Master Of My Dreams

by Danelle Harmon

  Terrified, she crept backward, toward the door.

  “Come here,” he murmured, softly.

  Deirdre took another step back. Her hand groped behind her—and came up against his desk, and a half-full pitcher of water atop it.

  Her fingers closed around the handle. With all her strength, she hurled it at his head.

  Too late, his arm came up to fend it off. There was a loud crash, but Deirdre didn’t stay to see the results of her actions. With a frightened cry, she dove through the door, hearing behind her his groan of pain, and the sound of his heavy body hitting the desk, then the deck flooring.

  She was past the drunken marine, up the companionway stairs, and halfway across the moonlit deck when unseen hands caught her roughly by the shoulders and yanked her brutally around. Instinctively, her hand came up to defend herself, and was caught in a meaty fist.

  Skunk.

  “Hush, girlie, before ye wake up the whole ship! Christ, I ain’t never heard such a racket in my life! Wot the hell is goin’ on down there, eh?”

  “Get yer hands off o’ me!” Deirdre cried, wrenching free and away from him. Already, others were melting out of the darkness: Teach, not quite so fearsome without his beard; Elwin, the surgeon, stretching his chicken-neck as he tried to see around him; Hibbert, the midshipman she’d scrapped with earlier; Russell Rhodes, dark and sinister in the moonlight; and several others whose names she didn’t know, and didn’t care to know—including the voluptuous, well-endowed doxy.

  “Where’s ’is bloody Lordship?” the big gunner demanded, his eyes narrowing. Beside him, Hibbert stood gawking at Deirdre’s bare legs, until Skunk cuffed him sharply in reprimand.

  “Sleepin’,” Deirdre shot back, with a fearful glance behind her. “What else would a body be doing in the middle o’ the night?”

  “I might ask you the same question,” murmured Ian MacDuff, emerging from below and holding up a large fragment of the pitcher that Deirdre had just hurled.

  She paled, and would have fled if not for Skunk’s restraining hand on her arm.

  “What’s this all about, Ian?”

  “I doona ken, Skunk,” Ian said, frowning. “Found our commanding officer in a rather sorry state.”

  “Sleepin’?”

  “Aye, most definitely,” Ian returned, taking off his cap and scratching his head. He pointed an accusatory finger at Deirdre. “For such a wee kitten, lassie, ’tis one hell of a wildcat ye be!”

  “I was only tryin’ to protect meself!”

  Skunk wrapped a large, grimy arm around Deirdre’s thin shoulders. “What’s yer name, girlie?”

  Ian stepped forward, scowling. “Skunk—”

  “Aw, piss off, Ian,” Skunk said, waving him away. “This is important!”

  “Deirdre. Deirdre O’Devir.”

  “Well, Miss Deirdre, we already got us one lady stowaway, might as well ’ave two. Ye can keep each other company on the passage over. This here’s Dolores Ann Foley—”

  “But I go by the name of Delight,” the woman purred, flirtatiously touching Ian’s arm.

  Deirdre stared at her. “Delight Foley?”

  The woman—who, up close, appeared to be several years older than Deirdre—gave a rich, husky laugh. “You got it, cherie. As in delight-fully.”

  “Skunk . . .” Ian tried again.

  Skunk ignored him. “We knows Rhodes here has orders t’ put ye ashore tomorrow, but we figure we can just hide ye down below with Delight till we’re a ways out to sea, then bring ye both out when it’s too late to head back to England. Ought to rile the new captain nicely, eh? Hell, ’e’s gonna make our lives hell for the next month, might as well return the favor!” The big gunner laughed, elbowed his grinning mates, and leered down at Deirdre. “By the way, we really admire yer attempts to end his Lordship’s life, though ye could use some advice on how to kill someone.” He grinned. ‘Teach here can help ye with that, eh, Arthur?”

  A chorus of guffaws went up.

  “So, girlie, what d’ ye say?” Skunk prompted. “Ye wanna stay with us or go back ashore?”

  Deirdre thought of her cousin Brendan, whose help she so desperately needed if she were to find her brother. “I do have to get to Amerikay,” she said slowly. Then her eyes narrowed. “But I’ll be warnin’ ye. If ye be thinkin’ to see me at the same trade as Delight Foley, ye’ll find out I don’t need lessons from Teach or anyone else about how to kill someone!”

