Seduced by the Pirate

by Andersen, Maggi

“I have a sick crew. My men are in sore need of medicine and food. Any help you are able to offer will be gladly accepted.”

  Gladly accepted or taken by force? Distracted by his voice, which was deep and melodic, she lowered the gun but still kept a fierce hold on it. “What ails your men?” Wounded robbing some unfortunate trading vessel in the name of King George, she’d wager, but didn’t dare say. She wasn’t that foolish.

  “Typhus,” he said, a frown drawing his black brows together. “We have lost ten men, and I don’t wish to lose more.”

  “Typhus? I doubt I can…”

  He turned away from her, cutting her off. Glancing around the hut, his alert eyes took note of her table of potions, the mortar and pestle, and the dried herbs. “You are treating the natives?”

  “Only for minor complaints. My brother Alexander would be of more help to you. He is a man of science as was my father.”

  “You have medicines?”

  “Not for typhus.” She stood aside. “You must be parched. I have little to offer you and your men. Some lemon water, perhaps?”

  “We’d be grateful.” The captain gave the order. Two of his crew waited outside. The slightly built, shorter man with pale blond hair came into the room. “Pete Johns, Miss Bromley.”

  She thought him surprisingly polite and far less troublesome than his captain. “Mr. Johns.”

  Lydia poured the drink into the only two mugs she had. “I’m afraid you will have to take turns.” She offered a mug to the captain, but he signaled to the other man to take it.

  In the hope of getting rid of them fast, Lydia took out a plate of fruit. She returned for the bottle of lemon water and poured more of it into the mugs.

  Unfortunately, their captain remained inside. As she scrutinized him more, she was surprised to discover he had dark blue eyes. “What are the men’s symptoms?”

  “Fever, a rash on their chest, and a headache. When they complain of a pain in their stomach and back, they die not long after.”

  “You must get rid of the rats. They will be spreading fleas.”

  “Good God, woman, all ships have rats!” he growled, sounding bitter.

  “You have picked up infected rats, Captain. They are spreading the disease.”

  He didn’t argue, but folded his arms across the expanse of his chest. “What else can be done?”

  “You must bring the fever down. Make sure they have plenty of water to drink. I have herbs which could help ease their discomfort, but nothing which will cure them.” She had gathered a few plants from the jungle, which were spoken of in a tome she’d brought with her, but most came from England. A suitcase full along with food stuffs like preserved fruits and jellies that she simply could not live without. It had annoyed Alex at the time, but no longer.

  “You’ll come?”

  “No! I can’t leave here.” She eyed him, not trusting him an inch. “My brother will soon return. And the natives won’t stay away long. Some tribes are not so friendly. If you hear drums, I would advise you to return to your ship.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “I shall await your brother.”

  “It might be a long wait. Once he’s discovered a rare specimen, he might not return until nightfall,” she said. “And the natives in need of my care will not come back while you are here.”

  “We don’t intend to remain here any longer than we must. Once my crew is better and we’ve taken on provisions, we will be gone.”

  The men hung around outside the door, talking in rough voices. They looked menacing with their guns and cutlasses; it was no wonder the natives had fled.

  “While you wait for Alex, Malik can show you where to pick edible vegetables and fruits,” she suggested, hoping to be rid of them sooner.

  She beckoned to her small helper, a lad of eight or nine, who followed her about like a puppy. He had been wedged in a corner, silent with fear. Lydia gestured to him, and with a few words and hand signals, made him understand. Looking pleased but shy, he came forward.

  The captain remained while the others followed the lad along a beaten path through the palms.

  “Malik will scale the fan palm for its fruits,” she said. “The palm is good for charcoal and firewood, if you have need of them. I extract oil from the seeds and ferment the flower spikes to make palm wine.” She gestured to the bottles on the shelf. “Care to try a glass?”

  His mouth twitched. “You are not trying to poison me, are you, Miss Bromley?”

  “Should it be necessary, Captain?” she asked, reaching for the bottle. The shelf was too high for her; she would need the stool.

