Captured (3 page)

Terror took her voice. She could only nod.

“Either come or I will sink this ship. I don’t allow slavers in my waters.”

The quiet intensity resonating from his eyes and in his voice frightened her even more. She saw the Sullivans and the frigate’s defeated seamen looking on with alarm.

“Please don’t take me,” she whispered desperately. “Please.”

He appeared unmoved by her plea. “Decide.”

Violet called angrily, “Go on, Clare. Think of the rest of us.”

As always, Violet’s only concern was Violet. Clare glanced Captain Davies’s way, but he wouldn’t or couldn’t meet her eyes. She searched the faces of his men, praying someone would come to her aid. No one moved.

Victor spoke up quietly, “Clare, we’re sorry, but we have no choice. The captain and I will alert the authorities. I promise.”

The pirate waited.

“No!” and she hiked up her skirts to bolt, but before she could take a full step, an iron arm clamped onto her waist and she was swung back into the pirate captain’s iron chest. As she looked up at him, time seemed to cease. She could feel every inch of herself flush against every hard inch of him. A strange unfamiliar heat coursed through her, mingling with her fear. He offered a soft smile and then abruptly tossed her over his broad, red-coated shoulder. Her kicking and screaming and twisting attempts to free herself were for naught. With an arm bolted against the back of her knees, he stepped up onto one of the wooden planks. Employing strides both confident and sure, he traversed the short distance between the vessels. Raging and fighting for what she assumed would be her very life, Clare was taken aboard.

As soon as he put her on her feet, she did her best to sock him. He grinned, grabbed her wrist, and forced her to walk.

“Get your hands off of me, you cretin!” Her outraged anger was poor defense against his powerful grip, but she was not surrendering meekly. “Release me!”

Paying her no mind and ignoring the wide eyes of his crew, he forced her to follow him down a short flight of stairs and into the shadow-filled area below decks towards a large wooden door.

“No!” she screamed, and attempted to set her feet to keep from rendezvousing with whatever fate lay on the other side.

Gaspar, walking behind them, asked, “Are you sure you want to do this, Dominic? She’s a feisty little cat.”

Walking beside Gaspar was the blond-haired Scotsman James Early, who replied over her thunderous protests, “Might be more trouble than she’s gonna be worth, Captain.”

“Let me go!” Clare screamed, and began cursing them in all the languages that she knew.

At the sound of that, Dominic stopped and stared into her face with amazement. He looked to Gaspar. “She’s cursing me in French!”

Gaspar’s laugh filled the shadows. “That she is.”

“Cerdos!
Release me!”

“She just called us pigs, in Spanish,” Early pointed out, staring as if she’d just transformed herself into King George.

The mesmerized Dominic laughed. “I think I’m in love.” He assessed her from the short-cut hair framing the angry brown face to the heavy wool cape covering the costly blue gown, to the small heeled slippers of the same shade. The string of pearls accenting her throat appeared to be of great value as well.

Clare snarled, “I demand you restore me to the frigate, immediately!”

“
Merci, mes amies,
” he said to his men. “I’ll handle it from here.” He dismissed them with a nod of his handsome head, never taking his eyes off the blue-gowned prize. Bowing to the hellcat with a courtly grace, he gestured to the door. “If you will step inside, mademoiselle.”

“Did you not hear me?” she stormed.

He straightened.

Gaspar, who’d hung around to see how this might play out, folded his arms over his massive chest and looked on in amusement.

“Take me back!”

The grin that spread across Dominic’s legendary handsome face had warmed the hearts of females from Cuba to Spain, and the arms that scooped her up and tossed her back over his shoulder again, like a silken sack of meal, were strong.

“Put me down!” She pounded his back with her fists.

He slapped her across her blue-gowned behind. That drew more outraged curses, this time in Italian, but he ignored them and swung around to face his quartermaster. “Gaspar, see to it that the lady and I are not disturbed.”

“Aye, sir. Good luck.”

“LeVeqs don’t need luck.” He carried the furious captive into his quarters and shut out the world with a kick of his booted foot.

