She closed her eyes and drew another deep breath. She did not move or speak to stop him. He trailed his fingertips gently up her hand, across her wrist, and all the way up her arm. She did not move, but sat there very still, eyes closed, taking in every slight sensation. He stood up and walked around the back of her dining chair, making certain not to break the physical contact he had established. Drawing his fingertips across her shoulder and onto her neck, he began to stroke and massage the tight little muscles he found there. Her warm sweet scent lingered around her like the heat of a candle flame. One deep breath of her stirred his desire for more than a chaste touch. With both hands resting on her shoulders, he bent down to her and kissed the base of her neck. A soft sigh escaped her. He trailed kisses and nibbles up the column of her neck into her hairline and then back down to the other shoulder. As a measure of tension left her body, her head lolled forward and to one side. She was becoming warm clay to be molded in his hands.
The pile of warm hair atop her head drew his attention. He ran his fingers from her neck up into her hair. To his rough and calloused hands, it was like a soft pile of fine silk ribbon. He gently pulled out each little pin he found as he stroked her head, until it all came tumbling down in a cascade of midnight waves washed in the shimmering moonlight of a cloudless night. She released a deeper sigh and relaxed her back against the chair.
He pulled her chair away from the table. She looked up into his face, and he was lost in the mysteries of her hazel eyes. As their eyes locked, he leaned closer to her face and she wrapped her small hands around his scruffy jaw and pulled his mouth to hers. They shared a long sweet kiss, before he pulled away from her.
He sank to the floor and removed her soft brocade slippers to pay homage to her feet. At first he just rubbed and caressed, drawing more of the long held tension from her body. As she grew more relaxed, he drew a foot up to his face and began to kiss and suck at her toes. Once he had satisfied himself with that, he hiked her heel up onto his shoulder and began to kiss and lick and nibble his way up the inside of her leg. As he worked his way closer to her knee, he continued to push and roll the soft velvet skirt ahead of him, exposing more and more of her legs.
The steward returned to the cabin and could hear her softly moaning on the other side of the door. He was loath to enter, but he was carrying two large platters of fresh fruit and cream and could not return to the galley without explanation, so he quietly entered the cabin. To his mortal shame, he realized that he would not be able to traverse the cabin and set down the fruit without disturbing them. He feared he had no choice but to stand quietly in the shadows of the nearby bulkhead and wait.
Then the lady found her words again. “Oh, yes, that's it,” she purred. “Oh, yes,” she sighed as the relaxing warmth of release began to radiate through her. “Oh . . . ,” and then she paused, for out of the sweet oblivion came a spark of thought. “Oh, yes, that's it!” She suddenly bolted upright, exclaiming “that's it, that's it!” as a bewildered Liam sat up on the floor, confused and mortified. Then she spotted the steward waiting in the corner of the cabin.
“We are done here. Please clear away the dinner and show Captain O'Shea to his quarters. I have work to do.” With no further words to either man, she stalked back to her adjoining cabin.
The steward shrugged, put the platters down on the table, helped Liam to his feet, and led him, head still abuzz from wine and frustrated lust, to his sleeping quarters down below.
Chapter 3
Secret Rendezvous
The Siren Song sailed for several days into the heart of the Caribbean driven by fair and favorable breezes under clear, bright skies. On their last evening at sea, they arrived at the little chain of islands that hid their sheltered cove. The sunset that evening set the western horizon ablaze with myriad hues of pink and orange.
Once dinner had been served, all hands reported for duty. In a few hours the ship would be approaching the shoals guarding the entrance to the cove that served as their base. Great care and diligence were required to safely anchor the ship off the reef until the morning light could guide them to shore.
