by ML Guida
A breeze rushed over her and her damp clothes clung to her wet skin. Her teeth chattered, and her skin chilled.
“Welcome aboard the Soaring Phoenix, lad.” The captain grinned, revealing a single dimple on his left cheek.
She exhaled and lowered her shaking hand. Her disguise worked. For once in her life, she listened to her father, and he had been right.
“Take the lad and this man below. Give ’em some dry clothes. Bring ’em back up here. I want a word with ’em,” the captain said.
The melodic Irish timbre rolled off the devil’s lips. No menace echoed in his voice, but then, he didn’t know she played a trick on him either. Wait, what did he want to talk to her about? Maybe he did suspect the truth?
“Aye, Aye, Capt’n,” a clean-shaven pirate near her answered. Shirtless, he was bald and wore a black eye patch over his left eye. He was a little smaller than the Captain, but his sculpted muscles rivaled that of his captain. He had on red breeches, his sword and pistol hung off his black belt.
Hannah jumped at a pirate’s loud voice. Before she knew what was happening, the same man grabbed her with ironclad hands, lifted her off the deck, wrapped his arm around her waist and held her snug next to his muscular body. She broke out in a cold sweat and her heart thumped harder. Her fingertips turned numb. She kicked her feet and pounded her fists on his hard thighs and abdomen, but he captured one wrist, his hand a steal manacle. She winced.
“The devil with you boy, don’t make me lose my temper,” he said. “I’m not gonna hurt ya.”
Clenching her fists, she glared up at him. She gritted her teeth. Why did her wrist throb then?
In front of her, the same two men, Doc, wearing a red bandana over his dark black hair and Amadi, the tallest black man she had ever seen, who rescued them earlier, lifted her father.
“Damn,” Doc said, “he’s breaking my arms.”
Amadi with his long dark multiple braids woven with gold beads, grasped father’s ankles and grunted. “Quit your bellyaching Doc. You didn’t have to carry the bastard up a rope ladder.”
The deeper they went into the ship’s dim interior, the air changed from clean and fresh to stale and musty. The men grunted and groaned carrying her father. With their tormented and sweating faces and strained muscles, they managed not to drop him.
At the bottom of the stairs, her captor set her on her feet. Rows of hammocks swung between beams from one side of the room to the other. She rubbed her cold arms and took a step away from him. Now what?
He studied her. “Cook will bring you some dry clothes.”
She folded her arms across her chest. Doc and Amadi hoisted her father into a swinging hammock. Her father sighed as if he was in a restful sleep. How could he sleep though this? Was he faking?
“Thanks, Michael,” Amadi said.
“You must be getting soft in your old age, Amadi.” Michael slapped him on the shoulder and grinned.
Amadi put his large hands on his wide hips and braced his shoulders. His green vest revealed a chiseled chest and a flat stomach. Black breeches fitted his long, muscular legs. His head brushed the top of the ceiling. She swallowed hard. She had never seen such a tall black man. He looked like he could break her in two with one hand.
“Don’t push your luck, boy,” Amadi glowered at Michael. “You didn’t have to carry dis gent up a rope ladder.”
“D’ye now?” Michael shrugged his shoulders. “True enough, I take your point.” Glancing over at Doc, he motioned. “Come on.” He nodded. “Topside.”
A gruff, wizened man with a white beard and shoulder length gray hair leaned against the door. “You lads are as weak as a new babe if you can’t lift such a wee man.”
Amadi sauntered over. “Don’t make me mad, Cook.”
The old man gave him a lopsided grin. “Get out of here ye wee lass.”
Amadi stormed out of the room. His angry footsteps pounded on the stairs. Michael pushed past Cook while Doc bumped his shoulder, but Cook only cackled. Hannah would have wet her breeches if those pirates slammed into her shoulder.
Cook flashed his gaze over her. Chuckling, he strolled to a large trunk against a wall and opened it. After searching through it, he grabbed a white shirt and pair of black breeches and put them on the nearest hammock. “These are too big for ye lad, but they’re dry. I’ll be back to take you to the Capt’n.”
