Lifting first one leg and then other over the edge of the bathing tub, she sent a thankful prayer heavenward for it having been Nicolai who rescued her. The water was blissfully hot as she sank into its depth, marveling that a band of rough pirates would possess such a luxury. Though, looking around at the opulence of his quarters, it seemed that the Captain enjoyed fine things; including decadent bathing.
These pirates thus far were nothing like the rotten teethed and foul smelling bandits she’d been cautioned against her entire life. They were all quite pleasing to look at for the most part, especially Captain Mikhalovic. Indeed, if she had to be rescued by marauders, she was grateful divine providence had chosen these men to invade her beach.
Chapter 2
Nicolai paced the deck above his cabin, attempting to keep his mind off the woman below who was currently bathing. The shift she’d worn left so little to the imagination, it wasn’t too much of a stretch for him to visualize her without it. It also wasn’t difficult to imagine her firm, round breasts glistening with water or the shadowy dark mound at the juncture of her thighs. His cock hardened painfully in reaction to the picture his mind painted. Her hands trailing over her silky skin with the scented soap, reaching between her thighs…
His quartermaster approached to lean against the starboard railing, forcing Nicolai away from his wondering.
“The men are less than pleased about our newest addition.”
Nicolai shrugged. “The men will be well compensated when we arrive in Nassau and are paid enough coin to purchase ten whores a piece.”
“It’s been a long journey for them; longer than they’re used to. Having a woman on board at this point is dangerous,” Cooper warned. “It’s not just them being randy for a warm body, either. You know they believe it’s bad luck for a woman to be on the ship.”
“And you know aside from the distraction they can be, there’s no danger to having a female present at sea. It’s superstitious nonsense,” Nicolai pointed out.
“Aye, we know it’s so, but they,” Cooper said, gesturing toward the direction of the crew working together on the main deck, “aren’t so easily convinced.”
Out of all Nicolai’s men, Cooper Stiles was the only one who would dare disagree with him. They’d been shipmates and friends since they were both mere cabin boys. When the man who’d raised Nicolai retired from pirating, turning over the captaincy to him, he’d given his friend the choice of office.
Stiles chose quartermaster because he was not only gifted with doling out appropriate punishment for crimes among the crew, he was also fair in his discipline and both men had seen what an ill-tempered quartermaster was capable of. They’d vowed that as long as Nicolai and he remained in charge of the ship, there would never be any unnecessary or unfair punishment toward the men. As quartermaster, he was also Nicolai’s right hand man, who in the event the captain became unable to lead, would step in to fill the position. In short, as both a friend and crewmember, there was no one Nicolai trusted more.
“There’s a week left. I’m sure the men can hold out a little longer. Would you have preferred I leave her stranded here to die of starvation or dehydration?” Nicolai asked.
“Nay, of course not. I’m only saying that the men were already growing increasingly restless. Having a woman around is going to exacerbate them further in that regard,” Cooper said.
Nicolai gave his friend a meaningful look.
“See that it doesn’t. Inform them that any man who attempts to molest Miss St. John will be made an example of. She is not plunder, booty, nor captive, and will be treated with the respect accorded to her station as a guest on this vessel.”
“Aye. I’ll do it, but that won’t stop the grumbling,” Cooper said with a chuckle.
“When has it ever? The more successful we become, the more like spoiled children the men act. Let them grumble all they want as long as they understand my orders and know that I’ll stand firm on this.” Nicolai turned away from his quartermaster to stare out to sea, dismissing the conversation further.
While yes, he still loved pirating; he was growing weary of the politics. His crew was treated better than most and paid more as well, but that didn’t mean he could fully trust them not to mutiny at the first chance, especially where women or money were concerned.
He wasn’t all that enthusiastic about having a woman on board either, though his reasons had nothing to do with superstition, and was more toward the point that Miss. St. John stirred something within him that was both unsettling and unwelcome. But as he’d told both his sailing master and quartermaster, there wasn’t another option.
He’d see Miss St. John safely to Nassau and help her contact her family so that she were able to finish the remainder of her journey under their care, if that’s what she chose to do. If not; if she had other plans to simply remain lost at sea in order to prevent a marriage she didn’t particularly want to enter in to, he certainly wouldn’t stand in her way. Either way, he’d wash his hands of her once they made port and she was seen to.
Adrienne drew the comb through her still damp hair as she sat on the edge of the large bed in the captain’s quarters. The pink muslin gown was a little tight, but fit well enough that she didn’t appear to be sausage about to burst its casing.
It was a little long also, but not so much that she couldn’t make do. Had she shoes, it would most likely be closer to the correct length for her. However, her shoes, like the rest of her belongings were at the bottom of the sea and she was grateful for the gift of the gowns this ship’s captain had provided.
A rap on the door had her opening it to find a member of the ship’s galley offering a plate of bread, cheese, and fruit.
“The captain sent this to tide ye over, lass. Last meal isn’t for another few hours,” the man said as he came in to sit the platter on the table.
“Tell him thank you. I am most grateful for his generosity,” Adrienne replied.
