Once Upon a Pirate: Sixteen Swashbuckling Historical Romances

by Merry Farmer

  Lifting the small sack, Mr. Evans upended it, dumping the contents onto the table. Coins scattered across the surface, painting the walls with glittering gold radiance. Selecting one coin, Captain Shaw placed it between his teeth, biting gently. His eyes rose to Alana, black and empty.

  “Take him to the brig to await trial.”

  Mr. Evans nodded gleefully, wrapping his hand around Alana’s arm. Yanking her toward the door, he pulled her through the opening and onto the deck. She grabbed onto the door frame, her fingertips pulling against Mr. Evans’ iron grip. Leaning into the room, her gaze sought Captain Shaw.

  “I didn’t take it. Please, you have to believe me.”

  “I believe my eyes, Mr. Dubois, and the gold was in your possession. For your sake, I hope your death is a quick one.” He turned his back on her.

  Chapter 8

  Mr. Evans ripped her from the doorway, dragging her along the deck, his fingers laced through her short hair. She screamed, twisting in his grip, kicking him in the shins. Mr. Evans struck her across the face with his forearm. Pain exploded in her cheek, and she dropped to the deck, black spots dancing in front of her eyes. She pushed up from the floorboards, glancing up in time to see Captain Shaw close the door to his cabin, cutting off her agony.

  With a smirk, Mr. Evans kicked her in the side. A sickening crunch echoed in her ears. Howling, she rolled into a tiny ball, tears streaming down her face. Wrapping his fingers through her hair again, he lifted her to her feet, flinging her toward the open hole in the center of the deck.

  “Allow me to show you your new accommodations,” he sneered, pushing her face first through the hole.

  She crashed to the floor below with a groan, her legs folding over her head, bending her body into an excruciating angle. The tips of Mr. Hayward’s shoes appeared. Unwinding herself, she rose unsteadily to her feet.

  “Mr. Dubois, I am surprised to find you here, I thought you were assigned to Captain Shaw.”

  “He has been dismissed,” growled Mr. Evans, dropping to the floor with a thud. “Apparently, thievery is one of Mr. Dubois’ hidden talents.”

  “I didn’t take anything,” retorted Alana. Mr. Evans swung his arm, knocking her back against the ladder, the rungs digging into her back, bruising her spine. Her head snapped back, striking the ladder, and she stumbled forward, falling into Mr. Hayward’s arms.

  “Was that necessary, Mr. Evans?” asked Mr. Hayward, wrapping Alana’s arm over his broad shoulders, steadying her.

  “You would show mercy to a thief?” Mr. Evans arched an eyebrow.

  “He claims he did not take the gold.”

  “Yet, the missing sack was discovered in his trunk.”

  “That doesn’t prove he took it. He was shoveling coal at the time the gold disappeared… or did you forget to mention that to the captain?” Mr. Hayward bristled.

  “Captain says Mr. Dubois belongs in the brig,” replied Mr. Evans, his tone even.

  With a sigh, Mr. Hayward turned, dragging Alana’s limp body with him. He walked halfway down the ship, stopping just outside the cargo hold. Four iron cages, reaching floor to ceiling, lined the starboard wall. Removing a ring from his waist, he sorted through the heavy keys, selecting the largest of the six. Unlocking an empty cage, he pulled the door open, jerking his head toward the inside.

  Alana shook her head, pleading with Mr. Hayward, “Please, I didn’t do it.”

  “Don’t make me force you, Mr. Dubois. I’m not a violent man, but I will do what it takes to make my captain happy.”

  “He’ll go without complaint,” came a deep voice from the shadows.

  Alana’s head whipped up as Captain Shaw stepped forward, his face devoid of emotion. How had he followed them here? She didn’t see him use the ladder, which meant there had to be another entrance…

  She pursed her lips, nodding, and stepped into the cage. The door slammed shut behind her, the key grinding in the lock.

  “I’d like a moment with the prisoner.”

  Spinning around, Mr. Hayward bobbed his head once, placing a hand on Mr. Evan’s shoulder and directing him toward the cargo hold; they vanished together. Alana wrapped her hands around the cage, peering through the iron squares.

  “I didn’t take it.”

  “You’ve said this to me several times.” He dragged his hand through his hair. “The gold was found in your trunk.”

