Stolen by Starlight: A Pirates of Britannia World Novel

by Borthiry, Avril

  “I won’t deny the thought of bedding you is appealing,” he said, keeping his back to her. “You’re sorely mistaken, however, if you think I’d accept your virtue in lieu of what is rightfully owed to my crew.” Somewhat collected, he turned around. “I’ll ask you again, and for the last time. Who struck you? Was it the same person who bound your wrists?”

  She flinched. “I… I told—”

  “I’m no fool, Maria Elizabeth Brookes, or whatever your name is.” Jake strode back to the table, his shadow hovering over her. “Everything you’ve told me thus far has been a lie, and an insult to my intelligence. Any sympathy I might have had for your plight is fast waning. Be very careful, then, how you respond. I was not jesting about that meal possibly being your last.”

  Unmoving, she stared at him for a moment, her eyes now bright with what looked like tears. Then she hiccupped again. “I have not told you the truth,” she said, “because the consequences of the lie are likely preferable.”

  Jake gave her a dubious look. “Are you saying you’d rather die than tell me the truth?”

  “Only because I fear you will act upon that truth.” She blinked, and a couple of tears escaped down her cheeks. “You’re the captain of a pirate ship, no less contemptible than the vile captain of the French merchant. He is also a man who deals in profit and doesn’t care where it comes from or how it is obtained. The only difference is in the banners you fly. But you are both brigands.” Another hiccup. “Men without scruples.”

  Jake hardened his jaw. “I do not deal in human cargo, if that is your fear.”

  She gasped. “Yet you just demanded a fee of ten thousand gold livres to deliver me back to safety.”

  “To safety, aye. Not to some soulless devil who sees you only as chattel. A ransom demand is not the same as a purchase price.”

  “Forgive me if I do not share your reasoning.”

  “Forgive me if I do not allow my crew to take charitable risks on your behalf. We’re buccaneers, not bodyguards.” He placed both hands on the table and leaned toward her. “I’m done with your lies, lass. Any more of them, and you’ll be breathing salt water. Tell me your name.”

  She gaped at him for a moment. “You’re despicable.”

  His gaze fell to her mouth and studied the soft, generous curve of her lips. Christ, the woman was tempting.

  “Yes, I am,” he said, levelling his gaze with hers once more. “Your name. Tell me, or else.”

  “It’s Amy. My name is Amy.” She hiccupped again and scrubbed tears from her cheeks with the heel of her thumb. “Amy Elizabeth DuBois.”

  “That’s better.” Jake dug into his vest and handed her a kerchief. “And for Christ’s sake, stop blubbering. It’s getting on my nerves.”

  “God, you are truly h-horrid.” She snatched the kerchief from his hand. “Besides, it’s your fault for plying me with drink.” Another hiccup. “Drinking too much makes me mish… misher… bollocks. Not happy.”

  “The word is miserable,” Jake replied. “You must be a lot of fun at dinner parties.”

  She snorted. “Well, at least I wouldn’t be looking to steal the host’s silverware.”

  Jake bit down against an urge to laugh and retook his chair. “You’re French then, I take it.”

  “My mother is.” She blew her nose. “My father is English, but they’re not married. She’s his long-time mistress. One of several, as it happens. I was born and raised in England.” She offered him the damp, crumpled kerchief, which he eyed with some aversion.

  “Keep it. Go on.”

  “I’m illegitimate.”

  “Actually, the not-married part allowed me to figure that out all by myself.”

  She scowled at him. “Must you always be so hostile?”

  “Just keep talking, Miss DuBois.”

  The scowl remained. “A month ago, my mother and I fled England for France and went into hiding with her family, because my father promised me to a man I do not wish to wed. He’s horrible, Captain. A heartless man. Even more so than yourself, I daresay. I mean, you cannot begin to imagine how unpleasant he is. And he’s old. Much older than me. As for sharing a bed with such a beast... ugh! The very thought makes me want to—”

  “You’re not happy about the marriage arrangement. I get the point.”

  “Oh. Right.” A fresh flush of color came to her grubby cheeks. Even when in need of a bath and slightly inebriated, the lass was, Jake decided, quite lovely. A familiar and pleasant warmth radiated through his groin.

