Chapter 5
“Wherein a lamb bares her teeth.”
Henri shuddered with revulsion as the rat-faced man leered at her.
“Come on then, my pretty,” he said, grasping her wrist. Henri snatched her arm away from him, but he just laughed. She saw his hand move to the pistol at his hip and he tapped it with a finger. “Just as you like, miss, but you’ll be coming along with me now, one way or another.”
Henri had no choice but to move in the direction in which he gestured. Unused to the sway of the boat she stumbled a little and held the rail to steady herself.
The darkness on deck in the shadowy light thrown by the lamp Ratty carried conspired against her along with the glittering interest of men’s eyes in dark corners.
She lifted her head high, though her cheeks were burning with humiliation, and she made a point of meeting the eye of every man’s gaze she found, though she was trembling so hard they must be able to see it.
If she hoped to shame them, she was disappointed. She found nothing but amusement in their eyes, and other expressions she’d rather not dwell upon.
They weren’t allowed to stand idle for long, however, as the captain’s voice echoed over the water, yelling instructions that were incomprehensible to her but sent men scurrying into the rigging like monkeys and hauling on lines.
Overhead the snap and flap of heavy fabric rent the air as the sails billowed out, vast and ghostly against the night sky as the wind filled them and ropes creaked in protest as the sudden strain pulled them taut.
She followed where Ratty gestured she should go and tried to keep her dignity intact without resorting to tears, for now at least. But horror at the reality of her predicament, made it hard to do anything but put one foot in front of the other and she struggled to stay upright as the ship picked up speed.
Ratty opened the door of the cabin and cocked his head, gesturing for her to go in.
It wasn’t like she had a choice.
She stepped inside and watched him hang the lamp on a hook before looking around the room. Before she could say anything, she heard the door close behind her and the snick of the key in the lock.
Henri counted herself lucky that he had at least left the lamp. She slumped back against the wall of the cabin, trembling so hard her teeth chattered and holding back tears. Hysterics would not help her though the desire to give in to them was almost overwhelming. What in God’s name was she to do?
She looked around herself, wondering if perhaps there was a weapon to be found. From what she could see in the dim light the room was dominated by a large desk, covered with scrolls and maps and a bewildering number of books stacked in neat piles wherever a space allowed.
Along the right-hand wall there was a heavy oak cabinet.
The doors had been left open and showed shelves stuffed with more scrolls and books.
To her left there was a compact berth, neatly made.
A large chest sat at the foot of the bed, which she had no doubt contained the spoils of these men’s plunder and would be securely locked, and a number of beautiful gilt-framed paintings hung on the walls.
All in all, the room was surprisingly comfortable and clean, if cold, in the frigid air of the winter’s night.
She looked around hoping to find a stove to light but there was nothing.
Henri shivered, life aboard a ship may be all well and good in the tropics, during an English winter she doubted there was much to recommend it.
Finding a chair, she installed herself behind the great desk, unwilling to make herself more comfortable on the bed. But the sound of the key turning once more had her leaping to her feet.
The captain paused in the doorway, surveying her, and she wished she could see more of his expression. “I’m glad to see you are making yourself at home.”
Henri racked her brain wishing she could think of some acerbic comment, but the only words that came to her were pleas that he let her go.
She clamped her lips together tightly. She wouldn’t be seen to beg, not yet at least. He crossed the room and picked up a little round, long-necked bottle and two glasses, and filled both of them.
“Here,” he said, not unkindly, though there was a measuring look in his eyes as he handed her the glass. “It’ll warm you up a little.”
She took it from him, practically snatching her hand back as their fingers brushed.
Unwillingly she remembered a moment earlier in the day when they had touched rather more intimately, remembered the feel of his hard body pressed against hers and the softness of his hair as her fingers had sunk into it.
Had it really just been this morning? He chuckled, and she was perfectly sure he knew what she was thinking and was enjoying her discomfort.
“You must get me back,” she said, clutching the glass so tight her knuckles whitened. “Before anyone notices I’ve gone. If you do, I swear I will give you the letter without another word. You can go your way, and I will go mine.”