  “Nah, nah, ye’re quite safe. We won’t be touching ye,” Skunk said, boxing Hibbert’s ears as the boy tried to see down Deirdre’s shirt. “Now, if we can only get Ian here to quit being such an old fart, we’d be all set.”

  “I willnae be a part of this conspiracy!” Ian raged, clenching his fists at his sides. “Ye hear me? Ye keep yer bluidy schemes tae yerselves!”

  With that he stormed angrily away, leaving a confused silence behind him.

  “What’s up with him?”

  “Don’t know. He ain’t been ‘imself since the captain had that private meetin’ with him.”

  “He’ll come ‘round,” Skunk muttered dismissively. “So what do ye say, girlie? Ye got anythin’ better to be doin’ for the next month? We told ye our purposes. Now why don’t ye come down to the wardroom and tell us yours, eh? You help us”—he grinned—“and we’ll help you.”

  Deirdre stood unmoving. They were offering protection and safe passage.

  “Well?” Skunk said.

  Far beyond the harbor, the first streaks of dawn pinkened the cold eastern sky. Deirdre thought of her cousin Brendan, a shining vision of hope, somewhere across the sea in a distant land called America. She thought of her promise to her dying mother, and of her beloved, long-lost brother.

  Then she thought of the English captain, strong, virile and dangerous.

  She swallowed hard. Next time, he would not go easy on her. But getting to America was worth the risk. And in the meantime, this rebellious crew would protect her.

  “Can I go back to the cabin so I can get me belongin’s?”

  “Don’t need to.” Milton Lee stood there, holding up her bag of Irish mementos. “It’s already been done.”

  “And you can borrow one of my gowns, cherie,” Delight offered.

  Deirdre raised her chin. “Well, then, just lead the way,” she said and, hugging her arms around her breasts to preserve her modesty, followed her escorts below.

  Chapter 9

  Given the ship’s history, the brig of HMS Bold Marauder had never been used for its intended purposes, and indeed, if the vessel’s builders could have seen what it was being used for now, they would have fainted dead away in shock.

  A floor-length mirror was set up against one bulkhead, bottles of fragrance covered the top of an ornate dresser, and a beautiful Oriental screen of black lacquer portioned off a corner of the small room. The cloying scent of exotic French perfumes choked the air, and a light dusting of powder coated the deck planking, imbuing it with the scent of lilac, lavender and rose.

  The room was dominated by a beautifully-dressed bed.

  Deirdre wanted nothing more than to flee this chamber of sin, but she’d gotten herself into this predicament, and now she could only stand helplessly as Delight, her hands on her voluptuously curving hips, eyed her up and down while thoughtfully tapping a nail against the corner of her mouth. Finally, she nodded, turned, and pulled a stunning velvet gown from the trunk at the foot of the bed. It had a beauty and elegance about it that the Irish girl had never before seen in her life.

  It was also of a color that Deirdre had never before worn in her life—deep, shocking, blood-red scarlet.

  The shade alone was enough to make her blush.

  “You like, cherie?" Delight asked, tilting her head to one side and smiling.

  “I—I can’t be wearin’ that!”

  “Lo, you have the most delightful brogue! You’ll just have to teach it to me, no? Ah, yes, the gown. Let’s see what else I have.” Delight tossed the rich ga
rment over the bed, pawed through her trunk once more, and with an exclamation of triumph, lifted another, her eyes dancing.

  “Aha!”

  The blood drained from Deirdre’s face. “I can’t be wearin’ that, either,” she cried, shocked. ‘There’s . . . there’s no bodice on it!”

  “Oh, there’s a bodice. See? It’s just—transparent.”

  Deirdre hugged her arms to herself. In comparison, the red gown didn’t look so bad after all. Echoing her thoughts, Delight tossed the second dress back into the trunk and grinned. “These two are my most . . . modest, honey. Personally, with that black hair and white skin of yours, I think you’d look devastating in the scarlet.”

