Pirate's Bride (Liberty's Ladies) (13 page)

“What a lovely treasure chest,” one of the men spoke and smiled approvingly. “It seems that Captain Hawk has finally captured booty worthwhile.”

The other men laughed and nudged one another. The first man who spoke made a sweeping bow and waved the women forward.

Della was the first to walk to the door. Her ample hips wiggled suggestively and a large, inviting smile turned up the corners of her mouth. “My, but ain’t you a masterly one,” she said and winked at the man.

“And you, my pretty, are quite a treat.” The man’s mouth quirked into a sensual smile. “I’ll see you later, my dear.”

Della giggled in triumph. Young Annie stayed close to Bethlyn and Pearl. Her hand clasped around Bethlyn’s in a tight hold, and Bethlyn felt her fear. They were the last to leave the storeroom, but Bethlyn hung back a foot and looked directly into the man’s face. “Are we to be taken prisoners of this Captain Hawk? Is his ship the
Black Falcon
?”

Only the slight twitch of a muscle around the edge of the man’s mouth indicated his surprise that a doxy would know such details. He eyed her suspiciously.

“What concern is it of yours, wench? A woman like yourself has no reason to care on what ship she travels or needs to know anything about its captain.”

“I demand to speak with him and discover what is to be done with us.”

Bethlyn had lifted herself to her full height and stared haughtily at the man, and for a second utter amazement appeared in his eyes. The man seemed to consider her for a moment, almost as if he were compelled to follow her command. Instead he laughed aloud and grabbed her arm, literally pulling her from the storeroom and up the long flights of stairs to the upper deck.

“You’ll discover your purpose soon enough,” he proclaimed.

Bethlyn feared this very thing, and she began to yank away from his strong grip. “I shall not be treated in such a fashion! Unhand me at once.”

“What did you say?”

“Unhand me!”

Once again, the man perused her, then he let go of her. He pointed to the cluster of women who were being transported to another ship, its black outline barely discernible in the darkness. “Go join your friends,” he grumbled.

Opening her mouth to protest, Bethlyn clamped it closed, spying Mavis at the same moment Mavis saw her. The two rushed into each other’s arms, Mavis trembling and weeping.

“I was so worried about you.” Mavis’s voice quivered with emotion and a bit of admonishment. “I woke and you were nowhere to be found. I called for Sir Jeremy, and the poor man was beside himself with worry. Where did you go? Why did you leave?”

“A fool’s errand, I’m afraid. Where is Jeremy? I don’t see him.” Bethlyn peered in the gloomy night for some sign of Jeremy, but he was nowhere to be seen. She also discovered that none of
Nightingale
’s crew seemed to be present. All she noticed were the privateers as they hauled cargo from the hold of
Nightingale
, and the women.

Mavis held a kerchief to her mouth in seeming distress, “Sir Jeremy has been placed in a longboat, along with Captain Montgomery and the others who survived the attack. They’ve been set adrift.”

A wave of horror swept over Bethlyn and she felt about to faint. “Not Jeremy. They couldn’t have done that to him. He … might not survive.”

“I know.” Mavis began to cry in earnest. Huge tears fell from her eyes. Bethlyn felt helpless to console her friend, and more helpless because she couldn’t take control of this situation as she thought she might.

“Perhaps if I’d been with you both at the start of the attack, I might have been able to prevent this.” Bethlyn’s voice drifted away into nothingness as Mavis placed a hand in hers.

“Don’t blame yourself, Bethlyn. There was nothing anyone could do. We should be thankful we survived. Just look around you.”

For the first time Bethlyn grew aware of her surroundings.
Nightingale
’s sails were no more; the deck flooring lay splintered and a huge hole gaped at her from the center. Wooden beams leaned in all directions or were twisted into grotesque shapes. Bodies of her father’s crewmen littered the deck, and she recognized the man who’d been given orders to watch her only by the large, silver buckles on his shoes. His face bore no semblance to a human being.

