Within a Captain's Treasure

by Lisa A. Olech

  Alice was able to spit out the vile rag Rasher used to gag her. This might be her only chance. If she could break free in the chaos, she could hide away in another part of the ship or beg quarter aboard whatever ship was putting holes in the Delmar. She forced herself to keep her head and wait for any chance to escape.

  One of the men bent to slice at the rope binding her feet. Alice thought to kick him, but with her hands still tied and the other pirate doing his best to break her arms, she wouldn’t get out of the cabin alive.

  A rough hand began to scratch up the inside of her leg. “She sure be purty.” Alice did kick at him then, but he only jeered. “What say we take a quick poke ’fore we bring ’er up?”

  “Capt’n’s waitin’.”

  “He’s just gonna kill ’er.” The man sneered into her face. “He be thinkin’ yer a witch that put a curse upon ’im.” He raked his hands over her breasts. “Ye don’t be lookin’ like no witch ta me.”

  “Leave ’er. Ye want the next back Rasher stripes to be yers?”

  “Be worth the whip.” He wiped spittle from the corner of his mouth.

  “Take orders from yer cock, an Capt’n be havin’ it for bait.” The other pirate laughed, “If’n he be fishin’ for sardines.”

  The man spun on the other. “Sardines? Must be thinkin’ of yer own wee bullocks and twig.”

  A blast of cannon fire brought their attention back to the matter at hand. “Git ’er te the Capt’n, an’ remind me te knock out the rest of yer teeth later.”

  The scene above was chaotic. Men raced about shouting. Several lay dead. Smoke and sulfur filled the air. A blast from the ship off their starboard exploded, splintering a section of the rail, and rocking the Delmar. Alice and her two escorts fell to the deck.

  Breaking free in the confusion, Alice scrambled close to the side rail. She tripped over a body but used the dead man’s cutlass to slice at the ropes binding her wrists. It took several passes to cut through the rope. A rush of freedom filled her veins. She spoke to the dead man as she stole his blade. “I need this more than you. Sorry.”

  “There be the witch who’s brung the plague down on us.” Rasher lorded over her.

  “The Olivia Grace wasn’t carrying the plague.”

  Rasher pointed his dagger at the attacking ship. “That bloody barge is. Ye cursed us.”

  The mysterious vessel loomed large and ominous. It was bedecked with tattered black sails. Great strips of sickly green hung from the yardarms. The decks stood empty. Not a soul could be seen. Were the guns firing on their own? It looked possessed, and abandoned.

  Better to take her chances with spirits than pirates. Alice pointed her cutlass at him. “You’re right. I am a witch, and I’ve cursed you all to the fiery pits of hell. There’s only one way to save your sorry hides. Release me. I have the power to stop the devil ship. Let me go, and you can be rid of us all.”

  Rasher glared at her. “I be as damned as I plan to git. I’d ratha kill ye.”

  Alice slashed out with her cutlass. Rasher growled and lunged at her. She swung on him once more as the Delmar caught another round of fire and lurched beneath her feet. Alice lost her balance and caught Rasher’s hip with the end of her sword. Blood bloomed down his thigh, and he slashed out in anger, missing her as she ducked low to the deck. Rasher moved toward her with his dirk raised high.

  Gripping her weapon with both hands, Alice rose to catch Rasher just below his breastbone. She surged upward. Hot blood coursed over her hands. She released the grip as if burned. Rasher’s eyes, wide with shock, looked to the cutlass protruding from his front before crumbing to the deck.

  More cannon fire shattered a section of rail. Something ripped across Alice’s upper arm. She cried out and clutched at the burning pain.

  Blasts fired all around her as the approaching ship came alive. The black and green rags fell away as bright red sails rose along with a grinning skull emblazoned on a black flag. More than thirty men materialized out of voluminous clouds of red cannon smoke. It swirled about them as they swarmed the deck of the Delmar, looking as if they were arriving from the very bowels of hell.

  Alice picked up a pistol and a boarding ax. If the gun wasn’t loaded, at least it would buy her some of time. From behind, a hand came down to crush her shoulder. Jones. The man who’d stolen her ring. A gaping wound upon his forehead had covered half his face with blood.

