The Siren's Song (6 page)

“You’re a man full of arrogance.”

Drake adjusted his trousers. Couldn’t the captain stop smiling like that?

“My charm is working, then.”

No, she couldn’t say she disagreed. Strangely, she found him even more appealing.

The man in the water! Criminy! How could she let the captain distract her so?

“Oh!” She leaned over the rail, searching for him. “There’s a man drowning! Oh, Lord, where is he?”

“Drowning. You don’t say,” the captain replied.

Astonished by his sarcasm, she looked back. “Yes. I saw him. The gigantic man.”

“You mean
that
gigantic man there?” He pointed to where the drowning man popped up from the water.

He wasn’t flailing or gasping for air as Gilly expected. Rather, he was remarkably in good health, as if he belonged in the water.

Captain Drake called to him. “What say you, Sam?”

“She’s lodged tight, Capt’n. Caved in on her larboard. No way ta get t’e rest of t’e cargo out.”

Drake nodded. “Out of the water, Sam.”

Sam swam to the rope ladder on the side of the ship just out of Gilly’s view.

“Sam is the best diver this side of Barbados,” Drake explained. “The goliath couldn’t drown if he tried.”

“Amazing,” Gilly said. “His size alone should have him sinking like a boulder.” She leaned over the rail to watch Sam reach the ladder. Anything to avoid meeting the eyes of Drake. She was well aware he still smiled at her with that vainglorious grin. “How do you suppose he learned to swim so well? So he dives down under the ship? I imagine that takes a long time. With his size he must have plenty of breath to hold.”

Sam climbed on board. He stood very still watching Gilly. Not a muscle moved, not a blink. Just the water dripping, nay,
fleeing
from his dark skin. She squirmed under his emotionless scrutiny. Without a word, he walked away. The whole took only a matter of moments, yet to her it felt like half an hour. Her edginess faded as Sam gained distance.

“Is that how you managed to get these crates on board?” she said. “The divers, I mean? They go down and bring them up through holes? How could they see? Wouldn’t it be too dark down there? Do they feel their way around?”

Drake chuckled. She was annoyed by it, to be sure, but more relieved that he, too, had stopped staring at her.

He leaned against the railing on his elbow and watched the crew attending duties. “Now, Miss McCoy. Just how did you slip away from Henri?”

“I didn’t slip away from him. He became preoccupied.”

“Not much will keep Henri from a direct order, lass. Where is he?”

“The galley.”

Drake frowned.

“He didn’t violate an order. There was an emergency. I was to go back to my cabin. I hardly see the use in that. We were about to go on deck. I wanted to come outside. What is the reason to have him fetch me again when I can see my way myself. The sun is just so warm. Please don’t be angry with him. ’Twas my fault.”

He returned to watching the men. “Oh, you don’t need to fret about me. It’ll be Henri you’ll need to worry about. He’ll not be pleased with you, lass. He’ll be downright belligerent.”

“But why? I came to you straightaway.”

“You still disobeyed him. Mmm.” Drake shook his head. “He’s a mean, crusty little man. I wouldn’t be surprised if he tampers with your food. Give you something to keep you on the head.”

Was he joking? She couldn’t tell as he continued to scan his ship. New angst unfolded and she inwardly groaned at the thought of sitting on the cathead with of a bout of diarrhea for all the crew to see.

“Come,” he said. “Let us see how my first mate is doing.”

Valeryn sat on a box scribbling in a tablet he had propped upon his knee. He spoke to a lad assisting him and looked up as Drake and Gilly approached.

Valeryn stood and bowed to Gilly. “Good evening, Miss McCoy.”

His sincere greeting caused her to slip into ease. He had a genuine kindness to his smile, which reminded her of the folks back home. Before she moved to the city looking for work. His pleasing good looks, sandy brown hair and tawny-colored eyes rivaled those of his captain. He offered her his seat on the crate. Amongst the ragtag and bobtail working this ship, she relaxed in the benevolence of Valeryn’s manners.

“Thank you, Valeryn.”

Drake glared at Valeryn and planted his foot on the box next to her. She almost missed Valeryn’s near imperceptible nod.

“How goes the inventory?” Drake asked.

“Twenty-six barrels of indigo. Thirty-nine barrels of rice,” Valeryn said.

