Capture The Wind

by Brown, Virginia

  Thrusting it from her mind with a firmness born of desperation, she said as calmly as possible to Dylan, “What is to be done with us?”

  “I’m not sure. And don’t think you can talk me into interfering. I heard you and Emily talking.” His hands straightened a fold of fabric, then he turned her back around. There was no malice or anger in his eyes, only a frank perception that made her slightly ashamed. “You shouldn’t talk so loud when you plan a mutiny. There are air vents in Saber’s cabin that lead topside, and I imagine if he hadn’t been so absorbed in what he was doing, he would have heard you as well. Good thing I made enough racket to drown you out. I don’t want to think about what he would have said about your plot.”

  Emily removed her hands from her face and looked up from where she sat on the edge of a bunk. “Well,” she said with an unusual show of spirit, “what would you have us do? Just go meekly to our fates?”

  “It would be easier. And safer. Look, Saber ain’t as bad as you’re thinking. I know I told you a bunch of stuff, but that was to keep you from doing anything too stupid. He wouldn’t really harm you. Scare you, maybe, but nothing fatal.”

  “Then what does he plan to do with us today?” Emily asked.

  Dylan looked away. Late afternoon light slanted hazily through the round ports and picked out coppery glints in his dark hair. “It was a council decision,” he said at last. “We all voted. Saber intends to arrange your passage back to England once we get to Ponta Delgada.”

  Angela’s heart lurched. Kit intended to send her away after what had happened? Obviously, it had meant more to her than it did to him. Of course. Pirates would be well used to such interludes with women captives.

  Lifting her chin, she snorted in a very unladylike manner. “But are we to go as passengers or as prisoners?”

  “Does it matter? You’ve been well treated.” He thrust a hairbrush into Angela’s hand. “You might as well look presentable, whatever the plans.”

  Emily made another sobbing sound, and Dylan’s expression softened when he turned to her. “Don’t fret, love. I can promise you that nothing too bad will happen. You’ll be traded for a hefty ransom first, but that’s all. No one will really harm you, I swear it.”

  Moist brown eyes fastened on Dylan. “Ransom? Are you sure?” she whispered, and he grimaced.

  “It’s the best thing for you. Common enough, you know. After all, it’s done all the time and certainly fattens up our purses. Pirates aren’t the only ones who do it,” he said defensively when Emily gave him a scathing glance. “France and England have been busily engaged in that sort of conduct for years. So has Spain, and every other civilized country, so you don’t need to look at me as if I’m in league with Attila the Hun.”

  “How scholarly a comparison,” Angela said. “I’m delighted that you’ve heard of him, though I had in mind a more apt comparison—Blackbeard.”

  Anger sparked the gold eyes. “Damme, but you don’t need to be so mean about it. Saber ain’t no Blackbeard.”

  “Not enough wives?” Angela asked with a malice steeped in hurt. “Or is it the beard he lacks?”

  Dylan turned abruptly to Emily. “Believe what you want, both of you, but I hope you’ve remorse enough to apologize when you’re safely on a ship back to England.”

  Emily colored. “Oh, she didn’t mean it, Dylan, truly she didn’t!”

  “Yes, I did,” Angela began, but Emily wasn’t listening. She had begun a stammering litany of reassurances that dealt with the sterling character of their “hosts,” and degenerated from there into an idealized itinerary of their exemplary treatment while aboard the Sea Tiger.

  Disgusted, Angela muttered an uncomplimentary phrase that finally drew Dylan’s attention from Emily. His dark brow lifted.

  “Say what you will, Saber ain’t like Blackbeard at all. He’s got a conscience, and he’s decent. He’s never willingly hurt a woman and has gone out of his way to treat both you and Miss Emily well, so I don’t know why you won’t believe me when I tell you that you won’t be harmed.”

  “Forgive me,” Angela shot at him, “but it’s difficult to reconcile the Saber you describe with the man depicted in London as a monster. What do you suggest I believe—his well-known reputation or your glowing words?”