Grace and Liam had spent the days at sea talking and reestablishing the old trust between them. Two nights prior they had finally reached an amicable agreement over dinner. As they stood on the quarter deck watching for the first signs of land, they were united in their purpose and resolve. The night was calm and clear, and all around the Siren Song the shimmering deep black of the sea met the star-strewn velvet black sky. The islands of the little chain stood out as voids of deeper blackness on the horizon, blotting out the low-hanging stars. As they sailed on through the night, one void grew on their bow, consuming the stars as it loomed nearer. The captains stood very still on the deck, listening for the changes in the murmur of the sea, straining to hear the waves as they began to break upon the shoals.
A group of hands took regular soundings as they drew closer to their anchorage for the night. They needed a shallow bottom where their anchor would bite strongly enough to hold firm, to keep the ship from being dragged onto the dangerous reef by wave, wind or tide. As soon as a satisfactory sounding was taken, Captain O'Malley gave the order to drop anchor for the night. She could hear the familiar sound of the breakers in the distance and knew they would lull her into a deep and peaceful sleep.
As soon as the first golden rays of dawn began to skip over the surface of the water, the long boat was launched to scout the reef. Early morning was always the best time to enter the cove, as the light on the eastern horizon highlighted the waves as they rolled across the reef and into the cove. Safe passage through the largest gap in the reef was always most visible at dawn.
The mate gave the signal that all was clear, no dangerous debris ahead in the gap. Captain O'Malley took the helm herself to guide the ship through the narrow passage. If she did not thread her way right through the middle, the reef could seriously damage the hull of the Siren Song, or even sink her. The crew stood silently on the deck and watched with grim respect as their captain brought them all safely home once more.
Once the ship was securely moored, the first mate, Hawkins, took charge aboard ship. He gave a third of the crew liberty to go ashore. Another third were assigned the duty of gathering provisions for resupply. The remaining crew members were set to inspecting ropes, rigging, deck and hull for damage and wear, and making and mending. Over the course of their stay, each group would rotate their duties until the Siren Song was ready to sail again.
Captain O'Malley, freed of the burden of daily command, transitioned from ship's captain to being a governor of sorts for their little island hide away. Those men who were not on duty could seek her counsel on disputes and grievances of a personal nature. This system allowed heated tempers to cool so that work could continue without disruption. Everyone knew that as soon as they landed for an extended period of time, Captain O'Malley would see to it that all matters were resolved fairly. Most of the time, the men managed to peacefully resolve all but the most serious of disputes without her intervention.
The ship’s crew happily settled into their routine as the days passed. On their third day on the island, a continuous watch was posted in the crow's nest aboard the Siren Song. Captain O'Shea's crew was expected to come looking for their absent captain, and to be no more than a few days behind the Siren Song. When five days had passed without a sign of the Black Dragon, Captain O’Malley began to worry.
“Liam, are you sure you left clear instructions in case something were to happen to you?” Grace asked for the fourth time that afternoon.
“Aye, lass, the mate has the precise bearings and all the instructions on how to signal his approach. You know as well as I do how many things could delay that crew of scallywags. Only when a full fortnight has passed will it be necessary to go looking for them.”
“I know, I know. But you were so certain they would be right behind us.”
“No doubt they've run into some trouble getting here, but just like your ow
n men, they would not let Hell itself keep them from carrying out my orders in my absence.”
“By the end of the fortnight, we sail, with or without the Black Dragon.”
“Agreed.”
By the seventh day, however, a sail was spotted on the distant eastern horizon by the watchman in the nest, and soon the Black Dragon came into view. As she drew nearer, all could see that her mainmast was down and that she was listing to starboard. All wondered what had transpired to cause such damage to Captain O'Shea's ship.
Hawkins ordered the carpenters aboard the long boat with extra pumps to meet the Black Dragon beyond the reef. She was in no condition to thread the passage as long as she listed so.
While the carpenters were assessing the damaged ship as she lay offshore, the long boat returned to the cove with the acting first mate and several injured crew men. The injured were given over to the care of the Siren Song's surgeon, while the mate reported to the captains.
