In a Pirate's Debt Page 2

  The captain glanced at Sydney.

  The boy’s mouth dropped open. “Swounds! Cap’n Bloodstone, it’s a milady.”

  The girl issued another sharp command. “Let me up!” She kicked and squirmed.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Lucas placed his hands about the small waist, hidden among layers of a soaked shirt, and lifted her from his lap.

  He set her on the rower’s bench and held her steady a moment. She pushed his hands away, bent forward, and retched again. He moved his feet just in time.

  Travay wiped her mouth and clawed dripping strands of hair from her face. She peered through the mist at her rescuers, a man and a boy. Both wore bandanas tied around their heads and bright sashes around their waists. The man’s wet, bare chest and muscular arms glistened in the moonlight. Something about his untamed look and scent of sea and spice caused her heart to hammer against her ribs. Captain Bloodstone—that was what the boy had called him.

  Above them, a rock dislodged and tumbled down the cliff. Travay looked up. Fear struck her heart. She jumped back into the captain’s lap.

  “If you are worried about your pursuer, ma’am, he is gone.”

  His deep, confident voice sounded like that of a gentleman, and the strong arms he placed around Travay comforted her but did nothing to clear the confusion in her mind. What pursuer?

  The captain’s heart beat against Travay’s shoulder, and the welcome warmth from his body enveloped her, reminding her of when she sat on her father’s lap as a child. She twisted to glance at his face. He smiled, and she could not help admiring his square jaw, slim mustache, and white teeth. His breath feathered her cheek, but a mischievous glint emanated from bright eyes. Who was he really? And fie! What was she doing jumping onto his lap?

  Travay pushed away from him and crawled back onto the rower’s bench. Shivers shook her whole body, and dizziness flowed over her in waves. She touched a bump on her forehead and clasped her arms. She tried to focus on her rescuers and to recall what had happened to bring her into their longboat. The young man’s gold hoop earrings twinkled as the boat rocked with the tide. A gleaming silver sword and a carved leather baldric lay on the floor of the boat. She glanced across the bay. The moon sailed from behind a cloud and illuminated a sleek brigantine bobbing with the tide. A black flag waved from its masthead.

  Pirates. Murdering, thieving pirates.

  Darkness crept over Travay, and she slumped forward.

  CHAPTER 2

  Lucas caught the girl before she slid to the longboat floor. “Sydney, we’ve got to get back to the Blue Heron. We are going to need Mama Penn’s help.” He cradled the cold, wet form in his arms. “And I’m going to need whatever is still dry in the boat to wrap her in.”

  “Yessir.” The boy ripped off his shirt and watched the captain swathe it and his own shirt around the girl. Then Sydney grabbed an oar and rowed toward the brigantine. He glanced over at Lucas, who used one arm to row and held the girl with the other.

  “Cap’n, is you praying over that girl?” The cabin boy still grappled with the change Lucas had made a few months earlier when he converted to Christianity.

  “Yes, I am. She may be going into shock.”

  On board the Blue Heron, Lucas carried the girl to his own quarters, shouting as he strode across the deck, “Send Mama Penn to my cabin!”

  The crew of half-drunken pirates leered at the limp, sodden figure with long, shining hair swinging in the moonlight and a delicately molded face pale as death. They murmured among themselves.

  One shouted, “Another woman? Women is bad luck on a ship.” Several ayes followed.

  Lucas didn’t even glance at them. “Get back to your posts, men. We’ll be clearing out of here at first light.”

  Dwayne Thorpe, first lieutenant and best friend of the captain, came to stare from his cabin doorway. He folded his thick arms and raised an eyebrow. “You, uh, need any help, Captain? Is this what you went fishing for?”

  A grin started at the corners of Lucas’ mouth. “No, just get Mama Penn, fast.”

  Travay fought her way toward consciousness through a black tunnel and brittle coldness. Gentle hands removed her soggy clothing.

  “Now, Seema, you git yo hands off them purty underthings. Ye hear me, girl?”

  A smack echoed in Travay’s ears. She moaned.

  “The crew out there is arguing about this girl, Mama Penn. They are saying we should hold her for ransom, but I saw the way the captain looked at her. It would be better to throw this wisp of a thing back overboard and be done with a lot of trouble.”

