Chapter 6 #2
Hargraves looked a little ill, but he stood straighter. “Well, sir … um … the truth is, I got little choice. I’d been plannin’ to go to New South Wales to make my fortune, but you put a stop to that. I can’t return to England, so I stowed away.”
At least he was forthright. Gideon continued to sharpen his blade. “And why can’t you return to England?”
The tips of Hargraves’s prominent ears reddened. “I ran away to sea to escape the hangman, sir. I killed a man. I can’t go back there now.”
I can’t go back there now. There was a ring of truth to those words. But the rest of it…. Could the man be lying? Although his story seemed likely enough, something in Hargraves’s manner made Gideon think he wasn’t telling the whole truth.
Then again, most of Gideon’s men had secrets. That was why they’d taken their chances with piracy. And no seaman would stow away aboard a pirate ship unless he were desperate.
Gideon paused in sharpening his blade to survey the man with a critical eye. He was small, but looked sturdy enough. He’d probably be good at climbing the rigging. But that skill wouldn’t help Gideon anymore. “Tell me, Hargraves, what do you know about farming?”
Hargraves stared at Gideon as if he’d gone mad. “Farmin’, sir?”
“Yes, farming,” Gideon said impatiently. “Or carpentry or brickmaking. What do you know of those things?”
Hargraves glanced at Barnaby, who merely said, “Answer the captain, man.”
“I-I don’t know nothin’ about them. I’m a sailor, sir, and a good one, too.” When Gideon scowled, he hastened to add, “And I’m a right fierce fighter. I don’t look it, I know, but I can put a man down who’s twice my size.”
Gideon’s scowl only deepened. “I won’t need good fighters or sailors once we reach our destination, so you’re of no use to me. Barnaby, put him in chains until—”
“I know how to butcher and dress an animal!” Hargraves burst out.
Gideon set down the saber and the whetstone and cast the sailor a skeptical look. “Do you? Could you skin a pig and preserve it?”
“Aye.” Hargraves was breathing heavily now. “My father was a butcher. Taught me everythin’ he knew. I went to sea after he lost his shop.”
A butcher. They could use a butcher on Atlantis. If the man was telling the truth. Still, it was worth the gamble to have a competent butcher in their midst. “I tell you what, Englishman. You may join my crew for as long as it takes us to sail to our destination.”
When Hargraves started to thank him, he held up a hand. “But you’ll have to prove you’re worth keeping beyond that. I’ll tolerate no laziness. If you’ve got some fool idea that pirates are sluggards, you’re wrong. If we don’t get a good day’s work out of you, we’ll maroon you.”
He ignored Barnaby’s raised eyebrow. They’d never marooned anybody before, even the English nobles they hated, but Gideon meant to put the fear of God into the man. Maybe Hargraves would think twice the next time he thought to stow away aboard a pirate ship.
“Put him to sanding the deck,” Gideon ordered, then picked up his saber once more.
But his first mate didn’t move. “Captain?”
“Yes?” Gideon retorted without looking up.
“It’s nearing mealtime. What are we to do about feeding the women?”
The women. They’d been so quiet for the past hour, Gideon had almost forgotten about them. “We brought on enough food to feed them. Have Silas prepare a meal for them and the children, of course.”
“But shall we let them up on deck to eat?” Barnaby asked.
When Gideon glanced up, he noticed that Hargraves was listening intently to their conversation.
Perhaps the man hadn’t been quite honest about his reasons for stowing away.
Perhaps he had a sweetheart among the women.
Well, that was an innocuous enough reason for his coming aboard, and Gideon couldn’t blame him for it.
“Not just yet. I have some things to discuss with the men before the women are allowed on deck.”
“What sort of things?” Barnaby asked.
Gideon glared at his first mate. “You’ll find out soon enough.
” He drew out his pocket watch and looked at it.
An hour had passed since he’d last spoken to Miss Willis.
It was time to hear whether the women had accepted his offer or not.