  His big body came too close, his male scent strangling her breath. He removed the bottle from the shelf and offered it to her. “I would prefer a better death,” he said with a wry smile.

  How the white-toothed grin transformed him. But the threat that emanated from his very presence still hovered in the air. Lydia took the bottle, startled when her fingers touched his. She removed the top and poured the greenish liquid into a glass, willing her hand not to shake. She held it out to him.

  He took a good swallow and raised his eyebrows. “Not bad.”

  “I admit it doesn’t equal the wine you would drink. Spanish, perhaps?”

  His lips lifted wryly. “England and Spain are not on good terms, Miss Bromley.”

  “I imagine you’re provided with a Letter of Marque from the king to relieve Spanish ships of their wine.”

  He chuckled, not at all offended. “Unfortunately, the last Spanish ship got away, so our reserves are low.”

  “Put your hands where I can see them and turn around,” came a gruff command from the door.

  Chapter Two

  Jack raised his hands and turned slowly to face the door where a tall man, presumably this woman’s brother, Alexander, stood with a blunderbuss aimed at him.

  Jack kept his hand away from his sword. He could run the man through before he knew what hit him. But he might have need of him. “You Bromley’s are fond of waving guns at people, aren’t you?” Jack said, taking the measure of the man who held the old gun like a novice. “I bear you no malice, I assure you, sir.”

  Miss Bromley hurried over to her brother. “Alex, Captain Stirling is in need of help. His crew have come down with typhus.”

  “Typhus?” Alex stepped inside and pulled off his hat. “Alexander Bromley,” he said with a wary nod.

  There was a family resemblance to Miss Bromley in his coloring, but there was a certain arrogance in his manner, and he lacked his sister’s grace. She placed a hand on her brother’s arm in appeal. Jack thought her out of place in such a setting with her dark hair and creamy skin. She reminded him of a rare orchid one might come across in the jungle.

  Her brother pulled away from her and lowered the gun. With his eyes on Jack, he removed some plants from his pockets and placed them on a table in an orderly fashion. He watched Jack with suspicion, his mouth set in a hard line, and kept the blunderbuss close at hand. A botanist involved in scientific endeavors, she’d said. Intent on discoveries which would benefit mankind. An ethical man Jack guessed who would value good deeds.

  “Bromley, might I ask you why you are in this uncomfortable country? Jack lowered his hands to his sides, while within reach of his sword should the fellow surprise him and decide to turn nasty. He gauged Bromley not to be the murderous type. Jack was accustomed to making quick assessments of a man’s character. There was something stolid and methodical about Bromley. Jack doubted there was violence in him, all his passion would be directed into his exploration, which might work in Jack’s favor. He desperately needed help, but he preferred the man on his side, rather than obeying Jack at the point of a gun.

  Bromley frowned. “I gather samples of the plants here. They may prove useful in creating medicines. What better place?”

  “Found anything promising?”

  “Perhaps.” He glowered. “I won’t go into it though. I doubt any of this would interest you.”

  “What intere
sts me now is healing my sick men.”

  “You’d better hope I know enough to help them,” he said. “But you’ll have to get rid of the rats.”

  “Your sister has also suggested that. But even if I should be able to drive every rat into the lagoon, it won’t help the men who are infected.”

  “Indeed, it will not.” Bromley turned to his sister. “Pack up your concoctions, Lydia. Bring Feverfew to help bring the fever down. We must go and see what can be done. Not that there’s a lot.”

  Obviously, she’d expected him to agree. She was already sorting through the jars on the table. Jack raised his eyebrows. The generosity and caring of some people always did surprise him. So little of it had touched his own life. “My crew will be grateful. I will round up the rest of my men. We came by canoe, my ship is anchored off the beach in the cove.”

  Bromley gave a sharp nod. “Much as I dislike and distrust those who plunder the seas for their own gain, Captain Stirling, I cannot turn my back on anyone in need. Naturally we will do our Christian duty.”

