The Bride and the Buccaneer

by Darlene Marshall

  "Careful. If you try to stop me, Mrs. Burrell, you could find yourself falling out."

  "I am not coming to your bunk, Captain Burrell!"

  "I am saddened to hear that, Mrs. Burrell," he said, rewarded by her intake of breath when he ran his finger down the center of her body, from just below her throat to where the cloth stopped his hand from going farther. "Perhaps though, I can convince you to change your mind.

  "Or," he said, using his one finger to move the cloth open, "Maybe there is a game that can be played outside of my bunk. No, I'm warning you from long experience, don't move like that, Sophia, you will spill yourself onto the deck."

  He shifted his stance and came into contact with a hip dipping low in the hammock, and pressed himself against her. It felt splendid and relieved some of the pressure building up inside him, that fleeting sensation of her softness against him where he was aching and hard. But it wasn't nearly enough, he knew it wouldn't be enough until he was so deep inside her she was screaming out his name in ecstasy.

  Rocking himself against the cloth separating the two of them helped though, his hand on the other hip steadying the hammock so the delightful friction wouldn't cease.

  In the meantime, he was trying to focus on showing Mrs. Burrell some of the delights awaiting her if she joined him in his bunk. She was watching him as he used his free hand to pull up her gown and explore the body displayed for him in the hammock like a sweet in a candy shop. Her skin glowed alabaster where the starlight caressed it, and the nipples on the exquisite mounds under his gaze were larger than he expected, so much so he touched one to make sure it was real, an action that caused her to rock the hammock in a dangerous manner, so he pulled her tighter against him and covered her breast, the center pressing up warm and hard into his palm.

  She still wasn't speaking, and that in and of itself was a blessing. He kept that thought to himself as he lowered his head to see if she tasted as piquant as she looked.

  She did. She tasted of springtime violets and starlight and sweet berries, all in one compact package he was beginning to suspect was exactly the right size, the way her waist fit his hands, the way her delicately rounded limbs were squirming in the hammock. She was urging him on with her small sighs and whispers as he explored every inch of her exposed by her open night clothes. His lips trailed across her breast and his hand ruched up her nightrail. His fingers toyed with the damp curls at the apex of her thighs, but then he wondered if they were as pale as the hair on her head and he just had to have a closer look. To his delight they were, gossamer in the dark cabin, so pale he could barely see them against the skin they hid. He used two fingers to part them for a closer look, and her thighs clamped around his wrist

  "Jack! You must stop—" But her protests trailed off on a moan when he blew on the fine hairs, using his finger to tease at her entrance, encouraging her to release his wrist.

  Instead, he nearly flew up to bang his head on the deck above when she used her free hand to grab him.

  "Sophia! Wha—What are you doing?" he croaked.

  "This is a game for two players, Lucky Jack," she flashed a gleam of teeth at him as she whispered, "and I have the winning hand!"

  He wiggled his fingers against her and her mouth opened in an "O" but she didn't release him, instead, stroking him from root to tip, with a squeeze at the end just behind his crown.

  He almost lost his balance, but didn't give up his grip on her hammock, or on her. If it was a game she wanted, he would oblige her. He could make her come first, she was just a little snip of a thing, a bookshop clerk, while he'd been around the Horn—

  "Sweet mercy!" he swore, when she ran her thumbnail up his shaft, giving a flick at the tip, nearly finishing him then and there. He tried to focus on her while distracting himself, reciting the names of the nineteen United States, moving his fingers until he had one easing into her while his thumb toyed with the tight little knot of nerves hiding in her curls, those warm, wet curls making it hard to focus on anything except how her hand was stroking him, squeezing him, applying just the right pressure and then moving down to rub gently beneath his ballsack—

  "Ohio!"

  He thought she gasped out a laugh, but she didn't stop fondling him, working him, reminding him in a most dramatic way that he had been at sea a long time and having someone else to do for you was so much better than doing for yourself.

