Seduced by the Pirate

by Andersen, Maggi

  Lydia was awakened by the clatter of china. Malik sat at the table eating one of those biscuits the cook made, while he fed bits to the bird on his shoulder.

  She sat up and yawned. The timbers creaked and the ship rolled on the ocean waves. There was no sign of the coast now, just endless ocean. Where were they going again? The Azores. Smiling at Malik, she pulled Jack’s robe up around her legs to prevent herself from tripping and left the bed, crossing to the table.

  She stroked a hand over Malik’s hair, but pulled it away hastily before Oskar could nip a finger. “Mm. Food.” She rubbed her stomach.

  Malik grinned, then lowered his head over his plate.

  There was a knock on the door.

  Felix, who was on cooking duty, came in at her request, bearing a tray. “Cap’n has ordered you to eat, miss. I’ve brought you food and a hot drink.”

  Lydia smiled at the balding man who managed to produce meals under what must be difficult conditions. He had been pleasant to her after she treated his gout. “Thank you, Felix.”

  She was well into the bean dish, scraping up the rest with a biscuit, when Jack appeared. Two of his crew followed carrying a large trunk. They placed it in the center of the room, then departed.

  Jack squatted to unlatch it. He threw back the heavy lid, then stood dusting his hands. “I’ll leave you to sort through it. I trust something will suit.”

  “Jack?” She liked to say his name.

  Perhaps he liked it, too, for he smiled as he paused at the door. “Yes?”

  “Did you…did you send that ship to the bottom? And the lady and children whose clothes these were, with it?”

  His smile faded. Steely blue eyes met hers. “It was not the Golden Orion who fired upon that ship, Lydia. The British navy left the Spanish ship burning. I do not kill needlessly. We sent the survivors off in a boat with water and provisions, and accepted those of the crew who agreed to join us.” He cocked a brow. “Not a difficult decision when their only alternative was to go down with their ship.” He placed a hand on the door latch. “I saw no sign of a lady or children on board.”

  “Oh. I…I’m glad.” He seemed defensive. She didn’t know why. She’d thought him heroic in his handling of the Spanish ship.

  His mouth firmed and he nodded.

  “My cousin Charles will need to be advised of Alex’s death. I thought a letter might be sent, initially, at least.”

  His dark brows came together. “Very well. Write the letter. I’ll see what can be done.”

  The door closed behind him. He seemed reluctant. She supposed she was a nuisance to him. Was there a reason for him to object to the letter? Surely, he didn’t think it would cause him trouble? He’d told her nothing about himself, not why he had left England, or when or how. If he had a Letter of Marque from the king, he might have visited the country, but there’d been no mention of it. She was determined to learn the whole story, but now was not the time.

  She sipped the strong coffee gratefully. Would there be some sort of mail service to England from the Azores? A passing trade ship on its way to England? Or might Jack intend to send her to England instead of the letter? The thought held no delight for her. The restricted life of a spinster awaited her. It was extremely doubtful a husband would be found for her with her reputation in tatters. Not that she wished to marry. She sighed. No man would come close to measuring up to Jack. And what would her cousin make of Malik? Would the lad be treated well? It would be difficult, but she would not leave him behind.

  She knelt before the trunk. A heady perfume rose from it. The clothes were those of a wealthy Spanish lady, velvets, lace, and brocades of the finest quality, some embellished with jewels.

  Malik came to look over her shoulder. He placed a careful finger on a gleaming ruby.

  “Pretty?” she asked him, her voice devoid of enthusiasm.

  She burrowed deeper and found children’s clothes. The boy’s might fit Malik. She held up the red coat for size. “Like this?”

  He nodded, his eyes filled with delight.

  She helped him into it, the sleeves were too long, and she tucked them under. The breeches would be, too, but she had needle and thread to alter it.

  Lydia laughed as Malik strutted about like a peacock, stroking the fabric with his hands.

  She returned to the chest and chose a chintz patterned with apples and flowers on a rich blue background because it laced up in the front. She held it against her before the mirror. Fine lace edged the low square neckline and there was a froth of lace at the elbows. It was meant to be worn over many petticoats and panniers, but there were none in the trunk. No underthings at all, so perhaps the lady had not traveled on the ship. Believing she had not been aboard made it easier somehow to wear her clothes.

