by Hatch, Donna
When he spoke to the others, Elise stared. “You’re an Englishman.”
The young pirate’s lip curled. “England never did nothin’ fer me ’cept treat me like a slave. ’igh society ladies like ye never cared fer the likes o’ me or mine.”
He gave the ropes a vicious jerk. Violence, not lust, radiated from him. She shrank from his hatred. To her relief, the men turned away and ignored her as they saw to their tasks.
The sun beat down upon her while the chill wind whipped her hair. Constricted by the ropes, her limbs throbbed and then numbed. Slowly, the other vessel neared.
Captain Leandro called, “Now, Santos!”
“Prime your guns,” the man with the braids shouted. “Fire!”
An unwarranted surge of concern flittered over Elise’s heart at the thought that Jared might suffer injury. She stamped it down. He did not deserve her concern.
He was a liar. A pirate. A murderer.
A deafening roar erupted from the nearest cannon. The concussion pressed Elise against the mast. Her ears rang. The Venture rocked slightly while a puff of smoke rose up from the muzzle and the smell of gunpowder stung her eyes and nose. Her heart beat an unsteady staccato.
The three-masted ship steadily neared, its sails full and glorious against the cobalt sky and turbulent waves. With a brief flash of orange, a gun on the Sea Mistress replied and a cannon ball sailed toward them. Her mouth dried. If Jared’s ship were firing at the Venture knowing she was on board, he must not be overly concerned with her safety. His motive must truly be revenge, not rescue. The realization saddened her more than she cared to admit.
The cannon ball blasted through the side of the Venture near the back. Splinters erupted. The Venture trembled below Elise’s feet, throwing men to the deck. Terror choked her. She could die in this battle, a mere pawn in some deadly game these pirates played. What would happen to Colin if she died?
Swiftly, the pirates sponged out their cannons, rammed in cartridge and balls, and sparked the powder before sending out another volley. Most of the balls failed to hit their intended target. The Sea Mistress sent another salvo hurtling toward them. The right side of the Venture near the rear of the ship exploded, showering wreckage in all directions, and ripping into an unlucky few men. Despite their abhorred profession, the men’s screams wrenched Elise’s heart.
Leandro’s crew retaliated, but not before another round of deadly missiles battered the ship. The Venture shuddered, and the nearest gun was blown into the center of the deck under a shower of fragments, killing or wounding those who manned it.
Choking smoke swirled above the deck, reducing visibility. The screams of dying men and the horrible crash of balls tearing into the ship dulled Elise’s senses.
As they drew closer, the vessels no longer fired cannon balls. Instead, the Sea Mistress launched metal shards and nails. The shards rent the sails into tatters, and tore with equal deadliness into men in their path.
Appalled at the destruction, Elise stared in mute horror. Her heart hammered in her deafened ears and her gown dampened with perspiration. Vaguely, she noticed that all the fire coming from the Sea Mistress focused on the rearward part of the ship, even though the Venture had turned and exposed its broadside to the enemies to give all its big guns the ability to fire.
The cannons fell silent as the Sea Mistress sailed ever nearer, and pirates shot one another with personal firearms. Men crumpled, and others took their places. How they could see their targets clearly enough to hit anything through the drifting smoke, she couldn’t imagine. The Sea Mistress drew alongside.
Grappling hooks clawed onto the railing as sailors pulled their ships together, while others swung onto Venture’s deck on long ropes. Combatants threw down their spent guns and hacked at each other with swords, knives or clubs.
Sickened at the carnage, but unable to look away, Elise watched as murderers and scoundrels clashed with a fervor that exceeded her imagination. As bodies piled up and blood flowed freely, Elise saw the grim wisdom of using sand on the deck.
A dark form landed lightly in the middle of the deck and cut a swath of death around him. Many of Leandro’s men fell back rather than face the terrible blade and its ruthless wielder.
“Leandro! Come and fight me man-to-man, you cowardly dog!”