“That’s not much.”

“Aye. Less than impressive, I’d say.”

“Certainly not worth sailing for,” Drake added.

Valeryn referred back to his tablet. “I also logged two gilded mirrors, a writing desk, eight chairs and a wardrobe, badly damaged. If Mott is straight, there should be a chest containing a goodly amount of silverware and porcelain serving pieces. Another chest with a golden candelabra, mantel clock and, most remarkable, a golden, gem-encrusted weighing scale.”

“How appropriate. Machete measuring out his levies on a scale likely worth more than the land he collects on.”

Valeryn spat to the floorboards. “To the devil with the bastard.”

“What of the chandelier?” Drake asked.

“In your cabin. Sam found the crate on the seabed. The chandelier looks to be in perfect condition.”

“Excellent.” Drake laughed. “Just think what that will fetch us.”

“Fat, drunk and well spent.” Apologetically, Valeryn put his hand to his chest. “My pardon, miss.”

Gilly nodded, though she had heard far worse at the Peregrine. Besides, his vulgarity concerned her less than the fact the men planned to filch the
Rowena
’s cargo. She didn’t know who this Machete was but she could guess he was deadly to cross, which was exactly what Captain Drake intended to do. ’Twas never good to rob from someone dangerous. That she knew. She suffered for Hyde’s mistake.

* * *

“Remind me to raise my cup to gluttony tonight,” Drake said.

“No need, Thayer. ’Tis what we toast to every night.”

Drake shared a hearty laugh with Valeryn. Poor lass. She looked flummoxed. Too much bustling over the salvage for the simple girl to understand. Perhaps if she knew the irony of the situation, the pure quirk of fate with the pestilent Machete, she’d find the humor, too.

“With a name like Machete,” she said, “do you suppose it would be wise to steal from him?”

Both men stopped laughing. Drake removed his boot from the crate, straightening to full height.

“
Steal
from him?
Steal
from him! ’Tis the least I can do.”

Drake’s sudden clip of ire must have reflected in his countenance. The meek mouse glanced downward. Wise. Angering him was not an avenue the chit wished to travel.

He peeled his glare from her. “I’d say the chest that will pad our strongbox is still in that ship.”

Valeryn agreed.

“We’ve a new plan.” Drake looked out to the ill-fated
Rowena.
His decision made.

“You intend to set fire to her?”

“Aye. ’Tis too dangerous for the divers. And I want those two chests. We burn her to the waterline.”

“Lighting her up will surely attract attention. Wreckers will see smoke and with nightfall the fire will lead them to us.”

“The rigging and sails have already been removed. Less to burn. If we set her ablaze before dusk, the smoke will fade into the darkness and there’s a chance the fire will be too small to see on the horizon. With any luck, the conches will have a hard time finding us.”

“Solid thinking, Thayer.”

“Go get Mott. Let him know the future of his
Rowena.
”

“My pleasure.” Valeryn nodded to Gilly before taking his leave.

The tar had a spring in his step. Valeryn was going to enjoy burning the ship and taking her riches as much as Drake. Jolly good times, he and V have had, Drake mused. Plundering, rumming, wenches. No remorse. Valeryn was easy to understand. He simply would not be satisfied with the doldrums of life, always trawling for the next challenge. And Valeryn understood him, accepted him for what he was, and thankfully left him to his demons. Yes, he was Drake’s best mate.

“What is a conch?”

The sea breeze rustled in her skirts as Gilly rose to stand beside him.

“Bahamian salvage wreckers,” he said. “They’re a hungry lot of bastards looking to profit from the misfortunes of others.”

“Not unlike you.”

She spoke as if it were a mere observation. He had an observation of his own.

This day had been tedious. Many puncheons of rice and indigo had been destroyed or lost to the storm. Much of the furnishings would be damaged by the seawater, including the crate holding bolts of fine fabric. With a disappointing salvage, Drake thought the whole venture had been a bloody waste of time. Harmony between his crew and that of Mott’s men had been too much to ask. They all worked hard on recovering the
Rowena
’s goods, but a few disgruntled fellows couldn’t hold their clack, resulting in Drake breaking up more than one fight. His good spirits had been faltering.

But then this beauty all but knocked him off his feet—literally. He had scarcely recognized her.

