The Siren's Song (13 page)

He chuckled, low and magnificent. “Come. Let me see you to your cabin.”

Thayer pushed off the wall. Damn. The invisible pull, his indescribable spell upon her broke. No, not broke. Slackened. She followed him on the intangible tether which he had no idea he held.

“I spoke to Mather.” He opened the hatch door for her to cross through. “You must have made an indelible impression upon him.”

“I don’t understand.”

“He did a most unwise thing. He threatened me.”

“Why didn’t you leave me in Nassau?” Annoyed, her tone soured. She didn’t want to be the cause of more trouble.

“I
was
going to leave you.”

She stopped, surprised by his sharp candor. Quickly she composed herself. “Well, you should have. I’m nothing if not a burden.”

Gilly reached her door and pushed it ajar. Thayer grabbed the jamb, preventing her from opening it farther. His face was but a fraction from hers.

“As of yet, my lady, you’ve not become a burden.”

She focused on his mouth and gradually worked her way up, her heart racing faster and faster until she landed in the pools of his passionate gaze.

“On the contrary, love. You’ve brought a spot of delight to my jaded existence. To listen to you sing enraptures me. To smell your fragrance dulls the endless marching schemes and endeavors that I bear in my mind. To taste your lips, to feel your ivory skin, beguiles me in such a way no woman has before.”

Gilly ducked under his arm and entered her cabin. These confessions set her reeling. Thayer cajoled her with honeyed talk she’d yearned to hear from a man for far too long. Here he was, more of a man she could ever imagine possible. Her heart beat relentlessly against her chest. She fumbled to light the lantern on the beam. With the flame hardly turned up, she retrieved her laudanum, gulping down more than an appropriate measure.

Thayer kicked the door shut and closed the meager gap between them. He pinned her against the dresser and slipped the bottle from her grip. “You are a rare gemstone among pebbles on a rocky coast.”

If it weren’t for his weight pressed against her, Gilly would have given in to her weak knees.

“You’re drunk.”

“Aye. Quite soused.” His expression was cut from a cloth of determination. “But it is you that has me intoxicated. There’s nothing I want more than to touch you now.”

Gilly succumbed to reckless infatuation. She grabbed his whiskered cheeks and planted a desperate kiss to his mouth. Thayer wrapped her into an urgent embrace and seized control of their kiss. Rum coated her lips and swam in her already over-stimulated senses. Earnest groping consumed her. She couldn’t feel him enough, wanting to ply every bit of his muscular form with her fingertips. Likewise, his hands pawed over her body spurring her to cast off any prudent hindrances.

Damned jacket. She must shed it from him, she must get her hands under his tunic, rub them over his delectable hard chest.

Thayer abandoned her mouth for her neck, ravishing her flesh. He cupped her breast, squeezing it until her nipples puckered and strained beneath her dress. She threw her head back, arching into him. Heaven help her, she wanted him. No. She needed him. She grabbed tussocks of his hair, praying this wicked intimacy never stopped. His feeding upon her drove spikes of wet heat between her legs. Mad, he was driving her mad. Yanking his head back, she met his greedy eyes, and then kissed his open mouth.

He growled, fueled by her petulant actions. Thayer made quick work of the clothing binding her and soon he unveiled her breasts. His mouth sought to lavish her mounds which she gave to him in generous swells of erratic breathing. Coolness spread up her bare leg as he lifted her skirt and shift. He tucked her leg to rest upon his hip. The rough pads of his palm dragging along the underside of her thigh, so close to her naked vulnerability, brought wild pleasure.

Gilly tasted the salty sinews of his shoulder, kissing and nipping him like a tasty morsel. Her hand weaved into his shirt and around to his back, pausing for a moment to skim the smooth rise of the scar in his side. She caressed down the strong, taut planes to the top of his breeches. Did she dare go farther? Yes.

Her captain growled again. Picking her up, he threw her onto her mattress. He returned to leaving trails of fire along her thigh, boldly caressing higher. Her chilly nipples were warmed by his tongue working in sensual circles. She moaned and frantically worked to shove down his trousers so that she could better run her hands over his firm arse.

