Capture The Wind

by Brown, Virginia

  “The evening meal?” She brightened. “What do we eat in the evening?”

  He grinned. “This being Wednesday, our ration is dried peas, cheese and butter to go along with the oatmeal, hardtack, and salt pork.”

  Silence fell. After an appalled moment, Angela said faintly, “And that is all?”

  “Beer and rum. Water with lime juice squeezed into it to stay off scurvy.” Dylan’s gold eyes looked sympathetic, and his voice was kinder when he added, “Seeing as how we just got a good haul, the biscuits won’t have maggots yet. The Scrutiny was only two days out, and the food was still fresh.”

  Emily made a strangled sound, and Angela glanced at her. Color drained from Emily’s round cheeks, and her lips parted.

  “Maggots?” Emily echoed, staring down at her empty bowl. “Were there—?”

  “No,” Dylan said. “I told you. These are fresh biscuits we took from the Scrutiny. Besides, Beans knows how to get rid of maggots.”

  “Beans?”

  “The cook.” Dylan’s gilt eyes danced with mischief. “It’s easy. You just put a large dead fish atop the sack of biscuits, and when the maggots crawl out to eat it, you wait until the fish is covered, then toss it over the rail and get another fish . . .”

  This time, Emily clapped one hand over her mouth and stumbled away from the long trestle table toward the door.

  “Now you’ve done it,” Angela said, though she was also having trouble taming her heaving stomach. “Emily has a predilection for nausea aboard a ship. Since you caused it, you care for her.”

  Dylan looked more mischievous than repentant. “I’d be glad to, but I can’t leave you unattended. Orders were—”

  “You can’t leave Emily unattended either, so unless you wish for your vile-tempered captain to wonder why she’s out wandering the ship alone, I suggest you tend her,” Angela said sharply. “If you’re afraid I’ll steal something, or eat more than my share, you’ve nothing to worry about. I see very little I would want.”

  “Maybe so, but I’ll send someone to sit with you,” Dylan said, and disappeared out the door.

  Angela stared after him. She wished briefly that she had the courage to defy orders, but she didn’t. Especially not after Saber’s less than subtle warning. That confrontation had dulled her appetite at breakfast, a condition she did not now regret in light of the fare being served aboard ship. Mercy, how did sailors survive? Or was it only pirates who had such unchanging menus? Surely, the men aboard a proper vessel received much better food. She hoped so. She didn’t think she could survive on musty water alone for very long. And it didn’t seem as if anything better would be offered. Or maybe that was just for captives. She sighed heavily, and decided not to give Captain Saber the satisfaction of starving them to death before he could do whatever it was he intended to do with them.

  When Angela tried to bite into one of the biscuits, she found that it certainly lived up to the name hardtack. She touched the tip of her tongue to her front teeth to ascertain they were intact, and tossed the biscuit back to the plate. It looked innocent, with nothing alive in it that she could see, but still she shuddered at the thought.

  She looked up when a noise at the entrance announced the arrival of the guard Dylan had promised. Hope flared that it would be Mr. Buttons. He had seemed the only respectable man aboard this cursed ship and had expressed genuine distress that two fine ladies were in such a dreadful predicament. However, her brief conversation with Mr. Buttons had been cut short by Dylan, who had warned darkly that it would “go bad for any sod caught where he shouldn’t be,” and Mr. Buttons had departed with a regretful smile.

  But her hope that it would be he who was sent to guard her vanished in an instant. The breath caught in her throat when she saw Captain Saber’s unsmiling countenance. His expression was one of irritation, his brows low over shadowed eyes, his mouth set in a sulky line. He moved gracefully to the sideboard, a study in tan leather and flowing muscle that made it even more difficult for her to breathe properly.

  Saber leaned indolently against the edge of the sideboard and regarded her with a lifted brow as he crossed his long legs at the ankle. “So,” he said, “you’re still managing to be an inconvenience.”