Aye. He took great care in his observation of her now.

The bath did her wonders. Hair once wild and stiff like Sargassum seaweed now glimmered in soft blond tresses tied back with a pink ribbon. Her clean face, clean skin promised the smooth feel of alabaster. Freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose and reached out to her cheeks. They complemented those magnificent hazel eyes, adding to them a sweet innocence. More freckles graced her ample bosom. Damn, if God hadn’t blessed her with the perfect-sized breasts. Perfect for filling the cup of his hands.

He found himself glad he didn’t get rid of all the fashionable women’s clothing and necessities left behind by the libidinous Captain Tyburn. Most notably the scented soap.

She was a different woman, more desirable than he cared to admit. And best of all, she smelled of lavender and cream. It wasn’t enough to drink in her fragrance. His mouth watered to taste her.

“You are right, Miss McCoy. I am a hungry bastard.”

“I didn’t imply you were a bastard.” She made quick to correct him.

“Ah, but I am. One who lives to try my fortune.”

“Seems to me to be quite hazardous,” she said. “Sailing, alone, is dangerous. But putting yourself at risk to save people, cargo and ships during a storm is mad. Even now salvaging these crates, well, someone could get hurt. Never mind the cramped conditions.”

What an adventurous pursuit the lass would be. If only she’d stop talking.

“…and getting jostled to the point of seasickness. Rather swiftly, I might add. I won’t begin to tell you…”

He hadn’t given the chit much thought throughout the day. Only that he looked forward to a spot of entertainment before he retreated to his solitude and hogshead of rum. But now… Another lavender-scented breeze tickled his nose.

“Tonight you earn your passage.”

She didn’t respond. Had that shut her up? Was she thinking of reneging on their deal? Nay. He wouldn’t allow it. She would keep her end of the bargain. He’d see to it.

He realized she no longer looked at him, but past him. Slowly, he twisted around.

Several crewmen stacked coils of rope near the bow, the coward Abel among them. His gaze locked upon the lass in a murderous glare. Drake tilted his head, catching the tern’s notice. Abel ducked back into his work.

Drake would need to keep a closer eye on that one.

“I oughta skin yer hide, girlie.” Henri shambled over wagging a paring knife.

She took a step behind Drake, shielding herself from the angry manikin. Amusing little tart sure knew how to bring about a stir.

“Put the knife away, Henri.”

“Perish and plague, Capt’n. We can’t be havin’ a woman runnin’ around the
Rissa.
She’ll fetch us up bad luck.”

“So you intend to gut her?”

He was keenly aware of her hands pressed into his back. Their heat spread through him much like the need to protect her. Though not from Henri. He’d seen a softer side of the gibbet-like mack once not too long ago. The old soul would never carry out a threat on the fairer kind.

That didn’t mean she had to know it.

“You don’t want to swab up a sticky mess, do ya, mate?”

Henri groused, lowering his knife.

“Now I’m not suggesting you poison her food.” Drake couldn’t resist having a little fun with the lass. Particularly if it meant she push closer to him. All he needed to do was spin around and her breasts would be pressed to his chest.

Henri considered the idea for a moment and then shook his head. “Wouldn’t be right, ruinin’ the supper like that.”

He forced down a laugh at her sigh of relief.

“All right, Henri. I’ll make sure the chit is returned to her cabin. Without leaving a trail of curses, of course. Go see to the supper.”

“Aye, Capt’n.” Henri peered around Drake to Gilly. “You’ll trifle not with me again, will ya, lass?”

“No, sir.”

She let her hands fall away and instantly Drake missed their warmth.

What the devil was wrong with him? The
Rissa
had been in port not a fortnight ago. He couldn’t be craving a woman’s touch this bad so soon. Not just any woman, either.
This
woman. ’Twas not like him to want any particular pullet. What made her different?

Those coy eyes looking at him expectantly offered a fleeting answer.

He should see her to her cabin.

Ah, but she agreed to please him as he saw fit. At the moment, it pleased him to keep her close. His reason was an obvious pretense. ’Twas better to protect her from conniving wretches such as the likes of Abel. Later, he expected to be fully satisfied by her. Just how might be a strain on his already threadbare moral fiber.

“Fetch ahead, Miss McCoy. ’Tis time to start a fire.”

