Captured (4 page)

“’Tis wrong.”

He shrugged and said softly, “That depends,
petite
Clare.”

The vibrant timbre of his voice made her feel caressed by someone who thought her precious. She’d never experienced such a feeling. He appeared to be a man who knew his way around women, so she cautioned herself to remember that, less she be lulled into believing herself anything other than his prey. “Surely there are legitimate avenues available to you?”

He shrugged again. “None that I wanted.”

“Stealing is easier, you mean?”

“Is the world always so black and white for you?”

“Answering my question with a question is not an answer.”

“You’re proving to be a hard taskmaster.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Merriment shone in his eyes. “I can see that this is going to be an interesting voyage home.”

“Does your family approve of your way of life?”

“In truth, no. But then I don’t approve of his life either, so we are even, he and I.”

“This is your father?”

“My brother. My father died four years ago.”

“You said you were a second son, so he inherited?”

“Everything, or so he claims.”

“You doubt his claims.”

“I do, but the will reads exactly as my brother’s solicitors say it does.
Mon pere
left everything to
mon
fair
frere.”

“You sound bitter?”

He shrugged as if no words were necessary, then poured himself more wine.

Clare had to admit he was far more complex than she’d first imagined, but it didn’t change her position. She had to find a way back to Savannah. Too much was at stake.

W

He set the goblet aside. “’ ’Twill be dark soon. Would you like some air above deck before turning in?”

She shook her head.

“Bed then?”

She looked around the small room warily. “Where?”

“Here.”

“Is there no other place?”

“With so large a crew, no.”

“And where will you sleep?”

He studied her for a moment, touching her with his intense gaze. “Here.”

“Can you not sleep elsewhere?”

“And miss the chance that you might debauch me in the middle of the night? No, and it is my bed, after all.”

She rolled her eyes and got up from the table, mostly in an effort to distance herself from his unnerving pull on her senses. “A pallet on the floor will suffice. It’s where I am accustomed to sleeping.”

“Your mistress has no bed for you?”

“Violet has never had a bed for me.”

“You’ve never slept in a bed?”

“No,” she replied simply. “I’ve slept on a pallet on her bedroom floor since the day I was purchased.”

Admittedly, Dominic had no idea what to say to such a surprising response. Of course he knew that captives were given few luxuries, but when had a bed become so dear? Her response also made him wonder what else this beautiful, intelligent woman had been denied besides her liberty. “A pallet it will be then, if that is what you prefer.”

“I do. Thank you.”

He silently evaluated what he could see of her lovely form peeking out from within the confines of her heavy wool cloak. “’Tis a waste though, sweet Clare.”

“The pallet?” she reminded him, refusing to let his teasing penetrate her resolve although it was difficult. A woman with less fortitude might have jumped at the chance to share his bed, but the hardships forced upon her by captivity had made her strong enough to know her own mind. That was not to say she was made of stone. Although she was still leery of him and unconvinced he’d remain so gallant, Captain Dominic LeVeq was a handsome man; too handsome for his own good maybe, yet there were far more important things in life than sharing the bed of one such as he.

So, she watched and waited as he walked over to one of the large chests beside the bed and withdrew some folded rugs. He set three of them atop each other, then added a sheet that she prayed was clean. He retrieved a fat pillow from his bed, slid it into a pillow slip from the chest, and laid it atop the makeshift pallet. “Will this do?” he asked, turning to gauge her reaction.

“Yes. Thank you.”

Dominic tried to remember if he’d ever been this accommodating to a woman before. Most females he encountered were usually so besotted by his charms that they made a beeline for his bed. Not this one. “Are you certain this is what you desire?”

Clare was certain that velvet-edged voice had undoubtedly persuaded women to do his bidding from the day he was born, but she held fast. “What I desire is for you to take me to the nearest port so that I may return home. Short of that, I am certain I do not wish to share your bed.”

He gave her a wry smile and rose to his full height. “Circumstances change.”

She folded her arms and waited.

“Besides,” he went on, eyeing her confidently. “When the time comes, you’ll be willing enough.”

“Before or after pigs fly?” she tossed back easily.

He bowed his head gallantly, “Believe what you will, but take it from a man who knows women.”

“You do not know this woman.”

“The pleasure we could share…”

“Your pleasure, my displeasure.”

“Will you be this spirited in bed, I wonder?”

“Wonder until the seas boil, I’ve no intentions of providing the answer.”

“I think the answer is yes,
petite
Clare.”