The smoke cleared. Wearing only a linen shirt, brown leather breeches and boots, Jared stood with his feet wide apart and brandishing a bloodied sword. Wind ruffled his dark hair and whipped his shirt about his muscular form.
He’d survived the battle. An appalling and unwarranted relief poured into her.
Jared’s mouth twisted into a cold sneer. No, not Jared—a pirate who used that name. But even now, she could not think of him by any other name.
Captain Leandro chortled. He dispatched his opponent and turned to Jared.
Sailors drew back as the opposing captains faced each other.
Leandro hurled insults at Jared, some in English, many in Spanish. They circled. Jared feinted. They came together with a clash. The clang of their swords cut through the noises of battle around them. No mere fencing match, these were two mortal enemies clearly bent on killing one other.
The Spaniard taunted and made a great deal of noise with flamboyant moves, but Jared remained silent, focused and lethal. He moved with deadly grace, warily watching, keeping his defense tight, striking out with accuracy.
Leandro howled in pain as Jared’s blade cut his shoulder, and he shifted his sword to his other hand, adjusting his stance. Jared came at him again. Leandro fell back. Their swords flashed in the sunlight as they struck with bone-jarring force. They leaped back and circled. Leandro lunged, aiming for the heart.
Elise let out a gasp of alarm.
Jared parried and drove him back. Leandro fought with increasing desperation. Jared fought with more savagery.
Leandro’s shoulder bled freely and he showed signs of tiring. He no longer lunged, but merely kept Jared’s sword from driving home. His breathing grew ragged, his eyes desperate and wild. “Dog! You die today!”
“One of us will surely die. It will not be me.” Jared’s calm voice carried over the mêlée.
“Before your body has cooled, I will ravish your woman.” Leandro leaped forward driving in his sword.
Jared’s blade deflected Leandro’s. They remained locked together while their swords slid down with a hiss. They disengaged and sprang back. His sword arm bleeding from a fresh wound, Leandro hurled another series of insults at Jared as they thrust and parried, but again, Jared remained silent. As the battle raged, the Spaniard breathed with more effort. Snarling and dancing, Leandro wormed through Jared’s defenses and nicked him on the chin.
Elise caught her breath.
Jared gave no reaction. Unheeded blood dripped off his chin and onto his white shirt. Leandro let out a cry of victory. They came together. Jared plunged his sword through Leandro’s heart.
Leandro dropped his weapon. It clattered on the deck. Jared wrenched his sword out of his foe’s chest and watched impassively as Leandro fell forward and landed on his face.
With a battle call, Santos flew at Jared.
Jared dispatched him with less effort. He calmly surveyed the battle around him while his opponent fell at his feet.
“That’s for Greymore,” he said to the body so quietly that she barely caught the words.
All sinewy grace and raw strength, Jared climbed to the quarterdeck. Blood dripped from his sword onto the deck. He stood fierce and deadly and handsome.
Even though she’d witnessed how coolly he delivered death, her heart skipped at the sight of him.
She must be losing her mind.
Looking over the men, he raised his voice and spoke in Spanish, and then in another language Elise did not recognize. Portuguese, perhaps? Then he shouted in English. The wind made it difficult to hear, but she caught the words of invitation to join him and share in his plunder.
Sailors who’d been trying to kill each other moments ago now broug
ht out bottles and passed them around, sharing drinks like old friends.
Jared swaggered purposefully toward her and stopped to slowly look her over.
She stared back in uncertainty. If she had not known his face and form so well, she would never have recognized this dangerous, battle-hardened man. Sweat ran off the ends of his disheveled hair. A days’ stubble shadowed his face. His open shirt, dirty and spattered with blood still dropping from his chin, clung to his muscular chest. He wore no cravat nor waistcoat nor frockcoat and his boots were scarred and rough. He smelled of gunpowder, blood and death. But at the moment, he seemed a welcome relief from the repulsive Captain Leandro.
Jared picked up a loose piece of a sail and carefully wiped his sword before he thrust it into the scabbard at his hip next to a long knife and a pair of pistols. He eyed her as if she were a horse, and without even a glimmer of recognition.