Thayer found her most coveted spot; Gilly jolted from the surprise. Her breath caught as he stroked his fingers across her wet nub. She gasped for humid air, heavy with desire. Pleasure mounted with each swirl of his fingertips. Enthusiastic, she swiveled her hips to the rhythm of his strokes. Shadows on the ceiling flickering in the ocher glow danced along to her cresting sighs. He led her to the edge of paradise, closer he enticed her with dexterous hands and a skillful tongue. Any moment she would fall. Any moment. Please, yes, any moment.

She nearly expired when he abandoned all his efforts. His attention to her breasts was traded for her mouth. Suckling and kissing distracted her whirling thoughts. She’d grown familiar to the tang of liquor; she could sup on him for all eternity.

Thayer lowered his weight upon her, planting his hand on the pillow beside her, affording her more area of his skin to discover. Her fingers slid across a sheen on his back. She groped for more, pressing him as close as he would let her. Where was his other hand? She needed him to touch her, caress her more.

Shock and brief pain stunned Gilly as Thayer pushed his way inside her. He gave her a moment to adjust to his size, staring down into her eyes with a gaze clouded by frenzy, and then rocked into her. Slow at first. Delirious with him filling her, with the friction of him drawing out then gradually pushing back in, she dug her fingers into his back and pivoted up to meet his thrust, coaxing him to give in to the primal lust. He obliged, pumping faster.

More, give me more.

Dear God, she had never been so wanton. Not even in the most ardent of moments with Hyde.

A wall of reality crashed down upon her. She had loved Hyde, and yet she never gave her body to him the way she was doing with Thayer. She acted like a lewd harlot with the captain.

This was wrong. So very wrong. This wasn’t how she wanted it to be with Thayer. She didn’t want to be a passing fancy for him. A faceless doxy he would remember only for the prig. She didn’t want to be his leisure. She wanted so much more with him. Suddenly, that she knew. She wanted him, all of him, to want her, to
love
her.

No, no, no.

“Stop.” She pushed on his shoulders. “Stop, Thayer. Get off me.”

He didn’t seem to hear her. His eyes didn’t seem to see her.

“Thayer, please, stop.”

Faster, harder he thrust.

She squirmed below him, reached over her head, feeling around for some leverage to pull herself out from underneath him. There was nothing, only the wooden wall. “Stop, Thayer!”

He continued to plunge into her, feral in his passion.

“Thayer!” She slapped at his face, pounded on his shoulders. “Please!”

Tears burned in her eyes.
Not like this, it wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

He stopped. Beads of sweat dotted his brow. He labored to catch his breath. The austere lines on his face softened, as if he awoke from a powerful trance. “Gilly,” he whispered. He tenderly wiped away a tear fleeing down her temple. Bewilderment, confusion, creased between his eyes. Without warning, they filled with anger. She closed her eyes and turned her face away. She didn’t want to witness his crushing disappointment.

Thayer withdrew and leaped from the bed. She dared to look at him. He yanked up his trousers, but bothered not with the laces, and snapped up his jacket from the floor. Not saying a word, he stormed from her cabin.

The room fell silent. Shadows mocked her in their soundless dance along the walls. Musk clung to the thick air but began to fade like the remnants of a dream.

What had she done? She bungled everything. Thayer must think of her as a disgraceful trifler, baiting him so. Regret, shame and a great sadness cornered her. She felt sick.

He hated her. He wouldn’t ever forgive her.

Gilly rolled over and buried her face into the pillow.

Chapter Twelve

“Drake. Drake. Damn it, wake up.”

Valeryn’s distant, annoying voice grew closer. Drake willed him away. He’d have none of the wakefulness, welcoming the sleep to pull him under again.

“Thayer.” A hand on his shoulder shook him. Favoring his coarse pillow under his cheek, he refused to allow his mate to roll him over onto his back.

“Is he dead?”

“We shall see, Henri. Hand me that.”

Icy cold water on Drake’s neck shot him awake. He bolted upright and swung at Valeryn. Missing widely, he flung back to his bed but fell short and landed on the floor. “Goddamn you, V! Sheer off!”

“No. The bugger’s not dead. But he’s close. Fetch him up his tea. By the look of his bloodshot eyes, make him plenty.”

