The Rogue

by Emma V. Leech

  Henri brushed down the now damp skirts of her pelisse, glancing around her as her heart thudded too hard, and too fast in her chest. She had once been told that you never show fear when confronted with a vicious dog. She had the feeling the advice would serve her just as well now.

  “I am Miss Henrietta Morton,” she said, relieved that she didn't stammer. She watched in surprise as the Captain's eyes widened.

  “Lord Morton's girl?” he said, clearly astonished.

  Henri took a step forward. “You know my father?”

  Savage frowned. He seemed vexed with her, though she supposed that was understandable. “Of course I don't know your bloody father,” he exclaimed. "But I know the name Morton is an old one."

  Her attention was taken from the irritated captain, however, by the spectacle of Mousy clambering over the rail. His shirt was now sopping wet, stained with blood and clung to his bulky frame.

  “Where's the surgeon?” she demanded, gratitude for Mousy's surprisingly selfless act in protecting her giving her a little courage. “That wound needs to be cauterised.”

  The look of annoyance on the captain's face grew. “Mousy get yourself below deck and see the butcher. We don't need any nursemaids here, thank you,” he snapped at Henri, who closed her mouth, stung by his rebuff.

  He stood staring at her for some moments and she couldn't decipher the expression on his face. What the devil was he thinking? The distance between them seemed to shrink, as he watched her with the unnerving gaze of a predator. After everything that had happened this evening, Henri began to truly panic. Her breath began to come in short little gasps as the possibilities of just what he was thinking presented themselves to her with stark, cold clarity.

  “Jay,” he said to the little rat-faced man, without once taking his eyes from her. “Take her to my cabin.”

  Chapter 5

  “Wherein a lamb bares her teeth.”

  Henri shuddered with revulsion as the rat-faced man leered at her.

  “Come on then, my pretty,” he said, grasping her wrist. Henri snatched her arm away from him but he just laughed. She saw his hand move to the pistol at his hip and he tapped it with a finger. “Just as you like, miss, but you'll be coming along with me now, one way or another.”

  Henri had no choice but to move in the direction in which he gestured. Unused to the sway of the boat she stumbled a little and held the rail to steady herself. The darkness on deck in the shadowy light thrown by the lamp Ratty carried conspired against her along with the glittering interest of men's eyes in dark corners. She lifted her head high though her cheeks were burning with humiliation, and she made a point of meeting the eye of every man's gaze she found, though she was trembling so hard they must be able to see it. If she hoped to shame them, she was disappointed. She found nothing but amusement in their eyes, and other expressions she'd rather not dwell upon.

  They weren't allowed to stand idle for long, however, as the captain's voice echoed over the water, yelling instructions that were incomprehensible to her but sent men scurrying into the rigging like monkeys and hauling on lines. Overhead the snap and flap of heavy fabric rent the air as the sails billowed out, vast and ghostly against the night sky as the wind filled them and ropes creaked in protest as the sudden strain pulled them taut.

  She followed where Ratty gestured she should go and tried to keep her dignity intact without resorting to tears, for now at least. But horror at the reality of her predicament, made it hard to do anything but put one foot in front of the other and she struggled to stay upright as the ship picked up speed. Ratty opened the door of the cabin and cocked his head, gesturing for her to go in. It wasn't like she had a choice. She stepped inside and watched him hang the lamp on a hook before looking around the room. Before she could say anything, she heard the door close behind her and the snick of the key in the lock.

  She counted herself lucky that he had at least left the lamp. She slumped back against the wall of the cabin, trembling so hard her teeth chattered and holding back tears. Hysterics would not help her, though the desire to give into them was almost overwhelming. What in God's name was she to do? She looked around herself, wondering if perhaps there was a weapon to be found. From what she could see in the dim light the room was dominated by a large desk, covered with scrolls and maps and a bewildering number of books stacked in neat piles wherever a space allowed. Along the right-hand wall there was a heavy oak cabinet. The doors had been left open and showed shelves stuffed with more scrolls and books. To her left there was a compact berth, neatly made. A large chest sat at the foot of the bed, which she had no doubt contained the spoils of these men's plunder and would be securely locked, and a number of beautiful gilt-framed paintings hung on the walls. All in all the room was surprisingly comfortable and clean, if cold in the frigid air of the winter's night. She looked around hoping to find a stove to light but there was nothing. She shivered, life aboard a ship may be all well and good in the tropics, during an English winter she doubted there was much to recommend it. Finding a chair she installed herself behind the great desk, unwilling to make herself more comfortable on the bed. But the sound of the key turning once more had her leaping to her feet.

  The captain paused in the doorway, surveying her, and she wished she could see more of his expression. “I'm glad to see you are making yourself at home.”

  She racked her brain wishing she could think of some acerbic comment, but the only words that came to her were pleas that he let her go. She clamped her lips together tightly. She wouldn't be seen to beg, not yet at least. He crossed the room and picked up a little round, long-necked bottle and two glasses, and filled both of them.

  “Here,” he said, not unkindly, though there was a measuring look in his eyes as he handed her the glass. “It'll warm you up a little.”

