by Fiona Monroe
"Are you really such a fool that you congratulate yourself on that? You should have handed over every brass farthing the moment you saw that blade. It's little enough to you, your ladyship. The poor cur was like as not trying to feed a starving family. But that's by the by. He had a knife. You risked your life for trinkets. Your life!" And with a sudden furious sweep of his arm, he tore the bags from her numbed fingers and threw them onto the ground.
It was as if he had struck her across the face. Tears started into Elspeth's eyes, as she realised that he was angry. Not relieved that she was uninjured, not proud of her for standing up to the cutpurse, but full of fury towards her.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. It seemed a hopelessly inadequate offering.
"How did you get ashore?" he asked curtly. "Did one of the hired sailors fall victim to bribery, or perhaps your charms?"
"N-no! I hid myself under the front seat of the rowboat, I... The man, the thief, did you hurt him badly? Will he be all right?"
"I cut him badly enough to make him let you go in an instant. I tried not to wound him fatally, but who knows. It's hardly an exact science. If he bleeds to death in a gutter, there are witnesses enough to report that a man of my description was on his trail. I think it's best we weigh anchor with all possible speed, just in case."
He had seized her by the elbow and was hurrying her along, out of the alley and into the populated street where the stalls were. She went along with him meekly, and said, "You were on his trail?"
"What did you think the consequence would be of your parading your foreign silver on the market street, paying twenty times too much for fripperies? Could you possibly have made yourself more conspicuous, or begged more assiduously to be robbed?"
"I—didn't know..."
"A most respectable senhora who runs a milliner's establishment tried to warn you, but she says you shouted at her like an ill-bred scullery maid and ran out of her shop."
"Well she ought to have spoken in plain English!" Elspeth cried, her spirit returning.
The Captain stopped abruptly, and pulled her round to face him, rather roughly. "Because of your ladyship, I have had to cut my business on this island short in order to search for you. Because of your ladyship, I will now have to call my crew for hire back from shore leave a full day earlier than I promised, and they will not like that. They may not come at all, and if they do they'll be resentful. You disobeyed a direct order I gave you for your own safety and nearly got yourself hurt or killed with your sheer stupidity and naivety."
"Very well!" she cried, tears in her eyes once more. "If I am so stupid and so—so naive, then why have I not gone straight to the authorities in this town and sought their protection from pirates?"
"That would be an act neither of stupidity or naivety. That, your ladyship, would have been an eminently sensible thing to do."
"Indeed—so!" she said triumphantly.
"So do it."
He dropped her arm, releasing all hold on her, and crossed his arms.
"What?" She rocked from foot to foot, a sinking sensation in her stomach like an attack of sea-sickness.
"It would be the best for all of us. You are a liability, Lady Elspeth. I'll have your trunk brought ashore so that you have papers to prove your identity, and I'll take you to the Governor's office and leave you there. They'll arrange passage home for you, eventually. I won't have to risk my neck and Stirling's by sailing the Heron to Scotland, and you will be safely returned to your family—in due course."
"But—but—Captain—your ransom money..."
"Yes, well, maybe I have decided that the game is simply not worth the candle. What if you run away from me again when we reach Scotland?"
"But I w-w-won't," she stammered, weeping freely now. "Indeed, sir, I promise I will not. I didn't run away. I only wanted to go sh-shopping!"
"The damnedest thing is, I believe you." He threw his hands in the air and marched on.
She hurried after him. "Captain! Please don't leave me!"
He whirled to face her. "Let us be quite clear here, your ladyship. Keep in mind that I am, as you noted just now, a pirate. I am offering to hand you over, freely, to the Portuguese Governor—and you are asking instead to remain my prisoner?"
"Yes please," she said quietly.
After another hard stare, he shook his head and grabbed her arm. Tucking it forcefully under his and steering her along once more, he said roughly, "God help me, I cannot abandon you to others without knowing whether or not you will be safe. Come then, your ladyship. My first concern is to get my crew off this island in case the guard should take an undue interest in us. Once we are safely at sea, I shall deal with you."