Hannah waited until she could no longer hear Cook’s footsteps before she tore off her shirt and breeches. The faint glow of the lantern revealed the top of her mounds peering over the wooly bandage. She tried shoving the mounds back down, but the bandage had shrunk. Her cheeks burned. She was a stone’s throw from being a pirate’s concubine.
Her hand clenched the flimsy wet material. She wanted to rip it off, but what if the Captain ordered her to take the shirt off? She’d have nothing underneath. Her hands dropped to her side. Trapped in a shark-infested cove.
She snatched the shirt and slipped her hand through one sleeve. Silk and warmth caressed her clammy skin, chasing away the cold. Her shaking hands retied her soaking hair, and she glanced down. Could she pass for a cabin boy? She put on her best scowl and clenched her fists.
Hannah blinked back tears. If only, she had a better handle on her powers, she might be able to get her and her father out of this mess, but she had failed last night to save her crew. ’Twas her fault everybody died. Why would today be any different?
She slumped onto the hard oak floor. The sole lantern in the room dimly lit the corridor and black shadows flickered on the wall like bats. Looming, twirling, menacing.
She frowned and huddled her knees against her chest. She leaned her head back against the wall.
Not real. Not real. Not real.
Footsteps shuffled down the hallway. A large billowy shadow drifted along the wall. Fear shot through her and pooled at the bottom of her toes. She jumped to her feet, rushed to her father and dug her fingers into his shoulders. She shook him.
Not doing this alone.
Her father snorted and spit flew into her mouth. She gagged and slapped him across the face. “Father, wake up!”
He groaned, his eyes fluttered, but remained closed. “Father, please wake up.”
She leaned over and whispered into his ear. “We’re aboard a pirate ship, get up. Someone’s coming to take us to the captain.”
But her father didn’t answer. A red stain spread over behind his head. “You’re bleeding.”
“Who’s bleeding?”
Hannah jerked her head up. “My father. He needs help. Do you have a doctor on board?”
“Aye,” Cook said. “But the Capt’n wants a word with ye.”
She tilted her chin. “The devil with the Captain. My father’s hurt. He needs help. The man called Doc, he’s a surgeon? Will you send him to my father?”
Cook scowled. “You’ll have to take this matter up with the Capt’n himself.”
“Then take me to him,” she demanded.
“Aye, follow me,” Cook nodded. “You’ll have to ask the Capt’n himself, laddie. Capt’n don’t cotton to bossy cabin lads.”
She scrambled to her feet and pushed her shoulders back. “Fine, lead the way.”
Cook led them through a galley. His shoulders brushed against the entryway. Different sized copper pots and pans dangled from hooks nailed onto the wall. Latches locked the cabinets, keeping whatever was inside from crashing onto the floor from the shifting of the ship.
Hannah wiped her bloody hand onto her dark breeches. She had to make the Captain listen. What if her father bled to death? What if the Captain didn’t care? Should she run through the ship and hunt for Doc?
Cook motioned at two oak French doors. “Capt’n’s waiting. Open it.”
The door creaked open. Her pounding heart sent blood rushing through her, thumping between her temples. This was it. She’d know her fate. Did her disguise work or fail?
A soft glow lit the room. There were three long rectangle wooden tables, an
d ten chairs surrounded each table. The smell of oil and citrus infiltrated the air. The wood furniture and floor were clean and polished. She arched her eyebrow. Pirates and cleaning? Strange. Who’d be so meticulous in doing this? Did they have slaves?
Iron lanterns burned on either side of a painting of a gray castle on the riverbank with sleepy willow trees and lilac bushes growing along the water. She walked over to peer at the picture and noticed a poem written on a faded parcel in a splintered frame hanging next to the picture.
May luck be our companion
May friends stand by our side
May history remind us all.
Of Ireland’s faith and pride.
May God bless us with joy
May love and faith abide.
Even stranger. What kinds of pirates have a poem hanging on the wall about love, faith, and joy?
In the far corner, something moved.
Don’t panic.
