Seduced by the Pirate

by Andersen, Maggi

  Chapter Three

  “Let’s put our backs to it,” Pete yelled. The oars lifted and fell rhythmically over the water in steady splashes.

  They neared the sea. The briny smell strengthened, and the breeze washed over them, cooling the sweat on Jack’s brow. The men kept up the pace, but Miss Bromley slowed, although she kept on grimly. He suspected she would rather die than admit defeat.

  An arrow flew past them to thud into a tree with a twang.

  One of Jack’s men, Sam, traveling on foot, stumbled as an arrow pierced his arm. Beside him, Will turned and fired into the jungle, but his shot merely sent a flock of parrots up in a cloud, the bushes swaying as animals retreated. The natives remained hidden.

  “Get Sam under cover, Will!” Jack yelled with what breath he could spare.

  Will, supporting Sam, dragged him back into the lush undergrowth.

  A rush of arrows followed, peppering the surrounding trees. One struck the canoe and another found its mark high on Bromley’s shoulder. With a cry, he slumped forward and dropped the oar.

  “Alex!” Miss Bromley bent over him.

  Holed by the arrow, water seeped into the bottom of the canoe as they emerged from beneath the canopy into the welcome sunshine. Four of Jack’s crew waited on the sandy shore beside the longboat.

  Jack vaulted over the side and reached down to drag the injured man from the canoe. Hoisting Bromley up, an arm around him, he half-dragged him over the sand, shouting back to Pete. “Bring the woman and child.”

  The longboat rested half out of the water, his men pointing muskets into the dense vegetation. Nothing moved. The jungle had become unearthly quiet, and somehow, the silenced drums proved even more unnerving.

  Will and Sam burst out of the trees and loped toward the water.

  When the injured were settled in the longboat, Jack turned to Miss Bromley where she leaned over her brother, seawater lapping her boots. She held her case in one hand and the child’s hand in the other. “Is it bad, Alex?”

  “Hasn’t punctured an artery,” he said, his voice filled with pain. “I just hope the tip wasn’t poisoned.”

  “In you go, Miss Bromley.” Jack placed her next to her brother, then the small lad beside her. Malik clung to the edge; his eyes huge in his small face.

  She glowered at him. “Malik should remain with his people.”

  “They won’t take him,” Alex said. “They were not from the same tribe.”

  “No time to discuss it,” Jack said shortly. “I’ll send the child back later if he wishes. To do so now will cost lives.”

  Jack and his men pushed the boat out into the waves, then leapt inside. They rowed in strong thrusts across the bay, toward where the ship rocked gently on calm waters. Beyond the breakers, the ocean tossed up whitecaps driven by a fierce wind. Perfect weather to get underway, he thought. No need to stay here. The Bromleys would not be returning.

  The drums began again. With cries, a dozen natives erupted from the trees, firing their arrows at the longboat. But after they fell short and sank into the water, the bows were lowered.

  “We can’t go back, Alex.” Miss Bromley put a hand on her brother’s arm. Her voice shook.

  Jack glanced at her. She’d been fond of the people she cared for. He couldn’t help admiring her, and suffered a moment’s guilt for taking her away. But he considered her misguided wish to spend her life buried in the jungle. Surely a better one than this awaited her.

  “Captain Stirling will put us down at the English trading post. Won’t you, Captain?” she asked, her voice firming.

  “Happy to,” Jack said. When his men were back on their feet.

  “Then we’ll decide what to do after you’re well enough to travel,” she said, her anxious gaze on her brother.

  “My specimens! That moss was of vital importance,” Alex moaned. “I can’t leave them. Have to go back for them.”

  “More important than your life?” Jack demanded.

  “Some might well be,” Alex said through his teeth.

  “But not worth your sister’s life, surely,” Jack said.

  “If you hadn’t caused this, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. And I wouldn’t have an arrow sticking out of my shoulder,” Alex snapped.

  “For which I apologize,” Jack said smoothly. “How long have you been there?”

  “Well, time goes on. A little longer than planned, I expect,” Alex said.

  Jack firmed his lips. The man was driven by self-interest. When Miss Bromley said nothing, Jack turned to look at her. She was biting her bottom lip.

