Capture The Wind (5 page)

As the ship began a slow, stately rise, he moved forward a step, glimpsing the girl’s frightened bravado before the ship suddenly dropped again. The brief moment of abrupt weightlessness made the girl stagger, her pistol wavering. At almost the same instant as he, Turk leaped forward. A stifled scream sliced the air, and the booming report of a pistol deafened him as Kit lunged close behind Turk.

The sharp, acrid smell of sulphur filled the tiny cabin in a stinging wave. Turk gave a slight grunt. Kit had a brief impression of petticoats and slender legs in white stockings, then he had his hand around a fragile wrist.

With a jerk, he pulled forward a limp, pale-faced girl with a mop of brown curls. She promptly fainted with only a slight sigh, dropping to the floor by his feet. He turned his attention to the daring assailant, and saw that Turk had her pinned against the bunk with his massive bulk. The pistol lay on the cabin floor, smoke still curling from the barrel.

Kit scooped it up with one hand, tossing the unconscious girl to the bunk with his other. He stuck the pistol into his belt, then turned.

Turk’s muscled biceps were streaked with blood, and Kit muttered a curse.

“Bloody hell, Turk. She shot you.”

“So it would seem, Captain. I commend your acuity.”

Furious now, Kit reached for the girl, jerking her to him. Her hat was askew, dipping over one eye and half hiding her face. His hand tangled in a wealth of loose blond hair that had tumbled over her shoulder. It felt as clean and fresh as sunlight on a winter’s day; he dragged her close and tilted back her hat. When her small, patrician nose was only a few inches from his and he could see terror fill her grass green eyes, he said with deliberate cruelty, “I warned you that you would not like your fate.”

Her pupils expanded to darken her eyes with dramatic shadows. Fear shone in her gaze, fear and something else he could not place. He felt her muscles tense, saw the shadows in her eyes sharpen to purpose. Before he could react to this unexpected threat, the delicate little creature cowering in his grip brought up a swift, accurate knee.

Unprepared, Kit was caught in his groin by a blow only slightly softened by petticoat and skirts. He grunted in pain and released her to double over. There was a roaring in his ears as if he’d been standing too long on the gundeck. His vision blurred out of focus for a moment as he went to one knee and tried to hold the nausea at bay.

By the time he looked up again, his blond assailant was well in hand. Turk’s broad fingers curled around her throat in a menacing grip. Kit rose slowly and took a stumbling step, then another; he finally drew in a deep breath that felt riddled with needles. He straightened to his full height with only a slight wince.

“Take her topside,” he said in a voice that sounded strange. He eyed the girl’s flushed face for a long moment while Turk rearranged his hold on her. Turk seemed absorbed in the task of using her pink satin dress sash as manacles, and did not glance at him. Kit had the distinct impression that it was more because of a desire to hide his laughter than the pain the shallow burn across his biceps was giving him.

Kit turned away and, with only a slight limp, made his way to the upper deck.

“What did you do to him?” Emily whispered in a quivering voice.

Angela slid her maid an assessing glance. Emily had wakened to utter hysteria, made worse by the pirates’ icy indifference. Only a growling threat to knock her out again had ended it. Now they were bound to the mainmast of the
Scrutiny,
hands tied behind them. Rough wood dug into her tender spine, and Angela shifted position in an effort to ease the discomfort. She gave a slight shake of her head that almost dislodged her hat.

“I’m not certain. My cousin Tommy taught it to me when I was fifteen. He said if ever I was accosted, I was to kick him in a certain spot and the man would let me go. Apparently, Tommy was truthful for once.”

Angela and Emily watched the proceedings aboard the captured vessel with terrified interest. Captain Turnower stood on the main deck in tense silence while pirates brought up cargo from the hold and plundered the officers’ cabins. Captain Saber supervised, occasionally flinging Angela a dark look that made her shiver.