  And yet, he tried to stay on task, working his finger into her where she was so tight and hot, and he gasped and hunched over her, gripping her in the hammock while she gripped him and he could feel himself tightening, hardening as he pumped in her hand, holding onto the hammock now with both hands because there was nothing else he could do to stay on his feet, especially when she said in her husky little voice, "Now, Jack, come wow!" and his body obeyed her.

  His knees gave out on him and she shrieked as she tumbled out of the hammock onto him where he lay on the deck, drained and defeated.

  Although defeated wasn't exactly how he was feeling at the moment, though drained said a great deal about his current condition.

  "That was interesting," Sophia said briskly as she put herself back together. "But honestly, Jack, if you needed some relief, all you had to do was ask. I do not want you so... overwrought on this journey you are unable to function."

  "That wasn't my plan," Jack muttered to himself as he pulled himself up and rubbed his aching hip. His darling little wife had already scrambled back into her hammock.

  "Good night, husband. Sweet dreams."

  * * *

  Bloody, bloody hell!

  Sophia's teeth ground together and she clutched the sides of her hammock, waiting for her husband's breathing to settle into a regular pattern of sleep. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She wasn't supposed to be lying awake in this cloth cocoon, aching, because of a buffoon like Lucky Jack Burrell.

  She'd been so sure—cocksure—she almost grinned, but she was still throbbing and it bothered her, so sure she'd be able to turn off her feelings, distance herself from what he was doing to her body, but she wasn't able to do that. Jack made her feel far too much for her own peace of mind.

  She heard his breathing settle into a steady rhythm and she knew she'd get no sleep herself if she didn't do something to assuage the ache between her thighs. Ah well, it wouldn't be the first time, but it was the first time in a long time she'd wanted to crawl into bed with a man—a particularly annoying man—and let him finish what he'd started.

  But that would be giving in, and giving away what she was keeping to herself, her emotions, her needs. Needs and desires led to losing one's head and to trouble, and that wasn't going to happen to her again. Not when she could bring herself relief.

  She eased her hand between her legs, pressing down and feeling her blood engorged parts twitch beneath the pressure. She stopped when she thought she heard a noise in the dark, but then carefully worked her finger between her still slick nether lips, rocking it back and forth as she bit down on her lower lip to keep from making noise. She tried not to think of Lucky Jack doing this to her, for her, his big hands stroking her and moving her legs wide apart while that part she'd been stroking just a short while ago stroked within her, harder and faster than she was able to do for herself, but she couldn't stop, not now—

  "Ahhh!"

  She held herself still, the tension draining out of her and drifting away toward sleep.

  "You know, Mrs. Burrell, if you want to be rocked to sleep at night, all you have to do is ask."

  Her eyes popped open and she carefully turned her head, to see her nemesis staring at her, his head propped on one hand.

  "But I appreciate the entertainment," he finished smoothly. "Goodnight, wife."

  "Bloody hell," that wife snarled.

  CHAPTER 12Jack was feeling pleased with himself the next morning, and why shouldn't he be pleased? He'd found a chink in his wife's cool armor, evidence his plan to lure her to his bunk would—eventually—meet with success.

 
; It also made him wonder about the man who'd introduced her to passion, for clearly she was no novice at bedsport.

  There was no reason why this should disturb him. And it didn't.

  Despite the fresh breeze speeding them along to St. Augustine, the black look on his face kept the crew away from him and busy at their tasks until the captain was hailed by the lookout.

  Sophia had come above and joined Jack at the rail, uncharacteristically silent, but that was a good thing. Right now he didn't need any distractions.

  Whoever the ship on the horizon was, she was no match for the Jade. Jack was joined by Mr. Rice, who watched as they drew closer to the brigantine, and it was Rice who made the identification.

  "It's the Santa Inez, Cap'n, under easy sail."

  "So it is," Jack said thoughtfully. "If you were to wager, Mr. Rice, where would you guess they're bound for?"

  "Havana," said Rice without hesitation. "The ship's owners are there, as are the banks, and provisioned for the Africa run."

  Jack closed his spyglass and grinned at Mr. Rice, and it was not a pleasant grin.

