Captured for the Captain's Pleasure

by Ann Lethbridge

  ‘What do you think of my ship?’ Lionhawk asked with an expansive wave of his hand and pride in his voice.

  ‘The truth?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I wish I’d never set eyes on her.’

  He chuckled. ‘You wound me, Miss Fulton. I thought I was offering you every courtesy.’

  Liar. She pressed her lips firmly together, determined not to provide him with any more amusement.

  ‘Down here,’ he said and plunged down a companionway. Highly polished wooden panels reflected her face beneath the wall-hung oil lamp. Brass fittings gleamed dull gold and without so much as a fingerprint in sight. The ship was clearly well run and it must have cost him a fortune to build.

  At the bottom of the steps, he plucked a lamp from the wall. ‘The crew’s quarters are on the gun deck. Down here is the hold.’ He bent and pulled on an iron ring in the floorboards. The trapdoor lifted with a creak.

  Musty air wafted up from the dark void. She choked back a gasp. Holding the lantern aloft, Lionhawk stepped on to the ladder.

  Alice shuddered. She wiped her damp palms on her skirt, grasped the rope lines on either side of the open-rung steps and followed him down.

  At the bottom, his lantern cast a halo of light into the gloom. A chain swung from a nail driven into a beam like an instrument of torture in some ancient oubliette. And if she wasn’t mistaken there was a strong odour of chicken manure. She grabbed at the wall to steady herself.

  ‘Seasick, are you?’

  ‘I’ve never been seasick in my life, but the stench is disgusting. How can you put people down here?’

  He recoiled, his eyes flashing anger. ‘I’m sorry my accommodations don’t meet with your approval. We keep livestock down here on long voyages,’ he said and moved ahead. ‘If it is good enough for chickens, it should be good enough for a group of Fultons,’ he muttered.

  At least that was what she thought she heard before a sailor in a coarse linen shirt and wide canvas trousers rose from a stool beside a bulkhead door. ‘All quiet, Cap’n.’

  ‘Thanks, Del.’ He hesitated. ‘You did open the hatches before you put the prisoners in there, didn’t you?’

  ‘Er…Mr Wishart didn’t say anything about opening any hatches.’

  Lionhawk cursed under his breath. ‘See to it, man.’

  ‘Aye, aye, Cap’n.’ The sailor dodged around them and was heading up the ladder in a flash.

  It seemed the captain had some shred of humanity, even if he had to be reminded.

  ‘It’s the best I can do,’ he said gruffly. ‘I don’t have accommodations on my ship for passengers.’ He flashed a cheeky grin. ‘I’m sure your friends wouldn’t want to sling their hammocks with the crew, though I’m sure the crew wouldn’t mind entertaining your friend, Lady Selina.’

  It was almost as if he wanted to make her angry rather than appreciative. She sniffed. ‘Fresh air will help, I am sure.’

  He removed a bunch of keys from his belt and unlocked the door. He gestured for her to enter. ‘After you.’

  Indeed, the area resembled nothing more fearful than a smelly barn. Richard and Mr Anderson lay stretched out on two of the four cots placed along the hull. Selina, her head in her arms, drooped at a table that also held the remains of what looked like a meal of bread and cheese.

  A couple of lanterns swinging from the beams provided light and the floor was carpeted with what looked like fresh straw, upon which stood their trunks. So they were not to be left in the clothes they stood up in.

  ‘Selina.’ Alice rushed forwards. Selina surged to her feet. She flung herself at Alice’s breast and they clung to each other.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Alice asked, holding her friend’s shaking body. ‘No one hurt you? Touched you?’

  ‘My men have strict orders not to lay hands on my prisoners without my express instructions,’ Lionhawk said from behind her.

  A shame he didn’t include himself in his order, Alice thought, breaking free and making for Richard’s still form.

  ‘I’m quite all right, now,’ Selina murmured with a swift resentful look at their captor. ‘You get used to the smell after a while, but I thought I’d die of fright in that horrid swinging contraption.’ She shuddered. ‘I wish I had never asked you to bring me home.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Where did you go? I was so worried. I kept asking and asking for you.’

  When Alice touched Richard’s shoulder, he didn’t flicker so much as an eyelid. ‘Is he sleeping?’

