Within A Captain's Fate

by Lisa Olech

  Ric threw his hands wide. “Then why won’t you speak to me?”

  “Because,” She jerked in a shattered breath and looked away from him. “If I start talking, I’ll tell you how I’m sitting here frightened I’ll never see you again, and how devastated I will be. I’ll tell you how unfair this is. If I were a man, I could fight and make my own way in this world and I wouldn’t be left to the whims of my father.” She turned back to look at him. “I’d be telling you that you’ve ruined me--not in the way you believe, but because I will never be able to be with another man and not think of you. I’ll forever compare the color of his eyes to yours, the shape of his hands, the way he kisses me, touches me. I will forever judge him beside you.”

  She lifted tear-filled eyes to his. “I’d be telling you I selfishly hope and pray that I carry your child in my womb, so I’ll have a part of you to love for the rest of my days. Because, I will love you whether or not I ever lay eyes upon you again, Henri Robbins.” Dropping her chin she turned away from him again. “You’re a…a bloody thief. You’ve stolen my heart and robbed me of my soul and I will never be the same after today.”

  Ric dropped to one knee beside her and stroked her hair. Leaning forward, he whispered, “If I’ve stolen your heart it was only so you could carry mine. Don’t you know how much this kills me as well? You’ve ruined me as well. I’ve only loved one woman before you. When I was no more than a lad. Her name was Nell. A mad man took her life. When she died, I thought I would never love again.

  “But then you dropped into my life, and it was fate reminding me who was the true captain of my future’s course. I fought against loving you, knowing how much it would hurt when I said good-bye to you, because that was the only certainty in weeks of uncertainty. Today was decided the moment we met. I never guessed I’d come to love you this much”

  He moved closer gathering her in his arms, making her face him, and laying a hand upon her belly. “How selfish is it for me to hope you might carry my child, as well? I pray it would be a son, and he would grow into a fine man and protect you where I couldn’t.” Ric lowered his forehead to hers. “But carrying my bastard? Talk about ruining your life. What would become of you then?”

  Jocelyn gave a sob and Ric crushed her to him. She buried her face against his chest. “I don’t want to leave you.”

  Ric held her while she cried. His own throat tightening at the raw emotion of losing her. “You’re so strong and beautiful. Don’t you see what a life you’ll have? Your father will have picked a successful man to be your husband. You’ll live in a grand house, with room after room and gardens and servants to see to your every need.”

  He lifted her chin and continued, “And a bed. A dozen beds. Two dozen beds. You can look your husband in the eye and swear to him in all honesty that you’ve never been bedded by another man.”

  Despite her upset, she smiled. “I swear to you, you’re the only man I’ll ever make love to on the floor of a cave, draped in jewels.”

  Ric ran a thumb under her eye to wipe away the wetness there. “Aye, that is a promise I expect you to keep.” He kissed her. “That reminds me, I have another surprise for you.”

  He rose and retrieved the bundle he’d stashed away inside a rope coil. “I was sorry I only wanted to cover you in gems and gold. You never got a chance to try this on.” Ric unwrapped the oilskin and shook out a silk gown the color of claret.

  “Ric…” Jocelyn plucked at the crumpled skirts. “You took the dress? Of all the treasure to choose from… You risked your life.”

  “Well…” He lifted a fat leather pouch stuffed with gold coin from within the dress’s bodice and shrugged a shoulder. “I am a pirate.”

  Jocelyn took the gown from his hands and held it to her chest. “I can’t believe you did this. It’s even more beautiful than I remembered.”

  “It was the look on your face when you first saw it. I wanted you to have it.”

  She held it up in front of her before laying it down gently and tugging at the cuff of her sleeve. One bare shoulder pulled from the wide neck of her shirt. Was she going to try it on right here? Right now? Ric wasn’t sure he wanted another perfect image of her to haunt all his nights to come.

  An explosion off their starboard side had Ric throwing himself at Jocelyn, knocking her to the decking, and covering her body with his.

  The shot across their bow came out of nowhere. He looked into her panicked face. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded. “Who?”

