by April Hill
Gilbert Wallace’s engorged member stabbed against her again, cruelly teasing, purposely hurting. His ugly, sweating body pressed down on her, taking her breath away until she felt dizzy and disoriented. “Now, Emily. Now!”
Back at the hotel, Ethan had wakened in a surly humor. When he looked around the darkening room, Emily was nowhere to be seen. Assuming that she had gone onto the terrace to watch the harbor, as she liked to do at twilight, he fumbled about on the bed for his shirt and trousers, swearing aloud at the deluge of female attire strewn about the room and vowing to do something about Emily’s tidying-up skills.
He dressed quickly and walked out onto the balcony, calling as he went, and when there was no answer, he opened the door to the small sitting room and found that room dark and empty, as well.
Five minutes later, Ethan McAllister left the hotel at a full run, with a knot of fear in his stomach. He was almost to the harbor, shouting to summon the crew’s help in his search, when he remembered the governess.
“Damn it, Emily!” he cursed under his breath. “If you’ve been there all this time, and scared the life out of me, I swear to God, I’ll …” The thought was brief, and immediately replaced by a terrible sense of dread. For directly ahead, stumbling down the street, young Timothy Duncan was rushing toward him, waving his arms frantically.
“They’ve been taken, Captain!” the boy screamed, falling breathlessly into Ethan’s arms. “My aunt and Miss Fowler! Men burst into the house, and took them!”
“What men?” Ethan demanded, shaking the poor boy mercilessly. “Did you see them?”
Tim shook his head and began to sob. “No, sir, ‘twas our neighbor, the widow Potter, saw what befell them. Three hours back, it was. Three men! Terrible dirty men, she said, and ugly, with weapons, she said. They fled in a black carriage! Oh, Lord, Captain McAllister! What has happened to them?”
Ethan didn’t answer, but turned and strode back down the street to the harbor, with the boy running as fast as he could to keep up. McAllister leaped into the first small boat he saw, and cast off, shouting back to Timothy to run for the magistrate. A moment later, McAllister was sculling rapidly towards the spot where the Liza lay at anchor. Somewhere in the descending darkness, he knew that the Dark Moon was racing seaward—with a good two hours start.
Within minutes, Timothy was back at the dock, along with several men from the town. The news was not good. Like a hawk on the hunt, Wallace had swooped down and snatched at least three other women, and now, God only knew what horrors awaited the helpless captives.
Ethan boarded quickly, sent Turner to unlock the arms magazine, and ordered the younger boys ashore. There was no time to waste raising anchor, so they cut the hawses and let the Liza run toward the open sea under full sail, with her captain himself aloft in the rigging, scanning the darkening horizon for a sign of the Dark Moon’s sails.
As the first thin sliver of moon rose, there were several false sightings, caused by the play of the light on the waves, and for close to two hours it seemed that Wallace had made good his escape. Then, with his own miraculously sharp young eyes, the profligate Jack Hinton redeemed himself in everyone’s eyes by catching the first sight of the Dark Moon’s tall mizzen mast and shouting out the familiar, “Sail, ho, forty-five degrees to port!”
As Ethan had predicted, Gilbert Wallace was fleeing eastward for Greenland, carrying all the sail he had.
The clipper Dark Moon was fast, and would be faster still in the knowledge that she was being pursued, but McAllister had faith that the smaller, lighter Liza, now in ballast, might overtake the heavily-laden clipper, given any luck at all. The winds were strong, the sky was clouding over rapidly, and Ethan knew that there was no better-trained crew anywhere than on his own ship, nor could any set of men be bolder and more loyal when called upon to fight. Wallace’s crew were a motley group at best, gathered from every pest-hole from Cape Horn to Greenland. Tonight, after a month’s plundering, many of them would be drunk—and maybe careless.
If all went well, Ethan knew that they could gain the wind on their larger prey, but unlike the privateer, the tradesman Liza wasn’t armed, other than the few sidearms kept under lock and key for emergencies. As the tall sails of the Dark Moon grew clearer and closer, he prayed again that Wallace’s crew were as drunk and quarrelsome as he hoped, and that the men on watch were bleary-eyed with liquor. He descended to the deck again and ordered every light on board extinguished. Now, the Liza was running totally dark, on a dark ocean.
