A Pirate's Curse (Legends of the Soaring Phoenix) (3 page)

Tortuga? A pirate’
s heaven. They’d be sold into slavery or worse.

“Don’t worry Capt’n.”
The suave man smiled as he slapped his thigh with his left hand. “Blimey, may I sink and perish in blood if I canna get us in a fortnight.”

From where he laid sprawled out on the deck, h
er father groaned. Hannah rushed over, sank down beside him and with a trembling hand, she patted his face. “Wake up, father.”  

His
pale skin and white lips terrified her.

Breathe.

She put her hand on his chest and his chest rose up and down. She sighed with relief. Good, he was alive. 

Her hair fell across her face. She straightened, shoved the strands from her face, and leaned over again. But the unruly hair slapped right back down over her cheeks.

Curious male faces stared at her. Pirates. Her freezing fingers gripped her father’s shirt and she shook him.

Wake up.

Footsteps echoed behind her.
She froze. She glanced over her shoulder. Her gaze travelled up muscular legs, narrow hips, and broad shoulders. She had to tilt her head to see into his face. Her heart silenced. Dark green eyes held her gaze. The man’s long black hair hung past his broad shoulders. His white shirt opened to the navel and his black breeches clung to his muscular legs. He had a pistol stuck into his belt on one hip and a sword in his sheath on the other. ’twas Lucifer himself.

A breeze rushed over her and her
damp clothes clung to her wet skin. Her teeth chattered, and her skin chilled.

“Welcome aboard the
Soaring Phoenix
, lad.” The captain grinned, revealing a single dimple on his left cheek.

She exhaled and lowered her shaking hand.
Her disguise worked. For once in her life, she listened to her father, and he had been right.

“Take the lad and this man below.
Give ’em some dry clothes. Bring ’em back up here. I want a word with ’em,” the captain said.

The melodic Irish timbre rolled off
the devil’s lips. No menace echoed in his voice, but then, he didn’t know she played a trick on him either. Wait, what did he want to talk to her about? Maybe he did suspect the truth?

“Aye, Aye, Capt’n,” a
clean-shaven pirate near her answered. Shirtless, he was bald and wore a black eye patch over his left eye. He was a little smaller than the Captain, but his sculpted muscles rivaled that of his captain. He had on red breeches, his sword and pistol hung off his black belt.

Hannah jumped at a pirate’s loud voice.
Before she knew what was happening, the same man grabbed her with ironclad hands, lifted her off the deck, wrapped his arm around her waist and held her snug next to his muscular body. She broke out in a cold sweat and her heart thumped harder. Her fingertips turned numb. She kicked her feet and pounded her fists on his hard thighs and abdomen, but he captured one wrist, his hand a steal manacle. She winced.

“The devil with you boy, don’t make me lose my temper,” he said.
“I’m not gonna hurt ya.”

Clenching her fists, she glared
up at him. She gritted her teeth. Why did her wrist throb then?  

In front of her
, the same two men, Doc, wearing a red bandana over his dark black hair and Amadi, the tallest black man she had ever seen, who rescued them earlier, lifted her father.

“Damn,
” Doc said, “he’s breaking my arms.”

Amadi
with his long dark multiple braids woven with gold beads, grasped father’s ankles and grunted. “Quit your bellyaching Doc. You didn’t have to carry the bastard up a rope ladder.” 

T
he deeper they went into the ship’s dim interior, the air changed from clean and fresh to stale and musty. The men grunted and groaned carrying her father. With their tormented and sweating faces and strained muscles, they managed not to drop him. 

At the bottom
of the stairs, her captor set her on her feet. Rows of hammocks swung between beams from one side of the room to the other. She rubbed her cold arms and took a step away from him. Now what?

He studied her.
“Cook will bring you some dry clothes.”

She folded her arms across her chest.
Doc and Amadi hoisted her father into a swinging hammock. Her father sighed as if he was in a restful sleep. How could he sleep though this? Was he faking?

“Thanks, Michael
,” Amadi said.

“You must be getting soft in your old age
, Amadi.” Michael slapped him on the shoulder and grinned.

Amadi put his large hands on his
wide hips and braced his shoulders. His green vest revealed a chiseled chest and a flat stomach. Black breeches fitted his long, muscular legs. His head brushed the top of the ceiling. She swallowed hard. She had never seen such a tall black man. He looked like he could break her in two with one hand.

“Don’t push your luck, boy
,” Amadi glowered at Michael. “You didn’t have to carry dis gent up a rope ladder.”

“D’ye now?” Michael shrugged his shoulders.
“True enough, I take your point.” Glancing over at Doc, he motioned. “Come on.” He nodded. “Topside.”

A gruff, wizened man with a white beard and shoulder length gray hair leaned against the door.
“You lads are as weak as a new babe if you can’t lift such a wee man.”

Amadi sauntered over.
“Don’t make me mad, Cook.”

The old man gave him a lopsided grin.
“Get out of here ye wee lass.”

Amadi stormed out of the room.
His angry footsteps pounded on the stairs. Michael pushed past Cook while Doc bumped his shoulder, but Cook only cackled. Hannah would have wet her breeches if those pirates slammed into her shoulder.

Cook flashed his
gaze over her. Chuckling, he strolled to a large trunk against a wall and opened it. After searching through it, he grabbed a white shirt and pair of black breeches and put them on the nearest hammock. “These are too big for ye lad, but they’re dry. I’ll be back to take you to the Capt’n.”

