by Tamara Gill
“I’m sorry for your loss. It’s trite to say now and gives no comfort, but I am.” He stood, more disturbed than he wanted to admit. When exacting law as they saw it, pirates never gave thought to those left behind. At least she’d gotten a note. It was a courtesy few pirates sent. “What did the note say?”
“Except for the apology, it explained why my father and Harold were killed.”
Adrian raised an eyebrow. “And?”
Sarah sighed. “The pirate said my father had promised him and his crew great riches beyond their wildest dreams. When push came to shove, my father apparently admitted to the pirate he meant riches in heaven if they would trust their immortal souls to God and give up their criminal ways.”
“Ah, there is the crux. Riches to pirates and riches to men of the cloth are much different things. I hope for his soul your father connected with his God.”
“I care little where his soul spends time.” The knowledge that she hadn’t been merely attempting to avenge her father so much as come to terms with the wrongs he and others of his ilk had committed against her soured his stomach. “I plotted revenge after that, and you can see how well I have succeeded.”
“Yet we would never have met had you not failed with your plan.” His attempt at levity fell flat. She didn’t comment, and he had no idea what to say to coax out her good humor.
Sarah drifted back to the bed and sat with more haste than dignity. “So you see, in the course of my twenty-five years of life, I have never lived for what I want. I have never experienced anything except the will of others around me.” She chewed at her bottom lip before speaking again. “I knew when I planned revenge for my father’s death, I wanted my own life. I enjoyed how it made me feel, controlling my own fate, yet the moment I set foot—or was rather dumped—on this ship, once more people around me were ordering my fate. I cannot let that happen again, and I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t try to prevent it.”
“You aren’t dead yet. There are ample opportunities to change your fate.” If anyone would succeed in that endeavor, it would be her, though not perhaps while she was onboard the Lady Catherine. She remained silent, and Adrian desperately wished to fill the quiet. “When you and I first met, why did you say Harold was your only hope for a future? If you think that sycophantic bastard was your one chance, you’re not the woman I’ve come to know, even in this short time.” He propped an elbow on the bureau. Again, his gaze strayed to her lower limbs, briefly lingering on the scars covering her right leg.
“He was my only chance for a family or children. Even though I didn’t love him, I did recognize that he’d perhaps give me a purpose for existing; maybe provide me with children who’d love me unconditionally.”
His chest tightened. “Preposterous.” Though his treatment at the hands of his family had been terrible, hers had perhaps been much worse. She deserved so much more than life had given. “You seem to be in the vibrancy of life. Surely there are other men who’d be pleased to win you.”
Tears welled in her eyes. She glanced at the floorboards. “My handicap prohibits many men from wanting to offer for me. They look at me and all they see is my limp. Thank goodness they cannot see the scars, too. I couldn’t bear that on top of everything else.”
Shock ricocheted through his body at her admission. While he’d been a prisoner to birth order and his own arrogance, she’d been trapped by circumstance and the personal greed of others. “Do you think this because you have been told so time and time again throughout your life?” Her experiences had run parallel to his upbringing, with the exception of the injury. His family hadn’t believed he—the third son—would amount to anything either.
“If one hears something enough times, one often becomes convinced it is true.” Sorrow, as great as the ages, infused her voice and hit him in the gut. “It’s hard to overcome or forget.”
Adrian shook his head. His heart hurt for her pain. “That is not true by half.” He knelt before her, his hands on her knees. “If I can live my life as a pirate without hating myself for the things I’ve done, there is no reason for you to think poorly of yourself for how you were fashioned in the womb.”
“Ah, but there’s the rub.” She lifted her chin and held his gaze. “I somehow doubt you don’t hate yourself on occasion. You have too much sadness in your eyes at times when you think no one is watching.”
A reluctant grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You are too observant for your own good.” Gently, he parted her legs. The hem of the shirt rode higher up her thighs, and it took all his willpower not to push her onto her back. He kept his hands on her knees. The tremors that chased over her skin transferred to him and excited his blood. “May I examine your scars?”
“Yes.” The whispered word danced over his cheek.
“You were born with the limp?” He skimmed his fingers over her skin from ankle to knee, tracing the fragile network of silvery lines.
“I was born with one leg two inches shorter than the other. My father never took me to doctors, saying instead if it was God’s will, He would heal me.”
Anger for the dead man burned in Adrian’s breast. “And the scars?” The silky feel of her skin, the way she studied him with her lips slightly parted worked together to send his desire pulsing. He wanted this woman more than he had wanted any other. Her frank honesty, her battered bravery and her naïve seduction combined to increase that desire.
“I…” She licked her lips, leaving them glossy in the candlelight. “When I turned twelve, I locked myself in my room after running home from school one day. Some of the children had teased me about the limp, so in desperation, I attacked my own leg with a butter knife, my thought being to rid myself of it. A missing limb would be better than a whole one that didn’t function properly.”
“You poor thing.” To know that amount of pain at such a tender age with no one to guide her or even provide comfort must have been terrible. “I’m glad your plan didn’t succeed. It’s quite a shapely leg.”