To her surprise, he was nothing like what she had imagined. After hearing all the stories, she’d envisioned a swarthy man with drooping mustache and unkempt beard, armed to the teeth and wearing extravagant, gaudy garments stained with previous meals. Though there were men like that swarming over the decks, the pirate captain was the antithesis of his crew.

Not that he didn’t look savage enough, but it was a savagery along the lines of an ornate Spanish sword—beautiful and lethal. Beauty and violence combined in over six feet of lean muscle, dark hair, eyes as blue and piercing as a hot summer sun, and the fluid grace of a wild tiger. It was as breathtaking as it was terrifying.

And just as disconcerting were the simple garments he wore. On any other man they would have been mundane, merely a covering. But on Kit Saber, the fitted black breeches and knee-high boots were an adornment, a showcase for supple muscle and long, lean legs. Angela found herself staring at him. It wasn’t that she’d never seen a handsome man before, because that certainly wasn’t the case. It was just that she’d never seen one so blatantly—well,
male.
He radiated masculine arrogance; it oozed from every pore, a great many of which were visible beneath a buttonless white shirt open to the waist and leaving bare a large expanse of tanned chest and flexing muscle. She swallowed heavily, confused by the conflicting emotions he produced in her. She should be outraged and terrified, not intrigued. No, it was not the sort of impression that gave her any comfort, and she tore her gaze away from him with a supreme effort of will.

It had been a half hour at least since they’d been brought above deck, and the pirate captain’s anger had seemed to grow with each passing moment. She wished she could hear their occasional conversation. Only snatches of it could be heard at times, as the pirates were busy in the hold or on the other ship that was tethered to the
Scrutiny
by grappling hooks. She was very well aware, however, of the hungry glances she and Emily received from grinning pirates as they passed. None had spoken to them, but she had the distinct impression that if their captain gave the slightest signal, they would pounce on the two women like ravening wolves.

Shivering, she looked away from a swarthy pirate clad in the barest of garments. Knee-length trousers were tattered and hung from his hips by only a prayer, it seemed. He wore a scarf around his head and a huge gold hoop dangled from one earlobe. Other than that, there was an overabundance of tanned, bare flesh.

Truly, pirates seemed to have no modesty whatsoever. Nor much compunction in leering at helpless female captives. The pirate she’d noticed had paused and was staring at her with unconcealed interest. Nothing in her life’s experience had prepared her for this sort of predicament. She, who had been cosseted and protected her entire life, doted on by loving parents and taught the proper things to say in any social situation, struggled with the knowledge that she was far out of her element this time.

Angela swallowed another surge of fear, well aware of Emily’s precarious balance on the edge of hysteria, and held her tongue. What in God’s name did one say to a pirate anyway?

“ ’Ello, luv,” the swarthy, half-clad pirate said with a laugh, obviously at no loss of words himself. “Ye don’t look like ye’re havin’ much fun.”

Angela ignored him with a mixture of utter disdain and blinding fear. He persisted, however, stepping even closer, his bare feet nudging the hem of her bombazine day dress.

“W’at? Too good ta talk ta an ole sea-dog, luv? Mebbe ye’ll be glad of a chance fer polite conversation afore th’ day is over with.”

Angela looked up at last, schooling her trembling voice as close to contempt as she could. “I doubt very seriously that you could ever manage anything remotely near polite, much less intelligent conversation. Go back to your rampant looting and leave us alone.”

Anger creased the pirate’s brow, and he stepped so close his bare foot trod on the material bunched around her thighs. He crouched down and put out a grimy hand to touch her cheek.

Unable to help herself, Angela flinched away from his hand. “Don’t touch me!”

He laughed, revealing a gap where two front teeth had been, and his breath was foul as he leaned even closer. Horrified, Angela realized he meant to kiss her, and she pressed her spine into the unyielding wood of the mast. She could hear Emily whimpering beside her. Closing her eyes to blot out the sight of the pirate, Angela steeled herself for the inevitable.

Then she heard a curious thump and grunt, and felt a whisper of wind as the pirate’s hand left her face. After a tense moment of silence, she cautiously opened her eyes.

