Within a Captain's Hold

by Lisa A. Olech

  Jaxon pulled back, his breath coming hard and fast. If he didn’t rein himself in, he would take her right there. He’d never forced a woman against her will, but he’d never crossed paths with a woman daft enough to challenge him either. Even through his anger, he admired her courage. He knew men three times her size who wouldn’t have been so daring.

  Annalise stared at him with eyes that shown like molten gold. His gaze fell to her lips. They were swollen and trembled, and her breathing matched his. Jaxon fought the unwelcome longing of his body. She’s sure to be the death of me.

  He pushed away, releasing her. His body shook with unresolved fury, or was it something else? Anna held tight to the wall while she covered her mouth with the back of her other hand. Jaxon snatched up his baldric and slung it over one shoulder. Before retrieving his cutlass from the floor, he reached into his pocket, then tossed the key on the bed. Unable to resist, he stole a glance at her and ground his teeth in frustration.

  Damn this woman. Hair a riotous mess; her undergarment, torn now to her hip, exposed the full length of a shapely leg. Blood rushed to his cock at the sight. Her reddened lips parted as she drew in each shaky breath. The very image of a ravished woman. His body shouted at his addled brain. Take her.

  She’s a virgin. His brain screamed back.

  He gave a low growl as he slipped his cutlass back into its scabbard. “The next time you decide to dance with the devil, be warned, you’ll not be surviving the flames.”

  * * * *

  Jaxon hit the deck like a rogue wave and snatched the glass from Cookie. He fixed it upon the spot of sail on the horizon. The ship was still too far away to identify her flags. “You picked the wrong day to cross my path, you poor bastards.”

  “See ye found yer cutlass, Capt’n.” Cookie chuckled.

  Jaxon growled. “How’d you like your one leg to match the other?” He turned his attention and his wrath back to the ship in his sights.

  “Hold our flags till I see what she flies,” he shouted to Quinn. “Every man to his station but have half keep their ugly mugs below the gunwales. Second gunners, take cover. Let them think we’re running a skeleton crew. Everyone on your guard.”

  He lifted his nose to the air and sniffed. “Ah, my boys, she smells fat. And French.”

  The crew scrambled to their posts. A rush of energy spread through them. Pistols were checked and the edges of swords and axes tested. Powder monkeys ran sacks of black powder to each cannon. The men were ready for a fight. Itching for one, if truth be told.

  He waited, patience being his finest weapon. Even so, the preparations of the crew around him caused a thread of excitement to run up his spine. The other ship lay low in the water. She was fat, indeed. Come on, come on, show your colors.

  As if to answer him across the span of water, the ship raised the ensign of France. Jaxon smiled the slow, satisfied smile of a cat just given a fine dish of cream. “I’m right, me hearties. She be a fine, plump French whore. Were we empty, we could give her chase, but I think we should woo her a bit first. Quartermaster Quinn, raise a Frenchie flag. Let them think we’re coming to say ‘bon jour.’”

  Several of the crew exchanged “enchantes,” kissing cheeks and bowing.

  Lowering the long spyglass, Jaxon pulled Cookie close. “Secure things below.”

  “Aye, aye.”

  Their sails drew nearer. The Scarlet Night could easily outfight the French brigantine. Even though she was the smaller of the two, she outweighed them in cannons and speed. Now it was just a matter of waiting.

  At full sail, the Scarlet leapt through the waves at more than twelve knots. Rigging hummed as they closed the gap. Jaxon would give the order to raise their true flag soon and the battle would be on, but he didn’t want the French brig to startle.

  When the two ships came within range of each other, he shouted to the crew. “Starboard turn. To the port guns.” With practiced precision, the men ran out the cannons along the left side. “Drop the French and raise our reds.” The French flag came down and the Black Bones ran up the mast together with the huge crimson mainsail, announcing to their prey Captain Jaxon Steele and the cutthroat crew of the Scarlet Night were upon them.

  “Fire!”

  Cannons roared and the Scarlet delivered a mighty broadside assault. The crew swarmed the deck on his order, climbed into the rigging, and began screaming like banshees, swinging their cutlasses. Men beat drums and blew horns as if the devil had arrived.

