by Unknown
Westley nodded for him to continue, too intrigued to be offended. He'd bet his best bandit's eye mask—the one that smelled of lavender, even—that if he followed this man's nefarious plot, there might be a damsel to save, and treasures to loot. “I shall assent, so long as no harm comes to my ferret.”
Mr. Wickham looked down at the basket with a sneer and removed the dagger. “For now. But she stays with my henchman until you can no longer make trouble. Come into my carriage and I will tell you all about it on the way to Netherloin.”
For a man under duress, Westley enjoyed Wickham's proposition. Play the part of his dead nephew, marry a beautiful and wealthy woman, and live as the Duke of Earl. And all he had to do was split the wench's dowry sixty-forty. He'd gladly take forty percent for Brigid, a woman, and a title. Imagine, a Bandit Duke! Something from his murky past surfaced, its eyes poking up like the crocodiles of which Roberts had told him, before sinking back down into the depths.
He let the man talk of his intended's beauties: her dark hair, luscious bosoms, overflowing chests of gold, but Westley tuned him out, instead marveling at the simplicity of the countryside. He'd spent little time away from the cities in his tenure as apprentice to Roberts, so the quaint charm truly was a novelty.
At last they reached the manor of Netherloin, into which he was hustled before getting a good look at it. Mr. Wickham brought him to a dank, dim room with one window high upon the wall. Brigid was taken elsewhere. One of the henchmen returned with haste, bearing a gilt-framed portrait of a young man. Wickham held it next to Westley's face, looking back and forth between the two.
“Well, he's not quite as handsome as the Duke, and he will need a haircut, but he'll pass,” Wickham said to the man standing guard at the door. He turned to Westley and continued, “You shall have free run of the property once we get you cleaned up. Your rat will stay with me until your obedience is assured.”
Westley jerked at the rat comment, but held his tongue. Anything to keep Brigid safe.
Wickham continued without a care. “You will have dinner tonight with your betrothed. Clothes will be brought to you, and though you are nothing more than a highwayman, I expect you to be on your best behaviour.” With a flourish, Wickham and his man left, leaving the portrait by the now-locked door.
Westley sat and stared at the likeness for hours on end, shocked to see his childhood face looking back at him. When his gaoler unlocked the door and gave him a change of clothes, he was too intrigued to try an escape. He now needed to see this through to the finish. Maybe it would lead to more information about his own youth, which he could not remember. Roberts blamed it on his almost drowning, or having hit his head on a river rock. Either way, Westley, for the first time in two decades, felt the stirring need for answers.
Had he known that morning the true details of his betrothed, Westley may have run the other way. Lady Chastity Feelsgood would not stop touching him with her unctuous hands, not stop sniffing him and saying, “My Duke, you smell so rich.” She even once paused, soup spoon halfway to her mouth, to inquire whether she'd just seen his skin sparkle.
Mystified by her flighty words and hands, Westley—correction, now Colin—let his mind wander. Though they were on the fourth course, it seemed as if dinner would never end. Especially when his Uncle Wickham was slurping his soup so and glaring at him between spoonfuls.
Chastity laid a hand upon his arm, and he looked to her once more. She had odd smudges around her eyes. “My lady,” he asked, trying for utmost delicacy, “whatever have you done to your eyes?” He reached a tentative hand out to touch the sooty skin.
She cooed and said, “Oh, do you like it? A Lady from Avon—we must live in Avon, I suppose, for she had not traveled far—brought these magical new beautifiers to sell.” She batted her eyes. “I wore them especially for you, my Duke.”
He smeared the grey powder between his fingers and delicately leaned back. “Well, I believe I'm ready for the next course.” He signaled the man standing in the corner, as he imagined a Duke would do. To his satisfaction, the man ducked through the kitchen door. Moments later, a serving woman appeared bearing a tray piled high with meaty delicacies.
Before he could enjoy his next course, a second woman entered the room.
It was like the sun rising from behind clouds of venison. Westley—now Colin—could not help but notice how delicate and slim her feet were. How fine her figure. How beautiful her face! Combined with the heady smell of roasted meat, it was enough to make a man, Duke or robber, swoon.