Soft glimmer traced the figure of a man. Dark shadows masked his face and body. When he stepped out of the murkiness, light flickered in his emerald eyes under long dark eyelashes. He pierced her with a penetrating gaze. A thin white scar traveled down the man’s face from his left temple to his jaw bone. Without it, he would have been another pretty boy, like the ones who begged her to dance at the balls in London. Folding her arms across her chest, she swallowed. Did he suspect she was a woman?
Remain calm. Who was she kidding? Remain calm? She was about to burst through the cabin and dive into the ocean and take her chances with the sharks. But she didn’t. Her father needed medical attention. She refused to disappointment him again.
“I’m Captain Kane O’Brien.” He motioned with his hand. “Cook has prepared food for us, and I invite you to break fast at my table.”
Salt pork, sliced pineapple, and hard rolls decorated each plate on a table set for three. A steaming pot sat in the middle of the table. She shivered from her shoulders down to her legs. Would she ever feel warm again? Her frozen, stiff fingers ached to put her hands around the pot.
She tried to swallow her fear and cleared her throat.
“My father,” her voice squeaked. “He’s bleeding. Will you please help him? The man Doc? He’s a doctor?”
“I suggest you sit,” the Captain reiterated. "I sent word to Doc to redress your father in warm clothing and look after him."
His decisive tone left her few options.
The Captain dragged out a chair, screeching wood on wood, and he seated himself across from her. He tapped his finger on the table. With each tap, she shrank. Was he going to beat her? Was he like the other pirates?
“The food will get cold as a wet Christmas if you don’t eat, lad. I assure you, ’tis safe. Cook hasn’t killed any of us yet.” The Captain picked up a piece of salt pork and swallowed.
“I want to go check on my father,” Hannah insisted. “I…”
“Doc will watch your father. I have questions I need answered.”
Hannah slunk deeper into her chair. Her stomach twisted into a square knot. “But I…”
The Captain’s jaw twitched. “That’s not a choice. I want to know what happened last night. Your cargo, your destination, why did the Fiery Damsel attack you?” The Captain leaned back in his chair. “Lie to me and you’re dead.”
Chapter Three
Kane waited for the lad to answer. He was a fool if he thought Kane would not hesitate to use brute force to get the answers he needed.
The lad stared at his uneaten food on the table, then lifted his head and sat taller in his chair. “I don’t know why we were attacked.”
Kane rubbed his chin. “So, you believe the attack was by chance?”
“Yes, they were pirates. Pirates don’t need a reason to attack.”
“Not the Fiery Damsel,” Kane growled.
“Maybe ’twas a mistake,” he said.
The lad’s hands twitched. Glowering, Kane grabbed the lad’s arm and yanked him off the chair. “Be warned, I can make you talk. I tell you true. Tell me what happened last night.” He shook the lad and the boy sucked in his breath. His huge brown eyes stared at him and he trembled beneath Kane’s hand.
Kane hardened his voice, “Palmer was questioning your crew for a reason. I want to know why. He never questions his prey.”
“Palmer?”
“Quinton Palmer is the Captain of the Fiery Damsel. Almost seven feet, red hair, long beard. Any of this ring true?”
The lad pulled on his arm, but Kane held firm. He could smell the lad’s hot sweat of fear, but there was no turning back, not with his crew’s safety at stake. He released the lad and stormed over to another table and snatched up a cat o’ tails. He had hoped not to have to use the whip, but his patience had run out. “I need to hunt down Palmer and I want you to listen very carefully, lad.”
He snapped the whip twice. The air cracked.
The lad swallowed and his face paled. His brown eyes widened. The lad gasped. “I swear…”
“You don’t know anything?” Kane finished. “Are you asking me to doubt my own eyes?”
“I...I...I am telling the truth.” The lad insisted, but his eyes shifted and he licked his soft lips. He was lying.
As if by magic, the coffee pot flew across the table and fell over the edge, crashing onto the floor and nearly hitting Kane’s boot. Hot coffee splashed onto Kane’s hand and thigh, scalding his skin.
Kane yanked his hand and gritted his teeth. “Bloody hell.”
The lad scurried behind his chair.
