The Captain's Rebel (Irish Heroines)

by C. B. Halverson

  Grant shifted in his seat and leaned forward. “Are they treating you well down there on the gun deck? No one…?”

  I blinked, my tired head gathering Grant’s meaning. “No one suspects, sir.”

  He nodded. “Good. Let us keep it that way.” He took another sip of wine and stared at me from across the table. “You have proven yourself to be a stout sailor.”

  Heat flamed my face. “I’m happy my work pleases you, sir.”

  He rose, and I stood, too. “I will not need your assistance tonight. You look as though you could fall asleep in that chair. Clear these things and get some rest.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  But rest was the furthest thing from my mind.

  “You do please me, O’Brien.” Grant hesitated at the door of his chamber, his eyes soft. “I was angry at first when I discovered you, but your presence has brought me peace. I am honored I could help you on your journey. If there is anything you need—”

  “No, sir, I am quite well.” I stood up and forced a smile.

  “Are you sure?” He paused. “You seem troubled tonight.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I said. “Just tired, ’tis all.”

  He opened his mouth to say something more, but then he cleared his throat and opened the door, slamming it behind him.

  I worked furiously to clean the quarters. When I finished, I pressed my ear to the Captain’s door, listening for any sign of movement. After I felt sure he had settled in for the night, I padded across the room and made my way down to the hold.

  Lieutenant Andrews waited for me in the darkness, a bottle of whiskey in his hands. “I was starting to think you weren’t going to show.”

  “I’m here.”

  He stood up and sauntered over to me. His fingers trailed down my arm. “So I see.”

  A wave of bile surged up my throat. “Listen, Lieutenant. I know you feel like you have some hold over me, but I’m asking you to think clearly. You are a gentleman. Brighton is your friend. You are an officer in the Royal Navy.”

  Andrews chuckled, his hand inching across my waist. The smell of liquor on his lips almost knocked me down, and I tried not to heave.

  “All the more reason this set of circumstances excites me most irregularly.” His fingers dug into my side. “Did you bring what I asked?”

  I wrenched myself away. “Is it money you want? I know Brighton can compensate you for ensuring I have safe passage.”

  Andrews smiled. “I have money. I want those maps.”

  I shoved him off, and he stumbled, tripping over his big black boots. I pilfered the folded stack of papers from my pocket and threw them at him. “Here you go, you disgusting wretch.”

  He collected them from the floor, his eyes glittering as he slipped them into his coat.

  “Now leave me alone,” I hissed, turning on my heel.

  “I don’t think so.” He took a step toward me.

  “Go to hell, Andrews.” I whirled on him, my feet planted to the floor. “I gave you what you wanted.”

  He sneered, saliva dripping off his chin. “You’ll spread your legs for me, or I will tell the Captain who you really are!”

  “So tell him!” I spat. “What’s he going to do? Turn this ship around? Throw me overboard?”

  Andrews’s eyes flickered with doubt. “He might.”

  “He won’t.” But my voice wavered, unsure what would happen if Andrews revealed my identity to the entire crew. Grant built loyalty amongst his men by establishing a mutual relationship of honesty and trust, that much was sure. If the Lieutenant revealed my identity, it would make him look weak, deceptive. He would have no choice but to turn his back on me to ensure stability amongst his sailors.

  The Lieutenant’s gaze narrowed on me, and then he cracked a sickening smile. “You’ve gotten to him somehow, haven’t you?”

  “The Captain has no idea, and I aim to keep it that way.”

  Andrews tapped Grant’s maps against his palm and approached me with long, slow strides. “Oh, he’s had you. I can tell.”

  “Shut up, Andrews.” I planted my feet to the floor. “You’re the only one who knows.”

  He pursed his lips and made a tsk sound. “So the brave Captain Grant is a seducer of women, a co-conspirator of a treasonous stowaway.”

  Andrews’s hand slipped down my back, and he thrust against my hips.

  I squirmed, but he dug his other hand into my shoulder, pressing me closer to him.

  “I’m telling you, the man has not touched me,” I hissed. “And what a bloody hypocrite you are to accuse him of it.”