She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever beheld. Golden hair cascaded down her back as aqua blue eyes demurely met his gaze. She had a smear of soot on her nose, and he wondered if she bought the same product as Lady Chastity.
Regardless, he knew in that moment that nothing would satisfy his appetite except to have her as his wife.
“Miss Fitzgerald, why are you not with Ward?” his uncle snapped.
The lady curtsied and apologized. “I simply had a question about—”
“Do not bother me with that boy right now! Off you go. Shoo!” One hand full of knife and the other full of forked meat, Willoughby Wickham waved the goddess out of the room.
Westley looked to the platter. For now, he would settle for venison.
But not for long.
Chapter Five: The Ninja, the Pirate, Her Katana and His…Urges?
In which Captain Fitzgerald discovers that having a Prisoner of One’s Own can be far more diverting than she’d ever imagined, and Colin discovers hitherto unknown Proclivities
By Kinsey W. Holley
Colin could think of much worse things to be than hers. As he gazed into those impossibly azure eyes, he forgot himself. He forgot his brave shipmates. He forgot Ward and Miss Fitzgerald, his uncle, his title, his very name…
Then Pemberley, curse the inconvenient creature, reminded him of everything.
“Awk! Landlubber! Awk!”
Colin sighed. His fellow pirates were depending on him to defeat this nefarious ninja. He had a duty. The winsome warrior was his enemy.
But—though he was a pirate, still he was a gentleman. Could he harm a woman?
Aha! Perhaps he wouldn’t need to…
“Um, hello?” The angelic Amazon, once again in possession of her katana, poked him lightly in the stomach. “I said, you will never win, you are mine. Have you nothing to say, pirate?”
Adopting his best Smooth Buccaneer voice, Colin replied, “Pardon me, miss, but you appear to have me at a disadvantage.”
“Well, yes, of course I do—you’re on your back with your hands tied…wait. What’s wrong with your voice?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your voice. It sounds like you might have a touch of catarrh.” Suddenly her eyes widened. “Or—is it consumption? Dear Goddess, is this a plague ship?”
“What?” Colin shrieked. He quickly cleared his throat. In a voice not quite as low as the Smooth Buccaneer tone he continued, “I mean—what? No, no, there’s no plague here, I just meant—”
At that moment the door of the cabin flew open. A huge ninja strode in. Colin was pretty sure this ninja was a man, for if it was a woman, she was the largest he’d ever seen and all her lumps were in the wrong places.
“Captain Quinn?” said a deep male voice. “The crew of this ship have been disarmed and the slaves are safely aboard Mizigumo.” He gazed down at Colin with a sneer. “The pirates have been disarmed as well.”
Upon hearing that his shipmates had been defeated, Colin knew it was up to him to save the Motley Crew. He had to act now, while the stunning star-thrower had her back turned.
He took a deep breath, flexed his back, and then with all his might launched himself to his feet. It was a dashing maneuver, one he wished Captain Keelhaul could have witnessed. Alas, his momentum carried him too far and he crashed into the back of his curvaceous captor. She crumpled beneath his weight. Just as his body registered the thrill of that fair form pressed once more against
him, the intruder plucked him up and held him aloft, his feet dangling two feet above the cabin floor.
Colin could only stare at the massive fist coming straight for his nose, and he gritted his teeth lest he emit a most unpiratical whimper.
“Not his face!” shouted the shapely shinobi.
“What?” said Colin and the huge ninja at the same time.
“I, um, I mean—if you punch him the face, Môri, you might break his jaw, and—and then I wouldn’t be able to question him.” She scrambled to her feet, brushing her spun gold hair back from her face. “Yes, that’s it. I need to question him.”
Môri lowered his fist, but not Colin. He frowned. “But why, Captain? All the slaves are aboard Mizigumo. We’re ready to go. I’m certain the pirate captain won’t be slaving again anytime soon.”
“Excuse me,” Colin interrupted, “but what’s all this about slaves?”
