Pirates, Passion and Plunder

by Victoria Vale

  “You’ve been here before?”

  “Many a time. ’Tis one of the cap’n’s favourite places to careen.”

  “Careen?”

  “Taking the ship into shallow waters so that the carpenter can check the hull.”

  The preparations continued. Flynn hadn’t stirred from his slumber, but he wasn’t needed. A pirate captain’s purpose was to fight and steal, not deal with provisioning. The boat was lowered and a crew selected. Only given a few arms—a couple of pistols and swords—they clambered down the netting. At the last minute, when nobody was watching her closely, Esme grabbed a dagger and sheath and followed the last man.

  Barnaby was among the small crew. “What ye doing, Esteban?”

  “Hush,” she said. “Please let me come. If I can impress the cap’n, maybe he’ll give me more responsibilities. I’m trying so hard to please him.”

  Barnaby pursed his lips, then nodded. “Do as I say, then.”

  She pulled the cap low over her brow and hunched her shoulders. The rowers made swift work with their oars, and the boat reached the sandy beach ten minutes later. They hauled the boat up onto the shoreline and unloaded the barrels. Some carried their weapons, others the barrels. The stream was located above the beach and lined by palm trees and fragrant bushes.

  She couldn’t resist the crystal-clear water. She formed a bowl with her hands and drank until her mouth tasted sweet. What she really wanted to do was to bathe. The opportunities were infrequent as water was a precious commodity on the ship. With the others busy filling the barrels, she followed the stream deeper into the undergrowth. Eventually, she came to a pool and a small waterfall. Had she time? Surely, she had, and the opportunity was too golden to miss. She stripped off everything and waded out.

  The coldness brought out goose bumps, and she shivered. She paddled up and down, having never mastered a proper swimming technique, and washed her hair under the waterfall. The sun funnelled heat onto her shoulders and head, and the beams danced off the surface. She navigated the smooth rocks beneath her toes and, climbing up the bank, she managed to find her footing. Shaking off the droplets, she hurriedly bound her breasts and pulled up the breeches. It was as she buttoned her shirt that voices calling out. Except instead of coming from the beach, they drifted over from the hilltop.

  They weren’t the only visitors to the tiny island. Esme wrestled her boots on, then turning to run back to the beach, she tripped on a root and fell headlong into a bush. In her haste, she’d forgotten to pick up the dagger and sheath. Cursing, she fought with the branches. Somebody grabbed her ankle and yanked her out. She pivoted, expecting to see Barnaby or another hand, but came face to face with a red uniform and a musket. A British Navy marine, and he wasn’t alone. Behind him stood three others, and up on the hill, a gaggle of sailors. The frigate wasn’t as far away as Flynn believed.

  She fought, kicking and biting, but the men picked her up and dragged her towards a tree. One of them, the corporal, grinned from ear to ear. “Fine sight you were, lassie, swimmin’ with ye bum in the air. Yet ’ere ye are, all dressed like a pirate. Where’re ye mates?”

  She shook from head to toe, too afraid to speak. They’d seen her naked in the pool. There was no chance of convincing them she was Esteban. She could plead, but she doubted that would work. Instead, she continued to claw at their arms and kick their shins.

  “Feisty creature.” One laughed. “Let’s bind her to this tree and send for the lieutenant. I’m sure he’ll want to meet a lady pirate.” He pushed her against a palm tree.

  Somebody was carrying rope, and they bound her wrists and legs to the trunk.

  “Unhand me, you brute. I’m a not a pirate.”

  The corporal smirked. “Nor a lady. Let’s find out.” He plucked at her shirt buttons and revealed the bandaging around her bosom. “Mm, such a pity to have these hidden away. What’s ye name, pretty?”

  She gritted her teeth and looked up at the palm fronds. Her worse nightmare was coming true. There were some good pirates, and mostly bad ones, and there were many good soldiers and a few bad ones, too. Unfortunately, she’d stumbled upon the latter. The corporal drew a dagger and picked at a loose thread binding her breasts.

  “What have we ’ere.” He chuckled. “No girl should ’ave these fine things covered, eh?”

