The realization hit her deep. Pirates. Would she survive? Did she have a choice? Another pang came to her belly and this one she recognized clearly. It shouted hunger. She tried to find a clue as to the last time she ate anything but the blackness in her memory yielded nothing. A glance around the captain’s quarters gave no glimpse of food. Now what was she to do? She was tired of trying to get her memory to work. Whatever happened to cause it to vacate her must have been terrible. The soft swelling and shooting pain on her head verified that. How she got onto a pirate ship was also beyond her recall. But hunger now took control and she needed to find something or pass out.
As she spun on her heels to leave and demand something to eat, she spied a looking glass above the chest to the side of the small room. How she’d missed it before, she didn’t know. A quick look showed just how totally disheveled she was. She frowned. A lady. Without knowing more, she did know she was of better quality than the rapscallions aboard this ship. But she was a mess. The cabin surely had other clothes in it, no doubt for him, but he could share, she decided. Over on the wall, near the looking glass, were two linen shirts hanging from pegs and a pair of trousers. She yanked them off the hooks and, after a quick look to make sure the door was closed and the sound of silence still reigned, she pulled the tattered dress off and shrugged the shirt over her head. It billowed above her knees. The coarse linen pants were way too big and fell to her ankles but she didn’t care. Snagging the rope that kept the chest secured to the wall, she tied it about her waist to keep the pants up. Instantly, she felt more covered than when wearing the dress.
Another glance into the glass reminded her she wasn’t finished. With a quick yank, she freed her mane and she used her fingers to loosen the tangles. Pulling it all up into a knot in the back of her head, she pinned it in place. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do. She plucked up a hat on the back of his desk chair. It was a big brown felt piece, worn and floppy. Jamming it on her head transformed her from the lady without a home to a pirate look-alike.
Pleased with herself, she padded to the door and inched it open. Two sailors nearby busily coiled rope. Neither glanced at her. Elated they ignored her, she stepped onto the deck and scanned the horizon before her. Captain Cavendish talked to another man on the other ship. Various crewmen milled about, piling goods near the plank that took them back to the Equuleus. Standing still, she inhaled the fresh air, the scent of sea mixed with gun smoke easily tasted. Which made her stomach growl again. The sound was loud, though no eyes turned toward her.
“Aye there, lassie!” The thick Irish brogue whispered in her ear and she jumped. “If I were ya, I’d refrain meself,” he added.
With a gulp, she stared at the sailor next to her. Big and bulky, he stood, with his hair pulled back in a queue and laugh lines etched near his eyes. His gaze roved down her in her borrowed clothes and instantly she cringed, her cheeks turning hot as she no doubt was blushing and her toes curled, as if to try and hide. The billowy shirt hid her narrow waist and her breasts but if the wind blew wrong, too much would be displayed. She swallowed her fear, straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin as she returned the look. Hunger pushed her to be forward. That was the excuse she’d use, unless she really was so bold. But he grinned at her, and that made her determination to find food return in full force.
“Pardon me,” she replied. “I’m simply too hungry to keep hid till whenever Captain Cavendish returned.” She hoped that sounded proper enough, though why on this ship she cared was beyond her reasoning.
“Hungry, are we? And the capt’n didna have you fed?” At her negative shake, the man grabbed her hand. “Well, let me see if I canna help you. I’m First Mate Fitzgibbons, at yer service.” He tipped his head.
For once, manners! She smiled. “Nice to meet you, especially if you can help me find the kitchen.” She bit back saying she couldn’t recall who she was.
“Ya, lassie, here it’d be called the galley.” He chuckled, obviously ignoring her lack of name.
“Wonderful! Would you please be so inclined to put me in the right direction? I fear if I don’t have a nibble, I may fall.”
His grin slightly faded as he took in the decking and across to the other side. No one had noticed her yet but a clutch of pirates were returning, rolling barrels across the plank,.
