by Eris Adderly
“Let’s get her back to the ship, Benjamin. Shore leave is clearly at an end.”
The quartermaster leaned down to hook a massive arm under her knees and another under her neck, intending to carry her along. She was too exhausted from her ordeal to object. It seemed her fate lay aboard The Devil’s Luck no matter how she struggled to make it otherwise, and Hannah was tired of fighting. She laid her head on Till’s wide shoulder, closed her eyes, and allowed herself to be borne back to her familiar prison upon the sea.
* * * *
Chapter Seven
The Father of Lies
Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone on a wide wide sea!
And never a saint took pity on
My soul in agony.
— Samuel Taylor Coleridge, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner
Thus we never see the true state of our condition till it is illustrated to us by its contraries, not know how to value what we enjoy, but by the want of it.
— Daniel Defoe, Robinson Crusoe
* * * *
“I bloody well warned you, woman, and you ran off anyway. You nearly managed to get yourself killed!”
The widow cringed at the force of his words, the front of her dress wet and clinging to her form.
Edmund was furious.
“Did you think I wasn’t serious?” He advanced upon her and she took a step back into a corner of his stateroom. “You’d be dead in an alley now if we hadn’t found you just then!”
She brought up her hands as if to ward off a blow as he closed the distance between them. Edmund hated her reaction, but he was too livid to back down.
He seized her wrists and jerked them over her head, bringing a sharp cry of pain from her as he gripped the hand she’d been cradling on their way back to the ship. Stepping into her space, he glared down at the infuriating woman he held in his grasp. Her face had gone pale.
“Edmund, you’re hurting me.”
He knew she must be extremely distressed to have slipped and called him by his first name. That was fine with him. Had she not caused him distress?
“Am I hurting you, Hannah?” he said, returning her intimate address in kind. “Perhaps I haven’t hurt you enough.”
He spun her toward the wall, changing up his grip on her wrists to keep them pinned above her against the dark wood. His movements were quick in his anger and he used his free hand to haul a fistful of the hem of her skirt high over her back, tucking the ends into her neckline, just below the blonde coils of her hair.
Her gasp at the sensation of her backside exposed to the air turned to a series of urgent protests as she recognised the sound of a belt buckle jangling. The widow tried to twist her neck around to see what went on behind her, and the sight of the leather doubled in his hand confirmed her fears.
“Edmund, no! What are you doing?”
Sweeping in to press the length of himself against her back, he stilled her with his next words.
“It appears you only learn the hard way, Mrs Collingwood. I suppose the day I punished you at the mast should’ve taught me as much, but sometimes we men forget things when we’re swept up in the Siren’s call, don’t we?”
Siren’s call indeed.
The woman needed discipline, and immediately after her transgression, but the first thing Edmund must do would be to pull his hips away from her bare bottom before he forgot himself. He shoved his body away from hers, his grip still securing her wrists to the wall.
“Please! You’ve already caught me again! There’s no point in—”
The crack of leather meeting flesh cut off her pleas. He followed the initial lick up with a second one to be sure she didn’t think the first was simply an aberration.
“Stop! Edmund, Stop!”
Yes, the tears were forming now. She pressed herself against the wall as if to gain the smallest measure of additional distance from him as possible.
“I will not stop, Hannah,” he said, trying to force his voice into a steady calm. “I won’t stop until you apologise.”
“Apologise?” Her tone was incredulous. “For wha—”
Three more swift passes of the belt served to remind her there would be only one acceptable sentence allowed out of her mouth. The pale cheeks were reddening in a most satisfactory way.
“For leaving my side as I instructed you not to do.”
“Are you mad? If you think that I would ever—”
Four this time. Edmund grimaced a bit. He shouldn’t be growing aroused at the marks he was raising on her backside. But he would admit a perverse enjoyment at the way he kept cutting her off mid-sentence with the sting of the leather.
“This is how you learn, my stubborn little widow,” he said, laying the flat of the leather gently against her skin this time. She hissed as her angry flesh met the belt’s caress and resorted to begging.
“Edmund! Captain! Please! Please, no more. I can’t take it. Please!”
“You can!”
The leather cracked.
“And you will!”
And cracked again.
“And you will keep taking it”—faster the blows came now, falling on her upper thighs as well—“until I hear you’re sorry for leaving me!”
Edmund became a man unhinged. He felt a sick justification for the way he was hurting her just now. Had he not been hurt? Had his heart not squeezed near to dust in his chest when he’d seen that empty space at the bench back at the inn? How could she leave him? Did she feel nothing?
“Edmund, I’m sorry! I’m sorry, God, please!”
Her tears were falling in earnest now and the words she choked out broke him from his irrational spiral of pathetic sentiment.
“And what are you sorry for?” he pressed her, nearly out of breath himself now from his exertions with the belt.
“For running away!” She sputtered through the pain. “I’m sorry for running away from you at Nassau! Please!” Her head hung now and she sniffled, unable to dry her face with her arms still hoisted over her head.
The apology would do for now, he thought, and released her wrists, tugging the hem of her skirts back down. No doubt the feel of fabric would be less than pleasant over her tender flesh.