  “Well, anyway,” she went on, “my father sent men to find me, and obviously, they did. I was kidnapped two days ago and taken onto the French ship by force.”

  “Your father sounds like a charming man.”

  “He is not very pleasant.” She gave Jake a scathing look. “Although I don’t believe he’s ever drowned anyone.”

  Jake capitulated to a chuckle. “Touché. Yet he would commit his daughter to an unhappy union. There can only be a couple of reasons for that. Financial or political gain.”

  She nodded. “The former. He lost an expensive bet. One he was quite willing to make good on, I might add. But Lord Dalton offered to take me instead, and unfortunately, Papa agreed.” Her chin quivered. “Happy to get some value out of his bastard daughter, no doubt.”

  “Dalton?” A little bell rang somewhere in Jake’s head. “I know that name.”

  “Archibald Dalton.” Amy cringed. “Have you met him?”

  “I don’t believe so. I’ve heard of him, though.” A gambler, Jake seemed to recall. High stakes. “Who, then, is your father?”

  The pout returned as Amy stuck an elbow on the table and cradled her chin in her hand. “I don’t see why you need to know that.”

  “I need to know who I have on board my ship. Answer the question.”

  “I have a headache.”

  “And I have very little patience left. Answer the bloody question.”

  “Would you really throw me overboard?”

  “Nay, I’d get my crew to do it. Maybe let them have some fun with you first.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t believe you. Despite appearances, you seem quite civilized. For a pirate, anyway.”

  “Civilized, am I?” Jake rose, went to the door, and opened it. “Ahoy!” he yelled, the summons answered moments later by Fingal, who appeared on the stairs.

  “Cap’n?”

  “I’m done here. You can throw this one to Davy Jones.”

  “Aye, Cap’n.”

  “Who’s Davy Jones?” Amy asked.

  Jake smiled. “He is the keeper of drowned souls.”

  Frowning, she sat up. “What?”

  Jake held the door open as Fingal entered. “Shackle her ankles, sailor,” he said, watching Amy’s eyes widen, “so she’ll go down fast. It’s more civilized that way.”

  Fingal’s mouth twitched. “Aye, Cap’n.” He went to Amy’s side, wrapped a large hand around her arm, and hoisted her to her feet. “Let’s go.”

  Amy let out a screech, stuck her heels into the floor, and tore at the man’s fingers with her free hand. “Nay! Get your hands off me, you filthy bastard!”

  “Filthy, ye say?” Fingal winked at Jake. “This from a lass who used a trunk full of Italian silk as a latrine.”

  Jake blinked. “She didn’t.”

  Fingal grunted. “It seems so, Cap’n. There’s one of ‘em that stinks of piss. The silk is worthless now, of course. May as well chuck it overboard with ‘er.”

  Jake silently commended himself for keeping a straight face as he glared at Amy. “Is that true? You pissed in one of the trunks?”

  Amy sniffed. “Two of them, actually.”

  “Two?” Fingal cleared his throat. “My pardon, Cap’n. We haven’t checked all the booty yet.”

  “Get her off my ship, sailor,” Jake said, maintaining his glare. “Pronto.”

  “A pleasure, Cap’n,” Fingal replied, and tugged Amy toward the door.

  She whimpered and c
ontinued to struggle. “Noooo, please! I only did it to get back at my father. How was I to know the stuff would be stolen by pirates? Besides, it was that fat French pig’s fault for locking me in the cargo hold. Let go of me, you great pillock.”

  “The sea’ll soon wash out that dirty mouth o’ yours,” Fingal said, dragging her over the threshold. “Have no fear, lass. To be sure, there are worse ways t’go than drownin’. An’ as the Cap’n said, thy’ll go down good an’ quick. The shackles weigh as much as thee.”

  “Captain,” she squealed, grabbing at the door frame. “Please! Have mercy.”

  Jake shrugged. “Answer the question, Miss DuBois, or drown. It’s up to you.”

  “All right, all right. My… my father is Lord Henry Pendleton,” she said, her voice almost a wail. “Are you happy now?”

  Jake had heard of him, too. He gave a slight nod in response to Fingal’s questioning glance. The crewman released her, and she fell on all fours, sniffling.

