The Captain's Caress

by Leigh Greenwood

  “It’s probably just as you say, but we’re going to take her nevertheless. Everyone needs tar and shingles.” Once the decision was made, uncharacteristic languor fell from Captain Douglas like a discarded cloak. “Smith!” he bellowed at an extremely thin man of neat appearance who came at a run. “Get those lazy dogs on their feet. We’ll never capture that ship if we wait for an invitation.”

  “We’re wallowing about like a sea cow as it is, sir. Are you meaning to tow her into Havana behind us?” Only Smith was privileged to question the captain’s orders.

  “Are you hoping I’ll let you sail her yourself so you can show me up?” Brent’s eyes twinkled at Smith’s energetic denial, and he then declared, “We’ll only take the best of what they have. You may need to pack things a little tighter, but the men can double up.”

  “They’ve already doubled up,” Smith reminded him as a few brave souls groaned aloud.

  “Then let them double up again,” Brent roared unsympathetically. “They’ll have more than enough room when we reach Havana.” He looked about him at his still-drowsy crew. “With all the sleep they get on deck, you wouldn’t think they’d have any need of a bunk.” Some of the younger hands fidgeted nervously, but the veterans merely grinned. “Make sure they’re wide-awake, or we’ll be the ones getting a dunking in the Atlantic. Take the usual precautions, but let’s hope they decide not to put up much of a fight. Now turn to!” he shouted as he walked away.

  At the sound of his booming voice, men appeared as if by magic. They went about their preparations with practiced efficiency, each sailor knowing exactly what was expected of him. Captain Douglas wouldn’t sail with a man who had to be driven to his work; more than one reluctant seaman had found himself cast adrift or left to the mercies of a victimized ship’s crew.

  The captain remained on deck throughout the wait. From time to time he used the glass to study the approaching ship, more out of habit than from necessity. Her disorganized crew’s futile attempts to prepare some kind of defense were almost comic, but Brent’s mood was solemn. His attitude communicated itself to his crew and they went about their work without the noisy shouts of encouragement that usually accompanied their battle preparations. A warning shot fired across the bow of the other vessel was not returned, and the men of the Windswept prepared to board without opposition.

  “They ought to show some kind of fight,” Smith said in disgust.

  “Stop moaning. There’ll be enough fights the next time out to satisfy even your bloodthirsty soul.”

  “Is there going to be another voyage?” Smith asked with deceptive casualness. “Now that you’ve got that plantation, I wondered if you meant to settle down.”

  “A planter’s life is too quiet for a man like me.”

  “You won’t have any trouble finding a wife,” Smith ventured tentatively, not meeting his friend’s eye. “Once it gets about you’re thinking of getting married, they’ll come at you so thick you’ll need me to sort them out.”

  “Not to marry a condemned murderer.” Brent spoke with studied indifference, but his gaze turned steely.

  “You never murdered anybody, sir.”

  “Unfortunately, not everyone has your faith in me,” Brent responded. He gathered up his pistol and buckled on his sword. “I’ll probably roam the seas forever like the Flying Dutchman.”

  “But his curse was lifted when he found a girl who’d be faithful to him.”

  “Well I’ll be damned, Smith. I never knew you went in for reading old stuff like that.”

  “You know I’m more comfortable with my figures,” Smith replied diffidently. “My old mother used to tell the little ones stories and the Dutchman was her favorite, probably because of my dad. He did all the roaming while she took care of us and waited for him to come home.” He picked up his weapons. “We never did find out what became of him.”

  “It looks like neither of our mothers got much good from the sea. I don’t suppose a wife of mine would like it any better. Let’s go relieve this captain of his cargo,” Brent said, dismissing the subject of his future. “Then he can finish his trip with an easy mind.”

  Smith wondered what Brent Douglas really did think. One never knew, but with his black moods becoming more frequent, he was fixing to do something, even if he didn’t know it.