The low heat resonating through his response made her senses ripple like a flag in the wind, but again she held fast. “I’m certain there are women who are flattered by your blarney, but I am not one of them, nor do I aspire to be. Why is that so difficult to fathom? Have you never been told, ‘No thank you’?”

“Look at me. What do you think?”

She assessed his superior physique and dark handsome face and sighed. “I think this ship is not large enough to hold the inflated value you place upon yourself.”

He grinned. “We are going to do well,
petite.”

“And I think you’ve had far too much wine.”

He laughed at that. “I’ll leave you now. Make yourself comfortable.” Reminding himself not to underestimate her, Dominic retrieved his laced pistols and the one he kept hidden in a drawer of his desk. He glanced around his quarters for anything else she might employ as a weapon. Seeing nothing, he picked up the china and cutlery from their meal and exited.

When Clare heard the scratch of the key indicating he’d locked her in, she sighed with weary relief. The captain had proven to be a gentleman so far, but as she’d noted earlier, she doubted his largesse would last. With that in mind, she gazed around for anything he might have missed that she could use to defend herself. A quick search of the cabin turned up nothing. Beneath his bed, she found a white silk corset designed for someone far more buxom than she, but because it held no defensive value she tossed it back into the shadows and got to her feet, dusting off her hands. There was nothing in his armoire or hidden away in the drawers of the desk, either. Defeated, she focused on the pallet he’d fashioned.

It appeared adequate enough, but she doubted she’d sleep. She was too anxious. The day had been an awful one, and she wondered if she’d ever see Savannah again. More importantly, would she ever see her children again? In the colonies, Sunday was the only day most captives did not have to work, so with the master’s permission, the Sabbath could be spent visiting family members in other places. For Clare, that family meant her ten-year-old daughter, Sarah, and twelve-year-old son, Benjamin. Eight years ago, they became the property of the Hamptons, loyalist planters in a neighboring county. By foot, the journey to the Hampton home was twelve miles there and back, but if Clare left the Sullivans’ place early enough on Sunday morning, she could spend most of the day with Sarah and Ben before having to return. The idea of never seeing them again was something she didn’t want to contemplate. They were her world. Finding a way to gain their liberty gave purpose to her life. She didn’t believe that anyone should be made to spend the entire time on earth as property of someone else. No matter what it took, she was determined to see them free before she went to her grave.

Now, however, she was the unwilling captive of pirates on a ship heading to only the Ancestors knew where. Outside of convincing the captain to send her home, she had to escape. Her hope was that the opportunity would present itself soon. In the meantime, the only person she had to rely on was herself. With that in mind, she curled up on the pallet, tightened her cloak around herself, and waited to be delivered into the arms of Morpheus.

After leaving Clare in the cabin, Dominic took the dishes to the galley. He then spent time walking the ship, checking on the welfare of his crew, and letting them know how much he appreciated their fine conduct during the encounter with the frigate. He called up his thanks to the men in the riggings inspecting the sails, and gave a good word to others going about their duties keeping the
Marie
in good sailing shape. With no battles ahead or prey to focus upon, many were relaxing, playing cards or listening to the merry tunes of the ship’s fiddler, a Frenchman named Pierre Tait.

Below decks now, Dominic spotted one of the powder monkeys, fifteen-year-old Richmond Spelling, the grandson of his mother’s old friend Anna. The monkeys were responsible for loading the cannons.

“You handled your chores well today, Spelling.” Richmond was one of the youngest of the crew.

In response to the praise, he smiled through the grime and powder covering his young face. “Thank you, sir.”

“Anyone injured that you know of?”

“Not in my crew, sir. I hear Watkins got a bump on the head when he tripped over the rigging but Dr. Early would know better. How’s the lady, sir?”

Dominic was caught off guard by the question. The crew knew of his reputation with the softer sex, but no one had ever asked questions about who might be sharing his cabin. Until now. “She’s fine. Why do you ask?”

Looking uncomfortable, Richmond dropped his eyes. “No offense meant, sir. It’s just we’ve never taken a woman as a prize before. I—I was worried about her.”

“I see. She’s faring well, and don’t worry, she isn’t a prize. For now, she’s a guest.”

Richmond seemed relieved. “Thank you, sir. I’ll pass the word. I know that some of the crew had questions, too.”

“Please do. Now, finish your duties and get some rest, you’ve earned it.”

Richmond nodded, and Dominic went on his way.

As the
Marie’
s quartermaster, Gaspar had many duties, and one of the most important was divvying up the profits among the crew.