The first mate took her hand and spun her about. “I believe it would be best if’n I fetch ya a few morsels without notice.” He took her to the side of the ship away from the crossing planks to a bench surrounding the hold. He sat her down there. “Shove that hat down missy and dunna think of gittin’ up. I’ll be back right soon.”
She’d do whatever he said if he brought her food. With a nod, she startled when his hand squeezed hers before he set off. She tried not to think too much into it. Apparently, he was not like his men, who held the superstition that she, as a woman aboard, was bad luck. Not that she had made a beeline for this ship, that she was sure of. Out of a veiled memory, a muted scene of her flying through the boardwalk near the water, her terror stalking her every move. A single leap onto a ladder that lead upward to the docks and running upon a wet wooden plank crept into her mind. Excited at the hint of her past and scared by what she saw, she said nothing and then her stomach growled. Food—how she needed some for without it, she would no doubt act rashly and that could work against her present condition.
The sun beat down on the ship and the heat warmed her. The coolness of earlier, from winds bracing across the deck, dissipated under the heat of the rays. With the hat on her head, she didn’t feel cooked. A slight breeze wisped against her and the combination rejuvenated her. And when the Irishman returned, shoving a small bowl filled with some stew and a lump of bread, she wanted to sing. Instead she took a large bite of the bread after dipping it in the bowl and the man laughed.
“May I request a spoon from you?”
Fitzgibbons laughed. “That, my dear, is wha’ the bread be for.” He sat a mug beside her as she made another swipe in the bowl. “Here, a mug of wine. Now it ain’t the type you be use to, but its all we got.” He winked.
Pulling the tankard up, she could smell the red wine before the first swallow. It was no better than she’d thought so for this place. It was slightly off taste, overly bitter, but it burned its way down, quenching her thirst.
“Thank you.”
He nodded and walked away.
Quietly, she ate, keeping an eye on all she could see. The first set of pirates returned with barrels that they took to the hold. More crossed the bridge. Cavendish wasn’t one of them. In fact, she couldn’t find him any more on the other ship nor on this one. It unsettled her and that made her confused. The man had left her starving, scared to leave his cabin for fear of her life but now she wanted him back?
No one had gazed in her direction. Perhaps the outfit worked. She prayed it did. As she finished the last of the stew and swallowed the bitter wine till the cup was empty, she stood. More pirates returned, not all carrying goods from the ship. The confidence she had fled as they walked over the bridge, making her long to be in those quarters.
Mr. Fitzgibbons stood near the planks, writing in a ledger, and he glanced at her. He gave her a brief nod. It was a message that he’d watch over her if she wished to stay. She gave him a shy smile and with a small sigh, closed her eyes.
The sounds of the ocean currents sloshing against the boat, the rocking of the ship lulled her to ease. For once, the fatigue of everything was inching into her soul. Nothing was normal for her. But until she could get a foothold on where she was, who she was, nothing was right. What she witnessed in the attack on the British ship was wrong. Being on this vessel wasn’t her. These clothes were definitely not her style. If she could just rest, perhaps it would fall into place…
The men below in the hold spoke in English but with a few words she didn’t understand. It made the speech sing-song, like a bird. Yet a word broke through that wasn’t. The tone also changed. It was in Spanish. She tilted her
head but kept her eyes closed, listening. The words came to her, and her mind translated them.
“Once more, we strike for a prize that falls too short of reward.”
“Yes, but he’ll claim it was worth far more, mark my words,” the other pirate retorted.
“Last haul, we gained but handful of wealth that lasted only one day at port.” the first one spat. “In the name of God above, I will not fall that far short again.”
There was a rustling she heard, like they were rummaging through a box of metal pieces. Her mind put silver pitchers and serving pieces in it and she laughed inwardly. What would pirates want of a tea set?
“Carlos, this box has far more worth than the rest,” came the excited pirate. “I refuse to share this,” he added with a snarl.
“Pedro, I have found more trinkets…” his friend murmured. “No one knows we have these. The crates marked them as tools.”
