Capture The Wind (13 page)

Angela blinked several times. It took her a moment to grasp the intent behind his words, and then fury deprived her of speech for another moment or two. Almost gasping with outrage, she stuttered out a variety of incomprehensible terms coupled with scathing refusals that seemed to have no effect on Saber whatsoever. He merely lifted a dark brow and regarded her thoughtfully.

“I take it you are not pleased with my suggestion,” he remarked when she paused for breath. “How devastating. In that case, I shall find suitable accommodations for you and your little friend. But I warn you, madam, that should you display any tendencies toward verbal pique, I shall deem it as a desire for change in your circumstances. Do you understand?”

Understand? He could hardly have made his intentions clearer. What had just transpired between them was little more than a threat. If she did not cooperate in every way, it was obvious he would have little reluctance in forcing her to his bed.

Angela nodded silently, and Saber gave a nod of satisfaction. “Very good. I see that you do understand. How enlightened of you. Now, shall I escort you to the mess for a bite to eat?”

“I see they are well guarded,”
Turk remarked to Kit as he regarded the two young ladies seated on a long bench in the mess room. Dylan hovered at the door like a watchdog, giving the ladies his assiduous attention.

“Yes. Dylan seems enamored of his new duties. I may give him the job until we reach port.”

“How fortunate for Mr. Dylan. It does seem, though, as if Miss Angela is now quite subdued,” Turk said.

“Refreshing, isn’t it?” Kit shrugged at Turk’s quizzical glance. “Intimidation can be convenient.”

“I daresay. A most convenient commodity, indeed.” Turk smiled slightly and stepped out into the passageway, ducking to miss the overhead beam. Kit followed, and the two went above deck.

Sunlight washed over them, bright and blinding. Sails snapped crisply in the wind as the ship sliced through the waves. Kit went up to the quarterdeck, and there found Mr. Buttons at the wheel, a rather apologetic expression on the earnest young face beneath his shock of red hair.

“Good morning, Captain Saber.”

“I’m glad you think so, Mr. Buttons,” Kit replied, and waited for the inevitable. He liked Charley Buttons, but there were moments—as now—when the young officer’s addiction to protocol seemed entirely unnecessary. It was due, of course, to his years spent aboard a British man-of-war, a vessel run with strict discipline and astringent adherence to rules. It had left an indelible imprint on the impressionable Mr. Buttons.

Mr. Buttons curled his hands tightly around the spokes of the wheel and looked straight ahead, at a spot just past Kit’s right eat “Sir, I hesitate to bring this up, but as the sailing master, I
have been appointed by the men to—”

“What men?”

Mr. Buttons paused, face flushing. “Why, some of the crew, sir. They feel—”

“Why have you been appointed?
Tsk, tsk.
A severe departure from proper procedure, Mr. Buttons. I can hardly believe it of you. Protocol demands that, as quartermaster, Turk be spokesman for the crew. Is there something this crew doesn’t feel they can discuss with him directly?”

Again a pause before the crestfallen Mr. Buttons said slowly, “It would seem so, Captain Saber. Shall I continue, or would you rather I have the men concerned bring this up with Turk?”

Caught between irritation and amusement, Kit shrugged. “You’ve already begun, Mr. Buttons, and Turk would probably prefer hearing this from me. Pray, continue.”

“Very well, sir.” He took a deep breath. “It seems that there have been concerns voiced over the presence of the two young ladies aboard.”

“Concerns? Or complaints?” Kit stared hard at Mr. Buttons, and saw his flush mount from neck to eyebrows, as red as his hair.

“If I were to hazard a guess, sir, I would say complaints. This is the first time you have allowed females to remain aboard ship, and some of the men recall only too well that incident last year off Barbados.”

“I’m gratified to hear it. Perhaps some of the men should also recall who owns this ship. We may be regarded as pirates, but it might do to remind them that the
Sea Tiger
does not follow the usual articles applied by other buccaneers. That was made clear before each man signed on, and it still holds true. Shall I go on?”

“No, sir.” Mr. Buttons shifted uncomfortably. “I did tell them that, but some of the men were insistent that their grievances be aired. Therefore, to avert any possible trouble, I brought those concerns to you. I regret having wasted your time.”

Kit shrugged. “It’s not my time that’s wasted. Any man on this vessel who is dissatisfied is free to leave at the next port. I adhere to certain rules of my own, and expect them to abide by them. We may be freebooters, but by God, I do not maltreat innocents, which, I perceive, is what the men are complaining about. There will be plenty of whores in the next port. If I find that one of those young women has so much as heard foul language, I’ll personally strip the hide off the man responsible. Pass that sentiment on to them, Mr. Buttons.”

“Yes sir.”

“Is there any other business you wish to discuss?”

“No, sir. That was all.”

“Then the crew can save any other concerns for the next council.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Excellent. I’ll take the wheel now so that you may inform them of our decision.”

As Mr. Buttons left the quarterdeck, he passed Turk and gave him a brief nod of greeting. Kit waited with his hands on the wheel, the wind tugging at his loose shirt. When Turk moved to take the great wheel that steered the ship, Kit turned to him.

“Those damn women are going to be trouble,” he remarked.

“I take it there have been complaints, which explains Mr. Button’s flustered countenance.” Turk sighed. “It has been my experience that women of any station in life frequently incite disagreeable reactions among men. I find it as inexplicable as I do distressing.”

“I find it irritating.”

“Indeed.” Turk gazed at him with impassive calm. “And which do you find more irritating? The impending difficulty, or your unfortunate attraction?”

“I’ve been attracted to women before. I’ve never known it to draw your undiluted speculation, however.”