  The Sea Otter’s crew was only vaguely aware of Captain Douglas’s reputation, but the sight of his towering six-foot-four frame striding about on deck with an unmistakable air of command had driven any thought of resistance from their minds.

  Smith broke off a rapid conversation with the Sea Otter’s first mate, a worried crease between his eyes. A quick conference with the Sea Otter’s captain did nothing to lighten his expression. He schooled his features to their accustomed passivity as he turned to Brent, but his eyes were wary.

  “Williams has gone over the cargo lists with their people and it seems that about all they’re carrying is a woman.”

  “Why would anybody be fool enough to waste a whole ship on one woman?” Brent demanded, angered to find his efforts wasted. “Who is this invaluable female?”

  “The Countess of Heatherstone.” Whatever response Smith may have been expecting, he was astonished to see his captain go deathly pale under his tan.

  “Are you sure?” Brent demanded in a dry whisper. “You’ve got to be sure.”

  “I spoke to Captain Bonner myself,” Smith assured him. He could not account for Brent’s unexpected response, but he was certain the countess’s name was not unknown to his captain.

  Brent didn’t hear Smith’s reply; his mind was awash with memories he had spent ten years trying to forget. He heard, once again, his father’s smiling promise to return with enough riches to pay their debts. He saw his mother, her eyes haunted, sitting by the parlor window, waiting for a letter from the husband she would never see again. He remembered every word of Ben Potter’s explanation of how the earl had robbed Brent of his future. He closed his eyes tightly, but he couldn’t block out the picture of Gowan lying in a pool of blood while a young boy stood over him, riding crop in hand.

  “Do you want to speak to their captain?” Smith asked tentatively.

  “Yes,” Brent said, with a visible effort forcing himself back into the present. “It’s time I met the leader of this fainthearted crew.”

  Smith looked keenly at him, but for the first time in many years a curtain was drawn between them. With an uneasy mind, he led Brent to where Captain Bonner waited.

  A middle-aged man of large stature, Captain Bonner carried surprisingly little weight on his tremendous frame, and the two men made an imposing picture as they faced each other. But Bonner’s eyes didn’t flash with Brent’s keen intelligence, nor did he move with restless energy.

  “I believe we are fellow countrymen,” Brent began easily.

  “You’re English!” exclaimed the scowling man.

  “No. I’m Scottish, but I doubt you’ll find that an adequate excuse,” Brent responded, smiling at the familiar reaction. “I’ll spare you the trouble of telling me what a disgrace I am to my country. That was what you were going to say, wasn’t it?”

  “That and a great deal more,” asserted the outraged man.

  “Save it for our next meeting. Right now I’m in a hurry and I need the answers to a few questions.”

  “Your man already has our bills of lading. He probably knows more about our cargo than I do. I don’t concern myself with freight,” Bonner concluded with a haughty sneer.

  “You should. It pays your wages.” A snicker from the ranks of his own men cut off Bonner’s intended reply and caused him to flush with impotent fury.

  “My first mate tells me that your cargo consists of a woman. That’s unusual. Is it also true?”

  “Of course it’s true,” Bonner replied, infuriated. “Do you think I’d lie about anything as easily verifiable as that?”

  “I should hope not,” Brent said with an ironic smile.

  “If you’ll take the
trouble to locate a Mr. Brinklow, he’ll tell you that he’s the agent who hired the Sea Otter to convey the countess to Edinburgh.”

  “Find me this Brinklow at once,” barked Brent.

  “Here he is, sir.” Some of the hardness in Brent’s eyes dissolved as Smith motioned one of the crew to bring the man in question forward.

  “Am I correct in assuming that you have already sent someone to request the countess’s presence on deck?” he asked, and Smith nodded. “There are times when I’m not entirely sure I trust you,” Brent said with a wry grin. Smith relaxed a little; the captain seemed to be recovering from whatever had set him off so badly.

  As Brent looked Brinklow up and down, the incensed agent bridled like a setting hen confronted by a fox. He was unsure of what this enormous man with the mocking eyes was about to do, but he knew it would be worth his life if he allowed anything to happen to the countess.

