Captured (9 page)

Neither did Clare.

“More than likely, though, they’ll find refuge on a passing ship and live to sell more human cargo.” He didn’t bother masking his disgust.

“How long have you sailed on the
Marie?”

“Two and a half years. Met the captain and Gaspar at a tavern in Kingston. When I learned they needed a doctor, I joined the crew.”

“Do you have family where you are from?”

He shook his head. “I left nothing behind in Scotland but a date with the hangman.”

Surprise filled her eyes.

He shrugged and explained, “I treated a lord back home who died a few days later. His family accused me of hastening his demise. I was arrested, tried, and sentenced to hang, but having no desire to dance on the end of a noose, I bribed a jailer and escaped. Made my way to the coast and signed on with a merchant captain heading south. When I told him I was a doctor he didn’t care about my past.”

“And you went from his ship to the
Marie?”

“Not at first. The merchant ship that I was on initially sank in a storm and the survivors like myself were picked up by another ship. A slaver.”

Clare went still.

He looked out over the ocean and said nothing for a moment as if recalling the times, then in a voice filled with emotion, continued. “For three months, I sailed on a filthy, godforsaken vessel with two hundred Africans stuffed in its hold like stacked grain. The captain refused to let me aid the ones who were sick or near death, and those who mercifully did pass on were tossed overboard as if they had no right to expect better. It was the most horrific experience of my life. When I continued to protest the treatment, he threatened to throw me overboard, or maroon me, so I kept my mouth shut for the rest of the voyage.”

Tight-lipped, she watched the ocean undulating silently.

“I’d lie in my bunk at night and hear them singing below decks in soft, mournful melodies that I learned later were their death hymns.”

Tears filled Clare’s eyes.

“Changed me forever. When we reached the Indies where they were going to be sold, I walked away from the ship and never looked back. Men like Vanweldt have a special room in hell. There’s not a crewman aboard the
Marie
who didn’t applaud the captain’s decision today. As I see it, every slaver should be sent to the bottom, and the faster the better.”

Only then did he turn her way and notice her reaction to his tale. “Oh, miss. Forgive me. I didn’t mean to make you cry. The story seemed to come out on its own. Captain finds out I made you cry, he’ll hang me from a yardarm for sure.”

Clare wiped at her eyes with her fingers and sought to reassure him. “No, it’s just that I came over in a slaver, too. Your words brought back memories. I thank you for letting me know I am amongst honorable souls who find the trafficking as much an abomination as I.”

She saw that he still looked doubtful. “Please don’t fault yourself. Your story shows you are a good man, Dr. Early.”

“Are you certain?”

“Very much so.”

He bowed gallantly. “You’re very kind, miss. Again, my apologies.”

“None are needed.”

“I’ll let the captain know you are faring well.”

“Thank you.”

He made his departure, and Clare directed her eyes back out to sea. She thought back on her first few months as a captive and how frightened and confused she’d been. Before being torn from her home, she’d never seen a White person and therefore knew nothing of their language, food, or customs. In many ways, dying during the Middle Passage might have been preferable, but then she would never have given birth to her precious children. No matter the circumstances of their conceptions, they were the fruit of her loins, and she loved them with every breath. She also worried about them, Benjamin mostly. Sarah worked in the kitchen, but he toiled in the fields, and at twelve years of age was amassing the size and height of his sire. Healthy male captives were fetching higher and higher prices on the slave block. Although the Hamptons had given her no indication that her son might be sold, they didn’t have to. He was their property, and could be auctioned in an instant to settle a debt, pay for feed, or for any other reason they might decide. She tried not to think about the terrifying prospect, but the fear was something she carried in her heart, also. If Dominic kept true to his word, she would see both Ben and Sarah in the months to come. As their mother she felt it could not happen soon enough.

“Clare?”

This time it was Dominic walking towards her and her senses leapt. “Are you finished with your business?” she asked when he neared.

“I am. My officers and I would like for you to join us for supper if you care to.”

“I’d enjoy that.”

He extended his arm. She placed her hand across it, and let him lead the way.

