Her voice rose, and yet she never broke her dark stare upon the prisoner. “He attacked people I gave my word to protect. Do you believe I place gold above human life? The life of a child? The honor of a woman?”
“Of course not,” Peng placated. “The report of the incident speaks of vast amounts of alcohol involved. Perhaps they were not in their right minds.”
“I should excuse the raping and total destruction of this humble peaceful village to a night of drunken madness?” Jun held up a gloved hand to cease any further discussion. “No.” She rose to her feet, pulling both scimitars that hung in crossed leather baldrics across her chest. Raising the blade of one she slashed it through the air and pointed its barbed end at the man’s throat.
In her native Chinese, she pronounced sentence, never easing her stony glare. “I want his ear, his tongue, his hands, then his head. And the heads of all the cowards who followed him like blind sheep to commit this atrocity against me, this fleet, and my people.” Her voice thundered through the room. “Let them be a warning to all, that my word is law and my justice fierce. Decorate the rails of the Yue’er Gao with the bloody remains. Adorn the harbor with their heads before burning the junk into the sea.”
Chou Peng stepped forward and ordered the guards to remove the men to be executed. He gave Jun a short sharp bow before he followed the convicted men out to see to the deed set before him. Jun, watching them go, never broke, never moved. The arm holding the sword remained steady. Yet inside she trembled with a mixture of outrage and fear and numbing sadness.
It wasn’t until she returned to the sanctuary of her private quarters that she crumbled. Jun banished her maid before pulling off the elaborate headdress and tossing it aside. She tore at the black chest plate of armor covering her front, constricting her breath, crushing her heart.
Visions of the village the men attacked ran through her mind. The handsome homes, and farms, the gentle, hardworking people. Their beautiful faces. She sank onto the floor, covering her own face with her hands. The scenes in her mind quickly morphed into those of her own village. It, too, had been attacked by vicious pirates. She had watched as her parents had been killed. She, her sister, and every other young woman were then dragged away and sold into lives of prostitution and slavery.
Jun had been one of the fortunate ones who escaped being raped that horrific day. And who, because of her comely face, had been spared. As a virgin, her purity was seen as a choice commodity.
She never saw her sister again. Where she was or if she was even alive, she didn’t know. Jun’s body and virtue sold for a high price to an infamous brothel in Singapore. The Palace of Painted Pleasures. There, rebellious whores tattooed themselves in bold, colorful art as a defiant act against the carnal dishonoring of their bodies. It became their source of pride instead. Their inked flesh becoming more ornate with each passing year, as almost a measure of their experience and age. They became renowned for it, and desired by scores of men seeking to rut between their decorated thighs.
Jun was initiated into this brothel and prepared for the day she, too, would be forced to sell her body. She remembered weeping for all she had lost, and the humiliating prospect of such a disreputable life. Ornamental women, their skin covered in bold and striking colors, stripped her, bathed her, and shaved her before holding her down as she fought against the pain of a thousand needles. They decorated her hairless mound with a beautiful blooming lotus flower. Her first tattoo in stunning pinks, blues, and brown. The lotus was to symbolize the purity and ownership of her body. For out of the mud and muck, the lotus rises and blooms clean of any filth. They told her it also stood as a symbol of detachment. For as in nature droplets of water easily slide off the lotus blossom’s petals. It was her reminder to rise above what was being done to her body, and to remain pure in her mind. Jun would carry the private agony and beauty of that ink at the apex of her thighs forever.
It took several weeks for her flesh to heal and for her to complete her instruction in the fine art of sexual pleasures. She learned how to use her mouth and her sex to bring clients to climax quickly. The words of encouragement and seduction used to tantalize each partner. Her skin buffed, smoothed, and creamed. Her hair oiled to shine like the long feathered wing of a raven. They painted her face, and taught Jun how to make sure no child would ever grow in her womb.
