The Pirate Captain (75 page)

The two pirate ships crisscrossed each other’s path with drill-like precision, the
Capricorn
always in the middle. The maneuver allowed each to maintain their speed, the gun crews smoothly shifting from side to side as they carved their turns. The
Capricorn
found herself in the dubious position of having to maintain a two-sided barrage. The pounding from both sides would render her decks a hellish scene. Canvas and wood was no match for 12 to 18 pounds of hurtled iron. The
Capricorn
wasn’t without teeth, however. A volley carried away two of the
Morganse
’s jibs and rigging, another hitting her foreroyal.

The
Capricorn
finally swerved away from the
Morganse
. This time, she carried too much sail, too high. The wind heeled her over, until her chains plowed the water. Her crew scrambled to compensate, but not before canvas and yards were carried away. The
Morganse
took advantage of the resulting lull in the
Capricorn
’s headway to put her sails between the
Capricorn
and the wind.

“Well, he’s got ’er!” Thomas came up alongside Cate, and shouted to the helmsman, “Lay ’er in irons. Let’s see what this rabbit is going to do.”

The
Griselle
’s bow nosed to the wind and slid to a halt.

“Now what?” Unable to tear her eyes from the two ships, Cate could barely breathe the question.

His hands coming to rest on the weaponry at his waist, Thomas lifted one shoulder in a casual gesture. “Nathan sends a boarding party, finds what he seeks, and takes it.”

“Sounds easy enough.”

“It is, if the good captain there chooses to abide. If he opts to resist…” He paused, pursing his lips. “Aye, it could be a mite nasty.”

“Nasty?” Cate turned to glare up at him. “Nasty!”

“Hand-to-hand combat, blood on the decks; ’tis always nasty business.” He looked down at her with teasing glint and a wide grin. “Don’t worry! One wrong move and we’ll be on that ship like sharks on a carcass. Nathan knows what he’s doing.”

“People could be getting killed over there,” she called to Thomas’ back..

“Then don’t watch.”

“Damned pirates,” she muttered under her breath.

Thomas took his leave, his laugh carrying back to Cate as she pushed the hair from her face. The
Morganse
’s momentum had carried her slightly past her prey. Sails luffing, her bow came into the wind, and she drew to a halt. The
Capricorn
, for the most part, blocked Cate’s view of the
Morganse
. She saw the longboats pulled alongside, but little else.

“At the ready, mates, just in case she decides to do something else crack-brained,” Thomas called from somewhere behind her.

The ship being downwind, listening for gunfire wouldn’t serve. Arms clutched about her middle, Cate fondled the oddments on her bracelet like a rosary as she watched for the dreaded puff of smoke from a musket or pistol being fired.

Cate squinted to make out the
Capricorn
’s deck. Unable to see, she snatched the spyglass from the binnacle and snapped it open. Her sails now luffing, the
Griselle
pitched wildly, requiring Cate to brace against the rail before she could bring it into focus. At last, she found the Morgansers first by their strips of red: weapons brandished, as barbarous and wild-looking as that day on the
Constancy
’s deck. She held her breath and progressed incrementally along the line of familiar sea rogues, until she arrived at Pryce. Pistol and sword at the ready, his pose brought a chilling recollection of the first day she had met him.

Wherever Pryce stood, Nathan would be near. She moved the glass ever so slightly and found him, squarely before what appeared to be the
Capricorn
’s captain. She felt an odd pang of jealousy. Her own abduction hadn’t prompted such personal attention.

“Have they found what they seek yet?”

Cate looked up from the glass to find Thomas peering down at her, the late sun gleaming on the stubble of his cheeks.

“I don’t think so.” She put the glass to her eye once more. “It’s difficult to say. No, wait. I think I see a woman.”

A small
frisson
passed through her. She watched with a surge of sympathy at the misfortunate being snatched away. The terror and isolation she had suffered that day crawled like fingers into her chest and constricted.

Lifting the spyglass from her hands, Thomas looked for himself. “Aye, so it would seem.”

It was an all-too-familiar sight: the lick of flames and curl of smoke, as the Royal West Indies Mercantile Company flag was dropped over the side. It floated on the water for the barest of instants, and then sank.