Instead of the scruffy pirate, she saw a pair of obviously expensive black leather knee-high boots with scuffed toes. She lifted her gaze. Captain Saber stood there instead of the other man, and a swift glance revealed the other pirate sprawled out on the deck. He was groaning and holding his head.

“Get back to work instead of wasting valuable time, Reed,” the captain said coldly, and swept Angela a stony stare before turning away.

Instead of feeling gratitude, she felt a spurt of anger that the captain would view her near-assault as a waste of valuable time. Her mouth tightened, and fear melded into irrational fury. How dare he treat her with such callous disregard!

She opened her mouth to fling a nasty comment at Saber when she felt Emily’s faint nudge against her leg.

“Miss Angela—what do you think they’ll do to us?”

Emily’s quivering question brought an instant return of sanity. Angela’s anger subsided into caution. She shook her head. “I don’t know, Emily. I pray that they allow us to remain aboard the ship unmolested.”

It was a faint hope and both knew it. Pirates were not usually known for their generosity toward female captives. And Captain Saber was said to be one of the worst. She couldn’t suppress a sudden shiver, and Emily again whimpered softly.

“It will be all right,” Angela whispered with little conviction; Emily nodded. They fell silent, watching as the pirates swarmed across the deck.

Seamen from the
Scrutiny
were being interrogated, and unbelievably, some of them seemed willing to join the pirate crew. Angela watched with astonished disgust as they eagerly fell in with the enemy. How could they? Were there no decent men left? Seething with angry despair, she forced her attention away from them.

Thick smoke from smoldering coils of tarred rope stung her eyes and nose, and she turned her head to try and take a breath of fresh air. From where she and Emily were tied to a mast, she could see the hatch that led below to her cabin. Smoke billowed out in gentle puffs. A steady glow was diffused by the smoke, faint flickers that made her frown and study the opening. Then her eyes widened.

“Fire!”

Her scream brought Captain Saber’s head around, and he swore crudely before rapping out orders to douse the blaze. The pirates dropped what they were doing and scurried with buckets of sand and water. They flung the buckets down the opening but, from what Angela could see, made little progress. Her throat tightened. The ship was going to burn. That much was obvious. And more than likely, she and Emily would be left tied to the mainmast while it did, a fit retribution for daring to shoot the pirate officer.

Smoke and angry tears stung her eyes, and she blinked them back. It was quickly apparent that the fire had taken a good hold, and Captain Saber began snapping orders. He then turned to Turnower.

“Take your boats, Captain. You’re not so far from shore that you won’t be able to get there within a reasonable time, or perhaps be picked up by a passing ship.”

Turnower nodded stiffly. “Aye, but we have only two jolly boats that are seaworthy.”

Saber stared at him for a moment, then flicked a quick glance at the captured crew. “How shortsighted of Sheridan Shipping not to provide ample room for her crew,” he said after a moment. “Well, the decision is up to you, Captain. I leave you to your own.”

“Saber!” Turnower called out when the pirate captain spun on his heel and started for the rail. “What do you intend should be done with the women?”

Saber shot him a startled look. “I don’t intend that anything be done with them. They’re your problem.”

“You have them tied to the mainmast. I assumed that to mean that you intended to take them with you.”

“You assumed incorrectly.” Saber’s voice was soft, but held a steely edge to it that made Angela shiver.

Turnower took a step forward. “I cannot take them with me. I did not even want passengers aboard, especially females, and yet the bloody purser took their passage. Take them with you. There is no room in the boats.”

Swinging back around, Saber gave the captain a look of contempt. “What a brave Englishman you are, Captain. I see that it would not distress you to leave them lashed to the mainmast.”

“Not when it means the lives of my loyal crew.”

Emily made a faint sound that reminded Angela of a wounded animal. She blinked against the sting of smoke and horror. She must have been getting lightheaded from the smoke and stress. There could be no other explanation for the exchange that she was witnessing, the callous disregard for her life by the captain of the Scrutiny.