The Pirate's Bride Read online

  She narrowed her eyes on Limey, whose own approving gaze lifted to take in their sails and the change in the wind.

  “Come about, Cap’n. She’s luffing.”

  She followed her first mate’s directions, spun the wheel and felt the Phoenix shudder and slip slightly under her hand, but it recovered. They sliced through the waves, picking up speed and wind as Limey predicted.

  Scrambling movement on the merchant ship, everywhere but near the guns, caught her attention. They might cut a break and not have to fire more than a warning shot. She sang out, “Fire!”

  McFarlane did as directed, and the boom of the cannon startled everyone aboard the Phoenix’s quarry. They gathered in a knot on the main deck, awaiting their fate. The Phoenix slid closer to the merchant ship while Limey whirled away from the helm shouting, “Bring to, mates.”

  Sophie hollered along with him as men scurried to shift sails and maneuver the schooner alongside their target. “Prepare to board, gents. Swords and daggers.”

  A pair of her young crew wrestled the length of plank between the two ships undulating in the simmering wake left by the Phoenix, lying bow to stern now. The pirates raced across the makeshift bridge. At once, they circled the hysterical passengers, waving weapons and laughing like maniacs in order to scare everyone into submission.

  The last to arrive, Sophie sauntered onto her victims’ deck, confident in breeches, boots, billowing shirt, baldric, and drawn cutlass. Her flamboyantly plumed hat bounced in the warm breeze of the Caribbean.

  “Who’s the captain of this fine vessel, peux-je demander? She stopped before the gathering of prisoners and pirates alike, motioned to a select few her own head below in search swag.

  She circled the victims. Ignoring Limey’s quick warning shake of his head, she goaded them, “Are you all coming to make a life in this new land, people? Why, it is a wonderful world here, where anyone can succeed, even a woman.”

  She spread her arms wide, cutlass pointing upward. How easily her crew was removing the Dolly Mae’s cargo and how docile the prisoners behaved. Pirating was simple, with the right crew. She twirled and headed straight for the captain of the Dolly Mae.

  She leaned toward him. “Thank you, monsieur, for enabling us to stock up. now we can go about our business without returning port."

  While she grinned into his face, she didn’t see him pull a small dagger from his coat. Before she knew what he was about, he spat the word “whore” and made a clean swipe across her middle with the weapon. Red bloomed through her tunic with razor sharp pain following on its heels. She fell back, eyes widening in shock.

  Pandemonium broke out on deck. Pirates shouted, brandishing their weapons in the screaming captives’ faces. Sophie saw Limey break into a run across the deck, disbelief spreading over his face as he reached the other captain. He backhanded that man across the face, and then yelled at the distracted pirates, “I told you to gather all their weapons. That means pat them down, you imbeciles. If this costs your captain’s life, I’ll see you all hung at Execution Dock meself.

  “And you,” he turned his attention to the Dolly Mae’s captain, who rubbed his face where it had connected with Limey’s fist. “You’re lucky we’re in a hurry or you’d be meeting Davy Jones face-to-face.”

  He slapped the man open-handed across the other cheek, then grabbed Sophie’s upper arm and steered her away. Blood dripped from beneath her tunic and splashed on the wooden deck.

  Staggering, she managed to shout across to her gunners, “Disable their mainsails. They can hobble home.” She righted herself, heard as if from a distance her first mate snapping orders to the crew. Someone towed her roughly across the board to her own deck, which seemed to pitch upward precariously in a darkening sky amidst the thunder of what sounded like her guns.

  ~*~

  “Dammit, Cap’n, wake up. Now’s not the time to get the vapors. The men depend on you for their orders. I can’t second-guess you if you haven’t told me the plan.”

  Limey propped Sophie against the helm, alarmed at the blood running from below her shirt. Her eyes fluttered open. His attention diverted to Pierre Gautier, one of Louis Dubois’ former crew members, and motioned for him to man the helm.

  Rousing slightly, Sophie managed a lukewarm response to his demand. “Just...get far away from here, then drop anchor for the night. Did we make a good haul, Limey?”

