by Susan Ward
The pirate Indy was not so amused. In a flashing second the knife was back in hand, that horrible jagged blade before her. He pressed the edge against her throat, the coolness of the metal making her freeze instantly.
His fingers snaked through her hair and jerked her head back cruelly. “For Christ sake, stop being such a bloody nuisance. Do you think fighting will accomplish anything?”
“Listen, Peaches, we just want to tie ye up so ye won’t be harming yourself. We can’t be fighting with ye, and trying to row back to ship at the same time. We’ll all end in the drink, if ye don’t behave. The Channel ain’t no place to take a dip at night. Let Indy bind yer feet. That’s a good girl. I promise I won’t let him harm ye.”
Not harm her. Did he think her an idiot?
Her thoughts clear in her eyes, the jovial young pirate laughed and tossed Merry roughly over his shoulder. None too gently, he dropped her into the small boat, resting his booted feet on her backside once he took his place for rowing.
“What do ye suppose Morgan will do to her?” Shay asked.
“If we’re lucky, he’ll bed her. If we’re not lucky, we’ll find ourselves chained in the brig. We best hope she’s a damn good...” he used a crude word that Merry had never heard before “... or we’ll be wishing we never laid eyes on Morgan.”
Merry’s heart skipped several beats and then began to race again at a frenzied pace.
“Ain’t no reason to fret, Peaches,” Shay assured Merry. “My money is on ye, if that means anything.”
It didn’t. Not to Merry.
“Morgan is a hard man, but a fair one. Give him what he wants and ye ain’t got nothing to fear.”
She could feel the small craft pulling away from the shore, the swells of the waves making them lurch and sway. Sea spray saturated her clothing, making her skin burn. She struggled to hold her chin up, so she wouldn’t drown in the pool of water beneath her.
“Do ye think we could take off the gag? The poor little lass is turning blue.”
“From the cold.” Indy looped his fingers into her hair and jerked her head harshly up until her face was before him. “If you make so much as a peep—I can see you understand.” He pulled the gag from her mouth. “One yap and the gag goes back.”
Choking back her tears, she knew that each stroke of the oars took her farther from Cornwall, and closer to the Corinthian. Merry Merrick, whether she wished it or not, was now on her way to a pirate ship. She had wanted free of Rensdale and it seemed she was about to be granted her wish. Only she had not imagined that the answer to her prayers would come at the scarred hands of a sinister boy pirate and the infamous Captain Morgan.
CHAPTER FIVE
The water slapped against the bow of the small craft as it jolted through the fog. Merry lay trembling in the stern of the boat, her garments soaked with sea spray and her hair snarled in her face.
Frozen and terrified, she felt a wave of pure panic when she spotted the Corinthian rearing from the water.
Beneath the towering triple spires of the masts and the Grecian figurehead, the boy angled the bouncing craft against the curved underbelly of the great ship. He let go a piercing whistle into the inky darkness. A rope came spinning down, and with sure hands the boy worked to uncoil the tangled line of what looked to be a ladder.
Merry’s sodden garments were no protection against the cold wind that dug like nails into her skin. She felt her nerves begin to give way and fought hard against her escalating panic. She reminded herself as bad as things stood, it could have been worse.
She could have been alone at Grave’s End. Kate must have seen what had happened. In no time at all, her father would find her. Lucien Merrick was nothing, if not a thorough and capable man. She knew that he would leave no stone unturned until his daughter was returned. She would be rescued. She would not allow herself to believe otherwise. The other possibilities were too horrible to consider.
The young pirate jerked Merry from the skiff’s floor and set her with a painful drop over his shoulder. Indifferent to her struggles, he climbed the rope ladder, unaware that his hard bone shoulders jabbed painfully into her stomach as he pulled her weight upward.
The boy sprang down on the deck and released her without ceremony. The moment his rough, scarred hands left her, she fell hard against the damp deck, and then thrashed about its slippery surface like an eel.
“What a nuisance you are.”
Merry’s fury surged upward in a floodtide of flailing, bound arms and legs struggling his direction.