  Selina shook her head. ‘He’s been the same ever since we arrived in this dreadful place.’

  Alice sank to her knees beside the pallet. ‘Richard,’ she whispered. She pressed a palm to a cheek pale beneath its tan. Cold and clammy. For one horrible moment she thought he wasn’t breathing. A horrid churning rolled in her stomach. Then she felt the faint pulse beating in his throat beneath her fingertips and saw the gentle rise of his chest. Not dead. She closed her eyes in thanks.

  ‘He’s had a knock to the head,’ Lionhawk said.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘By a spar shot down by your men.’ But why was he still unconscious? Panic tightened her chest. ‘He needs a doctor.’

  From above their heads came a scraping sound, the hatch covering being removed. Alice glanced up. Through the gratings, she could just see the twinkle of stars and a gust of sweet air set the lanterns flickering. She inhaled a deep breath. While the smell wasn’t entirely gone, it was certainly a whole lot fresher and a great deal healthier.

  No doubt Lionhawk would want her gratitude for that little concession.

  ‘The doctor looked at your brother,’ Anderson said from the neighbouring cot. He struggled up on one elbow. His broken arm rested in a sling against his chest, but he looked none too bad.

  ‘How are you, Mr Anderson?’ Alice asked.

  ‘The sawbones seems to know his business, Miss Fulton. He set my arm. He’s given your brother something to keep him calm and sleeping. I’m afraid it is Lady Selina who is not feeling quite the thing. The doctor left her some smelling salts.’

  Poor Selina. She really wasn’t meant for hardship.

  ‘Mr Anderson has been a tower of strength,’ Selina said, beaming at him. ‘I don’t know what I would have done without him.’

  Mr Anderson turned the colour of a house brick. If Selina wasn’t careful, she’d have him spiking a temperature.

  ‘I am in your debt, Mr Anderson,’ Alice said. ‘Please send word if you have cause for concern.’

  Selina gasped. ‘Send word? Where are you going? Not with that disgusting pirate?’ She glanced over her shoulder, tossed her head and shot Lionhawk a look of dislike.

  Selina’s rudeness brought heat to Alice’s cheeks, which didn’t make a bit of sense. ‘He has questions I am to answer.’

  Selina looked at her askance. ‘What sort of questions?’

  ‘I’m not exactly sure.’

  ‘Alice, you can’t be alone with him.’

  No fool, Selina, when it came to men. Without her timely intervention, Alice might have married Andrew. But Alice had already given her word to provide answers in exchange for this visit and she’d have to rely on her own wits to bring her off safely. ‘I won’t be long. I promise.’

  Selina lowered her voice. ‘What about my reputation? I’m all alone with two bachelors.’

  Alice frowned at her. ‘Mr Anderson is an honourable married man. You know he is. And Richard is naught but a boy. Besides, they need your help. It is only for an hour or two.’

  ‘You know more about nursing the sick than I do.’ Selina’s lower lip drooped in pathetically adorable fashion.

  Alice pressed her lips together. ‘All right. You deal with Lionhawk.’

  Selina’s eyes widened. ‘Alice.’

  ‘I thought you came to visit your brother,’ Lionhawk’s voice grated in the thick, stale air. ‘If you are done, we will leave.’

  His steps echoed in the hold as he strode across the floor, his shadow looming on the
curved hull like the carved gryphon over his bed. He entered the circle of light, his expression impatient and his eyes watchful.

  Selina shrank back, staring at him as if he had two heads. ‘Alice, isn’t that…?’

  ‘The man who signed on as our cook. Yes.’ She glared at him. ‘I am not ready to leave yet, sir.’

  ‘Lady Selina,’ he said with a flash of a charming smile and a bow, ‘I don’t believe we have been formally introduced. I’m Lionhawk, Captain of the Gryphon.’

  A simple introduction delivered with the charm of a wolf who’d found his dinner.

  Selina shifted closer to Alice, seemingly unable to take her gaze from the dark face of her gaoler.

  Lionhawk bared his teeth all the more. ‘Come into the light, Lady Selina. Let’s take a proper look at you.’

  ‘Alice!’ Selina’s voice rose to a squeak.