  “Blackguards like you should be driven from the sea,” he declared in a frightened, squeaky voice. “You ought to be hung, and your head placed on a spike. You’re an abomination, and the Lord’s wrath will be visited upon your seed for generations to come.”

  Smith struck the red-faced little man a sharp blow across the face. “No one talks to the captain like that,” he said sharply.

  “Don’t stop him.” Brent was laughing. “Can’t you see he’s suffering from mortal fear for his hide.” Amusement danced in his eyes, but a hint of steel lay behind it. “It’s a good thing I don’t have any seed as you so quaintly put it. The little devils would be in for a nasty time of it, but I didn’t ask you here to discuss my Judgment Day. Who is the woman you’re calling the Countess of Heatherstone? I never heard that the earl was married, and I can’t believe he’d be letting his wife run all over the world by herself if he had.”

  “It’s not expected that a common criminal should be privy to the private concerns of an earl,” Brinklow said, eying Brent with righteous indignation. “My mistress is indeed the Countess of Heatherstone, and if you so much as lay a hand on her the earl will destroy you. He’s a great man with many powerful friends. There’s nowhere you can hide that’s beyond his reach.” Brinklow allowed his arrogance full rein, secure in the belief that his employer’s name was sufficient to instill mortal fear in the heart of this godless pirate.

  Smith advanced upon him once more, fists ready, but Brent motioned him back. “I’m not frightened by your threats, but I am tired of this meaningless bombast. Gowan is a hell-born devil and an unprincipled rogue. He’d steal food from an orphan if he could see any gain in it, but your warnings have inspired me with a determination to see this countess of his. It’s rare that a mistress is able to inspire such loyalty in her servants. Has anyone found her yet?”

  Chapter 3

  Summer paced restlessly about the cabin, her eyes darting fearfully in the direction of each new sound. “I’ve got to know what’s happening, Bridgit. Can’t they tell you anything?”

  “Not a word that makes any sense, milady. The captain’s shaking so hard he’d rattle the bark right off himself if he was a tree. He doesn’t know whether those cutthroats mean to board us or just come alongside. They fired over the bow so maybe they didn’t mean to do us any harm.”

  “But don’t you think that means they want something, and they intend to come take it?” Summer asked anxiously. “If they just wanted to talk, why couldn’t they simply wave a flag or something?”

  “They can’t be pirates, milady. They wouldn’t dare come this close to England.”

  “My father used to say that some of the bold ones would sail up the Thames itself. But what could pirates possibly want with us?”

  “I don’t know, but if we stay quiet maybe they won’t bother us.” A knock on the door dispelled that comfortable hope, and caused Summer to nearly jump out of her skin. “Who’s there?” demanded Bridgit planting herself between the door and her mistress.

  “The name’s Williams, ma’am. I’m second mate on the Windswept.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Captain Douglas extends his greetings to the countess. He’s by way of being a countryman of hers and would like to convey his compliments to her on her recent marriage, in person.” However surprised Summer might be to receive such a politely worded request, she had no intention of allowing anyone to enter her cabin. She shook her head vigorously.

  “The countess is not feeling well enough to leave her cabin.”

  “I’m certain the captain would be happy to see her ladyship in private.” Summer shook her head more frantically than ever.

  “The countess doesn’t want to see the captain at all,” Bridgit replied tartly. “Take him our compliments and say the countess begs to be excused.”

  “I don’t think I can do that,” Williams answered, unperturbed as ever. “If you can’t come out to us, we’ll have to go in to you.”

  “I have no intention of letting you in, you rude man.” Bridgit’s courage was fortified by the locked door between them, but the scrape of a key turning dismantled that line of defense, and to her horror the door swung open to admit a well-muscled man of medium height and gaunt face.

  “I relieved your captain of his keys,” Williams said by way of explanation as Summer sat down with a plop.

  “How dare you enter a lady’s chamber unbidden,” scolded Bridgit as soon as she had recovered the use of her tongue.