Chapter Six

Fire simmered upon the
Rowena
wreckage lighting up the twilight vista. Gilly marveled at the orange ridge riding atop the water. The rippling waves reflected the flames in thousands of tiny dancing torches. The ship protested her demise with frightful crackling and hissing. Mild southeasterly winds blew the smoke away but not the smarting smell of burnt tar and wood. The sea breathed fire, or so it seemed, as drifting wayward planking burned.

Gilly watched the ship burn with the same revere as the silent seamen around her. The glowing tinder exaggerated the tangible sadness upon their long faces. Livelihoods disintegrated with the gray smoke disappearing up into the night sky. To stand beside them at an old friend’s funeral pyre would have been no different.

All except for Captain Drake.

He puckered his bottom lip and viewed the charring with impatience. With each glance she stole, his agitation grew.

“Do you not find this a great sadness?” Gilly asked. “The others, they are mourning the destruction of their ship. But you act annoyed. Why?”

“’Tis business.”

“That is all this is to you, a business?”

He did not acknowledge her question.

“These men will lose work. Does that not bother you?”

“They’ll find more.”

“But won’t they have lost wages?”

Again, he said nothing.

“And what about Captain Mott? His ship is destroyed. It isn’t as if he could merely find another ship to captain, now is it? Surely the owner will hold him accountable. Do you not feel some sort of
compassion
for a fellow captain?”

“Are you quite through?”

“No.”

He arched his eyebrows, slow and deliberate.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

He faced the burning ship. His silence drew on and Gilly decided something else weighed on the captain’s mind. Something more calculating. Without breaking his gaze on the bonfire, he spoke.

“Let us return to my cabin. I am eager to see how well you satisfy your debt.”

“As you wish, Captain, for I too am eager. You shall change this cheap opinion you have of me.”

“We shall see.”

He let her lead the way. A gentlemanly gesture? Doubtful. She knew he watched her backside. Didn’t all men? She put an extra swing in her step, glad he couldn’t see her mischievous smile. The familiar flutter in her stomach just before she performed twittered with relentless expectation.

Doing what she did best, singing and dancing to entertain a man. This would be easy.

Or so she thought.

Her confidence faltered once they entered his chambers and he locked the door for his private show. Trepidation sneaked in through the rear door of her mind. Surely he would find her voice pleasing. Wouldn’t he?

The captain scooped a flagon off his desk, plopped down at the table and wasted not a moment to pull from the bottle.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Entertain me.”

“Now? Without accompaniment?” He couldn’t be serious. She needed music.

“This would not be a good time to play games with me, Miss McCoy. ’Tis been a lengthy day and I’m tired. There is no music.”

’Twas a terrible shame not to have music. She could hide behind a melody—the overture would dissolve her nervousness. And suddenly, his scrutiny had her as timid as a rabbit in a fox den. She’d never felt this fitful. Not even before her first time singing in front of the church congregation as a child. At twenty, age cured her of that.

She must calm herself. Gilly gestured to his bottle. “May I?”

A smile bent at the corner of his lips. “Of course.” He handed her the flagon.

No cup? He must enjoy feeding her his crass lack of decorum. What would he think if she guzzled on his bottle like…like…well, like a pirate? Cups. Cups.
Where are the cups?
She scanned the cabin and spotted a cup on a shelf.

Captain Drake blew out an impatient breath. Quite frankly, she, too, grew impatient. She drank from the bottle’s neck, careful not to swallow too much too soon as before. The warmth hit the back of her throat, then the pit of her belly. A second quaff and a third and the edge disappeared. ’Twas good, because Captain Drake didn’t look as if he would share more of his rum.

“Are you quite ready?” he asked.

She smiled.
Was he?

She chose a sweeping song of a lovesick couple frolicking in a rose garden. The tune required a high, strong vocal range. The harmonies came from deep inside her, filling her lungs before caroling from her throat.

Gilly loved performing this song. It reminded her of elegant ladies on the arms of refined men, crystal goblets, flower-covered trellises and courtly orchestras. Perhaps she aspired to be respected by high society instead of looked down upon as merely entertainment for their festive affairs. A dream long gone.

