“Aye.” Flynn nodded. “So, my sweet, now you know, what do you think of Flynn Bartoc? Does he still catch your eye like the young Rob Sanders?”
She let the quilt slip off her shoulders. “I think Flynn Bartoc is just as good a man as Rob Sanders. It’s just a name, after all. The man I fell in love with and pursued across the ocean is standing right in front of me.”
He pressed her down into the mattress, and she spread her bare legs, inviting him to partake of her. They’d both revealed a secret, a part of them they’d kept buried, afraid that acknowledging the truth might bring them misfortune. Now those things were out in the open, she had nothing to fear. The sense of relief was joyous; a great burden had been lifted off her shoulders. As Flynn—and she was happy to keep him as Flynn—shifted his weight over her body, she accepted his gentle thrust. The rock of his hips guided her in a deeper place of tranquillity, while his eager moans made her heart leap. Even though she was the spurned daughter of a hated man, he wanted her still. She’d finally fused the two men she wanted more than anyone in the world into one: the old Rob to the new Flynn—a fine combination.
Chapter 5
With the frigate no longer chasing, the Flying Cutlass weighed anchor at a modest port where nobody asked awkward questions. Flynn sold some of the hoard they’d slowly amassed and bought fresh provisions, pleasing the stressed Ned, who’d been down to the last barrel of biscuits. The crew were equally thrilled to have fruit and eggs once again.
Flynn purchased some things for Esme: a bottle of perfume, a hairbrush, and a few personal items she’d specified for her own comfort. There was a peculiar pleasure in buying such extravagant things from the victuallers who rowed up to the ship in their boats. He hoped she’d like them. It had become of paramount importance that she was happy to stay with him.
“Fancy kerchiefs? What’s ’em for, Cap’n?” one of the crew asked.
Barnaby cuffed the man’s head. “Weasel, you’ve spent too long at sea.”
Flynn merely laughed off their curiosity. Esme would be delighted by the gifts and please him in many ways that night in his cabin.
“Avast!” Flynn called. “We have everything we needed, me hearties. It’s time to plunder.”
He said the words, but for the first time, they no longer excited him. In truth, it had been some months since he’d last felt the thrill. It seemed Esme had stolen that part of him. Perhaps the life of a pirate was not what he sought. Piracy was becoming harder and riskier. The navy was better financed with bigger ships, more guns, and a discipline he could never enforce with his crew. Yet it was the life Esme wanted—she’d passed herself off as a man to gain access to the ship. She’d learnt to fight, too. He smiled to himself as he watched the last of the barrels being rolled into the hold. During past couple of weeks, she’d duelled with him a few times on the deck, and her zeal for swordplay had impressed the crew more than they or him could have predicted. Her calculations with the quadrant were accurate, and she easily named the key star constellations. They often lay on their backs on the quarterdeck pointing out the brightest stars. If only they had the ship to themselves. Flynn sighed—privacy, not piracy, was a major issue.
Two days later, with a bracing wind driving them farther south, the lad in the nest whistled.
“Ahoy, to the larboard side, Cap’n. There’s a big ’un. Low in the water.”
Flynn rubbed his hands together. “Excellent.”
Darius cleared his throat. “I have a suggestion, Cap’n.”
“Oh?”
“Rather than a warning shot, why not let the lady walk along the deck. Brightly dressed, she’ll make us look respectable. They might heave to if we signal that we’re willing to trade. Then, close to, we can run out the guns and disable their mast.”
Flynn had no doubt that Esme would agree, but if the ruse went wrong, she’d be a sitting target for a musket shot. “Will one lady passenger reassure? I wonder… Darius, which of our fine hands are clean-shaven and fair of face?”
Darius grinned. “I can name a few of the young ’uns. Shall I fetch up more of those pretty frocks?”
Esme was indeed excited by the ploy. With the youths lined up on the quarterdeck, she even helped dress the chosen hands, who were not impressed by the complexity of dressing up as a woman.
One of the men in disguise fussed loudly. “Cap’n, I canna breathe with this contraption.”