Soon, it was time. Draped in lengths of transparent silks, Jun paraded before a choice group of men, all willing to pay the highest price to lay claim to her virginity. Dignitaries, princes, sultans, powerful rich men began bidding for her. It took every bit of courage not to disgrace herself and vomit on her feet.
Then she saw him. Jian Fu.
He was different from the rest. Reserved in his austere leather clothing, he stood to the side in silence as the frenzy of bidding continued. When the last bid had been made, Jian Fu stepped forward and offered three times the amount. He hadn’t waited for the commotion to settle down before he threw a stack of money upon the auction table and forcibly dragged her from the room.
He’d covered her with a blanket and, in silence, led her out of the brothel.
Frightened and in shock she tugged at him to release her. “Where are you taking me?”
“Anywhere but here,” he snapped.
Where he took her still surprised her to this day. Painted and tattooed as a common whore, wearing little but scarves, wrapped in a garish quilt of pieced satins, she stood next to him as a holy man joined them as husband and wife.
Stripping out of the armor she wore today, she smoothed a hand over the vivid blossom that still resided between her legs. There her tattooing of the experienced whore had ended.
A fierce pirate captain, Fu had defied his men, taken her aboard his ship, and sailed her away from a life of prostitution. A brutal fighter by day, he turned into a gentle lover by night. Telling her once he saw her, he couldn’t bear the thought of another man’s hands upon her. She was his, as if she were made for his eyes alone. The universe had created her for him. He treated her with nothing but gentleness, care, and respect.
When he finally took Jun into his bed, he worshipped her body and touched her soul. He stopped her the moment she tried to use her training from the brothel to please him. Kept her from taking him into her mouth after she’d brazenly and submissively knelt before him. He’d taken her by the arms and lifted her to her feet. “You are not my whore, Jun, you are my wife.” His reverence for her and loving kindness laid siege to her heart, and she surrendered.
Together they became an unstoppable pair. Jian Fu built his fleet and ruled much of the South China Seas. But a short three years later, during a battle with a Dutch frigate, she lost him as a cannonball nearly cut him in two.
She held him while he died, with his blood forever staining her memory. He made Jun promise she would never allow herself to return to her former life. His last wish was for her to fight and realize their dreams of a great pirate empire. Jian Jun had done just that.
Defying convention, and rules of proper succession, Jun claimed Fu’s fleet the day she marched into the meeting of his commanders wearing armor four sizes too large. Perhaps they had been stunned, or perhaps they had humored her out of respect for their fallen captain, but she had taken up the reins of Fu’s domain, and here some eight years later, had built upon the strength of their dynasty to command a fleet of close to one thousand ships. More than sixty thousand men, women, and children worked for Jun. Fought for her. Stole and seized for her.
She was rich beyond measure, and provided an abundant life for all who served under her. Generous when moved, yet ruthless when needed. Jun carried on her husband’s position as well as his unbending rules.
Standing naked before her looking glass, she couldn’t help the pain of loss that still sliced through her when she thought of him. After all these years, the bite of that blade had lost its fiery edge, but she missed Fu terribly. There had been no one since, a
lthough many had tried to win her affection. None had succeeded. All had left her cold.
She was not blind to their ambitions. It was more power and might that attracted them than her womanly promise. Jun refused them all. Even Peng, although his attentions were proclaimed to be out of honest caring and admiration. She was not interested. After all these years in solitude, she had earned her title of the Ice Empress.
Jun wrapped herself in a robe of brilliant red silk and moved outside her rooms to the private gardens beyond. High walls protected the space and created a sanctuary of thick-trunked palm trees, beautiful flowering plants of every color, and restive pools of clear water. Bright koi swam in lazy curls between the cool plates of the lily pads. Comfortable cushions were scattered throughout. A tray of fruits sat waiting. She lifted a firm mandarin orange and lifted it to her nose to breathe in its sweet citrus scent.
It was then she saw her. Her maidservant, Ting’s small daughter, Pei Qi was tucked between two overflowing planters. No more than five, she was filling her cheeks with ripe gooseberries, sneaking furtive glances behind her as she popped each pearl of fruit into her mouth. Jun tipped her head and cleared her throat, but it was Ting’s approach, which ended up driving the child straight into Jun’s arms.
