Gayle didn’t break the long, sultry gaze they seemed locked in. “Oh, many things. Some you may have tried before,” she said in a husky voice. “Some may be new to you.”
Celia suddenly felt flushed. “So how do you know I’ll like it?”
“Just a feeling.” She sat down across from her. “I have an instinct about these things. I’m rarely wrong.” She drank her wine while still watching Celia over the rim of her tankard. “You may like it so much you want more.”
Celia could do nothing in response but blink—so she did, many times. “Are we only talking about supper?” she finally managed to ask. Perhaps she wasn’t as frumpy to her fiery-haired captain as she had feared, as frightening as that possibility was. She suddenly felt a mixture of confusion and elation. Maybe she hadn’t thought this situation through properly.
Gayle regarded her slyly. “Of course. What did you think we were talking about?”
Celia chuckled nervously and looked at her feet. “For a moment I thought we were talking about sex.”
Gayle choked on her wine.
“Are you all right?”
“Aye.” She coughed. “You’re not much for subtlety, are you?”
“It’s not a trait I possess, I’m told. So we weren’t discussing sex, then?”
Gayle bit her lower lip seductively. “Well, if you do it properly, the topic can always be sex—no matter what the original subject is.”
“Truly?”
“Absolutely. Test me.”
Celia paused to think. “What if you’re talking about yellow fever?”
“Hmm, that’s a tough one. Start it off and we’ll see if I can manage.”
“Um. Did you hear old Fanny caught the yellow fever and died yesterday?” Celia inquired in feigned sorrow.
“That’s tragic,” Gayle responded in a provocative tone. “You must feel bereft and in need of comfort.” Her fingers lightly caressed Celia’s forearm, whose skin felt like it had been set on fire.
“You really are quite good at that.”
“Thank you.”
“Is this how you woo women?”
“Woo?”
“Or whatever it is you do…to take them to bed.”
Gayle’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “You are asking me how I bed women? Well, I don’t ply them with drink, if that’s what you’re implying. They are there of their own volition.”
“I’m not saying that. But how do you know which women have such a volition?”
“They flirt with me. A wink here, a brush of a hand there, a kiss or two—”
“Have you ever lain with a man?”
Gayle scowled. “Have you?”
“No. My fiancé won’t even let me call him by his proper name.”
“He what?” Gayle rested her chin in her hand in amused interest.
Celia appeared self-conscious. “He insists that I call him ‘Doctor’ instead of Phillip. He would never agree to take liberties with me before our wedding night.”
“And have you wanted him to?” Gayle was intrigued by this turn in the conversation. “Have you been overcome with lust for him and secretly ached for him to take you?”
Celia’s eyes opened wide. “Good God—no.” When Gayle laughed at her response, Celia’s expression softened and she looked crestfallen. “That’s probably not a good thing, is it?”
“If you hope to enjoy your marital relations, it’s not. No.”
Celia put her elbows on the table between them. “But honestly, you’re the first woman I’ve met who said she enjoyed it—the sex, I mean. You do enjoy it, right?”
Gayle laughed wickedly. “Oh yes. Very much.”
“And what about it do you like so much?”
“Would you like me to show you?”
A knock on the door disturbed the carnal tension hanging in the air, and Cook arrived with two bowls of what was possibly the most turbid, viscous stew Celia had ever seen.
*
“Aye, Gayle. Touch me there,” Celia whispered into her beloved’s ear.
Gayle’s strong hand was on Celia’s bare breast, and she circled the nipple deftly with her thumb as her teeth grazed the soft flesh of Celia’s neck. “You taste so sweet. Give me your mouth.”
Gayle gently took Celia’s face and kissed her hungrily. Their tongues mingled, and their bodies began to grind together. Celia worked to unbutton Gayle’s shirt, sliding her unpracticed hands beneath the fabric to feel the smooth skin there.
“I need you naked,” Celia moaned, frustrated that she couldn’t get Gayle’s clothing off quickly enough. Their mouths met again, and Gayle’s stroking tongue sent a surge through Celia like she had never felt before. This must be what desire felt like. Her whole body bristled, throbbed, and craved release.