  Angela’s cheeks flamed at the undeserved insult, but she bit her tongue to hold back an angry reply. Silent, she watched Saber pick up a biscuit and dip it into a mug he carried. After a moment, he must have deemed it edible. He crunched noisily, while eyeing Angela as if she were a disreputable puppy who had soiled his carpet. Her chin lifted instinctively against his obvious disapproval, and Saber’s eyes narrowed.

  “You needn’t give me that haughty look. It won’t help.” He took another bite of biscuit.

  “Excuse me, but you seem confused. It is not I who am being arrogant,” she said.

  “No? Then why put your nose up in the air?” Saber took a gulp from his mug. His eyes narrowed at her over the rim.

  “Perhaps because I do not like being stared at so rudely, nor do I appreciate being bullied.”

  “Bullied?” His dark brow winged upward and his mouth curled. “You have no idea just how bullying I can be.”

  “Oh, I imagine I have some idea. I’ve been on this ship less than twenty-four hours, yet I’ve gleaned several important facts. If I were not bound to silence by threats of dismemberment, I would share them with you.”

  “Then I’m glad I had the foresight to threaten your imminent dismemberment.” Saber finished the biscuit in a single bite. He didn’t seem to care that it might have maggots. “If you are finished with your breakfast, I will escort you to your new cabin.”

  “New cabin?”

  “Certainly.” His eyes stabbed into her, blue and hot as the center of a candle flame. “Mr. Buttons has graciously offered to give up his own comfort for yours. Oh my. You didn’t hope to continue sharing mine, did you? How rude of me. Especially since I have every intention of sleeping in my own bed tonight. Of course, if you’ve changed your mind about that, I can scoot over and make room for you, angel.”

  Angela’s insides gave a funny lurch, but her voice was cool enough. “As much as I appreciate your lurid invitation, I shall decline.” She stood up. “I trust our new cabin is far removed from yours.”

  He grinned. “Far enough away so that I don’t have to see you unless I want to, but close enough to reach you in very short order should I feel the need.”

  Another internal lurch left her voice thin and reedy. “I fervently hope that you never feel that need, sir.”

  Saber’s laugh was wicked, and his eyes gleamed a deep, glittering blue that left her in little doubt that her hopes were of no concern to him. He set his coffee mug on the sideboard and stepped close to her, sliding one hand behind her neck in a gesture that could have been affectionate were it not done so roughly. His fingers cupped around her nape in an iron hold, and though his expression was pleasant enough, Angela took note of the anger vibrating just below the surface of his perfect features.

  “Should I feel that need, little one,” he said with soft malice, “your hopes will be of no significance to me. I trust you understand that.”

  “P-p-perfectly,” she stammered, hating the reaction he caused with his touch and words. Why could she not shove him away and say something so annihilating that he would be downcast with shame? But not a single rebuff came to mind, and she could only stand in quivering silence while he stared down at her.

  After a moment, he released her and stood back. Sweeping a bow that would have been elegant were it not done so mockingly, he said, “After you, my lady.”

  Angela forced her legs to move, and preceded him into the dim, narrow companionway. A chaotic blend of sounds and smells assaulted her. It was odd, but the Sea Tiger seemed to be run much more efficiently than the Scrutiny. The decks were scrubbed clean, with every article hanging or stowed in place. Except for distasteful things such as maggots in biscuits and water that reeked of tin sweat, the pirate vessel was the epitome of excel
lent seamanship.

  Saber led her above deck. Noise and stinging sunlight exploded in ringing chaos around her as she stumbled onto the busy deck. Motion was constant. Sails cracked crisply in the hard press of the wind, and lines hummed and sang with taut vibration. Angela blinked and squinted against the burn of sunlight in her eyes, and reached out blindly to grasp at a rail. Saber caught her hand.

  “Not that one. Hold on to me instead. Distasteful as you may find it to touch me, I’m going in the right direction.”

  Angela found her hand tucked cozily in the crook of his hard biceps and forearm, and she was led along like an errant child. Light shimmered and reflected off polished brass fittings, sparkle lending more light to a brilliant day. Wind picked at her hair, tugging it loose from the clumsy braid she’d hastily formed earlier. Beyond the square white sails that seemed to fill the sky, the horizon dipped and rose in an endless motion as the bow of the ship sliced through the ocean. Angela recalled a half-nude mermaid that decorated the bow, impossibly high bare breasts pointing the way. It was the sort of figurehead she would expect a disreputable pirate ship to bear.

