Defying a Pirate

by Camille Oster

  As they arrived at the port, he pushed her onto the other bench before getting out, keeping a tight grip on her wrist. Once he stepped out of the carriage, he pulled her over his shoulder.

  “Let go of me,” she yelled as loudly as she could. “Help!” She pounded his back with her fists and kicked her lower legs as much as they could under his grip.

  There was life down at the port—there always was, but no-one paid attention to a screaming female. Striding up the plank to his ship, he carried her across the deck, turning to his men. “Sail,” he shouted before turning back toward his cabin.

  “You’re flying a Danish flag,” she stated as he carried her in the door.

  “No-one notices the Danes. They go everywhere and no-one bats an eyelid.”

  “I can’t believe you just sailed into London clear as day and stole someone, and no-one noticed!”

  He chuckled as he threw her down on the bed. She scrambled off and withdrew to the far corner of the room where she stood with her arms wrapped around her. Sitting down in his chair at the table, he listened to the men’s organization. He felt the restraints give way and the ship given its freedom to move. He felt the tug as the sails deployed and heard the gentle movement of the river around the hull. They were off and he looked back at his prize. He’d come a long way for her and he was glad it had all gone without a hitch.

  Chapter 4

  Gemma stood in the corner of the large dark room, trembling—not quite knowing what she was feeling besides fear. She knew the ship had left port, and she suspected that land was quite far away now—not that she would get out of here if she tried; the pirate was sitting not far away. He looked relaxed; this was his environment and the fact that he’d just kidnapped someone didn’t seem to bother him in the least.

  Looking down, she noticed her dress still bundled in her hands and she unwrapped it and quietly shrugged it on. She felt exposed standing there in her nightdress. She wondered if she was dreaming, she’d thought so for a minute when she first opened her eyes and seen him sitting on her bed. She’d known instantly it was him, even by the pale light in the room, the shape of his face had given it away. She’d never quite forgotten his face as she’d sailed passed him. Having never gone to battle in any capacity before, her enemy was etched in her mind. Confrontation was, in essence, foreign to her; she’d never even argued when a merchant short-changed her. Now she had made an enemy, a formidable one and there had been consequences as it turned out.

  “What do you want?” she finally asked trying to steady her voice.

  He didn’t answer at first. “You’ve caused quite a problem for me. One I have to fix.”

  Listening intently, she tried to understand the meaning and the implications of what he was saying, but he wasn’t giving her enough. “I don’t understand,” she said when he didn’t elaborate any more.

  “A pirate survives on his reputation and you have quite effectively devastated mine.” He said it calmly, dispassionately.

  “No-one knows of it, no-one has mentioned it.”

  “Perhaps not here, but in the Caribbean ... everyone knows.”

  Oh God, she thought, he was going to kill her to restore his reputation. Instantly, she felt a lump rise in her throat with the unfairness of it; she was completely defenceless and he was a pirate with a crew and a ship. Did she mention he was a pirate?

  “And killing me will restore your reputation?”

  “I am not going to kill you,” he said, but she could tell that he wasn’t necessarily surprised by her assumption, which only confirmed that it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. “But you have bettered me and I have to find some way of dealing with that.”

  “Some way that requires my participation,” she added.

  He got up from the chair and moved toward her, his movements slow, powerful and deliberate. She felt the full effect of his scrutiny now and tried to further withdraw into the corner she occupied.

  “I have decided that the best way to deal with it—and I have given it some consideration, is to acknowledge your mastery, and then exert my own.”

  “Exert your own?” she said not understanding, her voice trembling slightly. At least she felt like she was getting somewhere and she wouldn’t let her fear detract from the rather important purpose of finding out what he had planned for her.

  “But you have left me in a unique position as you’re a woman. If you were a man, I could challenge you—keep fighting until everything was restored.”

  “Or you were dead.” She shouldn’t have said that, it just slipped out. It was stupid. He, of course, picked up on her challenge and stepped a bit closer, cocking his head to the side.

  “But you are not a man,” he said reinforcing his statement by taking in all her form. As he stepped closer, Gemma stepped back even though the wall behind her would give no more. He brought his hand up to her cheek and stroked down with the back of his finger. Gemma flinched at the touch. “You’re a woman and even for a pirate, duelling with a woman is seen as ... crass.”

  “Good to know you have some limits.”

  “Not really,” he laughed. “But my kind tends to recognize strength and we respect it. I must acknowledge yours.”

  His words didn’t sound too bad in her ears, but his scrutiny was extremely disconcerting. His gaze settled on her lips.

  “You will be my paramour. A woman of proven consequence, worthy of being beneath me.”

  “Worthy?” she said incredulously, again without thinking. He raised an eyebrow. This man obviously had a good opinion of himself. His arrogance was astounding. Actually, it was on a par with some of the men in her own class, who felt their birth and circumstances afforded them strong opinions of themselves. He was not though, of her class. She couldn’t quite place his accent. He was much more strongly built with muscles clearly filling his linen shirt; she could see the strength in his shoulders and arms. Men of her class were not built like him, only hard work created men like that.

