Mutiny of the Heart

by Jennifer Bray-Weber

  “See your way out, Mr. Ricker.” Quint didn’t bother to look up. Instead, she dipped her quill into the gold inkwell and jotted in her logbook. ’twas his turn to feel the sting of recoil. She dismissed him. He didn’t understand. The way she kissed him, ’twas extraordinary. Surely she felt the same liquid fire as he in their kiss.

  Scupper this. He unlocked stares with Valeryn and shouldered past him.

  “Oh, and Mr. Ricker.”

  He paused at her voice, hand on the door, but refused to face her.

  “Thank you for attending to my...wound.”

  He almost turned then. But he’d rather not know the true meaning behind her words. “Have your first mate change it in a few hours.”

  Behind the closed door, Ricker heard Valeryn’s booming rage.

  “What the hell was that, Jo?”

  Ricker wanted to know, too. He lingered to listen in.

  “’Tis none of your concern.”

  “Bloody hell it isn’t.”

  “You forget, Val. I don’t answer to you.”

  “Answer me!”

  “Let me go.”

  Ricker was on the brink of storming back in. He wouldn’t stand for Valeryn to get rough with Quint. But he stopped short at Valeryn’s next words.

  “Stop this ruse, Jo.”

  Ruse? Was he a part of some game?

  “I’ll be damned if I do. I’ll see this through. As sure as God sees me, I’ll see this through.”

  “Confound it, Jo.”

  “Get out! No, stay away. Just get out.”

  Valeryn tore out of the captain’s quarters, slamming the door behind him.

  Ricker met him with a smug grin. He hadn’t been the only cove dismissed.

  Valeryn came at him, shoving him against his cabin door, and pinning him with his forearm. Ricker kept smiling.

  “Be forewarned, slave. If you ever touch Jo again, I’ll kill you.”

  “You may well try.” By thunder, he hoped the bastard would try, and soon.

  * * *

  Later that afternoon at the first dog watch bell, Ricker made his way to the galley. Henri walked the long table spooning up vittles into bowls for the crew taking a break from duties. Ricker settled with his bowl on the bench across from Sam and Willie, listening to talk centered around the skirmish with the Royal Navy.

  The lads prattled on about Quint’s unshakable control of the battle, how she strode in the midst of a barrage of gunfire, unfazed, scoffing at the real threat of getting her head blown off. No way could he rile up a mutiny with them. They talked of her as if she were a goddess. This but baffled Ricker.

  “How is it you allow her, a woman, to lead a battle?” Ricker looked to Willie, remembering his conversation with the helmsman earlier. “Aye, she’s a mighty fine captain. But don’t you feel she is reckless with your lives?”

  Willie shook his head, obviously disappointed with Ricker’s line of questioning, and went about eating.

  Sam, vacant eyes and sealed mouth, stared emotionless at him across the table.

  Henri, on the other hand, slopped his mush into Ricker’s bowl, splattering bits of creamy white unidentifiable food onto his tunic. The stout meaty odor reminded him he hadn’t eaten all day.

  “Haul yer wind and heed yer clack, boy,” Henri said. “We ain’t gonna tolerate such noise, ya hear?”

  Ricker lifted his hands in deference. “Don’t mean no disrespect, Henri. Just needing to understand, is all.”

  “Let me tell ya a story.” Henri waddled over to the oven and set down the slop. “Not a week after Capt’n Jo took over Rissa, we hunted down a mutinied bucket in the Leeward Isles. ’twas easy enough with a captain as hell-bent as she. Until we boarded. The parcel of bastards weren’t surrenderin’ like they led us to believe. Some of the fools lay hidden and ambushed Sam, here, and a few other jacks.”

  “They intended ta kill us, startin’ with Sam,” Willie said. “They weren’t ’bout no bargainin’. Hell, they were sailors turned pirates, and in brethren waters. We don’t tolerate intruders takin’ what’s ours or terrorizin’ the folks we protect.” He frowned at his bowl. “Where’s me b’cuit, Henri?”

  Henri chunked a slab of hard tack at Willie. “Pipe down, ya nit.”

  Willie waved off the curmudgeon cook and dipped his biscuit into his soggy meal.

