A Captive of Chance (2 page)

“Usually I would agree, but they will probably come straight to the hold to see what cargo the vessel is carrying. We would be found out. No,” said Isabelle, “we have to go further. Somewhere they won’t think to look.”

Isabelle tried to calm herself and think back to all those boring dinners in the officer’s quarters she had suffered through the past few weeks. They often talked about the ship.

“The bilge!” said Isabelle. “We need to head to the bilge.”

“The bilge? That sounds awful!” whined Marina.

“If what I remember from the officer’s comments, I’m afraid it is going to smell even worse.” groaned Isabelle.

They stumbled and groped their way through the hold, making their way to the back and the side of the ship.

“The bilge is the lowest part of the ship and quite nasty with water and such. There will be no reason for the pirates to go there,” explained Isabelle as she tried not to breathe through her nose the closer they got.

Leaning against the side of the ship, she gingerly stepped into the cold, foul smelling water and lowered herself into a crouch. Pulling Marina down by her side, once again they waited and listened. The sounds of battle were muffled from their low perch. They could better hear the lapping of the waves against the side of the ship. After what seemed liked hours, even the faint sounds of gunfire died out. As much as they were praying for the roaring sounds to cease, the silence was worse. Much worse.

The women were left to wonder what was happening far above them. Had they won? Isabelle cursed her current fate under her breath.

* * *

“You have lost, Captain, but have good cheer. By surrendering, you have saved the lives of, well, what’s left of your valiant crew,” said the pirate captain sardonically as he stood over the prostrate merchant ship’s captain.

“I’ll see you hanged for this!” ground out the man.

The pirate captain sighed. Turning to his first mate, he said, “Why do they always say that? After I was being so pleasant.”

“They don’t always say it. The last bloke said he would see you drawn and quartered,” answered the first mate helpfully.

“That is true. And that puff piece of a captain before that did say he wanted my head on a pike,” offered the pirate captain with amusement. “But on the whole, I’d say I get threatened with
ol’ Jack Ketch
the most.”

“Fairly put,” said the first mate.

The two men made a striking pair.

The pirate captain stood well over six feet with broad shoulders emphasized all the more by his narrow hips and wide-legged stance. His swarthy complexion from years spent at sea and shoulder-length jet-black hair gave him a sinister air. The malevolent appearance was helped by the leather brace that held no fewer than five loaded pistols. Attired in unrelenting black, with shiny black knee high boots and a long, black oilskin coat, it was no wonder hardy seamen trembled at his approach.

He was Captain Jacques Tavernier “Le Chanceux”, The Lucky. Named so for the countless attacks he had survived without so much as a scratch. He was legendary among his men and beyond. Called Captain by his men and Chance by his friends, of which there was only one, his first mate Drake.

Drake stood only an inch shorter than his captain. His almost white blond hair a stark contrast. Although it would be a deadly mistake to assume Drake was any less formidable. Standing by his captain’s side since they were two young bilge rats swabbing the deck of an English navy ship, he was fiercely loyal and just as fierce in battle.

Chance placed his cutlass under the chin of the merchant vessel’s captain, forcing him to meet his gaze. “Now, good sir, why don’t you tell me about the cargo you are about to gift to me for sparing your life.”

“Go to the devil,” spat out the merchant captain.

“Tsk, tsk. Such manners,” admonished Chance before leaning down on his haunches and whispering in a low and threatening voice, “Bravado such as that gets a man killed. So unless you want me to slit your ungrateful throat from ear to ear and add your blood to this deck, I suggest you speak with more respect,
vous comprenez
?”

The merchant captain nodded his head slightly, not wishing to cut himself on the razor sharp cutlass that was still wedged against his throat.

“
Bien
! So let’s try this again. What nice trinkets can we expect from your hold?” asked Chance.

“We stopped in the Americas before the islands. I carry tobacco, sugar and cotton. There is also a dowry chest full of gold and silks. It is yours if you leave my ship and crew unharmed,” stammered out the merchant captain.