  “The captain wants to meet the countess,” Williams answered politely, “and he doesn’t take kindly to giving orders a second time.”

  “And we are not accustomed to taking orders from nasty bandits, footpads, or whatever you call yourself,” replied Bridgit indignantly.

  “I don’t suppose it matters what you call us, but I can’t ever recall anyone disobeying the captain’s orders.”

  “There’s a first time for everyone, even your captain,” Bridgit retorted. She was provoked by the easy confidence of the man. “You take yourself back through that door and tell him the Countess of Heatherstone doesn’t appear on command for anyone.”

  “I don’t rightly think I can do that, ma’am.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t have the courage,” he said, grinning good-naturedly.

  “You’ve got brass enough for anything,” Bridgit responded, indignantly stamping her foot.

  “Then you’ll come with me?”

  “Not one inch!”

  “I suppose there’s nothing for it but to carry the countess out to him.”

  “What!” Summer was shocked into speaking.

  “If you can’t walk by yourself, I’ll have to fetch someone to carry you. But you’re such a little bit of a thing,” he said, looking at her slim figure, “even an old man like me could lift you real easy.”

  “Don’t you even think of laying a hand on the countess.” Bridgit declared. She was prepared to defend her mistress at her own peril.

  “It’s no use,” Summer said, accepting the inevitable. “He’s going to make me go.”

  Williams nodded. “When the captain wants something he means to have it, and he seems mighty set on seeing you.”

  “What can he possibly want with me?”

  “I can’t speak for the captain, your ladyship, but I can promise you you’ll suffer no hurt. The captain is a great gentlemen.”

  “Well, I can’t possibly go like this. I’ve got to dress.”

  “Your ladyship looks fine to me, if you’ll pardon my saying so,” Williams assured her, admiring the shapely body that could not be hidden by the thin material of the dress.

  “Don’t be absurd, you brazen man,” said Bridgit. “No lady is fit to be seen without she’s properly dressed, even if she is being pushed about by uppity rapscallions. You wait in the passage and I’ll let you know when the countess is ready.”

  “I hope you don’t mean to take long. The captain never understands it when he has to wait.”

  “We’ll be as quick as may be,” Bridgit promised, shoving him from t
he room. She locked the door and turned expectantly to Summer. “What do you plan to do, milady?”

  “Change my dress and fix my hair,” Summer said running to her trunk. “I can’t possibly be seen in this old muslin.”

  “Milady! You can’t mean you’re actually going to see that dreadful man!”

  “What choice do I have?” Her muffled voice came from deep inside the trunk.

  “But you don’t know what kind of disreputable rogue he might be. He could do anything!”

  “He’s less likely to do it on deck in front of people,” Summer countered. She retrieved a dress from the bottom of the trunk. “And you heard that man say he’d carry me out if he had to. Well, if I must go, I’ll go on my own two feet looking like a countess, not like some scared little girl.” She held a gown up and considered her reflection in the mirror. “Now stop complaining about what can’t be changed and help me dress. That man is not going to wait forever.”

  “A pox on all men!” Bridgit exclaimed as she moved to help her mistress.

  Summer stepped boldly onto the deck of the Sea Otter, then paused to let her eyes adjust to the bright sunlight. She wondered what kind of man received such absolute obedience from hardened outlaws. The captain couldn’t be anything like the planters she had known; they had neither the trust nor loyalty of their men. Curiosity and an odd desire for excitement overcame her trepidation, and she moved toward the waiting men.

  Brinklow bustled up in an attempt to shield her from the curious stares of the gawking crewmen, but she swept imperiously past him in search of the man who was so determined to meet her. Her eyes swept over those nearest her; instinctively she knew that none of them had the power to hold the destiny of men and ships in his hands, and her gaze moved on, darting from one man to another until it came to a shuddering halt against the imposing form of Brent Douglas. Summer felt as though she had run full tilt into a stone wall, and the shock of the impact left her feeling bruised and breathless.