  “Tensions were tight. I thought fer certain we were about to lose ol’ Sam,” Henri continued. “Our course was run. But Capt’n Jo never wavered, not once. Woman wore a mask as hard as iron. She, herself, crossed over and walked straight up to their captain. She offered a negotiation, of sorts. You can imagine what that dolt was thinkin’ the way he could hardly keep his tongue from waggin’ and his deadlights off her chest.”

  Aye, Ricker could imagine. ’twas a constant challenge to not stare at Quint’s body. Especially after having a touch.

  “Capt’n Jo knew what she was doin’. She knew the rogue capt’n would make a mistake. He ordered her to strip herself of her weapons, an’ she complied, mind ya. When he grabbed her and yanked her to him, she swiped the fella’s own pistol from his belt and shoved it square into his bollocks. Didn’t take long for her ta regain control.”

  “Saved me arse, she did,” Sam declared. Without raising his head, the hulking man’s gaze met Ricker’s. “Saved t’e Rissa.”

  “Not a single drop of blood spilled, neither,” Willie added, smacking as he chewed the hardened bread.

  Indeed, ’twas an impressive tale. It didn’t escape Ricker’s notice how the men spoke of Quint in reverence. Nay, he’d never be able to turn this crew against her. That didn’t mean he couldn’t stir up trouble for her. But, he found he didn’t want to. He remembered his loyalty toward Bellamy. ’twas a sacred bond like no other. He wouldn’t tamper with that.

  Though she had won these men over with her bold courage and combat skills, how did they feel about her quest involving her map?

  “What do you think of her map?” he pressed. “Seems she has a personal objective, one that could be a dangerous hazard for the crew, eh?”

  “Don’t we all have somethin’ that steers us, mate?” Willie said.

  Picking up a pitcher, Henri poured grog into a cup. “What good are we iffn we can’t help our family when they need it?”

  Sam nodded. “Bret’ren.”

  “Capt’n Jo is among the best,” Henri said. “The lass may be mad, but that woman is fierce, would give her life for any one of us worthless jacks.” Henri smacked the cup down on the table in front of Ricker. “Best you remember that, son.”

  Through the eyes of her crew, Ricker saw another side of Quint—one that left him envious of these coves. He wanted to discover more about her, and, perhaps, pilfer another kiss. Blazes! He should be figuring another way to escape with his freedom. Not wondering if he would ever gain the same favor her men enjoyed.

  Do not fool yourself, Ricker. You are not a part of her crew. Your friends are dead and gone. You’ve no brethren to call your own.

  Chapter Five

  “She’s toyin’ with us, Capt’n.” Willie checked the compass latched to the ship’s wheel again. “Like she’s baitin’ us. Meanderin’ southward with no course.”

  Joelle had come to the same conclusion. Rissa would get within sight for a couple of hours and the mysterious quarry would disappear on the horizon, only to pop up completely off the original course. If it wasn’t for the strong instinct this ship was her mutinied mark, she’d have abandoned the chase long ago.

  Warning bells clanged in her head. She couldn’t help but wonder if they were being lured into a trap.

  Were Watson and a Royal Navy fleet waiting for them just beyond the next shoal?

  ’Twas a preposterous notion, to be sure. Watson couldn’t possibly have outrun the Rissa to lie in wait. But the Rissa had been zigzagging around the Caribbean. It was possible, she supposed, that the captain had sailed straight through. The question was why? Was this all some elaborate scheme by Watson to cap
ture the Rissa?

  And what of Leviathan? Why did he appear now?

  Leviathan. Watson. This commission. Something smelled foul, but she couldn’t lay her finger on it.

  Damn! The indecisions! She shouldn’t be tarrying with nagging doubt. ’Twasn’t like her.

  Ever since she’d kissed Ricker, her head had been in a muddle. She didn’t regret the impulse, no. However, she wasn’t prepared for the physical and emotional assault that had racked through her. Rash actions had gotten her into trouble before. ’twould seem her relationship with Valeryn was built on them. Like succumbing to Valeryn’s charm, bedding him, whilst his captain stole her commission from under her nose.

  Yet excitement and need burned so hot when she locked lips with Ricker.