The meal was served at the table in his quarters, and she found herself seated with Gaspar, the doctor, and the pilot Esteban. Richmond Spelling acted as their server.

“It’s turtle soup again, sirs,” he told them, setting down two tureens. “Miss, Cook says he’ll prepare you a feast once we reach home and begs your pardon for the plain fare.”

“Tell him I find his soup to be very good so there’s no need for him to apologize.”

“He’ll appreciate you saying that, even if it’s not the truth.”

He left them a plate of hardtack, then departed.

Clare declined the hardtack when the plate was passed her way. The hard, breadlike staple was known to harbor weevils and worms.

Gaspar put a spoon into his soup and said, “We’ve eaten so much of this, it’s a wonder we haven’t grown shells over our backs.”

“Beats months of dried fish,” Esteban told him.

“Aye,” Gaspar responded.

The men were all so large in stature, Clare felt as if she were dining with the sons of Hercules. She also thought the soup much better than the boiled bland fare she’d eaten on the frigate. She wondered about the fate of Violet and the others, but she supposed she’d find out when she returned to Savannah.

A bottle of fine French wine taken from the captain’s store was added to the meal. Clare declined it as well. She was content to eat her soup and watch and listen while the conversation flowed around her. It became readily apparent that the men were not just crew members, but friends as well, and seemed to enjoy poking fun at each other.

James asked, “Think we can convince Esteban to hunt us down a boar for the homecoming feast?”

Uproarious laughter erupted, and Esteban chided Clare, “Do not believe a word they say, Lady Clare. They lie every day of their lives.”

Howls greeted that, and Clare looked around in confusion.

Dominic asked, “Were you or were you not screaming for help up in that tree?”

“Spaniards do not scream. We may shout, but scream? Never.”

James was laughing so hard he was gasping for air.

Gaspar said sagely, “Sounded like a scream to me. No, I take that back. It sounded like
many
screams.”

Clare had difficulty masking her smile. “May I ask what happened?”

James gestured with his shoulder. “Don Juan da Silva over there got himself treed by a two-hundred-pound boar.”

Clare turned to Esteban, who was pouring himself more wine, and he explained further, “Let’s just say the boar caught me and a young lady at an inopportune moment. I fended the thing off with a pistol long enough for her to run to safety, but the ball I put into it only made it angry, thus the tree.”

Dominic picked up the story. “The boar was so angry that not only was it charging the tree in attempt to shake Esteban down, it ate his breeches!”

Screams of laughter filled the small cabin.

Clare stared. “If you were in the tree, how on earth did it get to your…” She then remembered him referencing an inopportune moment. “You were undressed?” Genteel women never uttered the word
naked.

“As a newborn babe,” Gaspar answered for him.

The smiling Esteban sipped his wine and didn’t respond.

She was astounded by the implication. Surely he and the lady weren’t…? Out of doors? The look of sheer wonder on her face brought forth even louder peals of glee.

Dominic said, chuckling, “Our apologies,
petite.”

“It’s quite all right. I know my naiveté is showing.”

“But it is very sweet,” he told her. He lifted his goblet high. “To Clare. May she never be treed by a boar!”

The others raised theirs. “Hear! Hear!”

She laughed at the outrageous toast and at them.

Later, as she climbed into the bed with the sweet sounds of Tait’s fiddling floating in through the open porthole, she thought back on their antics and smiled. What a merry band of men. After the meal, they’d returned to their duties, the captain included. Now, with night falling, she’d lit the fire and a few candles, and changed out of her dress and into his overly large nightshirt.

Making herself comfortable in the firelit room, she leaned back against the pillows, listening to the haunting music and wondering what might happen when Dominic returned. She doubted she’d be so bold as to let him share the bed, but she did wish to share more passion. It was shameless, she knew, but she couldn’t turn her mind anywhere else.

A short while later, a knock sounded, and his voice carried through the door, “May I come in?”

“Yes,” she called in reply.

The moment he entered and her eyes swept over his tall perfect frame, the heat lingering from this afternoon’s encounter rekindled like fresh wood on embers.