Bitterness filled her laugh. “Instead I mutilated myself further. In a way, it was the catalyst that forced me to be strong, to defend myself. If people cannot see past my physical limitations, they do not deserve to know me at all.”
“Ah, defense and destruction seems to be a theme with you. I cannot fault you for it.” He glanced at her chopped locks. The ragged haircut gave life and impish playfulness to her face, highlighting her cheekbones. “Believe me when I tell you the scars don’t dilute your beauty. You are more than whole in every way that counts.”
“The word of a pirate is construed as truth?”
“I’d like to think so. In this context especially.” As much as he wanted to search out her gaze, he was afraid to know what else she pondered. Already, hearing her story and feeling the beginnings of compassion for her bonded him to her a tiny bit.
A change in subject matter was needed.
He touched his lips to the sweet curve of her knee. At her tiny gasp, he peppered her leg with more kisses, steadily moving over her thigh. After nibbling the tender flesh until it trembled, he switched his attentions to the other leg. “Open for me, Sarah.” He scooted closer, sliding his hands along her hips and grasped her soft buttocks. Desire shot through his loins. His lips grazed her damp curls and he inhaled her sweet scent. “Let me taste you.” He wanted to give her pleasure, make her forget the past pain, show her there were other—better—things in store for her.
“Adrian, no.” She tugged at his hair until he met her wild gaze. It was the first time she’d touched him willingly. He rather enjoyed the liberty. “I have never… I am not sure if—”
“I understand.” Adrian rested his cheek on her left knee while his pulse beat a frantic rhythm. “I will give you pardon for tonight, but know this. I am only a man and not that strong. Eventually, I will bed you, and your virginal protests will have no effect.”
“I am very much aware of my circumstances here.”
Silence reigned in the cabin onc
e more, broken only by her shallow breathing and the rush of his heartbeat in his ears. He allowed a string of long seconds to pass while his cock strained against the snug confines of his trousers before he stood and raked a hand through his hair.
Damnation! I’ve never put off bedding a woman before merely on a weak protest. Exhaustion must have taken a foothold if he now considered a woman’s feelings instead of doing what he pleased. He held out a hand to her. “Come. I’ve set aside the cabin next door for you. I’d originally thought to keep you here with me for a breaking in period.”
“And now?” Her voice raised an octave. A tentative smile pulled at her mouth.
“I reserve the right to change my mind.” How did this one small thing make her so happy?
“Then you trust me? I assume you must if you’re granting me freedom.”
“It’s hardly freedom.” The moment her fingers touched his, warmth snaked up his arm. “I am allowing you the benefit of the doubt. I don’t give my trust lightly or often.”
She glanced at him from beneath the dark fringe of her lashes. “Yet you’ll let me have privacy and basic comforts without my begging for them?”
“Perhaps begging was too lax a word. I’ll let you know how you can make amends to me for this gift.” He tugged her to a door near the dresser. After pushing it open, he led her into the adjacent cabin. When she darted a glance to the door, he laughed. “Yes, there is a guard. Not that I think you would escape, though I wouldn’t put it past you, but for your protection.”
“From you?” She broke away and drifted to the bunk, where she fingered the lace edging on a dress. He’d also provided a shift and a rather dingy petticoat for her use if she so desired.
“No, from the crew. From me you have no protection.” He sketched her a bow from the waist. “Goodnight, Miss Covington.” He wasted no time retreating into his cabin. Lust raged strong, urging him to act on his right to bed her. He refused. He’d give her time to acclimate to her new position and accept her limited options while onboard.
One matter was certain; Sarah Covington’s body would belong to him by the time they reached Bermuda.
*****
Adrian ran a forearm over his brow. Not even ten o’clock on the day after Christmas and already the sun had a mission to scorch him. He replaced his tricorne hat and returned his attention to the assemblage on the upper deck. Sitting in impromptu judgment for crimes committed on the ship was one of his least favorite tasks, but it was a necessary evil. Today, two crew members were on trial—one a seasoned sailor and the other the twelve-year-old cabin boy.
The sailor had pulled a knife on the steward when a game of cards had gotten out of hand during the night. Any breach of protocol toward a ranking officer was met with lashes. On this there was no negotiation. Since he’d let Sarah’s attempt at his own murder go unpunished, the crew scrutinized him even more. They wouldn’t understand the delicate negotiations currently conducted between her and him, and he couldn’t say he blamed them. He never allowed anyone to gain the upper hand on his ship. Why should he start now with her? She was a woman; he was the captain. She had no bearing on his heart or mind. He refused to give the men another reason to think him weak.
He turned toward Brax, his first officer. “Fetch the cat.” For crimes not involving rape or murder aboard the ship, the weapon of choice was a cat o’ nine tails.
A low rumble went through the crew assembled on the deck as Brax lumbered out of sight. It was a captain’s right to wield the tool, but in this instance, he’d entrust the deed to another member of his crew since there was a minor still to be punished.
