by Koko Brown
Thunk, thunk.
Lèsè stalked over, weapons drawn. If necessary, she could use the blades to pry the wooden slats from the wall. Chopping into the hulk wasn’t even a consideration. The ship—like its crew—could be ransomed.
“Feel for any odd indentions or unevenness,” Lèsè instructed.
Starting low, Zheng Liu ran her palms over the planks. Tongue stuck out, sporting a grave expression, she took her job serious. Her movements measured and methodical proved to be too time-consuming for Lèsè’s liking.
“Move,” she demanded, shoving the swab out of the way. Picking up where the girl left off, her hand stole over the water-tight boards. When one of them wobbled beneath her fingers, she smiled. With the help of her fingernails and two fingers, she worked the plank loose.
“Just a little bit more,” she whispered, peeling the lath from its setting.
Like pieces to a puzzle, the rest of the boards shifted then fell into her hands one by one, revealing a shallow alcove filled with burlap bags. Suspicion clawing at her insides, she yanked one free. With one deft stroke, she sliced into the burlap.
“Nga-pin,” Lèsè sneered, peering into the gaping sack.
Due to imbalances in trade and finding themselves at a deficit, the British used the addictive opiate as currency. The drug had infiltrated Jiaqing’s empire to such a dramatic degree that the drug, masking itself as an analgesic, had eclipsed not only silver but food as well. There were rumors that even opium dens outnumbered rice shops.
“Everyone grab as much as you can carry.” There was no way she would trust a cache of this enormity to remain untouched during their voyage home. She might not taint her body with Nga-pin but there were quite a few in her crew who couldn’t resist the drug’s pull.
“What are you going to do with it?” Zheng Liu asked.
“It’s going into the cabin next to mine.”
Zheng Liu’s dark eyes widened. “That’s where Min-Ru sleeps.”
Lèsè tossed a bag over each shoulder. “She can bunk elsewhere.”
In all honesty, she didn’t care where her second–in–command slept. The ship’s hidden cargo might be personally undesirable but its safekeeping trumped the comfort of her crew. Madame Ching Shih didn’t have any scruples regarding the origin of her profits. Some branches of the Red Flag robbed innocent villagers at whim and she trafficked women through a dozen brothels littered throughout Guangzhou.
Lèsè stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “I see thirty bags here. I better have the same amount when we make port or heads will roll.”
Along with mine, Lèsè mused as she climbed the stairs. Her crew’s transgressions would be her own.
While she retreated to the poop deck, she had the swab’s form a human chain to facilitate the transfer of the opium between boats. From her elevated post she could oversee the goings on of both ships since a quarter of her crew had boarded the frigate to pilot it back to their home port.
As they set sail, Lèsè fell into her role with a zeal only a person who savored power could pull off. She barked out orders and doled out reprimands. She was strident when she didn’t need to be because benevolence and mercy would be seen as weakness. Any sign of it, her crew would lose faith in her ability to lead and that would lead to mutiny.
Fortunately, her crew could not see what was in her mind. Lèsè leaned her elbows on the bulwark, her mind in a state of flux. For all show and purposes, she appeared methodical and all business. Inside, she was wound up tighter than a binding knot. Try as she might, she couldn’t keep her thoughts from drifting to the man in her cabin.
Lèsè felt like a child next to him. And she wasn’t a small woman. Unusually tall for a woman, she looked plenty of men in the eye and even look down on a few. Barrel chested, the rest of him had been rife with muscle. If having to screw her head back to meet his gaze didn’t give her pause, his masculine beauty—it could only be described as such—had arrested her. And for a flashing moment, she struggled to catch her breath.
Murderously handsome, he was temptation incarnate. A virile conqueror who laid siege to every wilting maiden’s dreams. Lèsè’s brow furrowed. She hadn’t been a maiden in years nor remotely virtuous. Before pledging her allegiance to Madame Ching Shih and the Red Flag, she’d traded sexual favors for coin.