  In no time, the brigantine began its turn then returned fire, but their cannon range drew short, and the gunners of the Scarlet Night kept up their brutal fire. As the smoke cleared, Jaxon could see the brig’s mizzen had toppled from a direct hit of chain shot and the starboard side of the French ship showed fierce damage. He ordered the slowing of the Scarlet as the final shot lobbed across their bow in preparation to come about and maneuver into position to board the limping merchant ship.

  A sudden volley of fire from the French shattered the Scarlet’s jib foresail and blew two of her swivel gunners to their deaths. Jaxon roared like a wounded beast. The crew became a riotous horde, firing sulfurous bombs upon the deck of the other ship and shooting muskets blindly into the smoke.

  Jaxon shouted for grappling irons as soon as they were in range of one another. Badly damaged, the other ship could no longer flee, but the French crew stood ready to battle as the pirates swarmed their decks.

  Men leapt over the span of water separating the Scarlet Night from her prey and swung wide on ropes to drop onto the brigandine’s deck. Through the clashing of blades and the pungent smoke of cannons and pistols, Jaxon boarded the merchant ship. The French captain slumped upon the rope tackles of one of the cannons. Already dead.

  Jaxon rushed headlong into the fight, jumping into the pack like a half-starved dog defending his last bone. He spent his two pistols, hitting his chosen marks. Three men rushed him as he pushed the smoking guns back into his baldric, then pulled his cutlass and dagger.

  A bull of a man swung a heavy ax toward his head. The thick steel of his cutlass blocked the powerful downward stroke. Using his dagger, Jaxon slashed a killing path across the man’s chest. The other two Frenchmen soon joined the first. A member of his crew stopped one man as Jaxon brought down the other with a mighty swing of his sword.

  Sulfured smoke and the smell of blood filled his senses. A tangle of sail and wood and rigging caused by the toppled mast made the fighting more difficult, but men still fought between the rubble. Confidence settled in Jaxon’s gut. The French crew stood no chance against the vicious onslaught of his men.

  As the battle came to its bloody end, another twenty French seamen lost their lives, including the captain and their quartermaster. Nine others suffered grave wounds. The few men remaining begged quarter. Jaxon lost three good gunners and five others. Ten more men would need tending.

  His crew relieved the captured ship of the choicest bits of plunder to fill their hold. The brigandine suffered serious damage, and Jaxon decided to leave the limping ship and its wounded to their own fate.

  His dead crewmen needed to be slipped into the sea, and the injured needed to be cared for, but his thoughts turned to only one thing. Annalise.

  He entered his cabin and caught her when she flew into his arms. Her body shook as he crushed her to his chest and held her while she sobbed.

  “’Tis over. Hush now, ’tis over.”

  Jaxon reached down to tip her chin. His thumb brushed at the wetness on her cheeks before he lowered his mouth to still the trembling of her lips.

  CHAPTER 8

  When he’d stormed out of the room earlier, Annalise was left reeling from Jaxon’s kiss. Her body hummed with a hunger she’d never known. The hardness of his body left an imprint upon her. Her lips scorched. And, he had left her the key.

  Snatching it off the bed, she unlocked the drawer. For a moment, she imagined it might have been a cruel trick, but when the key hit its mar
k and the drawer opened, there sat her ring. A small circle of golden hope in the vast sea of uncertainty. Annalise almost wept as she held it to her chest.

  She tried to make sense of it all. Jaxon had been furious. Anna threatened him with his own sword. What made him give her ring back? She had little time to wonder, however.

  Cookie returned and warned her that the Scarlet Night was poised to attack a ship.

  “Ye best be findin’ a place to hide yerself, miss. Just in case.

  “In case?” Annalise clutched at the rent in her chemise.

  “In case the bastards don’t take kindly to havin’ their ship taken by pirates.”

  As soon as Cookie left, she searched the room. The cupboards on either side of the bed were too narrow for her to slip into, and the space beneath the bed held old logs and parchments. She found a niche in the corner of the room where two trunks came together. Annalise wrapped a thin blanket around herself and slid over the rounded tops of the trunks to crouch behind them as the commotion overhead grew louder.