  “Hush yo mouth, girl. This here little lady deserves as much help as you did when the captain rescued you from that slave block. And we best be finding out why she jumped off that cliff. Sydney say it clear took his breath away, an’ Cap’n Bloodstone’s, too. She got grit and courage, that’s fo sure.”

  The younger woman snorted. “This girl is nothing more than one of the spoiled, uppity rich folks we will spend our lives fetching and toting for. Grit and courage has nothing to do with it. Can I have that pearl knife you found in her boot?”

  “No, you can’t have it. I’se giving it to the Cap’n. Now git on out of here.”

  The dark tunnel claimed Travay again.

  The next morning, light flowed through the porthole above the bed and played across Travay’s eyelids. The scent of the sea tickled her nose. The ship rolled and tossed her in the cot. She sat up, gasping and clawing the air as if coming up from underwater. “Arundel—poor dear Arundel!”

  A black woman beside her bunk bed leaned forward. She gently pressed Travay back onto the bed and stroked her hair, which was spread across the pillow. “Hush now, little lady, ye be fine soon.” The plump woman’s soft dark eyes were friendly.

  “But … Arundel!” Tears pooled in Travay’s eyes as she looked into the kind face.

  “Arundel be your horse, young ma’am?”

  “Yes, yes. Do you know what happened to her?”

  “Mama Penn doesn’t, but I do,” a deep voice intoned from the door.

  The woman stood. “Oh, Cap’n Bloodstone. The lady, she has come back alive. I was getting ready to come tell you.”

  Travay’s attention riveted to the man who entered the cabin. Sunshine and a spicy scent came in with him. The one who’d rescued her from the bay. Even with a day’s beard shadowing his firm jaw, he was a most handsome man. His three-cornered hat sat back on his head, and his thick black hair flowed to his shoulders in braids. A billowy-sleeved white shirt clung to his lean torso and a crimson sash overlaid with leather crossed over one shoulder, buckling around his waist. Two pistols protruded from the baldric, and a sword swung at his side.

  Their glances met. Travay had seen such clear green eyes only once before. He smiled. She lowered her eyes as heat rose in her cheeks.

  “Your horse surfaced and swam to the shore. She’s probably home by now and causing quite a stir, I warrant.” The room vibrated with his presence. Again his words and voice made her think more of a gentleman than a pirate.

  “Oh, I am so glad Arundel did not perish! Where am I?” Travay started to sit up, then gasped and clutched the blanket. Where was her clothing?

  The man chuckled. “You are on the Blue Heron, and I am Captain Bloodstone.” He swept off his hat and bowed. “And who do we have the honor of serving as our fair guest?”

  Travay stiffened and blinked at the man and the slave staring at her. “I—I don’t know.” Her voice rose an octave.

  Mama Penn’s brown eyes darted to the captain’s.

  He met the woman’s stare and winked. A mocking smile spread over his face. “But you remembered the name of your horse.”

  He doesn’t believe me. A shudder traveled up Travay’s spine. “I—I don’t know how I remember that and nothing more.”

  “Well, don’t worry. I am sure your memory will soon return. Meanwhile, you are our guest. But I must warn you, don’t venture out of this cabin unescorted. My crew is not to be tru
sted around lovely ladies.” He gestured toward her breeches and shirt, which had been hung across a line to dry. “Even in men’s clothing.”

  Travay stretched the blanket to her chin. With her other hand, she gingerly touched the knot on her forehead. Was she safe from the captain?

  The man stepped to the door, then turned back. “Our ship’s doctor did take a look at that bump. He said it will be fine in a few days.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll send some clothing for you, milady.” He gestured to Mama Penn. “Bolt this door. You and Seema will admit no one but me, Thorpe, or Sydney.”

  “Yessir.” Mama Penn moved to the door, keeping her back to Travay. “Cap’n, I found this in her boot.” Travay glimpsed what the woman handed the captain—a small knife.

  The captain glanced back at Travay, smiled, and left.

