Capturing The Captain (American Pirate Romances Book 1)

by C. K. Brooke

The foresail flapped damply overhead, lifting him out of his reverie. Beside him, Mr. Calahad stepped forward, again studying the letter he’d transcribed.

  “Mind the rain,” the captain warned him. Indeed, a fat droplet plunked onto the page and moistened a corner. The ink smeared.

  Calahad refolded the parchment and tucked it safely in his breast pocket.

  Garments rolled up to accommodate a day’s labor, and with shovels in hand, the crew assembled dutifully on deck. James didn’t need to refer to Abigail’s letter to direct them where to go. He’d read it so many times, it was committed to his memory. He ushered the men down the gangplank ahead of him, commanding them east up the shore.

  Thankfully, the rainfall remained timid. The clouds were patchy, leaving some dry spaces on the soil. James brought up the rear of the procession alongside his first mate, occasionally checking his compass. It was easy to slip back into contemplation during the long walk from port to the easternmost cove.

  Already, Captain Clear would have outsmarted him, he thought. Without instruction, he would have been inclined to hunt farther inland. Not so close to the shore. It’d been so long since he’d last beheld the gold, he wondered how well he would even recognize it.

  “Captain?” The men stopped, heads turning down the line to face him. James glanced up. The black-bearded Shellig simply pointed.

  At first, he didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. But then, the captain realized, the shore-bound sticks and driftwood seemed more copious in that particular spot.

  Shellig, Charley, and Pippin kicked down a wall that appeared to be a haphazard pile of branches. Behind it was revealed a gaping black portal into a relatively small, dirt-floored cave. The seamen cheered and raised their shovels, and James couldn’t help but allow his lips to hook into a small grin. Abi hadn’t led them astray. He felt guilty for ever doubting her intentions, even if for a moment.

  “All right,” he settled his men, making a downward motion with his hand. “We must go twelve paces in. Charley, do us the honor, boy.”

  Young Charley passed into the mouth of the cavern. His voice bounced off the cave walls as he counted aloud with step. “One, two…”

  James’s pulse accelerated. Before the young man had announced his twelfth step, however, he stopped counting. Those at the front of the crowd peered inside, and began to murmur discontentedly amongst one another. A few issued groans of disbelief.

  “What is it?” James demanded. The sailors parted for him, many looking sore and apprehensive as he made his way up the line. “Charley?”

  “Er, Captain…I don’t quite know how to tell you, but…”

  Ducking, James entered the cavern. The temperature was notably cooler. It took his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the darkness.

  “I’m sorry, sir.” Charley’s voice resounded strangely between the walls. “Careful where you step.”

  James was about to demand why, when he looked down. In the ground were three yawning holes, with uneven mounds of dirt piled everywhere. Stunned, he knelt, reaching a hand into one of the pits. He felt along the inner perimeter. Imprints of what resembled a trunk remained in the earth. Meanwhile, surrounding him, as he could now see, were dozens of boot prints. They didn’t belong to him or the lad Charley.

  The captain rose, feeling blank. He could articulate nothing. It was as if every word in his vocabulary had been erased. He stared into the closest pit, seeing only darkness.

  “Oh, dear. Oh dear, oh dear…” Someone was muttering behind him. The fellow coughed, and ordered the rest of the crew away. “Righto, men. Clear off, now. Captain wishes to investigate. Don’t distract him.” He shooed them. “Well, go on! We’ll reconvene at the top of the hour.”

  James could hear their murmurs, expletives, and disappointment grow louder as the crew turned their backs and ambled down the shore. He was left alone with Calahad.

  Neither spoke. They simply listened to the trickle of rain outside, as passing clouds obscured them in temporary darkness at intervals. James didn’t raise his eyes from the pits.

  After a while, Calahad spoke. “Jim…”

  “Don’t.”

  His mate sighed. “I swear to you, I trusted her. Had I any suspicion, even the slightest, that she was lying, I never would have…”

  James felt his biceps tense. He wished the old man would stop talking. He didn’t want to do or say anything he’d regret.