“It’s a bodice and hardly a device for torture,” Flynn said. “It’s not for long. Once we’re alongside, you can free yourself of ’em skirts and board.”
Esme pouted. “If you’ll let them wear a gown, why not let me wear breeches again?”
He dispatched her a stern expression, and she retreated.
Other preparations were made to hide the true nature of the ship’s purpose. A false flag was flown and the name of the vessel covered up. The fo’c’sle cannons were camouflaged with sacking, as was the stack of muskets and blades. Everything was in easy reach but out of sight. Flynn joined Darius on the quarterdeck. The quarry made slow progress, enabling the Flying Cutlass to close the gap between the two ships.
Darius lowered his spyglass. “Cap’n,” he said quietly to Flynn. “’Tis the Harbinger.”
Flynn snatched the spyglass and trained it on the lettering painted on the side of the ship. Even at this distance, it was obvious what name the ship bore.
“Finally, we’ll get to meet the infamous Lord Harnett. His sugar will be ours, his ship, too. And he’ll be ruined. I suspect it’s on the way to England, and that’s why it’s so low in the waters.” He glanced over to Esme, who was laughing at the men’s awful gait as they attempted to walk up and down the decks. She would have to know, and then he’d tell her to stay below. He couldn’t have her on deck with so much at stake. This was a battle he had to win, for her sake, and his future plans.
Esme was furious. After she’d helped prepare the men, she was hurried out of sight by Darius who was acting upon Flynn’s orders. She paced the small cabin. There was nothing to see from the aft viewpoint. All she heard were the shouts and catcalls as the Flying Cutlass tacked closer to the other ship and the men in frocks taunted the crew of the approaching vessel. The bait was working. The sight of even the most unladylike women had attracted their prey. She opened a small window and craned her neck in an attempt to see but failed.
The wolf whistles changed to cries of alarm. Flynn had ordered the return of the pirate flag, and the cannons were run out. The Flying Cutlass was coming alongside the other ship, and as they swung, the stern of the cargo ship came into view. The boards beneath her feet quaked. There was an almighty boom followed by a crash and the splintering of wood. The cannon had taken out a mast. The pirates yelled, “Hoorah!” in unison.
With the other ship disabled, little time was lost. The two hulls slammed into one another. The collision sent tankards flying off the shelves, along with Flynn’s charts. She grabbed hold of the table and steadied herself. With both ships aligned, she had a good view of the other one; its stern angled towards the windows. The letters were painted in gold.
“Harbinger,” she whispered.
She had to board the ship and see for herself the man whom she should have called Papa. But not in a dress, the skirts were a hindrance, and she needed to move quickly. She opened Flynn’s chest and rummaged around until she found a bundle of shabby clothes—a tired shirt and patched breeches. They were too big. She rolled up the sleeves and tied a piece of hemp around her waist to keep the breeches above her hips. As for her feet, she left on the lady slippers. She preferred nimble soles to hobbling boots.
Up on the deck, the scene was confusing. Smoke billowed from the cannons, forming a mist from out of which dashed the pirates; she recognised their faces, but there were others, too. An attempt had been made to fight back, and a few opponents had made it as far as deck before being cut down. She climbed up to the quarterdeck, where a rope had been hung from a yardarm and several long planks laid across th
e gap between the two ships. The ratlines from the Harbinger’s felled mizzen mast lay tangled over the bow. Unless it was cut free, it would eventually drag the ship onto its side.
Nobody noticed her—a slight fellow in a baggy shirt—clamber across a plank onto the other ship. She jumped straight into a fray, picked up an abandoned sword, and waved it any foe who came near her. She’d no plan other than to find her father and confront him with anger and resentment. She reached no farther than the steps to the quarterdeck when a familiar voice accosted her.
“Esme!” Flynn pinched her arm and spun her around. He’d lost his hat, and there was a smudge of blood on his cheek and more of it splattered down a sleeve. “I told you to stay—”
“Where is he?” She shook off his hand. “Tell me.”