  But what impression would she give in these clothes? Would she still be seen not as a lady of mercy by those among the crew who liked her, but by the others as the captain’s mistress? Jack made no attempt to hide that he wanted her. While the possibility of it made her quake, she realized that until they parted, as they must, she welcomed his attention. Alex was no longer here to sneer at her. This was her life, and she would take it with both hands, for when she returned to England, her dreary life would close in around her again.

  The door locked, Malik absorbed in the pieces of the chess set, she stepped behind the painted screen and began to dress.

  The gown fitted her waist neatly, the skirts a little short, the hem reaching her ankles. Before the mirror, her surprised visage gazed back at her. This was unlike anything she’d worn in England where her gowns were more modest. But it was most flattering. Her hair hung loose over her shoulders. She searched for hair pins or combs amongst the few jewels in the trinket box and pushed aside a long strand of fine pearls. With a cry of delight, she took out four combs of gold and pearl. Moments later, her hair wound in a neat twist, she was grateful to have the hot, heavy weight off her neck.

  At the bottom of the trunk, she found several dainty pairs of slippers and shoes, satins and velvets decorated with jewels, a little too small for her feet. She might wear a gold heeled backless pair but feared for her balance.

  Malik’s dark eyes watched as she slipped on the square-toed mules with the curved heel and walked over to unlock the door.

  She was still practicing when Jack knocked. He stopped on the threshold, his gaze taking her in from head to foot.

  Lydia placed a hand at her breasts, revealed by the low neckline, nonplussed to discover how much she wanted him to admire her.

  Chapter Eight

  Jack dragged in a breath. His gaze roamed the delicate pale column of her throat down to the pale, half-moons of her breasts, barely concealed by the bodice of the low-cut gown. He wondered idly what color her nipples were. She was lovely, an elegant beauty. A lady who he had no right to claim as his own. He quickly thrust that irritating thought away. He had denied himself too much during this pirate life and was quite sure he was never meant to live. He could make her happy. Care for her.

  She smoothed her hands nervously over her skirts. “The gowns are a reasonable fit, but I’m not sure about the shoes.”

  He stepped close and rested his hands on her shoulders. “You won’t need such garb on board or where we are going.”

  Her body trembled beneath his touch, her lovely brown eyes searching his. “What is it like where you are taking me?”

  “A group of islands.”

  “Yes, but…” She lowered her chin as if embarrassed to ask. “I know your base is in the Azores, but what is it like?”

  “Puerto de los Dioses is a small island off the Azores.” He smiled. “I’ve not told you about my house. It overlooks a beach, a wide arc of golden sand lapped by water the color of sapphires. The house is simple, but I think it beautiful, and will be more so with you there.”

  “You want me then?” she whispered.

  Her plea went right to the core of his being. She cast her sultry eyes upon him as if pulling his soul in
to her heart. His pulse raced as he wondered how she had the power to strip away the confidence he’d gained from being the captain of a fine ship, down to a mere man. But when she appealed to him with those soft brown eyes, he was bathed in such warmth that he didn’t care to question it too closely.

  “I do, very much,” he murmured, drawing her to him and breathing in the perfume from the dress she wore. Some other lady’s scent, he thought abstractedly. Although he preferred her natural fragrance, he would buy her the sweetest perfumes, because ladies cared for such things. And splendid gowns of her own.

  He sought her mouth, her lips soft and willing. Her fingers coiled into his hair. With a sharp intake of breath, he lengthened the kiss, and traced the seam of her full lips with his tongue as she opened to him. When he delved inside with an urge to taste her, she sagged in his arms. He caught her up, blind and deaf to everything but this woman he wanted naked, moaning beneath him in his bed. She was made for love, and he was eager to awaken her to the pleasures of bed sport. A chuckle brought them apart.

  Malik grinned from the window, while Oskar squawked some ribald remark from his shoulder.