  He hauled her against him. “Cap’n won’t be savin’ ye this time, will ’e. Ye’ve seen to that, ain’t ye?”

  Struggling against his hold, she spit, “I won’t be needing the captain.”

  With the pistol trapped between them, Alice said a quick prayer and squeezed the trigger. The ensuing blast knocked her hard against the rail, punching the air from her lungs. Powder burns singed her clothes. Jones clawed at the hole in his chest before he died at her feet.

  Alice shook her head and struggled to regain her senses. A painful ringing in her ears deafened all else. Dropping to her knees, she began a frantic search of Jones’s body.

  Holding the ax poised, Alice reached into bloodied pockets until she found what she sought. With a satisfied grin, in the middle of a hell storm, Alice Tupper pushed Annalise’s ring firmly back upon her finger.

  Chapter 2

  The fierce blow of a cutlass knocked the ax from Alice’s hand as another pair of strong men subdued her and wrestled her across the watery gap to their waiting ship. She thrashed and screeched and caught one man with a vicious punch of her elbow. No doubt winning him a beautiful blackened eye to remember her by if the blue-tongued curse he spat was any indication.

  They hauled her across the decks, through the swirl of red smoke, and down a darkened stairway. Alice strained to see until she was shoved into an aft cabin. The door slammed behind her.

  Panic swelled. She couldn’t catch her breath. Had she truly fought her way from one pirate ship only to land upon another? At least this time, they hadn’t seen fit to bind her.

  She searched the room for something to defend herself. The chamber was as different from the filthy cave of Rasher’s quarters as mud was to milk. This room was spotless. Surfaces clear and uncluttered. Heavy brass lamps were polished and locked tight in their holders. The bunk was neatly made, and a row of diamond-paned windows curved along the back of the ship and sparkled in the sunlight. Open sea and spice were the only smells.

  She lifted an ornate sexton and judged its weight. It might not be heavy enough to kill a man, but it would put a fine crease in his skull.

  Alice pulled the tattered remains of her bodice back upon her shoulder. Her skirts had been reduced to rags and what wasn’t torn was covered in powder burns and blood. Some of which was hers. Her upper arm throbbed as she pulled the fabric of her sleeve away from the wound. If she didn’t tend to it soon, infection was sure to set in.

  She crossed the room to a washstand in search of water. The pitcher was dry—but the finely honed razor lying near by—now, that would come in handy.

  Amid the chaos continuing to rain down from above deck, booted footsteps heading her way had her poised for attack. A tall man ducked to enter the quarters. His broad shoulders filled every inch of the wool uniform of an English Navel seaman. Gray breeches incased long legs and tucked into tall, cuffed boots.

  He glanced in her direction. “Put down my razor.”

  Like hell. “I’ll put it down if you give me a pistol.”

  Her reply stopped him. “You’re in no immediate danger.”

  “Ha. I’ve had enough dealings with pirates to believe otherwise. How many times must I defend my life in a single day?”

  He removed his leather hat. Without a wig, his blond hair was long, the color of corn silk, and pulled back into a tidy queue. “I give you my word.”

  Alice wanted to laugh again, but a jolt of recognition stopped her. It couldn’t be… Stunned, she relaxed her stance and lowered the blade.

  “Good.” He tipped
his head toward her and paused to hang his hat on the back of the door. “I’m Captain G—”

  “Gavin Quinn.”

  Gray eyes narrowed at her. “Yes. How—”

  “I should have guessed. Red smoke. The crimson sails.” Alice scanned the room. “This is the infamous Scarlet Night.”

  Quinn rested his hands on his hips. “Right again. Have we met?”

  “Don’t you remember?” Alice indicated her torn, bloodied clothes. “I was wearing the same outfit. Of course, it was more than two years ago. You look exactly the same. Don’t tell me I’ve aged that much.”

  “Two years? I think I would recall—” He frowned.

  Alice knew the moment Quinn recognized her. His eyebrows pushed toward his hairline. “Bloody hell, you’re the woman from the cave. Port Royal. The one who shot, then tried to behead a duke to rescue Captain Steele and his wife.”