“It already is mine,” laughed Chance before turning to his first mate. “Drake, be so good as to direct the crew to empty the hold of our bounty. Leave enough food provisions to get the merchant crew to the nearest port,” ordered Chance. While having a bloodthirsty reputation during an attack, Chance was known for his benevolence once a ship surrendered… as long as they cooperated.

“Yes, Captain,” responded Drake sharply before ordering some deck hands to help him below in the hold.

Turning back to the anxious merchant captain, Chance asked in a calm tone that belied the question, “Now, Captain, shall we discuss the woman you have hidden on board? The one who belongs to the dowry chest?” he helpfully provided when it looked like the merchant captain was about to deny it.

It was too late. The merchant captain realized his terrible error. Not being one to protect a woman over his own hide, he willingly told the pirate captain all he wanted to know about his beautiful passenger.

Chapter Two

His Belt

As his crew busily emptied the hold of its precious cargo, Chance went in search of another precious prize. Heading down the narrow passageway, he made short work of checking the limited number of cabins. There was only one left to check which must house the woman and her companion.

Assuming the door would of course be barred, he sheathed his bloodstained cutlass, took a step back and with one powerful kick, opened the door. He was genuinely surprised to find the cabin empty. So the little dove had found herself a hiding place, he thought. He could not help admiring such bravery. There were not many a female who would venture away from the safety of their cabin during a pirate attack.

He strolled to the bed and picked up a silk nightgown that had been discarded in haste. Raising the soft fabric to his face, he inhaled. Jasmine. Chance smiled. The spicy, floral scent always reminded him of his island home. He now felt an even greater pull to find the brave female who wore such silken pieces of nonsense to bed and adorned herself with spicy, musk scents.

“There you are,” said Drake as he crowded into the cramped cabin space. “Hold is empty. The merchant crew is tied up, all but the cabin boy who is under strict instructions not to untie them till our ship is past the horizon. He damn near wet his britches when I approached him, so I’m certain my command will be followed to the letter,” smirked Drake.

“There are two women somewhere on board,” said Chance as he turned to Drake still holding the piece of silk. “Grab Gregor and search. I don’t want the crew finding them before we do.”

“Understood.” Drake nodded as he went to find his twin brother to help carry out the captain’s orders.

* * *

Isabelle was going mad. From their repugnant hiding place, they could hear the pirates as they rummaged and pillaged through the items in the hold. There were several close calls when they almost thought they had been spotted in the dim, dank interior. Finally, the pirates had taken all they wanted and once again, the belly of the ship was cast into deafening, dark silence.

They had no way of knowing if the merchant crew was dead or alive or if the pirates were still on board. They strained to hear any sounds at all. Not daring to venture forth till they were certain. Just when she could take the wait no longer and was about to pull Marina from their hiding place, there was a shaft of light. Someone was coming back to the hold.

“Gregor you can’t be serious.”

“I tell you it’s the only place we haven’t looked on this whole damn ship.”

Gregor was Drake’s identical twin. The only way to tell them apart was the vicious scar that cut through Gregor’s left eyebrow and ended at the corner of his mouth, pulling it up into a perpetual sneer. While not as close with the captain, he was the ship’s Coxswain, third in command in charge of steering and crew.

“Well it’s going to be a nasty bit of business dragging them out if it’s true,” grumbled Drake.

Gregor cast the lamp light over the sides of the ship till he found his quarry. “Hello, my pretties,” he said with his almost gruesome half smile.

Marina screamed in terror and fainted dead away.

Isabelle threw her shoulders back and with arrogance she did not feel, ordered, “Take me to your captain.”

“With pleasure,” said Drake.

* * *

Chance looked on with amusement as his two next in commands came onto the upper deck. Gregor had in his arms the dead weight of one woman. With her honey brown locks and obviously trim figure, she was definitely a bonny lass, but it was the other woman who arrested his attention.

She was struggling in Drake’s strong grasp, dragging her feet every inch of the way. Her raven black hair had come loose from its pins and fell in a thick, wild tangle around her shoulders. Her creamy caramel skin set off her sapphire blue eyes, which were presently throwing daggers in all directions. He ran an assessing glance beyond her shoulders and raised an appreciating eyebrow. Her figure was lush and curvy with generous hips and bosom. His cock swelled at the mere thought of pressing against that obviously luscious bottom as he pushed deep inside her pussy.