“My love,” Gayle growled in her ear. “I can wait no longer.” Her hand sensually moved down Celia’s belly to the exposed flesh of her thigh. “Open yourself for me.”
She feverishly took Gayle’s hand and resolutely pulled it between her legs.
Suddenly exhaling, Celia bolted upright in bed and looked about. She was alone in her completely dark cabin.
What a dream that had been!
She lay back down, her heart pounding, desire still rushing through her. Her palms were damp, her breathing ragged, and this salacious longing was foreign to her.
“Shit,” she lamented into her pillow in mortification.
*
When the knock came at her door several hours later, Celia was anything but well rested. Her dream had made her sleep fitfully.
“Aye?” she called, exhausted.
The door opened and Gayle appeared, rosy-cheeked and alert. “Sorry to wake you,” she began, then paused. “Very sorry indeed,” she added with a frown. “But I need you on deck right away.”
“What? Why?”
Gayle swept into the cabin and opened the chest beside the bed. She pulled out the dress Celia had been wearing the night she had arrived on Original Sin and laid it on the bed. “Put this on, quickly.”
Celia squinted, still groggy. “And if I asked why again?”
“I still wouldn’t answer. Celia, there’s no time. Just do as I say, and meet me on deck as soon as you can.”
“But—”
“You have to hurry. I’ll explain later.”
Celia flung back the blanket in irritation. “How does she manage to look so bloody becoming in the morning?” she cursed, rising to dress.
When she did appear on deck several minutes later, she found Gayle, also in a dress, and, peculiarly, so was Molly—though she seemed about as comfortable in it as a chicken in pantaloons. Celia saw no sign of anyone else. “Do I get to know what the hell is going on yet?”
“We’re approaching a ship,” Gayle explained. “The Corona d’Oro.”
“Aren’t we overdressed?”
Gayle ordered Molly to hoist the British flag, and the woman awkwardly scurried off to do so. “Here, take this.” Gayle offered Celia a small flintlock pistol. “Aim for the head. You’ll have only one shot.”
“Are you mad? And who exactly will I be shooting at?”
“Hopefully, no one,” Gayle replied matter-of-factly. “But we’re about to come alongside Captain Santiago and take his bloody ship from him.”
“What? Where’s the rest of the crew?”
“Lying in wait. They’ll emerge when the time is right.”
Celia was filled with terror. “So that makes us—”
“Bait,” Gayle answered. “Now take the pistol and keep it out of sight.”
“Out of sight where?”
Gayle knelt down before her and lifted Celia’s dress as she tied the pistol to the outside of her right thigh with a strip of linen. “Out of sight, here.” She pulled the skirt back down and stood.
Celia focused on the horizon and saw the ship growing larger as they approached. “So this is how my life ends, then.”
“Not at all. Trust me, Celia. I won’t let harm befall you.�
��
“She said as she strapped a pistol to my leg,” Celia mocked, and rolled her eyes. “This is completely demented. Why can’t we just turn around and sail away?”
“It’s too late. Besides, this is what we do.”
It seemed to take an eon for the ship to reach them. Unable to do anything except stare in absolute dread, Celia could finally see the faces of the crewmen on the Corona d’Oro.
Gayle began to wave, as though signaling the other ship for assistance. “Socorro,” she shouted. “Por favor.”
The Spanish crew shouted back, but Celia couldn’t distinguish any of the words. Suddenly, several grappling hooks flew from the Corona d’Oro, and its crew pulled Original Sin alongside them so they could board her.
Celia felt for the pistol through the fabric of her skirt as six hungry-looking Spanish pirates swiftly surrounded her and Molly. An older sailor, dressed like a naval officer, sauntered aboard, and she assumed this was Captain Santiago.
“And what do we have here?” he asked in a thick Spanish accent.
“We were overtaken by pirates,” Gayle lied. “They took all the cargo and left us here adrift.”