“How much gold was the frigate carrying?” Dominic asked Gaspar upon entering the small, shadow-filled room near the hold. The light sputtering from the candle stubs placed on the scarred worn table where Gaspar worked offered just enough illumination for him to see to the task. Also at the table were Dr. James Early and the ship’s pilot and navigator, a Spaniard named Esteban da Silva.

Gaspar looked up from the gold coins he was stacking. “More than we expected. About ten thousand, wouldn’t you say, James.”

The doctor agreed, “Aye, by the weight of the strongboxes, it’s ten easily.”

Dominic was pleased. His men would be well paid for this voyage.

“Is the
petite
Clare bedded and well?” Gaspar asked while he continued to stack and count. Esteban was entering the numbers into the ship’s tattered leather ledger.

“No.”

“No?” the men crowed in unison.

Dominic knew they were about to flay him. “I’ve no need to bed unwilling women.”

“Dios!”
Esteban exclaimed, grinning in the half dark. “There is a woman on this earth able to resist the legendary charms of the House of LeVeq? Surely, you jest?”

Dominic replied levelly. “Apparently, or so she professes.”

“I say give her a few more days and she’ll be eating out of your hand,” Gaspar said, prying open the next strongbox.

“I’m not so sure.”

“Really?” Gaspar could not hide his surprise.

“She’s a slave. Never even slept in a bed,” he told them, still trying to wrap his mind around that fact.

“The life of a captive is not all cakes and tea,” James reminded him.

“I’m aware of that, but you’ve seen her. Who would deny such beauty something as commonplace as a bed?”

“Slavery is an ugly business, as we all know,” said Esteban.

“True, and I suppose I shouldn’t be so outdone, but she speaks three languages besides English.”

“And curses in them very well, I noticed.” Gaspar chuckled.

Dominic smiled. “She presents a dilemma.”

Esteban shrugged. “Offer her freedom, and maybe she will find you more to her taste.”

“I did. She turned it down.”

“She’s a content slave then?”

“No, quite the contrary, but she wishes to return to her mistress.”

“And her reasoning?” James asked.

“She said better the devil she knows than one she does not.”

“So, let her go if she is so unwilling,” Esteban tossed back.

“No.”

In the silence that followed, they all studied what they could see of his shadow-shrouded face.

“And your reasoning?” Gaspar wanted to know.

“In truth, I have none, other than wanting to know her story.”

“Preferably while she’s in your bed.”

That drew laughs and a shrug from Dominic. “That I cannot deny; however, I will not force my attentions on her. Who knows what degradations she’s already had to endure.”

Gaspar offered sagely, “Slavery for one.”

“Exactly. So I will bide my time, and if she continues to refuse me,
c’est la vie.”

“I don’t believe that for a moment,” James replied, “but I do know you to be an honorable man, Dominic.”

“For a pirate,” Esteban added.

More laughter.

Dominic took no offense at their good-natured teasing because they were a brotherhood. Having sailed together for the past three years, they knew each other fore and aft, and would sacrifice their lives for the common good, if need be. “Did we incur any damage during the fight?”

“Nothing significant,” Gaspar responded. “The long cannons we took from that Dutch ship last month are worth their weight in gold. They kept us well out of range of the British guns today. Be nice if we could get more.”

Dominic agreed. “Maybe someone knows of another ship similarly equipped that’s willing to
share.
When we reach port, we’ll keep our eyes and ears open. Any significant injuries to any of the crew during the fight, James?”

“Other than Watkins running into the mast, no.”

Grins showed in reaction to that news.

Dominic said, “He doesn’t usually participate in the fighting.”

“And he wasn’t today. He was trying to escape to the frigate. Found him lying on the deck out cold.”

Esteban asked, grinning, “You are going to release him when we reach home, aren’t you, Dominic?”

“Only if we can find a replacement, and I pray we will. His constant whining rankles the crew.”

“Well, he is here against his will,
mon frere,
” Gaspar pointed out.

“And he’ll be paid generously for the inconvenience,” Dominic replied. Because ships were made of wood, one of the most valuable members of any crew was its carpenter, but with so many vessels on the water, there were not enough of the skilled men to go around. As a result when one was found, whether it be on an opposing ship or in an alehouse, he was asked to join. If he refused, then the tradition set forth by the British Navy was employed and the man was impressed. Thus was the case with Hugo Watkins. They’d taken him from a Portuguese slaver off the African Gold Coast four months ago, and he’d done nothing but complain since. He was an excellent carpenter, but Dominic and his men couldn’t wait to be rid of him. “I will leave you to the accounts. Give me a report in the morning on the totals. We’ll add the profits from the rebel guns to everyone’s share after they are sold.”