  Calahad lowered his head. “I take full responsibility, sir. This is my fault.”

  “No.” James fought the overpowering urge to crack his fist against the wall. “It’s mine.”

  Abi. He ached. What a game she had played. A true pirate, just like her father. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree. And what else had he been expecting?

  But even more than she had fooled him, he was coming to realize, he had fooled himself. For, had he actually thought he’d succeeded in charming her? He was, at best, a prime example of what was not charming. He possessed not a genteel bone in his body. Nay, a girl that quick, vibrant, and young—not to mention, painfully beautiful—didn’t just fall for a scarred and lumbering thug. Of all the lies James Morrow would have seen through, she had sold him the one he’d never known he wanted to hear. That she could be enamored by a ruffian like him.

  It was too devastating to believe. How her eyes would sparkle when she looked at him, the reverent portrait of him he’d caught her sketching, the times she shared with him her thoughts of the stars and seas. Aye, and the sweet, citrusy taste of her kisses, and her whispers of devotion on the night they came together. It had all seemed so real to him. How had she manufactured it? It made little sense. Was he missing something?

  Calahad spoke quietly, although there was no risk of being overheard. “Is everything over, then?”

  James glanced at him.

  “Shall you and the crew never walk free, sentenced to keep abroad the rest of your days, lest your pasts catch you up?”

  James felt his mouth tighten into a line. Giving up wasn’t only about him and his pride, or even his own absolution. It was about the others too. What of their freedom?

  He’d always given them the choice to continue with him, or else to take their chances on land. They had always chosen him. “It’s up to the crew.” Unable to stare down into the pits any longer, James turned away.

  “They go where you do,” Calahad reminded him. “You know that.”

  “And you suppose they’re up for a journey to…?” But the word evaporated on his lips. Several factors arranged themselves in his head at once, brought on by the thought of Bilbao.

  The close of Abigail’s letter said Look no farther than Bilbao. I shall await you by the Bay of Biscay.

  The cogs of his mind began to churn. If Abi had purposefully betrayed him—misleading him to the island where she knew he would find nothing—then why tell him exactly where she planned on going afterward, and how to find her? Was it a veiled invitation to seek his revenge, luring him into a fight against her father? If such was the case, why so far away? At any rate, Abner Clear could kill him, for all he cared. His heart had already been ripped out.

  Or else, was Spain supposed to be another wild goose chase, designed to send James far off and out of Clear’s way? Certainly, Abigail had tried to send him there before. But what good would it do her? She had already won.

  The worst that could happen was that no one would be in Spain to greet him when he arrived. He could live with that, couldn’t he? At least it would bring him closer to the sunken booty. Perhaps there was a small chance to recover some of it, after all. At best, however, James would find Abigail there, and learn the truth. In either case, that would make all the difference. There was no way around it. He simply had to know.

  “We’re sailing to Bilbao,” he announced abruptly. He motioned for Calahad to walk with him. Subdued white sunlight and drizzly rain met them as they exited beneath the hood of the cavern.

  If Calahad had an opinion, he concealed it. “Ho
w soon?”

  “Soon as the others have enjoyed their fill o’ the land.” James kept up a brisk stride. “Think about it, Calahad. Something ain’t right.”

  The older man listened, matching the captain’s pace.

  “If the girl had meant to deceive us, then why were her instructions so specific? Why tell us the very place where it’d all been buried? Why not simply give us bogus directions, to a different spot on the isle?” He motioned behind them as they headed to port. “We know it fer fact—have seen proof—that the gold was exactly where she told us it would be.”

  His pulse was thudding again. With every breath, his lungs reawakened. It felt as though something within him was resurrecting. “What if she was tellin’ the truth?” His eyes narrowed as he scanned the waters, imagining what ships might have stopped over recently. “What if the trunks had been there, far as she knew, when she had you write that letter? Only, someone beat us to them?”

  Calahad’s brow pinched. “Within the last two days?” He sounded skeptical, but not altogether dismissive. “Who else could have been here? It’s just been us, and…”

  Their eyes met. By the glimmer of understanding rippling within his first mate’s blue ones, James could tell they shared identical thoughts.

