Captured for the Captain's Pleasure

Her shoulders slumped in defeat. He felt more than a little guilty.

‘I will tell you anything you want to know. But not until I have seen my brother,’ she said, lifting her chin.

Defeated but not routed apparently ‘Very well.’ The words surprised him, but he’d get more from her with honey than vinegar. And he had honey to spare as she’d discover.

She cast him a wary glance. ‘May I also ask for your promise that we will not be harmed while we are your…guests?’

The little minx. He almost smiled. Damn it, he did not want to admire her spirit. ‘You may ask.’

‘I see you take pleasure in toying with me, sir.’ Her light laugh sounded like breaking glass.

The sound wrenched at something in his chest. Something he’d frozen out of existence. He forced it back where it belonged, out in the cold, ignored and unnoticed. ‘Answer my questions to my satisfaction and I will consider your request.’

Moisture shimmered in her green-flecked brown eyes, but she held her gaze steady, unblinking, and nodded.

He found he couldn’t look at her any more. It was like looking in the mirror and seeing your faults laid out on public view.

Hell’s teeth. He wasn’t the one who should feel guilty. Old Fulton was the one who had sent her into danger. He deserved the blame, for this and so much more.

‘Hurry up, if you want to see your brother now, or I will insist on receiving my answers first.’ He opened the door wide. ‘No matter how long it takes.’

Alice stared at the privateer warily. An aura of danger hung about him. A danger she seemed unable to resist.

She should never have tried to cross swords with him. He’d met her assault with ruthless seduction as if he sensed where her weakness lay. The thought made her tremble. But if she wanted to see Richard, she had to do as he said.

He raised a brow.

With a quick inward breath to steady her nerves, she walked past him and out on deck.

‘Stay close,’ he murmured, leaning close. ‘My men aren’t used to women on board.’

She shivered, but whether from his warm breath on her cheek, or the threat he implied, she wasn’t sure.

Outside the door, the squat sailor stood at attention, his black eyes gleaming.

‘You met my steward,’ Lionhawk said. ‘He will see to my guests’ every comfort. Won’t you, Simpson?’

‘Aye, Cap’n.’

Guests. She almost snorted. ‘The only thing I would find of comfort is to be landed at the nearest port.’

Lionhawk laughed. An annoyingly seductive chuckle that hit a nerve low in her stomach. ‘Come, we are wasting time.’

Time Richard might not have. She quickened her pace.

His hand in the small of her back, he guided her aft while above their heads a few stars were already piercing the velvet blue to the east. A light breeze caressed her heated skin.

A sailor coiling ropes beside the mast watched them pass with a sly grin from beneath his straggly moustache. Kale. The man Lionhawk had chased off on the deck of the Conchita. Other men hung in the ratlines. The helmsman darted a glance their way, and a lad half-heartedly mopping the deck saluted. She kept her back straight and her gaze firmly fixed ahead.

‘What do you think of my ship?’ Lionhawk asked with an expansive wave of his hand and pride in his voice.

‘The truth?’

‘Of course.’

‘I wish I’d never set eyes on her.’

He chuckled. ‘You wound me, Miss Fulton. I thought I was offering you every courtesy.’

Liar. She pressed her lips firmly together, determined not to provide him with any more amusement.

‘Down here,’ he said and plunged down a companionway. Highly polished wooden panels reflected her face beneath the wall-hung oil lamp. Brass fittings gleamed dull gold and without so much as a fingerprint in sight. The ship was clearly well run and it must have cost him a fortune to build.

At the bottom of the steps, he plucked a lamp from the wall. ‘The crew’s quarters are on the gun deck. Down here is the hold.’ He bent and pulled on an iron ring in the floorboards. The trapdoor lifted with a creak.

Musty air wafted up from the dark void. She choked back a gasp. Holding the lantern aloft, Lionhawk stepped on to the ladder.

Alice shuddered. She wiped her damp palms on her skirt, grasped the rope lines on either side of the openrung steps and followed him down.

At the bottom, his lantern cast a halo of light into the gloom. A chain swung from a nail driven into a beam like an instrument of torture in some ancient oubliette. And if she wasn’t mistaken there was a strong odour of chicken manure. She grabbed at the wall to steady herself.

‘Seasick, are you?’

‘I’ve never been seasick in my life, but the stench is disgusting. How can you put people down here?’

He recoiled, his eyes flashing anger. ‘I’m sorry my accommodations don’t meet with your approval. We keep livestock down here on long voyages,’ he said and moved ahead. ‘If it is good enough for chickens, it should be good enough for a group of Fultons,’ he muttered.

At least that was what she thought she heard before a sailor in a coarse linen shirt and wide canvas trousers rose from a stool beside a bulkhead door. ‘All quiet, Cap’n.’

‘Thanks, Del.’ He hesitated. ‘You did open the hatches before you put the prisoners in there, didn’t you?’

‘Er…Mr Wishart didn’t say anything about opening any hatches.’

Lionhawk cursed under his breath. ‘See to it, man.’

‘Aye, aye, Cap’n.’ The sailor dodged around them and was heading up the ladder in a flash.

It seemed the captain had some shred of humanity, even if he had to be reminded.

‘It’s the best I can do,’ he said gruffly. ‘I don’t have accommodations on my ship for passengers.’ He flashed a cheeky grin. ‘I’m sure your friends wouldn’t want to sling their hammocks with the crew, though I’m sure the crew wouldn’t mind entertaining your friend, Lady Selina.’

It was almost as if he wanted to make her angry rather than appreciative. She sniffed. ‘Fresh air will help, I am sure.’

He removed a bunch of keys from his belt and unlocked the door. He gestured for her to enter. ‘After you.’

Indeed, the area resembled nothing more fearful than a smelly barn. Richard and Mr Anderson lay stretched out on two of the four cots placed along the hull. Selina, her head in her arms, drooped at a table that also held the remains of what looked like a meal of bread and cheese.

A couple of lanterns swinging from the beams provided light and the floor was carpeted with what looked like fresh straw, upon which stood their trunks. So they were not to be left in the clothes they stood up in.