Within A Captain's Power

by Lisa Olech

  Tupper was bringing her to England, but that didn’t mean she was going back to South Oxbridge. At the Whitmore’s ball, she’d mentioned her desire to see London to the handsome Captain Steele. Didn’t he say he was due to be married there soon? His new wife would be lucky indeed. If Sam closed her eyes, she could still see his beautiful eyes and hear the richness of his laughter. He’d been gentle and kind. She wished she’d had time to explain using him the way she did. Perhaps, if she looked him up when she reached London, he’d know of a position. She could begin again. Lose herself in the city. Give herself time to decide how and when to face her family.

  Her father and three sisters had been overjoyed when she’d left for Virginia. After their mother’s death and father’s accident, news of a prosperous marriage had been their saving grace. Even if it had all been a lie.

  As the oldest it fell to her to take care of the family, and when Damian Wessler’s letters began to arrive, it seemed an answer to her prayers. Initially, he had advertised merely for a governess for his two small boys, Stewart and Bradley. Soon, the letters hinted at Wessler’s heartfelt invitation to more. With the prospect of marriage came the promise of a substantial allowance to her family. All Samantha’s travel expenses would be covered. A new wardrobe awaited her. She would be a woman of prominent standing in Virginia. And while he could not guarantee a match filled with love, it was his hope that she might come to feel for them what he had already begun to feel for her.

  Sam shuddered as she recalled the beautifully written letters, and how they had filled her poor maiden’s heart with an overflow of joy and anticipation.

  She closed her eyes. The full extent of Wessler’s deception was realized the moment she disembarked onto Virginia’s shores. They were nothing as he’d described. The children were much older than she’d been told and unruly to the point of being wild. Damian was far from the tall, fair, gentle man he’d proclaimed to be. The small, exquisite portrait he’d sent her was of a stranger. He’d purchased it from the estate of a dead man. His home was in such a state of filth and disrepair, she had nearly wept when she first saw it. It was once through those doors, however, the nightmare truly began.

  When she dared mention the obvious fabrication of lies contained in his letters, Damian had stuck her with such force, she thought he had broken her cheekbone. In a heap upon the floor, lights dancing behind her eyes, she struggled to remain conscious.

  Wessler raged at her. Informed her he had paid a hefty sum for her and she thereby belonged to him. He now owned her like he owned the darks working his fields. If she didn’t want to keep seeing the back of his hand, she would do well to shut her stupid mouth and follow his dictates.

  The weeks following were hellish. Beatings became regular and for little cause. The boys were their father in miniature. Stewart delighted in spitting on her whenever she passed, and on more than one occasion Bradley lit her skirts on fire, blaming her ignorance in standing too close to the hearth. She became teacher, housekeeper, cook, and whore.

  There wasn’t to be any marriage. Wessler’s late wife Marlene’s will stated if he remarried he would no longer receive her family’s monies. But that didn’t prevent him from coming to Samantha’s bed and forcing his perceived rights.

  All the while, through the months of sheer torture she was enduring, Damian Wessler’s letters of lies sent glorious reports to her family. Sharing the idealic bliss of their new life together. His sweet sons’ instant love for their new stepmother. Thanking her family for blessing him with such a fine, beautiful wife. And he held their fate over Samantha’s head like a sword. If she said one word, hinted at anything different, or continued to displease him, he would cut off his support and see her beloved father and her sisters evicted from their home to fend for themselves in the streets.

  Samantha brushed at an angry tear. Wessler had made one crucial mistake, however. He’d underestimated her. In her silence, she’d made notice of everything. The moment she discovered the hidden letters from her family, read how her father had regained enough strength to begin work again, and how her two oldest sisters had found themselves lovely, advantageous matches, Wessler’s threats were also a lie. Her family wrote about how they understood now she and Wessler were expecting a babe, he was unable to keep sending the money he originally promised. But she shouldn’t worry and risk this baby after the loss of her first. They were fine now without it. What mattered was her continued health and happiness. They were praying the specialist Wessler claimed to have hired would help bring even more blessing to their picturesque life and let her give birth to a strong babe this time.

