Beloved Captive (10 page)

Emilie tried to rub her sore shoulder, then realized her skirts had twisted and scrambled to cover her legs. The wet fabric fought her trembling hands, but with work, she managed the feat. Still Emilie had no idea where she was or with whom she sailed.

Was her arrival in this place truly an angelic visitation? If so, then she must be headed to heaven.

Still, she hadn’t expected heaven to smell this, well, vile.

Someone lit a candle, and she saw she’d been snatched by a collection of men who obviously worked for the other side.

A fellow with more pockmarks than teeth inched toward her and placed a hand on her thigh. “What’s this?” he asked, his voice thick and his eyes narrowed.

It took Emilie a moment to realize the man had found the bulge in her skirt that gave away the gold’s hiding place. Slapping his hand away, she tried to stand but found it impossible on the slippery deck.

Another set of hands reached out and grabbed her, lifting her up to deposit her on shaking knees. Emilie looked up to see she’d drawn quite a crowd.

Chapter 10

I demand you release me at once,” Emilie said with a bravado she did not feel.

“Do you now?” one of the men taunted. “Well now, if the lady wants to go back into the drink, we ought to let her, don’t you think?”

Raucous laughter rose along with comments she didn’t dare contemplate. Another man made a grab for her skirt.

“She’s got treasure here,” he said.

That comment was met with even more ill words and foul humor. Through it all, Emilie bit her lip and tried not to show fear, though her heart pounded and her knees threatened to give way.

“I demand to speak to your captain,” she said as she kicked at the offending hand. “And I shall not broach any ill treatment, so mind yourself and step away.”

The sheer audacity of her words seemed to stun the crowd. It certainly silenced them, at least temporarily.
 

“Step aside,” someone shouted, and all the men complied.
 

Slowly, a circle of light moved toward her, the source of which was hidden by the blinding glow. “So you’ve a treasure?” a deep voice said. “I’ll ask you once to give it up. Should you choose not to do so willingly, it will not go so well for you.”

A murmur went up in the shadows behind him. Despite her bravado, a tear slipped down Emilie’s cheek.
Save me, Lord.

“I have nothing to give up to you, willingly or otherwise.”

The laughter that followed her statement was eclipsed only by the vile things the men said. “Silence!” the holder of the light shouted.

The only sound was the lapping of the waves and the pounding of her heart.

“Hold the lamp,” the man said, and someone raced forward to comply.
 

The man with the deep voice stepped into the golden circle and stared down at Emilie, his yellow coat the color of the light that surrounded him. From just beneath his eye to his jaw was a fresh slash of crimson.

“So we meet again,” he said as he reached for his pistol.
 

“I warrant there be treasure in her skirts, Captain.”
 

He turned toward the source of the voice and made a crude comment that caused Emilie to blush to the roots of her hair. Several others joined the jesting, while the rest merely provided ribald laughter that became for Emilie the symphony of her nightmares.

While the men were thus engaged, she began to work on the fraying end of the rope that bound her hands. If she could only free herself, she might have a chance to escape by falling backward into the sea.

For the first time that day, she gave thanks that she’d chosen a frock of sea green the same color as the ocean on all sides of them. Would that she’d been a proper lady and kept her bonnet handy. It was a slip of propriety that she rarely made.

And will likely never make again
.
 

The knot slipped a bit, and Emilie worked to keep the elation from her face.
Thank You, Lord.

By the time the man in charge tired of his jokes and turned his attention back to Emilie, she’d nearly made good her escape from the bindings. One last tug and she would be free.

All that remained was an opportunity to flee. For that, she looked skyward.

“That’s right,” the infidel said as he moved toward her. “Say your prayers, pigeon. For I’m of a mind to send you to the Maker whose ear you now tug upon.”

I dare you
almost slipped from her slack jaw. Instead, she said nothing.

“Well now,” he crowed. “A woman who can hold her tongue. Now there’s a rarity.”

Still Emilie did not speak.

The man moved close enough to touch a strand of the hair that trailed over her shoulders. “Me, I don’t usually like a woman who keeps her silence. It makes me wonder what she’s planning.”