  The scarlet it was. Moments later, Deirdre found herself wrapped in the sinful, wickedly seductive gown as Delight, with a needle and thread, took in the bodice to accommodate Deirdre’s significantly smaller bosom. At last she stood back, and clapped her hands in glee. “Aah, you look magnifique—here, have a look!” she cried, and hauled Deirdre to the mirror.

  Deirdre’s mouth gaped open. Never had she worn, or expected to wear, such a beautiful gown in her life. Its color was a striking complement to her black, wildly curling hair, setting off the fine translucency of her skin just as Delight had predicted it would. The neckline was cut shockingly low, lifting and flaunting her breasts; the waist was tightly nipped, flattering her already tiny waist. In style, design, and color, it was not a dress that any respectable woman would wear, and thoughts of being seen in it brought the blood flooding back to Deirdre’s cheeks.

  Thoughts of the Lord and Master seeing her in it deepened that blush to a scalding crimson.

  “Aah, you will melt our handsome Ice Captain for sure with this, cherie! Perhaps your hair should be up . . . no, no, let’s leave it down. Oh, this is great fun. I never dreamed such a dreary passage might have such wonderful possibilities! And look at you.” She lifted one of Deirdre’s spiraling curls. “Aah, to have hair like that! And that cross you wear is the perfect complement to your loveliness, rather pagan, just like you, no? Wherever did you get it?”

  “It belonged to my grandmother,” Deirdre said, “who lived some two hundred years ago. She was a pirate queen.”

  “A pirate queen?”

  “Aye. Grace O’Malley,” Deirdre said proudly.

  “Do forgive me, sweetie, but I’ve never heard of her. The only pirate queen we’ve ever had is Anne Bonney.”

  “Where in France was she from?”

  “France?” The vivacious Delight threw back her head and laughed, her voice full-throated and gleeful. “Sweetie, I’m American. French by marriage, and a short and unhappy one at that, but widowed now these many months and now, on my way back home to live once again”—she gave a theatrical sigh— “with my parents.”

  Deirdre stared at her, confused.

  “Ye’re not French?”

  “Nay, and I’m no courtesan, either, though I am trying to hone my skills as one. Don’t look so shocked, cherie! The French are the world’s greatest lovers—where else would I learn the best ways to pleasure a man? It’s all in the technique, sweetie, getting a man’s body to harden with passion and respond to you with all the lust of an untamed stallion.”

  Deirdre was shocked into speechlessness.

  “My parents expected me to sail home to America months ago, but you see, I wanted to stay in France for a while longer to further my education.” Delight touched her generous bosom and affected a stern look that was totally out of character with her vivacious behavior. “Such scandalous ambitions would never be tolerated back home, and certainly not by my papa! In fact, if he had known what I’ve been up to these past many months, he would’ve moved heaven and earth to drag me back!”

  “And what were you up to?” Deirdre asked, certain that she didn’t want to know.

  “Why, learning how to seduce and net me the Irish Pirate.”

  “The . . . Irish Pirate?”

  Delight cast her eyes heavenward and touched her heart. “Aah, there is a man! A hero back home, you know, and the sooner I can get him into my bed, the better chance I have of winning him for myself! Hair as black as yours and a face to die for . . . like our Lord and Master’s, no? Once, when I was a girl of eighteen, he kissed me . . . but I was inexperienced, clumsy, and not enough woman for him. Well, no more! Now, he won’t be able to resist me! I went to Paris to learn my skills as a woman, to London to learn my skills as a lady, and to Portsmouth to practice everything I’d learned on some of the most notoriously wicked and wonderfully lusty seamen on the planet! And we all know that there is no one more lusty than a sailor, no? Aah, it sets my hot blood on fire just to think about it!”

  Deirdre’s head was reeling.

  “Lo, I simply can’t wait for this voyage to begin! Just think, Deirdre, I’ve a whole ship of sailors to practice my new skills on before I get home. This time, when I get my claws into the Irish Pirate, he won’t be able to resist me. And these past years of living in France have given me a perfect accent. Do you like it? I’ve worked so hard at perfecting it. Men just love this throaty, nasal sound, and if you lower your voice to a whisper—like this—and touch your man a lot while talking to him and stripping him with your eyes, why, it’ll just set him on fire! The combination is lethal!”