  Another marine circled the tree with his musket cocked. “What do you reckon, Corporal? Is she alone? Shouldn’t we check?”

  “I reckon she’s one of their strumpets taking a wander. Will check down by the shore after we’ve had a bit of fun.”

  The twig snapped. Then another. The corporal swivelled and waved at the undergrowth. “What’s—” Not another word left his mouth. He spun on one foot and collapsed in a heap. The noise of the gunshot seemed to Esme to arrive after he’d fallen.

  Flynn emerged from the bushes, his first pistol smoking, his second cocked and ready to fire. His shirt and breeches shimmered in the sunlight, while his feet were bare and his hair wet and dangling loose around his fearsome face. Esme had never been gladder to see a furious pirate on the rampage. The soldier with the musket let off a shot, but in his panic, it went wide. With no time to reload, he started to run up the hill.

  Aiming his pistol, Flynn fired, and the ball struck the man in the back of the leg. He howled and fell, tumbling down into the pool of water. Behind Flynn, the rest of the boat crew whooped and hollered, waved their cutlasses, and gave chase to the other two marines. The corporal at her feet moaned. He wasn’t dead. Neither was the soldier splashing in the water.

  Flynn plucked the dagger out of the corporal’s limp hand and slashed the rope binding her.

  “Oh, Flynn!” She staggered into his damp arms. “How did you…you were on the ship!”

  He pulled her shirt across her chest and scowled. However, it was probably too late—Barnaby and the others must have seen her semi-clad state and what lay hidden under her shirt.

  “The shore crew raised the alarm when they couldn’t find you on the beach. I’d no time to lower another boat, so I swam ashore and took their pistols. You foolish girl. What were ye thinking?”

  “I needed to bathe—”

  “It’s not safe—”

  “I didn’t know that. How could I know the frigate was moored on the other side of the island?” She sobbed. “I was so scared…”

  The boat crew came crashing through the trees. “Run, Cap’n. There’s more of them coming our way.”

  The group charged down the hill, leaping over rocks and bushes. Flynn stuffed the pistols into his waistband and grabbed her hand. They joined the others in the dash for the beach. The last two barrels were lying empty, the replenished ones were in the boat. Voices shouted, and a musket fired, the ball striking the wet sand. Barnaby took hold of the front of the boat, which was half in the water, and with the crew at the stern, they dragged the boat into the breaking waves. Flynn picked up Esme and tossed her in next to the barrels; she landed heavily and cried out in pain. As the boat floated, they all scrambled in and rowed. There was barely enough room for Flynn, who took the rudder and yelled at the men.

  “Pull hard, me hearties. We’ll not let ’em catch us. Heads low.” Flynn pressed Esme under one of the benches. “Stay down,” he growled.

  She huddled by his feet. His soles were bleeding from walking on the shells and other detritus. Her selfishness had hurt him, and she’d damaged the trust between them, perhaps irreparably. Saying sorry would fall short of a good apology. His men had been shot at, he might have killed two marines, putting the value on his head up many notches, and more worrying, the frigate had discovered their location. What a terrible pirate she’d make. Her idea to impress him had gone horribly wrong. She’d succumb to her own needs and not thought twice about the danger she’d placed herself in, nor the men who had no idea where she’d wandered. She’d simply walked off without telling them. How stupid! She hunkered down in the boat and prayed that Flynn might see past her mistakes and give her another c
hance to prove herself.

  Bullets struck the water around the boat; one splintered the hull but didn’t penetrate. The marines were lining the shore, reloading their muskets. Their red coats marked them as easy targets, but there was no opportunity to return fire. The Flying Cutlass loomed closer, its shadow stretching over the water. Darius was already commanding the men to rotate the capstan and unfurl the sails. The anchor rose out of the water just as they reached the side of the ship. Flynn climbed the netting behind Esme, his hands spanning her bottom so he could push her up faster. A rope was lowered with a large net on the end, and three of the barrels were hauled up. However, there was no time to load the rest of them, nor the rowing boat, which was abandoned.

  “Make sail. Ahoy, there!” Flynn waved to the boy in the crow’s nest. “Do you see it?”

