Lady Pirate (3 page)

The shopkeeper seemed to understand at once; he was nodding vigorously when his wife suddenly piped up with a nervous, “Why?”

“Because I'll be cuttin' your tongues out with it if I hear ye done gone and mentioned us to anyone. Anyone at all.”

Valoree almost sighed aloud at his words. One-Eye truly did enjoy his work. And he did it well, too. Too well. With a small gurgle, the shopkeeper's wife went into a full swoon, hitting the floor with a resounding crash.

Shaking her head at One-Eye in reproof, Valoree turned and led the way out. It took them very little
time in the empty London streets to find their way back to the ship.

 

The moment Valoree awoke and stepped out of her cabin into the sunlight, a barrel-chested older man hurried toward her. At his approach, she sighed.
Henry.
Her quartermaster. He had held the position for her brother when Jeremy was captain, and continued to hold it for her. The rank put him right below her, second in command. In some ways, it gave him more power. He was her right hand, and though she was loath to admit it, she doubted she could control the men without him. She had left him in charge of them last night while she had gone in search of a dressmaker, and he'd surely had his hands full trying to prevent anyone from slipping over the side to follow the lure of rum and women that going ashore promised. They had been at sea a long time, and most of the crew were eager for leave. But if anyone knew how to help control these cutthroats, it was Henry.

“Some of the men are wanting to go ashore,” the man announced at once, barring her way onto the deck. “No.”

“Ah, now, Cap'n, girl,” he wheedled, tucking his thumbs into the front of his belt and rolling back on his heels. “Ye know as well as I that the boys have worked right hard the last few weeks, and they been real patient 'bout goin' ashore, waitin' till you was ready to let them. But I'm thinkin' if ye're awantin' them to stay patient, ye best be lettin' em have a little leave.”

Drumming her fingers against her leg, Valoree glanced at the crew gathered on deck. They were all looking pathetically hopeful. She supposed she had kept them aboard long enough. But she'd wanted to avoid trouble, and once the men got some drink into them, they could be a whole passel of that. Still, they
were going to be in port only one more day. If her appointment with the lawyer hadn't been set for so late in the afternoon, they would have left already. However, she had not been able to secure an earlier meeting, and none but a handful had been allowed leave since they had left the Caribbean more than a month ago. It was no wonder the boys were looking so hopeful.

Pushing Henry back toward the men, she looked them over slowly. “No stealing, no brawling, and no killing. If you break anything, you fix it or pay for it. And leave all but tavern wenches alone. If I hear of any of you bothering shopkeepers' daughters, you're off the ship. Understand?”

She suspected by their eager nods that they would have agreed to nearly anything to go ashore. Her gaze moved to the largest of the men, a Scot nearly as large as Bull, with hair the color of a carrot. “You're in charge, Jasper. Anyone gets out of line and I'll be after
your
hide.”

She waited until he nodded, then continued. “Leave enough men behind to guard the ship; let the rest go. Then switch. Richard.” Her second mate stepped quickly forward. “You decide who goes first.”

Henry moved forward to join the group as Richard began to pick and choose, but Valoree shook her head. “Not you, Henry.”

“Ah, now, Cap'n, girl—”

“I need you.” It was all she said, then turned and headed back belowdecks. It was all she had to say, and she knew it. Henry's wheedling died at once, and she heard him follow her to her cabin. He would do whatever she requested without complaint. He always had. He, Bull, Skully, Pete the Greek, One-Eye, and Richard were the most loyal of her crew. She wouldn't have been able to manage the men without them, and she was just as grateful as they were trustworthy.

Stepping into the captain's cabin, Valoree glanced at the dress lying on the small cot built into the wall, then turned to glance at her quartermaster. “Can you drive a carriage, Henry?”

The man's face scrunched up at the question, his doubt obvious. “Well, now, I ain't never had no reason to drive a carriage—but I reckon if Skully can drive one of them things, so can I.”

A rare smile briefly touched her lips at that. Skully and Henry were the best of friends, but it was a competitive relationship. They were constantly trying to outdo each other. Shaking her head, Valoree pulled her pistol out of her belt and laid it on the table, then began to shrug out of her vest. “There's no need for you to try if Skully knows how. Take him with you and go rent a carriage and horses. The best you can find. It must be a
quality
carriage,” she emphasized. “Then I want you to get clothes for yourself, Bull, Skully, and One-Eye. Make sure they fit.”