Three quarters of an hour later, in a slackening wind and dense fog, the Liza came silently astern of Wallace’s ship, and prepared to board her. On the deck of the Dark Moon, all seemed quiet and normal. Ethan had spotted one man at the helm and two more at the bow, but Wallace seemed very sure of himself, and no lookout watched from the stern, nor from the rigging. Quietly, the Liza’s crew lowered a skiff into the water, with Billy Oakes and two others hunched low, each man armed with a pistol and long-knife.
Ten minutes passed before Billy signaled silently from the clipper’s stern. The sentries had been overcome, and their own Mr. Denton was now at the Dark Moon’s helm. Silently, the Liza came alongside the larger ship, and held fast.
With a thick line twined around his arm, McAllister leapt from the near gunwale and swung easily across the short expanse of water separating the two vessels. The clipper’s sentries were out of the way and the helm taken, so the Dark Moon’s upper deck was deserted, her remaining crew reveling noisily below. Ethan dropped soundlessly onto the deck, and then motioned the others to follow. Within a minute, eight of the Liza’s crew and two of the men from town had joined him. Meanwhile, unseen by anyone, Harry Eakins slipped from his hiding place, scrambled up onto the gunwale as his captain had done, and swung across to the Dark Moon.
At the open hatch of the Dark Moon’s forecastle, a head suddenly appeared, and a moment later, a lone sailor appeared on deck, busily lighting a pipe. At McAllister’s signal, Billie Oakes stepped behind the unlucky sailor, clubbed him across the back of his head with a belaying pin, and dragged the fellow’s limp body beneath a longboat, where two other members of Wallace’s crew already lay, gagged and hog-tied. A short distance from the hull, the lifeless body of the Dark Moon’s helmsman was floating away into the fog.
McAllister cocked his pistol and edged toward the open hatch, motioning for Billie and the two townsmen to take positions aft of the forecastle hatch, where several stacked barrels would hide their presence. Sounds of a quarrel came from below, and a few seconds later, three men came up the companionway, swearing and scuffling. As each man stumbled drunkenly on deck, Billie hastily dispatched him with the club, and hauled the body aside. Ethan noted with interest that Oakes, despite his enormous size, moved with the agility and grace of a dancer, but the ruthlessness of a pirate—a fortuitous union of talents on a night like this. Billy Oakes was earning himself a considerably larger share of the Liza’s profits.
Thus far, they had accounted for only seven of Wallace’s crew, but shortly thereafter, an eighth was discovered asleep on his watch, and he, too, was dispatched soundless into the sea. On a ship of this size, there could be another eight or more, in addition to Wallace. McAllister sent Hayes and Roberts aft to learn the whereabouts of the ship’s officers, if any. Latter-day pirates tended to be a democratic bunch, and designated “officers” were rare.
McAllister counted again, praying that he was correct about the number of Wallace’s crew. A miscalculation at this juncture could be disastrous, and possibly fatal. Emily was somewhere on this vessel, and every wasted moment put her in even greater peril.
Minutes later, Hayes returned, grinning broadly, with welcome news. Three more of Wallace’s men were down, and their bodies overboard. And further good news: one of the captive townswomen had been rescued.
“Roberts is still back there, Captain,” Hayes whispered. “On the watch for more of these godless heathens. We didn’t find but two of them in the aft cabins, a
nd another in the head, but Wallace is there, for sure. We could hear the devil laughin’.”
Ethan nodded.
“One more thing, Captain,” Hayes added. “There’s a woman in there with him—Miss Fowler, unless I miss my guess.”
John Turner scowled. “Go find her, Ethan. The men and I will handle the crew that’s left below. The whole lot’s sound drunk.”
McAllister shook his head. “Not yet. We don’t know where the rest of the women are.” He looked around the darkened deck. “Hayes, drag that pile of canvas to the hatch and set it afire. That ought to bring them up.”
“It’ll bring Wallace up, as well, Captain,” Hayes replied doubtfully.