  A blast of cannon fire brought her screaming from her hiding place. The Scarlet Night jerked violently and shuddered from the volley. Distant sounds of returning fire had Anna bracing herself for the hit, but it did not come. Instead, more cannon fire erupted overhead. Howls and screams of men and the smells of smoke and sulfur rained down upon her as her mind’s eye conjured the most horrendous scene.

  Fear gripped her as she frantically looked to run from a room she could not escape, with legs that wouldn’t stop shaking. Jaxon was going to die. They were all going to die. Any minute a blast would blow her and the ship surrounding her into a watery oblivion.

  Cannon fire roared again from the Scarlet Night, and Annalise screamed. She fell to her knees and covered her head to block out the hellish crescendo building around her.

  She shook with terror, even as the battle above her quieted. Had they won? Shouts and the sounds of running feet were her only answer. Cookie’s words returned to her. She needed to hide. Suppose the first person through the cabin’s door wasn’t Jaxon? What if whoever held the ship was more vicious and bloodthirsty than even Wolfsan. As if to give life to her fears, the latch scraped in the lock. There was no time to duck away. Panicked, she snatched a heavy brass sextant from Jaxon’s desk and raised it over her head. If she were to die, she’d die fighting.

  Annalise had never been more terrified to watch a door open, or more grateful to see Jaxon walk through. Raw, unchecked emotion tumbled around her like rain as she dropped the sextant onto his desk and leapt heedlessly into the safety of his arms. Then he kissed her. Again.

  This was not the angry, punishing kiss from before. It began tenderly but the rush of emotions swept her into a heated exchange, igniting a deep desire she could not explain. The need for his comfort overwhelmed everything else. She clung to him as the kiss deepened and surrendered to it--to him.

  Jaxon broke the connection but still held her. Had his anger returned? Would he mock her for being weak and afraid?

  “I’m sorry. The battle…cannons exploding…. I’ve never heard anything so horrifying.” Beneath her hands, his shirt was red with blood. “Dear God, you’re hurt.”

  “Nay.”

  “But…”

  “This isn’t my blood.”

  Anna stared at the color upon her hands. The smell of the blood mixed with his sweat assaulted her senses. “Oh…God…” She tried to wipe it away and discovered blood soaked into the fabric of her chemise. “Oh, God.” Would this nightmare never end? “Get it off me. Please.”

  “It’s just blood. Calm yourself.”

  “No. It’s dead men’s blood.” Bile rose in her throat. “I don’t care if you see me bare. Cut it off. Please. Get it off…Oh, I’m going to be sick.”

  “No, no, no, you’re not.” He grabbed at the tear and, in one strong pull, tore the fragile cloth straight up through the neckline. The garment fell to the floor, and he wrapped her in the thin blanket she dropped earlier. Stripping off his shirt and the crimson band about his waist, he pulled her over to his washstand and held her hands over the bowl to clean them. She clamped her eyes shut.

  “There. It’s gone. Wait…” He dipped a clean cloth into the pitcher and wiped her cheek.

  “Ahhh, it’s on my face.”

  He wiped at her cheek again. “No, it’s gone.”

  “Do you swear?” She grabbed at his arm.

  “Aye, woman, I swear.”

  Annalise opened her eyes. The water in the bowl was a sickly pink. She poured more water from the pitcher over her hands and rubbed at them.

  “I told you it’s gone.”

  She cleaned her hands yet again. “I can still feel it.”

  “It’s in your mind. I tell you, it’s off.”

  Annalise shook her head and scratched at her hands. “I had to scrub Uncle’s ring a dozen times. Wolfsan sent it wrapped like a gift. Oh, God.” She remembered every grisly image. “It had a ribbon. When I opened the box, there it sat nestled in black satin. I couldn’t even tell what it was at first. Then I picked it up. It was sticky. And the smell…I’ll never forget the smell.” She poured more water on her hands and scrubbed.

  He stilled her hands and eased her away. “There’s no more blood on you or your ring.”

  Jaxon moved back to the bowl and cleaned his muscled chest. His back and arms, bronzed by the sun, bore the white scars of battles past. She shuddered. This blood could have been his. It could have been hers.