  That afternoon, she thanked the good Lord she’d never conceived Wessler’s bastard. Hope resurrected, she devised a way to contact Isabelle Whitmore, spit back at Stewart, and began her search for a way out of hell. She didn’t care how it came to be.

  It was a true stroke of luck that she found the charming Captain Steele to help her break free. She could still see his face the moment after she’d dared to kiss him. He’d been shocked, of course, but there was something else in his gaze. A smolder of intrigue perhaps? Samantha doubted many women had been as bold with him. To her, he seemed a man who was accustomed to taking the lead in such things. After the scene with Wessler, he probably dismissed her as some drunken flirt in a hideous gown and did not waste another thought on her.

  The roll of the ship rocked her back into thoughts of her late-night rescue by Tupper Quinn. Tupper and Bump were still bent over their charts. The black bird sat on Tupper’s wrist, pulling the ruffle on her sleeve before plucking at the shine of her ring. Sam had to remind herself once more this was not a dream. Her prayers had been answered by strangers. Pirates. Risking their own lives to get her away. Holding her fate in their hands. Scary as that was, it still gave her hope.

  As if he sensed her gaze, Bump lifted his eyes to hers. The intensity was still there, but some of the anger seemed to have ebbed. She wished she could thank him. Tupper had showed her the book they’d used when Bump was young. Perhaps she’d let her borrow it.

  A pounding at the door snapped her out of her thoughts.

  “Come,” Tupper bid, lifting Leviticus to his perch. A burly man wearing a striped headcloth and ragged trousers entered.

  “Ship, Captain. Off the starboard. Looks fat. Flying for Spain.”

  “How long to reach her?”

  He scratched at his chest. “Hour, maybe more. Sea’s up.”

  “Once we’re in range, have Peters put one over her bow. Drop the reds. Send her our dance card.”

  “Aye.” The man left as quick as he’d come.

  Turning back to Bump, Tupper traced a path on the chart. “After, we’ll follow this route.”

  “After?” Sam rose.

  Tupper looked at her as if she’d forgotten she was there. “Shite.” She dropped a fist on the parchments before moving to open a drawer in her desk. She withdrew a small, pearl-handled pistol. “I’ve no time to give you a proper lesson.” Tupper pulled the flint portion of the gun back until it clicked, then pushed the gun into Sam’s hand. She gestured to Bump. “See her to the space we talked about.” To Sam she said, “When the fighting starts, I want—”

  “Fighting?” Sam looked at the pistol as if it were a coiled snake.

  “Well, we could invite them te tea, and ask pretty please for all their gold and silver, but I doubt they’d oblige,” Tupper scoffed.

  “I-I can’t fight.”

  “No kidding.” Tupper shook her head. “That’s why yer gonna stay below. The pistol is in case someone speaking Spanish finds you. Meaning we lost. You’ve one shot. The pistol is half-cocked. Move the hammer back all the way to fire. Don’t point at anything you don’t want to kill. Squeeze the trigger, don’t pull. And if you don’t want the flash to burn your cheek, or knock out a tooth with the kickback, keep it away from your face when ye shoot.” Tupper held her arms straight out in front of her to demonstrate.

 
; “But—” Sam’s stomach rolled along with the pitch of the ship.

  “Follow Bump. He’ll show you where you’re to hide ‘til it’s over.” She gestured and added, “I’ll be on deck.” She grabbed her own weapons and was out the door before Sam could, “but—” her again.

  Samantha put her hand to her throat and turned to watch Bump follow Tupper out the door. He turned back and gave her a look that could only mean, “What the hell are you waiting for, follow me.”

  Holding the pistol with two fingers as one would handle a soiled nappy, Sam had no choice but to follow the broad back of the silent man. He traveled the entire length of the ship from tail to tip in long strides before opening a wide-planked door. Pulling a lantern off a nearby hook, he raised the wick and led the way into the darkened space.

  Inside the hold smelled of spice and old wood. Above the waterline, this storage must have remained dry, and as a result, was where things prone to water damage were stored. Canvas, rope, and crates of various sizes and descriptions cluttered the space. Sam could only guess at their contents. Perhaps silks and other exotics like peppercorns, cinnamon, and cardamom.