  He hollered at the milling crew, “Turnabout and don’t drop anchor till 1700 hours. And, to answer your question, sir, yes, Purser will be tallying till the wee hours—whoa.” He grabbed hold of her when she swayed, and dragged her to the captain’s cabin.

  Once he’d pushed her onto the edge of the bunk, he cast wildly about for the washbasin. Finding it, he sloshed in water from the covered jug and turned back to her. “Take your shirt off, Cap’n, so I can clean the wound and get Doc to stitch you up.”

  “No.”

  Frightened blue eyes met his before skittering away. He crossed the cabin to stand before her. “This isn’t the time for modesty, Cap’n.”

  “No.”

  Still holding the washbasin and semi-clean rag, he studied her. She nearly thrummed with nerves, more so than from simple modesty. She also wouldn’t meet his searching gaze, choosing instead to examine the floor.

  He knelt before her, concerned at the growing pool of blood beneath her. “We need to stop the flow of blood, Sophie, or you’ll die. Please, let me take care of you?”

  “I can do it myself.” She kept her face averted. He hissed out an angry breath, which brought her gaze to his.

  “Begging your pardon, sir, but how do you plan on cleaning and stitching yourself up? Dammit, let’s just get this done.”

  She was the first to look away. “I...I can’t take my shirt off. That just invites m-men to-to do things...”

  Aww, bloody hell. His captain had been attacked at some time in her past. Taking a steadying breath, Limey continued in a gentler tone. “I’m not most men, Sophie. I’m your first mate, and a damn loyal one. Now, just raise your shirt as high as you can. I’ll try to clean the wound and slow the bleeding, and then Doc can stitch you—”

  “No.” She claw-grasped his wrist when he made to rise. “No one else. Just...you.” She lifted her shirt by increments, until he saw the angry, oozing slash mark marring her creamy midriff. He imagined the ragged scar his stitching expertise would leave behind.

  Deciding to face that argument later, he concentrated on washing the wound, wincing at every sputtering breath she took. Finally, it was clean and the blood flow minimal. Now was the time to reenter his plea for sanity. “If you insist, Sophie, I’ll stitch you up, but I won’t do a very good job. Doc is Chinese, and he used to be a tailor—”

  She snorted a choked laugh while he continued, “—so his stitches will be small and straight. Believe me, your husband will appreciate his sewing more than mine.”

  Again, she surprised him. “Bah, husband. He’s that in name only.”

  Interesting, Limey mused. His young captain held a wealth of secrets. He pressed his case.

  “Please, let me get Doc. You’ll be much happier with his work than mine. I promise I won’t leave you alone, though Doc wouldn’t...couldn’t overpower you, Sophie. What is he, half your height and maybe seven stone if he’s lucky? Please.”

  Lying back in her berth, she met his pleading scrutiny, the war within her evident upon her face. Finally, she nodded.

  “Thank God,” he breathed. Taking one of her hands and placing it on the rag over her wound, he rose to open the cabin door and shout, “Doc, get in here, and bring your kit. And the rest of you shark bait clean this ship from stem to stern, or pay day will be late.”

  There was a quick knock on the cabin door. A small, middle-aged Chinese man wearing a long queue poked his head in before the rest of his slight body followed.

  “Hello, Cap’n. Limey. She is ready?”

  Sophie nodded for him to approach. Wasting no time, he set a sewing basket
full of multi-colored threads next to her. When he lifted the cloth from her wound, he hissed at the blood-red gash.

  “Get the rum, Limey. She never have stitches before, they may surprise her.” To Sophie, he said, “This will hurt, for I am puncturing your flesh, but I try to minimize it.”

  Limey returned with a silver flask. Tucking a hand under her head and raising it slightly he said, “My turn to give you an order, sir. Drink deep and plentiful. It’s the only pain killer you’ll receive. It won’t hurt as bad as the knifing itself, but it’s not fun.”

  She sipped daintily, coughing at first from the foreign substance. “Mmm. I never thought rum could be this good. Women get all this-this sugary, fruity sauce. We should have known the men were keeping the good stuff for themselves. mon dieu, this begs for more. limey chuckled. his captain was getting soused.

