were having their heated argument in French, and at the moment he was having a devil of a time remembering his French.
The man kept advocating for his immediate death and eviction from the ship by way of the fish. Or as fish food, if his returning French was correct. The woman on the other hand kept insisting that he was vital to their mission. Apparently, even as worthless as he might be, he held a vital key to the success of their mission. Whatever that might be.
It didn't take a clear head to understand that their mission and his were not the same. But they were closely enough related to warrant keeping him around. And that just might keep him alive until he could figure a way out of this mess.
He doubted they knew he had regained consciousness or they wouldn't be having this debate so close to him. Prying one of his eyes open, he tried to assess the situation. He was still on the deck of his ship. And if he wasn't mistaken, he was still in the same location where he had been felled. He hoped that meant he hadn't been unconscious too long. And it also hopefully meant that the hated rowboat was still where he had left it. Otherwise it was going to be a long swim back to shore.
Rolling his head ever so slightly to judge the distance to the railing and his freedom, Luc realized his hands were now bound tightly in front of him.
"So, you are now awake," the Frenchman said and kicked him in his ribs for good measure.
"Jocquelin!" a woman admonished. "I wanted him unharmed."
The man humped at the order and nudged him, none too gently, with the toe of his boot. "He eez worthless. He is already seasick and we have yet to weigh anchor."
"Jocquelin, you will obey my orders or I will have you marooned on this accursed island."
"Oui, Capitaine. It will be as you order."
Luc didn't need to see the Frenchman to get the disdain on his face. It dripped from the man's words. But outwardly, at least, the man would obey the woman's orders and not harm him further. For now.
Bolstered by that hope, he gingerly rolled his head the rest of the way over and pried his eyes open. What met him was both terrifying and bewildering. His saving angel was none other than the seductress from the ballroom, Lady Margaret. And if he wasn't mistaken, the Frenchman had just addressed her as Captain.
Luc's eyes narrowed as he stared up at the beautiful woman in the blood red corset and underskirt she had been wearing at the dance. Only now, the blue overdress was gone. Lady Margaret Hennessy was evidently the commander of these Barbary pirates. But that couldn't be, he thought a moment before the lady in question drew a cutlass from her waist and rested the tip against his chin.
"I would ask what you are doing on my ship, Captain, but I think we both know the answer to that question.” She peered down at him in a way that sent a cold shiver down his spine. “I was told that you were a spy during the late war with France.” She shook her head. “But you’re not very good at it, are you? We spotted you falling into that dingy you stole. And I and most of my crew were laughing our arses off at the pathetic way you tried to row it out here.” Her mouth kicked up at the end. “The other half of my crew (she stressed and stretched out the last two words) fell asleep waiting on you to get here.”
Ignoring the slight to his skills as a spy, Luc protested and then his stomach did the same thing. "Your ship?"
He quickly rolled over, wincing from the prick the tip of her cutlass made to his chin. He was profoundly grateful that his stomach was now empty but still embarrassed at the gagging he did before getting his riotous stomach under control.
"Landlubber," the Frenchman sneered from somewhere over his head. A chorus of guffaws and snickers quickly followed.
"My ship, Captain Stoughton," the lady insisted when he took a breath from his dry-heaves.
"I was given command of. . ."
"You were given command of nothing, Captain Stoughton!" The lady interrupted. "I am captain of the Coral Sea. You are nothing but a marionnette on this ship. A puppet that will dance to my tune, or be thrown overboard."
"Captain Marionnette," the Frenchman chirped. "I like that, Capitaine, I surely do."
Luc was not surprised by her announcement. If she and her crew, as she told him, now had control of the ship, then he was just a prisoner or whatever she demanded.
As he glared up at her, he could hear the name she had just given him spread like wildfire through the men gathered on the deck, translated into several languages, but the French marionette was quickly shortened to Captain Mari. Luc didn’t like the idea of being nothing but a puppet. Especially to the woman he’d had such erotic fantasies about.
Although, there was nothing about his current situation he liked; sick, bound, helpless, and held at sword-point by the very woman he desperately wanted to bed. There was only one thing to do when presented with such overwhelming odds, fall back on his army training.
When faced with overwhelming odds or doubt, CHARGE, CHARGE, CHARGE INTO THE FRAY. And if that didn't work, bluff like bloody hell.
Straightening as much as his queasy stomach would allow, he rolled onto his back and glared defiantly up at the beautiful woman above him. He affixed his most commanding persona firmly on his face.
"The British government has given me command of this ship, Lady Margaret. And . . ." he raised his chin and narrowed his eyes when the lady was about to interrupt, "assured me of yer,” he glanced at the Frenchman and realized he was the Mr. Malveaux Harris had told him about, “first mate’s cooperation during this mission."
Cooperation? Luc's mind balked at that blatant lie. The only member of the pirate crew that was supposed to be on board the ship was Malveaux.
"Oh?" the lady sneered.
"Aye," Luc snapped and then sucked in his breath when the lady brought the tip of her cutlass to rest once more on his chin. He soldiered on in the best tradition of the British Army. "I was told that in exchange for,” he glanced at the first mate then back at her, “yer cooperation, and invaluable assistance in recovering your father, the new Earl of Kiterman, you and yer crew would be granted full pardons for all crimes committed on the seas against English vessels and their allies."