“What kind of clothes?” Henry asked suspiciously.

“Servant's clothes. Livery.”

Henry opened his mouth to refuse, but Valoree forestalled him with one sentence. “I need men I can trust with me, and I can trust you four.”

Closing his mouth, Henry nodded and turned toward the door.

“Have the men bring me a bath before you go,” Valoree called as the door closed behind him. She wasn't sure he'd heard her until the men brought in an old wooden tub, followed by pail after pail of hot water. Once the tub was full, Valoree slipped quickly out of the rest of her clothes and slipped inside. She bathed herself quickly and a bit impatiently, then started to dress.

Half an hour later she was grateful that she had left herself plenty of time for the task. It wasn't as if Valoree had never worn a gown before, but that had been
some thirteen years ago.
And good Lord!
She didn't recall donning a gown to be such a complicated task. There were stockings, and the fussy little garters that held them up; the chemise; the petticoat; the farthingale; the corset—a nasty piece of work, that; the partlet; the kirtle; the overskirt; and finally the bodice and sleeves.
Good Lord!
And with all those clothes on, she was still catching a draft up her skirt! It was indecent to be walking around with nothing covering her nether regions under those damned voluminous skirts. At least, it certainly felt indecent to a girl who had been well trussed up in breeches for thirteen years.

Muttering under her breath, she grabbed her trousers and attempted to pull them back on under her skirt, finding it quite a chore with all the binding upper clothes, and the layer upon layer of lower clothing. Dragging skirt after skirt laboriously upward, she tried to hold them with her chin so that she could don her breeches, but that simply did not work. Giving that up, she dropped to the floor, dragged her skirts up, and tried again. A moment later, panting with the effort, she stuck one foot in one leg of her breeches, then her other foot in the other.

“Next time I'll put these damn things on first,” she muttered to herself, dropping flat on her back. Arching her butt off the floor, she proceeded to wiggle, squirm, tug, and pull in an effort to don the damn pants.

“Captain?” One-Eye's voice drifted through the door, followed by a brief tap.

“Hold yer arse!” Valoree roared, rolling onto her side but still struggling with her clothes.

There was a brief silence; then One-Eye spoke again. “Ah, Captain? Are ye all right in there? There's an awful lot of bumping and huffing going on.”

“Thank God!” Valoree gasped as her breeches finally pulled into place. Letting her skirts slide back down over her legs, she dropped flat on the floor and
tried to catch her breath. A moment later the door opened and One-Eye popped his head in. Valoree gave him a surly look. “I told ye to—”

“Hold me arse. Aye, I heard ye,” One-Eye said, peering at her flushed face with concern, then around the empty room. “And I am, see?”

Letting the door slide farther open, he showed her that he had one hand planted firmly on his left arse cheek. Valoree released a weary laugh. That was the beauty of One-Eye. He would follow an order literally, if it would gain him his purpose. She could hardly flog him for entering when she had not said ‘don't enter.' He had done as she had ordered, after all.

Seeing her smile, he eased into the room, giving it a more thorough examination. “It sounded like there was a bit of excitement goin' on in here.”

“Aye. If you call trying to get into me breeches excitement,” Valoree admitted dryly.

One-Eye's hand went to his cutlass, his charming smile replaced with deadly intent in a heartbeat. “Who was it? I'll kill the bastard for ye.”

Valoree blinked in confusion at him before understanding struck; then she grabbed one of the boots on the floor nearby and whipped it at him. “It was
me
, ye silly souse!” she roared. The boot slammed into the door. Then she jerked her skirts up, revealing her breeches. “I was trying to get my breeches on!”

One-Eye blinked at that, then relaxed with a grin. “Well, now, it's a sad day when a captain can't even manage to don her—” His voice died as her eyes narrowed grimly on him. He changed the subject. “Ah, well, Henry sent me to—”

“What the hell are you wearing?” Valoree snapped, sitting up on the floor suddenly as she took note that his usual attire—tight breeches, flowing white shirt, and leather vest—was gone. It had been replaced with pink hose, pink knee breeches, and the most God-
awful pink waistcoat it had ever been her misfortune to see.