“Put me down!”

He complied, and she bounced on something soft and came to rest. Realizing it was a large bed, she scrambled off as if it were a lake of lava and angrily adjusted the petticoats on display beneath the open halves of her gown, then snatched her cloak closed. Thrusting out her chin, she declared, “If you’re planning to debauch me, do it quickly so that I might return to the frigate.”

“What makes you think I’m going to debauch you?” Intrigued by the novelty of her, his eyes roamed over her again. She was a beauty; a short angry one, but a beauty all the same.

“Isn’t that what you pirates are known for?”

“We prefer the term
privateer.
”

“As opposed to thieves and murderers?”

“I’d take offense if I didn’t find you so fascinating. Your name, mademoiselle?”

“Does it matter?”

“Strangely enough it does, but never mind, I remember. They called you Clare. You are a slave?”

“I am.”

“Well kept.”

“Violet views me as a pet of sorts.”

His brow raised. “A pet?”

“Yes. She dresses me up in the latest fashions and parades me around as if I were an exotic parrot that has been taught to read and mimic its betters. I play the harpsichord, speak four languages, know the latest dances and how to use my cutlery properly. She also thinks that when we travel to Europe, dressing me this way will make people believe I’m not a slave and thus prevent them from rescuing me and offering me freedom.”

Dominic heard the icy bitterness in her tone, and that intrigued him as well. “Not a content slave.”

“Name one who is, sir.”

“Yet you wish to return to your mistress.”

“Rather the devil I know than one I do not.”

He responded with a short nod of understanding. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

“I’ve certainly never met anyone like you, so let me return to my mistress.”

“I think not.”

“And your reasoning?”

“You are far too—alluring, enchanting, intriguing. Pick one.”

“I’m sure the women of your realm take that as a compliment, but I am less swayed.”

“You’re too beautiful to be a slave.”

“And of no mind to be your doxy.”

He smiled. “You’re quick.”

“I had excellent tutors.”

He left her standing there for a moment while he went to the door and called for Gaspar, who soon appeared. “Her trunks?”

“Up on deck. There’s just the one.”

“Bring it if you would.”

Fear grabbed her again. Did he plan for her to share his quarters? This was truly a nightmare. She prayed she’d wake up.

Gaspar returned a few moments later and placed the battered leather trunk holding her belongings on the carpet-covered floor. With a nod to his captain he departed.

“While you are on board you shall be my guest.”

She looked around. The space was far more lavish and well kept than she might have assumed the quarters of a pirate captain would be. Velvet draperies the color of indigo covered the portholes and matched the coverings on the large four-poster bed. Beside the bed stood a small wardrobe with a mirror on top, and next to it a beautiful silk screen, embroidered with golden dragons and birds that appeared as if it might have come from Cathay. She assumed it concealed the chamber pot. Across the room was a well-polished mahogany table flanked by two beautifully carved chairs, and an old weathered desk, complete with neatly stacked charts, a receptacle for pens and inks, and an aged bronze sextant. “Are your guests allowed to come and go at their leisure?”

“Aye.”

“Then I shall leave.”

“No.”

She sighed aloud. “What are you going to do with me?”

“Offer you freedom.”

She stared. She had to admit he was the handsomest man she’d ever seen. What with his roguish beard, his penetrating gaze, and the ornate gold hoop in his lobe, no woman alive would be untouched by the powerful aura he exuded, but he was still a pirate, and everyone knew what they stood for. “And in exchange?”

He shrugged. “We’ll start with a meal. Are you hungry?”

She was. The sea battle had interrupted dinner, and since then, there’d been precious little time to waste on such mundane pleasantries as a leisurely repast.

“So?” he asked, bringing her back to his question.

She nodded tersely. Starving herself would not be wise; she’d need her strength. “I will eat.”

“Good,” and he gave her a saucy wink as if her agreeing pleased him. “Let’s see what Cook can surprise us with.”

They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Gaspar’s voice called from the other side. “We’re under way, Captain.”

“Aye,” Dominic replied. “Head for home.”

“And that is where?” Clare asked.