“Are you well?” he asked, standing across the room and observing her with eyes that seemed to catch the firelight.

“I am, and you?”

“Yes.”

He walked over to the foot of the bed. “My men enjoyed your company at supper.”

His steady gaze made her heart pound. “I enjoyed them as well. Especially the toast.”

“We didn’t mean to offend with our laughter.”

“I wasn’t by any means.”

“Good, because they like you.”

“I like them, as well.”

The idle chatter was a masquerade. What they wanted was to pick up where they’d left off this afternoon.

“May I ask you something?” she said.

He nodded. “What is it?”

“The story about Esteban and the boar.”

“It is a true story,” he replied.

“Not that, but the part about him and the lady. Were they engaging in coitus when the boar surprised them?”

“Yes. Why?”

“I just—” Articulating what she wanted to ask was difficult because females weren’t supposed to discuss such things.

He cocked his head at her and waited for her to continue.

She looked back up into his face. “I always thought the act was supposed to be done inside at night.”

“Inside, outside. At night. Midday. There are no rules. Those who believe there are probably aren’t enjoying themselves much.” He sat down next to her on the edge of the mattress. “Take the enjoyment I gave you this afternoon, multiply it by as high as you can count, and that’s how good it can be.”

She found that amazing.

“There’s a grand difference between the coitus that led to your children and true lovemaking,
petite.”

The unspoken desire in his eyes stroked her like a touch from his hand. When he leaned over and kissed her softly, she rippled like a wave on the ocean. There was power in the contact, but also a gentleness that cajoled and invited her to join in. She met him gladly. Having a bit more experience than she’d had earlier, she slid her palms over his lean, muscular arms and thrilled at the feel of his mouth moving over hers. When his arms gathered her in, she answered with all the ardor she could muster. He groaned and pulled her onto his lap, quilts and all, and eased her close until she was flush against his chest.

Lips against her ear, he breathed, “Inside. Outside. Midday. I’m going to make love to you everywhere.”

Clare couldn’t breathe. His hand was roaming up and down her spine and over her breasts. Heat burned through the layers of clothing to her skin, making her nipples bud and plead. Hot lips flamed against her jaw as he promised, heatedly, “I’m going to take you in the moonlight, and the next day, under the morning sun.”

The scandalous words set off a series of smoldering sensations that made her body flow and sing.

“Inside. Outside. Midday,” he echoed.

Being with him made her forget all about the Old Testament morals she’d been raised with and want to experience all the pleasures of the flesh his could offer hers. Mimicking him, she slid the tip of her tongue against the parted corners of his mouth. Savoring the low groan he gave in response, she boldly repeated the move.

They soon lost touch with time and place. The possessive slide of his large hands over places no man had ever explored until he entered her life, left her yearning and breathless. The torrid pressure of his lips worshipping over the silken skin above the nightshirt’s collar dropped her head back and made her world spin. He brushed kisses over the silent offering and her soft sigh drifted up like a note from Tait’s fiddle. He worshipped his way down the front of the shirt to her already budded breasts. Once there, he filled his hands with their delicate weight, toyed with the nipples, then recaptured her lips with a fierce yet gentle thoroughness.

“Let me touch you,” he whispered passionately.

While his mouth continued to ply hers, his fingers pleasured the hardened crests with magical expertise. The storm inside rose and expanded. Desire had her in such a mindless state, she didn’t protest as he undid the nightshirt’s buttons. The thin shift she had on underneath seemed nonexistent when he bent to pay her tribute. The licks and tugs of his wordless devotion rocked her like small strikes of lightning. She sensed the nightshirt moving up her thighs but she was too caught up in the storm to pay it much mind. When he finally raised his head and looked into her eyes, her nipples were hard as diamonds and her shift damp.

Dominic was in turmoil. The pirate in him wanted to lay her down and have at it, but the gentleman who also lived inside held back. The two entities warred with each other for a long moment. In the end, he gently but firmly moved her off his lap. He turned away from the tempting sight of her and ran his hands wearily over his face.