“We first spotted the ship as we passed New Providence, sir. She followed so far behind we had no way of identifying her. At first we weren't even certain she was following us or just headed in the same general direction.”
Both captains remained silent and waited for him to continue.
“Two days on the open sea, she began to close in. She took her time to catch up to us. By the time we could identify her as the Ocean’s Whore, it was too late to outrun her. We continued our course and waited to see what they wanted.”
“What they wanted was the captain,” the mate explained with ominous tones. “Captain Shireland did not believe us when we told her you were not aboard, sir. She opened fire on us when we refused to give her any other answer. She raked us most cruel, and once the Black Dragon was reduced to the condition you see her in now, sir, Captain Shireland's crew boarded us. They searched the ship top to bottom before they were satisfied you were not aboard. If you had been aboard, sir, I believe she would have taken you and sent the whole lot of us to the depths. As it was, we lost four good men before we made it here, and I fear two more of the men may be beyond a doctor's help.”
“I don't think Lizzie intends to leave you well enough alone any longer, O'Shea,” Captain O’Malley quietly murmured.
Liam did not answer, but a boiling rage reddened his face.
Grace addressed the mate. “Send the long boat back out to the Dragon. Get a report from the carpenters and begin bringing your crew ashore. You will have the full support of my crew to do whatever necessary to repair and restore the Black Dragon.”
It took over a week to stabilize the Dragon enough to get her through the reef and into the cove. Another two weeks of work by all hands of both crews passed before all the repairs were completed. Luckily, by then, all of the injured men of the Black Dragon's crew were again fit for duty. Once both ships were fully supplied and ready to sail again, a meeting of both crews was called ashore. When the captains asked for volunteers for special duty, not a man refused to serve.
“Now all we need is to get a spy aboard the Ocean’s Whore,” Grace smiled.
Chapter 4
Choosing a Spy
Bartolo Bellamio, the steward, crept quietly into the darkness of the captain's cabin. Although the most loyal of men, he hated following her own order to wake her up, especially when she needed the rest so badly. Beneath that wild pile of covers slept not just any woman, but a captain that had stood her post with the rest of the men through three days and nights of fearsome storms, a woman he had at one time the honor of calling sister-in-law, a leader he would proudly continue to serve until his dying breath.
His brother, Giovanni, had always been a fool, but never so much as when Grace O'Malley had been concerned. Firstly a fool for thinking she would ever be solely devoted to one man in marriage; she had loved him and cared for him and tried to dissuade him, but he had managed to win her father over all those years ago. Master O'Malley was the one man she would not defy, so she married the fool. Twice a fool in thinking anyone but Captain O'Malley would be able to lead her men. She saved the fool in the nick of time from a mutiny he deserved. Thrice a fool for daring to take one of her father's ships and go it on his own. He died of his own foolishness.
When he took his ship to the bottom of the Caribbean, something in Captain O'Malley had died, too, but she kept it to herself. She was ever the mother, lover, saint, and savior to the men she had won ultimate devotion from.
Bartolo slowly opened the thick velvet curtain to let the subtropical light spill into the cabin. The pale soles of dainty feet protruded from the mass of blankets at one end, a wild mass of glossy black waves cascaded from the other. He knew it was because she once called him brother that she allowed him such unguarded entry into her private corners. She was her own protector and trusted none. Bartolo knew, though, that every woman, no matter how strong she could be, deserved a protector and a champion, as well as a lover and companion. He whispered a prayer that the Almighty would send her a worthy man, and soon.
Grace tried to curl up deeper into the sleeping alcove. She knew that Bartolo's presence meant they were nearing San Juan and that she must arise, but every fiber of her being continued to cry out for more rest. Her head throbbed with the need of it. She wondered why she couldn’t have been born a man, unfettered by womanly frailties. No matter how or what she had tried, there was no hardening of what was intended to be soft. She knew she was chiding herself uselessly, so she willed herself to get out of the bed and get on with business. The strength she needed was always there when she needed it. Her father's words reverberated in her ears.
