Within a Captain's Hold (7 page)

“I’m sorry. The battle…cannons exploding…. I’ve never heard anything so horrifying.” Beneath her hands, his shirt was red with blood. “Dear God, you’re hurt.”

“Nay.”

“But…”

“This isn’t my blood.”

Anna stared at the color upon her hands. The smell of the blood mixed with his sweat assaulted her senses. “Oh…God…” She tried to wipe it away and discovered blood soaked into the fabric of her chemise. “Oh, God.”
Would this nightmare never end?
“Get it off me. Please.”

“It’s just blood. Calm yourself.”

“No. It’s
dead men’s
blood.” Bile rose in her throat. “I don’t care if you see me bare. Cut it off. Please. Get it off…Oh, I’m going to be sick.”

“No, no, no, you’re not.” He grabbed at the tear and, in one strong pull, tore the fragile cloth straight up through the neckline. The garment fell to the floor, and he wrapped her in the thin blanket she dropped earlier. Stripping off his shirt and the crimson band about his waist, he pulled her over to his washstand and held her hands over the bowl to clean them. She clamped her eyes shut.

“There. It’s gone. Wait…” He dipped a clean cloth into the pitcher and wiped her cheek.

“Ahhh, it’s on my face.”

He wiped at her cheek again. “No, it’s gone.”

“Do you swear?” She grabbed at his arm.

“Aye, woman, I swear.”

Annalise opened her eyes. The water in the bowl was a sickly pink. She poured more water from the pitcher over her hands and rubbed at them.

“I told you it’s gone.”

She cleaned her hands yet again. “I can still feel it.”

“It’s in your mind. I tell you, it’s off.”

Annalise shook her head and scratched at her hands. “I had to scrub Uncle’s ring a dozen times. Wolfsan sent it wrapped like a gift. Oh, God.” She remembered every grisly image. “It had a ribbon. When I opened the box, there it sat nestled in black satin. I couldn’t even tell what it was at first. Then I picked it up. It was sticky. And the smell…I’ll never forget the smell.” She poured more water on her hands and scrubbed.

He stilled her hands and eased her away. “There’s no more blood on you or your ring.”

Jaxon moved back to the bowl and cleaned his muscled chest. His back and arms, bronzed by the sun, bore the white scars of battles past. She shuddered. This blood could have been his. It could have been hers.

Mere hours ago, she’d threatened him, but now, the frightening reality of being on this ship crashed like a heavy stone.
I’ll not survive this.
The shaking in her limbs returned. Panic raced through her unchecked. Gray edged her vision. She never would have made it in that hold. What if Jaxon
was
wounded? Or killed?

A squeak slipped past her throat. “I have to sit down.”

Jaxon helped her back to the bed to sit. She tugged at the edges of the blanket, pulling it tight about her.

“You’re not a good color. Deep breaths.”

She closed her eyes and concentrated on inhale, exhale. “W-why did you give it back?”

“Your ring?”

She nodded. Her teeth chattered. “You were so angry. You said pirates never gave back, but you did. Why?”

“You earned it.” He slipped his arm around her and let her lean into his embrace. “It’s not every day a woman bests me by gaining my sword.”

She sought shelter within the circle of his arm and rested a cheek upon the smooth skin of his shoulder. His warmth penetrated through the chilling fear. It made her believe she just might live to see the end of this nightmare. “It’s still in your desk.”

“You didn’t use the key?”

“I did, but I’ve run out of pockets and rats ate my bag.” She shrugged. “Do you suppose Cookie will remember the clothes to ‘cover me arse’?”

He laughed at her imitation of Cookie’s gruff voice and crude words. “I’ll remind him.”

“Thank you.” She tucked her chin and snuggled closer.

* * * *

Jaxon tucked her against him and tightened his hold. She fit along his side like the ocean cradling the hull. The weight of her felt good and right. Only a thin wool blanket separated him from this unpredictable, unbelievably naked woman. With her overreaction to a wee bit of blood, he didn’t dare tell her Cookie was probably removing lead shot from a man’s belly, stitching up a deep gash, or helping to sew a dead man into his shroud. She might crumble.

How could she shift from fighting fierce to vulnerable and fragile in a hairbreadth? And why did he find that fact so damn intriguing? She was as dangerous as a lit cannon. Had he forgotten that fact? When he cleaned the blood from his chest and arms, he should have washed the sweet taste of her lips from his mouth.