Santiago leered obscenely, his few teeth brown and rotten. “They did not take all the cargo,” he corrected, advancing toward her.
Celia looked nervously for the crew of Original Sin. Where were they? Wasn’t this a perfect time for them to emerge?
“Don’t make a mistake you’ll regret, Captain,” Gayle warned. “It may prove fatal.”
Santiago laughed and continued toward her. “You have spirit,” he announced. “I will truly enjoy fucking it out of you.” Gayle’s eyes flashed, but she didn’t move. When Santiago reached her, he scrutinized her, scratching his patchy dark beard. “How long do you think it will take me to make you cry and beg for mercy, eh?”
Her chin came up defiantly. “Longer than you’ve got on this earth.”
He laughed again and captured her left wrist. “Would you like to wager on that, bribona?” he goaded her, his face very close to hers. He tilted his head to menacingly sniff her hair.
“Aye, I would,” she growled. Before Celia was even fully aware of what she was watching, Gayle had pulled out a dagger and jammed it hilt-deep through Santiago’s chin and up through the roof of his mouth. The Spaniard’s eyes grew glassy as Celia watched the life leave them. Gayle removed the blade from his head as his body fell away from her, and his blood seeped slowly onto the deck. “I win,” she whispered.
Santiago’s men seemed stunned by this unexpected assassination, and as one began to draw his cutlass, Gayle threw her dagger at him—hitting him squarely in the eye. He toppled backward, landing in a lifeless heap, the hilt protruding from his face.
At that moment, Gayle whistled loudly and the crew emerged, swords at the ready. Gayle drew her own cutlass from the scabbard tied to her leg beneath her petticoats and struck it against that of one of the Spaniards adeptly. Celia could only watch in horror as the pirate Gayle was fighting seized her forearm without warning, their blades locked together. Gayle kicked the Spaniard square in the groin, and as he recoiled, she kicked him again, this time in the chest. Before he could draw in breath, she ran her blade through his heart and moved on to battle another raider.
Some of the crewmen of Original Sin had boarded Corona d’Oro and the fight continued there. Celia had backed up to try and stay out of the way, and within a few chaotic minutes, no more Spaniards were left standing.
When Gayle approached her, Celia was crouched low with her arms wrapped around herself in a vain attempt to comfort herself and keep safe. Gayle extended her hand to help Celia rise, but she didn’t take it.
“Are you hurt?” Gayle asked in obvious concern.
Celia shook her head and stood without aid. Rigid and in shock, she wrung her hands nervously. “How could you have done this?” she whispered. “How could you have slaughtered all these men?”
“These men who were ready to take turns raping us?” Gayle snapped, panting.
“You didn’t know that before they boarded us.”
“Oh, I know Santiago. I’ve spoken to the survivors left in his murderous wake. I’ve seen the scars on the wenches he has helped himself to, and I’ve waited for the day I could kill him.”
Celia watched the dark expressions flash across Gayle’s face as she spoke. This was a new side of her, and Celia felt frightened—the most frightened she had been since she arrived on board.
Chapter Eight
The crew of Original Sin quickly helped themselves to the cargo of Corona d’Oro, which proved more fruitful than Gayle had estimated. Sacks of stolen spices—sugar, pepper, clove, and cinnamon—filled the hold. And while the crew didn’t generally prefer this type of goods, as they were bulky and not always easy to sell, they also discovered silks and china that would fetch a hefty sum.
Gayle found charts and navigational equipment in the captain’s quarters, but even more alluring was a locked chest under the bed. She forced it open and discovered roughly 7,000 pesos and assorted gems and jewelry. A beautiful ornamental dagger with an engraved, gilded blade and a sapphire-encrusted hilt, as well as several golden rings, jeweled crosses, and necklaces all containing unusual gems. No one expected Santiago—a petty criminal renowned for his excesses as much as his vicious treatment of his own crew—to have such an expansive cache. He must have slowly accumulated these riches, probably unbeknownst to his crew, who surely would have expected their share.