  Damn! He had forgotten the lad who was gesturing to his new red coat. “Very fine, Malik, now go…” Jack began.

  “Ship ahoy!”

  The cry from the lookout had Jack striding to the window. The Spaniard’s ship advanced in full sail. “God’s teeth! Cordova!” he snarled. “Has he the audacity to take me on again? This time he will have cause to regret it!”

  “Who is this Cordova?” she asked, her eyes wide.

  “Someone I must deal with. I want you and Malik in the hold.”

  Lydia shook her head. “I won’t cower there!”

  He frowned. “Do as I say, Lydia. You will be safer there.”

  “It isn’t safe anywhere, unless you defeat this Spaniard. Give me a pistol, Jack, and go to your men. We will remain here.” Her lips firmed and her eyes flashed.

  “I don’t have time to argue with you!”

  “Then don’t. Go!”

  Aware of how determined she could be, he took up a pistol and thrust it into her hands. “It’s primed. Lock the door after me. If anyone tries to force their way in, shoot them.”

  She nodded, looking grim as she clutched the pistol as if it would bite her.

  He clamped down his jaw, wanting her safe and fearing she might not be. “You know which end to point?”

  Lydia nodded. “Alex taught me. Go,” she urged him. “Do what you must.”

  He ran from the cabin, praying she wasn’t in danger of shooting herself or Malik. The lock clicked behind him as he leapt up to the poop deck. When he shouted the command, feet stamped over the deck as his men prepared for battle. A battle Jack had never felt less like fighting. But it was time Cordova and his ship were sent to Davy Jones’ Locker.

  “Bare poles, save the sprit!” Jack clung to the poop rail.

  The other ship advanced, the Spaniard’s intent clear.

  “Fire a warning shot,” Jack yelled as Cordova bore down on them, his guns gleaming in the sun.

  A sally burst forth.

  Cordova responded, but this time the ball splashed into the sea. The prow forged ahead, the Jolly Roger now flying from the mast in place of the Spanish flag.

  “Beat to quarters,” Jack barked at the helmsmen to turn the ship to starboard.

  Jack’s master gunner, Bastian, awaited his orders with young Aden who wished to take part as powder-monkey.

  “Fire a full broadside, round shot from the starboard,” Jack ordered Bastian.

  Jack put a hand on Aden’s shoulder to stay him as Bastian went below to the gun deck. Bastian’s strong voice rose up. “When I give the order, aim, fire, reset, swab, and load.”

  “Get you below, Aden,” Jack ordered.

  Aden’s face fell, but he took the order as he should and disappeared through the hatch.

  Through his spyglass, Jack could see Cordova standing on the quarter deck as his ship advanced. “There will be no surrender,” he said to Pete. “Time we were introduced. We’ve been dancing around each other far too long.”

  “And fill our coffers. We’re low on Spanish wine,” Pete said with a grim smile.

  His crew banged their cutlasses against the rail. A roar as the first shots inflicted damage to both ships. Twenty minutes later, the ships were board to board. A clank of metal rent the air as a dozen grapnels sank into the timbers of the Santa Maria!

  Lydia rushed to the window. As the Golden Orion swung about, the ship sailing toward them came into view. A bright flash came from its guns. Cannon shot hit the water with a whoosh, and Jack’s ship shuddered. The ship swung again and blocked her view.

  She kicked off her mules and gripped the pistol. She had to stay on her feet, alert.

  Malik shrieked and hid his face against her skirts.

  “We’ll be all right.” She hugged his rangy body to her. Should she have taken him into the hold? Wrestling with guilt and uncertainty, she gnawed at her bottom lip as panic engulfed her.

  Surely, to be of help, she would treat the wounded. Jack’s men must not see him favor her. Truth was, she couldn’t stand the thought of waiting in that smelly, dark, horrid place with the rest of the rats, waiting to find out if she would be sent to the bottom of the sea.

  She framed Malik’s face in her hands, making sure he understood her. “Captain will save us,” she said firmly.

  Malik’s eyes were owlish with fear. Oskar set up a dreadful row. He danced on his perch and flapped his brightly feathered wings. “Shiver me timbers! Shiver me timbers!”