Her circumstances hadn’t changed much. She’d traded a straw mat for a ship. She’d split her hard-earned spoils with a brothel Madame, now they went to another. Lèsè stared at the distant horizon while a jaded sense of sameness enervated her soul.
So what was the harm in seeking out entertainment to break the tedium? The Englishman excited her, woke something inside that had long been dead. Strikingly handsome, she’d never seen eyes so blue or features so perfectly symmetrical they’d inspire tributes in the form of statues and angst riddled poems. No longer able to circumvent her curiosity, Lèsè decided to go below and check on her guest.
THREE
Christian’s eyes fluttered open then widened exponentially as he remembered everything that happened, including the cheap shot that knocked him cold.
Tentatively, he reached up to touch the source of the sharp pinch at the back of his head. Instead, the room suddenly spun, the floor came rushing at him. With nothing to catch himself, he crashed into it.
Jarred–chin smarting from the collision–he lay there staring at the scuffed planks. His gaze ran over the expanse. Expecting a cell, he was surprised to find his new digs resembled a captain’s cabin.
“Let’s try this again,” he muttered, fingering the knot. He drew back his hand for inspection. The wound was clean. Relieved, he slumped against the floor. He was blessed to be alive to only become a slave. He needed to escape. And then what? Jump ship and sacrifice himself to the sea.
Without a second thought, he gathered his bearings and slowly rose to his knees. He froze. The junk boat pilot sat across the room.
Christian stiffened with rage. “You!”
“Yes, me,” she drawled. “Were you going somewhere?”
“Contemplating a swim in the ocean.”
“Suicide?” she asked, her tone soft.
“Death is a more appealing option than slavery.”
Sitting forward, she placed her elbows on her knees. “Do you not have a life to return to? A wife and children.”
“One can’t have a life while married to the sea.”
She nodded in agreement. “What about the wife and children?”
“None…yet. I was planning on working on that after this commission.”
Smiling, she slapped her knees. “Then there will be a slight delay.”
Christian felt his fingernails biting into his skin. “Our company will not pay the ransom.”
His gaze followed her to the wash stand. Besides the hammock, a large round bed occupied the room as well as a broad table filled with navigational tools and dozens of maps. Just beyond a plated glass of windows, he could see his ship.
“Where’s my crew?”
“In the livestock compartment where we keep all of our prisoners.”
“I demand to be taken to them.”
“How would you like sharing my cabin?”
Christian’s gaze narrowed. “Surely you jest after what I attempted.”
“That was light-hearted fun,” she said sucking a tooth.
Christian felt heat ring the collar of his shirt. “I tried to separate your head from your shoulders.”
She shrugged. “I was never in danger.”
“Never in danger?” Christian sputtered. “I’m twice as tall as you and stronger than you.”
“Yes you’re a bear of a man but in spite of your superior prowess and height, you failed. Not once but twice.”
Christian smiled tightly. “Third time’s the charm.”
“You failing or relieving me of my head?”
She was smiling. Smiling!
“We’ll never know unless I try again. So it’s best I retire with my shipmates.�
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“But I do so want your company, Mr. Flynn.”
“Why?” Christian tried very hard not to react to her invitation and the sultry images it elicited.
She swept from her seat. Up close she didn’t appear to be the deadly weapon he’d fought earlier. She looked like any girl. A beautiful young girl.
“How old are you?”
“No one really knows.” Her voice was calm as if discussing the direction of the tailwinds. “I started counting from the first day of my woman’s flow. That passed twelve summers ago.” Her pink lips bowed in a sultry, half-cocked smile and it took all his strength to not kiss her.
“So will you continue to be bull-headed or stay and keep me company? By my estimation, you’ll be my companion a week, no more.”
His eyes narrowed. “By my calculations, we should make shore by Thursday.”
The only indication of her perfect mask slipping was the widening of her eyes.
“More or less that is true. We’ll make land in a couple of days but we travel up river to report to Madame Shih in Guangzhou.”