“I would like to see you keep your balance with your hands and feet tied after being jostled about like a dead Christmas goose,” Merry countered indignantly, making a desperate, feeble attempt to rise. “If you don’t release me this instant, I will ...”
It was her misfortune to find her knees, for they instantly deserted her. She made another loud thump against the deck.
“Hopeless,” Indy mutter the single word, packed with enough contempt that it was by far the cruelest comment anyone had ever directed to her.
No power on earth could have made her accept his outstretched hand. She was nearly to her feet, when the ship suddenly came to a creaking pause, suspended, and then the floor dove suddenly, pulling her down with the force to land hard on her chin and stomach.
“Jesus Christ. Can’t you exercise even the slightest common sense?”
This time his arm snaked around her without being offered and jerked her to her feet.
Blue eyes snapping, Merry exclaimed, “Let me go, you barbarian. You’ll pay for humiliating me like this. If you don’t untie my arms this instant, I will scream.”
“That,” said closely to her ear, “will only draw sharks. Human sharks. But, it’s entirely up to you how you choose to die. Damn. Stop screaming. Be silent, you miserable, bedraggled wretch, unless you want Morgan’s crew topside within a thrice. I am not going to rape you, you stupid girl. Only move you out of sight, before someone else sees you and gets into their mind to—”
He didn’t need to finish the thought. It was clear the moment she understood him because the fight went from her body in a single gush.
She might have weighed nothing for how little effort he spent dragging her poorly resisting body from the ships rail. He deposited her into a sitting position on the deck, with a crate supporting her back, obviously trusting her disobliging limbs less than she did.
Curt and dismissing, he commanded, “Stop squirming and be still. Do you want me to spend the rest of the night pulling splinters from your backside?”
“You, of course, would be heartbroken,” Merry snapped sarcastically, but her voice didn’t rise above a low, fierce hiss. “There is not enough kindness in you to sink a flea.”
The boy returned to the rail as a puffing Shay sprang over the side of the ship. Indy’s low, harsh curse momentarily drowned out the vibrations of footsteps and voices wafting upward from the men below decks.
“Damn it, Shay, I told you to secure the skiff,” Indy growled, watching the craft drift away from the Corinthian. “Morgan will have our hides, if you’re not able to retrieve it.”
“Yer worried about trouble over a skiff with herself sitting there, staring daggers at us? Damn it, mon, with the trouble we’re in, there won’t be enough left of us fer Morgan to flail over the loss of that bloody skiff.”
Indy pulled a stiletto from his belt. Terrified, Merry cried out, trying to scurry away. As Indy grabbed for her hair, Shay put his bulk between them. The knife, just missing his ear, made a ruthless slice through the red bandana tied above his lobe.
“Damn it, lad, be careful with that bloody thing. An inch higher and it would have been me ear on yer pretty blade. Can’t ye see the lass if afraid. It’s all right, lass. Calm yerself. Do ye think Indy would have taken ye from the beach if he meant to butcher ye?”
She was still trying to scurry away, even as Indy seized her ankles to cut the ropes on her legs. In a gracefully rapid slash, before her horrified eyes, her bonds were r
emoved.
“Get up,” Indy ordered, giving her a hard pull.
Reluctantly, Merry obeyed. He took her bound hands, obviously not trusting her to navigate the ship’s darkness on her own and snapped her body forward.
Merry scrambled to keep pace as the pirates moved with practice ease toward the stern of the ship, and down a tiny passage of stairs. A lantern flickered on the far wall, casting a nightmarish glow over the companionway. Thoughts of escape soared in and out of her mind like shooting stars, but she knew better than to attempt one.
Shay followed closely behind her. Even if she managed to escape the boys, the thought of being discovered by the crew of the most villainous pirate ship ever to sail the seas, was intimidating enough to stop her. Caution, a voice she seldom listened to, reminded her that only Indy and Shay were aware of her presence aboard the Corinthian and she should take every precaution to see that it remained that way.
They halted before a doorway. Indy briefly release her as he rummaged through a pocket for the key. Pushing the red oak door wide with his foot, he ruthlessly tossed her into the cabin of Captain Morgan.
