Swept Away (The Swept Away Saga, Book One)

by Kamery Solomon

  As it turned out, I really had almost died. It was another week before I woke up enough to actually comprehend what was going on around me and another five days after that before I finally sat up and got out of bed. In that time, the ship had sailed all the way to Madagascar, where the Captain had declared we would careen the ship and settle for a month or so. The word was he’d heard about Thomas trying to sway a vote and was attempting to calm the crew down before such a thing could happen. The profits from the three ships we’d taken would be more than enough to stay for a while, and the men weren’t complaining about being in female company again. It was the careening that they weren’t excited about, but Tristan had explained to them all the importance of doing it.

  “I have to do it each time,” he’d laughed to me. “It’s like they forget that cleaning the bottom of the ship will make us faster and keep the boat together longer. No one ever wants to do it—it’s a nasty chore—but we’re all always grateful when it’s done.”

  “You should be captain of this ship,” I’d said, smiling up at him from the bed. “You care about it. You care about her men. You’re the one running everything. I can’t believe that no one has seen fit to vote you in.”

  “I’ve never asked anyone to.”

  I was sitting in his room now, my bandaged arm feeling much better, though still sore and gross looking. The cut had been a nasty one, stretching from just below my elbow all the way up to my shoulder. Thankfully, it’d missed any arteries, but was deep enough to do some serious damage.

  Outside, the cove that had been designated for the careening was waiting, the men unloading everything they could from the ship and putting it on the beach. The process wasn’t an easy one, I’d been told. It involved getting the entire ship on land, propping one side up, cleaning everything off of it, and then doing the same to the other side. The wind had to be just right, the ropes had to be tied perfectly, and the beams to hold up the one side had to be strong and exactly placed.

  “Ready to go, Sam?” Turning, I saw Tristan in the doorway, a smile on his face.

  “Yeah, let me get my hat.”

  Despite being gravely injured and bedridden, my secret identity had remained intact, enforced by my terrifying fighting and murder of two men. Tristan had made sure I stayed closely attended while I was unconscious, promising that no one had learned the truth. I had a sneaking suspicion that he’d told someone, so they could help watch, but I hadn’t ever seen anyone but him and Father Torres at my side, so I couldn’t be sure.

  As soon as I was sufficiently covered, we left his room, climbing into a long boat with some other crewmembers, and were rowed ashore. As the tide went out, ropes were used to pull the large ship inland, effectively beaching her. The island became a flurry of activity then, the majority of the men going about cleaning the ship, while others wasted time sneaking off with island women who’d come to watch.

  Alfonso had somehow gotten his hands on a cow, which was being cut up and roasted on a spit further up the shore, the smell of the cooking meat drifting down and enticing those who were hard at work.

  Tristan was heading up the crew, vigorously scrubbing the hull with a brush, working away at removing the sea grime. Every now and then he would order someone to move somewhere else, constantly keeping everything as efficient as possible.

  “Did he confront Thomas?” I asked Alfonso from my seat beneath the cooks tent, where all the food was laid out waiting for its turn in the fire.

  “I don’t think so.” He seasoned the meat as he spoke, turning it evenly over the flames. “Thomas has been scarce since the battle. Methinks he is trying to stay away from Señor O’Rourke.”

  “That’s what I would do if I were him,” I agreed. “Do you think he knows about us? Since he knew I was a woman?”

  “There’s no telling what he knows.” Shrugging, he turned his back to me, working hard over the feast he was preparing. I’d offered to help, but he’d insisted I sit and rest, worried about me using too much strength too soon.

  “I think I’m going to go for a walk up shore a ways,” I announced. “The smoke is getting to me.” Truthfully, I was all right, I just didn’t like watching him do all the work alone.

  “Come back if you get too tired,” he said somberly, pausing to look at me. “I’m serious, señorita. I don’t want you taking a turn for the worse.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I laughed, rising from my chair. “Wave if you decide you need help.”

  “I’ll be fine,” he mimicked me, waving me off as he rolled his eyes.

  Still chuckling, I made my way up the beach, watching the men at work as I did so. True to what Father Torres had said, I couldn’t see Thomas among them anywhere. He really was making himself scarce if he was skipping out on duties required of everyone.

  I walked for a ways, always staying in sight of the crew, holding my hurt arm stiff, feeling the pull a newly healing wound often has. After half of an hour, I sat down in the sand, content to wait out the work and finish the day off with a relatively good amount of strength left. Weak wasn’t the right word to use when I thought of how I felt, but it was the closest thing I could think of. Exhausted might have been a better phrase, or maybe even wiped out. I felt I could still do things, but didn’t really harbor the drive to try.

  The time passed steadily on as I watched them all. The first side was finished after a few hours, and they began the process of shifting the ship to get to the other, the men seeming to perk up at the thought of being halfway done.

  “Evening, miss.”

  Jumping, I twisted my heart beat increasing as I laid eyes on Thomas Randall. He was wearing his ratty sea shirt, stained with blood from previous conquests, and he stunk like a rat that had drowned. His gaze held me captive, staring as if he had a great secret he wanted to share with me.

  “What? No greetings for me? That’s a tad rude, don’t you think? I thought ladies were raised to behave better than that.”

  “Screw off,” I mumbled, breaking the stare and turning my back on him, instantly searching for Tristan down by the ship.