“You report to a woman?”
She nodded. “Madame Shih commands the Red Flag, a legion of more than seven hundred boats and thousands of emissaries.” She cocked her head. “Do all the questions mean you will keep me company?”
“Will my men be treated humanely? Food and water daily.”
Her eyes ran over him. “I wouldn’t think of starving you.”
“And my men?” he asked not missing the exclusion.
She rolled her eyes. “They will be fed and watered. Now that we have that out of the way….”
“We’re property after all,” he sneered. “Do I really have a choice?”
“The Red Flag values individual freedoms.”
Christian’s eyes narrowed. “What about the your female prisoners?”
One of her delicate eyebrows arched toward her hairline. “What about them?”
“Are female prisoners given a choice if the master of the ship is male?”
“You speak of rape.” It wasn’t a question since she didn’t wait for his affirmation. “Rape of female prisoners is forbidden and punishable by death as are conjugal relations outside a formal commitment.”
Christian snorted. “You expect me to believe pirates are required to marry these women.”
She smiled lazily, displaying even white teeth. “Not all marry. If there is an existing marriage or a difference in social status then concubinage is acceptable.
“It’s a pretty ingenious way of keeping a man’s cock in his pants,” she mulled as if discussing the merits of tea while her frankness triggered a maelstrom. A blanket of heat swept over Christian fanning his arousal.
Unaware of his predicament, she continued, “After all, what man in their right mind would trade a lifetime chained to a woman who only deserves a momentary turn in bed.”
“Only a woman would come up with such drivel,” he groused. “Can’t contain your baser needs, make the woman your wife or mistress. Three-fourths of the crew must be avowed eunuchs.”
Chuckling she said, “Our leader is a former prostitute. And in her way of thinking, any dynamic that doesn’t provide the fairer sex security or compensation isn’t worth fostering.”
“So she checks it with threat of death?” It was his turn to laugh.
“You are not of the Red Flag. Our codes are not meant for you to understand. Many of Madame Shih’s codes of conduct make no sense but they work. She has a legion behind her, and she rules the South China Sea with impunity.”
Suddenly realizing something, Christian sucked in a breath. “Are the pirates consolidated in this region?”
She nodded. “Madame Shih has done what no pirate has done before. She united us, turning us into the largest maritime fleet in Zhongguo.”
“Probably the world,” Christian mused. He couldn’t think of a single naval fleet as large as the one she described. Not even Britain. Especially now since their force was splintered between Africa and Europe because of the ongoing Napoleonic War.
“So will you accept my offer?”
“Why?”
She cocked her head. “Perhaps I find you intriguing but more so I need someone with knowledge of those maps.”
Interest piqued, Christian walked over to the large captain’s table.
“These belong on my ship.”
“And your ship belongs to the Red Fleet,” she pointed out, sidling up beside him. Far too close in his summation since her body heat permeated the thin cotton of his linen shirt. “Are these all the major European shipping routes?”
“Indian as well,” he muttered, a jolt of acute awareness bombarding his senses.
“Are you well versed in them?” she asked edging closer.
“Very. I earned my sea legs when I was twelve.”
“See how invaluable you’ve already become to me?” She touched his arm, triggering a spike in his body temperature. “Be my guest, Mr. Flynn.”
Her smile widened as did the quiet between them.
With no motivation but the company of a beautiful woman to sway his mind, he said, “Yes.”
“Good! Now take off your clothes.”
FOUR
“I beg your pardon?”
Smiling, Lèsè ambled over to the bed and picked up a bundle.
“I have a change of clean clothes for you.” The traditional men’s outfit consisted of a pair of loose fitting pants and an open collar tunic.
“That’s the clothing of a peasant. I’ll keep my uniform,” he grunted, openly conveying his distaste for the gift.
Not the least bit put off by his arrogance, she hung them on the washstand.
“Your prerogative, Mr. Flynn. But it may be difficult to get the blood out later.”
Brow knitted, he contorted his body, attempting to ferret out the discoloration.