  They drew close to the Golden Orion’s bow. His men positioned the boat beneath the rope ladder, which hung over the leeward side.

  “Let’s get you aboard first, Bromley.”

  “No, Captain.” Alex sounded faint as blood soaked his shirt. “My sister first, and this injured man.”

  Past patience with the noble Bromley’s, Jack took Alex’s good arm and all but heaved him to his feet. “You’re no lightweight. If you pass out, it would take twice as long to get you aboard.” He glanced at the shore. “And some natives are in the water.”

  “Yes, I see.” Alex’s legs wobbled as Jack half-carried him over to the Jacob’s ladder. “Go up with him, Will. I’ll see to Sam.”

  “No need,” Sam said cheerfully. He had pulled the arrow out and blood dripped onto his hand. “One arm won’t stop me.” He shinnied up quickly after them.

  “You next, Miss Bromley, do you require assistance?” Jack asked.

  “I shall manage. You’ll bring Malik? And my case?”

  “It will be done.”

  She took the rope in her hands and began to climb, affording him a flash of slim calves up to the knee. He reluctantly averted his gaze. The men wouldn’t be happy. It went against the pirate code to have a woman on board. Some saw it as bad luck. And there was some truth to that, when his randy crew hadn’t seen a woman for six months.

  When Jack set Malik on his feet in the waist, he stared at the crew busy unfurling the sails.

  Miss Bromley came to his side. “You have a fine ship, Captain. If you will direct us below, I am anxious to attend to my brother.”

  Jack noted the censure in her brown eyes. Confound the woman. “You are a guest on this ship, and will be treated with every respect,” he said shortly. “Take Bromley and his sister to my quarters,” he barked out the order and strode to the quarter deck where his helmsman stood at attention.

  “We are ready to weigh anchor, Cap’n,” his bos’un said. “The hull’s been mended as best it can be.”

  “Let’s hope it gets us home,” Jack said.

  A metal screech rent the air as the anchor catted. At Pete’s instruction, the remaining crew got the ship underway. Canvasses were unfurled. The masts creaked and the deck shifted underfoot as, riven by a stiff breeze, the ship sailed toward the open sea.

  Jack stood at the helm with Pete, watching the natives in the water turn back for the shore.

  His lieutenant nodded, looking pleased. “A good catch. Felix is seeing to the buccaning of the boars they shot, salting the meats, and the seafood to stow away. Might see us home.”

  Jack nodded. He removed the compass from the bittacle which drew the inquisitive child to his side. Did Bromley plan to take him back? He seemed intent on returning for his specimens. “You want to go home?” Jack made himself understood by gestures.

  Malik shook his head, obviously still keen on an adventure. “Where Missie Bromley?”

  “Below.” Jack gestured toward his quarters beneath their feet. He handed the compass to Pete, and with a hand on the child’s head, watched the natives gathering on the beach.

  “They are dragging our canoe to the water,” Pete said. “Let’s hope we are gone from this bay before they get it afloat.”

  “If they do, they won’t get far. I holed it,” Jack said.

  They sailed through a channel in the sandy spar, and once the ship entered the open sea, Jack l
eft Pete at the helm. He drew the lad with him to his quarters. Malik remarkably unfazed, immediately ran over to inspect Jack’s telescope.

  Miss Bromley tended her brother who had been laid out on Jack’s bed, her case open on his oak desk. She waved something under Alex’s nose. “Spirits of hartshorn,” she said as Jack raised his eyebrows in inquiry.

  Alex groaned and came around again. She leaned over him. “Alex, we must remove the arrow.”

  “Do it,” came his labored reply.

  She glanced at Jack. “Captain, I must ask you to do it for me.”

  An admission at last that she needed a man. Jack went to pour water into a basin. He rolled up his sleeves.

  He took out his knife and leaned over Alex who was barely conscious.

  Her eyes widened on the knife he held. “You plan to cut him?”

  “The arrow will be barbed.”

  Best the deed was done quickly. It required him to cut into the flesh to free the barb. Once done, it left a gaping hole and sent Bromley into a swoon. His sister quickly placed a pad over the wound to stem the blood flow.