“I’ll take care of Wallace. Just be careful, for God’s sake, all of you! This isn’t the sort of duty you signed on for, and I’d hate like hell to explain your loss to the Liza’s owners. Insurance, you know. Good luck, and watch yourselves.”
Ethan moved softly to the quarterdeck, then down the companionway toward the cabins. And then, from behind the last door, he heard Emily scream.
At the precise moment that Gilbert Wallace began to thrust his engorged penis between Emily’s legs, intent on finally impaling his struggling prey, something or somebody burst through the cabin door, splintering it. Wallace was able to bellow one short oath before collapsing onto Emily’s chest, his head bleeding profusely. Unable to turn right-side up because of her attacker’s prodigious weight, Emily could do nothing but hold her breath and wait to see what had happened. It seemed too much to hope for rescue, and yet… Suddenly, an unseen hand pulled Wallace’s body off her, and dumped it on the cabin floor. Emily held her breath and shut her eyes tightly. And then, the same yanked her shift back down to her knees, and tapped her on the shoulder.
“Miss Fowler, I presume?” Ethan asked.
Emily shrieked, and tried to twist around to face him.
“Thank heaven you’re here!” she cried. “Another moment, and…”
McAllister reached over her head to untie her hands. “My God, Emily! Why is it that every time I see you, you’ve got your damned drawers down?”
Emily tried to laugh, but dissolved in tears instead. Ethan sat down on the bed, took her by her upper arms, and looked into her face.
“Have you been … harmed?”
Emily sighed. “I am still a virgin intact, if that’s your meaning,” she replied, blowing her nose noisily. “But I’m becoming intensely weary of ocean voyages, Ethan, and I want to go home to Nantucket.” And then, Emily began to bawl.
For a long while, McAllister held her close to him, while Emily sobbed loudly and allowed herself the immense pleasure of his strong, protecting arms.
A few minutes later, when John Turner appeared in the doorway, Ethan left her there and went above, after removing Wallace’s inert body and posting Billy Oakes outside the cabin door. Emily dressed quickly, and then tried to push past Oakes to go in search of poor Margaret. The big sailor extended his brawny arm to stop her.
“I’m sorry miss, but Cap’n McAllister says you’re to stay here.”
“Let me pass, Mr. Oakes. Captain McAllister may be your employer, but he is not mine!”
Billy blushed. “The Cap’n told me you’d be sayin’ somethin’ like that, Miss, and if you was to try to leave, I was to…” He floundered, mid-sentence.
Emily put her hands on her hips. “Get on with it, Billy! What was it the captain said?”
The big man turned redder, his head down. “He said if you tried to go, I was to put you across my knee and wallop your…”
It was Emily’s turn to blush. “Oh, never mind, damn it! Have you seen Miss Duncan, Billy? Is she safe?”
Billy seemed nervous. “I reckon she’s safe enough, Ma’am, but you better talk to the Cap’n about that poor lady.”
Emily turned pale. “Oh, my God!”
Ethan appeared at the hatch. “You can let her go, now, Mr. Oakes. It’s all clear on deck.”
“Ethan!” she cried. “Thank God! Have you found poor Margaret, yet? Has she been…”
He shook his head. “Violated? Yes, darling, I’m afraid that Margaret has been violated—in a manner of speaking. Certainly not in the usual manner.”
“What on earth do you mean, Ethan? Is she alright?”
“It seems that Wallace’s crew was too drunk to molest her in their customary way,” he explained. “When we arrived, we found the poor woman lashed face down on a table in the forecastle mess, drunk as a lord, naked as the day she was born, and tattooed like a Shanghai sailor.”
“Tattooed? Emily cried.
“I’m afraid so. Crudely fashioned tattoos on both her stupendous buttocks. Mr. Coffin is attending to her … her injuries, now, but I’m afraid they’re going to be permanent. Please stop smiling, Emily! The damned things are grotesquely obscene. Even I’m not sure of their exact meaning.”
“And the other women?”
He chuckled. “It appears that Wallace’s idiots did their kidnapping at the docks. Two of the abducted ladies are of the professional variety, and have managed to turn quite a handsome profit while aboard. One of the town women has been molested, unfortunately, but she’s with Joshua now, and appears in otherwise good health. Are you certain that you’re all right?”
