Heart of Steel (34 page)

He held the gun on her as they went down the ladder. He pushed her past a staring, wide-eyed Henri.

“Even the boy paid for his,” Yasmeen said.

Pain exploded in the back of her head. She stumbled, and black spots danced in her vision. Her claws dug into her palms. He'd whipped her with the gun butt.

Now, she might not even make it quick.

He shoved her through the cabin door, locked it behind him. “Stand next to the table, Mrs. Fox, and turn around.”

With her back to him, her hands flat on the surface. She complied, then watched him over her shoulder. “Will raping me truly make your crew behave, Captain?”

“I don't want to do this. I don't want to touch you.” His hand tugged at his breeches. “But they will see you put in your proper place.”

“My proper place?” She laughed. “And so this is why you won't have women on the crew. You can't stop yourself from raping them after they dared to climb out of bed.”

“You've brought this on yourself.”

“Oh, yes? Well I must say, for someone who doesn't want to touch me, your prick seems eager.”

“Eyes forward!” He moved in behind her, pressed the gun to her shoulder. “You're fortunate I did not do this in front of my crew and then toss you to them!”

She was fortunate? No. That might have saved
him
.

His hand curved up her ass. Yasmeen whipped around, dropping her shoulder. His pistol fired, the bullet digging into the table, wood chips striking her cheek. Her elbow smashed into his ear.

He staggered back. Her foot struck his hand. The gun went flying. He turned to run, and she caught him before he made another step, bringing him to his knees with her forearm locked against his throat and her hand in his hair.

“Alive,” he wheezed. “You need me alive. Or they'll kill him.”

“Maybe. But I think I'll get them first.”

She twisted past the crack. He dropped to the floor.

A sudden commotion of running feet sounded down the passageway. The door crashed open. Archimedes burst through, the long blades at his forearms dripping with blood, eyes wildly searching the cabin. They stopped on her.

She arched her brows.

His gaze dropped to Guillouet. “Goddammit. Can't I save you just
once
?”

“You've already saved me twice, just using your grapnel.” She lifted her gaze to the bruise forming on his cheekbone. “Who was that?”

“Bigor.” His fingers gently traced her jaw. “He's still alive, but tied.”

“Good.” She'd deal with him in a bit.

He held up his hands, showed her the bloody blades extending from his wrist guards. “And I'm sorry, I surprised and killed the other two marines while getting away. Are you all right?”

“Just a headache. Why are you sorry?”

“They murdered your crew.”

Oh. She shook her head. “I don't
like
killing. But I'll do it if it needs to be done. I'm just glad it's done.”

He glanced down at Guillouet and sheathed his blades. “So am I. Now what?”

“Do you want her?”

His brows drew together. “Do I want who?”

“The ship.
Ceres
. Do you want control of her?”

“No.”

“Then she's mine.”

For now.
Ceres
was a lady, but would never be
her
lady.

Archimedes followed her as she started for the door. “All right. And then?”

“And then . . . I'm ready to head to Rabat.”

Chapter Fourteen

By the lady, she hated leaving Archimedes this quickly.
There was much to say—but there was also now a ship to manage.

His voice caught her in the passageway. “Yasmeen.”

She turned, caught sight of Guillouet's body in the cabin before the door closed. That would need to be removed, the wardroom cleaned. “Yes, Mr. Fox?”

“I kissed you on the cargo lift. Do you need to hang me over the side of the ship?”

Her gaze snapped to his. His emerald eyes were steady on hers, his features set with determination.

He would let her, she realized. If it meant making certain her position was secure, he would let her strip him naked and humiliate him.

Such a man, to let her be, to give her so much. Why had it taken her so long to see?

She shook her head. “No. That kiss was personal, and nothing to do with rank or our relative positions. All who saw would know that.”

“All right.” His grin held more than a hint of relief. “I'm glad to hear it.”

But because he also needed to know, she said, “But now, there is a line, and it will end at that cabin door. When I tread her decks, I am captain. When we're alone, we can do whatever we like.”

“Or when we've just been saved from zombies.”

“Yes.” She approached him, took his hand in hers. “And even in that cabin, I will not kiss you while we stand over a dead body. I will not kiss you when there is work that
must
be done. I want nothing more than to kiss you now, as I desperately need to.”

“But you won't.”

“I can't.” She sighed. “And I can't order you to do the same, because you are not part of my crew—but I ask the same of you.”

“You will have it.” His fingers squeezed hers. His gaze didn't waver. “And I am not crew, but I would like to stand behind you. Not above, not below. To back you up, should ever you need it.”

Her heart filled, and she nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Fox.”

“Always, Captain—” He paused. “Are we still married?”

She laughed. There was no need to be; they no longer relied on al-Amazigh for their passage to Rabat. But, in truth, Yasmeen had come to enjoy it. What did it matter that these bonds were not official? She liked to bear them.

“I think we must be,” she said. “I don't know an institution in the world that would grant a divorce to us.”

“True.” With a grin, he bowed over her hand, pressed a kiss to her palm before letting her go. “Then we are well and truly stuck, Captain Fox.”

 

 

Unsurprisingly, she encountered a mix of emotions and
shouted questions when she went above and called for all hands on deck. Though some were dismayed when Yasmeen succinctly laid out that she'd killed Guillouet while he attempted to rape her, she didn't see blame. That, more than anything, gave her hope for this crew.

For almost an hour, she fielded questions about wages.
I will split between you whatever the captain held in his strongbox, minus
Ceres'
costs. The purser will verify my numbers.
About their destination:
We will continue our expedition to Rabat, and deliver Mr. Hassan home.
About taking women into the crew:
I will be here, but I do not intend to stay aboard long enough to hire new crew.
How long would she stay?
We will return to Port Fallow, where Mr. Fox and I will depart and leave the airship in your hands.