Kane snatched a cloth off the table and dabbed his hand. “How did you manage that, lad?”
“Manage what?”
Kane nodded at the turned over pot. “You made the pot move by itself. Do you practice black magic? Or you in league with the demon Zuto?”
“No, I don’t practice black magic and I don’t pray to demons,” the lad whispered. “Please believe me.”
Kane laid the cloth down. Before the lad could bolt, Kane’s fingers bit into the lad’s shoulder and he cried out. The last time magic ventured onto his crew, the demon Zuto cursed them. Sweet Mother of God, he’d never put his crew in danger again.
If the demon Zuto had a hold on the lad, he’d discover it. The lad would tell him. All mercy fled.
Kane stood, ignoring the pain in his hand and picked up the whip.
The lad covered his mouth. “No, I’ll…”
Kane gritted his teeth. Could he be a worse bastard? But the lad left him little choice, his crew’s life was at stake. He would not fail them again. He hardened his voice. “Be warned, I can make you talk. Savvy?”
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” the lad muttered.
“The truth for one,” Kane growled.
He had enough of the lad’s lies. He released the lad and shoved the dishes aside on the table. The lad raced for the door.
“Leave me alone,” he cried. His hand reached the doorknob.
Kane easily overtook him, seizing him by the shirt and dragging him back to the table. The lad slapped and kicked, hitting Kane’s arms and shins with painful accuracy. Lying to the Captain warranted punishment. One he’d dole out personally.
He slammed the lad face down on the wooden table, pinning his neck with his hand, pushing his knee between the lad’s thighs and the lad cried out. Ignoring the lad’s whimpers, he ripped his shirt down his back and grabbed his whip.
His eyes widened. A large wool bandage wrapped around the lad’s upper back, emphasizing the narrow waist that led down to curvy hips.
“Bloody hell,” Kane muttered. Could it be? Could this be a lass? Damn.
“Let me go,” the lad struggled.
Kane stared at two creamy shoulders. On the lad’s lower back, new red welts and discolored bruises marred the soft skin. “What the devil?”
He removed his knee and took his hand off the lass’s neck. She started to dart away but Kane seized her arm and whirled her around and ripped her shirt the rest of the way off. The whit
e bandage bound two ample breasts, which were now just peeking out. Perspiration trickled down the lass’s throat, pooling into a fine wetness between her straining mounds. A flattened tummy and womanly curves sent Kane’s senses reeling. An ache long denied rose within him.
“Jaaysus.”
His cheeks heated and he groaned at the thick-arse remark. How could he be so daft?
Her chest heaved. He raised his head tearing his gaze away from her breasts and stared into her deep brown eyes. Her face flushed. She moistened her rosy supple lips and tilted her chin. Now that he could see her, really see her, the lassie was beautiful, more beautiful than the Irish morning sun shining on the damp meadows filled with purple northern-march orchids.
She narrowed her doe eyes. “Like what you see, Captain?”
Although she defied him with her strong voice, she trembled beneath him.
“Aye, I do, lass. I do,” he whispered.
He ran his finger down her cheek and a tear slid over it. “So, what now Captain?” The lass whispered.
Her eyes glistened with pools of fear.
He breathed heavily, his blood thumping through him. Her soft female scent him on fire. His cock hardened and he wanted her. It had been so long since he’d been with a woman, not the whores, with their heavy flowery perfumes, hands all over him and coarse laughter. This one, she was vulnerable, at his mercy.
The monster within him urged him to tear her clothes, free her ample breasts and bury himself inside her feminine folds. He tightened his grip on her wrists. Closing his eyes, he steadied his breathing and released her.
The lass stayed still, her breath raspy. He opened his eyes and stood. Her torn shirt hung off her shoulders, reminding Kane of what he was—a monster, a fiend, a sea devil.
He yanked his shirt off.
“No, please, don’t,” she begged.
He stepped back and held his shirt in his hand. “Here, lass, take it. Now.”
She glanced at his shirt and up at him. Mistrust mirrored in those eyes. Could he blame her?
“Take it. Now. Before ’tis too late.”