  The ship dipped into a deep trench as Bump secured the lantern and began stacking the crates into a wall. With the sea beating upon the sides of the hull, Sam gripped at the doorframe with one hand to steady herself. Overhead, heavy footsteps sounded, followed by shouts and a rumbling of undetermined source. Sam could only hold tight and pray she didn’t drop the gun and accidently shoot herself in the leg.

  Bump swept a hand toward the makeshift space he had miraculously transformed simply by arranging some crates. It was small, but with a pile of folded canvas sailcloth on the floor, it looked almost comfortable.

  Bump indicated she should enter her new quarters with a distinct point of his finger. She hesitated, wishing once again she knew how to say thank you.

  Before the wish could fully take shape in her mind, an explosion rocked the ship. Sam screamed, and in a panicked reaction to cover her head, dropped the pistol. The gun’s resulting discharge brought the bulk of Bump’s body on top of hers, crushing her against door and knocking the air out of her lungs.

  Oh dear God, I shot him!

  He was off her a second later, turning his head toward the shot’s true victim. Sam hadn’t shot Bump, but she had shattered the corner of a crate. He glared down at her. Fury set his face. His hands flew in a rush of silent words she didn’t need translated to understand. Anger radiated from him like the sun.

  Sam flinched, screwed her eyes shut, and threw her hands up once more to protect herself. When the blow didn’t come, she peered at him from beneath her lashes.

  His hands had stopped ‘yelling’ at her. He’d quieted them to fists by his sides. His chest still rose and fell in a rapid cadence, but the expression upon his face no longer looked murderous. His brows were drawn together, but was it curiosity or pity that described his look?

  Remembering one of Tupper’s signs, Sam put a fist to her chest and made a small circle. “Sorry? I’m so sorry.” He jerked as if surprised by the gesture. Was Tupper the only one to speak to him this way?

  Once more, Bump pointed into her new quarters as the ship rose and fell in the building seas. Sam ducked and skirted past him. He retrieved the smoking gun from the floor. From his own supply of shot and powder, he reloaded it before holding it out to her. She shook her head. “I don’t want it.”

  Bump shoved the pistol into her hands as another explosion sounded from somewhere beyond the ship. Sam trembled with a fear reaching clear to the soles of her oversized shoes. Bump pointed a finger toward the center of her chest before indicating the floor at his feet. She didn’t need a book for this sign either. He wanted her to stay put. She nodded, and he was gone.

  Part of her wanted to chase after him, clutch at his arm, and beg him not to leave her alone. Another part of her wanted to pull her crated walls down over her head and hide for eternity.

  Distant cannon fire could be heard. Samantha braced herself for the impact that never came. The Spanish had returned fire and missed.

  A hellacious roar of the Scarlet’s cannons had her screaming from her space. The smell of sulfur seeped through the boards above her and stung her nose. At least she kept a firm grip on her gun. Overhead, screams from the crew tumbled down. They were not screams of fright but heated cries of battle. Horns blew, drums beat. Shouts and hideous wails directed toward their foe. Warning them. Preparing them for the onslaught of this barbarian crew. She’d never heard anything as chilling.

  In response, the other ship fired again. This time, however, they hit their mark. The resulting blast rocked the Scarlet Night, followed by a crash as something heavy fell to the deck overhead. The shrieks above her now were of death and pain. Sam imagined half the ship had been blown to bits. At any moment, the sea would pour into its shattered hull and drag them all to the bottom.

  She had to get out of there. Bump’s glare flashed in her mind, giving her pause, but another roar of the cannons propelled her forward. She wasn’t going to die down here in a heap of sailcloth and pepper, or wait until the seawater rose above her neck. If she were going to die today, she wanted to look the devil square in the eye.

  Chapter 7

  Unleashed chaos greeted Sam as she fought her way toward the open deck. The scene before her more gruesome than she had imagined. A portion of the front mast had been brought down by the other ship. Wood, sail, and yards of rigging obscured the deck. Wounded bodies were being pulled from the wreckage. Men raced in all directions.