She wanted to retch. Such chaos, destruction, and death weren’t to be believed. Mavis tightened her hold on her hand. “Don’t become ill, not with these horrible men watching. Keep your chin high. Remember, you’re the daughter of the Earl of Dunsmoor.”

Bethlyn took deep breaths of the night air and steadied herself. “That would make no difference to these men,” she said after she composed herself. “I can’t very well march up to their captain and tell him I’m the daughter of this ship’s owner. But I can insist upon seeing him and inform him that my husband is a colonial. Perhaps that would gain our freedom. I don’t relish spending all my time with these women.”

“Do you think it would help?” Mavis asked, hope in her voice.

Bethlyn placed a hand to her head, her mind unable to seize upon some sort of a plan. Even now, poor, dear Jeremy was adrift in a longboat with no indication where he might end up. Responsibility for his dilemma rested upon her shoulders like a heavy sack. She’d been the one to insist they sail on
Nightingale
. If not for her, they’d be safe on
Venture
. She didn’t want to think about Jeremy at this moment. She had to keep her wits about her.

“I don’t know,” she truthfully admitted to Mavis. “I’ve never dealt with renegades before. But if I could only speak to this Captain Hawk and convince him he has made a terrible mistake.”

During the time Bethlyn and Mavis spoke to each other, the women were being transferred from
Nightingale
to the
Black Falcon
by way of a wide gangplank which bridged the two ships. With wide eyes, they managed to make it safely across, not realizing how much the dark of night disguised how high up they were. However, they both heard the churning of the sea beneath them, and more than one woman clung to a stalwart privateer who seemed only too happy to carry across a frightened woman.

“I see you made it,” the man to whom Bethlyn spoke earlier stated. “I congratulate you and your friend on your courage.” His eyes settled on Mavis and lingered much too long. He took her hand, and Mavis jumped backward.

“Please, no,” she began.

“I won’t bite you, my dear. Now what is your name?”

 “Ma-Mavis,” she stammered, and even in the darkness two red splotches were visible on her cheeks.

“A lovely name for a lovely lady,” he intoned and drew her closer against him. ‘‘I’m known as Crane. I promise I won’t hurt you. I could never hurt anyone as beautiful as you. I really don’t like hurting anyone at all, please don’t turn away from me.”

In all the years she’d known Mavis, Bethlyn had never seen her truly afraid. Mavis had been the person to give her courage, to offer her friendship. Now, Bethlyn perceived panic in her friend’s eyes. Mavis’s two small fists bunched together and pushed in vain against the man’s chest.

“Leave her alone!” Bethlyn ranted, not realizing she screamed to the top of her voice. This time Bethlyn’s fists made contact with the man’s back. The adrenaline pumping through her caused her to deliver more than one hearty wallop. She’d never have known if she would have actually harmed the man. One moment she was pummeling his back and the next she found herself spinning like a top in midair, only to land in the arms of the man who broke her contact with Crane.

Long strands of honey-brown hair covered her eyes, blocking her view of the man who towered over her. With an urgent motion she pushed her hair from her face and saw him clearly for the first time. No one had to tell her his name; she knew she was staring into the masked visage of Captain Hawk.

Each of Hawk’s men wore masks to cover the upper portion of their faces. Hawk’s mask, formed in the shape of his namesake, covered his eyes and ended at the bridge of his nose. A black scarf, tied in a queue, hid his hair from sight. Even in the dim glow of the lantern light, she discerned the broad shoulders which strained against the white shirt, open to his navel. He stood with one arm on his slender hip, which was covered by black breeches. His other arm held her wrist in a grip as solid as iron.

“What’s the problem here, Crane? Are you going to allow this slip of a girl to undo you?”

Even his voice sounded disguised, almost as if he feared to speak in his own natural voice.

Crane instantly released Mavis, causing her to falter a bit. He reached out and kept her from falling, then quickly let her go again. “I was taking liberties with the young lady.” Crane nodded to Mavis, then formally bowed before her. “Please accept my apologies, miss.”