  “No, Cap’n. No sign of her.”

  Relieved, Flynn turned to Darius. “With luck, by the time the marines have run back to the other side of the island, we’ll be far out to sea and gaining a head start.”

  “Pity about the barrels. But three is better than none.” Darius glared at Esme. “If they’d kept their heads down and got on with the job, we’d have all eight of them on board.”

  Esme opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. Around her, the men were whispering; the news that Barnaby carried was travelling fast.

  “A woman.”

  “A lass.”

  “A strumpet.”

  Darius barked orders, sending the bystanders scurrying to their tasks. Barnaby lingered for a few seconds, eyeing Esme with suspicion.

  Flynn glanced over to the bedraggled Esme. There were no tears in her eyes, yet there was a definite sorrow about her expression. She probably was, and should be, ashamed of her carelessness. No pirate ever felt safe on land. She’d not been thinking like them.

  “Esme, go to my cabin. Now!”

  She walked away with her head down, and her tattered clothing hung loosely around her shoulders. There was no point in hiding her feminine figure now that she’d revealed her secret.

  Flynn handed the pistols to Darius. “I’ll not need these.”

  “The girl—”

  Flynn lowered his voice. “She’s not bad luck. They’ll think that, I know, but she isn’t. But if they know she’s being punished, they’ll feel vindicated.”

  “Punished?”

  “Aye.”

  Darius’s eyebrows furrowed. “Out here?”

  “No.” Making a spectacle out of her would not help anyone. She needed his protection more than ever. “I’ll remind her she’s a woman, a weaker vessel, and she will take her place at my side as my servant. That way, she’ll not need to move amongst the decks or the galley. Ned can have another boy to help him.”

  Darius appeared unconvinced and shook his head slowly. “She’ll make mischief. She’ll not contain herself.”

  “If she’s locked in my cabin with naught on, she’ll not go anywhere, will she?” Flynn smiled at the aghast Darius.

  “You would keep her so—”

  “Until she’s learnt her lesson.”

  “The men will not take kindly to you having her to yourself. You’ve already kept her secret from them, the pretence at her being your cousin.”

  “They’ll not take kindly to the lash either. Captain’s prerogative and privilege. Any man caught in my cabin without permission will get fifteen lashes. Anyone trying to break in while she sleeps will walk the plank. Tell them I’m containing her wickedness and preventing her bad luck from spreading. Nothing like a bit of superstition to keep them at bay.”

  “You know they could vote you out.” Darius had never tried to usurp Flynn.

  “Aye, but with the frigate close by, they’d not risk losing my navigation skills. They know nobody is better than me when it comes to the sails and the compass.”

  Flynn bent over and wiped the blood from the soles of his feet. “Find me boots, and fresh candles, the beeswax ones, not reeking tallow.” The beeswax candles were in the coffers of loot.

  Darius looked up at the blue skies. “But it’s not dark for hours.”

  “I’m not planning on using them for light.” Flynn grinned.

  She was waiting for him in his cabin in a state of uncertainty. The removal of the boots signalled some expectation for what was to come, but the rest of the clothing was intact. She must realise there was no escaping his bargain now. She’d agreed to stay as his hostage, and any new negotiation on her part was likely to result in her locked in the hold for her own protection. He leaned on the door and turned the key. She flinched at the sound. He trod each step with a slow purpose and ignored the sting of the cuts rubbing against the soles of the boots. She looked beautiful, forlorn and defiant in equal measures. He expected to hear excuses, but he wasn’t interested in her reasons for defying common sense.

  When he was within arms’ reach of touching her, she spoke with haste.

  “I’m so, so—”

  The rest of the apology never made it past her lips. He planted his mouth firmly on hers and kissed the kind of kiss that was given life by the deep hunger within his soul. She folded under him, nearly tumbling backwards. In support, he held her shoulders but gave her no means to squirm or wriggle from out of his grasp. She parted her lips and allowed him the pleasure of tasting her. She smelt of leaves and petals, the perfume of her unplanned bathing. Cleansed by the seawater, he was sure he would taste salty. The contrasting attributes suited their sexes: fragrant and earthy in combination. The kiss only ended when she quivered. He broke free, panting heavily, and she replied, equally breathless.