  “Fire!” Tupper ordered.

  Cannons ignited. Another blast threw Sam against the rails as iron balls and thick, bloodred smoke burst from the guns, obliterating her view. The concussion made her ears ring. As the smoke started to clear, Sam could see the volley hit the other ship along its aft rails. Wood shattered like glass. Bodies flew.

  Around them, the ocean churned, and the sky took on an ominous pallor, as if the entire world was locked in battle. The Scarlet Night maneuvered closer to their prey. Her crew fired pistols and squat muskets across the water. Some hurled smoking pots of sulfur to billow and poison the other deck. The Spanish crew still fought, but it appeared they couldn’t recover from the onslaught of the Night’s crew. The men of the Scarlet Night were too honed, too relentless, too practiced.

  A heavy hand clamped onto Sam’s shoulder. She fumbled with her gun, but a second hand grabbed for the barrel, pointing it away. Sam raised a terrified gaze to find Bump glowering at her. He lifted her as if she were a child’s toy and shoved her up into the closest net of rigging. Shots fired from the other ship. Lead balls whistled past. A quick push to her backside propelled her higher. She scrambled to hang on to the thick roping and still hold on to her pistol.

  The battle waged on. From her vantage point, she could see boarding ladders reaching across to the other ship. Some of the crew didn’t wait and swung out on ropes to drop into the fight on the far decks. As men from the Night flooded their deck, several of the Spaniards made an equal showing and invaded their decks.

  The ring of cutlasses joined the blasts of firearms. Below Sam, Bump positioned himself against the strength of the main mast. Keeping his back to the wood, he kept the enemy at bay. Cutlass in one hand, dagger in the other, he was a fierce killer. Two men fell at his feet. The stench of blood made Sam retch, but she couldn’t turn away from the scene beneath her.

  A third man approached Bump from the left. Sam called out a warning, but the man was on Bump before the useless words were out of her mouth. Steel rang as the men’s blades met. Bump lost hold of his dagger and it dropped to the deck. Good God, Bump would be killed.

  Sam wrapped a steadying arm through the ladder of rope and raised her pistol. Her hand shook, not only in fear, but she couldn’t aim the heavy weapon with one hand. She had no control. If she pulled the trigger, she’d risk killing Bump herself. Firing a pistol twice at a man, who had done nothing but
try to protect her, seemed wrong. Hysterics threatened the edge of her sanity. Samantha looked in vane at the gun and back to the scene below. She had to do something to save him.

  Hurling the weapon, it spun on its decent. The butt of her pistol made a hideous crack as it creased the attacking man’s forehead, stopping the final swing of his sword mid slice. Bump was quick to deliver a fatal slash across the man’s throat and shove him aside before lifting incredulous eyes in her direction.

  Sam gave him a sheepish shrug before another explosion from the other ship had her tightening her hold on the rigging. The blast hadn’t come from their cannons, however. Something had exploded on their decks. Smoke began to billow from the Spanish ship. Tongues of flame could be seen through the smoke.

  Members from the Night fled back to the safety of their own ship. Tupper shouted the order to abandon the attack and be away. Ladders pulled back and all haste was made to get away from the burning ship before the growing flames reached the Scarlet Night.

  They’d ignited the other ship’s tarred rigging close to the magazine. The Spanish crew scrambled to put out the fire, but it spread too quickly up to the sails and over the tinder-dry decking.

  Turning away, the Night bucked against the rough seas. Black smoke mushroomed into the sky behind them. Bump climbed up, plucked Sam from her position, and dropped her none too gently onto the deck before grabbing her shirt at the shoulder and yanking her toward the ladder way.

  It was there they crossed paths with Tupper.

  Hair flying, sleeve torn, Tupper’s throat was smeared with grime and her eyes flashed bright with battle. Her cutlass, edged in blood, gleamed in the dull light. Of all the sights Sam had seen today, this was the one she would remember for the rest of her days. The woman was a warrior.

  Then the warrior turned her wrath on Sam. “What in the name of bloody hell are ye doing topside?”