“He’s not on board.” He drew her away from the fighting towards the captain’s cabin. “In ’ere,” he said brusquely.
The cabin was larger than Flynn’s and decorated with fine furniture, the kind found in drawing rooms. There were gold leaves adorning the window frame and carvings inlaid into the tabletop. However, there was nobody else in the cabin. No sign of Lord Harnett.
The cracks and whistles of musket fire eased, the shouting diminished, and there was a roar of delight.
“We’ve taken the ship,” Flynn explained. “There was half the crew we expected, most of them too afraid to fight. I reckon a few paid the price with their lives, the rest cowered in the hold. I need to deal with the wounded and—”
She didn’t care. “Where is he?”
Darius charged into the room, pushing a fat-faced man in front of him. “The master of the ship,” he said and poked the sweaty man in the back with the flat side of his blade.
“Where is Lord Harnett?” Flynn demanded.
The man curled his lip, almost sneering. “Dead, along with half the men. Taken by a fever. We wrapped his body in a shroud and weighed it down with a cannon ball. He lies somewhere at the bottom of the seas with the crabs.”
Esme sank into a chair. “Dead? Are you sure?”
“Aye. With not enough hands, I had to sail the ship this far south to avoid a storm, and now you’ve taken out the mizzen mast, we’ll not make it to England.”
Flynn asked about the cargo. The master retrieved a ledger from a drawer and laid it on the table. Flynn read the columns, totting up the amounts. Throughout, Esme felt numb. It was as if her past had folded itself away. What now? She couldn’t even tell her father how much she hated him.
“This is far more than I expected,” Flynn said enthusiastically. “Darius, see what you can do to make the ship seaworthy. If necessary, cut away the fallen mast. As for you, Master, and the rest of your crew, you can decide—join my pirates or stay aboard the Harbinger and carry me to a safe harbour for a price. I intend to split the cargo of molasses between the two holds. Most of it will go on the Flying Cutlass. There are ninety men to keep happy.”
Darius scratched his head. “Why not sail this ship and find a buyer?”
Flynn dismissed the master, sending him to speak to the captured crew. “The choice is theirs.”
Esme was equally confused. “Why are you splitting the cargo?”
“Because Darius will take command of the Flying Cutlass, while you and I, with the remaining crew, will sail the Harbinger to the Americas.”
Darius tossed back his head and laughed heartily. “She’s your prize, Cap’n. A fair one at that, too. Take her, then, and I’ll wish you well.” He continued laughing as he left the cabin.
Esme’s hands shook. Too much had happened in a short space of time. Flynn took her arm and led her out of the cabin, down the steps, and into the gloomy hold. The heavy air smelt sweet, almost sickly. The heat was unbearable. There were chains and rings bolted to the posts, and stacked rows of barrels, tethered to the ship’s sides.
“I can’t believe they keep people down here,” she said with disgust. “What are you planning? You said you’d seize the ship and sell the cargo.”
“Aye, that I will. No person will ever be chained down here again. We’ll sail to the mainland. Somewhere quiet, and I’ll buy land and build a great home for us.”
“You’ll give up pirating?” she said, surprised by his sudden change of plan.
“It is the wisest thing to do now that I have you. I won’t let you go nor risk you in battle again.”
“But this is your life.”
“Come…this is not a discussion we can have down here.” After walking past the line of captured sailors with gaunt faces and thin arms, they returned to the comfort of the cabin. “It will take a day or so to equip this ship for our journey. I’ll send over for my chest and the rest of the fine frocks. Darius can keep the charts; I have them in my head anyways, and you can—”
“Flynn.” She pressed her hands to his beating chest. “I don’t understand. You’re giving this all up for me.”
“For us.” He slipped his fingers between hers. “I have no heart for it anymore. I probably never did. I was chosen to lead through circumstances that were by luck more than design. The crew will elect Darius to be their captain—it was his idea that made this raid successful—he’ll make a fine captain. Do you want to stay on the seas?”
