The huge vessel moved swiftly upon the rolling swells, its sails full and tight before the wind. A black-hulled frigate with its multitude of cannons brought to bear against the enemy French. The sailors scurried in their preparations for battle and all was astir save one man seen clearly on the quarter deck.
Scott Dominion stood very still, his gray-green eyes, cold as glacier ice, his mouth drawn into a hard line and his hands clenched tight against his hips. Had it not been for the wind that blew his dark brown curly hair away from his face, he could have passed for a bronze statue. Even with the pitching of the ship underneath his wide spread legs, his balance kept him steady except for the gentle swaying of his Herculean build. He was unaware of the sea spray blowing white above the railing scattering its fine mist across his ruggedly handsome face. Young for a ship’s captain, he was a man in the prime of life and physical strength, young for a man the French had learned to hate.
Ricardo Perez, moving aft, stopped to gaze at his captain. He had seen this look of hatred many times before and knew its meaning. He could see the muscles of the captain’s thighs straining against the tight black pantaloons tucked into the high black boots. His white ruffled shirt was open from throat to navel, and the broad expanse of Scott’s chest, glistening with the spray of the sea, was bronzed from long exposure to the sun.
Around the captain’s waist was a red sash, contrasting vividly with the somberness of the rest of his garments. The silver hilt of his cutlass flashed brightly in the sun as did the small, hand carved pistols sticking out of the top of his sash. Ricardo sighed as he slowly made his way, hanging onto the taffrail, to stand next to his captain.
Ricardo, standing straight and slim, a much smaller man than his captain looked every inch the Spaniard he was. His only adornment was a long slender sword hanging around his waist. It glittered now and again as the wind caught the folds of his coat, the brown wool billowing out, revealing its ominous presence.
His sparkling black eyes were filled with compassion as he stared at the young man before him. He had known Scott since he was a small boy and even then had pledged allegiance to him for the rest of his life. After all, he would not be here today, if it had not been for this fearless man.
Ricardo glanced once more at Scott’s cold eyes glaring across the stretch of sea at the French merchantman. Would he ever get this hate for the French out of his system? Ricardo asked himself doubtfully. Maybe someday, when he finds the man he is searching for, it will end--this vengeance that eats at his insides.
Scott measured the distance between the two ships until he was certain the power of his cannons would reach that of the other.
"Stand by for a broadside!" he ordered. With a quick, significant glance to his gunners, their lighted fuses in their hands ready to fire their cannons, he lifted his hand as a signal for firing and quickly brought it down.
The sound was deafening, and The Scarlet Eagle shook from the result of the heavy cannons firing simultaneously. As the smoke cleared, Scott could see how crippled the French ship was. With a cruel twist of his mouth he jumped up on the rail, hanging onto the rigging with one hand, holding his cutlass drawn in the other.
As the two ships closed together, their timbers shuddering with the impact, Scott was the first one on board, followed quickly by Ricardo and the rest of the seamen. He jumped onto the debris-strewn deck, and stepped across the unconscious body of Captain Le Homme where he had fallen, buried beneath the heavy timbers of the exploding mast.
"The rest will be easy," Scott said looking about with satisfaction. "Merely finishing up a job well done."
There were few above deck still alive and most of them groaned in great pain from the flying debris of the cannonade. Scott turned, his eyes resting happily on the face of the first mate.
"We no longer need to return to England for supplies. I’m sure the French will be glad to give us theirs," he grinned. "Have the men empty their hold and their stores." His expression changed to one of loathing. "Then we will let them limp back to France hungry and wounded. With any luck maybe the sharks will get them first."
~ * ~
Scott and his men toasted their success with bubbling tankards of the fine champagne, just taken as part of the bounty from the Holland bound ship.
The battered French merchantman was slowly drifting toward the shoreline of France, mortally stricken, it barely answered to the helm. The few men left alive, wounded though they were, were steering it as best they could in the direction of their homeland.
