The Captive Vixen

by Farmer, Merry

  Letty blinked, her breath freezing in her lungs. She took another, assessing look at him. There was very little blood for a man who had just been murdered by gunshot. Someone had removed Martin’s coat, revealing just a small stain of red on the inside of his arm and in a corresponding spot on his chest. Only the fabric of his sleeve was ripped, however. The stain on his chest must have come from that wound and not a bullet that had struck his heart.

  “They missed,” he continued to whisper, squeezing Letty’s hand.

  “Thank God,” she said in a shaky voice, clutching his hand in both of hers.

  “The shot came from somewhere on this ship,” Rayburn told her. Letty hadn’t noticed that the handsome man knelt by Martin’s head, but now it dawned on her that he was in control of the situation.

  “A traitor?” Letty gasped.

  The other men surrounding Martin exchanged looks.

  “It’s Dick,” Martin said. “I’d bet my life on it.”

  “You almost did, Captain,” Rayburn said.

  “I must not have rooted out all of his men the way I thought I did. He must still have agents on this ship,” Martin went on.

  “Let’s take you down to the surgeon’s cabin,” Rayburn said. “Even if it is just a flesh wound, you need it to be dressed.”

  Martin nodded. “Carry me, though,” he said. “If Dick thinks his plot has succeeded, he might let his guard down and give me an opportunity to wring his neck.”

  The men hummed in agreement and positioned themselves so that they could hoist Martin into their arms. Letty stepped back and let them do their work. She found herself huddled against Malvis’s side, the angry woman’s arm around her shoulders.

  “I despise foul play,” Malvis seethed. “Anyone who would plot such a deceptive attack should be strung up by their balls.” When Letty glanced to her in surprise, she went on with, “Of course it was a man. Only a man would be so underhanded.”

  Letty was certain she was right, she just didn’t know what to make of the assessment or of Malvis.

  She put the whole thing out of her mind as the two of them followed the men carrying Martin below to the surgeon’s cabin. The surgeon, a young, nervous man with spectacles named Rackstraw, immediately started fussing over Martin, but once the cabin door was closed, sealing their group into the too-small space, Martin struggled out of his men’s arms and stood on his own.

  “Separating the two ships and putting Dick and his men on The Vixen wasn’t enough,” he said, ripping his shirt-sleeve so that Rackstraw could have access to the flesh the bullet had grazed. “This problem isn’t going to go away unless we deal with it head-on.”

  “We should attack,” Malvis blurted with surprising vigor. “Why wait for them to try something else? You have a ship and a crew. Attack them, kill the bastards, and control both ships.”

  The men in the room went dead silent, staring at her with wide eyes. Rackstraw stopped his ministrations on Martin’s arm, and even Martin gaped at Malvis.

  “That’s certainly an option,” Martin said diplomatically.

  “But you said the shot was fired by someone on this ship,” Letty said. “Did anyone see who?”

  “No,” Rayburn and a few of the others said in unison. “Everyone was busy watching the two of you climb the mast.”

  A wave of guilt struck Letty, but she thrust it aside. “What do we do next?”

  The men were silent for another moment. At last, Martin said to Rackstraw, “When you’re finished with my arm, bandage my chest as well. We’ll make it look like that was where I was struck.”

  “But what good will it do to appear weak?” Malvis demanded.

  “If the captain appears weak, Dick will attack him,” Rayburn said, the light of inspiration making his fetching eyes even handsomer. “And when Dick is overconfident, he makes mistakes.”

  “And if he makes mistakes, we can take him out more easily,” Malvis continued his thought, a wicked grin spreading across her face.

  Letty shifted to Martin’s side, sending him a look that hinted at everything she and Malvis had talked about in the rigging and more. Martin returned her look with one that said he wanted to hear the whole story. But there wasn’t time.

  A knock sounded on the door, followed by, “Captain, The Vixen is approaching. They’ll be alongside us within minutes.”

  “Are they attacking?” Malvis asked, her eyes bright with excitement.