  As soon as Doc’s needle pricked through her skin, she sobered enough to swear, which brought another startled laugh from him. After all, swear words coming from Captain Sophie Bellard Dubois were like growls coming from a kitten. Luckily for her, she couldn’t hold her liquor, and within seconds passed out, allowing Doc the freedom to stitch as carefully and slowly as he liked, which would suit her in the long run.

  Now, with the stitches finished and Doc long gone, Limey upended the flask of remaining rum, drank liberally, and pondered when he’d fallen in love with his captain. Had it been when Louis Dubois originally introduced them? Or when they’d talked that first night out to sea? He just knew it had happened, even as he vowed that the love would remain unrequited. Sophie Bellard Dubois needed a loyal first mate as well as a friend more than another lover. Besides, she was married to one of the most powerful men in the Confederation of Pirates.

  Which begged the question. Could Dubois the son have attacked her? Was it even possible? Rape? Was he the one to have ruined her for the pleasures of the flesh? Limey shifted on the window ledge where he had perched to look after the captain until time for his watch. From what he knew of the Dubois men, both young and old, they never had to force women into their beds.

  It didn’t sit right, the idea that Captain Andre Dubois would rape this woman, and force her into marriage. No, he was sure what happened to Sophie happened before her marriage. Perhaps her fright of the act of intimacy was what had chased Dubois away. Or maybe—

  “Limey? Why are you still here?”

  His thoughts interrupted, he rose from the window and made his way to her berth. Bending at the waist, he peered into her face while holding the candle he’d lifted from her chart table.

  “I just wanted to make sure you rested after Doc’s work. How do you feel?”

  Shifting to sit up in the candlelight, she grimaced. “Like I’ve been run through with a dagger. Mon dieu, it’s sore."

  “It will be. Raise your shirt a little. Take a look at Doc’s handiwork. Much better than any I could ever attempt.” Their gazes met over the candle flame.

  As he’d expected, she shook her head. “Maybe in the morning, when the light is better.” She looked down at the coverlet spread over her. The silence stretched between them. “Was it him, Sophie? Your husband?”

  Not pretending to misunderstand, she returned his look. “No, not him.”

  Even in the dim light Limey spied a flush creep up her neck and face. Whatever she remembered about the younger Dubois, it embarrassed her, not frightened.

  “No, it happened several years ago. I don’t want to talk about it,” she said with finality. She lay down once more, pulling the blankets up as far as possible. “I think I will sleep more, Limey. If you would be so kind as to take my watch tonight, I will relieve you tomorrow eve.”

  He realized he would get no more from her. “Don’t worry about it, Cap’n. The crew feels bad enough for missing that weapon on the search. They’ll be fighting to take your watch. Rest well.” He moved to the door, the sight of her red face in the shadowy light telling him a clearer story than any words she could have uttered. Sophie Bellard Dubois was not immune to her husband by any means.

  ~*~

  Shortly after sunrise, Sophie hobbled onto the deck, hunched over slightly but dressed every inch the captain of the Phoenix, right down to her monstrously ridiculous hat. She headed straight for the helm, acknowledged the crewmember’s good wishes before she took the wheel from him.

  Early morning was her favorite time of the day. It was new, fresh. Even the air smelled cleaner. The waves lapping at the hull of her ship brought on a contentment she never experienced on land.

  The attack upon her person yesterday illustrated how green she was to pirating. If Limey hadn’t been alert, she would not have survived the altercation. mon dieu, she had not even raised her cutlass in defense.

  That fact alone made her burn with shame. So now, with the proof of her inexperience slashed across her middle, she made up her mind to venture where pirates congregated. Where they went to unwind, to brag, and to let off steam.

  They were heading for Tortuga.

  ~*~

  “Master G, who the bloody hell is that?”

  Andre stared at what could only be a harlot as she leaned against the taffrail of the Jade Princess. Scraggly hair the color of dirt hung down her bony back. Scrawny shoulder blades stuck out under the thin dress material she wore. As if knowing they were discussing her, the woman turned to face them.

  “Jesu, I knew a horse that looked just like her,” he breathed, staring at the woman’s equine features in horrified awe. With a glowering look at his first mate, he pressed, “Why is she on the Princess?”