They also rummaged through the ship’s hold for food or medicine, but there Corona d’Oro came up short. After discussing the risks of manning the Corona d’Oro with a skeleton crew until they could sell it in port—after all, it wasn’t in the most fit condition, but they hadn’t had to fire a single cannon shot—they decided to commandeer it as well.
Gayle divided the cash among her crew, making sure each member got his due. The Maroons, who had recently joined them, received more money than they had ever seen, assuring them that piracy was the only way for escaped slaves to ever gain wealth.
For a crew whose morale had already been high, a fast, low-injury, lucrative acquisition made them appreciate their new captain even more. The cunning way Gayle had duped Santiago into coming on board without a weapon drawn was the stuff of legends.
Luckily, Corona d’Oro was swift and didn’t impede Original Sin’s progress to Jamaica. Even with their stops, they were making remarkable time.
Churchill stood in the captain’s quarters, cradling a golden volvelle as he admired its craftsmanship. “It’s hard to believe Santiago possessed something this exquisite.”
Gayle raised an eyebrow at her navigator. “I doubt he was using it to calculate the tides. He probably planned to have it melted down to make himself some new teeth.”
“Thank God you intervened before that happened.” Churchill set the valuable item back on the desk. “You’ve certainly started out your command all thunder and broadsides.”
“Good fortune. Nothing more.”
“You’re too modest, Gayle. This morning’s attack was brilliant.”
She shook her head. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I can always count on the lechery of men. It’s their Achilles’ heel.”
“I suppose that’s fair. But let’s discuss Jamaica.” He strolled over to a chair and sat, facing her.
She crossed her arms. “Is this where you try to talk me into heading to a different port?”
“Well, based on our last fateful trip to Kingston—”
“I thought you’d bring that up. That was nearly two years ago.”
“Pirate towns aren’t like typical, law-abiding cities, you know. To be chased out is quite an achievement.”
“I wasn’t chased out. I left of my own choosing. Besides, I had no idea that woman’s father was the governor.”
“Before you declared her arse as large as the moon?”
“I said her arse was as immense and angry as a thundercloud.” She chuckled soft
ly. “Though in retrospect, she may have been able to control tidal flow with that substantial rump. The moon might have been a more precise comparison.”
He laughed. “And you feel certain we’ll have no issues arriving back in port?”
“I heard Governor Beeston is dead now—the unscrupulous bastard.”
“This isn’t all about retrieving a gaggle of whores, is it? Hoping to win their eager gratitude?” He winked.
“Hardly. I don’t want a copious handful of harlots. I gave the doctor my word that I’d help him locate his sister, and that’s what I mean to do.”
“And you’ve no other impetus? You’re simply compelled to be philanthropic, are you?”
“Well, obviously it secured me a ship surgeon.”
“Hmm,” he grumbled as he scrutinized her. “And this has nothing to do with a certain seamstress who has turned this fierce battle vessel into her bloody holiday craft?”
Gayle squinted at him. “I’ll not lie to you and say she isn’t comely.”
“Comely?”
“Aye. She’s as fair a maid as I’ve ever seen. And that she wished to aid the doctor in his quest may have, perchance, made the offer seem more attractive to me, ’tis true. But I’ve not lost grasp of my faculties, Churchill. I’d not endanger Original Sin or her crew for a quick tumble with any winsome lass.”
“And is she just any winsome lass?”
“I don’t wish her to be, no. But after this morning’s skirmish she hasn’t spoken to me. She must see me as brutal and bloodthirsty.”
“If that’s true, it’s only because she didn’t know Santiago and what a hellish cur he was.”
“Perhaps, but I should have realized that battle would profoundly affect her.”
“Well, she has several days to reconcile it. It’s not like she can go anywhere besides the bottom of the sea. Impress her with your softer side.”
“That may have merit.”
“But don’t let the crew catch you. If they think you’re imperiling them so you can get up that wench’s skirts, you’ll have a mutiny on your hands faster than you can smack your bottom…or hers.”
The Sublime and Spirited Voyage of Original Sin Page 7