Capture The Wind

by Brown, Virginia

  “Look the proper swell, don’t I?” he said cheerfully. “I took a fancy to this coat, and the gentleman who owned it was willing to part with it.”

  “I daresay,” Angela said tartly. “At swordpoint, no doubt.”

  Dylan gave her a reproachful look and turned to Emily. “You like it, don’t you, Miss Emily?”

  Emily nodded, brown eyes as huge as plates, admiration evident. Angela was startled. Admiration was not an acceptable reaction to a pirate, no matter how magnificent his body or charming his manners. Though Dylan seemed to take great pains to be courteous, there was no doubt in her mind that he would dispose of them without a qualm should he feel it necessary. Or should Captain Saber order it.

  Angela cleared her throat meaningfully, and gave Emily a sharp pinch on her arm.

  “What we would really like, Mr. Dylan,” she said, “is to be allowed a change of garments ourselves. Ours have become stained and, quite frankly, odorous. Do you suppose it possible to find us something suitable in the trunks you pilfered from the Scrutiny? Our things are probably below in the hold at this very moment, if we could search for them.”

  Dylan frowned. “I thought you might want to eat, not go shopping.”

  “Eat? That bilge you fed us earlier was quite enough, thank you. Did you come to threaten us with another meal?”

  “Yes.” He smiled slightly. “And to see if you needed anything.”

  “And as I have just told you, we do. Would it be possible, do you think?”

  “Doubtful. But I’ll ask around.” He hesitated. “If I ask Saber about new clothes for you, I want a promise in return.”

  Angela exchanged glances with Emily. “What promise?” she finally asked.

  “That you stop pissing him off. Every time he talks to you, he ends up in a mood as foul as the bilge on a whaler. Let up, will you?”

  “Pardon me, but I do not see how you can hold me even slightly responsible for your captain’s foul moods. As he is the sole ruler of the Sea Tyrant—”

  “Tiger,” Dylan cut in.

  “Excuse me. A natural enough error. Tiger, then—it seems to me that he is solely responsible for his own moods. Can I help it if he enjoys terrorizing innocent victims?’

  “You can help how you react,” Dylan said frankly “Not that anything I have to say will matter, but if you’d just be a bit more agreeable—”

  “Agreeable!” Angela stared at him in angry amazement. “If I were any more agreeable, I’d be in his bed.”

  “That might help.” Dylan gave her back an angry stare. “I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you’re on a bloody pirate ship. If you were on a ship with any other captain, you might already be a ride-under for most of the crew, in case that helps you make up your mind.”

  Tension roiled thickly between them as Angela and Dylan glared at one another. It was Emily who broke the tension.

  “Excuse me, but isn’t there a less intimate and demanding manner in which to appease Captain Saber?” she asked in a quavering voice.

  Dylan visibly relaxed, and his gaze shifted to Emily’s face. “Aye. Placate him instead of prod him. Truthfully, he’s never had much use for women that I can tell, but he’s not deliberately cruel, either. He can be congenial most of the time.”

  “I’ve not noticed his congeniality,” Angela remarked, “but I will endeavor to placate him at every turn if you will get us clean clothing. And a bath,” she added as an afterthought. “We could both use one.”

  The pirate’s eyes widened to the size of Spanish doubloons. “Jeezus. Does this look like a royal pleasure yacht? A bath. Why not ask for steak and kidney pie, something that might be remotely possible?”

  “I take it you mean a bath is impossible.”

  “Nearly. It’d most likely cause a riot if the crew got wind of it. Two naked females in a tub of water? God forbid. I can imagine Saber’s reaction if I were dumb enough to even ask.”

  “I did not request a bath on the main deck for the entertainment of the crew,” Angela pointed out. “Only a few minutes of privacy.”

  Dylan swept off his hat, stroking the curved ostrich feather between his fingers. He looked thoughtful. “Jeez. Do you have to look at me like that? It’s not as if I care if you bathe. It’s the crew. Not a man jack of ’em wouldn’t give their best to take a peek. I’m not even certain there’s a tub on board anyway. Isn’t there something else you’d like more?”