“I’ve caught you.” Jun held her.
The girl jumped back, dropping the pale green cluster to the ground and stared up at Jun with wide dark eyes. Ting was of pure Chinese descent as was Jun, but her daughter’s father was a westerner who now served on one of Jun’s ships. Their union in marriage had produced the most beautiful child with her mother’s dark locks and eyes and honeyed skin, but with the curl of her father’s hair and the round shape of his European eyes.
Many set in the ancient ways and beliefs shunned Qi’s mixed heritage, and it was believed that the unnatural combination of races was the cause of the child’s simple nature. Qi behaved more like a mischievous pet than a typical child. Hiding in the shadows. Making small squeaks and whines. Doctors told Ting it was doubtful Qi would ever progress mentally like a normal child. It was considered her punishment. Many were cruel in their comments and actions against both mother and daughter. It was one of the reasons Jun had taken Ting on as her personal servant and given them both the protection and shelter of that position.
“You little thief.” Ting grabbed at the child’s arm, but she only managed to slip from her mother’s grasp and scuttle beneath a hibiscus bush and out of reach. “I’m so sorry Mistress Jian. She doesn’t understand what she does.”
“It’s fine. Gooseberries are her favorite.”
“And she will eat them until she gets sick, even though I tell her to stop. She doesn’t listen.” Ting shot a worried glance back at her daughter.
“She’s still a babe.” Jun picked up the discarded fruit and handed it back to Ting. “Qi is determined to learn some lessons the hard way.”
“I’m afraid she won’t ever learn them.” Ting lowered her gaze.
“Perhaps not, but she has a gentle heart behind those soulful eyes, and two parents who love her. It is more than most.”
“Yes, Mistress. It seems I am forever grateful for your patience with her.”
“Qi is a lovely blessing for me. She is like this garden. A tiny secret oasis hidden within the great pressures of my station. I can’t imagine what my life would be without either of them.”
For a brief, fanciful moment, Jian Jun gave in to thoughts of that simpler life of childlike innocence. She rubbed at where her armor straps chafed at her skin. No, the future was etched upon her skin, like the lotus decorating her sex.
Her fate was permanent.
Chapter 3
Sailing the Scarlet Night northeast from Madagascar, Will made the decision to keep the Night far to the south of Seychelles. Held by the French, it would be almost as dangerous as pulling into Portsmouth harbor. The French and English weren’t what you would call allies, and with the hefty price upon all their heads, particularly his and Tupper’s, it would take little encouragement from the French to turn them over for the sizable reward offered for their capture.
In Tupper’s cabin, Will pored over the maps and charts spread out before him. Perhaps a quick stop in the southernmost Maldives. He circled the area with a fingertip and tapped the spot. There appeared to be a peaceful lagoon within the lowermost atoll. Four channels would bring them safely through the scattering of small islands if the maps were accurate. They could rest a while in those warm turquoise waters and gather fresh native fruits and fish. Perhaps trade with the locals for the rest of their supplies. Will wanted them fully prepared. The last leg of their journey wouldn’t be easy even if they knew these waters.
Will traced his finger along their proposed course bringing them down the Malacca Strait and directly into Singapore harbor. According to all Will had learned on their voyage, the strait was a pirate’s dream…or a captain’s nightmare. Hundreds of islands dotted the wide channel. Perfect places to hide and wait for a choice ship to attack. The Scarlet’s crew would be on high alert for days. And, if they managed to skirt the constant threat of a pirate strike, there were miles of treacherous coral reefs to navigate that could easily rip into the hull and strip the bottom clean off a ship. Too many vessels had found their watery ends there for one reason or the other.
They were crazy to think they could make it through unscathed. The men had already voiced their concerns, according to Griffin, but this was Will’s decision. It was the fastest way to get Tupper to China and to the medicines necessary to save her life, and he’d be damned if the grumbles of a few men would stop him.