  “Pirates have a flair for the dramatics. You may not believe it, but they are saps for such sentiments. I will boast and you will gaze upon me with adoring eyes—brought to heel by the things that I do to you.”

  “And how exactly will you assure that I am brought to heel?”

  A grin spread across his mouth. “You may have found a way to use your advantages when you have a ship twice the size of mine—and I don’t know how you managed to get yourself on the deck, let alone in command—but don’t delude yourself into thinking you can match me in a fair fight, or even an unfair one now that your advantage of astounding surprise is gone. You will do as I say.”

  Or what, she wanted to challenge, but she suspected she didn’t want to know the answer.

  “I am not going to be your paramour,” she said flatly.

  He stepped back. “You doubt I could make you?”

  “No, but that wouldn’t make me a paramour, would it? Not really.”

  “The ‘really’ part isn’t actually necessary. Obviously I could, but you don’t actually … sway me.”

  Beside the confusion, Gemma didn’t know whether she should be offended or grateful; she actually felt both.

  “I like them curvier, darker and begging for it.”

  “You’re revolting.” She noted the impersonal way he spoke of his associations.

  “But then I do make exceptions,” he said darkly, warning her to watch her tongue.

  He walked over to a table and poured himself a drink, a dark liquid in a beautiful glass. Gemma looked around the room and saw that it was full of luxuries—no doubt, his ill-gotten gains. There were silks on the bed, silver on the table and a clock on the wall that looked like it belonged at the Spanish Court.

  “But sooner or later, they all come willingly,” he said.

  Gemma snorted. Alright, she really needed to check this confrontational manner of hers, she admonished herself. It was going to get her into real trouble.

  “You doubt my words?”


  “You can’t seriously think that I will want to … That’s ridiculous. You broke into my house, you kidnapped me; there is no way on this green earth you could think that I would ever—” The look on his face showed that he clearly did. “Are there no limits to your arrogance?”

  “It is not arrogance if experience has proved otherwise.”

  “Ugh,” Gemma exclaimed. This man was very handsome, but she didn’t find him in the least attractive. His arrogance kept her from responding to the obvious handsomeness of his face and body. The way he looked, perhaps women did throw themselves at him. “Well, you can rest assured, you are safe from me,” she stated.

  He cocked his eyebrow this time, with amusement. “Such sentiments are easy now; it’s a long voyage across the Atlantic, with many cold nights.”

  “Nights you will be spending alone. Please show me to my cabin.”

  “This is a pirate ship, love. No cabins. You can sleep here,” he said pointing to the dark mahogany bed, “or you can sleep with the men. Your choice.”

  The horror of her situation dawned on her.

  “That’s barbaric.”

  “I am a pirate. Where are these high expectations you have of us coming from?”

  “I will not sleep with you,” she stated blatantly.

  “I am not prepared to put any guarantees on that statement.” He grinned.

  “Then how about a wager?”

  “A wager?” he repeated incredulously.

  Gemma formulated her words very carefully; she didn’t want to get this wrong. “I wager that you are not the temptation you think you are,”—she had his attention now—“that you cannot get me to sleep with you without force.” She knew there was a risk in her statement, bringing up force was perhaps not the best course of action, but then the threat was there all along.

  “And what have you to wager with?” He was clearly amused with her proposition.

  “A thousand pounds.”

  “A thousand pounds? Where would you get a thousand pounds?”

  “My dowry.”

  “You would wager your dowry that I can’t seduce you?” he said disbelievingly. Sitting down and placing his hand behind his head, considering her, obviously trying to gain some understanding. “I see; you’re not wagering that I will seduce you—you’re wagering that I will not rape you. Clever girl. Your husband will not be happy with you giving your dowry to me.”

  “I must remain chaste to gain one.”

  “You really don’t, believe me,” he said. “But since you are willing to give me a thousand pounds, who am I to say no? I would after all steal it if I had the opportunity. Fine then, Miss Montague, you have a wager, but you do realize you have actually incentivized me to seduce you.”

  “But you cannot force me.”

  “Believe me, I won’t have to. You will pay me to have me push inside your body. I’ve never been paid for my services before—handsomely too. I’m not sure how I feel about that.” Then he smiled. “Try everything once, I say.”

  Chapter 5

  Once they’d cleared the coastline, Gemma had been given strict orders not to leave the cabin while the Pirate was gone. She didn’t even know his name. He’d strode out, leaving her alone in the large cabin that served as his quarters, his dining room and his office. The space was divided into sections for different purposes. It wasn’t messy, but neither was he a stickler for order of the kind that the navy seemed to promote.

  Walking over to the desk covered with maps, she investigated brass navigation tools lying across the large parchments. She could see that he had set a course for the Caribbean and seeing it only made this whole madness seem more real. She’d been kidnapped by a pirate, to be sailed away to an unknown future. She prayed that she would see England again one day; she didn’t dare think what he would do with her after she’d served her purpose.

  He’d laid out his plan, but Gemma wasn’t sure it would work—not that it mattered, it was afterward that concerned her. S he suspected it wouldn’t involve them shaking hands and going their separate ways. Whatever happened, she had to focus on getting away—that was her mission. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a mission that could be enacted in the middle of the Atlantic.