He fought to forget the sight of peach-tipped breasts and the deep curve of a slender waist. Wipe his memory of how she clung to him and softened beneath his kisses when he arrived, and how that kiss had heated to white-hot.

Jaxon moved her aside and stood. Distance was what he needed to remember. He should be on deck and far from his growing fascination with her. Dealing with his wounded and dead would surely erase her from his thoughts.

“I need some clothing myself.” He moved to his wardrobe and pulled out two snowy shirts, tossing one to her. “This will serve till Cookie can scrounge better.”

He gathered his things to leave.

“You’re feeling well now?” he asked her.

Annalise nodded and watched him dress. The intimacy of it was not lost on him.
Distance, man.

“Good. I’ll send Cookie down once he’s finished his duties. Mayhap I can have him find you a bit of soap for a proper wash up.”

“I would like that.”

He smiled then caught himself. What was wrong with him? His emotions shifted and darted faster than a school of mirrored smelts. Shirts and soap? No powder and perfume?
Fool, what am I thinking?
Next, he’d be winding ribbons in her hair and hand feeding her sweets.
Idiot.
Perhaps he should sit and write a flowery sonnet to the beauty of her smile, and how she was turning him into a sniveling toad. His teeth threatened to crumble as his jaw tightened.

“Oh, Captain Steele?” She stood clutching her blanket and his spare shirt to her chest.

What is it now? Does she want scones and tea?
He snapped. “Captain Steele? Woman, since you’ve been here, you’ve thrown up on me, held a weapon on me, kissed me soundly, wept on my chest, and had me strip you naked.
Now,
you decide to be proper? You swing like the bloody tide.”

He watched her notch her chin. “All I wanted to say was thank you.”

Jaxon added,
Make me act like a mangy horse’s arse
to his list of what she’d accomplished. “Then just say it. Dammit.”

“Fine,” she snapped back.

He welcomed her annoyance. Better her anger than her kisses. He wanted her to push him away before he lost more than his mind.

She glanced at the shirt in her hands and lifted golden eyes to his. They held no anger. She had risen to take his bait a moment ago, but now the gentleness in her eyes set her own hook into his heart. “Thank you, Jaxon.”

* * * *

Later that day, eight white shrouds lined the sides of the ship. Jaxon moved slowly past each one in a silent salute honoring their service to him. Eight men’s bodies waiting to slip into the sea, with weights lashed to their ankles and a final sail stitched through their nose. A gruesome practice, but better to know a man is truly dead than to slide a body not quite done living.

The crew gathered to show their respects. Gavin Quinn shouted, “Ship’s Company…Off hats.” Every head bowed. Jaxon opened the worn bible and said the well-versed words over each body before committing it to the sea.

“Good men, these.” Cookie stood at Jaxon’s side after the crew dismissed.

“They were indeed.” He tucked the Good Book under his arm. Behind him, the sails were reset to catch the wind and the
Scarlet Night
was once again on her way.

“Hope eight will be enough fer today. Got two more below hangin’ on by luck and a prayer. Doing my damnedest to pull ’em through.”

The
Scarlet
gained speed. Jaxon slapped Cookie on the shoulder. “Death gives little quarter, but my gold’s on you.”

Quinn joined them. “I’ve got the tallies for you, Captain.”

Jaxon looked over the figures. Quinn’s accounting was impeccable.

“The French ship was full to bursting with silks.” Quinn indicated the count. “Some gold, silver. Foodstuffs, medicinals.” He showed Jaxon the disbursement due each man, the share the King “stole,” and what came to him as Captain.

“The men will need to move the choicest items into your cabin, sir, of course.”

“Of course.” How would he hide his beautiful stowaway during the transfer? “I’ll see to that, Quinn. You’ve already worked more hours than most. Take a meal and a rest.”

“Aye, Capt’n, just as soon as I check on the storage of those silks. If they’re to be worth anything once we reach harbor, they need to be kept high and dry.”

Jaxon watched him go. Quinn wouldn’t rest until everything was stowed to his satisfaction. Cookie slipped away as well, concerned about the two men whose lives depended on the next few crucial hours.

As they had for the past few days, his thoughts returned to Annalise.
Thank you, Jaxon.
The way she said his name caught him like a blow to the chest. Wasn’t it enough visions of her pale breasts haunted him? Did he need to have her voice in his head as well?
Jaxon.