As if his thought conjured her, Tupper entered her quarters. Will’s jaw tightened at the sight of her. His fingers curled around the handle of the dirk lying near him on the desk. If only he could fight her battle with pistol and sword. Frustration surged through him. She’d lost too much weight. Her clothing now hung on her frame. The day’s sun had done its best to brighten her cheeks from the paleness she’d worn these last few weeks.
‘Beautiful day on deck. Go topside. Get away from that desk.’ She gestured toward the door.
Will pointed to the work before him. ‘Logs. Charts.’
Tupper swept her forehead to sign, ‘Forget them.’
He shook his head and pulled the current log from its protected chest. All the ship’s ledgers were kept safe in their ornately carved, cork-lined box. Well, perhaps not all. A shelf of ship’s logs dating back more than thirty years filled the glass-fronted bookcase in the corner of the chamber. Only two volumes from Will’s short tenure as captain currently held the place of honor in their nest of cork. The chest had been Gavin’s addition to the efficient workings of his office. The name of the ship was beautifully carved into the cover along with an artist’s rendition of the Scarlet Night in battle.
Tupper pulled over a short stool and sat to the side of the wide oak desk. Running a finger over the engraved top of the familiar box, she gave a wistful grin. ‘Fine, but take a break for a minute.’ Tupper signed and held his gaze, a familiar look of determination setting her features. He knew that look and inwardly groaned. She still held a bit of her edge. Once Tupper had her mind made up about something…
He dropped his quill back into the secured inkpot and waved his hand, palm up, ‘What?’
Tupper set her chin. ‘I want to talk to you, and I don’t want you to stop me.’
He’d been right to groan. Will braced himself. ‘When have I ever been able to stop you?’
‘Never.’ A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth before her gaze fell to the floor. She rubbed her palms together and took a long moment before taking off her ring and placing it before him on the desk. She massaged her finger where the evidence of the gold oval signet ring remained. The crease of the band and the whiteness of the skin beneath lay in sharp contrast to her tanned finger. Will couldn’t recall ever seeing her without her
treasured ring until now.
He picked it up and ran the pad of his thumb over the ornate “A” with a fine, small pearl caught in the sweep of the initial gracing the face of the piece. The “A” stood for Alice. Tupper’s given name. The ring had been given to her as a gift from her best friend before she left England more than thirty years ago.
Will lifted his gaze to hers in question. ‘Need it polished?’
‘I want you to have it.’
He didn’t need to be a fine scholar to figure out what she was doing. He shoved the ring across the surface of the desk back toward her, shaking his head.
Tupper stopped him by covering his hand with hers and pushing back. She then tapped the side of her index finger against her opposite palm. ‘Don’t argue with me.’ She set her jaw before continuing. Her hands quickly speaking to him in the signing language they had both used to communicate all these years. ‘I’ve only lied once to you in your lifetime. To protect you. But you’re a grown man and a good captain, and I’m not about to lie to you now. We both know the truth. I’m on my way out of this damn life, and I want you to have this before I go.’ She pointed back to the ring. ‘It’s all I own that’s truly mine. Didn’t steal it. Didn’t barter for it. Didn’t kill for it…well, that’s not quite true, but it was only ‘cause the bastard stole it from me an’ I was gettin’ it back.’ She wiped at the air with her hand as if disregarding her last bit of ramble before giving Will a stern look. ‘How many times can I cheat death and get away with it? Won’t be so lucky as to escape this time.’
‘Ye’re not giving up yet.’ He pointed to the chart before signing, ‘Less than two weeks before we dock in China. Their doctors are the best there be.’
‘Take the ring anyway. For safekeeping. Damn thing keeps slipping off my scrawny finger.’ She lifted his hand and pushed it securely onto his right pinky before giving his hand a squeeze. He considered the brightness of the gold against the darkness of his skin. The weight of it felt odd upon his hand... Its weight felt heavy on his shoulders as well.
Within A Captain's Soul Page 2