Scott watched it draw away but not without misgivings. If only he had enough hands aboard to allow a skeleton crew to sail her back to England, he could keep her for his own.
"Very good mates," Scott lifted his wine in salute. "We have shown the French once again that when they meet with the English they shall always be bested!"
"Here, here!" chorused the men around him.
Ricardo, watching his long time friend, once again pondered the reasoning behind the hatred boiling in the blood of the young captain. He alone, except for Scott himself, knew of Scott’s half French ancestry… A bastard son of a French aristocrat. This fact, with the consequent humiliation, suffering and poverty of the poor lad’s mother, was the prime force that drove him with such bitter intensity.
The seamen, having toasted their young captain and cheered his bravery, went back to their posts, ready to sail into the open sea.
The captain went below into the hold to check the booty they had confiscated. He was not ready to go ashore just yet, and hoped that with their extra provisions they could remain at sea a little longer. It would soon be time to head for an English port anyway, as the men were all needing some time ashore. Keeping his men busy was one thing, keeping them happy was still another.
He could use some diversion himself, come to think of it. Maybe he would head for London and pop into the ‘Blue Swan’ to see that buxom wench Liz. He smiled at the thought. She had a talent for her trade that could keep a man going all night long.
He whistled softly as he counted the last of his cargo, marking it carefully on his list of booty. With the job completed, he passed the last hogshead laying on its side, setting it upright.
Suddenly he stopped. He heard something. Retracing his steps, he looked around and heard it again. It sounded like a moan and it came for one of the barrels nearest him. He pulled his dagger from its sheath at his waist, and sticking it under the lid, applied leverage under its rim. He replaced the weapon and lifted the circular disc and cast it aside to stare at the rumpled contents huddled on the bottom, moaning in semi-consciousness.
"Well, I’ll be damned! What have we here? A stowaway?" he said surprised.
Danielle, the pain in her head throbbing with each beat of her heart, could hear the strange voice speaking to her from miles away. As her mind cleared she realized the man was speaking in English.
"Here lad, let’s take a look at you." Scott reached down and placed his hands under the armpits of the young woman in the cask, lifting her out to stand on wobbly bare feet.
Danielle, a thousand pins going through her limbs, crumbled toward the hard muscular body in front of her. Her head barely reached his shoulders. Before she made contact with his chest he blocked her fall, grabbing her shoulders, righting her once again.
Scott looked at the lad before him. He could be no more than ten and four years of age and his shoulder bones had felt so thin beneath his hands he presumed the lad to be half starved.
Danielle stepped back in shock and grasped the side of the barrel for support. She looked around her. Even in her dazed condition, she was aware that she was no longer on Captain Le Homme’s ship. The explosion… it must have been this English speaking pirate! Her memory returned full force.
Her anguished mind was full of questions of Captain Le Homme and his men. She closed her eyes tightly, her body slightly swaying, hoping to open them and find it was all a nightmare. What if the man before her found out she was a woman?
"Well, son,
what have you to say for yourself? Do you know the penalty for being a stowaway?" He meant to frighten the lad into some sort of life. At the moment he looked scared to death. He was not to be disappointed. The lad’s eyes, way too pretty for a boy snapped open and stared daggers at him.
"I am no stowaway, pirate!" Danielle purposely dropped her voice an octave. As long as he thought her a ‘lad’ she may be able to live and escape. "I did not come willingly to this ship… I was carried!"
Scott looked at the fire shooting from the dark eyes and inwardly smiled. The waif reminded him of himself many years ago. He may hate the French but he was never one to hurt children or women.
"So you speak the King’s English well. You must have had some education. Well contemplate this! You have no idea what a bad day this is for you. You see, I despise all French. And… whether you came of your own free will or not, you are now on my ship!" He saw the shoulders slump in fright. "So what shall I do with you? Throw you overboard?" He looked down at her bare feet and raised his glance assessingly. "There’s not enough meat on your bones to feed the fish." Scott shook his head. A lad this young would be a hindrance aboard a ship of seasoned sailors. And his prettiness and slight frame would cause all kinds of heckling from the seamen…
"Are you trained at anything? Everyone has to pull his own weight on board this ship." the words came out in a gentler tone.