  Ric raised his head. “Shit.” A ship powered toward them. He’d been so blind to everything but Jocelyn he’d let them sail right into the hands of--

  “Stop by order of the French!” The demand carried across the water.

  “Twenty guns.” Ric muttered as he began lowering the square sail on the sloop to come about and slow to a crawl. He moved closer to Jocelyn. “Looks like you’re going to get an escort.”

  The third-class brigantine towered over them before a boarding party of six dropped onto their deck. All poised to draw their weapons should the need arise.

  Ric stood with his arms wide. Six to one were steeper odds than he wanted to chance. If he played it calm, there should be no reason to draw his pistol.

  “I am Lieutenant Moreau.” A tall, spindly man led the way. The brass buttons on his royal blue uniform caught the sunlight. Red breeches reached down into red stockings. He gave them a sharp nod of his head.

  “Lieutenant.” Ric held the man’s gaze. “What can we do for you?”

  He looked them both over and waved a finger toward the rear of the ship. “You fly no flag, Monsieur. Mademoiselle. You are English, no?”

  “Aye.” Ric scanned the men behind Moreau. This much French wool was making him itch.

  “Français aussi.” Jocelyn added.

  Moreau’s eyebrow pushed up the brim of his hat. “English and French?”

  Ric cocked his head. “Aye, couldn't decide which flag should fly on top.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed at his sarcasm. “This is the Devil's Pearl?”

  “Aye.” A feeling of unease circled around Ric.

  Moreau looked about. “This is your ship?”

  “Aye.” Unease was quick to become suspicion. He wished the Lieutenant would get to his point. Jocelyn had moved closer. He shot her a quick glance.

  “What of your crew?” Moreau turned his attention back to them.

  “Just, us,” Ric confirmed. “Out for a sail.”

  “Is that so? In these dangerous waters?” Lieutenant Moreau scanned the decks once more shaking his head. “The Devil’s Pearl is wanted for the theft of black powder and ten cases of the Admiral’s favorite wine from Fort de Rocher not twenty hours ago.”

  “Really? Well, you'll be happy to know it wasn't us.” Ric hooked an arm and tugged Jocelyn against his side. His body tensed like a spring. If they couldn’t talk their way out of this, he wanted her close. His brain raced to formulate a plan.

  Moreau’s eyes narrowed again and he swept the open deck with his hand. “But this is your ship.”

  Ric shrugged as he struggled to keep his words light. “We traded a leaky skiff for it. The last owners seemed in a big hurry to get away. No doubt they are the thieves you're looking for.”

  The Lieutenant paused before giving them a small smile. “Then you will have no objection to my men searching your vessel?” He snapped his fingers without waiting for a response. “Rechercher sur le navire.” The three men behind him fanned out and began their investigation.

  “Search away.” Ric and Jocelyn exchanged quick glances. After the French had issued their warning shot, she'd been quick in bundling the gown and gold back in their oilskin and shoving the bundle back where he’d first hidden it. Ric couldn't see it in his peripheral vision. He didn’t dare look in its direction. The gown he could explain, but the stolen gold…

  Three of the men went into the large cargo hold below, and the other two
started their search at the back of the ship.

  “We are actually traveling to Tortuga.” Ric offered, keeping his gaze purposefully on the Lieutenant.

  “Is that so?” Moreau countered.

  “Aye,” Ric nodded. The French soldiers moved past them to begin searching the bow. Jocelyn stiffened beside him. “Aye,” Ric rushed, hoping to distract them from finding the stolen gold. “We’re to see Admiral Beauchamp. I have something he’ll enjoy far better than his favorite wine. I have his dau--”

  “Lieutenant?” The three men emerged from the hold carrying four bottles of wine.

  Shit. “Damn, MacTavish,” Ric grumbled under his breath. Man didn't believe in anyone traveling without something to wet their whistle. He's sure if the French looked further, they'd find a stash of rum as well.

  Moreau gave the wine a cursory glance. “You're both under arrest.” He waved a hand at his men before turning away. “Take them to the brig.”

  Two men wrenched Jocelyn from his hold. “Ric?”