Chapter Thirteen
She could not fail to understand what he had in store for her. It made no difference to her happiness and relief in not being cast off by him, her sense of security and thankfulness as he settled her firmly into the little boat and kept his arm around her waist as one of the sailors rowed them back across the harbour to the Heron. She did feel sorry that once he escorted her to her cabin, he turned the lock on her.
"I cannot risk the possibility of further mischief while we are in dock," he said, before doing so.
"Please sir—I will be very good, I promise."
He made no reply to that, but turned from her coldly and fastened the door behind him.
Once she was alone, Elspeth was overcome by a rush of sadness that had nothing to do with her renewed state of captivity. It was the Captain's lack of trust in her that grieved her, and her consciousness that she had forfeited it through her own folly. She pressed her face against the panel of the door for a few moments, longing to call out to him but too proud to make an exhibition of her feelings, then flopped down on her bunk and examined her sad collection of trinkets. She had recovered her purchases from the cobbles and none of her new possessions seemed any the worse for their tumble, but she was ashamed just to look at the scraps of lace, the necklace and the beadwork bag.
She would take no pleasure in these souvenirs once she was back—safely back—at Dunwoodie, she thought. She would give them away to Mercier, who could adorn her wedding-gown with the lace if she liked. If indeed she was not married already.
Tears came into her eyes again as she remembered her maid's passionate pleading to be allowed to stay in Aberdeenshire with her ploughman. Elspeth now understood how the prospect of parting from one particular man could seem worse than all the sorrows in the world; unlike Mercier, she had no hope of a reprieve, no hope of it all ending happily in the whitewashed church at Dunwoodie. Aside from everything else, Captain Scot—or Sir Roderick Buccleuch, or whatever he ought to be called—had shown no inclination for her, beyond his moments of kindness and ordinary gallantry. She had no reason to believe he cared for her at all in that way, and now he was angry with her.
There had been a girl she had known a little in London, a Miss Fairbanks, who had made herself quite ridiculous over a gentleman whom everyone had known was entirely indifferent to her. Even when the gentleman became engaged to another young lady—in desperation to evade her, it was cruelly whispered—Miss Fairbanks would not leave off talking constantly about him, haunting him at assemblies and parties, and going into a positive decline over him. Elspeth had wondered at Miss Fairbanks's stupidity, when there were so many other young men in the world, and that she could care a fig for someone who did not do her the honour of returning her affection. She could not imagine valuing herself so little.
Now, though she understood how a heart could ache in solitude, she was quite determined not to let herself be consumed by it, or to let the Captain know her weakness. She would not be a second Miss Fairbanks.
Her cabin grew gloomy and then almost dark, for she had no means of striking a light, before she heard the bells ringing and boards creaking and felt the lift and lurch of the ship launching. If they were sailing at dusk instead of waiting for daybreak, then the Captain must really be in a hurry to leave. Perhaps what he feare
d had happened, the thief had been discovered dead and the murder was being cried abroad. She lay listlessly on her bunk in the twilight, listening to the meaningless shouts of the men, wondering if they had even had time to bring enough supplies on board to make the rest of the voyage tolerable.
It was all her fault. She had done something so stupid, out of sheer contrariness and anger, and now everyone on board the ship was paying for her folly. She knew that she herself was going to pay in another way, and at that moment she was so contrite and miserable that she almost welcomed it.
Almost. When at last she heard the key turn in the lock, and lifted her head from her arm to see the Captain silhouetted dark against the black sky, her heart soared but her stomach swooped.
"We are at sea," he said, from the darkness. "There were men on the docks I did not like the look of, asking questions, so I hastened our departure even more than I would have wished. We have minimal supplies for the voyage, and not being armed, we cannot capture more. The sailors are discontent, and there is a rumour amongst them that you ran to shore to meet with a lover and that I slew him in a jealous rage."