Adrian stared the sailor in the eyes, glad two men had restrained the man. He’d had trouble with this crew hand before. The short, skinny fellow, under his dirt and whiskers, appeared pale and wary—the perfect recipe for a fight. “For crimes committed against a member of my staff, I hereby sentence you to twenty lashes with the cat. Little Jim will administer them.” Usually, however, if he himself administered the lashes, he used an unerring, forceful hand, and liked to give the punishment in quick succession rather than draw it out as was the custom on some vessels. Whether Little Jim would do the same, he couldn’t say. He narrowed his gaze. “Think long and hard next time about drawing your weapon, mate. If you do it again on this voyage, you’ll receive more of the same and accommodations in the hell.”
No one ever wished to be confined to the farthest holding cell in the belly of the ship.
“Aye, Captain.” The man didn’t struggle. His chin lifted. His lips set. He’d expected the punishment.
Adrian nodded. Everyone aboard understood the rules, and to break them meant swift retribution. Maintaining order was paramount to running a well-oiled operation. “Little Jim, whenever you’re ready.” His barrel-chested third mate entered the ring of crewmen. He took the leather-bound weapon from Brax. A few orders and the criminal had his shirt removed and was tied to the main mast with his back facing Little Jim. Seconds later, the first lash from the cat o’ nine tails’ knotted leather thongs rang through the sudden hush. At times, punishment was met without witness, but today, Adrian wanted the crew to know he still retained every aspect of control and every offense, no matter how small, would be found out and dealt with.
He turned his back on the proceedings. Another day, another dispensation of justice. Though he wished at times his only job would be to sail his ship without interruption, most of the time, the administration side of piracy ate up long hours. There could not be one without the other. It was a business venture, after all. “Next crime.”
Brax yanked the youth from the crowd of onlookers. “Young Zed took more ‘n his fair share of gruel for mornin’ meals three days ‘n a row.”
“Is this true, Zed?” Adrian met the boy’s surly gaze and had no doubt that it was. Out of the three cabin boys he employed, this one had been the most trouble.
“I cain’t help me hunger, Cap’n.”
“While that may be true, you know the rules. You eat what’s given to you and that’s the end. Practicing your position with a grateful heart will get you a long way in life.” He glanced at Brax. “Bring a barrel around and fetch me the pussy.”
Another round of rough agreement cycled through the onlookers. Adrian stifled a sigh. Most times a boy’s punishment would be conducted while the miscreant “faced the gunner’s daughter”—or bent over the barrel of a cannon. Today he didn’t want to go through the hassle of moving through the crowds to the gun deck. Too young to receive full lashes from the cat, Adrian used a modified flogger. The leather whip had only five tails of smooth, unknotted leather. If the youth—regardless of his age—had committed a larger crime, then he would have been tried and punished as an adult. At those times, youth and tender flesh had no bearing.
Brax returned with an empty water barrel. He rolled it into position in front of Adrian.
Adrian addressed the boy again. “Trousers down, lad, and assume the position.” With youth on ships, especially of British origin, caning or flogging was given on bare bottoms. This time, he’d administer the lashings. He didn’t trust anyone else not to injure the sensitive flesh unnecessarily. He waited as Zed dropped his pants and leaned over the barrel. “You’re getting seven lashes today, boy. If you do the crime again, the next punishment will not be as easy.”
“Yes, Cap’n.” Zed kept his gaze carefully on the planking as his face reddened, with embarrassment or anger Adrian couldn’t say.
In the background, Little Jim had apparently finished administering his lashes, if the hooting and calling was any indication. God, sometimes Adrian hated punishment days. It brought to mind all the times he’d gotten into trouble as a youth and young man. He hadn’t liked the attention then, and he certainly didn’t enjoy it now.
He nodded. “Very well.” He closed his fingers around the leather handle of the pussy. The braided bit cut into his palm. He didn’t comment on the tears that rolled down Zed’s cheeks while the first two lashes were
given. The boy knew the rules. No sooner did the third lash fall, leaving red stripes on the white backside of the youth, than Sarah flew down the steps to the main deck, her expression a mixture of horror and disbelief.
“How dare you do such a thing to a boy, Captain! You ought to be drawn and quartered yourself.”
Adrian scrutinized her as she approached. The sea breeze rippled her newly-cut hair and snapped the hem of her borrowed shift around her calves. Why she hadn’t fully dressed as yet? Appearing in such a state had the potential to incite the crew. A tick began in his left cheek. The whole of the assemblage looked on with interest. Damnation, the woman was a menace, and a threat to the ship’s order besides. “Do not interfere, Miss Covington. This is merely another aspect of life on my ship.” He raised his hand to administer the fourth lash.
“I forbid this to continue.” She darted between Adrian and Zed with her arms outstretched. “I demand you let me exchange places with the boy.”
“I demand you return to your cabin. This does not concern you.”
Sarah held her position. “Yes it does, as it would any decent human being. He’s a boy, Captain. He’s too young for this type of life let alone such a punishment.”
Anger churned in Adrian’s gut. What the hell did she know of it? This type of punishment encouraged discipline and correction of behavior. “This is the same treatment he’d receive had he misbehaved in a land-based English school. In those circumstances, a few of the headmasters use a cane. Return to your cabin at once.” Though he kept his voice low and even, he heard the fractured restraint around the edges. She vexed him to no end. Apparently, the quiet conversation they’d shared earlier made no difference.