“This is an unconventional fascination. It appears that the young lady is no casual harlot, but a refined female who has little inducement to offer other than a wealthy parent. Ordinarily, she would attract no more attention from you than a gnat. Yet she seems to fascinate you.”

“If I hadn’t known you so long,” Kit remarked, “I would take offense with your misguided meddling. However, as I am well aware of your propensity for interfering in my life with all good intentions, I shall only remind you that whether I am or am not attracted to our lovely captive, it is hardly of any significance to the welfare of this ship and its crew.”

“A well-spoken sentiment, Captain Saber.”

Kit just looked at him for a moment. Damn it, but Turk could be insufferable when he wanted to be. What the devil kind of point was he trying to make? That Kit found Miss Angela to be attractive? Attractive women were a penny a dozen, and could be found in every port. If he found her tempting, it should make no difference to anyone. Besides, she was just a simple attraction, despite the kiss he’d given her. It had been—as she had seen—a tactic designed as intimidation. That it had worked was the most uplifting thing that had happened since the
Scrutiny
had been spotted. She’d been a quiet little mouse all the way to her breakfast, with only an occasional wide-eyed glance at him.

Damn. It irritated him beyond imagination that he wanted her. He rarely found himself attracted to one particular woman. Most, he accepted as casual encounters, wanting nothing else. He’d learned too long ago not to trust the fair sex, nor to put himself in their hands.

Bloody hell. Why did he have to find himself wanting the cool-eyed little baggage with such ferocity? Of all the inconvenient times, this was one of the worst. And he was damned if he knew why his lust had been aroused. It wasn’t as if he was a green youth unable to control that side of his sexual nature, and it wasn’t as if she was the most beautiful or desirable woman he’d ever seen. Or lain with, for that matter. Yet, the plain and simple fact was that he wanted her. Lust, that was it, a healthy dose of good, old-fashioned lust. And it would ruin him if he let it.

Turk cleared his throat suggestively. Kit abandoned any attempt at further explanation of his attraction or aversion to Angela, and said instead, “It’s been four months since we last scraped the
Sea Tiger’s
hull. I’m afraid we’ll have to put in soon to careen her.”

Turk deftly adjusted the wheel. “True. I was discussing that fact with Mr. Buttons only yesterday. She’s a bit sluggish, and if that last merchantman had not been such a wallowing tub, we might not have been able to overtake her.”

“We’ll stop in the Azores to do a boot-topping. That will have to do until we get to Port Royal. There are too many man-o’-wars cruising these waters to make it safe enough for a thorough careening.”

“I concur.” Turk lifted a brow. “P’raps we shall be able to relinquish our captives in the port of Ponta Delgada beforehand.”

Kit shrugged. “It seems the likeliest spot, though I wonder about our reception. The commissioner was suspicious of our true colors the last time we drew a berth there.”

“Portugal and England are allies. As a Portuguese possession, they should accept an English flag without objection.”

“Our letters of marque are genuine, even if they do not belong to us.” Kit grinned. “Commissioner LaRosa did not seem to look too closely once we presented him with all those casks of Spanish wine and French cheeses the last time we were there.”

“Indeed, he seemed thoroughly charmed by us afterward. I have the notion that some of the excellent stores we gained from the
Scrutiny
will give him just as much pleasure this time.”

“And should ensure the swift, efficient disposal of our annoying guests.”

Turk smiled. “Life should be able to return to normal—or what passes for normal aboard the Sea Tiger—after that, I presume.”

“God. I hope so.” Kit moved to stand by one of the twelve-pound cannons lashed to the rail. He raked a closed fist over the cold iron. “I certainly don’t need any more problems or delays. If we don’t reach Port Royal in time, I may miss her again.”

Turk did not ask who
her
was. He merely nodded silent agreement, while Kit stood at the gunwale and stared across the wind-pocked sea.

“What is this?” Angela stared morosely into the wooden bowl in front of her.

“Oatmeal and salt pork.” Dylan gave her an encouraging smile. “It tastes pretty good once you get used to it.”

Angela shuddered and lifted her spoon. The cereal tasted of tin sweat from its container, musty and unappealing, and the salt pork did nothing to enhance the flavor. Her spoon dropped. The food was nothing like what she was accustomed to from Mrs. Peach’s whistle-clean kitchen at home. She looked up.

“I had this for breakfast. I can’t eat it again.”

Shrugging, the pirate said, “There’s nothing better until the evening meal.”

“The evening meal?” She brightened. “What do we eat in the evening?”

He grinned. “This being Wednesday, our ration is dried peas, cheese and butter to go along with the oatmeal, hardtack, and salt pork.”

Silence fell. After an appalled moment, Angela said faintly, “And that is all?”

“Beer and rum. Water with lime juice squeezed into it to stay off scurvy.” Dylan’s gold eyes looked sympathetic, and his voice was kinder when he added, “Seeing as how we just got a good haul, the biscuits won’t have maggots yet. The
Scrutiny
was only two days out, and the food was still fresh.”

Emily made a strangled sound, and Angela glanced at her. Color drained from Emily’s round cheeks, and her lips parted.

“Maggots?” Emily echoed, staring down at her empty bowl. “Were there—?”

“No,” Dylan said. “I told you. These are fresh biscuits we took from the
Scrutiny.
Besides, Beans knows how to get rid of maggots.”

“Beans?”

“The cook.” Dylan’s gilt eyes danced with mischief. “It’s easy. You just put a large dead fish atop the sack of biscuits, and when the maggots crawl out to eat it, you wait until the fish is covered, then toss it over the rail and get another fish . . .”