  His sister was busily filling a small case with those things she wished to take. After an approving glance at the appealing curve of her hip as she bent over the table, Jack left the hut, hoping the man spoke the truth, that it wasn’t a ploy to put him off guard. Would they disappear into the jungle and remain hidden until he and his men were forced to leave? Should he leave someone with them? It was a calculated risk, but one he was prepared to take. He’d met Bromley’s type before.

  Jack pushed his way through the dense, shiny leaves of the rubber trees. His men were not far away, Will was shinnying up a tree to pick some sort of fruit. He strode over to them. If something could be done for his crew, they could leave in a day or so, with enough provisions to take them to their next port of call. Then on to their home base. He could not help a smile at his good fortune. To have discovered such skilled people in the middle of the jungle astonished him. Had God decided to smile on them at last?

  Pete and Sam were playing cricket with a branch and a small coconut, bowling it along the ground while the lad ran to fetch the coconut they hit. Did his men miss England? He was sure some did.

  They had spent many long years at sea, but to return to the country of their birth meant to dance on the ‘triple tree’ at Tyburn. He’d heard of the mass hangings. Some of his crew had not chosen this life. Should they return, they had little chance of a fair trial. But only a fool thought life was fair.

  “Put a knife and your pistol in that case of yours,” Alex said. “We can’t trust this Stirling. Do you think he might run that cutlass through us when we’ve outlived our usefulness? I dislike turning my back on sick men, but I’ve half a mind to refuse him.”

  “I don’t see that we have a choice,” Lydia said. “We can hardly say no. He’s asked nicely, but he may not take kindly to a refusal.” Her instincts told her that Stirling would treat them well if they didn’t cross him. But now was not the time to trust one’s instincts. She must remain vigilant. She fidgeted with her potions while she waited for Alex’s decision; he would react badly should he be forced against his will. He could be hotheaded at times.

  “We do have a choice, Lydia,” he said. “We could escape into the jungle. His men would never find us. But it’s our Christian duty as I’ve said. So we shall have to do what we can to help them.” He shook his head. “I met some natives on the way back here. They are uncomfortable.”

  She watched as he carefully placed the plants he’d gathered between pages of a book. “Some have gone to tell their chieftain. Even though we’ve lived in peace among them, I’ve been sensing trouble the last few weeks.”

  “Have you? Why didn’t you tell me? We should have gone home, Alex.”

  “I plan to leave soon. My work should be done in a week or so. But for now, it would prove wise to help these buccaneers on their way as fast as we can.”

  “Would the natives attack such dangerous men?”

  He scowled. “Lydia, these tribes know this jungle and could pick those pirates off before they knew they were even close by. Surely you are aware of that.”

  “I suppose so,” she said, disliking that officious tone Alex often used with her. But the idea of bloodshed worried her. She closed her case, and smoothing the bun at the nape of her neck, put on her hat. “I’m ready.”

  Outside, the pirates gathered, bulging sacks slung over their shoulders. The captain stood near the door. He gestured to her case. “Allow me to take that for you, Miss Bromley.”

  Disconcerted at being treated like a delicate female after over a year of living rough in the jungle, she held onto it. “No need, I am perfectly able to carry it.”

  “Nevertheless, I shall carry it,” he said, and did not lower his hand.

  Did he fear she would run off with it? “Here, take it,” she said abruptly and handed the case to him. Surprised at her bad manners, she followed the men along the jungle path. The way this man looked at her, unsettled her. Her faithful helper, Malik, naked but for a woven cloth at his waist, trudged behind her.

  She turned to the lad with a combination of gestures and words she’d learned of his language. “Go back, Malik.”

  He grinned and shook his head.

  Infection and God knew what else awaited them. She would hate to see the child come to grief. Lydia shook her head vigorously and gestured again.

  Malik gazed at the ground and shuffled his feet.

  Lydia walked on several paces, and when she glanced back, the lad still followed.

  “Don’t dillydally, Lydia,” her brother said impatiently. “We need to deal with this quickly.”