She watched him as he appeared to consider. His eyes glittered in the lamplight, and she could see cold calculation with no warmth or empathy visible. No doubt these were qualities that had made him such a ruthless and successful pirate.
“Why should I do such a thing?” He walked around his desk and she moved away from him, circling to the other side as he sat down, putting his feet up. “You tried to blackmail me.” He stared at her, unblinking. “If you were a man, you’d be dead by now.”
There was no emotion in his voice, no threat. Somehow that made him all the more terrifying. He was simply stating a fact. She remembered the moment he had cut down the soldier on the streets of her home. It hadn’t seemed hard for him to do.
“Yes,” she said, her voice too obviously betraying her fear, though she hoped her disgust was just as evident. “You seem quite adept at murder I’ll give you that.”
He snorted, his face placid. “I gave him the chance to run, he made his choice. Should I have let him kill me?”
“He was just doing his job!” she flung back at him, surprised by the fierceness of her words. At any rate she hadn’t swooned that was something at least. Though if things went too far awry perhaps she should try it?
He seemed equally surprised by her rage and smiled at her. “As his job was to kill me, you’ll forgive me if I took exception to it.”
“He was someone’s son!” she said in fury, appalled by his cool humour. “There will be family grieving his loss because of you ... you ... fiend!”
His eyes darkened, and she took a breath, stepping back a pace and wondering if she’d gone too far. She’d be a fool to forget the precarious nature of her position.
“I ... am also someone’s son, my Lady Morton, in case you perhaps thought I was less than human.
Though I’ll admit, there would be few to grieve over my mortal remains.
” There was a sneer in his words and mockery in his eyes though she felt it was more directed at himself than anyone else and wondered at it.
“Yes, a son of a bitch,” she cursed him, defiant all over again and then damning her sharp tongue that once again had run away with her before she’d considered the consequences.
The look he gave her chilled her blood and made her vow to watch her mouth.
“Yes,” he murmured, his tone sending shivers over her skin. “A very good job you are a woman, my lady.”
She folded her arms, hoping she looked confident, though in truth she was trying to disguise the fact her hands were trembling.
“Then it seems I must be thankful for the fact I have been born a female,” she said, not attempting to disguise her contempt.
“There is a first time for everything I suppose.”
He frowned, his expression curious as he reached for the bottle and poured another measure. “Why would you say that?”
She stared back at him, eyes wide. It never ceased to amaze her that men believed women should be grateful for the accident of their birth.
That they should be content to be considered property with no rights of their own, to be given by their fathers to be married off to another man who would own them in turn.
“Why would I not?” His attitude pricked at a grievance that had infuriated her since she was a small child and had first understood the restrictions of her life as a girl.
She snorted as his obvious lack of understanding made his frown deepen.
“Tell me, why is it you’re a pirate? There are many honest ways of working at sea. ”
He removed his feet from the desk and leaned forward, regarding her with an intense expression. “I have a feeling you’re going to tell me,” he said.
There was amusement in his eyes, and she felt a spark of anger.
“Because you don’t like rules and you don’t like to be told what to do and when to do it. Because you want to be free.”
She watched as he smiled, a slow smile that changed his face. In her fear of the past hours she had forgotten just how handsome he was. That smile reminded her, and she remembered again the moment in the shop when he had pulled her close and kissed her.
“Well you’re half right,” he said, and she fought the blush she felt rising behind her skin as his eyes travelled over her. “That’s not why I became a pirate, but it is why I remain so.”
She knew he would not answer the question, so she asked it anyway. “Why then, what drew you to this life if not freedom and adventure?”
He chuckled again, and it was a warm sound that rumbled through her.
A good sound, it made her want to make him do it again.
It was all too easy to forget her fear in the warmth of that laughter and she realised this was the power he had, that easy, seductive charisma that made abducted wives want to stay with him rather than return to their lives.
His long fingers caressed the side of his glass as he considered her.