“Best to take it all off,” she suggested, suppressing a giggle. Cracking his stuffy façade proved titillating. Intrigued, she stepped forward to help him.
“I’ve got it,” he growled, side-stepping her. His movements stiff and jerky, he ripped off his short-waist jacket. Made of navy wool, the topper to his well-worn uniform was hardly suited for the warmer climes but she sensed his high regard for custom and tradition wouldn’t countenance anything less.
“And the shirt.” She circled her finger at the soiled collar.
Grunting, he grasped the. “Will my things be washed and returned?”
Eager to see more of him, she conceded easily, “If that’s what you wish.”
“Aye. I wish the return of all my belongings.”
Reluctantly and very slowly, he finished undressing, keeping his eyes on her the entire time. In turn, she couldn’t look away. She openly admired his body. His unbelievably wide shoulders, his narrow hips, the firm hollows and ridges marking his midsection.
Lèsè marveled at the odd stirring, buffeting her insides, blood flowing like lava through her veins. Odd. She’d felt nothing but cold when in the company of a man.
“You should just hand everything over,” she heard herself say with veiled angst. “What use is a clean shirt and jacket when your pants are filthy?”
His gaze dropped to his pants. The skin-tight, buff-colored material did little to disguise his trunk-like thighs. Lèsè bit her bottom lip. She yearned to see the rest of him.
“Don’t you have any decency?” he asked, lifting his gaze.
“I’m a pirate. Decency and modesty are a liability. If they’d been instilled in me at all,” she scoffed. “Hard to find morality in a brothel.”
His gaze narrowed. “A brothel?”
“My mother was a gaggle of whores. I was one as well until I pledged my loyalty to Madame Shih.” She held out her hand and wiggled her fingers at him. “So you can rest assured you have nothing I have not seen before.”
He mulishly stood looking down at her, unyielding. Thinking she’d failed to soothe his ruffled feathers, she was mildly s
urprised when he unbuttoned his breeches. He slid the material down his legs, bending at the waist, giving her an enticing view of his back, the fluid cording of muscle evident even in the slanting shadows of the cabin. Lèsè bit the inside of her cheek. His large, powerful body was beautiful.
With irrepressible, flame-hot desire seeping into her veins, she second guessed her decision to shoot two hawks with one arrow. First and utmost, she wanted to gain his knowledge of foreign shipping routes, putting her one step closer to freedom.
As an added boon, his company would be a much needed distraction from the monotony of sea life, the loneliness of an empty bed. She didn’t need it to turn into a foolhardy venture which would be seen as treason. And she would not, she mused, shoving back her shoulders. After all she wasn’t some naïve virgin unaccustomed to a man’s company.
Body throbbing with awareness, she accepted his clothing. But not before she took a prolonged peek at the abnormally thick flesh between his legs. She lifted her gaze and caught him looking at her. She tried to diffuse the loss of oxygen in the room with an upward curl of her lips.
“Absolutely no sense of decorum,” he muttered, tan cheeks turning pink with embarrassment.
“No harm in looking,” she countered, pivoting on her bare feet. Chuckling, she padded across the room, his garments tucked under her arm. She opened the door then chucked them into the hall. As ordered, two buckets of hot water had been placed by the door.
Hoisting one of the steaming buckets into the air, she set it on her head. Arms out stretched, crouching low, she pretended to walk a tight rope.
“I return bearing gifts,” she announced, a hint of playfulness coloring her tone.
Not exactly unbending, a shadow of a mile touched his lips.
Happy looked good on him. Delicious in fact. So delicious, she hungered for more of them.
With a dramatic flourish, she set the bucket next to the washstand then went to retrieve the one she’d left in the hall.
“This is nothing like the glorious soaking baths of Zhangzhou. Still, it should do the trick,” she reasoned, fingering her copper washing basin leaning against the wall. Resembling a sundial with a depth of exactly eight fingers, the shallow pan scratched her yen for a bath.