  "Captain Suarez has just sold his latest cargo of slaves in Fernandina. He has not yet purchased trade goods for the trip back to

  Africa. Which means the one thing he has aboard ship right now is...?"

  "Gold, Captain."

  "That would be my guess as well, Mr. Rice, and they're flying Spanish colors, too. Let it never be said a loyal..." he hesitated and frowned.

  "Cartagenan?" Sophia supplied helpfully. There was no moss growing on that girl.

  "Thank you. Let it never be said a loyal and patriotic Cartagenan shirks his duty. Prepare for action, Mr. Rice!"

  "Aye sir!"

  "Does this mean another delay before we get my treasure?"

  "Our treasure, Mrs. Burrell. And let me just add, a ship in the hand is of more value than will-o'-the-wisp treasure."

  "That metaphor just lowered the English language to new depths. We should never have allowed you Americans to steal it from us."

  "Save the grammar lesson, Mrs. Burrell. I have a ship to take."

  The Jade's crew cleared for action, each man from the captain down to Mick knowing his job and his place. The guns were hauled out and primed, the matches were in their tubs, cutlasses and pikes were at hand, and every man was at his station.

  The only person at loose ends was Mrs. Burrell, who was looking around her with interest at the activity. The Santa Inez was in clear sight now as the swift privateer gave chase. There were few ships in the Caribbean that could outsail the Jade, and the Inez was not one of them. Jack thanked the stars that gave him his nickname, for it looked like the Inez was wallowing along like a fat dowager, its crew asleep or otherwise occupied, but clearly not on the lookout for Cartagenan privateers.

  They were close enough to their prey Jack could spot the exact moment when the ship's officers realized what was going on and clapped on more sail, a desperate maneuver that accomplished little.

  There was time yet before the engagement, and Jack had one more item of business to take care of. He tied his eyepatch on, forestalling the question he knew Sophia was going to ask.

  "Go below, Mrs. Burrell. This won't take long, but I don't want you in harm's way."

  "I can help, Captain. Good Heavens, what is that stench?"

  "The ship we're following. You can smell a slaver before you're aboard it," Jack said shortly. "Stop arguing with me and go below."

  "Give me a...a cutlass! I can help fight, too!"

  "You want a cutlass? Certainly." Jack went to the arms chest and pulled out a utilitarian sword with a rope grip. "Try this one, m'lady."

  He almost tossed it to her, but at the last minute thought better and passed it over, grip first. Sophia took it in her right hand and nearly fell to the deck as the heavy sword pulled her arm down.

  "No, Sophia," Jack said, not unkindly. "There are some jobs that depend on strength and training. You have neither of those for this fight. Go below."

  She glared at him one last time, but turned and went below, freeing Jack from having to deal with his wife's insane fits and starts. But she was pluck, there was no denying that.

  When they were close enough to make sure they had the undivided attention of everyone aboard the Santa Inez, Jack gave the command to fire a shot from the bow chaser. He wasn't trying to disable the brig, just get his point across. To his surprise, the Santa Inez returned fire, but its smaller guns combined with the incompetency of the gunners only caused Mr. Rice to look at Jack in astonishment.

  "What the hell are they firing at us for? They have to know they don't have a chance at outrunning us or outfighting us!"

  "If you had as much gold aboard ship as Captain Suarez has, you wouldn't feel kindly about giving it up without a fight either. On the other hand, I feel now like my hands have been untied. I don't like slavers, Mr. Rice. Give them a full broadside."

  "Aye, Captain," Rice said, and ordered the Jade's port guns brought to bear on the Santa Inez. When they were parallel of the slower vessel, the guns let go with a broadside, causing massive amounts of confusion and screaming aboard the prize and the loss of its main topmast.

  The cry, "Boarders away!", was soon heard as the Jade closed with its prey, and the crew rushed over to put an end to the fighting by the Santa Inez. Its crew fought back heartily, knowing they weren't likely to get their full share of pay, if any at all, if the ship didn't make it to Havana.