Carlos laughed low and sinisterly. “Then let us replace just items with tools…”
A loud splash against the boat underneath her drowned out their voices and her eyes snapped open. She strained to hear more but could not through the waves and the sound of more men returning. Without actually bending forward, she tried to peer down into the hold for a look at the culprits who plotted to steal from Cavendish, who stole from the ship across the way. But her eyes couldn’t adjust from being shut to pure sunlight.
“What, may I ask, do you think you’re doing out here?” The voice was deep, sensual and made her jump, which caused her hat to fall and the cascade of curls fell from wayward pins. Fear raced through her.
Cavendish stood before, fire in his eyes, his legs planted like trees, unmoving and his arms akimbo. “Speak, before I throw you to the sharks and rid my ship of bad luck.”
She gasped.
* * *
Since when did he threaten women? Especially ladies? He could faintly hear his mother’s voice, a woman long since gone from this world, admonishing him for speaking such words to this waif dressed in men’s clothing. Correction—dressed in his clothing. His emotions were a mixture of disbelief, amusement, irritation, and attraction all whirling inside him. Particularly how the oversized shirt and loose pants seemed to enhance her beauty, tugging at the carnal beast inside him that he believed long dead and dormant. The linen cloth, especially with the neckline, gave hints of a cleavage and breasts beneath it. No doubt her nipples would have shown through the loose weave but since they didn’t, he could only imagine she still wore her stays. Pity… The pants, larger than her body’s size, bound by rope at her narrow waist, only enticed him to imagine the shapely form beneath the material. Fire sparked in his loins and grew with each second she stood before him. His cock thickened, the hardness forming only reminded him it’d been too long. He tightened and that set off a new round of emotions inside him in reaction to this need that brewed deep.
Irritation at her grew exponentially. The finale blurt of how the sharks would rid him of an evil spewed out of his lips before he thought clearly. Damn! Even now, her eyes were wide open and her upper lip trembled. It was a mistake to notice because he now saw the bread crumb that had remained on her rosy-hinted lip. The piece beckoned to him to invade her mouth, a mouth framed in soft flesh, the type he’d seal his own to….
The fire inside him inched another notch hotter. His cock stirred, stiffening at the mere suggestion of her clad in clothes that could easily be ripped off. His mouth dried. He hadn’t felt this way since Rachel. Memory of his wife should’ve shunted his attraction to the lass immediately, as it had for the last dozen women, ladies to strumpets, who had tried to seduce him. But this woman didn’t. In fact, she stirred his body to life.
With a growl, he grabbed her wrist and yanked her to her feet as he turned to take her away from the deck, where prying eyes witnessed the interchange. Last thing he needed was a boat of pirates thinking this girl was a treasure to be conquered and shared. She winced at his grip but he had no time for niceties. His body craved attention and his mind demanded he maintain control of this ship, this crew, as they came closer to the prize he wanted.
Reeling her into his cabin, he kicked the door shut. “For a lady, you appear to have run from all the rules of society. Stowaway on a pirate ship, unable to follow the simplest of instructions, and helping yourself to another’s clothing, which I do believe is called stealing.” He seethed with each word but managed to quirk a tight grin at the end.
The fear in her eyes disappeared. “How dare you accuse me of being either stowaway or thief! As to your orders, I did remain here but that would have left me to starvation!” She stood, shoulders back, tense. Her face flush with a glowing red. And that damn crumb that didn’t budge. The hunger for her grew.
Then, her tongue slipped out, stole the bread from her luscious lips and darted back inside. His breath skipped.
“As to borrowing your clothes…”
His brows inched higher. Borrowing. He’d never wash them again, a voice deep inside him snickered. His cock twitched.
“It was deemed better to keep my tattered gown on, a dress destroyed by my escape, on a ship full of men?”
“Escape? Your memory returns?”
She shook her head. “No. I have images, very short, and a feeling of being chased. That must be how I ended up on your ship, not to sail away with pirates, but to escape.”