  “Your own experience would be a good basis, I would think.” Dylan’s eyes softened slightly. “I understand why you’re worried, but there’s no need for it. If you’ll just give Saber the name of someone who would be willing to ransom you, you’ll be on a ship back to England quick as a cat.”

  Angela turned away from his knowing gaze, coloring hotly as she wondered just how much Dylan knew. Dear God, she couldn’t let anyone see how painful this was for her—Kit’s rejection after what had happened was an obvious indication of what little value he placed on her. She suspected he must be right, or she would not have yielded so easily to him earlier.

  “Oh, I see now,” she said with a careless shrug. “You’re simply the Trojan horse sent to ferret out our weakness. First you befriend us, then take gross advantage of our belief in you to coerce the names of those to be contacted for ransom. Well, I refuse to cooperate.”

  “What a stupid notion. And aren’t you forgetting your little scheme?” Dylan asked with a lifted brow. “It’s remarkably close, if you ask me.”

  “Perhaps. But I have no intention of telling you anything that will allow you to return us to England.”

  Dylan stared at her as if not quite certain he’d heard correctly. “What?”

  “I said, I have no intention of telling you anything.” Angela drew in a deep breath. “I wish to go on to America. I have business there and see no sense in going back to England.”

  Emily moaned, and Angela dared not look at her. To return to England now would be the worst possible outcome of this whole affair. She would be wed immediately to the baron her father had chosen, and her life would be ruined. If she could get to America and Philippe, there may yet be hope for her future.

  “You’re joking,” Dylan said, his voice flat as if he realized that she was not. “You must be.”

  “I am not.” Angela met his gaze steadily. “If we are to be ransomed, it will be in America, not England.”

  “Miss Angela!” Emily burst out. “You cannot mean this.”

  Angela turned. “Of course I do. I have no intention of taking a chance ashore here, where we know no one to help us should the occasion arise. And you must realize that, with pirates, it is quite likely that an occasion will arise where we will need aid. So don’t be too quick to say anything, Emily.”

  “But to go all the way to America—it’s because of Philippe, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. But only partly. I’ve no desire to be left at the mercies of brigands who have no compunction about holding honest Englishwomen hostage. At least in New Orleans there will be someone we can depend upon to see us safely home again. Philippe will pay well.”

  “With what?” Emily shook her head, dark curls rioting around her face. “He has no money.”

  “I do. In my own account. I will transfer every shilling to Captain Saber and his estimable crew when I am safely ashore in New Orleans. And it is a sizable amount, as you well know”

  Dylan made a sort of whuffing sound and shrugged. “I’ll tell Saber what you said. He ain’t gonna like it.”

  “His likes and dislikes are of no consequence to me,” Angela said with more confidence than she felt. “If he will not cooperate, I am certain there are those in Ponta Delgada who will feel differently. That is where you said we are disembarking, is it not?”

  “Sweet Jesus. You pay attention at the damndest times. Yes, but don’t get any grand ideas.”

  “If Captain Saber does not take me to America, I will tell the authorities exactly who he is,” Angela said calmly. “He will be arrested. If I am not mistaken, Ponta Delgada is Portuguese territory. Pirates are not well received in Portugal, last I heard.”

  Dylan stared at her. “I don’t th
ink you want to broach that idea to Saber,” he said at last. “He may not take it well.”

  “Better now than when it’s too late.” Angela brushed a speck of imaginary lint from her dress sleeve, not quite able to look at Dylan. “It would be dreadful for the captain and crew of the Sea Tiger if they were to be hanged as murderous pirates, but I am certain England would be grateful.”

  After a long moment, Dylan said slowly, “It may be too late. Turk has gone ashore to meet with the commissioner, and Saber is making the arrangements for your safe return.”

  “Gone ashore?” Angela glanced out the round port and saw nothing but sea. Then she realized that the ship was not moving as usual, but gently rolling. She looked back at Dylan. “But we are not in a harbor.”

  “No. Saber prefers to remain moored a distance out. They took the skiff in. It’s safer that way.”

  “Safer from what?” Emily asked in a frightened voice, and Dylan gave her a faint smile of reassurance.