  “Then someone put it there.”

  “I don’t know you.” He sighed, leaning his back against the cold metal, his eyes flicking over the prisoners locked in the other cages. “I can’t trust you.”

  Sticking her hand through one of the small openings, she touched his shoulder. “You do know me, you know my brother; I have no need for your money.”

  Ripping out from under her hand, he spun around. His face pinched. “Do you have another suspect?”

  “No.” She glanced down, twisting her hands in front of her.

  He leaned closer, dropping his voice. “They will kill you; they don’t care if you are a man or a woman. The punishment for theft is death.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Alana. I cannot save you from this fate.”

  “Apologize to my brother,” she spat, slamming her palm against the cage. “You’ve murdered the two people he cared the most about.”

  “Two people?” Cruel laughter crawled from her right. Mr. Evans appeared, his face stretched into an evil grin. “Captain Shaw has murdered hundreds. You are nothing to him.” He approached Captain Shaw, whispering in his ear. With a nod, Captain Shaw turned, heading toward the aft. Climbing the ladder, he vanished onto the deck.

  “I hate you,” said Alana, narrowing her eyes as she glared at Mr. Evans.

  “Your opinion holds no value aboard this ship,” he replied, leaning forward and pressing his face into the square. “I know your secret… Mrs. Dubois.”

  She gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. Backing away from him, Alana held up her hands, licking her lips. A tremor raced down her spine, her eyes darting around the small space. Nowhere to hide… “I’m not—”

  He tapped the side of his nose, cutting off her feeble reply. “I hear many things.” The horrific grin returning, he tilted his head. “You’re quite loud… when excited.” Unlatching the cage, he pulled open the heavy door, slipping into the small space, and pulled the door closed behind him. “I think you and I can help each other.”

  “What do you want?” she asked, knowing the answer, yet hopeful her instinct regarding Mr. Evans’ nature was mistaken.

  Crossing the tiny square, he reached out, trailing one finger down her arm. “You know what I want.”

  Alana jerked away, her body stiff. “No.”

  His hand whipped up, catching her underneath her chin. Squeezing, he slammed her against the rear of the cage, his body pressed against hers, pinning her to the cold metal. His mouth moved against her ear, hissing, “I don’t have to ask, Mrs. Dubois. I could just take what I want.”

  She twisted her head, glaring at him, willing every ounce of anger vibrating through her limbs to smack him in the face. “I am under Captain Shaw’s protection.”

  “Are you?” He glanced around with exaggeration. “I see no man besides me.”

  “There are witnesses.” Her eyes flicked to the cage beside hers. The two men she had shoveled coal with watched the exchange with horror, their faces pressed to the openings between the two cages.

  “I’ll kill them.”

  Their faces vanished, footsteps indicating their movement to the opposite side of their cage. Mr. Evans smirked, grinding himself into her pelvis.

  “I would be willing to confirm your innocence in the crime if you were to offer me certain favors.”

  “You know I didn’t steal the gold.”

  He laughed, throwing his head back. The bray echoed, reverberating off the ship’s side. The fingers wrapped around her throat loosened.

  “I do.” He leaned forward, his nose touching hers, hatred glittering in his eyes. “Sin
ce Captain Shaw has taken you aboard this ship, he has dismissed me from his favor. If he leaves this ship to a woman instead of me, after all the months I’ve worked aboard this wretched ship…”

  “You’re jealous?” Of all the inane, ridiculous reasons for a man—

  She flinched when Mr. Evans punched the cage.

  “I am not jealous,” he spat, his fingers tightened around her throat. Choking, she clawed at his hand, tearing the skin with her fingernails. He released her neck with a yelp.

  Cradling his hand to his chest, he raised his opposite arm, smashing her across the face. His manhood hardened, digging into her pelvis. A sour grin split his face. Grabbing her arms, he pinned them above her head, pressing himself closer, his rum-soaked breath brushing over her lips.

  “Do we have an accord, Mrs. Dubois… or would you rather die?”

  “I’d rather die,” she retorted. His hand flew a second time, knocking her into the side of the cage. She collapsed to the floor, moaning.

  Ripping open the cage door, Mr. Evans passed through, slamming it shut behind him. He spun around, shoving a key into the lock, then twisting it sharply.