Danielle’s mind raced over all her talents, discarding each one as worthless in the predicament in which she found herself. Bravely she answered. "I can help cook and clean the cabins."
Scott threw back his head and laughed. "I have an excellent cook and he will not be too happy to have a child in his galley."
A child! She fumed, wishing she could slap the smile from his handsome face. Handsome? Where had that come from? But glancing up at him from the corner of her eyes she admitted it was so. She had never seen a man so handsome and so well put together as the one before her. His shoulders were so broad they blocked the rest of the room from her vision and she had to look a long way up to see his twinkling dark brown eyes. He resembled some mighty warrior towering over her.
Scott grabbed her arm. "Well come along, I will find something you should be able to do." Without releasing his hold, he tugged her in his wake to the upper deck.
"Unhand me!" Danielle tried to jerk her arm lose from his steel grip. With his long legs she was almost running to keep up.
The captain ignored her paltry struggling. He marched across the open deck, disregarding the surprised glances from the men, as he pulled Danielle behind him. He went directly to his cabin and threw open the door, pushing her into the room ahead of him.
She rubbed her arm where his fingers had surely left a bruise. Her anger at his treatment caused her to speak.
"I have two legs, you didn’t have to be so rough!"
Scott stood with his feet spread, his hands resting on his hips and looked at the fire shooting from the large dark eyes before him. The lad had courage, he had to admit. Scott ignored the taunt.
"Since you say you can clean, you will be my cabin boy. It’s not a luxury I normally give myself but considering the circumstances, perhaps I will enjoy it." His arm swung around the room. You will clean and fetch for me and do certain duties aboard ship to earn you keep." He walked over to a desk heavily laden with maps spread atop its surface. "But do not touch these. Leave everything on this desk alone. Agreed?"
Danielle nodded. Did he think her a buffoon? She knew enough not to touch a man’s desk.
"What shall I call you?" He waited for the lad to answer. "You do have a name, don’t you?" he smiled then, his white teeth a sharp contrast to the darkness of his skin. The change was dramatic compared to his fierce countenance of just a few minutes before.
Danielle swallowed trying to get her mind working again yet faced him squarely. His smile made her lose her train of thought. What had he asked her? She looked away from his face so she could bring her thoughts under control. "Dan, Pirate. My name is Dan Rochette."
At that moment the door swung open to admit Ricardo. "One of the men said you brought someone from the hold and I just had to check it out for myself. What on earth are we to do with one such as this?" Ricardo had never been able to abide the weak pretty fops of England, and in the right clothes, that would be exactly what stood in front of him now.
"The lad is to be my cabin boy, Ricardo. What better use for him? Take him to meet the cook so he can eat. He looks half starved. And Dan?" Scott looked at his new charge. "Have the cook fix me something and bring it back to me. I’ll give you the rest of your orders then."
Danielle nodded silently, her rage growing. A cabin boy! She mumbled under her breath and followed the Spaniard from the room.
Once in the galley the cook, who was simply called ‘cook’ fussed around making her eat every morsel of the food he sat in front of her. It was not difficult as she was very hungry indeed. Some stout ale was given to her to wash it all down. She sat back replenished. She glanced down at her breasts protruding from her shirt and quickly leaned forward again. Ricardo had been talking to the cook and luckily had not noticed. This was one time she wished she could have been flat chested. If she didn’t watch herself the damnable things would get her in trouble.
"So Captain Dominion will not be going to England as yet, Ricardo?" Cook asked as he busied himself cutting vegetables for the evening meal.
Danielle choked on her last swallow of ale spewing half its contents onto the floor. Dominion! The dreaded privateer!
"You all right, lad?" the cook questioned.
