Pirate Wolf Trilogy (104 page)

He set her down then backed away half a dozen
steps. He had broken his own damned rule about going near her until
the threat of disease was passed. He had acted out of instinct and
while it had seemed like the right thing to do at the time, he was
at a loss what to do now. She was blue. Her clothes were plastered
to her skin, dripping seawater and rain into a large puddle on the
floor.

He swore under his breath and raked the
excess water out of his hair, pushing it back off his forehead as
he snatched a blanket off the berth and tossed it onto the chair
beside her.

Eva reached for it with
blue-tipped fingers and dragged it around her shoulders. "That was
p-probably God’s way of saying you sh-should have let me die on
the
Eliza
Jane
," she managed to
whisper.

Dante smirked. "God is not the captain of
this ship, Madam. I am. And there will be no dying here today."

He strode to his sea chest and shook out one
of his long linen shirts and a pair of moleskin breeches.

"Get yourself out of those wet clothes," he
ordered. "We'll not be able to light a fire in the brazier until
the ship stops pitching around like a cork, but there are plenty
more blankets on the berth. Change and wrap yourself to stay
warm."

He began to shed his own sopping garments
without any concern for Eva’s presence or modesty. The shirt was
peeled over his head, revealing the latticework of welts and
lashmarks across his shoulders and back, many of them red-raw and
only partially healed. He hooked his thumbs into the waist of his
breeches and started to push them down. Something made him glance
over to where Eva stood staring, and he paused, one hip bare and
the fabric an inch away from revealing more of what she had only
glimpsed on the balcony the previous day.

"Do you need help stripping down?"

Eva was startled into looking up at his face,
and shrank further into the shadowy niche. His face was heavily
bearded, his one eye was puffed and blue-black. She had seen the
lashmarks on his back, the bruising across his shoulders, his
chest, even his hips.

Dante noted the horror in her eyes and
touched a finger to his eye. “We had a little trouble before we
came across your ship.”

“Did you win or lose?” she asked through a
shiver.

“As it happens, we won. Now… get out of those
wet clothes. We can talk more when your teeth stop rattling.”

Eva turned and used the blanket as a shield.
Her fingers were cramped like claws and shook so badly it took
three attempts before she was able to unlace her shirt and wriggle
out of it. The breeches were easier for they were the loose-fitting
canvas galligaskins worn by the sailors; they all but fell down
around her ankles when she loosened the rope she had used as a
belt.

As the galligaskins fell, she stole a glance
at the captain again, her cheeks burning at the thought he might be
completely naked and waiting for her to strip so he could rape her
senseless.

But he was paying her no attention
whatsoever. He had donned a clean dry shirt and snug black
breeches. By the time she managed to pull on the clothing he had
tossed her, he was slipping his arms into a sleeveless doublet and
stamping his feet into tall leather boots.

Her hair was stuck to her back in a long,
heavy, wet mass that instantly soaked through the new shirt. A
small sob caught in her throat as she tried to lift it free so she
could wrap the blanket around her shoulders, but the effort to
dress had taken the last of her strength.

She froze again as she felt hands at the back
of her neck. Dante stood behind her and gathered up the dripping
yellow mass, holding it away from the shirt as he draped a fresh
dry quilt around her shoulders. When she was warmly bundled, he
stepped back and wiped his hands repeatedly on his thighs as if he
had touched something unpleasant.

"Th-thank you, Captain," she stammered,
gathering the quilt closer.

"Whether you are welcome or not is yet to be
seen, Mistress—?"

"Mrs," she said quickly. It was a small lie,
hopefully forgivable under the circumstances. As a married woman
she might have a modicum more protection on board a ship full of
men. "Mrs. William Chandler."

Stubs appeared in the doorway, a grim look on
his face. "When the rain lets up, the crew won't be happy to see
she didn’t drown with the jolly boat."

"Well dammit, man, we
couldn't just stand by and do nothing." Stubs arched a gnarly
eyebrow and Dante amended his declaration with a grudging scowl.
"All right...
I
could not just stand by and do nothing."