“
 
‘Silence at the proper season is wisdom, and better than any speech.’
 
” There, let him wonder about that.

“Well now.” He released her curl and turned his attention to her face. “Quoting Plutarch, are we?” The man’s smile broadened. “‘Freedom is a possession of inestimable value.’
 
” He paused, his fingers inches away from her throat. “Cicero.”

“Yes,” she said, barely blinking lest he sense her fear. “
 
‘Ignorant men do not know what good they hold in their hands until they’ve flung it away.’
 
” It was her turn to pause. “Sophocles.”

The pirate’s hands encircled her wrists and lifted them to allow the loosened ropes to fall free. With a yank, he slammed her against him.
 

“‘Death may be the greatest of all human blessings,’ ” he whispered into her ear, his lips so close she could feel the hot breath against her skin. “Socrates.”
 

He looked down from his superior height. “And I feel two suspicious lumps in what is otherwise a lovely dress. My suspicion is that you’ve hidden something from me besides your virtue. That I will take. The other, this treasure to which my men refer, I would ask that you offer it freely. What say you now, pigeon?”

Emilie swallowed hard and looked past him to the pirates gathered in a circle around them. “‘Verily, verily, I say unto you,’
” she began, “‘He that believeth on me hath everlasting life.’” Her gaze collided with his startling blue eyes. “Jesus of Nazareth.” She paused. “My Savior.”

Abruptly, he released her hands only to lift her into his arms. Seemingly without caring who stood in his way, the pirate hauled her through the crowd and into the bowels of the ship.
 

“Run dark and silent,” he called to someone in the passageway. “See that the men extinguish all lanterns and forsake the watch bells until further notice.”

“Aye,” the man said, and the passageway plunged into darkness.

“Don’t worry, pigeon,” the pirate captain said, “I know where I’m going.”

He gripped her tighter as he stumbled, then righted himself, liberally cursing as he pressed forward. Her head slammed against walls, as did her feet, but she refused to cry out.

Finally, their journey stopped at a door with a pale orange light pouring from beneath it. With a swift kick, the door flew open, and she found herself dumped unceremoniously onto a bunk that smelled of sweat and unwashed bodies.

Emilie huddled into the corner and reached for the only item within reach, a slim volume she found wedged between the bunk and the wall. The man laughed as he straightened his top hat.
 

“What? No words of wisdom from some dead philosopher?”

Brandishing the book, Emilie said nothing.

“I’ve one more word for you before I take my pleasure, then discard you.”

She curled away from him.
 

“Two, actually. I don’t intend to kill you, for that would be too kind. Just as I will think of you each time I see the scar on my cheek, so you will think of me and never forget this day.”

He let the words hang between them.

“Indeed, never will you look upon yourself without remembering the name of Thomas Hawkins.”

* * *

“Beggin’ yer pardon, sir, but the captain has need of you.”

The words cut through Caleb’s brain and settled somewhere in the soft cloud of his pillow. When the same voice, a youthful one, spoke the sentence again, Caleb jolted awake.

“The captain, did you say?”

“Aye, sir,” the cabin boy said.
 

“What time is it?” When the youth told him, Caleb sat bolt upright. “What’s the cause of this? Is it the
Cormorant
?”

“No, sir,” the lad said. “She’s fit and fine, but the captain says it’s mighty important that you come at once.”

“I see.” Caleb shook the sleep from his head as he threw on his trousers and stuffed his arms into his shirt. His boots slid on easily, as did his coat, but finding his way across the darkened cabin was not so simple.

“Shall I light the lamp, sir?” the boy asked

Caleb slammed his knee against the desk and bit back a sharp reply. “No time for it,” he said, finding the doorframe and then the passageway beyond.

With care, he maneuvered himself through the maze of hallways below and emerged onto the deck where the moonlight gave way to lanterns on the quarterdeck and on the aft bow. Caleb easily found the captain, who stood in a huddle with several sailors.
 

“What’s the emergency?” he called to the captain once he reached the quarterdeck.

