Beloved Captive (13 page)

As men go, this one was a healthy specimen, broad of shoulder, lean of frame, and thankfully now wearing a linen shirt that was only a bit worse for wear. His skin bore the golden color of one whose days were spent outdoors, and his face—what she could see of it behind a beard that climbed from chin to cheekbone—seemed kind enough despite his earlier behavior.

Oddly his damp and curling hair, which seemed infused with the same golden tone as his skin, had been tethered with a length of the same rope one might hoist a sail with. In all, it appeared neither scissors nor soap had touched him in far too long.
 

He put her in mind of one of Mr. Defoe’s characters in his novel
Robinson Crusoe
. Only his dark leather boots, which met damp and water-stained trousers just below his knee, gave away any sense of the man having ever visited civilization.
 

The sword at his side and pistol in his sash reminded her this man was dangerous. Someone whose lies would likely sound sweet as honey.

His audacious gaze swept the length of her, but she refused to wither under his stare.

Rather, Emilie squared her shoulders and returned the gesture. “So you’ve come to claim your prize?” The look of surprise that crossed his features was not what Emilie expected.
 

“I would have a word with you,” he said, his voice firm and even. “And be warned, I’ll not tolerate the behavior I witnessed earlier.”

* * *

Caleb waited for the protest he knew was sure to come. Instead, she went for the desk and seated herself as if she were planning an evening of letter writing. Was she daft?
 

“Did you hear me?” He pushed away from the door and stepped into the interior of the cabin, breaking his vow not to enter the room and cause further distress to the former captive.

She toyed with his father’s book, then reached for the writing pen. This docile creature could not possibly be the woman he had witnessed creating chaos both on his vessel and
Hawk’s Remedy
. Much as she smiled and sat sweetly at the desk, Caleb did not trust her.

Treachery must be afoot. He could feel it.

“Miss? I do not know your name.”

The woman glanced up sharply. “Nor I yours.” She shook her head, and an inky curl fell from her makeshift braid. “No, forgive me. You are the Benning. A fearsome fellow according to my former shipmates aboard Captain Hawkins’s vessel.”

Caleb opened his mouth to correct her, then reconsidered. “So you’ll not enlighten me with your name?” When the woman shook her head, he felt anger rising. “Tell me, then, about this Captain Hawkins.”

“What would you have me say? Are you concerned, perhaps, that he soiled the goods before you had a chance at them?” She rose. “Worry not, for no man has nor will take what is only mine to give.”
 

Dark eyes flashed with an anger that might prove dangerous should he lose his edge. Now, however, with the advantage of superior height, size, and gender he had little to concern himself with save the fact that his captive must not slip past him to perform another dive into the ocean.

“The topic at hand, please.” He crossed his arms over his chest and collected his temper before continuing. “Your Captain Hawkins is currently detained below in our brig. He shall be delivered up to the magistrate in Havana as a pirate and likely be hanged, but I would have more information from you as to his crimes.”

Her laugh was deep and throaty and might have made him smile had it not held such contempt. “Am I to believe that one pirate would deliver another to the authorities? Why, you speak as if you’re on the other side of the law.” She stepped away from the desk and crossed her hands behind her back. “Oh, that’s quite amusing.”

In a few hours I will be sitting at my mother’s table. This woman and this voyage will be nothing more than a memory.
 

Caleb tried again. “Miss, I will require you to accompany the criminal as far as Havana and be prepared to testify against him.”

His statement seemed to give her pause. “So you persist in the attempt?”

Just a few hours. “I beg your pardon?”

She faltered before regaining her balance. “I am not a stupid woman, sir. I can see what you’re doing.”

He gave her a sideways look. “Enlighten me, madam. What am I doing?”

Her sigh was deep and long, and with it she took two steps toward the porthole. “You are attempting to appear the gentleman to catch me off guard.”

Hours. Only hours.
 

“Am I?” Caleb shook his head. “Do tell me what comes next.”

She lifted one dark brow.