  Pedro de Gallo looked down, shuffled his feet under Andre’s scrutiny. “We are embarking on quite a long journey, eh, Capitán?” He ventured. “I thought a bit of female companionship along the way might make the trip a bit more...palatable for you, and the rest of us.”

  Eyes widening, Andre shot a glance back at the whore, who was picking at the threads of the dingy shawl around her shoulders, before returning his attention to his first mate. “So you thought bringing that...that harbinger of disease onto the Princess, would do what? Infect all of us with the pox? Débile I can find my own entertainment Master G, make no mistake on that. as for the rest of you cretins, we’ll port regularly always and if that doesn’t solve problem, then laissez-les se—"

  “Sí, sí, sí, Capitán. I understand. will send her on way in immediatamente." Pedro de Gallo bustled over to the harlot while Andre leaned back rail, tails of his kerchief blowing lazily shoulder.

  He grinned as he watched the woman frown, then rear back and slap the Spaniard across the face. Then she spun about and stomped down the gangplank amidst catcalls and whistles from a disappointed crew.

  Merde. Sometimes he found it hard to figure out the workings of his first mate’s brain. Bringing a woman on board? Bah. They were all bad luck, down to the very last one of them. Including his conniving ex-wife.

  Heading forward to bully his crew into readying the ship for departure, he couldn’t wait to show Tortuga their rudder. Only then, when the island was just a speck on the horizon, would he at last put that debacle of a wedding and wedding night behind him.

  And move on to more pleasurable pursuits.

  Chapter Five

  Tortuga was where Sophie needed to be. It was loud, bawdy, dangerous, disgusting, and she knew she could learn to be the perfect pirate here.

  Indiscriminate gunshots punctuated the evening air. Drunken pirates slept with animals, and trollops plied their trade in the middle of town, often right up against a ramshackle building in plain sight of everyone. Inebriated cronies of the participant lay wagers nearby on how quickly the deed finished.

  Sophie was amazed at what went on in broad daylight, and often had to catch up to her companions on this first trip into town. Limey, red-haired McFarlane, Cook, escaped African slave Ephraim, and Purser accompanied her. All of them were of the same age and very vigilant when it came to her protection, probably because they’d almost lost her through their neglig
ence.

  No matter the reason, she felt suffocated. She wanted to experience the seamier side of Tortuga, and they were holding her back. Finally, she turned on them, glared at each one, before addressing Limey.

  “How am I to become a pirate if I’m constantly being supervised by all of you? Now, go do what you normally do when you make port.”

  The men stood stock still, gazes shifting from one to the other as if they had something to hide. McFarlane and Limey turned a light shade of pink.

  Sophie pursed her lips and nodded. “Just as I figured. Well, go on. I’ll be fine on my own.”

  Limey shook his head. “Beggin’ your pardon, Cap’n, but none of us feel right leaving you alone. Humor us a few days. We promise to leave once we know you can defend yourself. Believe me, we don’t want to spend all our time defending your honor, Sir.”

  She looked at all their honest faces, and realized she needed to thank Dubois, Sr. for handpicking such a loyal group of men. “Fine. Show me the sights, let me prove myself, and then, and then—go do what men do.” She stomped off, letting them follow in her wake.

  Upon entry into one of the many drinking establishments, the cacophony of voices, off-key music, and lewd laughter brought her up short. She stared in disbelief. Limey’s warmth close behind her was a cocoon of safety. “Still want to be on your own, Cap’n?”

  His I-told-you-so attitude rankled, but she knew when to back down. “Not at this moment, Limey, no. Teach me the ropes, and then we’ll see.”

  She made her way to the bar, lined two-deep by dirty, loud pirates. “Rum, barkeep,” she barked, slamming her fist down on the counter. Everyone at the bar silenced, even her crew.

  The fat, unkempt bartender clamped down on the straw in his mouth, beady gaze locking on her. He studied her clean breeches, flowing shirt, baldric, cutlass, and feathered hat with a look of disdain. Finally, he drawled, “I don’t serve pansies in me establishment, bloke—”

  “Then it’s a good thing she’s not a pansy, ain’t it?” Limey leaned over the bar, clenched the man’s collar with one hand, and shoved his dagger up under the tender’s chin. The rest of Sophie’s men crowded around her in a protective circle.