  Continuing to peruse the cabin, she looked at the things he’d collected and valued. There was a collection of fine things around the room, plenty of gold in all sorts of forms. Actually, what she really wanted was a weapon, but she also knew she wouldn’t know what to do with it if she found one. She wouldn’t achieve anything if she did manage to injure or even kill him; the rest of the crew would get her, which may be a worse fate.

  Gemma felt her courage flag as the misery of her situation was sinking in. At least Vivecka was safe, but now the awful dangers ahead scared her. She retreated to the corner she’d claimed earlier and sank down until she was sitting on her heels. Hot, heavy tears started to flow, along with wracking sobs. She hadn’t cried since the day her father had died. She’d had to be so strong, face the uncertainty of her situation as she’d been turned out of her home, left to beseech her extended family to take her in. She’d been lucky in that respect, but it had still been a period of tremendous tension for her. Jamaica had been a reprieve for a while; she hadn’t had to do anything—her place secure for the time being. With the return to England, she’d been expected to find another place for herself, with a husband. Being kidnapped by pirates would make that process much more complicated if she were ever to get back to her life, and now she’d traded her chastity for her dowry.

  She tried to keep silent, but her tears went on for a while, releasing tension and grief for more than the recent disastrous turn of events. Her tears eventually dried, but she didn’t leave the spot she’d claimed.

  She heard the Pirate shouting orders on the quarterdeck above her head, his voice instantly discernible. The ship responded as his orders were carried out, the sails were changed and she felt the tug in response. The sail would likely be faster than she’d experienced before—this ship was built for speed after all. She didn’t actually know that much about sailing, she knew more about battles and the tactics through careful study of almost all recorded battles that had been fought over the last millennia.

  She thought of the man who had stolen her—she couldn’t quite place his accent. His fluency spoke of a British heritage, but he could have been raised anywhere. She’d noticed when in Jamaica that Englishmen who grew up there sometimes developed strange quirks to their accents.

  She jerked as the door opened. A man came in carrying a tray, which he placed on the table. Gemma wasn’t sure he had seen her until he gave her a quick nod before leaving. As stillness returned to the cabin and she slowly rose, working past the pain of having been confined in such an awkward position for so long.

  The smell of the food filled the cabin and Gemma felt her stomach respond. She’d had nothing since supper time the evening before and she felt her hunger punch through her fear and misery. There was food on the tray and for more than just one. She flinched as she heard the footsteps above her head, heavy and leisurely. Although certain it was him, she didn’t hear anymore as he stepped off the quarterdeck, but she imagined his walk back here and watched as the doorknob turned just as she expected it would.

  Gemma retreated back to her corner as he entered. He seemed to take over the entire room. He strode over to the desk and dropped a spyglass on top of the maps before turning to the dining table. His large, heavy leather coat groaned as he sat down at the head of the dining table and speared a piece of meat with his fork to place on his plate. The whole service was silver, which looked out of place in this cabin, and with him. He then tore off a piece of bread.

  “Do you intend to starve yourself in protest?” he asked without looking her way.

  She didn’t answer, but took a tentative step forward, clasping her hands tightly under her chin, protecting her body. Her stomach lurched with hunger as she seemed to evaluate the safety of approaching the table.

 
It felt uncomfortable putting herself within his reach, but that was where the food was. Walking past him, she skirting the edge of the bed and moved toward the other side of the table, as far away from him as she could manage. She noted that he wasn’t scared of her escaping out of the cabin anymore, which told her that they were definitely in open water now. There would be nowhere for her to go.

  The instinct to go to the other side of the table proved a misjudgement as the food was down at his end. She had to move closer.

  “Now, if we hadn’t made that bet, we would be over this awkwardness by now,” he said. His deep voice filled the cabin and her head as she worked through the implications of what he’d said. Her stomach flipped with fear. “Are you sure you don’t want to retract this bet?”

  “No!” she said as quickly as her mouth could manage.

  “Then you better hurry up or the food will be cold by the time you manage to make it to the table.”

  Gemma slid into a chair closer to the food, but still some ways down the table. She reached for a bit of bread, half expecting him to do something, but she met no resistance or impediments. She tore a piece and then a smaller piece to place in her mouth. It was fresh, still warm from the oven, she noted.

  She looked at the man who held her captive. She felt a rush of something when she considered what he’d said, implying that they would be on more intimate terms if not for the bet. She was certain that he meant it in the complete sense, rather than just slow progress. It seemed absurd that people could go from being strangers to complete intimacy in such a short space of time. She wasn’t stupid, she knew there were women who provided such services to men they didn’t know, but it just seemed abstract and surreal. She had, of course, expected her wedding night to be the time where she would have to experience such intimacy, but it would be with her fiancé, someone she’d know for quite a while. And not someone like him, muscular and … not sweet. She had always expected her husband to be sweet, not a complete sap, but capable when it counted. Most likely, he would be older and from a good family—maybe even titled if she was fortunate.