“Really now,” he finally said as he watched her step away from the porthole. “You must understand that the things I said to the pirate were only in the course of rescuing you. Surely you do not believe me capable of such atrocities.”

“Are you a man of your word, Mr. Benning?”

“Indeed I am,” he said, then realized this spider was weaving a web of entrapment even as she seemed to be inching around the perimeter of the room toward the door. She now stood near enough to reach it in three steps. “Enough of this nonsense.”

Brown eyes widened at his change of tone, and for a moment she resembled the woman he’d seen in the boat. Fear. Yes, he saw that, but something else, as well.

One wrong move, one wrong word, and her calm demeanor might once again slip. The last thing he wished to do tonight was lose her to the inky depths.

Not with Santa Lucida so near.

Caleb held his hands out. “What can I do to prove to you that I mean you no harm?”

She looked past him to the door, then back into his eyes. “Let me go.”

“I cannot.”
 

Her eyes narrowed. “Then I do not believe you.”

Caleb stepped back until he felt the door against his spine. “I am trying to keep you safe,” he said.

She laughed. “Oh, of course,” she said. “The Benning is going to protect me.” Another move forward, and the gap between them closed a bit more. She shifted her weight onto her heels, her arms still curiously behind her back. “From what? Pirates?”

“Yes, actually.” He shook his head. “I mean, no, of course not.” Finally frustration won over patience, and tact gave way to expediency. “Look, woman, you are alive because I took the time to turn this vessel around and fetch you. I said what I had to say to convince that scoundrel to release you, and may the Lord forgive me for any deception.”

“The Lord?” She had the indecency to laugh, though there seemed little humor in it. “I find that hard to believe.”

“That I would ask for His forgiveness or that He would grant it?”

A glint of silver caught his attention, and he looked past her to the mirror bolted over his wardrobe. Clearly visible behind the back of the demure brunette was his grandfather’s writing pen. She clasped it as if she intended to use it as a dagger.

A second later, the woman lunged at him.

He caught her hand in mid-air, fingers encircling her wrist to easily haul her against him. From that position, he managed to wrest the pen away and toss it a safe distance.

Now came the dilemma. He’d disarmed the woman but still could not be sure releasing her would be safe. Holding her close for any length of time was also not an option.

From his superior height, he could see over her head to the porthole and the stars still twinkling outside. Would this night never end?

Then it occurred to him. Perhaps the woman felt the same.

“Miss,” he said carefully, “I wish to release you.”

“And I wish that as well,” she said against his shoulder. “Rather, I demand it.”

“I’m sure you do.” Caleb chose his words with care. “For your safety and mine, however, I must insist on a promise of decorum and decent behavior. I cannot risk being stabbed by my grandfather’s writing pen. Bad for my health, you know.”
 

Her silence at his poor attempt at a jest spoke volumes, but Caleb pressed on. At least she’d stopped fighting him.

“It is apparent,” he continued, “that you do not trust me.” The sound she made in response almost made him smile. “Nonetheless, I believe I’ve a plan to remedy this.”

Chapter 13

The woman looked up at him. “I fail to see what remedy short of my release will be satisfactory to both of us.”

“You wish only to go home.”

Again her eyes widened. “How do you know this?”

Caleb tried not to think of how close she stood. For if he thought of it, he lost track of logic—a dangerous state for a man locked in a cabin with a woman already prone to use anything within reach as a weapon. “You stated it yourself,” he said when he recalled her first words.
 

“I didn’t think,” she said slowly, “that anyone heard.”

“Strange as it seems, you and I have the same wish. I know you hold my word worthless, but I warrant you would change your mind if proof were offered. First, tell me what fear you have.”

The woman shook her head. “We were just discussing your trustworthiness.”

“It is all related,” he said, loosening his grip only slightly. “Perhaps I shall answer for you. You are afraid of the men on this vessel, me in particular.”

“And Captain Hawkins said you were a dolt.”
 

She gave a good yank and nearly slipped from his grasp. Caleb pulled her close once more, and this time he could smell salt water and sea air in her hair and upon her green frock.