“But bring Miss Willis back here. She and I have to finish our discussion.”
Though Barnaby cast him a questioning look, he ignored it. He hadn’t yet told the others about the offer he’d made the women. He didn’t want to endure his men’s groans and complaints until he was sure the women were agreeable.
Barnaby and his fellow pirate left, taking Hargraves with them, but still Gideon sat staring into space.
He hadn’t considered how difficult it would be to tell the men he was giving the women a choice.
What demon had come over him to let him suggest such a thing?
It wasn’t as if these women expected such privileges.
In New South Wales, they’d have had no choices at all, or very little.
Opening a desk drawer, he dug around in the bottom until he found a little-used flask of rum he kept there for when he had the ague.
He seldom drank hard liquor for any reason, but today it was warranted.
He took a sip, coughed, then took another.
A few more sips and his anger evened out a fraction.
So what if he’d given the women a choice?
He wanted them happy. Then they’d add their skills to the men’s.
Women were needed on Atlantis, not just as an outlet for the men’s sexual urges, but to perform tasks like cooking and weaving and gardening, things his men knew nothing of.
And if giving the women a little freedom of choice made them more amenable to their situation, he’d do it.
The men would understand once he explained it to them that way.
Certainly, he’d prefer that his own wife, whomever he chose, married him of her own free will.
A knock sounded at the door. Thrusting the rum flask into the drawer, he settled back in his seat and called out, “Come in.”
Miss Willis entered. When she’d left his cabin before, she’d been full of fire and fury, but now she seemed more subdued, even afraid. Strangely enough, he didn’t particularly like that demeanor on her, and that made him speak more sharply than he should. “Well? What did the women decide?”
She seemed not to hear his question. “As I was coming in, I saw that you’d taken prisoner a crewman from the Chastity. What do you intend to do with him?”
For some reason, her concern for a lowly English sailor irked him. “Make him walk the plank, of course.” When her horrified expression showed she believed him, he added, “He’s joining my crew. That’s all.” Relief flooded her face, prompting him to ask, “Why do you care?”
She dropped her gaze from his. “I wouldn’t like to see anyone from the Chastity harmed.”
“How kind of you.” He wondered if Miss Willis was who Hargraves had sneaked aboard for. But that was absurd. British sailors knew better than to fall in love with women above their station. And a lady like Miss Willis would certainly never be romantically interested in the likes of Peter Hargraves.
So he got right to the point. “Have the women decided to accept my offer?”
She tilted her head up to meet his gaze. Her fear vanished, replaced by a fierce determination that showed in the stubborn set of her mouth and the glint in her pretty brown eyes. “Not exactly.”
“Not exactly?” He rose from behind the desk, rounding it to stand in front of her. “Remember, if they don’t want to take the week to choose, I’m simply going to let my men pick whom they want.”
“No!” When he raised one eyebrow, she added, “They want to have the week, of course. It’s better than the alternative. But they have questions. About how this will work.”
He settled one hip on his desk, watching her intently. She looked flustered, and that was just how he wanted her. The more flustered she was, the quicker they could settle all this, and he could get her out of his cabin.
Why he wanted to do so, he preferred not to examine too closely. “Ask your questions but be quick about it. I’ve got a ship to run.”
Tucking a tendril of hair under her frilly cap, she squared her shoulders. “Some of the women have children. Will the men who marry them take on that responsibility as well?”
“Of course. We’re not monsters, you know.”
Judging from her frown, she disagreed. “And what about the older women? We have several women past child-bearing age. If none of the men wish to marry them, would you choose them a husband who might not want them?”
Confound her, he hadn’t considered that. But that could easily be corrected. “I’ll make an exception for the older women who can no longer bear children. If they find no man who will marry them, they are free to remain unmarried.”
Her breath came out in a sudden whoosh. “So, if a woman can find no man to marry her, she doesn’t have to marry?”