She turned to face him, wiping at her cheeks, her eyes downcast and broken, body seeking shelter in the corner once more.
“And are you grateful, Hannah?”
“What?” She looked up at him, confused and tired.
“Are you grateful we arrived in time to deliver you from that ordeal in the alley?”
She opened her mouth for a moment to argue, but he suspected the stinging beneath her dress made her decide to do otherwise. The widow was learning. Good.
“I … Yes. I am grateful that you and Mr Till found me.”
He appraised her sincerity through narrowed eyes. “Hmm. That remains to be seen.” Edmund continued, dismissing that last bit of speculation for a later time with a wave of his hand. “Take this off,” he gestured at her damp, soiled dress.
* * * *
“Captain, Osbourne tells me that— Oh. I … should come back later.”
Benjamin Till had come blustering into the cabin unannounced, eager to launch into ship’s business, his interruption startling the widow before she could even react to the captain’s last demand. Now the bald man stood with his hands limp at his sides, looking from Hannah to the captain, one massive shoulder already angling backward to begin his retreat.
“Nonsense, Till. Mrs Collingwood here is still learning what it means to obey a ship’s captain while under his command.” He was beside her in a quick stride, his hand gripping the back of her neck. “You’d think a woman as bright as she is would have picked it up her first day aboard, when we were forced to tutor her after that business at the mast. It seems that isn’t the case.”
The hand at her neck propelled her forward with a great shove in the direction of the quartermaster, and she stumbled as the push caught her off guard. Her knees hit the deck with a
painful thud and she whipped her head around to glare at the captain again.
“At least she shows a measure of humility now.” His cynical comment brought a bitter taste into her mouth. “You owe your continued existence to Mr Till as much as you do me, Mrs Collingwood. It was he who alerted me to your absence at the inn. You ran from us both. You’ll accept his discipline as well.” Blackburn tossed the belt he was still holding to the man who was now in the middle of their quarrel.
She watched the leather arc across the room, where her lovely sweet Benjamin, the captain’s partner in betrayal, caught it.
He’s not your Benjamin anymore.
The quartermaster eyed the belt the way a blacksmith might look at an inferior quality tool before returning his attention to Blackburn.
So this is how he intended to punish her, was it? Further humiliation? A beating from everyone involved? Perhaps she’d rob him of satisfaction if she didn’t appear to be afraid. Hannah came to her feet, hands moving to lift her skirts again for a second round with the belt. If she could live through the leather from one angry man, she could endure it again. And she would not cry this time, damn these men.
“Stop.”
One of Benjamin’s heavy hands came to her wrist, the pads of his fingertips resting there in the lightest possible contact. She looked up at Till, but his normally placid green eyes were hard and pointed at the captain. Her hands dropped at the sight of his kind face firmed into lines of disapproval.
“What is this, Edmund? What do you do here? She hasn’t suffered enough for you?”
Hannah wasn’t able to turn her neck enough from the where she stood to see the captain’s expression, but the anguish in his voice was enough.
“Bah! A small price to pay for the two of us tearing through Nassau, risking our own hides for the continued wellbeing of hers. You know as well as I do what would’ve become of this ungrateful woman if we hadn’t found her in time. And now she’ll sit on our ship with her arms crossed and ignore the events of the last eight weeks, as though they never happened? As though she does us a favour by being here? By what means are you calm, Benjamin?”
“Who says I am?” The taller man took a decisive step away from Hannah. “This is absurd, old friend. Do you honestly believe that this”—he gestured with the belt—“is going to gain you what you seek? Do you?”
She turned to look back now, with a genuine interest in how he might answer, but the captain said nothing. He seethed from his side of the cabin, jaw clenched and dark eyes glittering with fury. Till was having none of it.
“I won’t be part of this, Edmund,” he said, tossing the belt onto the table in disgust. “You’ll do what you must, and I know you well enough to know there’s no talking you out of it, but take the time, Friend. Think about what it is you’re trying to accomplish, what’s really important, and ask yourself if you’ve chosen the best way to go about it. In my estimation, I don’t think you have.”
The door to the stateroom slammed shut behind the quartermaster, and the cabin was quiet.
Hannah had never seen Till speak that way to the captain, or to anyone else for that matter. She’d barely witnessed him tip his cards in irritation toward that horrid Doctor Graves, and if anyone aboard was deserving of wrath, surely it was the surgeon.
She turned her attention to Blackburn once more.
Perhaps the most deserving. Perhaps not.
The captain’s eyes were on the ceiling as she watched him gather himself into a deadly calm. He dropped his gaze again to her and made a deliberate step toward the table, taking the belt in hand once again.
“Right. Where were we? Ah yes. Your clothes.”
* * * *
“I …” Hannah let out a whimper of uncertainty, her eyes sweeping around the cabin as though answers where somewhere in the room beyond the captain and his commands.
Edmund arched a meaningful brow at her and allowed the doubled leather in his hand to speak volumes. She gave up a defeated exhalation of air. Her hands went up and her elbows doubled as she tried to reach behind herself, but after a moment of straining, she gave up and groused at him.