  “Anyone who might wish us harm. It’s easier to fight when there’s plenty of sea beneath the ship. We were grounded once, a long time ago, when we made the mistake of mooring close. Tide went out, and there we were, stuck like crabs, scuttling around and firing back until we managed to work our way free. Haven’t done it since.”

  “I’m elated to hear that Saber seems to learn from his mistakes,” Angela snapped, and Dylan sighed.

  “Look. You really don’t want to give him an ultimatum. Listen to me—I’ll talk to him. We’ll work it out. Don’t do something stupid.”

  “Stupid would be allowing him to ransom us to Portuguese pirates when I can negotiate for our safe delivery to New Orleans.”

  “New Orleans.” Dylan shook his head. “Saber won’t look at this as negotiating, you know. He’ll consider it blackmail. If you’re foolish enough to do it, you’ll be sorry.”

  Angela took a deep breath, ignoring Emily’s moan of fear. “Nonetheless, I intend that he shall hear me out.”

  “You’ll be sorry,” Dylan predicted gloomily, and she wondered if she was, indeed, being stupid. But there were no other options that she found feasible. And it was the last alternative that didn’t involve being sent home like an errant child, or voluntarily ending her days in a convent.

  “Oh, Miss Angela,” Emily whispered miserably, “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  So do I, she thought. So do I.

  Saber thought for a moment he had not heard correctly. Crossing his legs at the ankle, he shifted his booted feet slightly so that Dylan could sit at the table. A trill of violin music from a very bad musician screeched sourly in the great room of the seaside inn. He frowned and focused on Dylan again. Smoke and too much heavy Portuguese wine was having an adverse effect on him, he could tell.

  “Say that again, Dylan. There’s too much noise in this tavern for me to have heard you correctly.”

  “I’m afraid not.” Dylan pulled a chair from beneath a drunken individual who had made the bad choice of passing out with his head on a nearby table. The hapless man crashed to the floor. Spinning the chair around on one leg, Dylan straddled it and met Saber’s narrowed gaze. “You heard me right. She refuses to name anyone who might pay a ransom. She wants to go to New Orleans, where she says she’ll pay the ransom herself.”

  Kit snorted. “Not bloody likely.” He tilted his cup without glancing at the floating chaff. Rum would have been better, but the tavern served nothing but wine. “I’ve already made the arrangements. The swap will take place at midnight tonight. Then we’re rid of them. They’ll be Nuñez’s problem.”

  “And if they won’t give us the name of her rich papa? What then? Nuñez will hardly want them if he can’t get anything for them. He’d probably sell them at an auction.”

  Swirling his almost empty cup, Kit scowled down into the dregs. He didn’t want to think about what could happen, dammit. It hadn’t been his choice to have them come aboard in the first place, nor his idea to ransom them to some babbling idiots with more money than sense. What the deuce was she doing leaving England anyway? Why hadn’t her family stopped her? He gave a harsh grunt and looked up at Dylan’s worried face.

  “They’d come free with the information rather quickly when faced with that undesirable option, I think. After all, even Emily has enough imagination to guess the consequences.”

  “Maybe, but Angela seemed pretty determined. And it’s Angela who’s calling the shots here.”

  Kit shrugged. “She might be stubborn enough to risk her own life, but I don’t think she’d risk Emily’s.”

  “And you don’t mind if they’re terrorized by Nuñez.”

  “Damn it, you voted with the rest of the crew to ransom them. I would have been content to just set them free with passage to anywhere they wanted to go.”

  Dylan’s high cheekbones bleached pale and his throat corded. “I know that. I thought it would be the best way to see them off safely. I didn’t know Angela would be so stubborn.”

  Another snort preceded the draining of Kit’s wine. When he set the empty cup on the scarred table, he shifted slightly. “You should have. We’ve been a week at sea with them. Even Rollo has taken to hiding in Mr. Buttons’ new cabin rather than face that sea witch after she chased him with a pillow for singing a song she didn’t like.”

  Dylan grinned. “It was the song you taught him about the mermaid who was caught in the fisherman’s net.”