  “Freedom, but right now a bath is the most practical and likely necessity that occurs to me.” Angela crossed her arms over her chest. “It seems to me to be a simple enough request, especially in light of the request you made for me to throw myself at Saber like a harlot.”

  Dylan sighed. “I didn’t mean it that way, though it would probably put him in a much better mood.” He paused, then said, “I think there might be a tub in Saber’s cabin. Nothing fancy, though. He usually does like the rest of us.”

  “Without?” Angela snapped, nettled by Dylan’s obvious indifference and refusal to understand.

  Instead of being chastened, Dylan grinned. “I admit that my usual baths are taken in a hard rain, but if I soap up quick, I can get most of the dirt off before the rain stops.”

  “How enlightening. It conjures up a wonderful image.” She drew in a deep breath. “However, we prefer being allowed the luxury of bathing in the privacy of our cabin.”

  “Jeez, you don’t mind asking the impossible, do you.” Dylan’s grin removed any sting from his words. He shook his head, long hair brushing like dark silk over his shoulders. “I won’t make any promises, but I’ll see. Remember your promise. I’m tired of catching hell because Saber ain’t getting what he really wants from you.”

  She should have been affronted by this last, but somehow, with Dylan’s sunny smile and engaging face, she found it difficult. An unwilling smile tugged at the corners of her mouth despite her efforts to look disapproving.

  “You’d best get used to it,” she said. “I do not intend to give him whatever it is you think he wants.”

  Dylan looked frankly disbelieving, but was polite enough not to argue that point. Instead, he said earnestly, “Theory aside, you need to watch your step with Saber. He’s not a man to trifle with on some things.”

  “Don’t I already know that?” she retorted.

  “Apparently not. Last I heard, you half crippled him with your knee. A man’s not likely to forget that blow to his ego—or his manhood.”

  With that subtle warning echoing in her head, Angela allowed the pirate to coax them into eating. He had wooden kids in the passageway, he announced, with tasty treats just for the ladies. Would they care to try some honey cakes before the weevils got them?

  His wheedling was hard to resist, and soon both Emily and Angela were seated at the small table with trays in front of them. Once the covers were removed, they found to their delight that the food was, indeed, quite edible.

  “Umm,” Emily said dreamily, with sauce still smeared on her upper lip, “this is quite good.”

  Dylan smiled as if he were personally responsible for cooking the meal. “You’re lucky it was me in charge instead of Turk, or you’d be eating weeds and seeds. I told Beans to outdo himself. I even gave him a book with recipes, so you’re his first experiment. What with our recent take, this food would only spoil, I told Beans. And don’t he need the practice? Why cook for mates who don’t have the experience to appreciate fine food near as much as you two ladies?”

  Knowing that it was filched food did not deter Angela’s pleasure in the least, which only proved to her that she had already abandoned some of her more refined principles. She devoured the chicken baked in a clever sauce of herbs and vinegar, crusty rolls that were flaky and soft on the inside, and fruit sautéed in butter. The honey cakes were the crowning glory, rich and heavy, sprinkled with chopped almonds and garnished with ripe red cherries.

  Dylan watched silently, straddling a chair and swinging his hat idly from the tip of a finger. The feather
fluttered with the movement. Once he got up and opened the door wide, “To let in fresh air,” he said, and sat back down.

  Angela eyed him. “Would you like a portion?” she asked, indicating her half-finished plate. Dylan shook his head and said cheerily that he had eaten already, but thank you very much. His gaze strayed again and again to dark-haired Emily, to her pretty, plump face and generous curves. Angela silently fretted. It would never do for a pirate to form an attachment for Emily. Or would it?

  The idea came to her with such sizzling clarity that she was astonished she had not considered it before. Why could they not use Dylan’s obvious admiration for Emily to gain their freedom? Women had been doing that sort of thing since time began—all it took was some ingenuity and subtlety. Surely, Emily could manage to coax Dylan into helping them if he believed that she cared for him.