  “Stop. You can't arrest her.” The two others held Ric while ridding him of his pistol and cutlass. “You didn't let me finish,” Ric called after Moreau. “Beauchamp is going to be bloody furious when he hears you’ve arrested his daughter.”

  The Lieutenant stopped. Looking back over one shoulder, he laughed. “Nice try, Englishman, Admiral Beauchamp's daughter is dead.”

  They twisted Jocelyn’s arms behind her back. She struggled to pull away. “Get your hands off me.”

  “Hey, let go of her you bastards!” Ric shoved one of his abductors aside. “She’s his…” Turning he swung on the second man. “…daughter.” His fist punctuated the statement, making contact with the man’s jaw seconds before a blur to his right caught the butt of the first man’s pistol before it made contact with his temple.

  Chapter 26

  Jocelyn screamed as Ric crumbled at the French soldier’s feet after the man issued a viscous blow to Ric’s head with the handle of his pistol.

  “Arreter!” Stop! Don’t hurt him. He’s telling you the truth. I am Jocelyn Beauchamp and I am very much alive. I demand you bring me to my father.”

  Lieutenant Moreau snapped his fingers and had the man Ric punched dragged off the deck toward the waiting French ship. Another kneeled on Ric’s spine while he bound his hands behind his back. “Throw both the prisoners into the brig.”

  Ric hadn’t moved. Blood ran over his face. He could be dead. Jocelyn screeched after the Lieutenant. “You must listen to me.” Behind her, iron bands snapped around her wrists.

  Moreau’s mouth formed a narrow slash. He gave her a hard stare before issuing the order to his men. “If you have to, gag her.”

  Jocelyn struggled to keep from falling while she was dragged with bruising hands over the rail of the sloop to the boarding ladder and up to the huge brigantine. On the French ship, the deck teamed with men. More than she could count--not as if she were given the chance. Without ceremony, she was dragged below into the dark belly of the ship, and thrown into a filthy, dank room.

  Landing in a heap, she recoiled at the stench. Air fowl with the smells of rotten hay, bilge, tar and human excrement had her pulling at her restraints to cover her nose and mouth. She tried to bury her face into her shoulder, but the painful pull of her shackles stopped her.

  Indescribable dampness seeped through the cloth of her breeches to chill and claw at her skin. She scrambled to her feet as Ric was tossed in alongside of her with an “Oof,” before the iron door was slammed shut. The sound of the key scrapping in the lock distracted her briefly from the intensity of the darkness.

  “Ric, oh my God.” She tried to focus. Only the tiny barred window in the door let in any semblance of light. She fumbled toward Ric until she found him. With her hands behind her back, she couldn’t lift him out of the muck or even feel to see if he was still alive.

  She dropped down next to him, ignoring the filth. He’d landed on his side. With the horrifying thought of his face laying on God knows what, she pushed at him with her shoulder until she’d rolled his body over. Laying her ear to his chest, she almost wept to hear the strong beating of his heart.

  “Ric, can you hear me?” When he didn’t answer, panic crept up Jocelyn’s spine. “Oh, please say something. Please.” Her breathing started to race, only pulling more and more of the fetid air into her lungs. What was she going to do?

  Then something from the depths of her worst nightmare rustled through the rancid hay and scampered across her ankle. Shrieking, she bolted to her feet. Rats. Dear God, there were rats down here.

  “Get up, Ric. Please…oh Mother Mary, save us.” She stomped her feet hoping it would keep the vermin away from them.”

  A low groan from the floor was the sweetest sound Jocelyn could ever remembering hearing. “Ric? Oh, please be okay.” She kept marching as loudly as she could.

  “Jocelyn?” he moaned.

  “Yes, I’m here,” she gasped. “Thank goodness.”

  “What are you doing?” he groaned.

  “There are rats,” she sobbed.

  “Marching rats?” he mumbled as he struggled to sit.

  Jocelyn didn’t stop. “No, I’m keeping them at bay.”

  “Talking…works just as well.” Ric managed to lean against one of the sidewalls of the small cell before groaning again. “Bloody hell, bastard nearly cleaved my skull in two.”

  Jocelyn moved to sit next to him. “You went down like a sack.”

  “Did I at least knock out the other guy?” He grumbled.