  She took it from him, practically snatching her hand back as their fingers brushed. Unwillingly she remembered a moment earlier in the day when they had touched rather more intimately, remembered the feel of his hard body pressed against hers and the softness of his hair as her fingers had sunk into it. Had it really just been this morning? He chuckled and she was perfectly sure he knew what she was thinking and was enjoying her discomfort.

  “You must get me back,” she said, clutching the glass so tight her knuckles whitened. “Before anyone notices I've gone. If you do, I swear I will give you the letter without another word. You can go your way, and I will go mine.”

  She watched him as he appeared to consider. His eyes glittered in the lamplight, and she could see cold calculation with no warmth or empathy visible. No doubt these were qualities that had made him such a ruthless and successful pirate.

  “Why should I do such a thing?” He walked around his desk and she moved away from him, circling to the other side as he sat down, putting his feet up. “You tried to blackmail me.” He stared at her, unblinking. “If you were a man you'd be dead by now.”

  There was no emotion in his voice, no threat. Somehow that made him all the more terrifying. He was simply stating a fact. She remembered the moment he had cut down the soldier on the streets of her home. It hadn't seemed hard for him to do.

  "Yes," she said, her voice too obviously betraying her fear, though she hoped her disgust was just as evident. "You seem quite adept at murder I'll give you that."

  He snorted, his face placid. "I gave him the chance to run, he made his choice. Should I have let him kill me?"

  "He was just doing his job!" she flung back at him, surprised by the fierceness of her words. At any rate she hadn't swooned, that was something at least. Though if things went too far awry perhaps she should try it?

  He seemed equally surprised by her rage and smiled at her. "As his job was to kill me, you'll forgive me if I took exception to it."

  "He was someone's son!" she said in fury, appalled by his cool humour. "There will be family grieving his loss because of you ... you ... fiend!"

  His eyes darkened and she took a breath, stepping back
a pace and wondering if she'd gone too far. She'd be a fool to forget the precarious nature of her position.

  "I ... am also someone's son, my Lady Morton, in case you perhaps thought I was less than human. Though I'll admit, there would be few to grieve over my mortal remains." There was a sneer in his words and mockery in his eyes, though she felt it was more directed at himself than anyone else and wondered at it.

  "Yes, a son of a bitch," she cursed him, defiant all over again and then damning her sharp tongue that once again had run away with her before she'd considered the consequences.

  The look he gave her chilled her blood and made her vow to watch her mouth.

  "Yes," he murmured, his tone sending shivers over her skin. "A very good job you are a woman, my lady."

  She folded her arms, hoping she looked confident, though in truth she was trying to disguise the fact her hands were trembling. “Then it seems I must be thankful for the fact I have been born a female,” she said, not attempting to disguise her contempt. “There is a first time for everything I suppose.”

  He frowned, his expression curious as he reached for the bottle and poured another measure. “Why would you say that?”

  She stared back at him, eyes wide. It never ceased to amaze her that men believed women should be grateful for the accident of their birth. That they should be content to be considered property with no rights of their own, to be given by their fathers to be married off to another man who would own them in turn.

  “Why would I not?” His attitude pricked at a grievance that had infuriated her since she was a small child and had first understood the restrictions of her life as a girl. She snorted as his obvious lack of understanding made his frown deepen. “Tell me, why is it you're a pirate? There are many honest ways of working at sea.”

  He removed his feet from the desk and leaned forward, regarding her with an intense expression. “I have a feeling you're going to tell me,” he said.

  There was amusement in his eyes and she felt a spark of anger. “Because you don't like rules, because you don't like to be told what to do and when to do it. Because you want to be free.”

  She watched as he smiled, a slow smile that changed his face. In her fear of the past hours she had forgotten just how handsome he was. That smile reminded her, and she remembered again the moment in the shop when he had pulled her close and kissed her.

  “Well you're half right,” he said, and she fought the blush she felt rising behind her skin as his eyes travelled over her. “That's not why I became a pirate, but it is why I remain so.”

  She knew he would not answer the question so she asked it anyway. “Why then, what drew you to this life if not freedom and adventure?”

  He chuckled again, and it was a warm sound that rumbled through her. A good sound, it made her want to make him do it again. It was all too easy to forget her fear in the warmth of that laughter and she realised this was the power he had, that easy, seductive charisma that made abducted wives want to stay with him rather than return to their lives. His long fingers caressed the side of his glass as he considered her.

  “Oh no.” He shook his head, smiling and rubbed at the stubble on his chin with a calloused hand. Henri looked away, wondering why those hands held her attention so. “I asked first after all,” he said, “and you still haven't answered.”

  She huffed and turned away from him with annoyance. “Yes I have,” she snapped. “If you had only listened.” She sipped at her drink, enjoying the warmth that burned in her throat at least and hugged her arms about herself. The freezing temperature was biting now and she shivered. She was tired, cold to her bones and dismayed by how badly things had gone wrong. Perhaps the men were right, she should have been happy with her lot. Perhaps she should have put her own desires and ambitions aside and been content to sit and sew and paint, to make polite conversation and marry and have children as she was supposed to, fighting it had never bought her anything but trouble and dissatisfaction. Perhaps she would have been happier if she'd just done as she'd been bid.