  The Lieutenant threw his head back and laughed. “The only difference between Grant and me is Grant actually has a moral code.”

  “So leave him alone, you bastard!”

  Andrews ran his hands down my backside, and I gave him a quick shove backward.

  “Stay away from me! Or I’ll tell the Captain you tried to bugger me. What’s the penalty for that? Court-martial?”

  “As if he cares!” He lunged at me again but hesitated when I whipped out my knife.

  “I’m warning you,” I said in a low voice, waving my weapon. “Stay away from me.”

  Andrews glanced down at my knife and laughed, drunken and throaty. “You even know how to wield that thing?”

  “You want to find out?” I backed toward the door of the hold. “I mean it. Don’t come near me.”

  My foot caught on a sack of potatoes and I went flying backward. Seeing an opportunity, Andrews tackled me, pinning me with his body. The wind knocked out of my lungs, and I couldn’t even muster the breath to scream as he slammed my wrist against the floor, nearly knocking the knife from my hand. I thrashed beneath him, sending my knee into his groin. He winced, letting out a grunt of pain. His hold on my wrist lessened for a moment, and I slammed my knife into his throat.

  He sat up, confused, gurgling and coughing, holding his neck as blood streamed between his fingers. I scrambled away, panting, a prickling sense of horror at what I’d done spreading through my body. He reached for me, dark eyes pleading, then collapsed face-first on the ground. His body rattled and then lay still.

  “Oh God,” I whispered, my voice echoing back to me in the heavy silence of the hold.

  Blood pooled around Andrews, black and shiny as a mourning dress. I hugged my knees against my chest, my breath coming out in strained, choking hiccups. Scrubbing my face with my hands, I pushed down the panic and tried to form a plan.

  First, get rid of the body. A cold sweat broke out between my shoulder blades and my stomach churned as I searched the hold for some solution. I couldn’t exactly carry Andrews’s corpse up to the deck and pitch it overboard. Not only could I not bear the load, but I would have to contend with near seven hundred sailors milling about the ship.

  The bilge!

  I grabbed hold of the knife sticking out of his throat, and it released with a sickening sound. Planting my feet on the floor, I grabbed his hands and pulled, his weight straining my sockets. After managing to drag Andrews’s body a mere three inches, I had to stop and rest. My already weary bones screamed at me, but I had to keep going. Gritting through the pain, I pulled again, this time moving at least six inches.

  After what seemed like an eternity, I made it to the bilge. Sea water mixed with feces and piss roiled in the pit. Bracing myself against the wall, I kicked Andrews’s body into the cesspool, and he fell in with a loud splash. Bubbles rose to the surface, and then the constant churning resumed, erasing all appearance of his existence.

  Yes, there was still a body. Pumping that bilge would reveal Andrews’s demise. Hopefully by then the water would disguise all signs of foul play, and everyone would assume he fell in drunk.

  And by the time they clean out the ship, I’ll be long gone. Hopefully back to Ireland with Johnny in tow.

  I wiped my sweaty brow with the back of my arm, careful not to spread Andrews’s blood all over myself. I set to work cleaning up the tell-tale streak of red leadin
g to the bilge. Scrubbing the remainder of the night, the hold never sparkled so. I had just finished my work and put away the mop and bucket when I heard a noise behind me.

  “Boy?”

  My shoulders slumped, and I turned, wiping the last of Andrews’s blood from my hands with a rag.

  “Yes, Captain?”

  Grant’s blue eyes blazed in the dark hold of the ship and he studied me quizzically. “I couldn’t sleep. I went to check on you and you were gone.”

  I smiled, nodding. “Aye, sir. I woke up in a panic and realized I had forgotten your boots again.” I stalked over to where they stored the shoe polish. “See? Just needed to grab some.”

  With a bow, I made to move past him.

  He grabbed my chin and forced me to stare into his eyes. “Are you lying to me?”

  All the blood rushed from my face, and I opened my mouth to confess everything. But at the last moment, I decided otherwise. A co-conspirator to my treason as a castaway would be one thing, but mixing Grant up in all this violence would place him in complete jeopardy as an officer.

  “No, sir,” I said. “Why would I lie about that?”