  Alice mentally groaned. This lion or hawk or evil dragon, whatever he called himself, needed a lesson in how to treat a lady. She patted Selina on the shoulder. ‘Ignore him. He’s just trying to bedevil me.’ She glanced back at Richard and a trickle of fear ran through her stomach. ‘I would like to speak to the doctor.’

  ‘Not tonight, you won’t.’ Lionhawk’s voice had the implacable quality of a man expecting obedience. ‘My crew are celebrating their victory. Bones won’t be in any shape to look at anyone tonight and he tells me your brother will be all right until morning. Come along before I carry you out.’

  Dash it all. Whoever this doctor was, he had no business leaving an injured man unconscious. The man she had seen climbing into the bo’sun’s chair had looked far from competent. No wonder he hadn’t seen to opening the hatch. And if he was drunk, as his captain suggested, she preferred her own ministrations. The sooner she answered Lionhawk’s questions, the sooner she could return to her brother.

  Selina flung herself into Alice’s arms, tears running like diamonds down her cheeks. Somehow Selina managed to look like a goddess when she wept. ‘Alice, what is to become of us?’

  That was a line out of a play for Lionhawk’s benefit. A quest for sympathy. Wasted on this man. Thankfully, beneath the weeping goddess, Selina was made of sterner stuff. Stern enough to walk out on her chaperon and jump aboard Alice’s ship without so much as a by your leave.

  Easing from Selina’s grip, Alice lifted her friend’s chin with a fingertip, capturing her watery gaze in her own. ‘Do pull yourself together.’ She lowered her voice to a whisper meant only for her friend’s ears. ‘Trust me. I’ll come back soon. In the meantime, I’m relying on you to help care for Richard and Mr Anderson.’

  Selina straightened her shoulders. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said softly. ‘I didn’t mean to make things more difficult. I will do my best.’ She glanced quickly at Lionhawk, her eyes sharp. ‘Alice, mark my words. Be very careful of that man.’

  ‘Come along, Miss Fulton,’ Lionhawk said, the sardonic line of his lips cruel in its indifference. Then he smiled, all charm again. ‘Unless you would both like to join me in my cabin.’

  Alice glared at him. ‘One of us is all you need to answer your questions.’ Somehow during the course of the evening she’d convince Lionhawk to let her raid his medical supplies. A poultice set to Richard’s temple might be the best thing to bring him back to his senses.

  Blast the man. By now he’d probably guessed she’d do anything to keep her brother safe. Selina was right—she would have to be very careful. Or very clever.

  With one last glance at her brother, she headed out of the door.

  Lionhawk closed it, pocketed the key and took her arm. Up on deck, he guided her towards his cabin. ‘I’d introduce you to my crew,’ he murmured, ‘but they are in a rollicking mood. Not good company for a lady such as yourself.’

  From the prow came the sound of a flute and deep men’s voices raised in drunken harmony. ‘I’ll accept your judgement in that regard.’

  Just how safe were the prisoners with such a crew? Thank God Lionhawk held the key.

  She sucked in a breath. Did that mean she actually trusted the fellow to keep his captives safe? Trusting anyone on this ship would be like trusting a rabid dog. It would be like a green girl with stars in her eyes trusting Andrew. No longer was she green and the stars had long ago faded.

  Lionhawk opened his cabin door. ‘Supper awaits.’

  Supper? A good idea. Men became easier to handle on a full stomach. She stepped inside.

  A lantern hung from the central beam. Candlesticks glimmered on the desk. A low table had been placed in front of the window laid with a tray of bread, cheeses and cold meats along with a decanter of red wine and two filigreed goblets.

  She took the chair he pulled out. He seated himself on the other side. ‘It’s all there is, I’m afraid.’

  Alice waved an airy hand, à la Selina. ‘It is all I need.’ She picked up the bread knife.

  Swiftly, he leaned across and removed the knife from her grip. ‘I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.’

  He carved the half-cottage loaf into thick slices and leaned back, retaining the knife as if he thought she might have at him. Unfortunately, killing him would likely not improve her situation.

  And what could he possibly have in mind that he would think she might become so desperate? More questions? Or more kisses? A skitter went through her stomach that wasn’t exactly unpleasant.

  A sensation best guarded against.

  ‘Eat,’ he said.