  “You’ll regret your dismissal of me.”

  Alana pushed up from the floor, a grimace twisting her face. Leveling her gaze with him, she growled, “When we reach Ceresus, I shall see you hanged.”

  Snarling, Mr. Evans unlocked the cage again, tearing open the door. It swung, crashing into the other cage, a deafening metal clang rolling through the ship. Alana covered her head with her arms, pressing them against her ears to dampen the sound. Mr. Evans’ hand closed around her shirt, ripping her from the floor, flinging her toward the opposite side of the cage. She crumpled into a ball, whimpering. Approaching, he unfastened his trousers, a leer stretching his mouth into a horrid smile.

  “I’ll have what I want from you, then I’ll kill you.”

  “What the devil?” bellowed Mr. Hayward. He appeared in the doorway, his eyes skating over the bruising on Alana’s face, her cowering position, and Mr. Evans’ trousers, which were halfway down his legs. “We do not condone that kind of punishment, Mr. Evans,” snarled Mr. Hayward. “The captain will hear of your misconduct.”

  Yanking his pants up, Mr. Evans strode to the door. “Dubois is a woman.”

  Mr. Hayward’s eyes flicked to Alana and back to Mr. Evans’ face. “Are you certain?”

  “Quite certain, and the captain is too, judging from his private exploration of her body.” Twisting around, Mr. Evans winked at Alana. “Perhaps you’d like two men at the same time.”

  She shuddered. Where was Captain Shaw? Had he abandoned her to Mr. Evans and the rest of the crew? He couldn’t truly think she’d take the gold, could he? She swallowed, her eyes lifting to Mr. Hayward.

  “If that is true, then Mrs. Dubois is subject to the prisoner’s code and is protected from this kind of assault.”

  “But she’s a woman!” Mr. Evans’ face darkened.

  “The code makes no distinction.” Folding his arms, Mr. Hayward moved aside, gesturing for Mr. Evans to pass through the cage door. “I’ll take your keys, Mr. Evans,” said Mr. Hayward holding out his hand. “The captain will hear of this matter.”

  “I am your superior.” Growling, Mr. Evans stepped through the opening.

  “For this voyage only. I work for Captain Shaw, not you. When he resigns, I do too. Find someone else to repair this ship.” Snapping his fingers, he indicated his palm with his eyes.

  Glaring at Alana, Mr. Evans spit on the floor. Wordlessly, he dropped the key ring into Mr. Hayward’s outstretched hand, then turned, walking stiffly toward the ladder. Once he had ascended onto the deck, Mr. Hayward turned to Alana, sighing heavily.

  “You certainly picked the worst enemy to have aboard this ship, Mr. Dubois.”

  “It is Mrs.” She offered him a sheepish smile, tugging at the ends of her short hair. “I cut it.”

  Mr. Hayward gaped at her, his mouth hanging open, then shaking himself, he offered her a formal bow. “Welcome aboard, Mrs. Dubois.”

  She laughed, standing up with a groan. “Thank you.”

  “I am sorry, but I need to lock you back in here. Captain Shaw must be made aware of this incident before Mr. Evans can no longer be controlled.” He closed the door, latching it. “He can’t get to you in here. I took his keys.”

  “How many keyrings are there?”

  “Three.” Holding up three fingers, he smiled warmly. “Captain’s got one as well. You’ll be safe in here until I return.”

  She slid her arm through the cage, touching Mr. Hayward’s shoulder. “Thank you,” she whispered with a shiver. “If you hadn’t stopped him…”

  Mr. Hayward glanced at her hand. “I would have stopped him had it been any one of my prisoners.”

  “But you didn’t join him either,” she whispered.

  “I’m a faithful man.” He grinned and patted her hand. Turning, he walked toward the stern, his footsteps fading as he entered the cargo hold.

  Shouts echoed from above, drifting through the small hole in the deck. Pressing the side of her head to the cage, she strained her ears, her breath caught in her throat. A shudder rolled down her spine. What was Mr. Evans plotting? She doubted he would be dissuaded so easily. Would Captain Shaw intervene? A foreign word floated down to her… keelhaul. Boisterous yells followed the words, which became a chant, echoing louder and louder. Then silence.