  “Because there is an empty whiskey bottle on the floor.”

  Blasted! How did I miss that?

  “Whiskey, sir?” I batted my eyelashes up at him, and he squinted at me hard.

  “Get to my quarters.” He shrugged me off, and I followed him through the sleepy ship up to his room.

  Chapter Sixteen

  He pulled me into his chambers and closed the door, turning to face me with a dark stare. “Who have you been meeting?”

  I exhaled, shaking my head. “No one, sir.”

  “I have heard you leave my quarters at night before. Where do you go?”

  “To retrieve supplies, Captain.”

  He folded his arms, his nightshirt tightening around his impossibly large biceps. His body crackled with tension, his blue eyes boring through me. “I know you are hiding something.”

  “Aside from my breasts, sir?” Desperate to get his mind away from what I was doing in the hold, I threw my shirt over my head and let it slip to the floor. All that remained were the layers of gauze crisscrossing my flesh.

  He stalked over to me and grabbed my arm. “Do not get saucy with me.”

  “Well, I think this is quite the inquisition over a tin of shoe polish. I needed to shine your boots.” I stared at him through hooded eyes. “You made it very clear how you like things, Captain.”

  He edged me against the wall, his breath hot against my cheek. “I am not so sure I did.”

  My body responded to his nearness, heat blooming between my legs. He fisted my hair and threw my head back, baring my neck to him. He trailed long, sensual kisses to my clavicle, pausing in the hollow of my throat, and I moaned, shifting my hips closer to his. “God, woman, when I see that little ass swaying in those trousers, it is all I can do not to tie you to my bed and keep you here.”

  “Why don’t you?” I said, the words pouring from my mouth before I had a moment to think about them. “Tie me to your bed?”

  He made a low, warning sound. With one swift movement, he hoisted me up on his hip and threw me onto the mattress, straddling me. He dragged his shirt over his head and rolled it up in a long, tight rope. He bound my wrists together so tight, I gasped. With what was left, he spun it across the bedpost, his callused sailor hands creating a firm, intricate knot.

  “How is that?” the Captain kissed my bound wrists, his fingers tracing the length of my arms before settling on my waist.

  I gave him a sly smile, squirming slightly, surprised at how little give his linen shirt provided. I lay there prostrate to him, at his mercy. The thought excited him, his cock straining beneath his trousers. He caught my gaze, and I arched an eyebrow.

  “I suppose I could get used to this,” I whispered.

  “Good,” he said with an air of finality. “This is exactly where I want you. Not giving my men unclean thoughts with that cherry mouth of yours.”

  I threw my head back and laughed. “Oh, because you have such a pious mind.”

  “I assure you, my thoughts are very clean.”

  I raised my hips, my core aching for him. He began working on unraveling my bound breasts, slowly rolling up the gauze, his fingers tickling my ribs.

  “Tell me of your ‘clean’ thoughts, Captain.”

  “Well,” he said, hovering over me, his lips a hairsbreadth from mine. “I certainly dream of scrubbing that smart mouth of yours.” He leaned in for a long, hard kiss, sucking on my lower lip until I cried out, my hips rising from the mattress.

  “And then,” he whispered hoarsely, crawling down my body, his blue eyes never leaving mine. “I long to bathe this beautiful belly with my come.”

  I moaned at the thought of his essence glistening over my skin. He smiled, tracing small, perfect kisses over my stomach.

  He moved lower, his face nestling between my thighs. “And of course, these dirty little holes require a good scrub.” He buried his head into my mound, his tongue teasing my opening while he lazily flicked my clit.

  “You are very strict, Captain.”

  “I keep an immaculate ship.” He slid a finger inside me and shook his head as he licked the inside of my folds. “I fear we may be here till morning cleaning you up.”

  “Mmmm…” I moaned. “Please, sir, I need to meet inspection.”

  “So you shall.” He tucked into the space between my thighs, his tongue working furiously, licking me with a cruel intensity, meticulous in his attentions. He slipped another finger inside, and my hips rose up to meet him, jerking with his furious movements. I longed to run my fingers through his hair, scratch the flesh on his shoulders as his mouth sucked on my folds, but my wrists burned against my tight bindings.