“I can’t undo my own buttons.”
“Oh, for—” He flung the leather over his shoulder and moved behind her, where he began working the line of buttons apart with impatient fingers. There would be no cutting her out of a second dress without another aboard to replace it, and they hadn’t procured her anything else to wear at the port.
The back of her dress open, he traced a path down her spine over the fabric of her shift with a single fingertip. She stiffened at the sensation.
“Now,” he said. “Off.”
To her credit, she seemed to know better than to argue. The widow slid her arms out of the sleeves and pushed the bodice down over her hips, stepping out of the wet garment and nudging it aside on the floor with her foot. She stood there, back to him, head down and body tight.
“Come on then.” He spun her to face him again, patience wearing thin. “All of it. The shift, the stockings—take them off.”
She closed her eyes and her face wore a look of either resignation or summoned courage, he couldn’t tell which. Bending at the waist, she removed her slippers and stockings and pushed them aside with the discarded gown. The rumpled shift she saved for last, and pulled it over her head, balling it in her hands in front of her now naked body.
Edmund took the wadded linen from her and dropped it atop the rest of her clothes, leaving her with no way to hide herself. As always, the sight of her bared made him bite back a growl.
He turned from her then, wresting his inconvenient libido back under control, and moved to rummage through one of the cabinets below his bed. His hand closed on the thing he was looking for, and he came out with his last remaining clean shirt.
Facing the widow again and trying to avoid falling into the trap of her pale curves, he thrust the handful of fabric at her, thankful the bulk of it blocked her most tempting bits from his view.
“Put this on,” he said, “unless you intend to hide in my bed until your wet things have had time to dry.”
She reached for the shirt and then drew back, before reaching a reluctant hand again to take it. He watched the conflict play out on her face. The widow was eager not to go unclothed, but also wary of accepting anything from his hand. The indecision in her actions caused by her clashing desires suited him just fine.
Let her be uncertain, as well.
Edmund needed to be away from this woman for a time. Other matters might be in question, but of this, he had no doubt. There were plenty of other concerns aboard his ship. He would see to one of those, and perhaps clear his head.
“We’ll revisit your attitude concerning today’s events when I return,” he said to the infuriating woman holding his shirt. “Once your backside’s cooled and you’ve taken the time to see reason.”
* * * *
The door to the stateroom clicked shut as the captain walked, stiff-backed from the room, leaving her standing there holding his shirt. Hannah looked at the thing, a handful of it crumpled in her fist as it was, and exhaled through her nose.
Her first day aboard the ship. The day she opened her arms to a pirate, and then a second. The day she discovered the captain’s plans for her uncle. Each of these days had something in common. Every one of them, in succession, had outshone the last as the most intense day of her life to date.
And then there was today.
As the ship rolled its way onward, splitting a silent sea from an inky sky, endlessly toward the horizon, Hannah tumbled on an ocean of her own inside the darkened cabin.
She had been so close to some semblance of freedom in Nassau. Oh, life aboard a different ship, and in all likelihood another pirate vessel, judging by the look of the port, would probably have been just as bad as her time aboard The Devil’s Luck, if not worse. But at least it would have been a fate of her own choosing. Somehow, hardships could be endured with more ease, when one took up the burden
of one’s own free will.
Hannah pulled the shirt over her head, annoyed as she realised the fabric smelled like the captain. Reminders were just what she needed now.
She’d spent the whole of her luck on the unlikely opportunity that had arisen to sneak out the back of that inn. It certainly wasn’t with her when that revolting hulk in the alley tripped her up. And the whole mess managed to go on just long enough for Edmund Blackburn to find her once more. How perfectly convenient. For him.
Hannah thumped down into the cabin’s single chair with a hiss as the contact reminded her of her enflamed backside, and began pushing a brass paperweight back and forth over the table with the tips of sullen fingers.
But they did save your life, Hannah.
She nudged the paperweight away in disgust.
So they did. Very well, she would not deny facts. But what sort of life had they saved? One where she was sprayed with the blood of drunken rapists when they fell to the pistols of sober liars? She shuddered at the recent memory of the slow, limp way the body of her attacker had slumped to the ground after the lead ball punched into his chest. Hannah had never seen anyone die right before her eyes, and certainly never imagined she would see it in such a sudden, violent manner.
It was horrid, to be sure, and yet …
And yet it didn’t quite bother her in perhaps the way it ought. It was possible she’d developed some level of tolerance for viscera and death, after so many years of study. Anatomical drawings and texts in the dry voices of learned men did tend to enable one to remove oneself to an academic level, if such a thing were required.
No, what ate at her more was the captain and his “discipline.” When he’d lashed her to the mast, all those weeks ago, he’d been cool-headed and in control: a ship’s officer, however nefarious, making a point. Of course, it had been uncomfortable, even mildly painful with the tight lines around her body and the eventual loss of feeling in some her extremities for a time, but as a punishment, it had not been cut from the same cloth as his actions with the belt.