  She pressed close to his side and wished she could hold him. “I won’t be surprised if he doesn’t wake until next week.”

  He looked her over. “Did they hurt you?” She doubted he could see any more in the dark than she could.

  Jocelyn tipped her head to rest on his shoulder. “Not as much as they hurt you.”

  “Damn it. MacTavish stowing that bloody wine really put my neck in a noose.” He shifted to sit straighter. “Wait ‘til Beauchamp finds out they shackled his daughter. Moreau will be on barnacle inspection from here on out.”

  “He wouldn’t listen. I tried telling him again, but he refused to hear me.” A worried thought kept circling Jocelyn’s mind. “What if they don’t take me to see my father?”

  Ric snorted then winced. “Oh, you’ll be seeing your father.”

  “How can you be so sure?” She didn’t dare hope.

  Ric leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. “He’ll have to read the charges against us, before he orders us hung.”

  Jocelyn bumped him with her shoulder. “Saying such things is not funny.”

  “It wasn’t meant to be.” He met her gaze in the gloom. “How long has it been since you’ve seen him? Will he recognize you?”

  “It’s been a few years, but in filthy men’s clothing, with wild, cropped hair, sporting shackles? It may take him a moment. If he can get over the fact I’m not dead.”

  “He must have received word the ship transporting you from France was captured and you were taken to Port Royal. By now, he’s heard reports of the earthquake. No wonder he assumes you’re dead.”

  Jocelyn tried to imagine how her father would have reacted to hearing such news. Would he have suffered? Agonized at the thought of her meeting such a horrific end? Wept for her? Somehow doubting it seemed unkind to him. He was her father after all. While she had lived a life accepting his distance, surely there were feelings there. He was a man not a stone.

  Ric continued. “If he can’t see his beautiful long-haired daughter standing before him in the finest abbey garb, is there something you can say to him, some bit of private information only you and he would know?”

  Jocelyn drew her brows together. “I’d need to think.”

  “Don’t think on it too long.” Ric let out a long breath.

  “I have to believe it will all be fine. I won’t need to convince him. And once he realizes I di
dn’t die in Port Royal, he’ll be so overjoyed, we’ll be released.”

  Ric snorted again. “Not if he learns who I am, and that you’ve been aboard the Scarlet Night this whole time.”

  In the dim light she could see the swelling of Ric’s temple. It was already starting to discolor. She wished her hands were free. Leaning over, she kissed the smooth skin above. “I realize my father can be a tyrant. He has always led with an iron fist. With his men and his daughter. But I believe him to be a fair man, as well. Once I tell him it was you who saved me, it won’t matter what your name, or which ship I happened to traveled on. He’ll be so grateful, he won’t care.”

  “Hope you’re right. In my dealings with the man, ‘fair’ was never how I’d describe him.” Ric closed his eyes again.

  “I am right, wait and see.” Jocelyn didn’t know who she was trying to convince more. “Father will be so happy to see me he’ll insist you keep the damn wine.”

  “And maybe he’ll be so filled with gratitude he proclaims me the next King of France.” Ric scoffed. “Offers me my own fleet of warships.”

  “And the hand of his only daughter?” Jocelyn suggested with a small sigh.

  Ric kissed her hair. “Aye, we shall wait and see”

  It wasn’t to be a lengthy wait. Before too long, the ship slowed. The water rushing past the hull and the creak of wet wood quieted. Jocelyn’s jump of nerves made her tremble. She dropped her head to Ric’s shoulder.

  “We’re entering Tortuga harbor.” Ric confirmed. “It’s shaped like a tight purse. Narrow passage into a small ladle of water, perfect for defending from the fort’s guns above. None come in or out without notice.”

  “I wish I could see.”

  “Fort de Rocher sits high off the shore. You’ll see it soon enough. Two star points on each corner face the sea.” Ric shifted to look at her. “I need you to listen to me, Jocelyn. I’m not sure I’ll get another chance to speak with you.”

  “Don’t say such things.”

  “They’ll separate us when we dock, and I don’t know how long we will wait to be brought before the Admiral or even if we’ll be taken there together.”