  Everywhere she glanced, half-clad men worked or watched their progress. It was disconcerting. Angela tried not to look too closely at them, but she couldn’t help noticing the predatory grins and leering winks in her direction. She recognized Reed, the pirate who had accosted her that first day while she was still aboard the Scrutiny. He was talking with another pirate and gesturing in her direction as they both laughed. It was just as well that the wind whistled loudly in her ears, so that she couldn’t hear their remarks. Her cheeks burning, she wondered where Emily was, and if she was enduring the same vulgar scrutiny.

  The cry of “Sail ho!” drifted down from above, and Saber stepped to the rail, taking Angela with him. She saw on the horizon a dark speck that she took to be another ship. Activity aboard the Sea Tiger changed abruptly from casual toil to energetic preparation. Men scurried about with cheerful purpose.

  Tilting back her head, Angela watched with a puzzled frown when the pirate standard that was usually flown from the mast was lowered and replaced with another. Instead of the roger, or banner bearing the bloody saber, a flag that looked vaguely familiar was sent up the pole with a shimmy. A shock of recognition went through her, and she turned accusing eyes on Saber.

  “That’s a French flag!”

  “Aye,” he said cheerfully. “I’m gratified to learn that you can recognize it. Education these days can be so scanty—”

  “I thought you were English.”

  His brow lifted. “I am. What the devil does that have to do with the flag I choose to fly?”

  “But . . . but, if you’re English, why are you—”

  “Ah, of course. What an innocent you are.” He put an arm around her shoulder and drew her closer to the rail. “You see, if I were to fly my usual roger, then I could not come within ten leagues of another ship without a great deal of effort. This way, however, that French ship across the water will come close enough to communicate. Of course, once within easy range, I am always more than happy to show my true colors.”

  “You’re despicable,” she managed to get out, and he laughed.

  “But good at it. Come this way,” Saber said then, and she was led along the slightly slippery planks of the deck toward a far door that was painted a glossy blue. He shoved it open with the heel of his hand, and musty shadows enveloped them as they stepped into a narrow companionway that was suffocatingly close and silent. They weren’t even in the same area of the ship as his cabin, she noticed, but didn’t know whether to be relieved or insulted.

  “You’ll be safer below anyway,” he remarked casually, his voice sounding too loud in the darkness, and Angela turned to look at him.

  “You mean from the crew?”

  Saber looked amused. “Hardly. They won’t touch you unless I give the word. I meant from a stray shot.”

  Confusion furrowed her brow, and she frowned. “What stray shot?”

  “Are you being deliberately obtuse?” Saber shook his head in exasperation, and nudged her down the companionway. “What do you think that ship’s reaction to our roger will be?”

  Realization struck her, and Angela felt the chill of apprehension. “You mean to attack that vessel.”

  “Very good. Your comprehension is commendable.” Saber paused in front of a door and reached around her to open it, one hand at the small of her back to propel her inside.

  Emily perched on the edge of a small bunk and looked up, her face reflecting relief when she recognized Angela. “Thank heavens you’re here!” she exclaimed, rising so quickly she almost lost her balance and had to grab at the bunk. “I was worried that . . . that something dreadful had happened.”

  “Not yet,” Angela said, moving toward her. She turned back to look at Saber where he stood framed in the low doorway. Her throat tightened. His urbane expression was totally incongruous with his profession. How did he appear so aloof and sophisticated when he was a tarred villain of a pirate, for heaven’s sake? She didn’t understand it, and most of all, she didn’t understand the potent effect he had on her. She was to wed another man, yet Captain Kit Saber had the power to set her senses in a whirl with only a glance from beneath his absurdly long lashes.

  It was ridiculous, and made her tone sharp when she said in reply to Emily, “But I believe disaster is imminent. We’re about to endure another sea battle, it seems.”