“Nathan’s always loved to ram that stick into the hornet’s nest,” Thomas said, more for his own benefit. “Damn his soul, he hasn’t learned yet, has he? One of these days, his luck is going to run out.”

Cate rubbed her arms to press down the gooseflesh. She couldn’t disagree.

“We’ll be making weigh soon. Mr. Al-Nejem,” Thomas called, turning away.

The entire affair seemed to have taken forever in the coming, and then was over so quickly, it almost seemed a figment of the imagination. Within what felt like barely the flip of the glass, the
Morganse
’s longboats had pushed off, and the chastened and battered
Capricorn
filled her sails. The
Morganse
stood, until the
Capricorn
was well away, then pirouetted and spread her wings to go back through the Straits.

“Bring ’er about!” Thomas bellowed.

The
Griselle
turned, found her wind, and fell in behind the
Morganse
.

“Just stay in her wake,” was Thomas’s only directive to the helmsman. “When she’s hauling wind, there’s no catching her. We’ll be a spot astern in no time.”

Through the day, the
Morganse
’s course paralleled a sharply peaked strand of islands. The
Griselle
, her decks a furor with the activity of putting her to rights, followed her ever-diminishing pyramid of sails. It was late afternoon when the
Morganse
made her turn, now no more than a white patch pricking the line where sky and water met. By the time the
Griselle
cleared the reef and stood into the small bay, her shadow was long and distorted on the water. The
Morganse
was settled on her moorings, wings folded, roosted for the night. In need of room to swing on her anchors, the
Griselle
tucked into the opposite corner and settled.

The deck lamps were being lit when Thomas appeared to invite Cate to his cabin.

“Cook says he’s got a bit o’ supper for us,” he said, a light hand at her waist. “I don’t desire you to go back to the
Morganse
hungry.”

Cate stopped short. “The
Morganse
?”

Thomas laughed while urging her onward. “Nathan will be here within the glass, two at the most, you mark my words. I wish you a decent meal before you’re obliged to face his ranting, because, if I know Nathan, he’ll be spouting all night.”

She sagged in the doorway. “Thomas!”

He grinned boyishly over her shoulder. “You like it?”

The room was awash in the waxen glow of candlelight. Candelabras and sconces sat on every surface that might support one. So many setting about would have been considered a hazard, if not at anchor; it was a vast extravagance. The focal point was the table, bracketed by a pair of candelabras, towering nearly as high as Thomas’ head, with multiple tiers and arms.

“Madam,” he said softly. The candles sparked on the tease in the lake-blue eyes as he offered a chair.

Still grinning with pleasure, he made a dramatic show of pouring her a glass of wine. He filled his own and sat. The candlelight shone on his freshly shaven cheeks. Dark streaks of wetness ran through the blond hair, smoothed and tied in its leather thong.

“If you liked last night’s meal, you’re going to love this one.” He lifted his glass, his eyes holding hers. “To lovely ladies who don’t know their own strength.”

The candles shot orange scintillas through the wine as she sipped. The previous night’s meal had been a simple affair, with worn china and serviceable silver. Now, the glass from which she drank was delicate stemmed crystal, etched with motifs of cherubs and vines. The silver was ornate and had been brought to a brilliance that was achieved only hours through of polishing with chalk. The plates were porcelain and, like the glass, gold-rimmed. All was formally arranged on a white damask cloth. The air was heavy, but not with the usual smell of tallow candles, nor oil or fat lamps. It was sweet with the scent of beeswax and bayberry, another gran1d extravagance.

“How did you come by all of this?” she asked, marveling not only at the miraculous transformation, but the finery itself.

“Pirate!” Thomas offered the word with the same insouciant air as Nathan.

“What’s the occasion?” she asked, raising a suspicious brow.

The question was met with wide-eyed innocence over the rim of his glass.

Against the backdrop of rapping carpenter’s mallets, adzes, and chisels outside, the meal was served by a doe-eyed and solemn cabin boy named Maram, and Youssef. Each remove was brought with seamless grace befitting a formal dining room. The first course was a red fish fried to delicate crispness. The second was a dish consisting of chicken and lemons, pungent with spices. The first bottle of wine was soon gone, the level of the second severely diminished. Dessert was a compote of fruits, fresh and dried, steeped in brandy and fragrant with more spices.