  “There. That wasn’t too difficult, was it?” Jake closed the door again. “Get up. And stop crying.”

  The look she hurled at him would have frozen the Nile.

  “I hate you,” she said, through gritted teeth as she staggered to her feet. “Actually, I hate men. All men. I’ve yet to meet a single decent one. You’re all brutes. Especially my father, and Archibald Dalton, and that fat French pig of a captain, and you, and that—” she hiccupped. “That big Irish ape of yours.”

  “Maybe I’ll call that Irish ape back,” Jake said, pretending to study his fingernails, “and have him put an end to your whining after all. No quarter this time.”

  A sob and a hiccup erupted from her at the same time. “No,” she murmured, lifting a hand to her forehead. “Please don’t do that. I… I’m not myself. Oh, God. It’s been a horrible day. In truth, Captain, I’m not really feeling that well. In fact, I think I… oh, shi—”

  Her eyes rolled back.

  Jake gasped and shot forward, catching her as she toppled. “It’s all right,” he murmured, heart racing as he cradled her. “Easy, now. I have you.”

  The grey pallor of Amy’s face and the unfocused look in her eyes told Jake that her collapse had not been feigned. Guilt gave him a hefty nudge. Undoubtedly, the lass had been through some kind of hell recently, and he’d done nothing but add to it.

  “Feel…dizzy,” she mumbled, and leaned against him, hands clutching at his lapels.

  “It’s all right,” he muttered again, drawing her close. Not an unpleasant situation at all, as it happened. Her head fit nicely beneath his chin, and her breasts, pressed against his rib cage, felt quite luscious as they rose and fell in time with her breathing. He resisted an urge to slide his hands down over her buttocks, though the very thought caused his cock to twitch. Kissing her also crossed his mind. All this, while the poor lass lay helpless in his arms. What kind of selfish arsehole was he? A barbarian, he decided. Beyond redemption.

  “Oh, dear.” Amy lifted her head and squinted up at him. “I’m awfully sorry, Captain.”

  With that, she leaned over his forearm and vomited.

  Chapter Three

  As dawn crept over the horizon, the Vagabond Queen slunk back into Roaring Water Bay. The skies had remained clear and were now turning pale as night receded. Jake leaned on the deck rail and watched the seagulls fighting over some scraps tossed from another black-sailed Brigantine – the Prodigal’s Hope – as she struck out for the Irish Sea. Jake knew the ship and its captain, Red ‘Cutlass’ Conall. Cutlass was a giant of a man declared to be totally without prejudice, reason being that he hated everybody with equal measure. It was, Jake knew, a bit of an exaggeration. Pirates, and especially pirate captains, acquired fearful reputations whether merited or not, Jake included.

  For years, Irish buccaneers had found refuge on the south-eastern shores of their homeland, their traditional lair being Cobh, in County Cork, a little further north. In the Gaelic tongue, these home-grown marauders were known as Na Madrai Mara, or The Sea Dogs. Aptly named, for they would often hunt in packs, sniffing out their unsuspecting prey and going in for the kill.

  Occasionally, the Vagabond Queen would run with the pack, but usually, Jake and his crew preferred to hunt alone. He favored this quieter, southern refuge, and was intimately familiar with the region. It offered swift access to the Celtic Sea, and its islands and coves provided a thousand different places to hide both ship and booty. They also provided shelter, if necessary.

  Over the years, as a result of his dealings, Jake had accrued an impressive list of patrons; those who were always eager to do business. Some on that list were pirates themselves, including several from other factions. Barter was a common currency among thieves.

  But there were also many of a more noble ilk, wealthy men who were not beyond taking possession of illicitly acquired contraband, as long as the price was right. Jake knew whom he could trust and whom to avoid.

  This haul of silk, while valuable, would usually be harder to shift than the Madeira and brandy. Jake, however, figured he already had a buyer, someone new to his list, thanks to Miss DuBois’ careless tongue. Something she’d said had caught his attention, because it hadn’t quite made sense. Jake had since mulled over it, and in doing so, had come to a rather satisfying conclusion. Of course, he’d have to verify it with Miss DuBois.