Drake’s head pounded with the force of an unrelenting mallet. His brain sloshed with the tiniest of movements. Shit, he felt he might vomit. Where was the bloody chamber pot?

“By thunder, Drake.” Valeryn helped him to sit on his mattress. “I’ve not seen you this bad from getting too foxed in years.”

“Flog off.” He slowly leaned over and picked up a bottle off the floor. He jiggled it. Empty. Fuck.

“It’s nearly eleven.” Valeryn poured him a cup of grog.

That late, huh? Damn. The tosspot remedy was weak, but wetted his dry, thick mouth, nonetheless. His stomach protested. He breathed deep to keep calm. Closing his eyes helped none. White flashes blinked under his lids with each beat of his heart.

“Well? Let’s have it. What put you in a barrel fever?”

“Hist! Mind your noise before my brains bleed out my ears.”

“You went to her last night, didn’t you?” Valeryn took a seat at Drake’s desk.

The events of the night before flooded back. He was half the seas over in his cups when he went to check on Gilly. Something about the stars glittering in her eyes, the wonderment of her smile as she admired the nighttime far-reaching ocean had him wanting to ravish her there on the deck. But he hadn’t. He instead meant to see her to her room safely and retire to his own. Then the beast in him cornered his prey, trapping her. He had only intended to kiss her. What a surprise when she ravished him.

“Aye,” Drake answered. “I went to her.”

“Women don’t refuse you, Drake, even when they have to be coerced. What did you do to have her deny you?”

“She didn’t deny me.”

Quite the opposite. Gilly urged him along. Together they were raw, carnal. She was a sensual siren and he would gladly die in her arms. Not at all vulgar in her salacious desires. Just pure.

Her hands running down his body. The feel of her skin. Her response to his touch. It all consumed him. He became blinded by his appetite and his need to be inside her. She was so beautiful beneath him.

“Oh?” Valeryn said. “You don’t let your rum get the better of you after claiming a prize. What happened?”

He didn’t know what happened. Somewhere in the throes of rapture, everything changed. The luscious beauty had turned into that scared mouse. He didn’t know what he had done, if he had hurt her. But he would never forget the anguish in her eyes. He would take that horrible moment to his grave. After he had left her, he recounted those final moments over and over. Had he been negligent to her feelings? Had he read her wrong? Did he take more than she gave? Was she hurt? All he knew was at some point their union turned into violation.

Nausea be damned, he guzzled down the grog. He deserved the aftermath and misery of drinking too much. Nay, he earned himself a harsher punishment. He’d become the very thing he vehemently despised. He deserved to hang over the end of a gun.

“Shit, mate. What the bloody hell happened?”

“I raped her.”

Henri burst through the door. “Huzza, lads! We’ve spotted a shipwreck.”

* * *

Drake pulled his hat lower to shield the bright rays of the sun from burning his eyes. He squinted but it did little to dull the sharp pain throbbing in his temples. Much of the crew had gathered on the starboard bow. Hungry vultures anticipating an easy kill. These months roving the Florida Keys taught the lads marauding ill-fated wrecks was indeed mighty profitable.

Willie handed him the spyglass. “What do we have?”

“She’s Spanish,” Willie said. “Too small to be a treasure galleon.”

“Damn the luck,” Valeryn said.

“A Spanish ship is never empty,” Drake said. “Even if she carries no treasure, she surely carries wine, maps or intelligence. There is a demand for such things.”

Drake sighted in on the ship. She grounded in the shallows and leaned on her starboard. He scanned the ship and found it odd the lack of activity topside. Adjusting the scope, he swept the coast beyond. Several jolly boats lined the beach.

“Seems like the crew abandoned their ship for the shore,” Drake said.

He handed Valeryn the spyglass. “Could be she’s taking on water,” he said.

“Maybe.”

“Easy pickins,” Henri piped up. The little man came from nowhere. How Drake wished he didn’t do that. He had the right mind to attach a bell around the goat’s neck, just so he could hear him coming.

Drake looked to the sky and followed the horizon. Not a cloud could be seen. The air was dry and breezy. Perfect weather for the seaman. “No storm blew her aground.” Nor did a pirate ship whose captain’s light lured them astray. He took the scope and again scrutinized the ship. “Someone has to be on that ship. There’d be no reason to desert her.”