  Mere hours ago, she’d threatened him, but now, the frightening reality of being on this ship crashed like a heavy stone. I’ll not survive this. The shaking in her limbs returned. Panic raced through her unchecked. Gray edged her vision. She never would have made it in that hold. What if Jaxon was wounded? Or killed?

  A squeak slipped past her throat. “I have to sit down.”

  Jaxon helped her back to the bed to sit. She tugged at the edges of the blanket, pulling it tight about her.

  “You’re not a good color. Deep breaths.”

  She closed her eyes and concentrated on inhale, exhale. “W-why did you give it back?”

  “Your ring?”

  She nodded. Her teeth chattered. “You were so angry. You said pirates never gave back, but you did. Why?”

  “You earned it.” He slipped his arm around her and let her lean into his embrace. “It’s not every day a woman bests me by gaining my sword.”

  She sought shelter within the circle of his arm and rested a cheek upon the smooth skin of his shoulder. His warmth penetrated through the chilling fear. It made her believe she just might live to see the end of this nightmare. “It’s still in your desk.”

  “You didn’t use the key?”

  “I did, but I’ve run out of pockets and rats ate my bag.” She shrugged. “Do you suppose Cookie will remember the clothes to ‘cover me arse’?”

  He laughed at her imitation of Cookie’s gruff voice and crude words. “I’ll remind him.”

  “Thank you.” She tucked her chin and snuggled closer.

  * * * *

  Jaxon tucked her against him and tightened his hold. She fit along his side like the ocean cradling the hull. The weight of her felt good and right. Only a thin wool blanket separated him from this unpredictable, unbelievably naked woman. With her overreaction to a wee bit of blood, he didn’t dare tell her Cookie was probably removing lead shot from a man’s belly, stitching up a deep gash, or helping to sew a dead man into his shroud. She might crumble.

  How could she shift from fighting fierce to vulnerable and fragile in a hairbreadth? And why did he find that fact so damn intriguing? She was as dangerous as a lit cannon. Had he forgotten that fact? When he cleaned the blood from his chest and arms, he should have washed the sweet taste of her lips from his mouth.

  He fought to forget the sight of peach-tipped breasts and the deep curve of a slender waist. Wipe his memory of how she clung to him and softened beneath his
kisses when he arrived, and how that kiss had heated to white-hot.

  Jaxon moved her aside and stood. Distance was what he needed to remember. He should be on deck and far from his growing fascination with her. Dealing with his wounded and dead would surely erase her from his thoughts.

  “I need some clothing myself.” He moved to his wardrobe and pulled out two snowy shirts, tossing one to her. “This will serve till Cookie can scrounge better.”

  He gathered his things to leave.

  “You’re feeling well now?” he asked her.

  Annalise nodded and watched him dress. The intimacy of it was not lost on him. Distance, man.

  “Good. I’ll send Cookie down once he’s finished his duties. Mayhap I can have him find you a bit of soap for a proper wash up.”

  “I would like that.”

  He smiled then caught himself. What was wrong with him? His emotions shifted and darted faster than a school of mirrored smelts. Shirts and soap? No powder and perfume? Fool, what am I thinking? Next, he’d be winding ribbons in her hair and hand feeding her sweets. Idiot. Perhaps he should sit and write a flowery sonnet to the beauty of her smile, and how she was turning him into a sniveling toad. His teeth threatened to crumble as his jaw tightened.

  “Oh, Captain Steele?” She stood clutching her blanket and his spare shirt to her chest.

  What is it now? Does she want scones and tea? He snapped. “Captain Steele? Woman, since you’ve been here, you’ve thrown up on me, held a weapon on me, kissed me soundly, wept on my chest, and had me strip you naked. Now, you decide to be proper? You swing like the bloody tide.”

  He watched her notch her chin. “All I wanted to say was thank you.”

  Jaxon added, Make me act like a mangy horse’s arse to his list of what she’d accomplished. “Then just say it. Dammit.”

  “Fine,” she snapped back.

  He welcomed her annoyance. Better her anger than her kisses. He wanted her to push him away before he lost more than his mind.