  Rayburn shook his head. “If they were, they’d be firing by now.”

  “Unless they think they can take The Growler without damage,” one of the other men said.

  Rackstraw had Martin’s arm bandaged by that point and was busy lifting his shirt so he could wrap a bandage around his chest. Martin looked like some sort of marionette with his arms raised as he said, “Let Dick think his plot has succeeded and that I’m badly injured. I’ll do my best to act the part. We need to keep him aboard The Growler until he lets his guard down. With any luck, we’ll be able to end this thing without any loss of life.”

  “But—” Malvis began to protest.

  Rayburn silenced her with a hand to her arm. “Follow the captain’s lead for now. We may still get a fight even if we do things his way.”

  Malvis let out a breath, her shoulders dropping, but she smiled at Rayburn with a hungry look all the same.

  Letty finally relaxed as Rackstraw finished bandaging Martin’s chest. Everything that happened since she was captured had felt like an odd dream to begin with, so adding intrigue and the potential of a bloody conflict only barely made everything feel more surreal than it already did. One of Martin’s men dashed back to his cabin to fetch a new shirt, which was promptly torn in the area of Martin’s chest and splattered with blood donated by one of the loyal pirates who volunteered to be cut in order to help the ruse.

  By the time they returned above deck, Martin being supported by Rayburn in order to make him appear badly wounded, The Vixen was so close to The Growler that even Letty could have thrown a stone and hit the main mast.

  “What ho?” Dick called from where he stood against the railing on The Vixen’s quarterdeck. “We heard a shot and saw the captain fall. What seems to be the matter?”

  “Just a bit of mischief on the part of the ladies,” Martin answered with feigned weakness.

  Letty stood back from him, certain the heat that flooded her face would give away that the whole thing was an act. She was convinced that if Dick looked too closely at her, he would see her heart thumping in her chest.

  “The ladies?” Dick asked, looking surprised.

  “It was me,” Miss Porter said, stepping forward and looking genuinely contrite. “We were practicing with the pistols and I…I missed my target but hit the captain.” She lowered her head.

  Letty gaped at the young woman, wondering if she truly believed it was her fault or if someone had whispered the plan to her.

  She wasn’t the only one who gaped. As The Vixen came within boarding distance of The Growler, Dick gaped as well. More telling still, his gaze flickered to one side, landing squarely on one of the pirates aboard Martin’s ship before he could check himself. The pirate in question gave the tiniest shrug before stepping back and forcing his expression to go blank.

  Sudden fury filled Letty’s heart. That must have been the man who actually fired the shot. She understood the sort of thirst for blood Malvis had shown earlier. She wanted to run the man through with one of the pirate cutlasses herself.

  “Not to worry,” Martin went on with a weak smile, gesturing with his uninjured arm for his men to prepare to connect the ships. “The bullet only tore a chunk out of my ribs. It missed the most vital parts.” He sounded breathless, as though he were underestimating the wound he’d supposedly suffered. “The ladies have kindly offered to cook us a feast tonight to make amends.”

  “We have?” one of the ladies murmured.

  “A feast?” Dick called, climbing down from the quarterdeck on The Vixen and looking as though he wou
ld leap across the narrowing gap between the ships.

  “You’re not invited,” Malvis said as the two ships bumped together with a nerve-rattling crunch.

  Dick searched for a moment to see who had spoken, and when he spotted Malvis glaring at him, he glared right back. “Shouldn’t you be tied up in the hold somewhere?”

  “That’s what I keep telling the captain,” Rayburn said with a frown for Malvis that seemed surprisingly real.

  “They’re just women,” Martin said, wincing as he touched his pretend wound. “They’ve been a diversion, no harm at all.”

  “I see,” Dick grumbled as he crossed a plank that had been hastily put into place between the two ships. “Didn’t one of them just shoot you?” he asked Martin. He strode to stand in front of Martin, standing with his back straight and his arms crossed, as though he were the captain and Martin was little more than a deck-swabber, or whatever the lowliest position on a ship was.