“Aye, Miss. I’ll be sure to.”
The man left and Adrienne began stuffing her face as her stomach rumbled in appreciation at finally having something other than rum in it.
Once the worst of her hunger was abated, she selected a book from the shelf and collapsed on the bed with Homer’s The Odyssey. It was her favorite and finding it among Captain Mikhalovic’s possessions was a definite boon. Opening the book, she immediately lost herself in the story, pining along with Penelope for Odysseus’ return.
Hours later, she was still engrossed and was unaware she was being watched until a throat cleared. Adrienne looked up with a start to find Nicolai standing in the threshold. Coming into his quarters, he glanced down at the book in her hand.
“A fan of Homer?” He asked.
Adrienne rose from her position on his bed, closing the book as she did so and replacing it on his shelf. “It’s my favorite.”
He nodded. “As well as mine. Though I also enjoy The Iliad.” Nicolai removed his sword belt, placing it on top of his storage trunk. “I’m surprised you know how to read.”
“My father is a fan of education,” she told him. “My mother opposed, believing that a woman is better suited to prayer rather than the pursuit of knowledge or frivolous reading. My father, however, encouraged me to learn, as well as speak fluently in several different languages.”
His brow rose appreciatively. It was almost unheard of for women to be that highly educated, even gentility, which she clearly was.
For her breeding and station, she would have been versed in fashion, music, dance, conversation, and proper etiquette as well as how to run a household staff. Her education normally wouldn’t have included academia.
The old guard believed that educating females was a purposeless venture. Nicolai didn’t include himself in that mindset because unlike many of his peers, he appreciated a woman who could read and converse about things other than Parisian gowns or the latest society event. While he might be far removed from such things in Nassau, his sister Charlotte and her friends
made up for it when he visited home in London. In truth, he had much more in common it seemed with Miss St. John than he had with anyone, male or female alike.
Nicolai thoughtfully selected a volume from his collection. Holding it up, he asked, “Have you read this?”
She eyed the title, Paradise Lost, and shook her head. When Nicolai held the book out to her, she accepted it and leafed through the papyrus pages.
“I’ve heard it’s scandalous as it tells the story of the war between Heaven and Hell from the perspective of Satan himself,” she said, her face scrunching up as she considered the words on each page.
Nicolai nodded. “As well as the perspective of others, yes. Some consider it to be a work of blasphemy. Still, it’s an interesting book I’m sure you’ll enjoy.”
“Again, thank you for your generosity. You’ve proven to be most kind as yet,” she said, dipping her head to stare up at him from under her lashes. “Not at all what I expected from a pirate.”
He smirked. “And what does a lady of your stature know about men of my kind?” Nicolai asked, seating himself at the table to hide the effect she was having on him. The more he learned of the woman, the more she captivated both his body and mind.
“Oh, just what is whispered about or written in the public exchanges,” she said with a dismissive wave. “Your kind is famous for raping, pillaging, plundering, and murder. Clearly they were just rumors as you’ve been the picture of kindness and generosity.”
Her slender fingers caressed the leather bound book he’d given her as she spoke.
“I pictured horrific men with missing teeth and hooks for hands who would rather kill you as to look at you, whilst romping with loose women and imbibing barrels of rum.”
Nicolai laughed, stretching his legs out from the table to cross them at the ankles as he did so.
“Though your imagination is certainly healthy, I assure you, you’re not entirely too far off the mark. Some of us are very much like you describe and worse.” His eyes glittered dangerously in the lantern light. He didn’t miss how she paled or swallowed roughly at his words.
“This crew is guilty of most of what you surmised and much more, Miss St. John, which is why I advised you to keep yourself safely within my quarters unless you’re escorted by myself or one of my officers. However, neither my crew nor myself have harmed a woman. I draw a firm line when it comes to that.”
“But you have murdered?”
“Aye. I have and I’m sure I will again before it’s all said and done,” he admitted freely.
“Do you not worry for your immortal soul? Or at the very least, meeting the hangman’s noose?” Her brow was furrowed with concern.
“If I once possessed a soul, I assure you, I no longer have ownership of it, Miss St. John. As far as the noose goes,” He shrugged. “I’m not afraid of dying or of the price my profession may cost if I’m captured. A man must first have something to lose in order for him to fear losing it.”
His words, said so plainly, shouldn’t have moved her, but they did, nevertheless. There was a touch of sadness behind them that called to Adrienne. That he believed he no longer had a soul because of whatever dark deeds he’d carried out struck her as a tragedy because she believed in her heart of hearts that everyone was redeemable. Even pirates.
She’d been ready to tell him as much when galley men began bringing in platters and trays of food, sitting them on the table along with a bottle of wine.
Nicolai stood, pulling out a chair, indicating that she take a seat. Taking up a carving knife, he cut into a roasted haunch of pork, placing slices of meat and vegetables on a pewter plate in front of her before serving himself.
He merely nodded in acknowledgement of her gratitude before he sat again. Filling up two glass goblets of red wine, he passed one to her.