  She’d traveled hundreds of miles to escape the blackest moment of her past, and who should she cross paths with? Someone who had a firsthand accounting of the day that continued to haunt her nights. Alice gave him a contrite grin. “That would be me.” She held out her tattered skirts. “Alice Tupper.” She dipped into a quick, if sarcastic, curtsy.

  “Members of this crew still sing the praises of the great Alice Tupper. It may make things easier for you.” The edge to his voice told her he didn’t think there was anything “great” about her, and she was about as welcome as a case of the pox. Quinn reached out to shake her hand. “Welcome aboard the Scarlet Night.”

  The wound of her upper arm bit when she shook his hand. She fought the gasp catching in her throat. It triggered her eyes to water. Alice pulled her hand from his and lifted the tatters of her sleeve away from the gash in her arm. “I’m sure the tale has been embellished along the way.”

  He frowned again. “You’re hurt.”

  “It’s nothing. A scratch.”

  “From a flying piece of debris, by the look of the wound. It needs to be well cleaned and dressed.” He moved to open the cabin door and called down the galley way, “Neo, bring some fresh water.”

  Alice heard the answering “Aye, Capt’n.”

  Quinn hung up his coat, stopped to roll his sleeves, and began gathering things: clean linen strips, needle, thread. He poured a single glass of brandy and handed it to her.

  “You needn’t fuss, Captain. I can tend to it myself.”

  “If it’s not done properly, I’ll end up tending a feverish woman.”

  His distain was palpable. Condescending. She didn’t care how striking a figure he made with his dusky-gray eyes and chiseled jaw. Alice’s quick dislike for the “great” Captain Quinn heated her cheeks. “I’m betting it’s been quite a while since you tended any woman.” She spoke into her glass before swallowing the brandy in a single gulp. It burned through her like her growing anger.

  “Certainly never on my ship.” He snatched a clean shirt from another cabinet and added it to the growing stack of items. “Women are two things I can ill afford. Nuisance and distraction.”

  Alice planted her hands on her hips. “Really? Shall I toss my womanly self over the rails, or would you rather I throw myself onto your sword? I suppose I should thank you for saving me from the Delmar, but I’ll not stand here and put up with your…your… arrogance.”

  The captain stood to his full height and crossed his arms over his chest. “You’ll ‘put up’ with whatever I say. You’re not at some garden party. You may have a champion or two aboard my ship, but most of my crew will help you over that rail. And the others—well, they’d more want to throw you onto your back.”

  Her jaw dropped. “And what you have failed to understand, Captain, is I am more than capable of handling myself. I neither require your protection nor your champions. Give me a pistol and a cutlass and find the closest port. I’ll happily be gone from you and your ship.”

  “And clothing?” He swept a hand the length of her. “Let us not forget clothing to cover your obvious charms.”

  Alice clamped her mouth shut to keep from telling him her charms had already gotten two men killed today.

  “It will have to be breeches,” he continued. “We rarely see the need for skirts.” He was close enough for Alice to see the frost of his stormy-gray eyes.”

  “How uncanny, I was debating the very thing earlier. Skirts are quite cumbersome when you’re trying to escape being raped.” Her glare locked with his.

  A quick knock on the door broke the ice dam forming between them. Alice pulled the rags of her top to cover as much as she could and crossed her arms over her chest. A huge man carried in a hogshead of water with a brass tap in its end. He set it next to the pitcher and bowl. The man’s skin was the color of polished mahogany. His scalp was shaved. Wide gold earrings ran through both ears. The play of muscles in his thick arms and across a battle-scarred chest made him an intimidating character. Eyes black as jet pierced her with a stare.

  “Thank you, Neo.”

  “Capt’n.” He lifted a wide hand and tapped a quick salute before leaving.

  Quinn pulled the stock from his neck and pushed his sleeves past his elbows. “Where were we?”

  Alice marveled at the precise efficiency of the man. Every action deliberate and organized. Cool. Restrained. She almost preferred his angry glares. At least there was heat to them. “We were discussing the uselessness of skirts.”