  With a roar, the Golden Orion’s guns fired. Through the wisps of smoke, she watched cannon shot hit the other ship broadside, holing it near the waterline. With wild cries, the men scattered. She was forced to turn away when some fell into the sea. A flare of flame sent smoke drifting as the Spanish ship retaliated. She was almost knocked off her feet when the boards beneath her shuddered. Hit, the Golden Orion lurched. She could only hope it wasn’t a fatal blow.

  After the ships came together in an awful groaning of timbers and were locked in place, she heard Jack’s men swarm aboard the Santa Maria with blood-curdling cries.

  Lydia fought to breathe as the image of the leaping, twisting bodies flooding into her mind made her feel sick. Was Jack amongst them? Was he still alive? She couldn’t bear to think otherwise. It was maddening that her view was blocked so often by the movement of the ships, but in a way she was relieved not to be able witness the terrible carnage.

  The sound of it sent a chill through her, the pistol shots, the clash of cutlasses, the screams, and moans of the injured filled the air. More bodies fell into the sea. She wanted to hide in the bed with the blankets pulled over her head, her fingers in her ears, but instead, she straightened her spine. With no surgeon aboard, if they won this battle, she would be sorely needed. She examined her medicines, organizing them, separating those which would be of some help.

  She pushed aside Jack’s logbooks on the desk and found some scissors, cutting up her old gown for bandages. It wasn’t fit to wear again. The work helped to calm her as she sliced through the cloth. “We must roll these up for bandages, Malik, come help me.” She kept the pistol close by. When that door opened again, would it be Jack? Or some Spaniard?

  Malik remained at the window. “Missie!”

  She tripped over her feet as she ran to the lad’s side. He pointed to the sea where a school of sharks tore apart the fallen bodies, blood spreading on the water.

  Lydia shuddered. Above them, the yells and the thunder of stamping feet went on for what seemed like hours, but it was in reality as brief as it was fierce.

  The cannons fell silent.

  On fire, the Spanish ship listed badly. Jack’s men unloaded the hold and carried barrels, trunks, and food stuffs across to Jack’s ship. She stroked Malik’s head thrust against her thigh. “It’s over.” It appeared they had won.

  While she felt profound
relief, she prepared herself for what would no doubt be a bloody aftermath. She listened for sounds on the other side of the door, waiting for Jack to come and ask her to tend the wounded. But an hour passed and then another, and neither he nor anyone else came. Fear tightened her chest and she could hardly breathe. She ached to run to the door and peek out, but she had no business there. Lydia clutched her hands to her chest. Did he still live?

  Chapter Nine

  The fighting had been fierce. In the late afternoon, Jack stalked the poop deck taking note of the carnage. Three of his good men dead and many others wounded. Cordova’s ship was on fire. It’s captain, a longtime foe, was a short man with a small pointed beard and savage black eyes. A mask of rage on his hawk-face, as he fought Jack like a man possessed. He handled a cutlass with skill, but of a slighter build, he did not have Jack’s strength or endurance.

  Cordova fell as his cutlass flew from his hand. Jack’s pinned him to the deck with his foot on his chest. “Say a prayer, Cordova!” Jack ran him through.

  The Spaniard died cursing Jack to hell.

  Without their captain, pandemonium reigned among the Spanish crew. They came rushing to his defense too late and were quickly overwhelmed by Jack’s men. With the choice of spending time in irons under hatches or setting out in the longboat with a few scant provisions and the knowledge that the African shore was only a few leagues away, the captives chose the latter.

  The wounded Spaniards were taken below. Once the hold of the Santa Maria was stripped of its treasure, wines, exotic foods, and trunks of jewels and pieces of eight, the ship gave a shudder and a deep groan, then sank beneath the waves.

  “You’re bleeding, Jack,” Pete said, joining him on the quarterdeck.

  Jack glanced at where Cordova’s blade had struck his arm. “Just a nick.”

  “Some men are hurt bad. Why not send for Miss Bromley?”

  Jack hesitated. He did not want her to witness this, but knew he couldn’t keep it from her.