Unfortunately, it was a wrong choice to fall onto this vessel. They were at sea, nothing more could be done for the moment. He started to pace.
“It may bring more awareness to you if we return you to the docks. Perhaps your family will be looking for you.” He paused and looked at her. “Or your husband?” Though a quick glimpse at her hand showed no signs of a wedding band or even an indentation one had been there. He battered the quick excitement that raced through him of her being free of marriage. What the hell was he thinking?
The blood drained from her face turning it ghastly white with fear and those stunning blue eyes widened again.
“No! Please! Do not take me back there!”
This Love Of Mine: Chapter Seven
James raced through the wharf, searching for any evidence of Eleanor. He had not thought Dryer’s was a name hard to find but neither had he frequented the waterfront and its many stores and warehouses. Of course, what if it was a ship’s name? He scanned the horizon hours ago and was greeted by a multitude of ships. It was too much.
Clearwater caught up to him as they topped another slope of wooden walkways.
“I dare say, ole chap, wherever might they’ve taken her?”
“If I knew that, I’d have her back in my arms.” He swallowed his frustration and adjusted his waistcoat. The skies were clearing and once more, the air was thick with moisture and rising heat.
Clearwater skidded on the damp wooden walkway. “I really had no notion the dangers of being here. No wonder proper gentlemen do not linger in the shipyards.”
James snorted. “No, it lacks your quality of prime entertainment. No boxing house, fencing yards, mews or ladies anywhere here I’ve seen. Lowly gin joints, women of loose quality and sailors and dockworkers that could pound a fist readily into any likely gent, though abound.”
“Since we are speaking of better amusements…”
James shook his head, still walking and scanning for names on buildings. “We are not.”
Clearwater ignored his words but continued plowing after him. “Perhaps a minor break would refresh you, and me, of course.”
In that split second, James stopped and turned, halting his friend.
“I know she is not your wife, nor is she a concern to you in any fashion, outside being my wife. While I do appreciate your aid, I would understand if you chose to find other
entertainment.”
Clearwater’s mouth dropped open in shock. “James, I have been your friend throughout our entire lives. You need help and while you have servants spread far searching, what type of friend would I be to abandon you now?” H
e slapped James’s arm. “Besides, what better way to get a kiss from the lady and be touted a hero in aiding you finding her? Harrumph!”
With that, James couldn’t help but chuckle. “Now, that sounds like you. Come, we’ve turned this section dry. Onto the next.”
They marched another set walkways before they came upon two surly men nailing boards over hole in the wall, their grumblings along with their audible spitting was too much to be missed. And above the doorway, on the side, was a sign that read Dryer’s Imports. James took off toward the ruins.
“Say here,” he said, sliding to a stop on the wet boards. “We were hoping you might aid us.”
The two workers glared at them, one with spit at the corner of his mouth. Both looked like ragged dock workers and not happy with the current job. Neither one spoke. Ill-mannered brutes.
“I’m looking for…” he began, but Clearwater interrupted him.
“Hate to bother you chaps but we can make it worth your while.” He nudged James.
“Ah, yes.” James reached into his waistcoat and withdrew a couple of shillings. “Perhaps this will amend for you taking a break from your current endeavors.”
The older one didn’t wait and snagged the coins. “Whatcha be wantin’, gov’na?”
“I’m looking for a lady, one who is fair of skin and brown hair. One perhaps drawn here by others…” he paused, eying them and deciding they were exactly the type he was thinking of. “…of ill-will. Have you seen such a lady?”
The man toyed with the coins, his lips drawn tight. The other one jabbed him.
“Yes sir, we done seen a chit like that,” the smaller man answered. “In fac’, she was the one who made this damn hole—”
“Yes, we’ve seen the type,” the first man interrupted. “Must’ve been holed up here, from the looks of it. Heard she escaped.”
Her Perfect Gentleman: A Regency Romance Anthology Page 6