“I can’t sail us in close,” Willie said. “The tides are low. See the shoals there, and there.”

White-capped breakers stretched in several long tracts where Willie had pointed.

“Take us in as close as you can and drop anchor.”

“Aye, Capt’n.”

“We gonna board that bucket?” Henri asked. “I hope there’s plenty of sack in her hold.” He smacked his lips, smiling, daydreaming of drinking the Spanish white wine. “That’d make for a good day.”

“
We
are not going to board,” Drake said. “
You
are staying put to keep an eye lifted on Miss McCoy.”

Henri sputtered; his jowls frowned lower than his scowling brow. “The lass ain’t still in her nurse strings, Drake. She can see after herself.”

“Be that as it may, I require someone to watch out for her. She’s liable to do something foolish in my absence.”

“You should go to her,” Valeryn said.

“No. I shouldn’t.”

Valeryn pulled Drake aside and lowered his voice. “Come now, Thayer. I’ve never seen you this unhinged. The woman means something to you. Clear your mind, brother. Go to her.”

“And say what exactly? My apologies, Miss McCoy, for pillaging your virtue?”

“Stubborn arse.”

“Mind yourself, V.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose.
Bloody hell, won’t the throbbing ever cease?
“For the love of Davy Jones, where’s my tea?”

Drake looked around for Henri who had awkwardly pretended to give them a private moment. Henri frowned, looking to them both, trying to figure out the details of Drake’s slanderous remark.

“My tea! Now, you ole scab!”

Henri huffed his displeasure with Drake, tugged on his bright green vest and left to fetch Drake his remedy. Valeryn shook his head and he too walked away. Drake really shouldn’t be snappish. ’Twas his own fault he waded in this misery.

The
Rissa
sailed closer than a cannon shot of the grounded vessel. Drake sipped on his tea. Guzzling it down hardly countered the hairy effects of too much drinking. He must take it slow and let it soothe him back to functional. And that gave him time to carefully observe the hapless ship’s deck. An unsettling feeling crept up on him. No one could be seen. That was highly unusual.

Valeryn edged next to him and leaned his elbows on the rail. “What do you make of it?” he asked.

Drake scratched at his chin. “The rigging is intact. There is no sign of unloading. But I do see something that indicates we should be cautious.”

He handed Valeryn the spyglass.

“Look at the quarterdeck, next to the mizzen mast. Do you see that?”

“Blood.”

“Aye. Could be an injury.”

“Or a mutiny,” Valeryn added.

“Precisely. Arm the men. You take half the lads on board the ship and inventory it. Anything of value, ferry it to the
Rissa.
Be sure to get the ship’s log. I’ll take the rest of the lads. If the crew went ashore, I intend to find out why.”

“Right.”

Valeryn barked off orders. The ammunition box was brought up and set in the middle of the deck. One by one, the men collected a rifle. Longboats swung out over the
Rissa
’s sides and the men, restless for adventure, loaded inside.

Drake finished off his tea and set the mug on the railing. He felt better, he had to, and he looked forward to the rummage ahead. Henri handed him his brace and cutlass. He nodded his thanks to the squab.

“The lass refused to come outta her cabin. Said she’d wait till you were gone.”

“I expected as much,” Drake said. He shrugged into his brace and tied on his sword. “Still, you and Willie keep watch over her. You know how damned unpredictable women can be.”

“’Bout as unpredictable as fool-headed capt’ns.”

Drake chose to ignore him. He’d been doing that a lot lately, ignoring people. He loaded into the boat and nodded to Sam to lower them down into the water. They were almost to shore when Valeryn’s longboat hit the water, making their way to the leaning craft. From Drake’s vantage point as they passed by, the damage to the vessel was minimal, which made the mystery surrounding her all the more curious. Carrying out an anchor and pulling her off the shallows might be all it necessitated to set her afloat again. ’Twasn’t his concern to repair her. Leave that for the Bahamian conches to do the tedious labor.