  “Thank you,” she said. Subdued, she busied herself stitching up the wound and dressing it with a powder she’d brought with her.

  As he cleaned his hands again, he observed her deft fingers bandaging Alex’s shoulder. Then he walked to the porthole and emptied the basin of the bloody water. Malik raised his head from Jack’s telescope, his anxious eyes waiting for his disapproval. Jack patted his head.

  “Give Alex rum when he wakes,” he said to Miss Bromley who was making her brother comfortable. “You are welcome to my medicine chest, but it’s somewhat depleted, I’m afraid.”

  “Where’s your surgeon?” she asked. “Doesn’t a ship always have one?”

  “He died,” Jack said shortly. “I must return to my men.” They’d left the calm waters behind, the hanging lamp swinging violently over their heads. “My gunner, Bastian, will escort you to tend Sam and the rest of my men when you’re done here.” He opened the door. “I hold out a hope that you can help them, Miss Bromley.”

  “I’ll do my best.” With a brief nod, she turned back to her brother.

  Despite herself, Lydia was impressed with the way the captain dealt with the arrow. Watching his muscled, bare forearms as he neatly cut around the barb, then effortlessly pulled the shaft from her brother’s shoulder; she was forced to admit there were some things a man like him was good for. He was unfailingly polite, but then he wanted something from her. His big warm hands at her waist had been unsettling, and she wished she didn’t find the wide expanse of tanned, sculptured chest bared by his open shirt quite so distracting. Alex was now unable to protect her. What would happen when she’d done all she could? Goosebumps pricked her arms. Could she trust a crew who were known to ravage women?

  She sighed, thinking with regret about the natives who had come to rely on her. One woman soon to give birth, Lydia feared was breech. She had brought some of her father’s books with her and studied the diagrams. The woman had trustingly allowed her to prod her stomach gently, but there was no way to be sure. Natives went into the jungle alone to give birth. How would she fare when her time came?

  Lydia fed Alex a little rum when he roused. When he drifted off again, she poured water into the basin from the pitcher and washed as she waited for this Bastian to appear. She studied her appearance before a silver-gilt mirror. Did that come from some Spanish galleon? She admired the delicate scroll work on the frame. Most of her hairpins had been lost in their frantic flight. Unable to secure the bun, she had no option but to braid her hair. It was too long, she had been tempted to take the scissors to it, but to have it short seemed like completely cutting herself off from the elegant life she’d left behind in England.

  She opened the pirate’s medicine chest. Stirling did not exaggerate, it was low on medicines used to treat all kinds of ailments, disease, and wounds alike. Plasters, treatments for syphilis, vinegar, aquae for vomiting. Oleum oil for the skin. Salts of wormwood to treat fever, but only a few drops left.

  She had packed her case with syrups she’d made from almonds, red roses, saffron, lemons, and other plants. The Sangis Draconis, known as dragon’s blood, a resin made from the agave and rattan palm, which, ground up as a powder, would serve for Alex’s and the crewman’s wounds, and bring down fever. The bottle of peppermint water and licorice juice was for belly pains. There was quinine and the medicines she’d fashioned from herbs and roots she’d discovered since she’d come here, and chamomile flowers, which soothed headaches and helped with kidney problems. Others she’d brought from home: cinnamon, saffron, juniper berries, mustard seeds, and ginger.

  An impressive array of medicines, but not one alone or combined would cure typhus. Fighting helplessness, she stood before a handsome crimson and green-plumed parrot in a gilded cage. Malik had barely glanced at the bird; the jungle was filled with such birds, and she supposed it held little interest for him.

  The parrot’s beady eyes stared at her. “Aaaarrrrgggghhhh! Landlubber!”

  Startled, Lydia reeled back. “My, what a bold fellow, you are!”

  Malik laughed, then returned to the telescope.

  Lydia roamed the long cabin. Impressed with the number of books the captain had, she studied the titles. He had a wide range of interests from ancient history to poetry to astronomy. An ivory chess sat on a shelf. A fine screen painted with a landscape stood in one corner.