"What? Do they not know who I am?"
"Perhaps, but it means nothing to them. They are accustomed to tales of scandalous behaviour by the noblewomen of their own country. You are blamed, your ladyship, for the loss of two days' shore leave, and the lack of fresh meat."
She hung her head. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry won't be good enough if they decide to mutiny in the middle of the Atlantic."
His tone was so grim that her heart began to beat faster. "Is that likely?"
"At the moment, I can't say it isn't."
She let her hair fall forward over her face, for she had unbound it after returning to the ship, as if she was going to bed, although she had not changed her clothes. To say sorry again seemed inadequate, almost pathetic.
"I cannot let them believe that I do not have my woman under control," he continued.
"I am not your woman!"
"As far as they're concerned, you are."
"Did you—did you tell them that?"
"Would you prefer it that I had told them you were a valuable prisoner, and give them even the shadow of an idea to take matters into their own hands?"
"Wh-why did you bring these men on board, if they are so—if you can trust them so little?"
"Because, your ladyship, it is physically impossible to sail a ship without at least a skeleton crew, and I gave up command of my real crew in order to take you home."
He continued to speak quietly, without the heat of anger in his tone; explaining, not reprimanding. She risked a glimpse through her curtain of hair, meeting his eyes. His expression was set.
Something inside her snapped. After her lonely afternoon of introspective self torment, she suddenly wanted to push the blame away. "Well, none of this would have happened had you just taken me ashore in the first place!" she cried, and turning her whole body away from him, she curled up on her bunk and drew the blanket over her head.
So she did not see him coming, and found herself scooped up and lifted clear into the air before she could even squeal in protest. In one swift movement, gentle but firm, the Captain had whisked her bodily out of bed and turned her upside down over his shoulder. She was looking at the back of his jacket through a golden tangle of her own hair, and he was marching out of the cabin with his arms wrapped tightly around her legs in front, before she realised what was happening.
"Put me down, sir!" she screeched.
He ignored her ineffectual fists and attempts to kick her legs, and swept up the short staircase to the open deck.
"Put me down!"
She heard laughter. She twisted her head upwards as best she could and saw, to her horror, that several of the Venezuelan sailors were out on the deck and watching the entertainment. They all seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the sight of her draped over the Captain's shoulder, kicking and yelling and beating her little fists against his back. Some of them shouted things that sounded like raucous encouragement, and Elspeth had one glimpse of a broken-toothed grin before she shut her eyes tight in mortification. She stopped struggling, unwilling to add to the men's entertainment, but there was an actual cheer as he mounted the steps to the Great Cabin and closed the door behind them.
Captain Cardrew's cabin had been left almost untouched by the pirate Captain, but there was little that needed to be done to improve it. Already richly furnished in a smart, modish style, with mahogany furniture, painted silk wallpaper and a crystal chandelier, it was a model of the comforts to be found aboard modern ships. There was no incongruous chaise longue here, so the Captain deposited her with a hefty swing right onto the bed. His bed, Elspeth could not help but think, even in the midst of her shock and consternation.
"How dare you, how dare you!" she spluttered, rolling over into a crouching position. The counterpane smelled of sweat and spice, a not unpleasant and curiously stimulating odour. Her heart was hammering, partly with the surprise of the sudden removal but partly, she knew, with excitement at being in close contact with his body.
He said nothing, but kept his eyes locked onto hers and began to unbuckle his belt.
Elspeth caught her breath. Was he going to ravish her, right here on the bed, with a coarse crowd of Venezuelan sailors cheering just beyond the door? Did he intend to make real the intimacy that he had allowed the crew to assume? She could hardly believe that he would abandon his gallant treatment of her so suddenly, and in anger. She felt her face flame hot, and she scrambled backwards against the pillows in a half-hearted show of evasion.
He lowered himself onto the edge of the bed and made a grab at her.