  It was certainly a solution, though a risky one. She would have to think on it a bit more before presenting it to Emily. After all, it would require much more than a bit of flirting, she was certain, but she did not know how far Emily would be able to go without blurting out the truth or fleeing. Emily’s plain, honest, nature did not lend itself to duplicity, which did not say very much for herself, Angela considered with a silent sigh. But then again, she was desperate.

  Philippe would be wondering where she was, and why she had not arrived in New Orleans yet, and oh, heaven forbid if he tried to contact her father! Papa would be beside himself with worry and grief. If he heard that his only daughter had fallen into the hands of pirates . . . She spared a moment of prayer for Captain Turnower and the ill-fated crew of the Scrutiny before reflecting that their deaths had at least spared her father the knowledge of his daughter’s fate. It would be some time before anyone knew what had happened to the Scrutiny, she was certain. Perhaps she would be able to get a message to Philippe before he began to worry badly enough to contact Papa.

  Yes. Though she deplored the method, she saw Dylan’s attentions to Emily as possible freedom. Pirates had no compunction whatsoever in impressing their will on helpless victims, so she saw no need to spare a moment’s guilt at what she contemplated. All she had to do was convince Emily of that fact. It should be easy enough. They had little to lose if Captain Saber really did intend to hold them hostage or sell them. And there was little she would put past him.

  She lifted her head and focused her gaze on Emily. Some judicious warnings of dire fate would be all that was necessary. Once they were free, she could ease her conscience.

  And besides—it may be their only chance to escape.

  Kit slammed his closed fist against the rail. “Bloody hell,” he muttered softly. The bird perched on his shoulder echoed the sentiment with warbling cheer, digging talons deeper into the bunched linen of his shirt. Kit gently detached the talons and swung Rollo to his forearm.

  “Yes,” Turk said, “I agree with your sentiment. It will be most inconvenient to journey to America. Are you certain of your information?”

  Opening his closed fist, Kit held up a crumpled sheet of paper. “If I believe this communiqué from Gabriel, yes. He’s never been wrong before, though I seem to be always a day or two too late.”

  The last was said bitterly, and Turk nodded. After a moment, the tall giant remarked, “A rather coincidental meeting, in my opinion. Rather like the taking of the St. Denis, when Gabriel was aboard.”

  Kit smiled faintly. “Gabriel does have a flair, does he not? He is the most excellent spy I have ever employed. If anyone can find her, he can. And does so consistently.”

  “Kit,” Turk said after a moment of silence, “has it occurred to you that perhaps she does not wish for you to find her? That these near misses are deliberate instead of coincidental?”

  Rollo muttered something obscene, and Kit stroked the bright feathers with two fingers, focusing on the bird for a moment. Occurred to him? Oh yes. And more than once. Constantly would better describe it. Yet what else could he do? He’d find the bitch, whether she wanted it or not. And he’d find the truth when he did, even if it was not the truth he wanted.

  He looked up. “Yes. I have considered that. And it doesn’t matter.”

  Turk looked over the rail at the ship now barely visible on the far horizon. The St. Denis’s sails caught dying rays of sunlight and turned pink, a rosy mirage against the dark blue of the water. “I can only hope,” he said quietly to Kit, “that the truth does not destroy you.”

  Seven

  A knock at the door barely preceded Dylan’s entrance. He wedged his head between door and jamb with impudent and obvious glee; a silky skein of black hair hung down, shimmering in the early morning light.

  “Ladies, I have a surprise for you,” he announced without preamble. Angela exchanged a quick glance with Emily, who was curled up on one bunk reading Camilla by Fanny Burney. That Captain Saber possessed the novel at all had surprised Angela. She much preferred reading his books on theology and history, a rather extensive collection that surprised her even more. Now, Emily’s eyes widened, and she closed her novel with a decisive snap.

  “What is it?” Angela asked cautiously, recalling Dylan’s last “surprise.” It had been a dead rat with two heads that one of the crewmen had encountered in the bilge area of the ship, an oddity that Dylan had been certain the two women would appreciate. He had been slightly disgruntled at their failure to value his efforts to entertain, and had loftily informed them that they “ain’t got no idea of what’s a right fair sight.” Angela had mulled over his assessment for a few moments before agreeing with Emily that Dylan’s idea of entertainment and theirs could not pass within a nautical league of one another.

