Chapter 13
Elizabeth stretched out her legs, muscles sore, bones aching.
She tried to remember, but the past hours—days?—had been a blur. There had been a lot of jolting and bouncing. Now, gentle swaying.
“Miss Elizabeth,” a man’s voice called. He was not her father, but his tone was gentle, musical. “Miss Elizabeth, you must sit up and drink.”
Tilting her head to the side, Elizabeth opened her eyes, blinking as her vision cleared.
A wall of black and gold and vivid hues met her gaze.
She sat up, trying not to look at the bare chest under the brightly colored vest, and focusing, instead, on the beautiful tray loaded with plates and platters which he balanced on one arm.
The smell was divine, and her empty stomach groaned in anticipation.
In his other hand, he handed her a glass of water.
As tempting as it was to dwell on the food, she had not come here of her own volition. “Who are you?” she asked.
He bowed. “Your servant, Jaffa. Cap’n Alexandra sends her deepest apologies for the inconvenience to you.”
“Inconvenience is putting it lightly. I was kidnapped.”
“She hopes you will be comfortable aboard the Fancy.”
A female captain. Interesting. Still, Elizabeth was cautious. Women were as capable as men of committing the worst crimes. She could not let her guard down, nor could she give in to hunger before she had learned who her captor was. “Captain Alexandra?” she prompted.
Jaffa set the tray down gently on her legs, and pulled the lids off of the plates. Freshly baked bread, scrambled eggs, sausages, a thick slab of butter, a small bowl of strawberry jam, and an entire pot of coffee with her own bowl of sugar and cream.
The aroma did its best to break her defenses, but Elizabeth held Jaffa’s steady gaze. “Who is Captain Alexandra?” she repeated.
“She is the cap’n of this ship and my master. Her welfare is my responsibility, as is yours.”
“I am her prisoner?”
“You are her guest.”
Looking down at the feast spread over her legs, Elizabeth found it hard to debate the point.
“Please, Miss Elizabeth, you must eat.”
Who was she to argue? He poured her coffee while she tucked into her meal.
Every bite made her hungry for more; each morsel tasting better than the last as her hunger abated enough for her to savor the tastes crossing her tongue.
Longbourn’s cook had never prepared a breakfast this delicious.
She did not know Captain Alexandra, but Elizabeth would pay her compliments to her chef.
Pausing to sip her sweet coffee and cream, she looked up at Jaffa, who stood over her like a guard ready to pounce should her cup get too low or an unwanted guest arrive. “Do you treat all of your prisoners”—he shot her a look—”I mean, guests, this well?”
He did not reply but promptly poured more coffee into her cup once she set it down.
The man wore a curved sword at his side, and despite her success averting her eyes, she could not help but notice how strong he was. And yet, she did not feel threatened by him. In fact, she was quite at ease. Remnants of whatever she had been drugged with?
She had many questions, and Elizabeth knew she would get more answers if she was polite to her captor. Thanking him, she asked, “Where are you from, Mr. Jaffa?”
“It is only Jaffa, Miss. I am from the North of Africa, where the Nile floods the delta.”
A place she would love to know more about … later. “Why am I here?” Her heart leapt into her throat, and the tray rattled as she shifted. “What day is it?”
“It is Friday, Miss.”
Lydia’s wedding! Had she missed it? Had Lydia married Wickham? Or had Elizabeth’s disappearance thrown her family into another panic? They would be frantic with worry. Poor Papa! Poor Aunt and Uncle!
Elizabeth had no way of knowing if it was that same Friday or a week after. She looked through the window as though that might supply an answer but saw only a spot of blue. She clutched her fingers into a fist. How would she find Mr. Darcy out here? She did not know where here was.
She had been standing by her father reading the broadsides, hoping to find information about Mr. Darcy, and the next thing she knew, she was being dragged into a carriage.
The memory brought back the sweet smell of whatever had been on the handkerchief held over her mouth and nose. And then, the bitter taste of laudanum.
Elizabeth reached for her coffee, the strong liquid burning the recollection away. Her captors could not have drugged her for an entire week. Which meant that they had either gone East or South to get to the ocean.
“It is mid-afternoon. You have been resting after an arduous journey and must be greatly fatigued,” Jaffa explained, nodding at the small, round window.
The door opened, and Jaffa moved to the side, closer to Elizabeth.
A beautiful woman with raven black hair and striking blue eyes smiled at her. She wore a silk shirt with more ruffles and lace than even Mama or Lydia would wear and trousers that fit her like a second skin tucked into boots that reached her knees.
“Ye’re awake. I’ve been impatient to meet ye.” Her voice was firm and not unwelcoming. Elizabeth could not place her accent. It sounded like a combination of every accent Elizabeth had ever heard, which were, admittedly, few enough.
“How do you know me? Where am I?” she asked.