  She sought him out, watching him down on the main deck. On his knees, he scoured the floorboards with a holystone. His broad shoulders strained against his tunic with each forward thrust he gave the sandstone scrub. Would it be wrong to order him to remove his shirt so she could enjoy the view? Admiring him was one thing, but the overwhelming desire to kiss him again unsettled her, in that she thought of it far too often. She had even dreamed of him last evening. What wicked things they did between the sheets. Joelle was infatuated by him. She had never felt anything like it before. Not with Valeryn. Not with her first love, Seamus.

  Joelle blew out a frustrated sigh. She would have to face this distraction head on. With that in mind, she had a revelation.

  “We’re about a glass away from Dominica, right, Willie?”

  “Aye, Capt’n.”

  “Each time we see our quarry, she’s about three points off our larboard or starboard beam.”

  “Had us headin’ due east of Grand-Anse last go ’round.”

  “Right.” Joelle nodded, letting a satisfied grin slip for finally making a definitive decision. “Set a direct course for Dominica. If they continue the pattern, we’ll land right on top of them before the hour is up.”

  “Why we wastin’ time with that slop bucket?” Henri hobbled to the crate tied at the base of the wheel and stepped upon it as if he were reliving his prime years at the helm. “She don’t carry a prize, not the way she sails. An’ we gotta mutinied ship to catch.”

  “Any boat with a cask of rum is worth chasin’ after, Henri,” Willie said.

  Henri puckered his lips and crinkled a weathered eye at Willie’s remark. “I believe yer right.”

  “A crew that murders a boat of fishermen deserves our attention,” Joelle said. “If this boat is captained by Leviathan, as those along the Barbary Coast dubbed him, ’twould be our responsibility to stop him.” Though she hated for the burden to fall to her. “There have been no other reports of marauders in these waters, which leaves me to suspect the boat is also the Mariposa.”

  Joelle leaned in between them, turning her head to give each of them a sobering stare. “Mark me, Leviathan will do it again.”

  “Blessed be the life of a Rissa tar.” Henri grinned. He retrieved his flask from his vest pocket and took a healthy quaff.

  “No other life for me,” Willie concurred.

  Joelle would be ready. She strongly doubted time nor age had blunted Leviathan’s thirst for bloodlust or revenge. Men. Why couldn’t they leave well enough alone? Why must they seek retribution for every wrongdoing against them, no matter if the misdeed was intentional or not. Why must they let the past steer their future?

  She caught sight of Valeryn crossing the deck. He passed through the spot Ricker had just scrubbed and kicked over Ricker’s bucket of water. Ricker slowly sat back on his thighs, tense and ready to hop to his feet. Valeryn paused, waiting for Ricker to make that mistake. Until he saw Joelle watching. His frown deepened and he moved on to oversee the bulwark repairs.

  Joelle sighed. She, too, let the past drive her. She was no better than anyone else righting wrongs. Her preoccupation with her map had been inflicted on her crew through wild goose chases and fruitless voyages. She wasn’t blind to the whispers and sideways glances from those who had begun to question her responsibility as Rissa’s captain. Loyal and ripe for adventure, her crew had gone along with her bootless errands to find the answers to her map. Each journey ended with disappointment and empty pockets. She was slowly losing their confidence. Finding the truths of her life was her obsession. In his own way, Valeryn reminded her of that by being her anchor when she failed, delivering gentle kisses, trying to dissuade her folly with reasoning.

  He had kept his distance since she threw him out of her cabin. She, alone, was the source of his anger and hurt. Something else she hated. ’twas no wonder she acted like a termagant.

  She didn’t want to hurt Valeryn, but she didn’t have to answer to him either. Blazes! Now wasn’t the time for this foolishness.

  “Valeryn,” she called. “I wish to speak to you below.”

  Joelle didn’t fail to notice Ricker, with his fresh pail of water, slide a piercing eye up at her.

  Damn. She should commission a blacksmith at the next port. With the pikes of hostility being lobbed at her between Ricker and Valeryn, she needed a suit of armor.

  Valeryn met her at the ladder and they ducked into the ship’s interior away from prying ears. Despite his crusty age, Henri had the hearing of a house cat and the flapping mouth of a twittering chambermaid.

  Sunlight slipping through the hatch door lent a dim visibility to the narrow companionway.

  “Captain.”