“Silence, pirate,” sneered Môri. “Or it’s the plank for you.”
“Awk! Don’t drown the Duke! Not another Duke!” squawked Pemberley.
“Quiet, all of you!” roared the Captain. “Môri, take this pirate up on deck. And you! Parrot!” She glared at Pemberley.
“Awk! Yes ma’am?”
“Follow me and keep a civil tongue in your beak!”
“Awk! Who’s a pretty ninja? Pretty ninja! Awk!”
She led them out of the cabin and up the stairs to the foredeck, Colin trying desperately to remain on his feet as Môri dragged him along.
The entire crew of Motley Crew was assembled and surrounded by ninjas. Strangely enough, none of the pirates were bound as Colin was.
“Captain,” said a slender masked ninja, “We’re ready to be underway.”
“Very well,” the pulchritudinous pirate defeater answered. “Everyone back to Mizigumo.” She marched up to Captain Keelhaul and planted her hands on her hips. “And Captain?”
Keelhaul returned her gaze with wary respect. “Yes, Captain?”
“You are henceforth retired from slave trading. Pirate all you like, but if I learn that you have sacrificed one more human to that demonic trade, I will take your ship and your lives.”
Colin gaped at the woman. “Slave trading?”
“Ay, Captain,” Keelhaul said.
To Colin’s immense relief (and also, shockingly, to his profound regret), Môri began to untie the ropes binding his hands.
The fetching fighter put a hand out to stop him. “No, Môri. Leave him tied up. He’s coming with us.”
“What?” said Colin and Môri, once again simultaneously.
“But, Captain, we don’t take prisoners,” Môri objected.
“Well, we do now!” snapped the comely captain.
“But where will we keep him? We don’t even have shackles.”
“We’ll get shackles when we stop in Port Royale. And until then, he’ll stay in my cabin.”
“Your cab-- but, Captain, that’s…that’s just…weird.”
“Are you questioning my order, ninja?”
“No, ma’am, I just--”
“I say!” Colin finally blurted in annoyance. “If you’re letting Motley Crew go, you have to release me, too! I’m a member of their crew—they need me!”
All eyes turned to Captain Keelhaul, who rubbed the back of his neck and stared rather intently at his peg leg.
“Ah, well, see now…it’s like this, Darcy,” the captain sighed, finally meeting Colin’s hopeful gaze. “You’re a fine lad, truly you are, but you just ain’t no sailor.”
Crestfallen, Colin could only stare.
“And furthermore, you’re not all that bright.”
“I say, now!” Colin huffed, gravely offended. “There’s no call to--”
“Lad, we’ve been hauling thirty-five slaves in the hold of that ship ever since you came aboard! They’re all chained up, moanin’ and pleadin’ for their lives, and you think they’re passengers sailing economy class to the Caribbean!”
“But that’s what you said they were,” Colin protested. “And besides, slave trading is against the law!”
“Of course it is, ya daft toff!” Keelhaul shouted. “And we’re pirates! Ma’am,” he continued, turning back to the alluring agent of Colin’s captivity, “I’d be much obliged if you took him off our hands, but I’d appreciate your not harmin’ the lad. He’s a good sort.”
The alluring abolitionist nodded curtly. “You have my word. Everybody, back to Mizigumo! Môri, as soon as we’re back on board, take the prisoner to my cabin.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Stunned, outraged and thoroughly confused, Colin was hauled onto the deck of Mizigumo, dragged down below, and unceremoniously dumped in the saucy siren’s quarters, where he could do naught but await his fate.
“Where do you want the prisoner, Captain?”
Quinn looked about her small, spartan cabin, her mind racing. What in the name of O-Wata-Tsumi was she doing? They didn’t take prisoners. They didn’t even have a pair of shackles on board! Although there was that very interesting shop on Isle de la Tortue…
She glanced up at the ceiling.
“I’ll need more rope.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
As Môri hastened to obey his captain’s order, ninja and pirate regarded each other in silence. He didn’t look scared, exactly, just…apprehensive. And maybe a wee bit intrigued.