  He added a drying cloth to the small pile of items he’d gathered. “And what remains of your bodice, as well. Take it off, and I’ll see to your wound.” She opened her mouth to protests, but he raised a hand to stop her. “It is not something you can do one-handed. If it is your modesty, cover your breasts. I assure you the last thing on my mind is to ogle you. I have more pressing business on deck, so if you could please schedule your scathing remarks for another time, I would be grateful.” He poured fresh water into the bowl and carried it to his desk.

  Alice narrowed her eyes and clamped her mouth shut. Snatching the shirt he offered, she then turned away and stripped out of what remained of her bodice.

  When she’d covered herself with the drape of his shirt, she turned back to him. His eyes held a fury in them. What had she done now?

  “Who marked you?” His voice was low.

  Alice shook her head. “What?”

  He gestured toward her. “You’ve taken a beating. Fresh bruising about your neck, across your back and shoulders. Who did this?”

  She turned to give him access to her wound. “Pirates.”

  “Which pirates?”

  She lifted her shoulder and hissed at the pain. “It doesn’t matter.” She lied between clenched teeth. The adrenaline of the day had given way to the ache of her battered body. She couldn’t see the bruises he was talking about, but she was aware of every one.

  “It does matter. If it was one of my crew, I’ll see the bastard flogged.”

  Alice shot a glance over her shoulder. Quinn was close. She swore she could smell the sun and salt air on him. She held his gaze. “I saw the bastard killed.”

  All at once, the horror of the day’s events tumbled down upon her. The protective look in his gaze shocked her. He wanted to avenge her attacker? Fight for her honor? When had anyone fought for her? A silent scream echoed in her mind. Never. She was always the one doing the fighting. It made her sick to think of it. More men had died at her hand today. More bloodstains on her soul never to be erased. Tears pinched the backs of her eyes, but she refused to let him see her cry. Alice swallowed the lump in her throat that threatened to choke her and turned her face away from him. A hardened resolve straightened her spine. She didn’t wince when he stitched her shoulder.

  Chapter 3

  Quinn studied Alice Tupper’s profile. The life of a pirate was a heartless and brutal one. However, his men knew if he ever learned of any offenses toward a woman, he would be the first one to keelhaul the cowardly son of a cur. He might have little use for women—especially
aboard his ship—but he wouldn’t tolerate any violence toward them.

  Even this one. She had a rapier tongue that cut in a blink of those gem-colored eyes. Never had a woman raised his ire as quick. But then, he had seen her bruises, and an anger of another sort flared hot in him. The swift call to defend this woman surprised him.

  He took care of her wound taking heed to make his stitches small and neat. She would still bear the mark, but she’d be left with the thinnest of silver lines across the creamy, smooth skin of her arm.

  The entire time he poked, prodded for stray splinters, and sutured the wound closed, she didn’t flinch. Never shed a tear. Didn’t cry out once. A small tremor was the only indication of the shock she must be experiencing. He expected her to crumble into a heap at any moment, but she stood mast straight.

  Taking long strips of clean linen, Quinn braced her elbow against his stomach as he wound the bandage around her biceps. Goose bumps rose along her pale skin as he brushed the tender underside of her arm.

  Beyond the grime and battle wash, she was rather pretty. Her hair curled over her ear, and in dark spirals at the nape of her neck. The long braid she wore must tame the chestnut tresses.

  He smirked remembering the last time he saw her. She was mud soaked and dripping wet from the drenching rains that fell that day. Not a woman who balked at a little dirt, this one. Nor did she faint at the sight of blood. Not even when she was covered in it. Not even when it was hers.

  The room was silent save the creak of the hull and the rush of the ocean. After their earlier bickering, the quiet was unsettling.

  “Almost finished. Tell me how you ended up on the Delmar swinging a boarding ax?”

  “I was trying to stay alive. Rasher thought I was a witch. Believed I brought a plague ship upon them. Your ship. He planned on killing me. There were others. More women. I don’t know what happened to them.”

  She adjusted the shirt covering her chest and continued. “We were traveling to Virginia on the Olivia Grace. I’d secured a position as governess at a plantation there known as Pleasant Ridge.” Her brows knit together. “The men of the Delmar struck without warning. They wiped out our crew. Killed all the men.”