From over his shoulder, she saw pirates behind him, watching. Men of all nationalities, they looked equally vile. Some handed their bottles to others and advanced upon her hungrily.
“A fair prize for a fair day’s work,” Jared drawled as he looked at her. He turned his back to her and faced the pirates. He unsheathed his sword in a flourish. With his sword raised, he shouted, “I claim the woman.”
More than a few of the men looked disappointed as others translated.
“What about equal share?” someone muttered.
“That don’t apply to women, half-wit. It’s in the articles,” came a low reply from another.
Jared’s back stiffened. Whatever expression he wore silenced the pirates. No one else spoke against him.
“Dubois, make sure the new recruits understand the articles of agreement. Anakoni, see that whatever plunder we take from the Venture is divided. I’ll count the woman as my two shares.”
With a turn, he advanced upon Elise. She searched for any sign of the Jared Amesbury she thought she knew, but he remained as impersonal as if they’d never met.
He pulled out a knife. Her heart leaped into her throat. He wouldn’t actually harm her, would he? The knife came closer, aiming for her chest. She shrank back, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
He used the knife to saw on the ropes binding her. Her relief lived only until he paused and leaned in with an ugly grin almost identical to Leandro’s. All hope of rescue from this hardened, ruthless man fled.
Perspiration ran down between her shoulder blades. How could she have ever cared for this vile man? Anger surged, and she glared in defiance rather than fear.
The last rope snapped in half under his blade. Moving too swiftly for her to react, he threw her over his shoulder. She thrashed against him, but his shoulder pressing into her stomach drained her strength. He strode between the pirates who parted for him, climbed onto the railing, waited for the next wave to crest, and leaped to his ship. He carried her across the deck and through a door. Only after he shut and bolted the door did he set her down.
As his eyes locked with hers, his face transformed from the ruthless pirate Black Jack to Jared the gentleman, looking as desperate as the night he’d come to her with news of his father’s death. “Are you hurt?”
She blinked at his sudden metamorphosis.
“Elise?” He touched her shoulder.
Too shocked to respond, she simply stared.
“Did they harm you?”
Numbly, she shook her head.
“Did they touch you?”
She understood what he meant and shook her head again.
“Elise.” He uttered her name almost as a prayer of thanksgiving. He closed his eyes briefly. “I’m sorry you got dragged into this.” With his eyes upon her, he raised his hand to her face.
Repulsed, she stepped back.
His aquamarine eyes searched hers. “I have much to explain, but I can’t right now.”
“I already know.” Her voice sounded tight and hard even to her own ears. “You are the pirate Black Jack.”
He glanced toward the door. “There’s more.”
She held up a hand. “I don’t want to hear it. All along, I sensed that you played some kind of role. Now I know. How clever you must think you are to have fooled us all.” Tears filled her eyes. She tried to curb them, but they streamed down her cheeks.
“I never lied to you.”
“Everything was a lie.” A sob ripped through her.
Voices outside the door drew his attention. He looked back. “I know this looks bad, but it’s not what it seems.”
She turned away and put her hands over her face. The real Jared Amesbury was dead. She’d never known him. A heartless pretender stood in his place. Any feelings she might have developed for the man she knew as Jared were for a man who did not exist. She might as well love a fictional character in a story.
Worse, he was one of those reprehensible monsters about whom she’d been warning Colin. And not just any pirate, the most violent of them all.
“Elise, please believe me.”
She whirled on him. “You’re a liar. A thief. A murderer.”
Someone pounded upon the door. “Cap’n, come quick.”
Jared remained still, but his image faded into swirls of light and color through her tears. She turned away. Without a word, he strode to the door, wrenched it open and slammed it shut.
Elise sank down to the floor, and wrapped her arms around her knees. What would he do to her? Would she ever see Colin again?
Defeated, betrayed, utterly lost, she sobbed like a child.
When her tears ran dry, and her shudders quieted, she lay motionless on the floor, completely spent. The room grew dark and her limbs stiffened.