Her song carried her away. She sang of the lovers with the passion she envisioned the couple would have, whisking her arms open and twirling her wrists with emphasis. Near the end of the piece, she focused on Captain Drake. He enjoyed her ballad, surely. At some point during the song, he had removed his feet from the table and leaned forward resting his arms on his knees. His features had softened; the lines around his eyes were no longer deep with tension. Her confidence built with the bravado until she ended the song on a long rich note.

The captain sat in silence, retreated in thought, staring at her. Did she leave him speechless with her performance? Oh, dear. Perhaps he didn’t enjoy her singing, after all. Perhaps she paled in comparison to songstresses he’d heard from his travels.

“Did you not like my selection? I’m terribly sorry.” The captain frowned. She was right. He didn’t like her song. Her confidence unraveled. “If only I had been accompanied by music, I might have pleased you. A flute, violin, even whistling.”

Captain Drake shook off whatever thoughts consumed him and sat back in his chair. He replaced his unreadable mask with a tilt of his lip.

“Miss McCoy, you surprise me.”

“Oh?” She hoped he meant it in praise.

“I expected a jaunty tavern ditty, not an operatic piece. Your voice is magnificent.”

With a polite inclination of her head she said, “You’re kind, sir.”

He laughed. “Rarely. But I have misjudged you. Where’d you learn such a beautiful ballad?”

“After my father died, a lady in our church’s congregation saw to my well-being by sending me to her aunt in Charleston. Miss. Brooks was the proprietor of a genteel school for young ladies. She taught girls how to be proper, learning to sing and dance. At sixteen, Ms. Brooks felt I was ready to be sent to social gatherings to entertain the societal ladies and gentlemen. Soon, I had become a favorite. Therefore, I had to be well versed in a great many songs.”

“You said you worked at a tavern.” He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “Did you lie to me then or are you lying now?”

“No. I did work at a tavern.” The captain did not need to be privy as to just how she ended up at the Peregrine.

“There is much you are not telling me, chit.”

“My circumstance doesn’t interfere with my ability to entertain you.”

“No, I suppose not. Sing for me another one of these dulcet songs.”

She performed four more melodies. Four more which garnered his full appreciation. She delighted in the way he absently fingered the rim of his bottle, the languid tilt of his head as he drank her in from head to toe. He not once smiled. But by the slow way he brought up the bottle to his lips and savored his liquor, she ventured to believe he thoroughly enjoyed her performance.

The look he wore she knew well, had seen it on many a spectator’s face. Desire. Mesmerizing the crowd with what Miss Brooks called graceful zest was her special skill. She couldn’t say it didn’t thrill her. She was quite fond of the attention. But too much attention could be dangerous. Drunkards were known to become unruly and belligerent when turned away. Hyde tolerated none. No chap would get too close. She was his commodity, after all. He promised to protect her. He failed. All that attention she relished made it difficult to hide, and yet, when Abel recognized her, easy to escape.

Desire was a fickle mistress.

Did Captain Drake desire her? If she were honest with herself, she hoped he did. His rogue approach and devilish handsomeness were frightfully irresistible. She desired him. Oh yes, she desired him, desired him to wrap her in his brawny arms.
If
she were honest with herself, of course.

“Very lovely, Miss McCoy.”

“Thank you, Captain Drake. Can I assume I have paid my passage?”

“Not in full, my dear.”

“Did you not enjoy my performance?”

“Very much. But I require more.”

“Oh? Perhaps something with a little more spirit? I know a wonderful ditty about a haphazard sailor and a sea captain’s daughter I think you’ll like. I dance to all their silly antics. It’s quite hilarious.”

A flip of her skirt and Gilly twirled around, acting out a silly part of the tune. Captain Drake snatched her wrist and, rather by surprise, she landed upon his lap.

“Nay. I was thinking of something more…intimate.”

She caught her breath on his earthy musk, tainted with smoky cinder. Nose to nose she sat staring into his dark eyes which brazenly wandered over her face, pausing upon her lips before continuing its lascivious course. The soft feel of his worn tunic under her palms was a scant barrier against his solid chest. That scarred, yet magnificent, chest. Her heart skipped upon his steady rhythmic breathing.

Something hard pressed against the back of her thigh. She gulped. Her stomach fluttered and his gaze landed upon her lips again. Damn, but she needed another stiff drink of his rum.