Hannah
waited until she could no longer hear Cook’s footsteps before she tore off her shirt and breeches. The faint glow of the lantern revealed the top of her mounds peering over the wooly bandage. She tried shoving the mounds back down, but the bandage had shrunk. Her cheeks burned. She was a stone’s throw from being a pirate’s concubine. 

Her hand clenched the flimsy wet material.
She wanted to rip it off, but what if the Captain ordered her to take the shirt off? She’d have nothing underneath. Her hands dropped to her side. Trapped in a shark-infested cove.

She snatched the shirt and slipped her hand through one sleeve.
Silk and warmth caressed her clammy skin, chasing away the cold. Her shaking hands retied her soaking hair, and she glanced down. Could she pass for a cabin boy? She put on her best scowl and clenched her fists.

Hannah blinked back tears. If only, she had a better handle on her powers, she might be able to get her and her father out of this mess, but she had failed last night to save her crew.
’Twas her fault everybody died. Why would today be any different?

She slumped onto the hard oak floor.
The sole lantern in the room dimly lit the corridor and black shadows flickered on the wall like bats. Looming, twirling, menacing.

She frowned and huddled her knees against her chest
. She leaned her head back against the wall.

Not real. Not real. Not real.

Footsteps shuffled down the hallway.
A large billowy shadow drifted along the wall. Fear shot through her and pooled at the bottom of her toes. She jumped to her feet, rushed to her father and dug her fingers into his shoulders. She shook him.

Not doing this alone.

He
r father snorted and spit flew into her mouth. She gagged and slapped him across the face. “Father, wake up!”

H
e groaned, his eyes fluttered, but remained closed. “Father, please wake up.”

She leaned over and whispered into his ear.
“We’re aboard a pirate ship, get up. Someone’s coming to take us to the captain.”

But her father didn
’t answer. A red stain spread over behind his head. “You’re bleeding.”

“Who’s bleeding?”

Hannah jerked her head up.
“My father. He needs help. Do you have a doctor on board?”

“Aye,” Cook said.
“But the Capt’n wants a word with ye.”

She tilted her chin.
“The devil with the Captain. My father’s hurt. He needs help. The man called Doc, he’s a surgeon? Will you send him to my father?”

Cook scowled.
“You’ll have to take this matter up with the Capt’n himself.”

“Then take me to him,” she demanded.

“Aye, follow me,” Cook nodded.
“You’ll have to ask the Capt’n himself, laddie. Capt’n don’t cotton to bossy cabin lads.”

She scrambled to her feet and pushed her shoulders back.
“Fine, lead the way.”

Cook led them through a galley.
His shoulders brushed against the entryway. Different sized copper pots and pans dangled from hooks nailed onto the wall. Latches locked the cabinets, keeping whatever was inside from crashing onto the floor from the shifting of the ship.

Hannah wiped her bloody hand onto her dark
breeches. She had to make the Captain listen. What if her father bled to death? What if the Captain didn’t care? Should she run through the ship and hunt for Doc?

Cook
motioned at two oak French doors. “Capt’n’s waiting. Open it.”

The door creaked open.
Her pounding heart sent blood rushing through her, thumping between her temples. This was it. She’d know her fate. Did her disguise work or fail?

A soft glow lit the room.
There were three long rectangle wooden tables, and ten chairs surrounded each table. The smell of oil and citrus infiltrated the air. The wood furniture and floor were clean and polished. She arched her eyebrow. Pirates and cleaning? Strange. Who’d be so meticulous in doing this? Did they have slaves?  

Iron lanterns burned on either side of a painting of a gray castle on the
riverbank with sleepy willow trees and lilac bushes growing along the water. She walked over to peer at the picture and noticed a poem written on a faded parcel in a splintered frame hanging next to the picture.

May luck be our companion

May friends stand by our side

May history remind us all.

Of Ireland’s faith and pride.

May God bless us with joy

May love and faith abide.

Even stranger
. What kinds of pirates have a poem hanging on the wall about love, faith, and joy?  

In the far corner, something moved.

Do
n’t panic.

Soft glimmer traced the figure of a man.
Dark shadows masked his face and body. When he stepped out of the murkiness, light flickered in his emerald eyes under long dark eyelashes. He pierced her with a penetrating gaze. A thin white scar traveled down the man’s face from his left temple to his jaw bone. Without it, he would have been another pretty boy, like the ones who begged her to dance at the balls in London. Folding her arms across her chest, she swallowed. Did he suspect she was a woman?

Remain calm.
Who was she kidding? Remain calm? She was about to burst through the cabin and dive into the ocean and take her chances with the sharks. But she didn’t. Her father needed medical attention. She refused to disappointment him again.

“I’m Captain Kane O’Brien.
” He motioned with his hand. “Cook has prepared food for us, and I invite you to break fast at my table.”

Salt pork, sliced pineapple
, and hard rolls decorated each plate on a table set for three. A steaming pot sat in the middle of the table. She shivered from her shoulders down to her legs. Would she ever feel warm again? Her frozen, stiff fingers ached to put her hands around the pot.

She tried to
swallow her fear and cleared her throat.

“My father,” her voice squeaked.
“He’s bleeding. Will you please help him? The man Doc? He’s a doctor?”

“I suggest you sit,”
the Captain reiterated. "I sent word to Doc to redress your father in warm clothing and look after him."

His decisive tone left her few options.

Th
e Captain dragged out a chair, screeching wood on wood, and he seated himself across from her. He tapped his finger on the table. With each tap, she shrank. Was he going to beat her? Was he like the other pirates?

“The food will get cold as a wet Christmas if you don’t eat, lad.
I assure you, ’tis safe. Cook hasn’t killed any of us yet.” The Captain picked up a piece of salt pork and swallowed.