The last surprised them. The speculation about who would become captain then overtook the decks. Yasmeen held up her hand. When they quieted, she gave them the only advice she could: “Choose a captain who knows that he serves the ship and the crew, first. You will be taking orders from this person; choose someone that you trust will have your interests at heart, as well as his own, every time he makes a decision—even if those decisions are not what you want to hear.”

She looked to the Vashons. Her gut told her that one of them—or both—would be
Ceres
' captain. That could be either a brilliant arrangement, or a disaster. “And if it is between the two of you, do not treat her like a whore, fighting over who will have a first go.”

They both grinned.

Probably a disaster. “Now, there are bodies on this ship that will be cared for and given proper send-offs, and a wardroom to clean. Aviators on watch duty, attend to your posts; all others report to the first mate for your details. In an hour, I want to see all mates and masters in the wardroom with their ledgers. Heave around, then.”

They broke up and headed to their posts, a few muttering . . . but fewer than she expected. Not a bad crew at all.

She didn't know what the hell Guillouet had gotten so wrong with them.

 

 

She was incredible.
Archimedes watched Yasmeen take
over the ship, and by mid-afternoon, all was running smoothly. Even Engels the bitter navigator deferred to her command as they plotted the course to Rabat. She hadn't yet fired the engines, however. They still hovered over the Brindisi harbor as most of the crew went to the mess, and Yasmeen asked the Vashons to bring Bigor up on deck.

Hands bound behind his back, his nose broken from Archimedes' fist, clothes askew, the marine no longer appeared buttoned up and straightened out, but still held his shoulders back, head high.

The Vashons pushed him to his knees near the cargo lift, and he kneeled, his expression flat—not resisting, not trying to escape, which made Archimedes wonder whether his sanity had broken or his pride was indestructible.

“Clear the decks, please,” Yasmeen said.

The crew still on watch didn't hesitate. Archimedes wasn't crew—and he wouldn't leave her alone with the marine, anyway. He stood behind her, ready to back her up if needed.

When the last aviator had descended the ladder, she said, “Mr. Bigor. You understand that this has nothing to do with your following Captain Guillouet's orders today.”

He gave a sharp nod.

“If you did
not
board
Lady Corsair
two months ago, slaughter my crew, and steal my gold, please say so now.”

She wanted him to, Archimedes realized. Even though this meant she could avenge her crew, she didn't want it to be Bigor. Respect for him, perhaps—it was easy to respect such quiet strength.

“I did,” he said.

If Yasmeen was disappointed, she didn't show it. Instead, she hardened. “Ordered by al-Amazigh?”

“Hired.”

“Is that different than ordered?”

A nod. “Only my superiors give me orders. A man who simply possesses money is not my superior.”

“And there's no loyalty to him, which is why you're telling me this now.”

Another nod.

Yasmeen advanced on him, crouched a few feet away. “I'll trade you a story, Mr. Bigor. You tell me why al-Amazigh wants Hassan dead, and I'll write a letter to your wife and children that doesn't mention the slaughter of an entire ship, murders that
weren't
in service to your king.”

“But they
were
, Captain Fox.” The big marine stood.

Archimedes drew his gun. Yasmeen might not use hers as a warning, but by God, he would. “One step toward her and I pull the trigger.”

The man didn't move, his eyes locked on Yasmeen's face. “They will receive a letter, Captain, but not from you. One that tells them how I was instrumental in assisting the French take their first step back into the Old World. That is an honor that needs no lie—and it is with that honor, I die.”

Without warning, Bigor threw himself backward.
What the hell?
Archimedes rushed forward as the marine flipped over the rail. He didn't make a sound as he dropped into the harbor below. A splash swallowed him up.

Archimedes looked back in disbelief. Yasmeen hadn't moved, her face thoughtful as she looked out over the side of the ship. Her fingers reached for her sash—for her cigarillo case, he knew—and only when they encountered nothing did she shake her head, focus on him.

“It always seems a shame not to let a proud man go his own way,” she said.

“You knew he'd do that?”

“I thought he might. And I am so tired of shooting people.”

“Perhaps you should have.” Archimedes looked over again. “You know what will happen now? He'll return when we least expect it and take his revenge.”

She snorted. “That only happens in Archimedes Fox serials. His hands are tied.”

“I returned from Venice,” he said.

“So you did.” Yasmeen pursed her lips, approached the side, and looked over. “If he bobs up again, feel free to fire. But don't wait too long for him to appear—you'll miss dinner.”

 

 

Yasmeen would have been happy to miss the meal itself, but she'd always enjoyed sharing dinner with her passengers—and eating with Hassan and Archimedes for company was just as pleasurable. If she'd planned to stay on as
Ceres'
captain, she'd have eventually traded the stiff chairs for pillows around a low table, but this would do for the two or three weeks she intended to remain aboard.

The low thrum of the engines could be heard and felt from all the way aft, the conversation was entertaining, and for a short time, it was almost as if Yasmeen was exactly where she belonged again. In an odd way, Guillouet
had
put her back in her place.

But this lady wasn't hers, and so it wasn't quite where she belonged—and the only perfect thing was that Archimedes was sharing the table with her.

Tonight, they'd share the bed.

She could not stop imagining it. Not when he sat so close, so quick with a grin or a clever reply. Not when he swallowed his wine, and she couldn't take her eyes from the strong column of his throat, remembering how he smelled, how he tasted. The way he held his fork, the thickness of his hair, his rough jaw—every detail recalling what it was to touch him, to be touched, to be
loved
.

“You've grown quiet, Captain,” Hassan said.