  Letty held her breath, watching the confrontation unfold and wishing she had the pistol she’d loaded earlier. Martin was doing a little too good of a job of shrinking before Dick. “We’re barely more than a day out of St. John’s,” he said. “We’ve more food supplies on board than we need. It seems like a fitting way to end this journey and my tenure as captain by having a feast. We’ll even break open some of that wine The Vixen was carrying. There’s still plenty to sell.”

  Dick’s eyes lit and he wiped a hand over his mouth in a way that made Letty wonder if the man had a weakness for drink. If he did, it made perfect sense for Martin to exploit that.

  “Besides,” Martin went on, shrugging, then feigning a sharp wince of pain. “Rackstraw mentioned he wanted to play his fiddle for all of us while he was patching up my side. He joked that sewing all those stitches was warming up his fingers for fiddling.”

  “And what with the ladies aboard,” Rayburn continued with the idea, “we could have a right nice dance.”

  “I’m not dancing with that lot,” Malvis said with a huff, tilting up her nose the way she had at the house party earlier in the summer whenever someone she thought was below her attempted to ask her to dance.

  “You’ll dance if I say you’ll dance,” Dick growled.

  “Will I?” Malvis arched an eyebrow at him.

  Letty’s gut was just beginning to churn with dread when she caught the flash of challenge in Malvis’s eyes. Was it possible that the daft woman was being difficult as a way to help Martin’s ruse along or to distract Dick?

  Whatever her intention, it worked.

  “Fine,” Dick said, stepping over to Malvis and standing toe to toe with her, glaring lasciviously at her. “We’ll stay. We’ll feast. We’ll dance. And then the fun will truly start.”

  A blind child could have interpreted what kind of wickedness Dick meant by his comment. The ferocity in his eyes made Letty want to run and hide or clutch Martin for protection. But Malvis merely glared back at Dick as though telling him there was nothing the man could do to her that hadn’t already been done. It was as disconcerting for Letty to realize how impressed she was with Malvis as it was to have the truly bloodthirsty pirates flooding onto The Growler.

  “Very well, then,” Martin said with a sigh, gesturing for his men to get back to work. “We’ll feast tonight, we’ll have music and dancing, and if the winds continue in our favor, we’ll reach Antigua sometime tomorrow.”

  That statement seemed to please everyone. Even Dick left Malvis to return to his own men, murmuring quietly to them. Letty caught him sending a look to the man she was now convinced had shot Martin. She couldn’t do anything about it, though. Especially not when Martin shuffled his way over to her as though he were weak and in pain. He took her arm as if he needed her to escort him toward his cabin. As soon as Dick and his men had their backs turned, however, he straightened and appeared as strong as ever.

  “This feast will work,” he whispered to her. “We’ll get them all so drunk that they pass out. And when they do, God help me, I’ll order the men to toss Dick and his conspirators overboard.”

  Chapter 8

  It wasn’t just Martin’s arm that hurt from where the traitor’s bullet had grazed him. His entire body ached from hunching over all day and pretending to be worse off than he was. He’d grimaced like an actor and made a show of pausing to catch his breath and lean against the railing of one deck or another all day as his crew went about their duties, as tense as cats before a storm. He’d felt like a fool. There was no way to tell if Dick believed his ruse or if he was plotting further action.

  “How should we go about setting up for the feast and the entertainment?” Lettuce asked as the morning wore into afternoon. She had barely left his side for a moment since Dick and his men had boarded The Growler, and he didn’t think she was going to, in spite of how dangerous it was to be in proximity to him.

  “They’ll stage the play from the quarterdeck while we all watch from the main deck,” he explained, hating how weak he had to make himself sound in front of her to keep the illusion going.

  Not that he believed for a second Lettuce would shun him if he were weak. There was something about the beautiful noblewoman that transcended her class and situation. While a small handful of the female passengers they’d captured continued to shrink into corners and cling to each other out of fear, Lettuce had taken to the life he had to offer her like a fish to pirate waters. She seemed comfortable in the breeches and boots she wore and she’d scurried up the rigging with surprising agility. It was enough to make Martin think that if he did continue on as a pirate captain, she would find a way to fit into that life.