She rolled over to see Bartolo standing in the middle of the cabin, head down, eyes averted.
“Report.” Her voice was dry and cracked.
“We are about to make port, Captain. The watch in the nest thought he spotted the lines of the Black Dragon already in the harbor, ma'am.”
“Very well, leave me my things. I'll be on deck shortly.”
Bartolo quickly exited.
San Juan. Something about its sultry air seemed to suit the Spaniards who had settled it. Grace longed to spend several languid afternoons here just watching the rest of the world come and go, but there was no time for that now. Time had become more precious than the gold aboard a Spanish galleon. Every moment they remained at anchor was a moment more for Captain Shireland to further her own plots. Once again information, not treasure, was the prize. She needed to know what the crew of the Ocean’s Whore had been up to while they had been laid up repairing the Black Dragon. More importantly, they needed to know where the Whore would turn up next. She had gathered a few of those answers in Port Royal. She prayed Captain O'Shea's trip to St. Kitts had been equally fruitful. A seemingly chance encounter at the notorious San Juan seaman’s tavern El Corazon de la Mar would be their opportunity to discuss matters and take action.
Liam sat in a dark corner of the loud and busy Corazon de la Mar. He slowly nursed a bottle of rum as he watched the crowd ebb and flow; though he acted the part of a deeply inebriated sailor, he was being very careful to keep his wits about him. There would be business to attend to as soon as the good Captain O'Malley arrived. But women could be such a fickle lot, and he had no idea when she might decide to show. The warming caress of the rum was tempting him further and further into the bottle, and soon he would not care at all who he was supposed to be meeting. Fate had determined to save him from weakness this night, however, for at that moment the crowds began to part as if a storm were blowing through their midst. Grace O'Malley seemed to be a force of nature that none dared to oppose. She ordered the serving wenches about as if they were her own crew. Once her men were all cared for, she scanned the room. The moment her gaze landed on him, he felt that the tide itself was about to overtake him and suddenly the rum lost its hold on him.
“Captain O'Shea, fancy meeting you here!” she called out loud enough to cut through even the most committed drunk's stupor.
“Captain O'Malley, only a hurricane could match t
he devastation you leave in your wake,” he grumbled as she took a seat across the table from him.
“I see rum still has a pleasant affect upon your humor, Liam,” she returned quietly.
“Tis not the rum, but your flagrant lack of discretion, I thought this was to be a clandestine meeting.”
“Clandestine in that no one was to know we intended to meet, O'Shea. Do you really think we could rendezvous without anyone noticing?”
“Unlikely.”
“Better to give the wagging tongues a story we'd like them to tell, than let them give into their own conjectures.”
“Aye, true enough,” he sighed in resigned exasperation.
“What news from St. Kitts?” she asked.
“You have many friends in St. Kitts, but a certain tavern keeper was the most helpful by far. His daughter's keen ears picked up some delightful tidbits.”
A serving wench came to the table to offer a refill of their drinks. Once she had passed out of earshot, he continued.
“It would seem that one of the lady's galleymen, her best cook in fact, over-indulged in drink while they were in port on Hispaniola. He was passed out in the arms of a plump little wench when Captain Shireland took her leave and set sail. Unfortunately, the fare aboard the Whore has been sorely lacking in his absence.”
“That could be advantageous to our plans, indeed. I will have to honor my friendship with the worthy tavern master and his daughter.”
“More advantageous than you may suppose, milady.”
“How so, O'Shea?”
Liam gestured to one of his men a couple of tables away. The man got up and left the tavern.
“I may have just the crewman to insert into the vacancy aboard the Ocean’s Whore,” he smiled slyly. “My man went to get our possible spy. What other news have you, while we wait for their return?”
Revenge of the Siren Song (Rogues of Sea and Sky Book 1) Page 2