  At the sound of the bolt sliding back into place, Travay relaxed, but the blank spaces in her mind caused iron fingers to grip her throat. Who was she and what had caused her and her horse to end up in the Caribbean bay? Who was this handsome man who had rescued her? His voice and words were those of a gentleman, but his clothing and braids were surely those of a pirate. Why did the thought of him cause a tingling in the pit of her stomach? She turned her face to the wall and gave in to the drowsiness pressing against her bruised limbs and heavy eyelids.

  At sunrise the next morning, Captain Bloodstone strode across the deck of the Blue Heron. He loved everything about the brigantine, from its long, sleek hull and square-rigged masts, to the way all 200 tons of it skimmed across the sea in pursuit of larger, heavier ships. Now that the hull had been scraped clean of barnacles and all repairs had been made, they would be able to make top speed with a good wind. For now, the ship lay at anchor in the bay, waves lapping her sides.

  He greeted his crew, busy at pre-sailing tasks. They raced each other to set up the shrouds and stays and to check all the rigging. Everything would soon be in trim. As he passed, the men stopped and turned questioning looks on him.

  First mate Byron Pitt sauntered out in front of the captain and said in falsetto, “I’m sorry my dear, brave Captain, but my memory seems to have drowned in the bay. Why didn’t you save it, too?”

  Sinbad, the ship’s huge black Muslim carpenter, and a loyal crew member and friend of the captain, rose from the block of wood he was shaping near the lower deck entrance. His dark eyes under his red fez hat turned in the direction of Pitt and the captain.

  Bloodstone ignored Pitt, but the nearby crew members guffawed, especially the almost toothless boatswain Knox, Pitt’s friend. The first mate’s jesting always carried a barb. Bloodstone did not trust Pitt after the past weeks at sea with him. He knew the man was itching to discredit him, even kill him, and take over the ship. He planned to get rid of Pitt as soon as they arrived in Charles Town if he didn’t have to battle him before that. And he didn’t want to fight him, not now. Once, he wouldn’t have hesitated. Actually, the younger man reminded him of himself a few years back, before he met Reverend Wentworth and his life changed.

  Lucas also knew the crew’s thoughts. What was to be done about the rescued woman? Would they stick to the plan to sail to Charles Town? The men had prize money burning in their pockets, and several had family waiting in Charles Town. “Get back to work, lads,” he shouted. “That means you, mate. We sail within the hour.” Bloodstone nodded to Sinbad and bounded up the quarterdeck steps.

  Was his lovely traveler telling the truth about a loss of memory? Not likely. After all, she asked about her horse. She was probably a runaway of some kind, which meant he needed to get the ship out of the cove and onto the high seas before her pursuers showed up on the banks with the king’s men—the very kind of trouble he didn’t need.

  He took out the small, pearl-handled knife and tested the edge against his thumb. Sharp steel. The young woman’s face passed through his mind. How lovely she was, even with freckles across her nose and a bump on her forehead. He could not forget how she looked with her thick auburn hair fanned out across his pillow. A rare beauty. He had seen a splatter of freckles like that somewhere before, but where? And who or what had driven her off that cliff? One thing was sure: she was no runaway servant. Her speech and her entire demeanor spoke of quality, even nobility.

  The angry words of the man who had pursued her flowed back over Lucas. He was up to no good. Lucas knew it in his gut. Maybe the girl needed to disappear for a time like he himself had done years earlier. Only by God’s grace had he survived those days. He shook his head to banish them from his mind.

  The least he could do for the young lady was give her a chance to get her memory back or, if she were lying, decide to trust him with the truth. He would proceed with the original plan that had started in Charles Town months earlier. Their work was finished in the Caribbean for a season. Meanwhile, he’d need to get busy thinking how he could keep the girl protected from his lusty crew until he could find out where she belonged. He forced the image of her and her full, lush lips from his mind.

  Lieutenant Thorpe walked up the steps to the quarterdeck and leaned on the railing beside Lucas. He pulled a tinderbox and a pipe from his pocket. “Where are we headed, Cap’n?”

  “To Charles Town as planned.”

  “What about our guest?” Thorpe struck the flint and lit his pipe.