  Deirdre was at a loss for words. Her thoughts, unfortunately, were not so impaired. Unbidden, Captain Lord’s handsome face flashed before her eyes and she found herself blushing once more. Then she thought of Delight, practicing her skills on him, and she felt a stab of something that was dark, ugly, and not at all pleasant.

  That something dismayed her greatly, for she instantly recognized it for what it was.

  Jealousy.

  Totally unwarranted, of course, but there it was.

  “What are ye goin’ to do when the captain . . . finds out ye’re aboard?”

  Delight laughed, her voice rich and sultry. “Oh, I have a few things in mind, cherie! But till then, I doubt I’ll have a problem hiding myself away from him . . . Ah, too involved in his own affairs is our handsome commander, no?” Laughing gaily, she hooked her arm through Deirdre’s and guided her to the door. “Now, you go find one of the lieutenants and get yourself hidden away somewhere. We’ll be weighing soon, and you need to be out of sight!”

  ###

  Topside, Captain Lord was just coming on deck to take command of His Majesty’s frigate Bold Marauder.

  Dawn was a new visitor to the day, touching the harbor with pale salmon light. It reflected itself in a million little diamonds over the water’s surface as the cold wind arrived with it. But the frigate’s crew was heedless of the dawn. They were too busy staring at the Lord and Master.

  With no outward sign of the injury that had felled him earlier, he looked terribly proper, well groomed, and the epitome of what a naval officer should be. His uniform was meticulously clean, the gold buttons and gilded lace bright in the early sunlight. His periwig was carefully rolled and tied beneath his cocked hat, and his face was freshly shaved. His coat was as blue as the ocean, and his waistcoat, breeches, and stockings were whiter than sea foam.

  “Holy Moses,” Skunk muttered, exchanging puzzled glances with Rhodes.

  No emotion touched the hard set of the captain’s mouth, nor softened the harsh lines of his face, and the expression in his eyes was guardedly aloof. He made a quick tour of the decks, checking the rigging, the furled sails, the guns lashed in double rows along the frigate’s sides. Mounting the stairs to the quarterdeck, he solemnly doffed his hat, then strode abruptly to the helm, where Wenham stood beside the wheel, the tips of his jutting ears already red with cold.

  Wenham’s shocked gaze roved his captain’s face. “Er, how ye feeling this morning, sir?”

  “Fine and proper, thank you, Mr. Wenham. We shall be getting under way shortly, so please see to it that Bold Marauder does us proud this day.”

  On the gun deck below, Skunk and Rhodes swapped puzzled glances. Aside from a tiredness
around his eyes and a slight swelling on his cheek, their commanding officer looked right as rain.

  “Now what?” Elwin hissed from the rail.

  “Shut up and look busy, else ye rouse his suspicions. He’ll be lookin’ for the girl soon enough,” snapped Rhodes.

  “Why would he? He gave the order for you to put her ashore.”

  Rhodes just smirked and caught the eye of several nearby seamen, who also were hard pressed to contain their guffaws.

  But the Lord and Master seemed more concerned about his frigate than he did about the hellion who’d laid him out cold on the deck of his own cabin. He glanced up at the wind-whipped pennant, then at the feral-faced midshipman, Hibbert, standing faithfully beside Wenham.

  The middie’s uniform was stained and filthy, as if it had never been washed. Christian eyed it flatly, then pulled out a chart tucked near the binnacle.

  “I trust you have another uniform, Mr. Hibbert?”

  “Several.” The youth’s tone was impertinent, his eyes challenging, for he hadn’t recognized the dangerous, silky tone of his captain’s words. “Down in my sea chest . . . sir.”

  The tone in which he said the last word was as insulting as if he hadn’t used the respectful form of address at all, and the boy, snickering, glanced slyly at Skunk for approval.

  Christian was still unrolling the chart, his gaze moving over it. “Then pray, go change out of those rags and into something clean, and report back to me immediately.” He looked up, his eyes now cold and angry. “By God, this is a king’s ship, damn you. Take some pride in that fact—and in yourself, for that matter!”

  He looked back down at the chart. “Mr. Rhodes? A moment, please.”