The waves rolled Drake’s boat into the white sands of the beach. Sandpipers scuttered with their tiny legs down the wet shore away from the men jumping into the surf. A white heron took flight, soaring to the copse of trees at the beach’s edge. No sooner had it landed on a bare limb than the bird flew off. Drake eyed the copious tree line. A foreboding silently called out to him.

“Capt’n. Take a look at t’is.”

Drake waded out of the water to where Sam gestured to the ground beside the jolly boats. Blood soaked through the sand, staining it an ugly shade of red. Inside the boat, smatterings of blood coated the bench and walls. Footprints and grooves, as if someone was dragged away, led to the woodsy jungle.

“T’e blood’s fresh,” Sam said.

“So it is,” Drake agreed. “Handle your piece, boys. There’s trouble about.”

Drake led his party into the thicket where the tracks had ended at the forest’s edge. A beaded rosary lay in the brushy sea grass growing in the sand drifts. Blood smeared across the wooden cross. He stepped over it, but Sam plucked it up. Drake glanced over his shoulder to the ships anchored offshore. Valeryn had reached the stranded boat. Beyond him, a visitor had sailed into view. Probably a damned conch looking to salvage the wreck.

The air cooled under the canopy the deeper into the interior they lurked. Dark green foliage swayed in the breezes that found their way through the thicket. Earthy odors rivaled the briny scents from the nearby beach.

What had Drake on alert were the sounds of the jungle. Or, rather, the lack of them. Birds didn’t sing, insects didn’t chirp. The forest was devoid of any noise. Something was not right, to be sure. If there were men here, they’d be heard. Drake halted, straining to listen to the hush. His men, too, stopped, scanning the woods knotted in thick, leafy vines.

A drip landed on Drake’s cheek. He dabbed at the wetness. Red. Blood.

One of the lads cursed.

Another made the sign of the cross. “Holy Mother of God.”

“Capt’n.” Sam lifted his eyes.

High above in the tree tops, ten or so men hung from the branches by their ankles. Large wounds gaped from their chests. Some had their throats slit. A ghastly sight. Eyes wide, mouths slackened, the bodies reached down to the living.

A shot fired in the distance.

“Valeryn.” Just as Drake turned toward the sound coming from the sea something buzzed past his head. A spear. It impaled Hotchkins’ arm to a tree. The tar cried out in agony.

“We’re under attack!” Drake drew his flintlock.

Pikes whirred past at frightening speeds. A spear hit its mark and one of his men collapsed. The men fired their muskets into the jungle at the invisible attackers.

“Sam!” Drake thrust his finger to Hotchkins and the colossal giant ripped the blade from both his injured man and the tree trunk.

A flash of flesh darted between trees, then to another and another. Drake anticipated the next move and fired his pistol, felling his enemy.

“Indians! Fall back! Fall back!”

Large fronds slapped at Drake’s face as he fled. Palmetto palms poked and scratched against his trouser legs. Spears flew past, embedding into the ground and ripping through foliage. He and his men burst through the copse and took cover among the longboats and driftwood logs.

Natives poured from the jungle. Dozens of them. They cried out in fierce yaps and howls. Black hair pulled tight on the crowns of their heads exaggerated their wild, crazed expressions. Red-and-black war paint decorated the bronzed skin of their arms, legs, faces and backs. Some of the heathens carried muskets. Others brandished knives. Items traded or plundered from shipwrecks along the coast.

Spear after spear rained down around Drake and his men. Musket balls splintered the timber of their meek defenses. His crew bravely fired, reloaded and fired again. But their fate looked bleak. There were just too damn many of them. Their only recourse was to dive into the surf, swim for the ship and hope they wouldn’t be picked off. Unfortunately, some of his men didn’t know how to swim. He wouldn’t leave them behind. The idea of every man for himself was out of the question. To the death he would stand for his loyal crew. He owed them that.

“Keep firing, men!”

Smoke from rifle fire thickened and the winds were slow to blow them away. Through the haze, the natives crouched low and advanced.
We’re outnumbered. Bones is what we are.
Ammunition ran low and he primed his rifle one last time. They were ill-prepared for the sheer number of their enemy. Nothing left but hand-to-hand combat. A mighty fine way to die. But not before he took a few of the bastards with him.