  “Lay back,” the Captain demanded. “You have done enough cleaning and running ragged today. Let me do the work.”

  I gasped as he hooked his fingers, massaging my inner walls, the same time as his tongue attacked the small nub of my clit. Blood roared in my ears, and a great wave of pleasure crashed over me.

  He knew I was ready for him, and he tore off his trousers, thrusting deep inside of me. I cried out, and he pressed a hand against my mouth, pushing me back on the mattress with a freezing look. I blinked, catching my breath as he paused inside of me. My flesh surrounded him, taking him in as he settled in deeper. Even though I could feel his massive cock pulsing and contracting inside me, he was in no hurry to come this time. His sense of control overwhelmed me, warming my body as I melted against the bed, letting him take over.

  The Captain’s eyes never left mine, and he glided into me once more, hard and deep. My thighs parted wider for him, my hips rising with some animalistic intuition, wanting him to bury himself inside of me, conquer me. I threw my legs around his waist, locking my ankles, wanting to somehow hold him even closer. Something broke within Grant then, like a miner working diligently through a seam of gold, he found the lodestone, and he pounded against me, breaking me in two beneath him. He swallowed my cries with hard kisses, my body collapsing beneath his hands, his cock, his gasping breath as he panted into my mouth. I came hard, his kisses swallowing my whimpering cries.

  He slipped out of me, come shooting across my belly as he pumped himself raw over my skin. I wanted it all over me, moaning as he forced his beautiful glistening seed across my breasts. My chest rose and fell, our heartbeats slowing down together. He brushed a sweaty curl away from my forehead and kissed me there, so tenderly it made me want him all over again.

  “Tell me your name,” he whispered.

  I looked away, burying my face in my shoulder, my hands still bound. “You know my name.”

  “Your real name.”

  I breathed in deeply, looking back into his eyes. “Tell me your name. Your Christian name.”

  He nodded. “Richard.”

  I smiled. “A name for a king.”

  Grant looked away sadly. “A bastard King
…”

  “Hey!” I jerked my hips up to get his attention. “So was William the Conqueror, but it didn’t stop him from taking over England.”

  He smirked, showering my shoulder blade with kisses. I giggled, his stubble tickling me. He let out a laugh as I struggled to get away, and I squealed beneath him. Finally, out of breath, he propped himself on his elbow, his hand settling over my heart. “Your name.”

  “What’s in a name?” I said, in a fake English accent. “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet?”

  “Your name.”

  “All right,” I huffed, blowing a lock of hair from my forehead. “It’s Mary. Mary O’Malley.”

  He smiled. “Mary?”

  “Aye. Mary. Just like every other Irish girl in the known world.”

  He cupped my cheek with his hand. “Mary,” he said. “I like Mary.”

  I smiled. “I like Richard.”

  The warmth in his eyes faded, and a wrinkle furrowed his brow. “What will you do if you do not find Johnny?”

  I looked away with a deep breath. “Oh, I don’t know. I suppose I could farm myself out as a powder monkey.”

  “I am serious, Mary.”

  The sound of my name on his lips startled me, and I glanced back up at him, the intensity of his stare sending a shudder down my spine.

  “I’ve honestly not thought that far ahead yet, Captain,” I said. “Johnny has to be alive. There’s no other way about it.”

  “But if he is lost,” he prompted. “Would you consider…” He swallowed hard, stumbling over the words. “Would you consider staying with me?”

  I shook my head. “I have responsibilities, sir. It would not do for me to be your cabin boy.”

  “I do not mean as my cabin boy, Mary.”

  “Sir…”

  “Shhh…” He pressed a finger to my lips. “Consider my offer. That is all I ask.”

  I closed my eyes, Dunraven flashing in my mind. Not even death could part me from that place for too long. Sure I would be haunting it long after they buried me in the ground. What greater heaven could there be? But then I breathed in the smell of Grant, the salt of the ocean lingering on his hair and skin, and I wondered if maybe there might be something else for me, something I never had the capacity to imagine. The endless freedom of the sea. Adventure on the waves, the two of us seeking out all the mysterious corners of the earth. Perhaps…