Adrienne held the glass up to the light and studied the reflection of the lantern’s flame through the red liquid.
“It appears to be excellent vintage,” she said, swirling it before tasting. The rich flavor settled on her tongue and she groaned appreciatively.
“You approve?” Nicolai asked, a half smile turning up one corner of his mouth.
She nodded. “Aye. It’s delicious. Delicate, flavorful. French?”
“Nay,” he answered with a shake of his head. “Spanish. Procured from a vessel, which was exporting goods to a plantation owner in Jamaica. I was happy to relieve the captain of his cargo.” He didn’t mention the twenty or so slaves in the ship’s hold that he’d also liberated and transported to Nassau.
A mock sadness stole over Adrienne’s features as she considered her wine further. “I dare say he must have wept for the loss.”
“More’s the pity for him, but a happy day for us,” Nicolai said, chuckling as he raised his glass at the smile which spread across her face. He didn’t divulge that the captain of said ship was no longer among the living and had indeed wept as well as begged for his life. He touched the rim of his glass to hers before taking a deep sip.
They ate in silence for a few moments until she spoke again, asking a question which had been nagging at her since their earlier conversation.
“Why is it you believe have no soul? You do know it would be impossible for one to be soulless, as we are just empty, emotionless vessels without them.”
Nicolai’s hand stilled as he brought his eating knife down to his plate. He had thought she dismissed their earlier conversation, but apparently she had not.
His past wasn’t something he discussed with anyone. The only person truly aware of his origin was the pirate captain who adopted him when he was young, as it was that same man whom had comforted Nicolai from the nightmares of his childhood.
Gilbert VonPatten had given Nicolai not only a home, but a name as well. On paper, he was Nicolas Peter VonPatten, only son of the infamous, but wealthy former nobleman. Having two identities allowed for him to safely navigate life among two completely different worlds. When he visited his father and sister in England, he was Nicolas, a man far removed from life from the Russian pirate of the high seas and unrecognizable as his alter ego.
His given name, the one he was known by in the pirating world, was a little more than a ghost who couldn’t be proved or disproved into existence in polite society.
Could he explain his past to Adrienne? And even if she were to understand, what would he gain by her confidence?
A brush of her hand over his had him meeting her eyes.
“I would like to know you better, Captain.”
The sincerity of her words had him clearing his throat in preparation of the tale.
“In Russia, orphaned babies are often left out in the elements to die. They’re given two days and if they survive by the morning of the third day, they’re taken to the nearest orphanage because it is believed God has a purpose for those children. I was found by a hunter as a newborn. The man had no idea how long I’d been out there but as he attempted to pick me up, he was savagely attacked by a large black wolf.
“Russian people are very superstitious, even more so than you English. The hunter survived and came back with others, certain they would find evidence the wolf had eaten me. They did not expect that I would not only be alive but protected by a pack of Russian wolves. In the end, most of the pack was slaughtered and I was taken to the orphanage where I lived as a child. The nuns believed the wolf was the servant of Lucifer and had taken my soul in service to him. As I grew, I was beaten as well as starved daily in an attempt to exorcise the Devil’s hold on me.”
He could barely stand the sadness in her eyes, so he averted his in order to continue. “When the sisters determined there was no hope for me or hope I would be adopted, I was given my own surname of Mikhalovic. It might have been the only kindness they showed me. The world is a cruel place for orphaned children. It’s even crueler for a bastard orphan.”
He turned back to her, watching as she tried to connect the surname given to a little boy with the man he now was. “It transla
tes to black wolf in your language. In mine, it is a label that means irredeemable.”
“What do you believe? Surely not the superstitious foddering of a bunch of ignorant old nuns?” Adrienne asked, laying a hand over his.
He looked down at the small palm, which covered his much larger one before answering. “It doesn’t matter what I believe. It matters that I have indeed done the Devil’s work and have lived up to the name I was given all those years ago. Perhaps you could say my work is better accomplished because I lack a soul, as I don’t feel sorrow or pity for those whose ships I attack.
“I ran away from the orphanage when I was eight, lived on the streets for a while before joining up with a pirating crew whose captain caught me stealing bread. He took a liking to me and allowed me to become his personal attendant. Once aboard his ship, I never looked back neither in terms of home nor deed. I’ve killed when I’ve had to or even just because I wanted to, Miss St. John. I’ve more than earned my reputation and more than lived up to the surname I was given.”
She blinked rapidly a few times as she allowed his words and the matter of fact tone that he used to describe his past to sink in.
“Nay. I’m sorry, Captain, but I disagree. A soulless man would not have rescued a marooned woman as you have. He would have taken me for himself before passing me among his crew as you so eloquently pointed out this morning on the beach. He would have placed me in his brig without food, water or beautiful gowns rather than giving me his own quarters and treating me as a guest. What you have done for me could hardly be considered the actions of Lucifer’s minion.”
“Don’t mistake my ability to control not only my baser urges, as well as those of my men, for sainthood, madam,” he cautioned, her words affecting him more than he wanted them to. “You’ll find yourself solely disappointed.”
Black Wolf Page 3