  She supposed she had preconceived ideas of what a pirate would be like. They would be dirty, smell, and have a foul mouth. She’d been close enough to Stirling to know that he was nothing like that. Must be a heathen though. But then she found a bible among the rest of the tomes, its pages much thumbed.

  A man with some compassion, she had to admit. He ordered her brother to be placed on his bed with a fur coverlet.

  Lydia smoothed the fine linen sheets. Satisfied Alex was comfortable, she took in more of the luxurious cabin. On the long table, crystal glasses and a decanter sat on silver tray, the chairs and desk were also fine pieces of furniture.

  The brass telescope that Malik was engrossed in, had been aimed at the sky as if to observe the stars. Who was this Jack Stirling? She wondered if he would offer her some explanation as to how he became a buccaneer. It would no doubt be an interesting story. He appeared civilized, but she must not fall into the trap of expecting him to behave like a gentleman if she stood between him and something he wanted.

  She rubbed her arms with a shiver and returned to Alex. He seemed to be sleeping peacefully. Perhaps the chamomile flowers mixture she gave him helped a little. The captain thought no arteries or major organs appeared damaged. She hoped he was right. There was no sign of any poisoning at least. She breathed a sigh of relief as the door opened.

  A bear-like man entered. “Bastian, miss. If you’re ready, I’ll take ye to the crew’s quarters.”

  Lydia stiffened at the sight of his beefy arms. Stirling said he was a gunner. The man looked brutal, and she didn’t wish to go anywhere with him. She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. She had no choice.

  Malik turned from the window.

  “Guard my brother, Malik,” Lydia said, pointing to Alex. “I’ll be back soon.”

  The lad frowned, but an important order had been given. He straightened his back with a nod.

  Lydia followed Bastian to the crew’s quarters, which were in the forecastle, the man had informed her.

  Smoke wafted in the air, mixing with the smells of tar and pitch. “Are we on fire?” Lydia hesitated, alarmed, reluctant to leave her brother and Malik. “Surely fire on a ship can never be a good thing.”

  “Notin’ to worry about. We’re just tryin’ to deal with the bilge rats, miss. Smokin’ them out.” He shook his head. “Never be free of ’em.”

  “As long as we get them and the lice out of the men’s quarters. Then thoroughly scrub everything, the floor and the walls. Add vinegar to the water,” Lydia said.
>
  Bastian looked doubtful. “Very well, miss.”

  He led her into the large space where a dozen men lay in their hammocks. Some groaned, some shivered and rocked, some were ominously quiet, their eyes closed. The smell of urine, feces, sweat, and sickness was overwhelming. She gagged and fought to swallow the bile that rose up her throat. It was difficult to walk across the tilting floor as the ship rolled on the waves. The men’s hammocks rocked with it. She stood before a man who looked bad. When she laid a hand on his hot forehead, his eyelids rose. She opened his shirt to examine him. No rash. “Are you in pain?”

  He wasn’t so sick he couldn’t give her the eye. “Can’t grumble. Are ye an angel?”

  She smiled. “You can believe that if it helps. I am Miss Bromley. What is your name?”

  “Declan, miss.”

  “I’ve come to help you, Declan.”

  He closed his eyes. “You’ll need to be an angel, then.”

  “I will be back with medicines soon.”

  He didn’t answer.

  Gazing around her, Lydia fought not to feel overwhelmed. It would be difficult to manage here in the midst of this chaos. The light was dim, the corners of the room thrown into shadow as the two lanterns swayed.

  She could hardly breathe in the foul air, let alone stay on one spot. “Can more lanterns be brought?”

  At Bastian’s order, a crewman scurried away.

  Lydia located Sam who seemed perfectly at ease amongst the crew. The arrow had been removed. It was not a deep wound. He should not be in here. She treated the gash with a salve she’d made from Basilicum polystachyon, a plant Alex had discovered had healing properties, then bound up his arm.

  She turned to Bastian who stood beside her holding her open case. “What does the barometer say? Are we in for fine weather?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “I’ll find out, miss.”

  “If no bad weather is anticipated, we must take these men up onto the deck. Then we can scrub this place out and block up the rat holes. The fresh air will do the men good. Please inform the captain.”