“You don’t eat like this all the time, do you?” Cate leaned back from the table in glorious agony.

“No, this is just for
special
guests.” The candelabras framing the table mantled Thomas’ head and shoulders in a gloriole of molten gold. He sighed, resigned. “Tomorrow I’ll be back on rice, bread, and lentils.”

Thomas had the speech and air of being well bred. His casual ease at table etiquette was further proof of that. Cate clandestinely eyed him and wondered what privileged life he had lived before becoming a pirate.

He produced another port from the cabinet. Different from the night before, this one was more robust, with a smoky chocolate aftertaste.

“Oh!” he exclaimed and rose once more. “I have something.”

He rummaged briefly in a corner locker and returned with a small bundle of blue silk, the corners knotted at the center.

“Open it,” he said, eagerly placing it before her. Unable to contain his enthusiasm, he pushed her hands away to loosen the knot. “Go ahead—now,” he said, and slid it back.

The slippery silk almost undid itself. It fell away to reveal a pair of hair combs. These were particularly large, with teeth almost as long as her fingers, putting her to mind of the Spanish
mantillas
. Buffed to a low sheen, they were a swirl of translucent layers of every shade of brown, from sable, to cinnamon, to gold.

“Thomas, they’re beautiful,” she exclaimed, tracing the intricate curves and cutwork.

“One of the crew is fair handy with a carving knife and knows the way of working with shell. I had them made for my sister, but it could be years before I ever see her again. It’s a hornbill; they’re lousy eating, but the shells are worth it.” Leaning over her shoulder, he ran an admiring finger along one edge. “Nice, aren’t they?”

Nathan’s necklace and bracelet, and the sliver of soap were the only gifts she had received in a very, very long time. Such generosity, coupled with the evening, touched her to the point of speechlessness.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like them. They’re too lovely for me.” It was difficult to believe anything so beautiful could have come from something so innocuous an animal.

“Nonsense! I’ve watched you struggle with that hair. Nobody needs these more than you do.”

Cate raised a self-conscious hand, the room suddenly warm. The swim with Nathan had been glorious, the closest to washing her hair in months. The hot water had removed the grime and salt, and now it bloomed into a riotous bramble.

“Here, allow me,” Thomas said, too anxious to wait. He fanned his fingers like giant combs and swept them through the unruly tresses. The large, blunt-tipped fingers worked away the tangles and snarls with surprising adroitness. Her pulse quickened at the unexpected warmth of his fingers following the curve of her skull, brushing her neck and temple.

“You’ve done this before,” she teased. “Most men wouldn’t be caught dead attempting to arrange a woman’s hair.”

“As I said, I had four sisters; it was either do it or be thrashed.” There was a smile in his voice.

Once worked out to his satisfaction, Thomas gave the heavy locks a deft upward twist, and pressed a comb into place.

“Goes perfect with your color,” he declared, standing back to admire his work. “Hand me the other one and I’ll get this side.”

Thomas preceded in much the same manner, but stopped in mid-motion. Puzzled, Cate looked up to find his gaze fixed on the door behind her. Twisting around, she saw Nathan standing there. He stood uncommonly still, the walnut eyes gone to coal-colored pits.

“Nathan!” She tried to come full around, but was prevented by Thomas’ grip in her hair. “Why didn’t you say something? You could scare a soul lurking about like a bloody ghoul.”

“I didn’t desire to intrude. Unexpected company can be such a wretched inconvenience, don’t you think?” Nathan said coldly.

“Nonsense,” Thomas declared jovially. “Pray join us. We were just having supper. Hungry?”

It was a bit of an empty offer, as Nathan probably saw. The cloth had long been pulled. It was unthinkable that friend or guest would go wanting, if Nathan was so inclined, which by all appearances, he was not.

At last Nathan moved. With a cat-like smoothness, not a bell disturbed, he strolled around the table, each dip of his hip a stabbing accusation. “Nay, I seem to have left me appetite somewhere.”