  Glad to see her hands did not tremble too much, she filled her plate with bread and cheese. ‘It is a while since I dined alfresco,’ she said lightly. ‘A picnic,’ she added.

  He stretched his booted feet out in front of him and frowned at her. ‘I know what alfresco means. Normally, I’d provide a hot meal. There was no cooking fire today.’

  ‘Open fires and gunpowder are not a good mix,’ she agreed. ‘I’m pleased to see you care about the safety of your men. It would hardly do for their ship to burn while they run down innocent merchantmen.’

  A glint of amusement flashed in his eyes. ‘Innocent is not a term I would use, and nor would you,’ he remarked in dry tones.

  Now what did he mean by that? She picked up a piece of bread. Even buttered, it tasted little better than ashes. Fear did that to a person, ruined the appetite. She added a slice of cheese. A marginal improvement. If she washed it down with wine, it might cure the trembles in her stomach.

  Perhaps not. She’d need all her wits to survive the coming interview.

  ‘More?’ he asked softly, waving the knife at the bread.

  She shook her head, noticing he had eaten nothing while consuming at least half the wine in the decanter. Perhaps he, too, was nervous, though she could scarcely credit it.

  Simpson arrived to clear away the tray. Alice watched the knife’s departure with a flicker of regret. It might have come in handy. She flashed hot, then cold. Hopefully such drastic measures wouldn’t be necessary.

  Lionhawk refilled his glass and cast her a charming smile. A breath caught in her throat at the threat that smile contained. ‘Now then, Miss Fulton. It is time to answer my questions.’

  Somehow she managed not to flee for the door. She fought to keep her face blandly enquiring.

  As handsome as sin, as dark as Satan, he lounged carelessly in his ornate chair, legs outstretched, glass held loosely in his hand. Masculine power at ease to a fault, but ready to spring if she made one false move.

  A heavy-lidded gaze cut her way. Seductive. Threatening. He frightened and fascinated all at once. Against all reason, she found him impossibly attractive, the way one might find a lion or tiger attractive. Beautiful, sleek and dangerous.

  ‘What did you wish to know?’ She was glad her voice didn’t shake too badly.

  ‘Everything.’ To her utter confusion, he put a world of meaning in the one word and its accompanying narrowed-eyed stare. ‘I thought we would start with the story of your life.’

  She almost laughed. ‘It makes for dull telling, s
ir.’

  ‘But it is new to me. To begin with, I suppose it is too much to hope that you play chess,’ he said, rather wistfully.

  ‘Chess?’ She almost slipped off her seat in surprise.

  ‘I hear it is an acceptable pastime for men and women to play together in intimate surroundings. Perhaps you prefer cards?’

  The word intimate rang in her ears. She gripped the edge of her seat. ‘I do play chess. Quite well, in fact.’

  He got up and prowled dangerously close. ‘Quite well?’ He smiled as if she’d hand-fed the wolf in him a succulent morsel. Or a piece of herself.

  Her pulse tripped a warning. She gazed back boldly. ‘Some would say very well.’

  He leaned closer, his face inches from hers, his wine-scented breath a whisper against her cheek. ‘Excellent. And while we play, you will talk.’

  Clutching her goblet tight to her breast, she fought the tremble in her hands. Fear of his threat, not a wild heart-stopping impulse to taste his sensual lips again. Only by the fiercest resolve did she manage not to blink. ‘It sounds delightful.’

  His gaze ran from her head to her heels and a trickle of warmth beneath her skin followed its progress. She stifled a sigh of pure pleasure.

  A slow smile dawned on his face. ‘I must warn you, I have not played for a very long time.’

  ‘Then prepare for defeat.’

  He grinned. ‘Defeat by a woman has its benefits.’ The lascivious note in his voice made her insides clench. She kept her expression blank. Proper young ladies did not understand such innuendo. And it would not do to let him believe she was anything but a proper young lady.

  He retrieved a marquetry box inlaid with silver from his desk. Inside, two shades of green jade pieces nestled in white satin, beautiful carvings depicting samurai and dragons and other Oriental images. Worth a king’s ransom and no doubt stolen from some poor traveller.

  He set out the pieces on a plain, painted wooden board that set the ornate pale and dark green jade off to perfection.