“On the morrow, this vessel will leave me off and continue to Havana. I will give instructions that once you swear out testimony against Captain Hawkins, you are given safe passage for whatever destination you choose.”

“You would do that?”

“I give my word.”

A knock on the door behind him startled Caleb. “What?” he called.

“Beggin’ pardon, sir,” came the voice of one of the riggers, “but the captain sent me to see to your safety.”

Caleb looked down at the woman still entangled in his grasp. “I remain well and unharmed thus far. Please thank the captain for inquiring.”

Another knock. “Beggin’ pardon again, Mr. Benning,” the youth said, “but the captain also wishes you to know we won’t be making port tonight as you hoped.”

The woman began to fidget, so Caleb tightened his grip. “And why would that be?”
 

“There’s some work to be done on her, sir,” the voice squeaked. “I believe there was a bit of damage to the mainmast.”

“A bit?” He leaned against the door as the ship rolled with what seemed to be a large wave.

“Indeed, sir. Captain says it’ll take a day, maybe more, to fix her.”
 

A day. Caleb sighed. So much for breakfast at his mother’s table.

The woman shook her head. “He’s lying. This is a ruse to keep me aboard, and I’ll not have it.”

“Believe me, woman,” Caleb said, his jaw clenched, “were there a way to safely relieve me of your company, I would do so, post haste.”

She almost looked as if she believed him, though he did notice her eyeing the spot where the pen had slid beneath the desk. A dangerous one, this female.

“And there’s another thing,” the youth said.

“Another thing,” Caleb echoed as he looked down at the wild-eyed woman whose face showed she bore him nothing but ill will. “Of course there is.”

“There’s a blow a-comin’ from the east. Captain asks permission to shelter her at Langham Island.”

“Langham Island? How far is that?”

“We’re practically there,” he said. “Captain said he could drop anchor in a half hour.”

“Permission granted.” The woman began to struggle again, and Caleb turned her to place her back to the door. “Is there anything else?”

“No,” came the meek reply. “ ’Cept maybe that the captain said to batten down the hatches until the storm’s over.”

“Duly noted,” Caleb called.

“Storm?”
 

Caleb looked down to see wide eyes again. This time her face had gone pale. He felt her go slack in his arms and wondered if he might be required to catch her.
 

“Are you unwell?” When she said nothing, he continued. “You must be exhausted. Perhaps you would consider a few hours’ sleep?”

“Alone?” Her laughter was brittle, frantic.
 

“Surely you don’t expect me to stay in here with you.” Her stunned expression amused him. “It wouldn’t be proper.”

The woman quickly recovered. “What assurance have I that you won’t attack me in my sleep?”

So, she is one for whom trust does not come easy
. Caleb smiled. “Your assurance will be my pistol.”

“Your pistol?” Once again she looked up into his eyes. This time her expression softened. “You would give me your pistol?”

“Yes,” he said.

“And what if I were to use it on you?” She paused as if thinking the idea through. “I could easily turn on you the second you hand it over.”

“Indeed you could,” he said. “However, you’ve seen the loyalty my crew has for me. What do you think would happen to the person who shoots the Benning?”

Caleb could practically see her reasoning out the scenario.
 

“So,” he finally said, “what say we strike a bargain? You shall sleep alone and safe in my bunk, and I shall take up residence outside the door to keep you in and all other trouble out.”

“I suppose,” she said, “this would be a satisfactory compromise.”

With care, Caleb loosened his grip. When she could manage it, the woman took a step back and rubbed her wrists against her skirt.
 

“This pistol belonged to my grandfather,” he said as he lifted the sash over his head and held it balanced in his palms. “It will remain in this cabin when you depart in Havana. Do you understand?”

She reached for the weapon, then slowly, as if it might bite her, touched the side plate. Once again, she met his gaze, then lifted the pistol from his palm.

A strange boldness overtook him. Though he handed his weapon to a stranger, one who appeared neither trusting nor trustworthy, he held no fear in doing so. “Do you know how to handle a weapon of this type?”