“I didn’t say that.” The little witch was putting words in his mouth now. “The women of child-bearing age must still choose a husband, or one will be chosen for them.”
With a sniff, she crossed her arms over her chest. He wondered if she had any idea how she looked standing in the center of his cabin.
With that ridiculous cap on and her demure dimity gown torn and dirty from the hurried transfer of the women to the Satyr, she reminded him of an urchin begging favors of a lord.
Except he wasn’t a lord, and she was certainly no urchin.
She proved that when she lifted her chin in defiance. “Suppose a woman is too plain to attract a husband? Will you force some man to marry her just because you want to pair them all up?”
Her words sparked his temper, as much because of her logic as because of her contempt for his plans.
He stalked toward her, finding a grim satisfaction in the sudden wariness that leapt into her face.
“My men have spent the last eight years at sea with only an occasional night in port to satisfy their need for female companionship. Your women could be horse-faced and snaggle-toothed, and my men would still want them, I assure you.”
It wasn’t entirely true, but he’d had enough of her quibbling. She would follow his rules, if he had to lock her up to do it!
She backed away, her cheeks pinkening. But even when she came up against the door to his cabin and saw she was trapped, she continued to plague him. “I hardly believe that your men would want a wife who’s—”
“Enough!” He planted his hands against the oak door on either side of her shoulders, pinning her between them. “Your women have a week to choose husbands. When that week is over, I’ll do as I see fit with whomever’s left unwed, and nothing you say will change that!”
“But you’re not thinking this through,” she protested, turning her pretty chin up another notch. “If you force people—”
“Why are you being so stubborn? Are you worried you won’t find a husband? Are you afraid nobody will choose you?”
The color drained from her face. “Why, you obnoxious, despicable—”
“Because you needn’t worry about that. Plenty of men on this ship will find you attractive.”
Before she could stop him, he tugged her mob cap loose, casting it aside on the floor.
As she stared at him with wide eyes, her breath coming in jerky gasps, desire bolted through him, sudden as a summer squall.
Auburn strands of hair clung loosely to the bun she’d tortured them into, and her eyes were nearly the same color, a dark, reddish-brown fringed with the longest, most delicate lashes he’d ever seen.
By God, she was beautiful. Peach-tinged lips … a wide, white brow … and satiny skin with just enough freckles to hint at a mischievous nature. He hadn’t been this close to her before, hadn’t had a good look at that delectable face.
He and his men had come across many Englishwomen during their days of pirating. And though he’d kissed one or two to irk their stuffy husbands, he’d never wanted any of them. Not the way he suddenly wanted this one.
That thought frightened the hell out of him. She wasn’t for him. Let one of his men take the little witch into his bed and suffer her temper and her lofty expectations.
Yet that didn’t appeal to him either.
He should push away from her now, but he couldn’t.
Not until he’d seen a little more. In a trance, he removed her hair pins until her hair tumbled down in a twisted rope about her shoulders.
He raked his fingers through the thick mass until the strands scattered over his fingers like threads of silk.
Soft, so soft. How long had it been since he’d touched a woman’s hair like this?
How long since he’d even been this close to a woman?
He twirled one coppery lock around his finger, and that seemed to rouse her from her stunned silence.
“Stop that,” she whispered, a troubled expression crossing her face.
“Why?” He smoothed her hair down over one shoulder, thinking that she had the creamiest skin he’d ever seen, skin just begging to be touched.
When he stroked one finger up along the curved contours of her neck, she gasped. “It’s not … proper.”
That made him smile. “Proper? We crossed the line from proper to improper right after you left the Chastity. You’re on a pirate ship. You’re alone in a cabin with a notorious pirate captain. You’ve lost your proper little cap. And I’m about to kiss you.”
As soon as he’d said the words, he knew they were a mistake, and not because of the outrage that filled her face. Kissing her was dangerous. She wasn’t the woman for him.
But he had to taste her once. Just a little taste.
So before a protest could leave her lips, he brought his mouth down on hers.