"Sure as I've got two eyes, two ears, and an'
arsehole,” Stubs declared, “there will be them who think you
should’ve left her there. They’re already grumblin’ 'bout how she’s
a witch an’ all."

"Because a squall blew up?"

“Because they don’t want to be pukin’ up
their guts and shootin’ their bowels across the deck.”

Dante scowled and finished buttoning his
doublet. “Ease their minds. Inform the crew my cabin door will stay
locked and the girl and I will remain confined here until Podd sees
fit to release us. According to what she said, the fever spread
quickly and if touching her has infected me, I should show signs by
morning. In any case, you will have the helm for the next few
days."

Stubs rolled his tongue from one cheek to the
other. "Might not be enough to calm them."

Dante's eyes flashed. "It will have to be
enough. I am still the captain and this is still my damned ship and
any of the superstitious fools who disagree are free to lower away
a boat and seek their luck elsewhere."

"Aye, Cap'n." Stubs gave a wry cackle. "But
ye won’t mind if I take along a blunderbuss when I tell 'em
that?"

After a final glance in Eva’s direction,
Stubs backed out of the cabin and pulled the door closed behind
him. Gabriel stared at the carved arch for a long moment then went
to the sideboard and uncorked a tall green bottle filled with rum.
He poured some into a silver goblet, hesitated, then filled a
second goblet and set it on the desk within Eva’s reach.

"Drink," he ordered. "It will help warm you
until we can light the brazier."

He was right. The rum was strong and sweet
and sent a rush of much-needed heat flaring through her belly. Her
chin lifted slightly as the warmth spread. By the time she drained
the cup, her teeth stopped chattering and her fingers had lost some
of their blue tinge.

"I truly am sorry to be the cause of so much
trouble, Captain," she said softly.

Dante snorted. "There will only be trouble,
Madam, if I break out in pustules tonight and spit blood come
morning."

She flushed at his bluntness but then sighed,
realizing he was right. She set her empty goblet carefully back
onto the desk before clasping her hands tightly on her lap.

Dante's eyes narrowed.
Something about the way she sat, with her back straight and her
ankles touching, made him think of noble English estates and
courtly manners. Her hair was an oily stinking mess at the moment
and her face was gaunt from the ordeal on board the
Eliza Jane
, but her skin
was clear and smooth. Whoever she was, she was no common sailor's
wife.

He poured more rum into both of their goblets
then set the bottle down on the desktop. "Since we are to be in
close company the next few days, it behoves me to ask what business
brings you here to the tropics?"

"I came to find my fa—my husband, William
Chandler."

"To find him? He is lost?"

"Missing."

Gabriel tilted his head. "How long has he
been... missing?"

"He set sail from Portsmouth four years
ago."

"Four years? You've had no word from him
since?"

"I had letters from him three years ago, and
was shown proof that he was alive as recently as this Christmas
past."

"What kind of proof?"

"He was mentioned in another letter, by name.
It was written by someone who was travelling with him. In it he
said they were in New Providence arranging for supplies."

"Supplies for what?"

She shook her head, her answer guarded. "That
was all the letter said. I was hoping to find out more when we
arrived at New Providence."

"I gather that was where
the
Eliza Jane
was bound?"

"Captain Fitch inquired after him when we
stopped in Fox Town, but no one recognized his name."

Dante chuckled. "My dear lady, even if your
husband had been standing ten paces away playing a game of dice, no
one would have admitted seeing or knowing him. No one has names on
these islands; it is safer that way."

"He would be a difficult man to overlook.
Very tall, with yellow hair and... and only one eye now according
to the most recent account."

Dante touched a fingertip self-consciously to
his own left eye. The swelling had gone down enough that he could
keep it open a squint to see but the lid was still bulbous and
discolored, and he was just vain enough to wonder how he must look
to someone who drank tea out of tiny porcelain cups. "Men with one
eye, one arm, one leg are all men who have paid the butcher’s bill,
Madam, lost a limb or an eye or a nose to a cannon ball or sword or
pistol shot. They’re as common as gulls throughout the Main."