  Bloodstone shot him a quick look and tried to stop his eyelid from twitching, which it did when he had something he didn’t want to discuss. “I don’t know what to do with her. We need to give her time to get her memory back or decide to be honest. We can’t just drop her off at Kingston. Someone or something made her jump off that cliff.” He pushed his hat back and gazed out to sea.

  Thorpe cocked his chin and suppressed a smile. “Right, right. I’m sure her memory will soon return. And who knows what dreadful thing caused her to lose it in the first place. That is if the lovely lady truly has lost it.” He puffed on his pipe. “Of course, I am sure you will enjoy giving her some time to decide what she wants to tell us.” Thorpe stepped off the quarterdeck, whistling on his way to check on the crew and readiness to sail.

  Lucas turned a dark scowl after his best friend. Why would he enjoy having a third—not-to-mention nameless—woman on board who may or may not have lost her memory? God forbid. At that moment, her striking face pushed its way into his mind. He shook the vision away and leaned across the quarterdeck rail. Everyone appeared ready on deck, awaiting his command. He yelled, “Weigh anchor! Man the sails! Northwest to Charles Town!”

  Action erupted below.

  Sailors scurried across the deck, shouting, cursing, and laughing. The squeaks of the anchor being rolled up from the sea’s bottom, the stretching and flapping of sails, and the screeching of strained rigging filled the morning air—all sounds Lucas loved and breathed.

  Back on the beach, the flock of seagulls that had kept the ship and the rowdy crew company the past week rose into the air, squawking as if in death throes.

  Was it some kind of omen? Lucas shook his head. Reverend Wentworth would tell him to put no stock in omens.

  The clamor on the deck above awakened Travay from her napping. Was Captain Bloodstone giving them orders to sail? Clutching the blanket around her, she sat up and stretched to look out the porthole. Blue waters and a bright sky filled her view. The tide slapped against the sides of the vessel, and she heard sails snapping in the brisk breeze that sailed through the opening. Travay took a deep breath laced with the scent of the sea. The fog in her mind sent a shiver up her spine. What had happened to her? And who was Captain Bloodstone? Just remembering the way the man’s presence had filled the room and his strange magnetism caused warmth to rise in her cheeks.

  “He’s a good man, the Cap’n.”

  Travay twisted around and stared at Mama Penn, who sat near the bed. Had she spoken her previous thoughts out loud, or did the woman read minds? She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “Yes, I am sure he is. Is he not a pirate?” She couldn’t keep the contempt fro
m her voice. But anxiety over the blank in her mind almost choked her. How did she and Arundel end up in the ocean, being rescued by this strange captain and ship?

  “He’s not really a pirate. I think he’s a merchant, of sorts, and he’s a good—”

  “Don’t bother to defend him. Mama Penn is your name, I believe?”

  “Yes’m.”

  “I know all I want to know about pirates. And I hope and pray every one of them will one day swing from a hangman’s noose.” What did she know about pirates that made a statement like that come out of her mouth?

  Mama Penn’s eyes widened. “Oh no, miss, not the Cap’n.” Then she thought a minute. “Maybe that Knox. I don’t trust him no mor’n I’d trust a crow not to peck out your eyes if he had a chance.”

  Travay smiled and relaxed her viselike grip on the blanket. “Who removed my clothing?”

  “I did, with Seema’s help. Your things was all wet and torn, and the Cap’n sent them dresses in for you to try on.” Mama Penn pointed to clothing laid across a chair. “And I’ve brought you a bucket o’ water to wash with and here’s a bar of lilac soap I found with the stuff the Cap’n sent.”

  “Wear dresses and use soap he’s stolen from God knows where or from whom, even if he calls them spoils of war?” Travay shivered with disgust. But she gritted her teeth, rose, and let Mama Penn help her bathe and don a green satin dress over a matching petticoat. She found small slippers and stockings and pulled those on as well. Her hair felt like a matted mess, but soon the competent hands of her helper had pulled out the tangles and seaweed and brushed it till it fell in shimmering auburn waves down her back.

  Travay stood and fingered the fine soft fabric of her billowing skirt, and her new lilac scent relaxed her. The ship rose on a wave and then dropped down the trough on the other side. She grabbed the edge of the bunk to keep from losing her balance. “Where is this ship heading? We are surely sailing.”