  Mr. Evans dropped through the hole, strolling to Alana’s cage. She backed away from him, pressing herself against the far cage wall, the bite of icy metal seeped through her shirt.

  “Mr. Hayward will return any moment,” she threatened.

  “Mr. Hayward is currently preoccupied in the captain’s quarters.”

  Terror bubbled up in her throat. “Where is Captain Shaw?”

  “With him. They are discussing the report of numerous missing items from several crew members. Your name was mentioned.” Mr. Evans leaned against the cage, twirling a metal ring around his finger. He clucked his tongue. “Captain won’t protect you now,” he grinned, “and since he was engaged, I stole his keys.” He selected a key from the ring, shoving it into the lock, wrenching it. “The crew would like to have a few words with you, Mr. Dubois.”

  “No.” Alana pressed her arms against the cage, wrapped her fingers around the slats.

  “This is your last chance, Mrs. Dubois. Either give yourself to me, or the crew will keelhaul you.” Pulling the cage door open, Mr. Evans tilted his head, grinning. He bowed. “Have you heard the word before?”

  Alana pursed her lips, then shook her head.

  “Very well,” he replied amiably, strolling into the cage. “Keelhauling is a favorite punishment among the crew. We bind your arms and legs, tie a rope around your waist, then throw you overboard.” He stepped closer, cornering Alana. “Once you’re in the water, we drag your body along the underside of the ship, carving up your delicate skin and clothing until they hang from you in ribbons. Afterward, we’ll haul you back up. If you do not drown, you may survive your injuries, however,”—his hand grabbed her face, pinching her chin—“I doubt your pretty face will survive the ordeal.”

  She swallowed. Laughing, he swung his arm, smacking her head against the metal cage. She dropped to her knees, the world spinning dizzily. Kneeling, Mr. Evans laced his fingers through her hair, lifting her head. Placing his lips against her ear, he murmured, “Do you want me to tell the captain you couldn’t have put the items in your trunk? That you were with me? I can do that for you.” He twisted her head toward the ladder; the chant had begun again, vibrating down the hole, echoing in her mind. “I can save you from them, too.” His free hand slid under her chin, jerking it back. “But you belong to me, to do with as I please.”

  “No!” Alana rolled to her left, swinging her right arm, striking him across the face.

  Snarling, he leapt on her, issuing three sharp slaps. Her jaw snapped together, pain radiating through her body. Hauling her f
rom the floor, he threw her over his shoulder and exited the cage. She tried to grab onto the door, but her limp body refused. She hung, unable to fight, as Mr. Evans carried her up the ladder and tossed her onto the deck, lit by the reddish-orange rays of the rising sun.

  She blinked, momentarily blinded by the light. Mr. Wickes yanked her arms together, wrapping a thick rope around her wrists. Bending, he wound the same rope around her legs, binding her wrists to her feet. Selecting another rope, Mr. Wickes lifted her torso, sliding it under her body and wrapped it around her waist twice. Securing the knot tightly, his irate gaze slid to her face.

  “We don’t tolerate thieves aboard this ship. Perhaps this will be a lesson to you.”

  Lifting her, Mr. Wickes walked to the starboard side. Chants followed his slow procession, growing louder as he approached the railing. Mr. Evans appeared next to him, picking up the end of the rope, which had been tied to the yardarm, pulling hard on the rope.

  “I hope you can swim.”

  He jerked his head toward the ocean, and Mr. Wickes dumped her over the side. She tumbled backward, her tethered hands grasping for the railing. A shriek tore from her lips, absorbed by frigid water, which rushed up to greet her as she plunged into the ocean, her scream lost beneath the surface. Kicking her bound legs, she struggled to reach the surface, but each wiggle caused her to sink lower. Her oxygen starved brain screamed. Sinking to the bottom of the ocean, black shadows crept into her vision.

  Her torso jerked, yanked by the rope tied around her waist. Unable to fight the pull, she stiffened, clamping her lips together to retain the last bit of oxygen, and waited for the pain. Her body slammed into the side of the ship.

  She groaned, releasing the breath she’d been holding. Scraping along the rough wood and barnacles, agony radiated through her body. She prayed for death. Her head smashed into the ship, and the darkness claimed her mind.