  She hadn't heard him move, and so his voice when it came directly behind her made her jump.

  “You mean to tell me you long for adventure, that you want to be free?”

  She turned to find him standing far closer than was comfortable. To her surprise there was no mockery in his tone, and only curiosity in his eyes. She blinked and looked away from him. She was unwilling to tell him that she no longer knew what she wanted.

  “Doesn't everyone?” she replied, hearing her own despair and knowing the weight of hopelessness was evident in her answer. How many people in the world were truly free, men or women?

  He gave a bark of laughter. “No.” He gave an emphatic shake of his head and she frowned at him. “Most people do not wish to be free. They like the security of the confines of society. It makes them feel safe. Everything in order and in its place.”

  For a moment she dared to stare at him, to stare into those cool blue eyes and try to see what it was he truly thought. Again she saw no condemnation, no scorn for the idea of a woman wanting to be free, independent of a man. He looked interested, though she was no fool. That interest was most likely laid in the best way he could profit from her.

  She turned her back on him. “Please, take me home.”

  “I'm afraid that won't be possible.” His voice was cool and unyielding and she turned around to demand he explain, and staggered as the ship lurched sideways. Her glass slipped from her hand and smashed to the floor. He grasped hold of her arms, steadying her and tutting in irritation at the broken glass on his cabin floor.

  “Where are we going?” she demanded as she realised the movement had been steadily increasing while they spoke.

  He grinned at her, and this time the wickedness that was illustrated in the tales of his exploits was only too clear. “Far away from here,” he said, showing a row of even white teeth.

  Henri tried to wriggle out of the grasp of his hands. “Let me go!” She figured it didn't really matter whether she meant from his hands or off of the ship, either way she needed to get away from him, for so many reasons. “Please, you must let me go, surely you do not want to add kidnapping to your list of crimes?” she raged at him.

  She gasped as he pulled her closer, one arm snaking around her waist to hold her body flush against him. Putting her hands flat on his chest she pushed him away, but both his grip around her and his chest were hard and immovable.

  “You really think I care what they hang me for?” he demanded, his tone just as angry. “If I'm caught I have enough crimes to condemn me, do you think it matters if I hang for piracy or the kidnapping of Lady Henrietta Morton? Dead is dead.”

  “The only reason you're not swinging from the end of a rope right at this moment is because I saved you,” she said, her voice full of fury as rage outweighed terror. “There was no way out of that shop and you know it. I saved your life, the least you can do is return me to land before you make your escape.” She was uncomfortably aware of his hard body pressed tight against hers, and of just how far she had fallen into his power. She was on a ship bound for God alone knew where, and no one was aware she was even missing.

  “Lady, if you had not sought to blackmail me, we would likely never have set eyes on each other again. I was indeed grateful, and would have kept the memory of you as something to be cherished. I thought you a delight, a sweet little innocent and was glad to have stolen nothing more from you than a kiss. It was you who came after me, it was you that tarnished that memory, and it was you who tangled yourself into my life. You said you wanted adventure,” he said laughing at her though he looked just as angry as she was. “It appears you should be careful what you wish for.”

  “You unfeeling bastard!” she said, flailing her fists and raining down blows on his chest in a rage. “What do you know of my life? I told you I was desperate - it was my only choice. Surely you of all people can understand that? And it only serves to show how desperate I am now, that I would willingly
return to that life just to get away from you!”

  He caught hold of her wrists before she could do any further damage. “Well I'm sorry to disappoint you, but you won't be getting away from me any time soon.” He released her hands and pulled her closer, crushing her against him and pressing his lips against hers. For a moment she was so stunned she couldn't react. When her senses finally returned to her this time however, she decided to make him sorry that he'd been foolish enough to release her hands. She raked her nails down his neck until he hissed with pain and grasped hold of her hands once again. She then raised her knee with a sharp, angry movement that clearly took him by surprise. He groaned and staggered away from her to lean on his desk, but her moment of triumph was short-lived. To her surprise and fury he began to laugh.

  “Well I suppose I deserve that,” he said clutching at the injured part of him with both hands and wincing.

  “Damn right,” she said, gasping for breath and sparing a moment to thank her foolish, self-centered father for the one sensible thing he'd ever done in hiring Annie to raise her. For it was her lady's maid who had instructed her on the swiftest way of telling a man no and making sure he was left in no doubt that she meant it.

  He got to his feet and her heart began to thud in her chest as he crossed to his berth. She watched with trepidation as he pulled a blanket off of the bed and began to move towards her. He paused, holding up the blanket like a peace offering.

  “You're cold,” he said, offering the blanket once again. With reluctance she allowed him to get close enough to lay the blanket across her shoulders. She grasped hold of the corners, putting it tightly around herself and moving as far from him as the confined space of the cabin would allow, stepping carefully around the broken glass. “Calm yourself, lady. You have my word that no one upon this ship will harm you in any way. Myself included,” he added with a wry smile. “However," he added, a steely note in voice. "You must get used to the idea that you are now my guest, and you remain my guest at my pleasure. I may change your status to prisoner at any time it pleases me.”