  “Nothing the matter with that song. When I was a few years younger, I used to dream about the same kind of thing happening to me. A woman who is eager to please a man and doesn’t talk. Paradise.” He sat up, and swung his feet down from the table. “Have you told Turk about this new suggestion?”

  Dylan shook his head. “No, he’s still meeting with the commissioner, I suppose. No one has seen him.”

  “Good. Don’t tell him. I have no desire to listen to his lectures. We’ll proceed as planned, and Miss Angela can discuss her scheme with Nuñez. He may prefer dealing with her than with her papa anyway.” Kit rose and stretched lazily. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

  Dylan stood up. “She said she’d inform the authorities that the Sea Tiger is a pirate vessel if we don’t agree to take her to New Orleans.”

  “Did she. And how does she propose to do that if we don’t allow her to talk to the authorities?”

  “I have no idea, but I’m not at all sure I want to take any chances.”

  “Neither am I.” Kit started for the door. “I hope you left them well guarded.”

  “Mr. Buttons is keeping an eye on them.”

  Kit halted and swung around. “Mr. Buttons? Good God, they’ll have talked him out of his shirt and be at the helm of the Sea Tiger by the time we can get there. Why in the name of God did you leave him as their guard?”

  Following behind as Kit shoved open the tavern door, Dylan said, “He was the only one I’d trust with them.”

  “You’d best hope that he hasn’t given them the keys to the powder magazine by this time. Mr. Buttons—that’s like leaving a lamb in charge of the wolf pack.”

  “And you would have preferred that I leave them with Reed, maybe? He would have liked that well enough, I imagine.”

  “Not even Reed is lust-crazed enough to disobey a direct order. No woman is worth the top layer of a man’s hide, and that’s what it would cost him.”

  Dylan didn’t reply to that, and by the time they reached the skiff tied to a pier, some of Kit’s anger had faded. He stepped into the skiff and untied the line, tossing it to Dylan.

  “Turk can take the dinghy you used. Somehow, I have a feeling that we’d better rescue Mr. Buttons.”

  But they were only a few yards from shore when they heard a muffled boom! and saw a thick cloud of dark smoke billow outward from the ship. Kit swore harshly and let out more sail to catch the wind. Lights danced on board the Sea Tiger, shimmering in hazy, broken patterns.

  Kit let out another string of curses as he worked the sail. Dylan took
the tiller, and the slap of water against the bow made the small craft buck wildly for a moment. Fog had begun to settle lightly on the surface of the sea, misty gray shrouds that drifted between the skiff and the Sea Tiger. It did not help Kit’s temper any that the explosion aboard the ship seemed to have been minor, for he saw, slicing across the water, one of the commissioner’s well-armed coastal revenue cutters.

  “Militia,” Dylan said tersely.

  “I see them.” This was all he needed. A quiet halt to unload cargo and unwanted passengers was apparently too much to hope for now. It was apparent that the cutter would reach the ship before he could possibly do so. He wondered if Turk had managed to ingratiate himself with the commissioner. The letters of marque giving the Sea Tiger permission to attack enemy vessels applied mainly to American and Italian ships, which should satisfy Portugal’s colonial commissioner quite well. Yet there was always the risk that they would be accused of piracy, and ransomed to the enemy government for a tidy sum. It had happened before to others.

  When the skiff finally bumped against the side of the ship and the watch shouted down a challenge, Kit stood up and barked back an answer. A line spun down and he caught it deftly in one hand and tied it fast. Dylan began to uncleat the halyards that held the sails, while Kit grabbed hold of the ship’s ladder and climbed up to the smoke-hazed deck.

  The first person he saw was Mr. Buttons, an expression of fright and guilt on his soot-streaked face.

  “Captain Saber, sir,” he began, “it was an accident. No damage. I’ve been trying to explain it to these gentlemen, but—”

  “Never mind,” Kit interrupted, and swung his gaze to the uniformed militia standing on the main deck. “Is there a problem, gentlemen?”

  “That is what we have been trying to decide,” one of them replied in a thick accent. He smiled slightly, and rubbed at his thick mustache with one finger. “We heard the blast and, of course, must investigate.”