She gripped the edge of a heavy mahogany desk and used it to pull herself to her feet. Dully, she looked over her surroundings. Brass lanterns hung from the ceiling, swinging with the motion of the ship. Shelves lined one side of the room filled with books and curious artifacts from the Orient, Egypt, and exotic cultures she could not identify. A table and several chairs hugged the corner behind the desk. The room had a professional feel much like that of a well-traveled attorney. How ironic.
A smaller door to the side opened onto a small bedchamber. Elise looked in the doorway without entering. A thick rug with an oriental design lay upon the floor. Outside a leaded glass window shimmered a glorious sunset.
Someone entered the main cabin. Elise whirled around. Two sailors nodded to her deferentially and set about pushing the desk against the wall and moving the table into the middle of the room. A third approached Elise. His tasteful clothing had a decidedly French flavor. He had a neatly trimmed beard and mustache, and bright, alert eyes. Extended exposure to the elements left his face weathered and craggy.
He removed his hat. “Madame, permit me to introduce myself. I am Jean-Claude Dubois, first mate.” He spoke in the faint accent of a Frenchman who’d spoken English for many years. “The captain sends his respects and invites you to join him for dinner.”
With vague surprise, she realized she did not feel threatened by the Frenchman. He eyed her with curiosity, but without the open leer she’d seen on the other pirates. Another, younger sailor entered carrying a bucket. Though too young to grow facial hair, he towered over her, and his bare arms bulged with muscle.
“With your permission, ma’am?” He thrust his chin toward the bedroom.
Elise stepped out of the doorway, and the youth carried the bucket into the room. The sound of water being poured reached her ears.
The large boy padded out barefoot carrying an empty bucket. Was going about barefoot a common practice aboard ships?
“You may wish to wash first. Dinner will be served momentarily,” Mr. Dubois said. He paused. “Madame, do let me know if there should be anything we can do to make you comfortable.”
Numbly, Elise nodded.
He affected a brief bow and stepped back. She went into the bedchamber and closed the door. Leaning against the door, she listened to the footsteps outside the room, but no one came near
. For good measure, she bolted the lock. It would not stop a truly determined man, but the act made her feel better.
On the chest, she found a small wash basin and a clean, dry cloth. Next to the cloth lay a silver brush, comb and a hand mirror in a matched set. Perhaps he kept such things for all the other women he carried off from ships he plundered. Villain.
A large bed occupied one corner of the room. Rich fabrics, blankets and pillows bespoke a preference for comfort and opulence. Odd, but that seemed to contradict the man she thought she knew. He’d always seemed to show a penchant for simpler things. That must have been part of the role he played. A ruse to break through the barriers around her heart.
The bed loomed large. She wondered how many women had shared that bed with him. Grinding her teeth, she turned away. Another thought halted her.
He might expect her to share it with him.
Could he be the kind of man to take by force what he did not receive by seduction? The gentleman she knew as Jared Amesbury certainly would not. He’d had opportunities to do just that and had not taken them.
But a pirate remained an unpredictable mystery.
In an act of practicality, she washed her face and hands. After removing the few remaining hair pins, she brushed her hair, slowly working out the tangles. She braided it and wound it into a coil at the back of her head. She had so few hairpins remaining that she could not fasten it securely, but at least she felt neater, as if she had some measure of control. Control. She almost laughed at that.
A scratch at the door and a hesitant, “Milady?” called her to dinner.
She opened the door to the fresh-faced lad who’d brought in the water. “I’m not a titled lady. Mrs. Berkley will do.”
Blushing, he ducked his head, murmured something, and stepped back to allow her to pass. The captain’s cabin had transformed into an elegant dining room. Candles flickered, silver shimmered, crystal and china graced the table. Platters of fragrant food waited, tempting her stomach.
Elise sensed Jared enter the room. Her heart pounded, whether from dismay or anticipation, she did not dare examine too closely. No sound came from behind her. She steeled herself and turned to see him leaning against the doorframe, his arms folded over his chest, a hint of a smile hovering on his mouth.