She nodded. "Just a bit of ale down the wrong pipe." She croaked. She saw the tray ready to take to the captain and rose. She left the two men staring after her as she made her way back to the captain’s cabin.
Scott was sitting at his desk, buried in paperwork and barely noticed her entrance. She sat the tray on the table and moved away across the room. Her eyes moved down the muscles of his back as he leaned over his ledgers. He was young to have such a horrendous reputation. It was hard for her to imagine the hatred he had against her countrymen. What would bring about such vengeance?
Scott put down his pen and stood, stretching his arms above his head. Danielle forced her eyes to look away. This was a man to be reckoned with and she must be wary.
"Lad, I am in need of a bath. Raiding the French is sweaty business. You will find a tub in yonder closet. Fill it for me." He sat down and started on his meal.
Danielle went to do his bidding. It took a few minutes for her to pull the heavy tub out of the closet. It must weigh a ton, she thought to herself. And there was no doubt that she wouldn’t get any help from the privateer filling his face at the table. Finally dragging it into place she left to return to the galley for water. After many trips the tub was ready. The last pot of hot water was standing nearby and she had sat out a towel and a bar of soap. That should be everything he would need she decided and started to leave the room.
"Where are you going?" Scott asked. Done with his short repast, he pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it on a chair.
Danielle looked at the expanse of bare chest, the fine sun bleached hairs grouped in the center between the two dark globes of his nipples. Her eyes raised to meet his. She could feel the heat in her face and spoke angrily. "Well, you don’t need me to wash all that," she motioned to his body, "do you?"
"I’m quite capable of washing myself!" he snapped back at the lad’s absurd remark. "I guess I will have to explain your duties, lad. As cabin boy your place will be here. To fetch more hot water if need be… or anything else I may need. You will not be free to stroll around the deck while the men are hard at their labors, unless there is something specific you have to do there." He motioned to the window seat near the port side of the room. "That is where you will sleep."
Scott untied his breeches and let them fall by the side of the tub. She caught a glimpse of part of the male body she had never seen before and quickly turned around to
face the other way. Were all men built as he? She knew how babies were made. Her mother had been very gracious in explaining it to her, and one of the kitchen maids was always bragging about her experiences. She recalled in her stories the ‘size’ was a very important issue with the slatternly woman. Danielle quickly busied herself on the opposite side of the cabin, straightening an already straightened shelf. Then she quickly dropped her hand realizing that was not something a young lad would do. She heard the splash of the water as the captain immersed himself in the tub. Thank God he was in the tub and she could move around more freely as long as she kept her eyes away from that side of the room.
Scott looked at the back of the young lad. Something about the boy bothered him but he could not quite put his finger on it. There was such an obvious shyness about him, it didn’t make any sense. Perhaps he had been raised by a matronly aunt, with no father to guide him. "Have you never seen another man before, for God’s sake?"
Danielle looked over her shoulder and spit the lie at his head. "Well, of course I have! Are you so almighty proud of yours that you would prefer me to stare in awe at you?"
"Then stop looking like you’re scared to death!" The lad had a mouth, that was obvious. "Come pour some more hot water into the tub."
Danielle went to the pot residing nearby, and picked it up. Scott, with head bent was lathering his hair and did not notice as her curious eyes wandered over him. The wide expanse of chest from shoulder to shoulder and the large biceps that rippled as he scrubbed at his dark curly locks. She moved to the side of the tub and let her eyes fall over the rest of him to the taut flat abdomen, whiter than the rest of his body, down to his masculinity buried in the soft curly hairs between his legs. Now bent at the knees, in the confines of the tub, it showed his muscular thighs and a smooth length of calf. Her gaze raised once again to that where his legs joined his body. Her heart jumped into her throat. It truly was an impressive sight. Her palms began to sweat and perspiration popped out onto her upper lip.
"Well, are you going to pour or stand there?" One eye peaked out from the suds surrounding his face.
The Gypsy Witch Page 4