Capture The Wind (6 page)

But when she closed her eyes and opened them again, she saw that Captain Turnower had turned his back on her and given the order for the boats to be launched. Men grabbed eagerly at the davits, not one of the
Scrutiny’s
crew so much as glancing in the direction of the two women tied to the mast.

Emily began to whimper, and Angela saw Captain Saber take a step forward again. Her heart pounded, and she hoped he would order Turnower to take them with him.

But he did not. Instead, he motioned for two of his own crew to come forward. Before Angela could give so much as a single protest, the thick ropes tying them to the mast were severed and they were pulled to their feet. To her surprise, her legs would not support her, and she swayed so that the pirate had to grab her. She was glad to see that it was not the one called Reed.

He grinned, his face pushed so close to hers that she recoiled. “Ho, me beauty—grab hold,” he said, still grinning. Angela had no time to protest before he lifted her and slung her over his back.

The swift pressure of his shoulder cutting into her middle pushed the air from her lungs, and she gasped for breath as she dangled over the pirate in an undignified heap. A glance upward showed her that Emily had suffered a similar fate. Doubling her hands into fists, Angela beat a protest on the pirate’s back as he swaggered past his captain toward the rail.

When he swung her to her feet, she drew in a deep breath, expecting to be flung overboard. Her breath exhaled in a rush when he swept her up again and leaped over the rail. There was a sickening moment of being airborne, and Angela let out a piercing scream as she was swung between the two ships. A yawning expanse of choppy gray waves swirled below, and she quickly squeezed her eyes shut. Then they landed with a jolt. Only when she felt the security of solid wood beneath her feet again did she open her eyes.

Emily appeared beside her as if dropped from heaven, her eyes wide and her hair in charming disarray around her plump shoulders. They clung weakly to one another, watching as pirates still on the
Scrutiny
swung aboard, then pushed the other ship away. Grappling hooks were disengaged, and the chasm between the ships grew larger.

Angela saw that the fire had raged higher aboard the
Scrutiny,
and now licked its way across the main deck. Smoke billowed in dark clouds, and sparks flew into the air. She thought of her trunk, the miniatures of her family, and the music box her father had given her. Unexpected tears stung her eyes, and she felt Emily shudder.

As they watched, the
Scrutiny
began to list. High-pitched sounds almost like human screams emanated from the ship, and halyards snapped and canvas tumbled in flaming sheets to the main deck. Though the decks were aflame, the mainmast still stood intact. Flames licked at it with a growing frenzy, and the ship listed sharply to the leeward side. With a mighty screech of wood, the doomed ship began to take on water more quickly.

Angela could see water pouring through the scuppers. For what seemed an eternity, she watched the death of the
Scrutiny.
Around her, the pirate crew bustled with cheer and chores, hauling lines and shouting orders in what seemed to her to be incomprehensible terms.

“Ready about!”

“Helm’s a-lee!”

The bow of the ship nosed about slowly, and canvas flapped loudly overhead as wind tugged at the sails. “Off tacks and sheets!” Lines creaked and whined, and there was a slithering sound as they hummed through sailors’ hands and tackles. Yards swung around slowly from the force of the wind, canvas sheets cracking. “Mainsail haul!” came the shout, and sails tautened under the press of wind and tightening lines.

Angela listened in a daze, barely aware of the alien sounds. In such a short space of time, her life and Emily’s had changed drastically. She had to think, had to safeguard them from the pirates as best as possible.

“Let go and haul!” rang out across the deck. Angela glanced upward to see the yards shift into line with the others, watching dully as men hauled on bowlines and braces to pull them taut, then began to coil the gear and hang it on the pins dangling neatly at the ship’s rails.

As the wind tugged at her loose hair and sent it in tangles around her face, she pulled it away and turned to look for the pirate captain. He was standing on the quarterdeck. His massive quartermaster stood next to him; a white cloth was bright against the dark skin of the quartermaster’s upper arm where he’d bandaged it.

A deafening roar startled her and she jumped. Emily let out a scream as the deck shuddered. Before this afternoon, Angela would never have recognized the source, but now she immediately knew the cause. One of the big guns belched a ball and flame over the water.

Angela moved to the rail, puzzled. Then she saw, out on the waves, the overcrowded jolly boats from the
Scrutiny.
Another gun boomed, and there was a faint whistling sound as the ball arced through the air then splashed into the water near the boats. Even at this distance, she could hear the faint screams and shouts.

Whirling around, she looked up at the quarterdeck and saw Captain Saber watching impassively.

“Stop them!” she screamed, flinging herself toward the five steps that led up to the quarterdeck. “They’re going to hit Turnower and his crew!”

Captain Saber gazed at her for a long moment, then shrugged. “That’s entirely possible.”

“That’s
 . . .
” Flabbergasted, she stared at him. “But you’ll kill them!” She took another step up, but he put out a hand to stop her.

“They didn’t seem too worried about you not so long ago. I thought I’d give them a taste of the same mercy they would have given you.”

“But
 . . .
” Another gun roared, and she whirled back around to stare in distress as one of the boats disappeared from view in a froth of foam and water plumes. She put her hands over her ears as if she could hear their screams. When a final shot boomed, she closed her eyes.

It didn’t help. She knew the image of those geysers of seawater and cannonballs would stay with her the rest of her life.