  Grinning, Dylan said, “Remember that bath you wanted?”

  “That was three days ago.”

  “Do you still want it or not?” he demanded. His brows lowered slightly. “’Cause if you changed your mind after all the trouble I went to—”

  “Oh no,” Angela put in hastily, “we haven’t changed our minds at all. We’d just assumed a real bath to be an impossibility.”

  “Damn near was,” Dylan said frankly. He stepped inside and leaned against the doorjamb, arms crossed over his bare chest. Today he wore a huge diamond earring in his lobe; it sparkled gaily in the sunlight streaming through the high portholes of their cabin. He grinned again. “Saber is having another one of his spells and ain’t in a great mood, so I had to do some kind of talking to get permission for you two to use his tub.”

  “Spells?” Angela shifted uneasily. She hadn’t seen even a glimpse of Kit Saber in two days. Since depositing her in the new cabin, he had gone out of his way to avoid her. On the one occasion she’d encountered him, he had been even more brusque than normal. It left her feeling uneasy.

  “What kind of spells?” she asked, wondering if Saber had fits of violence. It was not a comforting vision, and she was faintly relieved when Dylan assured them it had to do with a physical malady.

  “Coughing,” he explained. “Sounds like he’s spitting up bits of lung. Smoke usually irritates it more. Or when we have wet weather.”

  Angela was slightly intrigued to learn that the indomitable Captain Saber had any sort of weakness. Oddly, it made him more human and sympathetic.

  “Is it a fatal illness?” Emily leaned forward and asked with wide eyes. Dylan shook his head.

  “No. Sounds like it at times, ’specially when he’s in one of his worst spells, but Turk says it’s only a broom—bron-something condition. Not fatal or contagious. Now—do you ladies still want that bath?”

  “Definitely.” Angela stood up. “Where shall we set the tub?”

  Dylan studied her for a moment before saying, “In Saber’s cabin. And don’t give me that suspicious look. He ain’t there. He’s up on the quarterdeck with Mr. Buttons and Turk. This is the best time to do it, and if you refuse, it will be the last chance you get.”

  With that frank decree hanging over her head, Angela had little choice but to concede. After all, Saber would hardly
want to come to his cabin while she and Emily were there, would he? It seemed highly unlikely. And Dylan was promising to stand guard outside the door to keep away any “half-wits who don’t mind risking neck and back by disobeying Saber’s orders,” so it should be quite private.

  To their mutual delight, Angela and Emily discovered that Dylan had also managed to acquire a jar of perfumed bath salts, two thick cotton towels, and a silk dressing gown for each of them. It would do no good, of course, to wonder to whom these items had once belonged. It might only mar the pleasure now, so Angela and Emily accepted them with gracious glee.

  Dylan’s grin grew even wider. “I’m glad you’re being sensible ’bout this. I wasn’t sure. The green dressing gown is for you, Miss Angela. It goes with your eyes. And the pink”—he held out a rose-colored gown as if it were a sacred offering—“is for you, Miss Emily. I think it will look bloody swell on you.”

  Emily accepted the silk dressing gown with a blush, and Dylan held it a shade too long before releasing it to her. Then he swept them a slight bow that was clumsy but enthusiastic before he closed the door and left them to the high-backed brass tub placed in the middle of the cabin. A tall black-lacquered Chinese screen had been placed at a discreet angle around the tub, and a brass bucket of hot water simmered on a brazier.

  “You go first,” Angela offered, and Emily gave only a token protest. Circumstances had simplified their former relationship in a short time, and Angela thought little of performing the tasks of a ladies’ maid for Emily. She helped her unhook her gown, then placed it neatly over the back of a chair. In scant moments, Emily was sinking into the tub with a luxurious sigh of pleasure. Angela laughed.

  “You’ve become a decadent creature, Emily. I don’t know if I shall be able to bear you much longer without reproof.”

  There was a muted splash from behind the screen. “I know. Shocking, isn’t it? In less than a week, our lives have been changed forever.”