  She sighed and held out her hand to Malik. Bare-footed, he ran lightly over the ground and grinned up at her again. “Me help, missus,” he said, pushing out his narrow chest.

  “He speaks English?” the Captain inquired, breaking his stride to walk at her side.

  “A few words,” she said. “Just enough to make himself understood. I should like to teach him more, but Alex disapproves. Says it will unsettle him and make him an outcast in his tribe.”

  “He might be right.”

  They reached the rivulet where the canoe lay half-hidden in a tangle of vines. The men righted the boat and pushed it into shallow water. Captain Stirling placed her case inside and held out his hand to assist her.

  Lydia frowned. She was far from helpless. “I know this territory like the back of my hand, Captain. It might be best if you and your men take the canoe, my brother and I will go on foot and meet you on the beach.”

  She caught her breath at his lowered brows. He appeared suddenly more like a fierce buccaneer. “I don’t have time to deal with your sensibilities, Miss Bromley.” He stepped toward her.

  Instinctively, she stepped back. She didn’t want his arms around her. She had been forced to face so many fears since she came here. And she’d done rather well gaining some confidence when dealing with spiders, snakes, and wild animals, to name but a few, except for this man who rattled her. So rampantly male, his authority over his men and now her, was disturbing. It challenged something in her she didn’t quite understand.

  While she dithered, her brother frowned at her. “Lydia!” he barked.

  Before she could push past Stirling, he’d picked her up in his arms and deposited her into the canoe. She gasped and slapped her skirts down around her. “You had no need to… really!” Her pulse had fluttered oddly when he’d lifted her as effortlessly as a sack of dry leaves. She fought not to show how he’d affected her, aware of his observant gaze. She had dealt successfully with many men on her travels. Some were openly flirtatious, some condescending, and some quite threatening. So far, Stirling hadn’t been flirtatious or condescending or even, surprisingly, threatening, yet she felt constrained when dealing with him. There was something unnervingly potent about him.

  Stirling stepped into the canoe and took the seat beside her, his thigh brushing against hers beneath the fabric of her skirt. She sat up straight a
nd resisted glancing at him.

  Malik stood on the bank, his dark eyes imploring as he hopped from foot to foot.

  “Malik?” Captain Stirling beckoned.

  With a grin, Malik climbed in and sank down cross-legged in the bottom of the canoe.

  “It would have been better had he returned to his people,” Lydia said sharply, still annoyed.

  Stirling’s dark blue gaze met hers. That black, imperious brow rose again. “And deny the lad an adventure?”

  She had no answer to this and fell silent. The canoe rocked as his quartermaster joined them and lastly, her brother, causing it to ride low in the water.

  Captain Stirling and Master Johns took up the oars and began to row fast down river, while the remaining two men followed more slowly on foot fighting their way through the undergrowth.

  Stirling glanced at her with a slight smile. “Now, surely this is more comfortable than having to beat your way through the jungle?”

  Lydia opened her mouth to utter something dismissive, but took control of herself and firmed her lips. She hoped he would listen to her when they were on board. He needed to take her advice as well as her brother’s. Alex’s knowledge of the human body was exceptional, but he didn’t always see what was needed to ease a person’s suffering.

  Somewhere in the jungle, native drums began their incessant beating. Malik crouched down and put his hands over his ears.

  “Damme,” Alex cursed. “That’s never a good sign.”

  “What does it mean, Bromley?” Stirling asked sharply.

  “That we’d better row faster. Give me an oar.”

  “Give me one, too,” Lydia said, and was surprised when Stirling thrust the last oar at her. She tried to do as the men did. It was not as easy as it looked, and she had to work hard to keep up their pace and rhythm.

  The drums ceased, and the only sound now, the slap of the oars cutting through the water. The Africans had tolerated her and Alex until now, but had their association with these pirates angered the chieftain? Were they now seen as the enemy? Lydia’s nape prickled. Somewhere behind them, she could sense that the natives were pursuing them silently through the trees.