She opened her eyes to see the faintly amused gaze of the captain trained on her. Slowly lowering her hands from over her ears, she said distinctly, “You are as villainous as you have been named, Captain Saber. I would rather have drowned with the honest men of the
Scrutiny
than be left to your dishonorable mercy.”

“Would you?” His calm voice belied the hot, savage glitter in his eyes. “That can still be arranged if you’re feeling sufficiently suicidal.”

A flutter of fear caught in her throat. She tried to ignore it. “An honest death is preferable to a dishonorable life,” she said with a betraying quiver in her voice.

The captain came toward her, his blue eyes narrowed and his mouth a taut line. When he stood on the step just above her, towering over her, she held her ground despite legs that were trembling. Unable to look into his face, she fastened her gaze on the smooth brown column of his throat where it rose from the pristine folds of his white shirt.

“A noble sentiment from someone safely aboard a ship. I wonder how noble you would be if forced to choose between them,” he said in a harsh tone. “Shall we test your resolve, madam?”

Angela’s eyes shot to his face. He looked serious. And angry. She briefly regretted her mad impulse to rebuke him, and wondered if she could still retreat with a shred of dignity. She cleared her throat.

“Are you offering me a boat and freedom?”

He gave a harsh laugh. “No. But I will offer you the opportunity to seek an
honorable death,
if you insist. The rail is to your left. Be my guest.”

When she hesitated, paralyzed by fright and dread that she had once more spoken too quickly, he reached down and grasped her by one shoulder to spin her around and shove her toward the rail. She half stumbled over a coil of rope and was saved from sprawling onto the deck by Saber’s quick hand. He righted her, then gave her another shove toward the side rail.

Angela saw that she had gained the attention of some of the crew. She recognized several former members of the
Scrutiny
‘s crew standing at the rail, and wondered bitterly how they could have sunk so low as to join pirates.

Then she was at the rail, Saber’s unyielding hand at her back. “Shall I lift you over, or do you think you can manage it on your own?” he asked in a conversational tone. Her hands curled over the wide rail, fingers digging into the wood to hold on.

Wind whipped at her face. Sails snapped crisply, and sea water splashed up to mist the air as the hull sliced through gray-green waves. Her stomach lurched unpleasantly. She stared over the side rail at the churning sea rushing below. Death by drowning was said to be peaceful once one ceased struggling. Perhaps it was. Perhaps it would be better than whatever fate Saber might have in mind for her.

A feeling of despair washed over her. She gripped the rail more tightly. Her hat was awry. Loose hair whipped at her face, lashing in stinging wisps against her skin. She shifted as if to climb atop the rail, then paused. Panic swelled. It was a long way down to the water, and once over, there would be no retreat. White foam clustered on the dark waves, then scattered in lingering wisps of froth as the ship moved forward.

Sagging, she shook her head. Saber’s hand was still against her back, palm pressing into her spine as if to keep her at the rail. He released the pressure after a moment and, saying nothing, walked away. She heard his boots scuff over the wooden deck, heard him pause and give orders in a quiet voice, then he clattered down the hatch to go below.

For a long time, Angela stood at the rail contemplating her wretched cowardice and tenacious grip on life.

“Women voyaging aboard the
Sea Tiger.”
Turk shook his head. “I never thought to encounter such, Kit.”

“We’ll get rid of them in the first port we come to.” Kit poured a healthy amount of brandy into a snifter and handed it to Turk. He sat down behind his desk and held the decanter up to the fading light that streamed through the gallery windows across the stern. Light glinted in the cut glass container with tiny iridescent sparkles.

Turk rolled the delicate stem of his snifter between his large, blunt fingers, and frowned thoughtfully. “In retrospect,” he said after a moment, “there was little else that could be done. That scurrilous dog of a captain would have left them aboard the sinking ship.”

As Turk took a sip of brandy, Kit poured some for himself. “Yes, so it seems. Sheridan Shipping is to be commended for hiring such noble officers.”

A faint smile curved Turk’s broad mouth, and his dark eyes crinkled with amusement. “Why is it you can never resist the opportunity to point out the obvious deficiencies of Sheridan Shipping?”

It was merely a rhetorical question, and Kit knew it. Turk loved to hear his own rhetoric, an affection that often caused strife between them. Never serious. Turk had been his friend too long to ever let anything come between them.

Kit sipped at his brandy, the fumes as heady as the taste, and thought of the two young women he’d taken aboard. He didn’t even know their names. One was plump and nervous, making him think of a pretty sparrow. The other—beneath her bravado, she had the same regal haughtiness that he’d learned to despise in other women. He knew her type: cool, blond, arrogant. Oh yes, he knew her type well. Hadn’t women like her been a major cause of the most traumatic crises in his young life? He’d learned long ago to crush them, or run like hell before they created too much havoc in his life. This one, he suspected, would create a great deal of havoc if he was foolish enough to allow it. She was trouble, and he knew it.

Yet, recalling her frightened bravado, he wondered if there might be more to her than he’d first considered. A rueful smile curled his mouth as he remembered her instinctive reaction to his violent grip on her. Neatly done, if a painful lesson. He’d not thought such an obvious town miss would know anything about rough-and-tumble. He made a mental note not to underestimate her again. And to stay away from her as much as possible.