  ***

  The Succubus

  Somewhere in the North Atlantic Ocean

  The fortnights that proceeded were the longest and most listless Abi could ever recall. Each passing hour was simply a matter of enduring. It was hardly living.

  In those lagging weeks, she had assimilated back among her usual crew, wearing britches and helping to hook bait for fish, mending laundry that came her way, and once or twice throwing dice when her father wasn’t around. The sun would rise and set over the sea, the hours stretching like days, yet the days like mere hours. An occasional ship passed in the distance, but The Succubus left them be. They didn’t wish to spoil the chances of reaching their destination.

  In many ways, Abi was home. She could hear her father’s gurgling laughter, and the familiar tunes on Hector’s fiddle. She lost herself in old Sorley’s tales about monstrous whales and krakens, and beautiful mermaids who seduced unsuspecting mariners to their deaths with a single song.

  But there was another place onto which she held, deep within her, and for which she was inconsolably homesick. It was the ineffable new home she had found in the strong arms of a lover…a safe and perfect home, to which she would likely never return.

  During their second moon en route, a balmy evening found Abi alone in her cabin. A candle glowed on her cot-side table, illuminating the only item in her room—a small cabin trunk by the door. It was ancient and carried a bit of a stench. But it was where she kept what little she owned, including some spare clothes, a cloak, wood fetishes that sailors had carved for her when she was a girl, and her sewing supplies.

  She heaved open the lid. It squeaked, reminding her of a hungry mouse. The knee in her britches was wearing and would need mending soon; she hoped to find her needle. She sifted through the trunk’s contents when a flash of scarlet caught her eye.

  Abi paused. Reservation gave way to sentimentality, and she carefully extracted the folded fabric from the bottom of the pile. Her petticoat dress. She buried her face in it, inhaling past her tears. Oh, how quickly they came. She hoped to catch the scent of the ship where she’d last worn it, or of Monhegan…or, mostly, of the man who had given it to her.

  James Morrow was leagues behind them, by then. Not an hour passed that Abi didn’t wonder where he was, and what he might have decided to do. What could he do with his future, without the booty she was currently sailing off with? What would become of him and his kindly crew? Why had fate been so cruel to all of them?

  More than the queen’s riches and anything on earth, Abi longed to be held by him, just once more. Decidedly, she stripped out of her stinking men’s garments and swathed herself in the gown. It was far too lovely for her now, she thought, stretching her sweat-smeared arms into the long sleeves. She fastened the back and straightened the skirts. Abi gave a tiny twirl, admiring how the hem twirled with her.

  Wrapping her arms around herself, she sank down upon her cot. She dropped her head against her forearm, distraught beyond tears. Dry sobs hiccupped in her throat.

  She never thought she would fall in love. If she had known how much it would hurt, mayhap she would’ve thought twice when she’d accepted the gown from James, let him hold her on the rocky sands of Monhegan, made love to him in his cabin while his mighty hands slid down her bare backside, their joined bodies damp with passion and perspiration—

  Someone knocked at the door. Hastily, Abi rubbed her eyes. “Aye?”

  The door squealed open. Captain Clear appeared in the doorway, holding a tack roll in one hand, a lime in the other. He gave her an odd appraisal. Abi realized she must have looked strange, sitting on her cot in such a fine dress, without explanation.

  “You didn’t show for supper,” her father said. “Brought you these.” He came in and set the tack and citrus on the end table.

  “Thank you.”

  Captain Clear surveyed her. “You need to eat.”

  “I will,” she said, though her tone was noncommittal. She didn’t think her father would notice that she’d been skipping meals. For weeks, it had felt as though a cold, heavy stone were weighing down her belly. How could she add food on top of it?

  “That’s a nice gown,” he remarked. “As I recall, you wore it back on the island too. Wherever’d you get it?”

  “James…I mean, Dagger Jim bought it for me.”

  Her father’s bristling eyebrows furrowed together in suspicion. “He bought you gowns?”