She smiled sheepishly. “I only did to be with you. I would follow you anywhere. I’m tired of salt in my hair, the horrible food that Ned cooks, and I miss the greenery. The fragrance of flowers. And oranges.”
Flynn laughed. “Then come with me. But first, I must ensure I have a good crew to help me, and that they can be trusted.”
“Why?”
“Do you remember my father’s charts showed secret coves and caves?”
She nodded.
“We must visit one to retrieve the rest of my booty. This little treasure trove, along with the half of the molasses, will set us up for life.”
She glanced around the cabin. “He did deplorable things; you don’t have to tell me. I like to think that he’d gone mad, and that it would have been different if he’d let me stay by his side.”
“Possibly. But you’re not your father. As for this ship, we’ll cast it adrift when we make land and burn it. Would that please you?”
“You’d lose its value.”
“It’s cursed. I’m sure those sickly sailors know that it is a devil’s ship.” He drew her into a warm embrace. “And we’ll make new memories in this cabin. Ones just for us.”
A day later, the two ships parted company. Darius and his men waved from the decks of the Flying Cutlass, giving their departing captain their final cheers. On board the Harbinger was a skeleton crew—a surprising number preferred the opportunities that awaited them on a pirate ship than one that was doomed to a fiery end in a distant port. The gout-ridden master stayed, and joining him was Barnaby, which pleased Esme. She’d grown fond of the man.
“You do know I never use this knotted rope,” he told her. “It’s just for show. Keeps the young ’uns on their toes.” He wanted to settle on land. “Me back is suffering terribly; them hammocks cripple me.”
Flynn appointed Barnaby his personal steward. “You can stay on with us, if you like, and help us build a grand house. If you know a bit about farming, that will help.”
Barnaby’s face lit up. “My uncle kept pigs.”
“Then we’ll keep pigs and goats.”
The Harbinger with its two masts, instead of three, steered away from the Flying Cutlass, tacking south and towards the Spanish Americas and Caracas. Flynn was confident he’d find friends among the old pirate communities that frequented the coast.
“We’ll be safe from marauders, don’t you fret, my petal.”
“But will I be safe from you?” She winked.
He insisted she wore a dress and played the part of a lady during the day. They dined with the master, who admitted he was more than happy to see the demise of Lord Harnett. Flynn and Esme never mentioned her connection to the disgraced nobleman who’d used his wealth to perpetuate misery at the exp
ense of others’ misfortunes. She was grateful that the master also refuted any claim to the money he was owed. He accepted a modest payoff from Flynn’s own purse instead.
Once they were alone in the cabin, Flynn’s mood shifted from that of a ship’s captain to a master of a different kind.
“Now that we’re safely on our way and the hands know their places, we must address your insurrection,” he said, bolting the door behind his back and walking towards an elegant, straight-backed chair.
Her eyes widened. “What have I done?” She knew, but naturally, the fun was in the exploration. She also anticipated his customary speed.
In a blink of an eye, he had her toppled over his firm lap, and her skirts lifted overhead.
“My, such a bonny arse. Too pale, methinks,” he said with a chuckle.
“This is not fair, Captain.”
“Aye, captain for only a few weeks longer, so I must make the most of my authority. This bare bottom of yours will pay the price. You boarded this ship and risked your life when I told you to stay put.”
He laid a firm smack on to her raised behind, and she yelped. The shock of the sting left her speechless. How could she forget the pain, and how could she desire it so much, too? She wriggled, forcing him to pin his leg over hers. Under the canopy of her skirts, she hid, squawking loudly when the slaps landed too close to her thighs or to her exposed furrow.
Flynn beat back and forth between each globe. “We had a bargain, Esmeralda Dido. Do we still have it?”
“A bargain?” she squealed.
He ceased spanking and uncovered her head. She lifted herself to face him.
“A bargain that meant you were mine. That bargain comes to an end when I’m no longer a pirate.”
She hadn’t considered him rescinding their agreement. He helped her rise to her feet. The dress floated down to her ankles; the brush of the fabric grazed her soreness. She barely noticed the discomfort.
Pirates, Passion and Plunder Page 100