She only began to resist him in earnest when instead of kissing her, or pushing her back amongst the pillows, he manhandled over his lap and rolled her face forward. She found herself looking at his oiled black boots, upside down, and the scuffed wooden planks of the floor, and she bucked her hips and kicked her legs in an attempt to escape his grasp.
"No, no!" she cried, indignantly furious rather than frightened; and disappointed, too. So disappointed that her heart seemed to fall into her stomach, and tears stung behind her eyes.
He responded by wrestling her legs firmly against his knee, and saying in a low fierce voice, "By God, stop this nonsense, or it will go worse with you. You're getting a damned good hiding, and you might as well take it with a good grace. Keep on struggling and complaining, and I swear, I'll see to it that you don't sit down for a week. I have had quite enough."
There was so much quiet but serious anger in his tone that Elspeth instantly lay still, gasping. She scrabbled her fingertips against the floor, but made no more attempt to twist her body even as the Captain roughly bundled her skirts up her back and bunched them around her waist to leave her bottom and thighs bare across his knee.
He gave her no time to protest further, or to prepare. She had been expecting further lecturing, but there was none of that. With no warning or ceremony, he swung his doubled-up belt down hard and fast across her naked backside. She had scarcely drawn breath to cry out before the belt struck again, and again, and again; a furious flurry of scalding lashes that made her writhe and howl out loud.
Despite his warning, she had no power to stop herself trying desperately to escape from her position across his knee, but his grip was relentless and the swing of the belt was absolutely merciless. He did not pause in his administration of it even as he grunted replies to her increasingly hysterical pleas.
"Please stop, please no—oh—no! I'll never—oh!—never disobey again—sorry, sorry—oh please! It's enough, it's enough!"
"I'll be the judge of when it's enough. You've had this coming a long time, your ladyship. Nothing less than a good long leathering is likely to make you change your ways."
She wailed, and then she sobbed in despair. Her heart felt broken open, even as her backside and upper thighs were on fire. It seemed that the white-hot lashes would never stop. She knew ho
w much she was to blame, how foolish and ridiculous she had been—she even hated herself for being so ridiculous as to have feelings for the Captain, and to have let him down so badly—and as she collapsed forward, limp, she became aware that he had stopped at last. She slid from his knee and lay face down on the floor, still crying.
Gentle hands took hold of her, and the Captain half-lifted her onto the bed. He sat beside her and put his hand on her forehead, stroking her hair from her face.
From outside the cabin, there was a round of cheering, applause and laughter, and a couple of ribald-sounding, good-humoured shouts.
Elspeth, lying with her face in the pillow and hopelessly rubbing at her stinging, burning backside, lifted her head and gasped, "They were listening! They heard..." She groaned and buried her face further into the bedding. The men outside must have overheard everything, after witnessing her being carried bodily into the cabin over the Captain's shoulder; her initial struggles and shrieks, the lash of leather on bare flesh, all of her screams and pleadings for mercy. She was utterly humiliated. She would never be able to hold her head up before them again.
"It's as well that they did." The Captain's hand was caressing her shoulder, and his tone was quite gentle now. "Now they know that you have paid for what you did, and they will no longer resent you."
"T-truly?" She could not rub away any of the pain. Her bottom throbbed and ached, and she wanted to drum her legs against the bed and moan aloud. But she bit her lip, not wanting to expose herself any more.
"Nor will they think that I do not have you under control, and therefore, will continue to respect me and my leadership."
She did not know what to say to that, or how to look at him. She clenched her fist into the blankets, and waited for the burning to subside.
Gradually, she became aware that he was still touching her shoulder, his fingers a little way under the fabric of her gown, and that his hand was still smoothing her hair. She turned her face from him.
"Now, you deserved that sore behind, by God you did, and I think you'll remember the lesson for a day or two when you sit at table, and that's no bad thing. But I won't pretend I didn't lay it on harder than I might have done, had it not been absolutely necessary to let the men know that you were thoroughly chastised."