  He tore apart her shirt, sending the buttons flying once again. He cared not where they landed or if the shirt was ever to be worn again. She remained a statue in his hands, neither resisting nor assisting him as he dragged the shirt down her porcelain arms. Only when he unknotted the bandage did she move. She twirled on the spot, allowing the binding to unravel and coil at her feet like a snake. Her breasts sprang into a natural pose, free for him to explore at last. He pinched each nipple with his finger and thumb until she tossed her head back and closed her eyes. No cry could be heard, but the torment was sufficient to quicken her breathing still further.

  He released her pebbles, and with a brisk action, removed the drawstring around her breeches and hauling the sea-stained pants down to her knees. Now she shook from head to toe in nervous anticipation. He stood back to admire the bareness of her thighs and the apex where they met. She crushed her legs together, hiding the evidence of her arousal quite unsuccessfully—the sheen of desire coated her inner thighs. Her dewy eyes met his, and he was in no doubt she was aware of his intention to ravish her. The punishment could wait. They had both waited too long for this opportunity.

  His own shirt he elected to unbutton pedantically slow, rather than destroy in the same manner as hers. His pleasure was to tease Esme, hers was only to offer her surrender. A tantalising outcome that she desired, he surmised, given her placid demeanour. He’d been tortured enough for one day. The heart-pounding swim against the tide had tested his strength and stamina, and only now could he allow himself the satisfaction of the achievement. Few sailors swam as competently as Flynn.

  The swelling in his breeches and the ache of his balls testified to his readiness. He would not let her see it, though. She had to feel it first. No recuperation was permitted—if she needed to rest from her adventures, she could do so later, when he’d finished. He’d cast aside his usual cautionary approaches. The risk was worth it. He scooped her up, leaving behind her breeches, and threw her onto his cot. She landed in the softest part of the straw mattress.

  Flynn clambered up and over her, and with a firm hand, he nudged each of her legs to one side. The parting exposed her cunt. He admired the opening with an appetite. The honeydew that melted within her was visible on the puffed lips of her entrance, and the wet circle proved to be a good sign that she was not an innocent with no experience. Virginity was overrated, he’d concluded a
long time ago. Leaning over her, he had an advantage of both presence and strength. He unhooked the flap of his breeches and aimed the head of his manhood straight at the point of entry.

  She gasped, even before he’d penetrated. Just the bulb of his member was adequate warning of his impending girth. She reached around and clutched at his shoulder blades, dragging him lower and closer to her beating heart. He nuzzled her hair, then feeling exuberant, peppered her thin neck with kisses before sinking his lips on her throat. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes.

  The spearing of her slippery channel met no opposition, only a delightful tightness that yielded when he swung his hips harder. The cry that escaped her lips was exquisite to hear. He growled, like a wolf with his mate, and sank deeper into her core. Her tunnel was tightly coiled and needed the thrust of his steely rod to command its obedience. She stretched and relinquished control to him. Now, with her thighs prised apart, he had the means to fully conquer. Withdrawing to the tip of his cock, he lifted her knees, and she responded by wrapping her legs around his back, knotting her ankles in place. Determined to keep authority over her, he snatched her wrists and planted them above her head. A tiny smile fractured along the lines of her lips. She sighed, longingly, and relaxed beneath his grip. However, her voluntary capitulation was not going to sway him from brandishing his dominance over her. Pinning her down, he maintained his grip, arched his back, and thrust again. This time, the full length of his shaft struck home with one gliding swoop.

  She didn’t cry out; not a sound escaped her. She’d lost the ability to even exhale, it seemed. Another exit, another powerful entry, and his thrust forced her to release her breath in what must be a painful expulsion of air. Her mouth hung open, agog at her situation; her face was a picture of incredulity. He was convinced nobody had fucked her like this before. Nevertheless, her lack of experience was no bargaining chip; he’d countenance no leniency on his part. She deserved to know the strength of his feelings. His passion for her was intense, almost overwhelming. He’d never known how desire could drive a man to need a woman so much.