Emily wiped her nose and dried her eyes.
“I’m all right, now. No real damage, other than my pride. What will happen to Wallace, if he lives? Will he be hanged?”
“He will most assuredly be hanged, and not just for the kidnap and rape. There were two men killed in yesterday’s raid, and several injured.”
“As a Quaker, I don’t approve of hanging,” Emily said firmly.
“Nor do I, but in Gilbert Wallace’s case, I’ll be more than happy to make an exception.”
“Because of me?” she asked softly.
McAllister slapped her cheerfully on the bottom. “Well, for that, of course, but mostly because of poor Margaret’s ruined buttocks.”
Emily shook her head. “You are a very unkind man, Captain McAllister.”
“More unkind than you imagine, my love. There is still the matter of your having disobeyed my order not to leave the hotel—the penalty for which we will take up when you’ve recovered from your ordeal. I have in mind a round two-dozen at Mr. Johnson’s hand, or three, at my own. The choice, of course, is yours.”
He strolled through the shattered doorway, and up the companionway to the deck.
“You’re a vicious brute, Ethan McAllister!” She shouted after him. “And a thorough-going bastard!
Chapter Seven
It was several hours before they began the three-hour voyage back to Louisbourg. They left John Turner and most of the Liza’s crew aboard the Dark Moon to see that the ship and the surviving ruffians were delivered to the proper authorities. Emily, Margaret, and the other hostages would return to the city on the Liza. On the voyage, Emily gave what solace she could to the poor woman raped by Wallace’s men. Her young husband was at her side, having been one of the first rescuers to storm the forecastle. His wife was young and strong, and in the arms of her husband now, but her ordeal had been terrifying. When the young woman was finally asleep, Emily joined Ethan at the Liza’s helm.
“She’s finally asleep,” she informed him. “Have there been any injuries among the crew?”
Ethan swore. “Only young Eakins, who managed to fall down a hatch and break his idiot arm.”
“But how could you allow poor Harry to take part in such a dangerous mission?” she cried. “This was no place for a boy of his age and…”
“I did not allow him to come, Emily. Poor Harry was bent on delivering his fair lady from a fate worse than death, and disobeyed my order to remain ashore with the other boys. Would you care to hazard a guess at which lady was on his love-fevered mind, at the time? I swear to God, woman, you have infected my crew with mutiny!”
Emily made a face. “I suppose that means that when we are safely back, I can expect to pay some d
isagreeable price for my many offenses?”
“You suppose correctly. You can expect to have your insubordinate backside set on fire,” he said. “But not tonight. You’ve had a bad time of it, and even I’m not that cold hearted. Within a very short time, however, you and I are going to have a very long and very painful discussion about this habit you appear to have of ignoring every order I give.”
“Well, I did disobey, of course, but I believe that I’ve learned my lesson, now,” Emily conceded, sighing deeply. As an added precaution, she laid her head against his chest, batted her eyelashes and smiled sweetly up at him. “Honestly, Ethan, I truly believe I have finally seen the error of my ways, and turned over a new leaf.”
Ethan chuckled. “Do you, now? Well, my sweet, what I truly believe is that you are the most dishonest creature I’ve ever known. I’m afraid, Emily, that that adorable gesture and innocent smile have availed you nothing. The discussion will commence promptly upon our arrival in Louisbourg—and will include an extra six swats for attempted bribery.”
Seeing that her feminine wiles had not worked as well as she had hoped, Emily flounced off and went below to check on Harry and Margaret.
The governess lay in Ethan’s cabin on her stomach, her embarrassing injuries discreetly concealed under a blanket. After having wailed without pause for the first hour of the voyage, Margaret was finally asleep. When she would allow no one to touch her, or to view the dreadful tattoos, Emily had eventually despaired of consoling her friend and left the poor woman to cry herself to sleep.
“Margaret, dear,” Emily had begged earlier. “You must believe me. There is absolutely no shame for you in what has happened. And besides, perhaps something can be done to—to eradicate your injuries.”
When Margaret howled with despair, Emily offered a second suggestion. “Do you remember how I used to rid myself of my summer freckles? Perhaps there is a cream or emollient that will lighten the…”