  “What was that?

  “I said screw off,” I replied louder, refusing to look.

  “Well, I’ll be damned.” A new voice spoke now, one that I recognized very clearly. Moving slowly, I looked at Captain Rodrigues, the wind blowing a heavy stench of alcohol off him, his clothes all in disarray, bloodshot eyes staring me down. “If it isn’t Miss Greene, the clothes thief and whiskey waster.”

  “The captain here seems to have lost his whore,” Thomas said conversationally, smiling at me. “In a right fit he was. So, I suggested I could find him a new one, one that had been on his ship the whole time and he didn’t even know it. Naturally, he didn’t believe me, but here you are.”

  My gaze darted between the two of them as I tried to decide if screaming or running would be better. The captain’s tent was closer to this side of the ship, a distance they could easily drag me to. Making a split second decision, I pushed myself up onto my feet and ran down the beach, toward the crew.

  “Not so fast!” Thomas was after me in a heartbeat, grabbing me around the waist and punching my injury. Crying out, my knees buckled automatically. “She’s all yours, Captain,” he said, shoving me into the drunk’s arms. “Have fun, aye?” Laughing, he quickly left, slinking away from the beach and into the brush of the forest.

  “Tristan!” I screamed with all my might, struggling against the captain’s hold.

  “Shut up!” he spat, slapping me across the face and hauling me off my feet, throwing me over his shoulder.

  “Tristan!”

  He was carrying me across the beach, his tent just feet away, one hand fumbling with the front of his pants as the other held me tight against his shoulder, fingers gripped against my cut.

  “Tristan!”

  We were in the tent now. Throwing me onto the ground, the captain punched me hard in the jaw as I tried to scoot away. Stars popp
ed in front of my eyes as I swayed, unable to tell which direction was up.

  “Tristan!” My throat felt like it had split open from the force of my screaming, the iron taste of blood in my mouth.

  The captain grabbed my legs, ripping the pair of pants I was wearing, spreading me open for better access. His hands groped at my breasts as he lowered down, laughing like it was some kind of game.

  “Tristan!” The sound came out of me like a mangled sob, tears streaming from my eyes. I didn’t even know if it was a shout anymore, or if the world had gone so deadly quiet around me that it sounded loud.

  Jerking my legs, I tried to knee him in the groin and push him away, anything to keep the horrible assault from happening. My frantic struggle was rewarded with a brutal punch to the stomach and disgusting spit in my face. Dropping my head to the floor, any strength I had left gave away as I realized I couldn’t fight long enough or well enough to defend myself from him.

  And then, suddenly, his weight was gone. Surprised, I jerked up in time to see Tristan throwing him out of the tent by the collar of his shirt and drawing his blade, fury rolling off him dangerously. Struggling to my feet, my long shirt covering the part of me that had almost been violated, I stumbled out into the open, my pants sliding off me in tatters.

  “What is the meaning of this, O’Rourke?” Captain Rodrigues roared. “Get out of the way!”

  “I accuse ye of being an unfit captain,” Tristan yelled back, brandishing his blade. “Ye whore around, stinking drunk, shirking yer duties! Ye beat those who have done nothing to ye. Ye put the lives of yer crew in danger by taking ships we aren’t prepared for!”

  “Yer a liar, O’Rourke,” he growled. “And I’ll not stand to have my name dragged through the mud in front of me own crew! A crew that loves me and knows I only do what I do so they can get paid!”

  “They aren’t getting paid,” Tristan called, loud enough to draw the men who weren’t already circled. “They’re getting killed!”

  “Yer only sore because you want the whore for yerself,” Captain Rodrigues laughed back, arranging himself so that his member was in his pants, secured away. “Tell the truth!”

  “Yer a liar and a thief,” Tristan snarled. “And I’ll have no more of it.” Turning to the crew, he pointed at the captain, murder in his eyes. “Captain Rodrigues has been keeping an extra share of each haul for himself. Ye’ll find the gold locked in his desk.”

  “It’s a lie!” the captain yelled. “O’Rourke is the liar, not me!”

  Tensions were running high between the two of them and I stumbled forward, falling to my knees in the sand. Suddenly, there were hands on me, gently lifting me to my feet and pulling me away. Confused, I looked up to see John Butler and James Abby, moving me back and out of the way. “It’s okay, lass,” Butler said, grimacing tightly. “We’ve got ye.”

  “Thievery is a high claim,” Abby yelled to the group. “What say ye? To trial or with swords?”

  “Swords,” Tristan stated calmly, glaring at the captain.

  Captain Rodrigues licked his lips, seeming to weigh his odds, and then shouted his reply to the group. “Swords!”

  A murmur of excitement rippled through the group, but no one dared to yell out, the gravity of what was happening settling on all of us. Either Captain Rodrigues would kill Tristan and the crew would be stuck with no one to lead them when he got carried away—and most likely rape me afterward—or Tristan would kill him and the ship would be out a captain.

  “Bring me a blade,” Rodrigues spat to the man closest him.

  Tristan removed his pistol from his belt, handing it off to another in the group, and removed his shirt, gripping his sword tightly as he waited for the captain to be ready.

  For a moment, they each stood there with their weapons, staring the other down, and then, in a clash of movement, the fight began.