He paced the deck from stem to stern and back. His heels marking each step against the gentle roll of the deck. A scowl tightened his brow. They still had weeks at sea. He would never survive sharing the same quarters with her. Either she’d kill him in his sleep, or he’d die a thousand deaths trying to resist the sweet bit of heaven he was sure to find between her thighs. He should just hand her his pistol.

Then something she said stopped him. The duke in London who’d sent her the bloody ring. She said his name was Benedict Wolfsan. Giselle’s duke? His coach bore the initials BW. Nay, a coincidence surely.

Between checking on his wounded crewmen, Cookie kept a sharp eye on Seaman Robbins, who appeared to be in quite a state this morning. He scurried about the deck, searching here and there, into rope coils, behind barrels, and under cannons.

Robbins’ red-rimmed eyes darted back and forth. Dark crescents dipped below each eye. Poor lad looked right done in. Cookie had an idea as to just what he was looking for.

“Good morn, Robbins. A fine stretch of day we’ve got comin’.”

“Aye?” the boy tugged at his ear. “Canna hear ye, Cookie.” He thumped the side of his head. “Blast it all. I be runnin’ powder during the attack yesterday and plum forgot to cover. Damn blast of that ten pounder done in me ear. Been ringin’ like a stuck bell since.”

Cookie gave the boy a look of sympathy and shook his head.

Robbins ran a finger under his nose and planted his hands on his hips. “And now, my bloody britches be missin’.”

Cookie bit the inside of his cheek to keep the grin from spreading. “I’m sure they’ll turn up, lad.”

“I’ve been lookin’ half the night. They’re nowhere.”

“Maybe yer spirit swiped ’em,” Cookie joked.

“Ye ken rib me all ye want, but I know what I heard. This ship be haunted, and I ken prove it.” He moved closer to Cookie and lowered his voice. “Me rum’s been tasting a might funny. And doesn’t matter how much I drink, me tankard is always full. It ne’re runs out. It’s some strange magic. Makes me head feel like I’m stuffed with cotton.”

Cookie stifled a chuckle.

Robbins held a hand over his eyes, “And then there’s the screams…”

“Ye do know of the sea sirens, don’t ye, lad? Gorgeous creatures, selkies be. Sittin’ out upon the rocks, and luring young fools like yerself to their deaths beneath the churning waves. Or there are those that swear our maidenhead cries out at night for her lost love.”

“I beg ye, cease these bloody tales.” He looked at Cookie with wild eyes. “Makes it so a bloke can’t close his eyes at night.” Robbins shook his head. “But that still don’t explain this. What’d a ghost be needin’ with me britches?” He leaned closer and narrowed his eyes. “Nay, either me mates be playin’ me for a fool again, or someone pinched ’em. If’n that be the truth of it, I need to be talkin’ to the capt’n. I mean, if a man’s trousers ain’t safe…”

Cookie raised a hand to stop him. “The capt’n’s a busy man.”

“He’s a fair man, too. He’d want to know if there be thieves aboard.”

“We all be thieves.”

“Ya know what I mean. I was sick ’n half-starved when he dragged me aboard and let me join the crew. Quite the feather in me cap to fight with the likes of him.” Robbins pointed out into the sea. “Did ye see the way he fought those French? Ne’er seen the like. The capt’n jumped into a battle he dinna have a prayer of winnin’. Then bodies fell ’bout his feet like scales off a bloody fish. He’s brutal, and I fer one be glad to be on this side of his sword. Nay, he needs to know if he’s got a rotten apple in the barrel. I owe it to ’im to tell.”

“I know ye look up to him, laddie. ’Tis a fine thing, but ye can’t be bringin’ him yer tales of missin’ britches.”

The boy’s mouth flopped open like a dying fish.

Cookie thumped Robbins’ shoulder with his trusty three fingers. “At least ye’ve got a spare. Not like yer bits and bobs will be flappin’ in the breeze.”

“But--” Robbins tugged again on his bad ear.

“I’ll keep me eye out for ye. Leave this to ole Cookie. No need te be botherin’ the capt’n. Best ye be gettin’ back to yer duties.”

“Aye, Cookie.” The boy shuffled away.

Cookie chuckled and headed toward the galley. Mayhap he should tell the lad a tale about giant sea creatures that swim the deepest parts of the oceans and feed on britches and boots.

* * * *

Coming down the galley way a few hours later, Cookie caught Robbins as he barreled into him. The speed with which the lad hit him knocked them both against the wall. A fixed lantern added another crease to Cookie’s thick skull.

“Bloody hell, Robbins.” Cookie rubbed at the spot on the back of his head.