She didn’t try to hide her smile of satisfaction. She’d not had any feverish simian shagging in weeks. They’d been at sea for an unusually long stretch, and she would never dally with her own crew. The last time she’d slaked her lust was in New Orleans, with Jacques, the saucy bartender at Heyer Ground.
Captain Quinn Fitzgerald took her pleasure as she found it. A citizen of the seas, she couldn’t abide the feel of solid ground beneath her feet for more than a few weeks at a time. Many men had tried to tame her, and all had regretted it.
But she’d never done anything like this before. Taking a sweet morsel to go? It was absurd.
There was just something about this square-jawed stranger with his sexy dark stubble and big brown eyes. Hard muscle rippled beneath his white pirate’s shirt, and that posterior—by the Goddess, you could bounce a piece of eight off that thing!
The captive was silent until Môri returned with the rope. As Quinn tossed one end of it up and over a rafter, he finally spoke.
“Excuse me, but what exactly are you—”
“Shh.” She laid a finger against his firm, wide mouth. “Not quite yet, my dear. I’ll tell you when I want you to make noise.”
He started to protest, but she jerked his hands above his head and looped the rope through it. A second later the buccaneer was standing with arms upraised, utterly helpless and vulnerable to her every naughty whim.
Quinn had a lot of naughty whims.
She began to pace in a circle around the strapping stallion, idly tapping her katana on the floor as she walked. He turned his head to follow her movements, his eyes wide.
“Now, let’s see…what shall we dispense with first?” she murmured. “The shirt? The breeches? No, wait—I know. The bandana. Let’s see those raven locks.”
With a barely perceptible flick of her wrist, the bandana split in twain and drifted to the floor. Long hair, glossy and jet black, tumbled to his shoulders. She could hardly wait to run her fingers through those—
“Er, Captain?”
She spun around to see Môri standing behind her, one hand clapped firmly over his eyes. “Begging your pardon, ma’am, but may I be excused? Please?”
“Of course, Môri. And tell Hônjo that he has the ship—I don’t want to be disturbed for the rest of the evening.”
“Aye, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”
With his hand still pressed firmly over his eyes, his other arm stretched out straight in front of him, he fumbled his way out of the room, closing the door behind him.
She turned back to her prisoner with a smile.
“Where were we? Oh yes,
the next item of clothing.”
“I don’t really—”
“You’re not going to need that shirt, so we’ll just—” Snick! Snick! Another flash of her blade and strips of white cotton fell to the floor, revealing powerful shoulders and a broad chest with a thick dark patch of hair.
She couldn’t resist. She had to run a finger across that flat, ridged stomach, following the downy trail to…
She was most gratified to hear the sudden intake of breath as her fingers trailed over his stomach and across those sharp muscles (Quinn didn’t know what they were called, but the muscles shapely men had, the ones on both sides of the stomach, right above the hips? The ones that, if the man were in phenomenal shape, looked like you could cut your finger—or tongue—on them? Those. She loved those, and he had them.)
“Madam,” he panted, and now his face had turned bright red and she thought he sounded as if he might be having trouble breathing, “I don’t know what you want from me, but--”
“Oh, I think you know,” she purred.
“No, really I don’t, and I was simply wondering if--”
Snick! Snick! Snick! Pieces of breeches joined the scraps on the floor. It was Quinn’s turn to suck in her breath at the site of the pirate’s perfect physique. He stood revealed in all his exquisitely naked glory, from the glossy riot of his ebony hair to his hard stomach and long, powerful thighs. And as for his long, powerful…
The beautiful beefcake twisted around and around, trying to hide his jewels from her gaze. He crossed one leg over the other, but a manhood of such proportion was not so easily hidden.
She laughed with delight. “What? Are you embarrassed, my pet?”
“Well, I should say so! You just cut my bloody knickers off!”
She couldn’t help herself. The sight of those firm, juicy buttocks flexing as he struggled drove her wild. On impulse, she gave those sweet cheeks a good smack with the flat of her katana.