“Ye’re aboard me ship, the Fancy. Don’t let me presence keep ye from eatin’. Ye’ll need yer strength out here.”
“How did I get here?”
The woman shrugged. “The usual way. Startin’ at The Swan with Two Necks on Lad Lane to Bagshot, nearly thirty miles. Another change of horses at Alton, again at Alresford. Then, finally, Southampton. Seventy-eight miles overland, then a small fishing vessel that brought ye right to the Fancy.”
Off the coast of Southampton? While Elizabeth would never wish to repeat the trip, she did wish she might have seen some of the scenery. “What kind of ship is this?”
Alexandra smirked. “Today, we’re ambitious merchants with a hold full of cotton.
Tomorrow, we might be privateers representin’ whichever country is most convenient.
I’ve several letters of Marque from which to choose.
Perhaps we’ll be corsairs returnin’ to the Mediterranean or buccaneers lookin’ for a Spanish ship to take.
One must be adaptable with the British Navy lurkin’ about. ”
Elizabeth shivered. “You are a pirate.”
Longbourn was far away from the threat of pirates, but she had read stories. She recalled the tales she had heard and wondered if they could be true. Most of them were terrifying.
The lady pirate sat at the foot of Elizabeth’s bed. Reaching forward, she plucked a piece of sausage from Elizabeth’s plate and tossed it into her mouth. The woman who counted as she chewed did not look like the sort of person who had carved the beating heart out of a victim’s chest.
As though she had read Elizabeth’s thoughts, Alexandra locked eyes with her and, shoving the wad of half-chewed sausage into her cheek, she asked, “Are ye frightened? Ye don’t look afraid.”
Elizabeth was grateful for that when, in truth, she was more afraid than she had ever been in her life.
Calmly, she replied, “Ladies feel many things they train themselves not to show.” She considered how she would fare defending herself with the dull butter knife and fork …
until she saw a second dagger hiding under one of the folds of lace at her captor’s side.
Alexandra smiled at Jaffa. “I knew I was right to bring her here.” She covered her hand over her mouth and cast a look so repentant, Elizabeth had to stifle the urge to laugh.
“I know I’m not supposed to speak with me mouth full of food, but I can’t quite figure out how I’m supposed to carry on a conversation during a meal.
If I chew like I’m told a lady does, I’ve forgotten what I meant to say by the time I can finally swallow. ”
“It helps to take smaller bites.”
“That’s what he tells me, but I’d die of hunger before I could complete a sentence, what with all that chewin’. I don’t know how ye do it, Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth had not given Alexandra leave to use her Christian name or to eat from her plate, but she trusted her instincts enough to know not to insist on propriety.
The woman wore two daggers that Elizabeth could see and who knew what else that she could not see.
She was not about to criticize Alexandra’s manners when she was the prisoner-guest. “What am I to call you?” she asked.
“Me friends call me Alex, but ye can call me what ye like. I know the circumstances which brought ye here are suspect, but it’s me hope that we’ll become fast friends.
Ye’re me guest while ye’re aboard the Fancy, and I mean to help ye feel comfortable.
How’s yer stomach? Lots of folks get bilious out at sea.
I had Jaffa put a bucket by ye, in case. ”
The food on Elizabeth’s platter lost its appeal. She pushed it away and pulled her knees up to her chest under the blankets.
“Ye’re not feelin’ ill right now, are ye?” Alex asked, pointing at the bucket for Jaffa to push closer.
Elizabeth took a deep breath. “I am well enough.” She had been out on a fishing boat once and, until Alex had mentioned nausea, she had been perfectly fit. Now she was not so certain.
Jaffa placed the bucket closer, saying to Alexandra, “Perhaps the mention of bile would put most ladies off their food.”
Twisting her face, balling her hands into fists, Alexandra said heatedly, “I can calculate a cannon’s trajectory at a glance, throw me knife within a hairbreadth of me target, and creep up on a ship before the lookout calls a warnin’, but this lady business’ll be the death of me.
” She pounded her fist against her thighs.
“I’ll learn how to act like a lady. Darcy said ye’re the finest lady he knows, and I trust ye can teach me. ”
A shiver shot from Elizabeth’s head down to her toes. Had she heard correctly? “Who told you about me?”
A mouth full of sausage, bread, and egg along with her newly acquired table manners prevented Alexandra from answering. And then, when she had counted her chews and swallowed, a scuffle from the other side of the door interrupted her further.
Bang bang bang! A fist hammered against the door.
Alexandra rolled her eyes. “That’ll be him. That lout, Cotton, must’ve told him. Nothin’ but fluff in his head.”
Bang bang bang!
“Open the door ‘fore he breaks it down!” she ordered.
Jaffa opened the door.
And Elizabeth’s breath caught in her throat. “Mr. Darcy!” she whispered.
He stood in the breeze, five days of stubble covering his face, his shirt open at the collar. Never had Elizabeth seen him so handsome. So rugged. So angry.