Sighing heavily, One-Eye immediately began to nod in misery. “Livery,” he said with disgust. “That's what Henry called it. Said it was all he could find.”

“Dear God,” she said softly, shaking her head in horrified wonder at the ugliness of the outfit. One would think the pink clothes would make One-Eye look effeminate and dandified, but that was hardly the case. If anything, the fancy dress simply seemed to make him look more disreputable—like a pirate dressed up in the fancy clothes of a servant. Which he was, of course.

“See! I knew you'd see that this was wrong. Shall I just go change back into me own clothes?”

Valoree actually almost nodded at the suggestion, then shook her head with a sigh.

“Nay. You cannot run around London looking like a pirate on the prowl.”

“Oh, but—”

“Nay,” Valoree repeated firmly. “You'll wear these clothes.”

At her tone, One-Eye nodded, though still appearing a bit disgruntled. “Well, I'd best go tell Henry and Skully that ye'll be along directly.”

“Wait!” Valoree called as he started to back out. He paused, and she gestured to the object lying by the door. “My boot.”

Eyebrows rising, he bent to retrieve the footwear, then moved to hand it to her.

“Nay. Put it on for me,” she ordered instead of taking it. She'd had enough trouble putting on the breeches. She could use help lacing up the boots.

One-Eye's eyebrows rose so high, Valoree thought they were going to fly off his forehead. “Do you not think some slippers might be more appropriate?”

“Well, aye, they would. And if I had some, surely
I'd wear them, wouldn't I? But I don't recall stopping by a cobbler's shop, do you?”

The corner of his mouth twisting at her testiness, One-Eye bent to grab the second boot as well, then moved to her feet and knelt there.

Valoree watched him set to work with disinterest, her eyes wandering over Henry's choice of livery. It really was atrocious, and she would guess it was just about killing One-Eye to wear it. The man had always fancied himself a bit of a heartbreaker. He was tall, with dark hair and a swarthy complexion, and was as lean and strong as a captain could want for a first mate. He had all his limbs and, really, other than a small scar or two from injuries gained working the ropes in storms, was still in one piece—other than his missing eye, of course. And the eye patch didn't seem to detract from his attractiveness to the ladies. In truth, whatever port they'd come to, One-Eye had always managed to find many women who found his rugged good looks and maimed face the object of desire.

Valoree didn't share that attraction, herself. From the ages of ten to nineteen, she had been treated like a younger brother by the pirate, with all the harassment and teasing that included. And while she had always known in an objective way that he was a handsome fellow, she had looked on him as another older brother as well. So seeing him now, dressed in Henry's awful choice of pink finery, Valoree could hardly stifle her chuckle. It might do him good to be dressed in such.

“There ye are, Cap'n,” One-Eye announced, straightening from his task and getting to his feet. He eyed her with amusement. “I suppose ye'll be needing help up now, too, huh?”

She raised her hand in answer. Reaching down, he grasped her at the wrist instead, waiting until her fingers closed around his own wrist before pulling her to her feet. With that, she left the cabin.

“Ye look real pretty in that gown,” One-Eye commented as he followed her across the deck a moment later. “But I never thought I'd see the day that Back-from-the-Dead Red needed help putting his own boots on.”

His taunt did not go unnoticed. “One-Eye,” she said.

“Aye?”

“Unless ye're wanting to don one of the other two gowns I bought and spend the day in it here with the men, ye'd be best to close yer trap now.”

“Aye, Cap'n.”

 

“Ye look real fine in that there getup,” Henry said as he helped her out of the dinghy and up onto the dock. Valoree was amused to note that the crusty old salt was blushing, and his voice was gruff.

“Like a real lady. Pretty, too. Never noticed ye lookin' so pretty in breeches.”

Valoree found herself embarrassed by the compliment to her looks, whereas a compliment on her skill at swordplay or such had never given her anything but pleasure. Flustered, she waved a hand vaguely in the air as if swatting the words away, then turned to stomp toward the carriage where Skully waited. One-Eye leaped to the dock behind her.