  “Hardly a battle.” Saber shrugged. “If they’re smart—which they usually are—they will offer no resistance. A shot or two across their bow, and they’ll strike their colors in a hurry. Most captains would rather lose cargo than lives.”

  With that, he stepped back and shut the door behind him. They heard the metallic rasp of a key in the lock. Angela looked at Emily. Fright that must have mirrored her own shone from Emily’s round face, and her eyes were wide with panic.

  “He’s locked us in,” Emily whispered. “What’ll we do if the ship begins to sink?”

  “I don’t think they’ll accidentally let us drown. It will be deliberate, if anything.”

  Angela sank wearily onto the hard bunk and looked around her. The cabin was stark and neat. A table tied down with ropes nestled three chairs beneath it. A desk was set into one wall and flanked by shelves that dovetailed into one another. A narrow ledge held in the books on the walnut shelves. A wing-back chair squatted in a corner beneath a lantern and porthole. Drawers with bright brass handles and carvings of whales and porpoises decorated one wall in utilitarian beauty, and as in Saber’s cabin, lanterns hung at intervals. Two narrow bunks made up as neat as Mrs. Peach’s kitchen pantry were on one wall, one over the other. She spared a moment of gratitude for Mr. Buttons’ generous displacement. At least they were in a cabin, and had not been locked in a damp hold somewhere in the bowels of the ship. She sighed, and heard Emily snuffle dolefully.

  “Oh, do not cry, Emily. I don’t think I can bear it. It is bad enough that we are here. If we panic at every turn, it will be unbearable.” She leaned over to give Emily a gentle pat of comfort. “Strange as it may sound, I have all confidence in Captain Saber’s ability to take a ship without harm to himself. He seems quite adept at piracy.”

  “Is that supposed to be comforting?” came a query muffled by Emily’s palms and a scarf. Angela smiled.

  “Yes. Oh, don’t give me that look. It hardly helps to ponder the possibilities. Let us focus on other things. Such as an extreme need for a proper bath and unsoiled clothing. I fear that my gown has undergone a great deal of stress, and yours looks dreadfully wrinkled from having been slept in last night.”

  Emily looked down at her wrinkled muslin and sighed. Once it had belonged to her mistress, and in fact, had been one of Angela’s favorites. The seams had been let out to fit around Emily’s more generous curves and the shoulders altered a little for her shorter stature. Before their capture, Emily had looked quite nice in it. Now, the skirts were torn in places, and soo
t smeared the hem. Angela’s blue bombazine gown had fared little better.

  “See? More practical concerns can ease our minds if we really—”

  A loud crack split the air, cutting off the end of her sentence and making both of them jump. An instant later, another gun was fired, and she felt the reverberation shiver through the ship’s timbers. With a quickly beating heart, Angela stepped to the small round porthole over the desk. She dragged the edge of her palm across the damp glass and peered out.

  The other ship was closer now, and as she watched, she saw the bright shimmy of its flag rapidly descend a mast. It had apparently decided not to fight, and relief flooded her. She turned to Emily.

  “They have surrendered. There will be no battle.”

  “Thank God,” Emily murmured, and Angela realized that she felt the same deep gratitude. Despite her brave words, the thought of a sea battle had terrified her.

  In the long hours that followed, Angela noted the transfer of ship’s goods from one vessel to the other, huge casks and trunks, and bolts of paper-covered cloth that looked like silk. Piracy could be quite profitable, it seemed.

  It took the better part of the day to transfer cargo, and by the time the Sea Tiger pulled away from its prey, the western sky was a collage of pinks and saffrons and setting sun. Angela wondered idly if they had been forgotten, then regretted that thought when she heard the clink of a key in the cabin door. She turned with quickened pulses, expecting Captain Saber.

  It was Dylan, however, his jeweled gold eyes bright with laughter at some unshared joke. He was wearing a fine coat of carmine velvet, with frogged fastenings of twisted ebony and decorative cord on the wide cuffs. Beneath it his chest was bare, his trousers a supple leather that clung to well-formed legs. A floppy hat with broad brim and a curling feather perched atop his head, looking incongruous with his fall of long black hair and the huge gold hoop in his ear. He swept them a graceful bow and grinned.