“I claim the black haired spitfire,” growled Chance.

“Thought you might,” said Drake with a smirk as he thrust Isabelle in his friend’s direction. “Gregor and I will take the pretty, docile one.”

Like true identical twins, Drake and Gregor shared everything… everything.

Isabelle sputtered in her anger. How dare they discuss her and Marina as if they were purchasing chattel! “Unhand me,” she ground out to the ferocious looking pirate who now held her tight, matching his intense gaze with one of her own.

Isabelle had always been told pirates were disgusting, unwashed heathens. So she was unprepared for the clean cut, handsome man who had her in a firm grasp. Sure, his hair was longer than fashionable but with his dark looks and chiseled jaw, she could not imagine he would be turned away from any upper-crust ballroom.

Admiring her moxy and certain she was the owner of the silken gown he had found in the cabin, Chance asked with an amused smirk, “What is your name, lass?”

“Not for you to know,” she said through clenched teeth.

“Wench it is!” Chance said with humor.

Affronted at being referred to in such low terms, Isabelle straightened her shoulders and belted out, “My name is Esmerelda Leonor Isabelle Catalina de Recalde el Rojo and you will be sorry for treating me with such disrespect.”

“Well, then. In all that,” Chance waved his hand about, “I heard ‘Belle’ so Belle it will be. Belle for beauty. Rather apropos,” murmured Chance. He then leaned in close and whispered against her closed lips as he still kept her eyes locked in a steady gaze, “And I haven’t begun to disrespect you yet, my Belle.”

“My father has wealth. He will pay a handsome ransom for my safe return,” Isabelle blurted out, disconcerted by the effect his nearness was having on her senses. He was a bloodthirsty pirate for god’s sake! She shouldn’t be reacting to his touch as if he were a rake wooing her.

“I have plenty of coin,” responded Chance. “What I don’t have is a wench to warm my bed.”

Isabelle sputtered and stuttered her attempt at an angry retort.

“Your charm has the wench speechless,” laughed Drake.

“We have tarried long enough. Back to the ship,” said Chance, ignoring Drake’s jibe.

Dragging a very reluctant Isabelle behind him, he reached the side of the merchant ship that was dragged close to his own with grappling hooks. Pointing to the narrow gangplank that was stretched between the ships, he gestured for Isabelle to cross.

Isabelle looked at the flimsy piece of wood and backed up as far as his strong grasp on her upper arm would allow. “You’re mad if you think I’m stepping one foot on that, diablos no!” she said with a wild gesture in the vicinity of the gangplank.

“Very well. Have it your way,” said Chance. With his free arm, he began to unbuckle his thick leather belt.

Isabelle was horrified. Did he mean to take her virtue here and now on the bloody deck among the wounded and dead? Good god! She had never fainted in her life, but at this very moment, she felt stars burst before her eyes as a wave of dizzying fear enveloped her.

Chance removed his belt and wrapped it securely around her small waist. Using the belt to anchor a firm grip on her at her lower back, he released Isabelle’s arm and grabbed a rope that was swinging from the rigging.

“Hold on to me if you want to live,
mon petit trésor
,” he said with a cavalier smile as he kicked off from the side of the ship.

Terrorized, Isabelle looked down as she swished through the air, seeing nothing but the churning dark sea beneath her. Before she could even take a breath to scream, the outrageous pirate was already alighting on the deck of his ship.

Gregor deftly crossed the gangplank with his hold still firm around Marina’s still unconscious form.

Chance looked down at the woman in his arms. She looked slightly pale but still full of spirit and fire. Damn she was going to be good sport for him, he thought with a smile.

“Welcome to
Fortune’s Fate
, Belle. My ship,” announced Chance with no small amount of pride.

Isabelle succumbed to a fit of hysterical laugher before finally giving in to the blessed oblivion of a faint. Her last thought was how much she hated the word “fate”.

* * *