Mavis seemed at a loss. One moment the man was pawing her outrageously, like she was a common tart, and the next, she felt as if she could be in a fashionable drawing room, accepting the highest compliments from a gentleman suitor. She didn’t know what to say, but Bethlyn did.

“A feeble apology, sir.” Bethlyn sounded huffy and indignant. “How dare that man treat my friend like a doxy.”

“He treats her like that, because she is one, as are you. Now what is your name?”

Bethlyn winced. This arrogant man assumed she and Mavis were prostitutes. She wondered how the man could think such a thing. Couldn’t he tell from her clothes and bearing that she wasn’t? Suddenly Bethlyn looked down at her plain gray gown, and she realized she was shoeless. With the wind whipping her hair around her face, she most assuredly didn’t resemble the Earl of Dunsmoor’s daughter or the wife of a wealthy colonial. Her gown and her face were dirty from lying on the floor in the storeroom for so long. Indeed, she looked most wretched. She took a long, shuddering breath. She did look like one of those women. Oh, why couldn’t she have been captured in one of her better gowns?

“I’m not what you think I am.”

“Then what are you?” he countered, seemingly amused by this haughty version of a lady.

“I’m the Ear—” She stopped speaking. She couldn’t tell him who she was. He might harm her, or Mavis, if he knew Nathaniel Talbot was her father.

“Yes?”

She wet her lips, her gaze settling on Mavis, and saw the girl shake her head in a warning gesture. The look said not to tell Captain Hawk anything. Until this moment Bethlyn had decided to admit she was the wife of Ian Briston, Now, however, she couldn’t bring herself to tell him about her husband. Ian Briston owned part of this ship, too. Suppose this arrogant Captain Hawk decided to hold her for ransom? She wondered if Ian would pay it, but more importantly she didn’t want her husband to know she’d been captured by the notorious Captain Hawk … not until she could tell him herself. News of such a humiliating experience might cause Ian to question their marriage and end it before giving it a chance. She wouldn’t allow Captain Hawk to ruin her hope of finally winning her husband’s affections and the children she might one day have by him. Perhaps it was better for her if the man standing before her thought she was a prostitute for the time being. Nothing would be gained by revealing the truth to him. Somehow she’d blend in with the other women, having already decided that she and Mavis would hide if any of the men approached the others. Or fight, if cornered.

Her hair blew in the brisk sea air and framed her face with brown wisps. Bethlyn straightened her spine and stared at the masked rebel. She barely perceived any eyes behind that mask. But she did notice a smoldering flame in the depths of the black orbs and wasn’t certain she liked it. “My, my … name is … Beth, sir. My friend is called Mavis. We admit we’re your prisoners, but we are quite tired and would like to go to bed. Could you please show us where the other women have been taken?”

Hawk inclined his head and glanced towards Crane.

“Take Miss Mavis to where the others reside. And don’t attempt to steal a kiss,” he warned good-naturedly.

“Aye, Captain.” Crane grinned, and he held out his arm like a grand gentleman to Mavis, who at first didn’t know whether to take it or not. Finally, after giving Crane a long, searching look, she lifted her hand and placed it on his elbow. He led her away like a duke leading a duchess from a ballroom.

“Hmm,” Hawk said, considering. “That little doxy has captured Crane’s heart.”

“Please, sir, you’re speaking about my friend.”

“Ah, of course. I had forgotten that you’re both grand ladies. Pardon me. You said something about bed, I believe.”

“Yes, I wish to go to bed.”

“My sentiments exactly.”

Captain Hawk took her by the arm and led her away from the direction in which Mavis and Crane had gone. “Where are we going?” she asked, her voice catching as he led her past the galley room where she saw many of the men, relaxing with some of the women on their laps; past dark corners where heavy breathing and moaning sounds emanated.

“Why, to bed.”

They stopped before a cabin door and Hawk opened it.

Immediately she sensed that this was his cabin, and the bed to which he led her was his own. She held onto the door when he attempted to bring her inside.

“No! I won’t. You horrible beast of a man. I won’t sleep in here.”

“I don’t care where you sleep, wench. Sleep wasn’t what I had in mind.”