“An island where the wind blows fair and the air is sweet with freedom.”

“You brag of freedom, yet you brought me here against my will.”

In the doorway, Gaspar gave a tiny cough.

The determination blazing in her cool gaze gave Dominic pause, so much so that he bowed low. “Touché,
petite.”
Straightening to his full height, he found himself even more fascinated by her. He knew she was afraid, but apparently not enough to be cowed. He wondered what her reaction would be were he to point out that her show of strength only added to her allure. Masking the thought, he turned to Gaspar. “The lady is hungry. See what Cook can find.”

“Aye.”

Upon Gaspar’s exit, Dominic gestured her towards the table, then helped her with her chair. “Wine?” he asked as he withdrew a decanter from within a short sideboard.

“No, thank you,” she replied quietly.

He poured some of the amber liquid into a jeweled silver goblet and took a sip.

In the lengthening silence, he leaned against the sideboard and watched her. Clare tried her best not to be affected by his unhurried attention but it was difficult. She’d never been alone with a man this way, especially not one as dangerous as he’d proven himself to be. The room had become so still, one could hear the creaking of the boat around them and the voices and footfalls of the men up on deck, but his presence was loud as cannon shot. She cast him a nervous glance. Upon meeting his eyes, she quickly looked away. A knock on the door announced Gaspar’s return, and she inwardly sighed with relief.

They dined on bowls of turtle soup, stale bread, and slices of oranges. The dried apple she’d had as a midday meal back on the frigate had long since been forgotten by her stomach, so she ate far more heartily of the pirate’s fare than she’d planned. She’d had turtle soup a few times in the past, but this version was far tastier and excellently seasoned. Looking up, she found him watching her, and her movements slowed in response to the return of her nervousness.

“This is much better than being debauched, don’t you think?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

His amusement plain, he went back to his meal. “So tell me about yourself. What made your master educate you?”

“A wager between Violet’s father and his sister Theodora. Theodora’s position was that a slave given the advantage of education could be as genteel as its betters.”

“Betters being the slave owners.”

“Correct.”

“Novel, that,” he said with cool sarcasm.

“The Sullivan family and friends thought the experiment novel as well—appalling, but novel.”

“And you?”

“I am happy to be learned, but it has only made the bonds of slavery chafe that much more. I’ve been given access to a world that I may not walk in legally.”

He viewed her over his jewel-crusted goblet of wine. “How long have you been a captive?”

“I was seven when I was taken.”

“Where were you born?”

“I don’t know. I remember mountains and desert, and a war that killed my parents and others in the village. Afterwards, men in long white robes riding camels and horses took me and many of the other children on a long trek before turning us over to the enslavers. Teddy, that’s Theodora Sullivan, believes I am from northern Africa, somewhere near the biblical Ethiopia.”

Dominic thought that this Teddy might be correct. In his voyages he’d seen beautiful women from all over the world, but in his opinion, the Mother Continent offered the most striking. In Africa, the women were of every hue, shape, and size. The ones bearing Clare’s angular features were commonly found among the nomadic tribes and villages of the north and east. “Any children?”

“Two, but they’ve been sold.”

He stilled. She showed no emotion. Like most captives, she hid her true self behind a mask. He knew it was a necessary tactic for survival, but being privy to this tiny portion of her life only intensified his desire to delve further into the mysteries of the woman who lay beneath. He also wanted to ask if she knew where her children were, but didn’t, rather than add more pain to her loss.

And for Clare, it was pain. She let herself remember the day her babies were taken away, and the blade-sharp grief rose up to engulf her as it always did, and as always, she forced the emotions back down into the secret place she kept locked away. “Tell me about yourself,” she asked, deftly changing the subject to move the focus of the conversation elsewhere.

“What would you like to know?”

She studied him over her cup of tea. “Your name? Where you are from?”

“Dominic LeVeq. Born on the island of Martinique.”

“Why pirating?”

“I’m a second son. With no chance to inherit I have to feed myself.”

“So you steal from others?”

The censure in her voice made him smile. “Only those who can afford it, or deserve it.”