His hand wound around the back of her neck and he crushed his lips to hers, kissing her hard and furious. She struggled against him, tried to push away. But only for a moment, and rather half-heartedly. There was no denying him. She opened for him, readily receiving him with equal zeal. She tasted rum, rich and delicious.
He
was delicious. Her thoughts scattered and she bunched her fingers into his shirt. She wanted more, so much more.

Didn’t she? Oh my, she was kissing a complete stranger. That had to be bad, and scandalous if she were the proper lady she had once thought herself to be. He saved her life, she reasoned, and she was terribly attracted to him. Stopping herself was like trying to give up air. It was useless. She wanted this.

A twinge of betrayal stabbed her heart. Hyde was gone yet she had forsaken him for another man, disloyal to him when she should be mourning his death. With whatever Hyde had done, with whatever mess he had gotten her into, there had been no time for bereavement. She was shameful to have this strong allure to Captain Drake.

He let go of her wrist and found his way to her waist. Her head spun and teetered as he groped her hip and rubbed across her thigh. No. This couldn’t go any farther.
For goodness sakes, he’s a pirate.

She pushed away from him. He moaned his disapproval and opened his eyes slowly, marking her with an uneasy stare for her refusal to continue this madness.

“I…um.” She must clear her mind. Shake off the tendrils of carnal lust snaking through her good judgment. “I had hoped you were a man of honorable decency in the company of a woman.”

“Oh? What gave you that idea?”

“You have seen to my welfare far more than any pirate I have heard.”

“Pirate?” He grinned. “The likes of a pirate is to poach what he will against those unwilling. From the way you kissed me, lass, I’d say you were most accommodating. Your lusty tongue and lack of fight makes you no more decent than I.”

“How dare you!” Her face warmed with embarrassment. ’Twas true, she succumbed to unchaste appetite. With his touch, her body deserted her sensibilities. How was it that she craved him so? The truth angered her. “You have preyed upon me and took advantage where there was none given.”

“Tell me you did not enjoy our kiss.”

“No. I didn’t.” Oh, but she was a liar. She enjoyed it far too much. So much so she was certain she needed to repent.

He languidly grazed his fingertips down her back. A layer of her resolve peeled away, as if her clothes melted from her body in the wake of his strokes. She must maintain herself lest she do something she would regret.

“Tell me you don’t enjoy my touch.”

“No.” His fingers paused at the small of her back, distracting her further. Clothing did little to thwart the tingle on her skin under the skill of his caress. Warmth from his fingertips tickled and she anticipated more marvelous fondling before he resumed their ascent along her spine. “I don’t enjoy your touch.”

“Well then, chit.” He shoved her off his lap. “I’ve no more use for you tonight.”

She plopped onto the floor with her legs splayed out in a most disgraceful pose. “Captain Drake!”

He waved his hand toward an open chest in a weary and annoyed manner. “Hand me a fresh bottle and see your way out.”

When she did not move, he growled. Or she thought he growled. The low rumbling warned she had worn out pleasantries. His good cheer faded into anger.

“Get up.”

Gilly scampered away until her back pressed against his desk. Hand over hand, she pulled herself up, not taking her focus from him.

“Take heed, Miss McCoy. Go straight to your cabin and stay there. A woman on a ship full of sea scoundrels would do well to listen. They may not be as gentlemanly as I. And, according to you, I am not a gentleman.” He held out his hand. “My rum.”

Tears stung at her eyes. Humiliated. He humiliated her again. “You rake.”

“Make haste, Miss McCoy. I’m long due to retire for the evening.”

She snatched a bottle from the chest. With deliberate force, she shoved it at the cad, causing his chair to buck backward. They locked eyes and an artful smirk spread across his lips. His thank you was delivered with a single nod.

Ooh. Insufferable.
She turned on her heel and stomped out of his cabin.

* * *

Drake shouldn’t have been so aggressive and churlish with the bonny girl. His behavior was inexcusable. Inexcusable and pointless after she had lulled him with her magnificent voice. She had put him in a trance, a sweet and peaceful trance, with her beauty and her song. She spared no talent and performed for him as if she were entertaining a king with a private recital. Grace and harmony. Pure and alluring. With each song, he became more enthralled. With each verse, he grew more restless to kiss her bewitching mouth.