  “Just one,” said Abi. “And a bodice…and skirt.”

  Captain Clear’s frown deepened.

  She reflected on the evening when she’d received the clothing, her voice thinning. “He thought every lady deserved to be dressed proper.” She looked down at her grimy hands.

  The floor creaked as her father stepped inside. Beneath Abi, the cot shifted as he sat down beside her. She straightened.

  “You know,” his eyes seemed far away, “sometimes a man’ll do anything to butter a girl up, get what he wants out of her. But always remember, Abi, a pirate comes only to devour and destroy. Take what you want, by falsehood or force, and to the bowels of hell with the rest of it. D’you follow?”

  “Can the same be said of you?” Abi fired back. She didn’t intend disrespect, but she didn’t like what her father was implying. He didn’t know James Morrow’s true character. Not like she did.

  Captain Clear looked startled.

  “You loved Mother, did you not? Really loved her? Why else would you have kept me all these years, were you nothing but a coldblooded criminal?”

  They watched each other. Abi swallowed, wondering whether she’d gone too far.

  At last, he responded. “You know I don’t like to speak of it.” Indeed, he sounded pained. The crease between his wistful eyes almost made Abi sorry for broaching the subject. But she was curious to hear more, as it was rarely discussed. “Aye, you’re right. I did love her. And she sacrificed much for me. Everything, I’m afraid.”

  Abi listened.

  “I never told you, but your mother was a lady of means. Well-off, well-mannered, well-dressed. I was smitten the moment I first laid eyes on her. She wore a yellow gown. Silky brown hair, creamy skin like milk, cuppin’ a hand over her eyes as she looked out to sea.”

  Abi could scarcely believe it was her father speaking, so soft was his prose.

  “I’d done some naval work in my day, but ’round that time had recently taken up my, er, independence.”

  Abi took that to mean piracy.

  “And so, s’pose stories had gone around, and I begot a bit of notoriety for myself, home in the Colonies. But despite the warnings, this only seemed to intrigue your mother. She came to meet me on my ship, every chance she could. Ours was a hidden affair. Would’ve been a ri
ght scandal, had anyone found out.”

  He half-smiled. “She was engaged to be married, you know. Wealthy bloke, his family were merchants. Her parents had pushed her into it, of course. But loved me, she did, and she would agonize over what to do. And then…she discovered you were coming.”

  Abi’s eyes widened.

  “I’ll never forget when she came to me that night, terrified. She was so sure I’d forsake her—and you, not yet born—to a fate of disgrace.”

  “Well?” Abi demanded, once he fell silent. “What did you do?”

  “You can figure it out, girl.” Her father thumped her irreverently on the back. “Think I’d have sailed off and left such a classy maid, the mother of my babe, behind? I was honored to spirit her away with me. And we lived together at sea, and had you. Ah, those were happy times, Abigail. Happy times.”

  His eyes clouded over. “But then, the pox hit. And a ship is a small place to avoid an epidemic like that. By a miracle, you were spared. But your mother…well, as you know, she wasn’t so lucky. Her last words to me were, look after her.”

  He drew out a long breath, as if deflating the years from his wounded heart. “She couldn’t bear the idear of you goin’ to live with strangers, see. For she feared if I brought you home to her family, they would hide you in an orphanage for shame. I couldn’t stomach the thought, either. And so, though no pirate in his right mind sailed about with a little girl, I upheld my word to your mother. I kept her secrets. And I kept you, the only bit of her I had left.”

  He brushed Abi’s cheek with the back of his hand. “You’re about the age she was when she met me. Absurd, how time flies.”

  Abi tried to smile, but the story was much too sad.

  “Point being,” he cleared his throat, lowering his hand, “I may not keep my word to men. But to young ladies, I always do. Alas, be forewarned,” he wagged a finger at her nose, “not every pirate is so golden-hearted as I.”

  Abi sniggered a little, though it faded as his expression grew serious. “I hope you didn’t let that man get into your head, Abi. Anything Dagger Jim might have said to you…Scoundrels like him ain’t nothing but liars.”