"I see. And are there an equal number of very
tall blond-haired men scattered throughout the islands?"

Dante’s mouth curved. "About as many as there
are tall yellow-haired women."

Something about the way his gaze roamed her
hair, then her neck, then the ill-concealed shape of her breasts
and waist made her belly take a slow, sliding roll end over end. It
reminded her, quite starkly, that she was a woman alone on a ship
full of strange men accustomed to taking what they wanted without
asking. "I am not particularly tall, Captain," she murmured,
gathering the blanket closer around her shoulders.

"Compared to the Arawak
natives and Spanish
senoritas
, you are. But tell me,
what do you intend to do when you find this man who is obviously
not in any hurry to be found?"

"I see nothing obvious about it, Captain
Dante."

"No? The loving husband leaves a beautiful
wife at home and is gone for four long years? Hardly sounds to me
like he is eager to leave these tropical waters and return to
hearth and home. Mind you, having been to Portsmouth on numerous
occasions myself, I can see why someone would prefer sun and white
sand to fog, rain, and the stench of over-filled gutters."

The rum sang through Eva's veins and
emboldened her tongue. "There could be a dearth of reasons why he
felt it not safe or not possible to write. And he would not abandon
his family or his business interests just to frolic in the sea and
sand."

Gabriel leaned against the bulkhead and
crossed his arms over his chest. "A dearth of reasons? Well-spoken,
with the manners and bearing distinct unto the aristocracy. My
future brother-in-law would be utterly charmed to meet another of
his ilk so far from home."

"Another of his ilk?"

"Aye. Varian St. Clare, His Grace the Duke of
Harrow. He also came to us blustering, full of words big enough to
make your eyes cross, and with his nose held so high he kept the
ceilings cleared of cobwebs. I have no doubt he will...ah..."

His voice trailed off and Eva saw that he was
staring at the open vee of her shirt. His gaze had been attracted
by the glitter of silver resting against her pale skin, and she
raised a hand, intending to draw the edges of the fabric closer. He
was in front of her before the gesture could be completed, his
fingers closing around her wrist to halt the movement.

"I thought I told you to
leave everything behind on the
Eliza
Jane
? That included trinkets."

Eva tried to pull away but he stood towering
over her with a face as dark as the storm clouds outside.

"This... trinket... belonged to my mother,"
she said. "It holds great sentimental value and I can assure you it
was scrubbed as clean as I scrubbed myself."

Dante boldly plucked the chain out of her
cleavage. Suspended on the end was a small round locket etched with
the ornate letter E.

"E?"

"Her name was Elizabeth, mine is Evangeline,"
she said breathlessly. "Eva, if you prefer."

“What I
prefer
, madam, is for people on
board my ship to do as they’re told. Those who don’t, find
themselves being dragged under the keel getting their skin scraped
off on the barnacles.”

She tried to pull back and put her hand above
his on the chain to dislodge it but in doing so, the locket
rattled, indicating there was something inside. Dante kept hold,
watching her face as he did so, seeing the flush ebb and flow in
her cheeks as her eyes touched his and darted away, touched again
and darted away.

It was not unusual for sailors to wear a gold
hoop in their ear to cover the cost of a decent burial. Dante
usually wore one, as did every member of his family and crew,
though none expected there would be anything decent left to bury if
they were caught by the Spanish or killed in battle. In fact, one
of the first things his recent captors had done was tear the hoop
out of Gabriel's ear to let him know he would end up being food for
the sharks.

He continued to study the girl. She
had lovely little pink earlobes. She was, in
fact, lovely and pink all over.

He had stolen one or two peeks himself while
she was dressing.

Eva tried to give another subtle tug on the
chain to dislodge the trinket from his hand, but he held
steadfast.