To Merry’s annoyance, she lost her footing, again. This time, her toe catching the edge of Morgan’s Persian rug and she fell with a painful thump to the floor.
“Does it flatter your manly ego to toss me about like a sack of meal? If you don’t have a care, you’ll do away with me and deprive Morgan of the pleasure.”
He clamped her mouth shut with iron like fingers on her cheeks. “And if you don’t learn to lower that bloody screech, I will put the gag back in.”
It was Shay who helped her up. “Ye would do better to save ye breath if yer’re hoping to find a tender heart in Indy. He likes to stay clear of trouble, that one does, and ye lass, are more trouble than two lifetimes can take. Ye don’t know what fear is ‘til ye’ve suffered the razor side of Morgan’s temper.”
“If you’re afraid of trouble, why don’t you stop jawing with the girl and make yourself useful, you lazy Irish porker. Get the tub and some water from the wardroom,” Indy barked. His clever dark eyes darted to Merry. “Don’t even think it,” Indy grumbled, aware of the open cabin door, though he hadn’t looked. “Do you think you can out run me?”
It was hardly likely. Not with the way her body seemed to have no intention of cooperating and the unsuspected difficulty of maintain her balance on the sharply shifting deck.
Schooling her face into what she prayed were innocent lines, she conceded, reluctantly, that now was not the time to attempt a daring escape. Especially since daring was the last thing she was inclined to feel near Indy. Like a wet sugar cake she felt her body give way as she sank down on the dark, patterned rug, which had conspired against her only a moment ago.
For the first time she turned her full attention to the room. Staring about in wide-eyed surprise, Morgan’s private haven was not at all what she expected. She had expected something sinister and wicked. What she found was a room clean as a pin, amazingly luxurious, opulently comfortable, and tastefully decorated from floor to beam.
Soft light shimmered from the clear crystal globes of gimbaled candlesticks and wrought iron sconces, lending a cozy glow to her surprisingly elegant surroundings. The air held the spice of warm wood musk, the faint but pleasantly blending scents of tobacco and.... wintergreen? She drew a small measure of comfort from the scent for it was one, ironically, instantly associated with her father.
Her fertile imagination conjured an image of Lucien Merrick storming Morgan’s men like a thundercloud, to rescue his rash and reckless daughter. Brutal, morbid reality mocked her that, more likely than not, Morgan would kill him.
She turned her attention back to Morgan’s cabin, trying to stem her mounting hysteria. There was a real bed of polished mahogany, spread with a heavy velvet coverlet of a rust hue. Matching brocade pillows lined the gallery’s window bench beneath the diamond-shaped glass of the stern windows. On one side of the sturdy, but inviting bed, bookshelves lined the wall. Wing chairs made cozy by lambskin were positioned before the books, and across from the bed was a handsome table and chairs. The expert carving of mahogany wood reminding her of a table in her mother’s own private sitting room. Along the walls were certainly a priceless collection of European masterpieces, carefully encased in glass to protect them from the sea mist. Morgan’s desk was a well-organized mass of charts and navigational tools. Most of which she could identify from the time she’d sailed—or rather, stowed away—at the age of nine on a ship with Uncle Andrew bound for the American capital, no less.
She leaned forward, picking up a divider, lightly tapping the pointed end of the instrument against her fingers. She was fervently inventing ways to use this simple navigational tool as a weapon against her young captor. Meanwhile, Shay returned from the wardroom, dragging an attractive baroque hipbath behind him.
“You had better not have taken so long because you were regaling the crew of our exploits with the girl,” Indy said, tossing the garment he’d removed from a lacquer chest onto the bed.
Shay’s pleasant face curled with indignation. “Do ye think I want them—” he jerked his head in the far direction of the ship. “—to know we’ve got herself sit’n there. Ye may think I am a dumb Irishmen, but credit me wi’ some sense. Ye and I, lad, ain’t likely to win, not fer all your fancy blade dancing and me being the fion strong lad that I am.”
“Don’t bother to heat the water. Two buckets should do. There isn’t much of her to wash. And be quick about it. It won’t be long before Morgan and the others return.”