  Just as their vessel had been outgunned, the crew of the Spanish slaver was no match for the experienced privateers of the Jade. It was a fight of short duration, and when it was done the bleeding and battered crew of the Inez were gathered on deck beneath the watchful eyes of the musket-wielding privateers in the rigging and the sailors on deck.

  Captain Suarez was not with the captive crew.

  "Stay here," Jack said to Rice. A flash of white out of the corner of his eye nearly stopped him, but he dismissed the notion as ridiculous and went after the vessel's captain. Along the way he grabbed a Santa Inez sailor by the arm and pulled him along.

  When they were at the ladder Jack called down in Spanish, "I'm coming below, Captain Suarez," and pushed the Santa Inez sailor down.

  A heartbeat after, a shot rang out. Jack jumped below, bringing his sword arm up in time to deflect a blow from the captain's cutlass, the sailor on the lower deck clutching his wounded leg and cursing both ship's captains to hell and back.

  Jack didn't have time to deal with that as he whipped off his eyepatch and engaged the furious Spaniard. It wasn't his first fight in close quarters, and he made sure it wasn't his last, driving his opponent back until the ship's captain had his back against the bulkhead, his sword fallen to his feet.

  "Surrender, Captain Suarez, your ship is now the possession of Cartagena."

  Captain Suarez made a number of uncomplimentary comments about Jack's parentage, but he allowed Jack to prod him into climbing above.

  When Jack was on deck he realized his eye hadn't played tricks on him earlier. One of the sailors was very small, very blonde, and wore a Florentine gold ring in one ear. She had a pistol clutched in her hand and was standing guard over some sailors seated morosely on the deck, but when she caught her captain's eye she started inching back toward the rail and the relative safety of the Jade.

  "Stop where you are, mister."

  Something in Jack's face or voice caught the attention of his crew. When they saw who he was addressing, they moved rapidly away from her, and him. Even the Santa Inez crew scrambled out of his way as he marched across deck, manacled one hand 'round a slender calico clad arm and hauled her out of earshot.

  When he had her up against the mainmast he was tempted to...no, he told himself, he wouldn't lay a hand on her. But he wanted to be sure he got his point across.

  "Give me the pistol. You will stand here," he said through his teeth, "and you will not move an inch until I come back for you. Do you understand?"

  He said it i
n the same voice that set hardened salts to quaking in their tattoos, but his wife only narrowed her eyes at him and looking up said, "Aye, aye, Captain."

  No. He wouldn't lay a hand on her.

  Not yet, anyway.

  "Stay."

  He left her there and rejoined his crew. Mr. Rice was looking studiously at the ship's manifest and wouldn't meet his captain's eye, which was good, because if Jack had seen a hint of laughter his mate would find himself at the end of Jack's fist, and that would be bad for ship's discipline, not to mention their friendship.

  Jack took a deep breath and got himself under control.

  "Mr. Rice, take four men and search for the strongboxes fore and aft. I want to get away from here as quickly as possible."

  "Are we going to take her as a prize?"

  Jack shuddered at the thought of spending any more time than absolutely necessary aboard a vessel reeking of misery.

  "No. I'm tempted to scuttle this pestship, but based on their performance today, I don't have a great deal of faith this lot could manage to find their way ashore in boats. Leave them to lick their wounds and cast off when you're done."

  Jack returned to the foremast and his wife. He held his hand out to her and she took it, no doubt wishing to exit the Santa Inez with as much of her dignity intact as possible.

  He grabbed a line from the Jade to swing over, and picked Sophia up in his arm. She had her eyes closed.

  "Sophia, how did you get over here?"

  "I grabbed hold of one of the ropes and swung over," she said into his shirt.

  "Lord, give me strength," Jack muttered as he swung back to his ship, his wife clutching tight to him.

  He marched her down to his cabin, feeling a slight sense of deja vu. He reached for the wine decanter, thought about it, then reached instead for the rum bottle, bypassing the glasses altogether.

  She sat down at the table, her hands demurely clasped in front of her. She'd pulled on her mask, but he was getting better at reading her face, even when she thought she was being so cool.