  Although he still had every intention of handing over The Growler to someone else and making a life on land. Lettuce would be essential to that life, he could see it now.

  “Are you certain you’re quite all right?” she asked, stepping closer to him and resting a hand on his injured arm.

  Her movements made him realize he’d been standing there staring at her like a lovesick fool. In fact, he rather thought he was a lovesick fool.

  “I’m quite well,” he said, smiling at her, then glancing around to make certain Dick wasn’t watching him. When he was certain he and Lettuce weren’t being observed by the wrong people, he squared his shoulders, stood a little taller, and let his smile widen. “As soon as we make it through this evening and then sail into port tomorrow, I can put all this behind me and begin the life I’ve truly wanted.”

  When she smiled in answer to his sentimental speech, Martin leaned in to steal a kiss.

  “Captain.” Their lovely moment was interrupted by Rayburn and Lady Malvis marching toward them.

  Martin stepped away from Lettuce, resuming his weak and weary posture. “Yes?” he asked, trying to make himself sound breathless. “What is it?”

  “The wine is ready,” Rayburn said in a low voice as the four of them huddled into a group. “Malvis here was right about the stash of opium Captain Moone kept aboard The Vixen.”

  “It should knock those bastards right out,” Lady Malvis continued with surprising venom. “And then we can give them all what they deserve.”

  Uneasiness rippled down Martin’s back. He’d been having doubts about murdering men who had willingly joined his crew in cold blood, even if they were traitors bent on murder. “Once they’re out, we’ll put them in the hold.”

  “But, Captain—” Lady Malvis protested.

  “Even pirates have a sense of justice, Lady Malvis,” he said. “We’ll deal with them fairly and punish them accordingly for their crimes.”

  Lady Malvis looked ready to mutiny, but Rayburn put a hand on her shoulder and leaned in to whisper something in her ear. Lady Malvis’s fury subsided a bit. It softened even more when Lord Ainsley skipped across the deck toward them, back to wearing a dress.

  “My love, are you ready for rehearsal?” the buffoon asked, eyes bright, as though the man were still having the time of his life.

  Lady Malvis let out a sigh and turned t
o Ainsley with the sort of smile one would give a favorite child. “Yes, sweetheart. I’m ready.”

  The two of them walked off toward the quarterdeck together. Martin sent a questioning look to Rayburn, who merely shrugged and followed the odd pair.

  “I don’t believe I will ever truly understand people,” Lettuce said with a sigh. “But at least they seem happy.”

  Martin hummed in reluctant agreement. He, too, would be happy, if only they could carry off their plot that evening.

  It was torture to wait for the sun to make its way toward the horizon while pretending to be an invalid in serious danger of dropping dead at any time. The torture was made worse by watching his crew bustling with activity, setting up tables and benches on the main deck. Delicious scents wafted up from the galley below, and even the timid ladies helped set the tables for the feast.

  By the time the ladies started bringing trays laden with stew and bread, roasted meat and the few, paltry vegetables they had left, moods were beginning to improve.

  “We should do this more often, Captain,” Dick said with a leering smile, taking a seat at the same table as Martin and Lettuce.

  “We should,” Martin agreed with a sneer that was supposed to be a smile. “Or rather, you can host whatever shipboard events you’d like once you’re captain.”

  “And I shall, I shall,” Dick answered. He grabbed the cup that one of the ladies had just filled with wine and saluted Martin before taking a drink.

  Lettuce audibly sucked in a breath as she watched him. Martin placed his hand over hers, and when she glanced his way, he shook his head slightly. The last thing they needed was to have their trick revealed too early. Lettuce nodded, bit her lip, and focused on the bowl of stew that had just been set in front of her.

  “This is delicious,” Rayburn spoke from Martin’s other side as he dug into his stew. “Those ladies have a thing or two to show old Cookie.”