Wash. Merry, who had only been half listening to their exchange, sat up in alarm.
“You’re not getting me into that thing,” Merry declared, springing away from them.
She held the divider in hand, its shiny point directed at Indy. As far as weapons went, it was damn pitiful. The point couldn’t deliver a mortal wound, but it would hurt like the devil, if wisely used. Wouldn’t it?
Obviously, Indy didn’t think so. Contempt simmered unpleasantly in his black eyes.
“Christ, what do you plan to do with that? Chart my course?” In an instant, she was disarmed. “What an imbecile you are. For God’s sake, don’t touch anything else. Nothing annoys Morgan more than having his possessions moved.”
“I have every right to defend myself,” Merry hissed wretchedly
“Don’t count on Morgan seeing it that way. Do you think we brought the tub in here to drown you? If you leave the stench of the Channel and splotches of sand in Morgan’s sheets, he’s likely to give you the backside of his hand. You won’t last two minutes with Morgan in the shape you’re in. There’s no telling what vermin you’ve got crawling on you after Shelby’s.”
Merry sputtered with outrage. “Vermin, indeed. There is no need to get insulting. I won’t bare the last of my dignity, before you two young villains and lull about in a tub that’s seen more men, than a public convenience.”
Shay, who had been filling the tub, let out a howl of laughter at that.
“Bare the last of yer dignity? Ye have to admit, Indy, she does talk pretty fer one of Jack Shelby’s girls.”
“I am not one of Shelby’s girls. This is a mistake, I tell you.”
“It wouldn’t matter if ye were the Queen of England, lass. If Indy’s got a mind to put ye into the tub,”—he made a comical diving motion with his hands— “then, in ye go.”
Scowling, Indy snapped, “Christ, it’s not like you’ve got anything I haven’t seen a thousand times before.”
“Well, pardon me for not wanting to be a one thousand and one. I repeat...”
Unceremoniously, he picked her up, ignoring her frantic protests, and dumped her fully clothed into the water. Pulling the knife from his belt, he cut free her wrists.
“Can I trust you to do the rest or are you going to make me strip you?”
Humiliated, Merry stared up at him with eyes bright with fury and tears. Holding her arms wide, she glared at her garments
. “I suppose you’ve a plan on what I am to wear now.”
For that complaint, she earned his fingers snaking through her hair and a sharp tug backward of her head.
“Do you want me to finish the job myself?”
She did not doubt for a moment he would. He held up a bar of soap in front of her, which, much to her surprise, smelled of roses.
“Is privacy too much to expect?”
“Christ, what a nuisance you are. Do you think the sight of your rosy ass is going to make me...?” he broke off.
It was useless. His cold eyes watched her face color, from chin to hairline, in every shade from pink to scarlet. He wondered if he’d ever been hampered by such modesty and was heartily pleased he couldn’t recall a time.
Cursing under his breath, Indy turned toward the door. “Five minutes. Be done or I will finish you.”
Merry sat, shivering in the tub, watching him disappear from the cabin. Anxiously, she shed her clothes vaguely disappointed in herself when her icy fingers closed around her dagger.
Why hadn’t she remembered the weapon when it could have done her some good? Tossing her pitiful little blade on Morgan’s desk, she grabbed the scented soap and the cloth Indy had left her.
The fresh water was soothing after the harsh saltwater spray. She welcomed the comfort to her flesh. Her skin burned from the frantic motions of her hands, but when she climbed from the tub every inch of her was clean and scrubbed.
She found a linen towel atop of Morgan’s trunk and wrapped her shaking body within it, then took the comb he’d left. She was huddled before the stove that Indy had lit before leaving, trying to untangled her locks before the fire, when the boy returned.
“You’re making it worse,” was all he said when he saw her tangle Morgan’s comb in her dark curls. He sank cross-legged behind her, lifting the comb from her hands. He began to work the knots from her hair with careful strokes that would have rivaled even a mother’s.
Noticing her shiver, disgusted he said, “You should have grabbed the quilt if you were cold. What a helpless creature you are.”