  The thought of another verbal tussle with the lass actually appealed. He liked how she matched his wit, and she amused him with her defiance.

  “Would ye be remainin’ on board today, Jake?”

  He gave Padre a sideways glance. Judging by the levity in the man’s voice, the question was rhetorical. Jake answered it anyway.

  “It would be inhospitable of me to leave our guest alone, don’t you think?”

  Padre puffed on his clay pipe and pondered for a moment. “She’s a disarming wench.”

  Jake nodded his agreement. “You’re an observant man.”

  He snorted. “A disarming wench on board the Queen.”

  “For now, aye.” Jake shrugged. “But only because she’s worth something to someone.”

  “Pay heed to the feeling ye had, Jake. Take it as a warning from above. They do the Devil’s work, do women.” Padre crossed himself. “One of God’s most wily creatures. Mind ye don’t get led astray.”

  Jake gave him a sardonic smile. “A bit late in my case, my friend. I was born astray.”

  “Hmm. Still, the lass’s influence might be unwelcome. If ye get my drift.”

  “She has no influence, Padre,” Jake replied, getting Padre’s drift quite clearly, “but she might have some financial worth. The crew knows how I feel about women on board my ship. Nothing has changed.”

  “Well, like I said, pay heed.”

  “I will, don’t worry. In any case, the lass’s presence here will be short-lived. I intend to have her ashore by day’s end.” Jake straightened, filled his lungs with fresh dawn air and gave the deck-rail a decisive thump with his fist. “I’ll be below deck if needed.”

  He headed off to awaken his guest. He wanted to test out his theory and hoped she’d be a bit more cooperative this morning. She’d likely be hungry, since she’d spread the contents of her stomach all over his floor the previous night. After that, she’d mumbled several more apologies and all but passed out in his arms.

  Feeling somewhat responsible for her sorry state, Jake had deposited the lass in his bunk and had Tadpole, the cabin boy, mop up the mess.

  Now, Jake paused outside his door and lifted a hand, only to pause and frown at the fist he’d made in readiness to knock. What am I doing, for Christ’s sake? These were his quarters, on his ship. To hell with decorum. He dropped his hand, opened the door, and strode into the room, only to be presented with a sight that stopped him dead.

  Naked from the waist up, Miss DuBois stood at the washstand, a wet flannel pressed against one rather splendid breast as she gaped at him in surprise.

  “Bloody hell, why didn’t you knock?” she s
quealed, crossing her arms over her admirable assets.

  Jake grinned. “Good morning to you too. Did you sleep well?”

  “I’m washing, Captain.”

  “So I see.” He tipped his cocked-hat. “Please carry on.”

  She gasped. “Then get out!”

  “I don’t see why I should.” Jake’s single-eyed gaze remained locked on her breasts, their pale fullness barely hidden behind her slender arms. Drips from the wet flannel, still clutched in her hand, traced a wet, sensual trail to the waistband of her skirts. God’s teeth. “You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before, lass. And besides, these are my quarters.”

  Chest heaving in a captivating fashion, the lass regarded him for a moment. “Well, of course, I should have realized,” she said at last, nostrils flaring as she lifted her chin. “How foolish of me to expect any semblance of gentility from the likes of you.”

  “Foolish indeed,” Jake countered. “I’m a total boor.”

  With a snort, she dumped the flannel in the wash bowl and then turned to face him, arms at her side, breasts on full display. Jake’s brows lifted, as did his cock.

  “Well, it doesn’t matter, since I was almost done anyway,” she snapped. “May I cover myself now, Captain? Or would you like to gawk at my breasts for a little longer? Forgive me, however, if I don’t find your boorish scrutiny flattering.”

  Frowning, Jake folded his arms and met her defiant gaze. In every way that mattered, the lass was utterly magnificent. He had never known the like. She made his balls ache to the point of total blindness. With some reluctance, he decided to capitulate, despite the fact he could have happily gawked at her breasts for the rest of the morning.

  “I’ll wait outside while you finish, but don’t take too long.” He tipped his head again. “My gentility only goes so far.”

  Adjusting his crotch, he went in search of food, and returned a short while later with a plate. This time, he knocked but didn’t wait for a response before entering the cabin in the same brash manner as before.