“Vessel in trouble, it appears, sir.” The captain pointed due north where bits of something that might have been a ship floated in and out of a slender trail of moonlight.
 

“I’d say the trouble did her in, Captain. From what’s floating here, it looks as if she’s sunk.”

“Aye,” he said. “Would you have me leave her be or look for survivors?”

“Send a crew out to search,” Caleb said. “Survivors will be brought aboard, of course.”

“Of course. I reckon with the tide, we ought to head out more in that direction.” He pointed due east.

“Proceed,” Caleb said.

As the
Cormorant
plowed closer, the acrid scent of burning timbers rose over the sea spray. While the captain called out orders for the sails to be trimmed, several sailors paced the edges of the vessel, shining lanterns onto the water.

Caleb took up watch on the forward bow. Several pieces of what appeared to be charred wood knocked against the ship, each bouncing away only to collide again. Then he saw what appeared to be a person.

“Fetch a lantern,” he called. “I think I see a body in the water.”

A sailor raced toward Caleb, the lantern bobbing in his hand. Just before he reached Caleb, a shot rang out and the man fell flat on the deck. The lantern rolled toward Caleb, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. He quickly shed his coat and stamped out the flames, then peered over the rail to see that the supposed body was merely a length of pale cloth wound around a ship’s timber.

“Get yourself down,” the captain called. “All men to stations.”

A roar from behind him caused Caleb to turn. A short distance from the bow, a vessel glided toward them in ghostly silence. Only the flash from a cannon gave proof it was not some spectral vision.

While the captain shouted orders, the
Cormorant
returned fire. Caleb moved the injured man to a safer location, then took up his place beside the other men on the deck. When the attacking ship passed near enough, her name showed plain and clear in the moonlight.

Hawk’s Remedy
.

Caleb spat on the deck as the blood began to boil in his temples. A lesser man might have cursed the vessel. He preferred to allow the Lord to do that. Instead, Caleb took deadly aim with his grandfather’s pistol and dispatched a fellow to the watery depths before he could reload the cannon.

A lad of no more than a dozen years kept Caleb supplied with ammunition while another did the reloading. Caleb switched between pistols until the
Cormorant
’s cannons made a direct hit.

The resulting fire sent the darkened ship gliding away. A second cannon shot made contact with the aft bow, and the vessel soon burned in two places.

A cheer went up aboard the
Cormorant
. “Shall we give assistance, sir?” the captain called down to Caleb.

“This is your vessel, Captain,” Caleb responded. “What say you on the matter?”

The captain’s fists clenched. “I say we leave the cowards to their own devices. Likely they’ll survive well enough, though their vessel appears it will not unless they put out the fires.”

“Twice this vessel has plagued us.” He stared at the flames now licking both ends of the ship. “Do you know of this vessel?”

The captain shrugged. “Can’t say I do, but I’d warrant whoever’s at her wheel has a grudge against the Bennings. Seems likely, anyway.” He, too, followed Caleb’s gaze. “Though I’m thinking the lesson of not firing on a Benning vessel might be well learned now that they’re toasting their toes on their own firewood.”

“Then proceed to Santa Lucida, sir,” he said as he watched Fletcher make his way across the deck. “Did you sleep through the excitement?”
 

“Hardly.” Fletcher looked around him, then at Caleb. “But I did have the good sense to stay out of the line of fire. I saw, however, you did not.”

Caleb shrugged. “It’s the nature of battle, Fletcher.”

The older man smiled. “How like your grandfather you’re becoming.” He grasped Caleb’s shoulder, then squeezed. “Indeed the naval department is getting a fine sailor. Now if there’s nothing further to keep my attention, I’ll seek solace in my bunk until morning.”

“I haven’t sent the letter yet,” he called to Fletcher’s retreating back.
 

Yet he knew he would. Someday, God willing, he would find a way to combine his love of the law with a love of the ocean he hadn’t realized he still had.

Only the Lord, however, could manage such a feat.

“They’re turning about,” a lad in the riggings called. “All hands, Captain. They’re smoking fore and aft, yet they’re comin’ back fer us full sail.”