  “How are the repairs coming along?” she asked.

  “Splendid.” There was a flat tone and clip to his voice.

  “How are the men? Are they ready for battle?”

  “Of course.”

  “The weapons?”

  “Gleaming.”

  Joelle bit her lip to steady her growing irritation. “Put your anger at me aside, V.”

  “It makes me feel better,” he snarled.

  “By punishing me with scowls, disapproving comments and avoiding me? Come now, you’ll have the others question our effectiveness.”

  He crossed his arms. “At times, I wonder, myself.”

  The darkness didn’t hide the agonizing storm in his golden eyes. Suddenly, she mirrored the same hurtful anger. She shied away from letting him know. He would want to dive headlong into a scrutiny of their relationship—whatever that was. Something she wanted to avoid by any means. Despite that she had ended their affair, the feelings she had for him she couldn’t govern. ’twas disconcerting, confusing.

  “Without unity,” she warned, “we chance mutiny.”

  He blew out a heavy sigh. “Jo, not every crew plots a mutiny. Besides, those loyal to you—Henri, Sam, Willie—would never let that happen on the Rissa.”

  “And you?” She looked into his shadowed face. “What about you? Are you loyal to me, Valeryn?”

  Her words were weighted, and he knew it.

  “You’re not being fair,” he answered.

  No, she wasn’t. She’d cast him out time and again only to realize how much she needed him.

  Joelle met Valeryn shortly after coming to the Caribbean when she was but new to the roving trade. The attraction was immediate. Though they sailed under different captains, every time their paths crossed they caroused and drank as buccaneers and stole lovers’ trysts. Over time, she grew into a strong and skilled pirate. But she was still a woman, still someone who needed a beloved’s touch from time to time. Valeryn, bless him, was always there.

  He had seen her vulnerable, knew her faults, her obsessive need to be in control. To own the truth, Valeryn was her enabler. He was the only one she could trust, and even then, by his own admission and actions, not entirely. He had his needs and she had her reputation as a cunning captain.

  In their world, rarely did anyone play fair.

  “Well?” she pressed. “Are you?”

  Valeryn trapped Joelle, flattening her shoulders against the wall. The furrow in his brow no longer etched with anger, but of earnest. His nostrils flared, his mout
h clamped in a tight line.

  “You won’t let me,” he growled. “Christ, why won’t you let me?”

  He smothered her in a fierce kiss, hot and needy. His familiar spicy taste rekindled the embers of ardor she begrudgingly kept burning for him. Her body quickly came to life and her mind fogged with hazy lust.

  Thankful he shunned his tunic for his vest, Joelle ran her hands up the solid planes of his sun-warm back. He crowded closer. His hard shaft nestled against her lower belly. Valeryn’s hand snaked down into the open collar of her tunic, grabbing her breast. Her nipple beaded under the rough pads of his fingers cupping and squeezing. Joelle moaned into his hungry mouth. Groping, rubbing, she slid her hands down his back, below the waist of his breeches, and over the firm cheeks of his backside, smooth and solid like twelve-pound round shot.

  Something niggled in the back of her mind. Some warning. Some breach to her resolve. No. Something more...moral. A shift in her intuition.

  Indecision.

  By saints, but the bawdy haze and dancing tongue kept whatever plagued her out of focus, pushing it back into the recesses of her consciousness.

  Valeryn abandoned her lips for her breast, suckling her with as much fervor as he had her mouth. She arched into him, desperate for more, hissing as he licked and nipped her nipple. The sins he could commit with his tongue came flooding back to her.

  So did the image of Ricker. Damn it! Joelle couldn’t deny how Ricker made her feel.

  Indecision.

  The creaking hatch door opened wide.

  “Capt’n?”

  Joelle snapped her hands to herself, covering her exposed breast. Groaning, Valeryn was a little slower in removing his hands from her body.

  Sunlight reached into the companionway, but, thankfully, not far enough to expose them. A much needed fresh salty breeze plummeted down the corridor, cooling Joelle’s flushed face, just as Jack stepped inside.

  “Capt’n?” The cabin boy squinted into the darkness.

  Joelle was relieved they hadn’t been caught. You don’t want anyone to undermine your authority. Aye. That’s it. “What is it, Jack?”