He had been told no such thing but took hope when the lady's eyes flashed in consideration. The short hope died a quick death when said lady squatted down beside him and caressed the side of his face with the spine of her cutlass.
She hesitated a number of heartbeats as she obviously considered what she was about to say. "Our cooperation in this venture did not include me turnin’ my ship over to an inexperienced landlubber, Captain Stoughton."
His heart pounded painfully against his ribs. "And I was told the Coral Sea was manned by British sailors, Captain Hennessey," he retorted.
She smiled. And despite himself he felt his groin stir. "Captain Peri, Captain Stoughton. And I prefer my own men to those of the English."
“But I thought. . .” Luc started then stopped. His eyes flashed to the sailor who had first greeted him and the Royal British Marine uniform he was wearing. It obviously didn't belong to him. And judging by the bloody hole in the shoulder and numerous other tears to the blouse and pants the man whom it did belong to hadn't given it up willingly. The lady obviously understood his unspoken question and concern.
"He's alive, Captain Stoughton. A bit battered and worse for the wear, but he'll survive. Most likely."
"And me?" Luc asked.
Her eyes sank as she did a slow and seductive perusal of his body. His groin tightened further then quivered when she stood up and dragged the tip of her cutlass slowly down his body. The tip paused at his left nipple.
His heart shuddered and the muscles in his stomach reflectively tightened. As did the muscles in his chest. Luc's breath hissed between his clenched teeth when the corner of the lady's mouth kicked up and her cutlass continued its downward trek.
The blade ended its perilous journey at his bound hands. She then turned the blade sideways and dragged the fuller of the blade back and forth, in a sawing motion, a number of times before slipping the blade beneath the ropes.
Her eyes locked with his and again his unruly groin groaned in anticipation. "That, Captain Stoughton, is up to you." So saying, she flipped the blade upward and severed the thick ropes in a single slice.
Luc flexed his hands to get the blood flowing in them again. He then struggled to his feet and faced the woman in front of him. She was still dressed in part of the blue and red ball gown she’d been wearing yesterday evening. Only now she was minus the blue outer dress, and had a wide black belt fastened around her slim waist with an empty scabbard and a brace of pistols tucked into it.
She was the embodiment of a pirate. Something he had only dreamed of being as a young boy. Here was the adventure he had never pursued.
With his eyes fixed on her, he asked, “How so, Captain Peri?”
Her smile turned sardonic. “On whether or not you intend to up hold your part in the rescue of my father.”
Luc glanced from her to the first mate. “Those are my orders, Captain Peri.”
“Then as per Sir Walter’s instructions, you will be trained to pass as the captain of this ship by the time we reach Tripoli,” she replied and stood.
He swayed, rather from the movement of the ship or his stomach, he wasn’t sure.
“To be clear,” Luc began as he rubbed the rope burns on his wrist, “I was told that” he lowered his voice, “the man who played the role of Captain Peri was killed six months ago.”
She stepped closer and lowered her voice to match his. “My uncle was murdered six months ago, Captain Stoughton. And contrary to what your Sir Walter believed or thought, Eddie played the part of Captain Peri, not someone else.” She smiled sadly then added. “He was always in a disguise, so at least your boss got that part right.” She took a deep breath. “And after my uncle was murdered, I was elected as the new Captain of the Coral Sea. And that now makes me the new Captain Peri.”
“Elected?” he asked.
&n
bsp; She winked at him and laughed sarcastically. “We’re very egalitarian, captain. Not like a British ship, where a man can buy a captaincy, or use his power to gain it. Pirates choose who they want to lead them. And my men chose me.”
When he could think of nothing to say, she turned to one of the men behind her.
"Pepe, see to Captain Marionnette," she said and strolled off, issuing orders to make ready to sail.
A chorus of laughter followed her order. But now was not the time to challenge her, or demand his ship back from the infuriating woman. Luc watched as the men dispersed and began readying his ship for sea. And as far as he was concerned, the Coral Sea was still his. But for the moment he had no problems letting the lady take control. After all, he strongly suspected he would be fully occupied being seasick for the next few days, or more.
"Just what the ‘ell are you up to?" Joc demanded as soon as Peggy joined him at the helm. "The English have made no such deal."
"No?" Peggy asked.
"No, and you know it, ma fille chérie."
"Sir Walter did offer to not hang my crew if you took his man back to Tripoli. And also taught him how to pass as a sea captain," she parried.
"Which eez no longer necessary, he reminded her.
“Maybe not,” she conceded. She was glad all of her crew were now free and could no longer be used against them.
Peggy glanced up at Joc and then watched as Captain Stoughton struggled to walk. "But there is still the matter of Captain Chevalier. He has orders from Guerrant to not release my father unless Captain Peri and the daughter of Marcus Hennessey are present at the exchange."
"And I have told you this will not be a problem. Now that we have the gold, I will make Chevalier tell me where he eez holdin’ the earl. Then we will take your father and keep the gold. And neither this Guerrant or le capitaine Chevalier will be able to stop us."
To Save a Fallen Angel (The Fallen Angels series Book 2) Page 7