Captured

  Dominic was pleased. His men would be well paid for this voyage.

  “Is the petite Clare bedded and well?” Gaspar asked while he continued to stack and count. Esteban was entering the numbers into the ship’s tattered leather ledger.

  “No.”

  “No?” the men crowed in unison.

  Dominic knew they were about to flay him. “I’ve no need to bed unwilling women.”

  “Dios!” Esteban exclaimed, grinning in the half dark. “There is a woman on this earth able to resist the legendary charms of the House of LeVeq? Surely, you jest?”

  Dominic replied levelly. “Apparently, or so she professes.”

  “I say give her a few more days and she’ll be eating out of your hand,” Gaspar said, prying open the next strongbox.

  “I’m not so sure.”

  “Really?” Gaspar could not hide his surprise.

  “She’s a slave. Never even slept in a bed,” he told them, still trying to wrap his mind around that fact.

  “The life of a captive is not all cakes and tea,” James reminded him.

  “I’m aware of that, but you’ve seen her. Who would deny such beauty something as commonplace as a bed?”

  “Slavery is an ugly business, as we all know,” said Esteban.

  “True, and I suppose I shouldn’t be so outdone, but she speaks three languages besides English.”

  “And curses in them very well, I noticed.” Gaspar chuckled.

  Dominic smiled. “She presents a dilemma.”

  Esteban shrugged. “Offer her freedom, and maybe she will find you more to her taste.”

  “I did. She turned it down.”

  “She’s a content slave then?”

  “No, quite the contrary, but she wishes to return to her mistress.”

  “And her reasoning?” James asked.

  “She said better the devil she knows than one she does not.”

  “So, let her go if she is so unwilling,” Esteban tossed back.

  “No.”

  In the silence that followed, they all studied what they could see of his shadow-shrouded face.

  “And your reasoning?” Gaspar wanted to know.

  “In truth, I have none, other than wanting to know her story.”

  “Preferably while she’s in your bed.”

  That drew laughs and a shrug from Dominic. “That I cannot deny; however, I will not force my attentions on her. Who knows what degradations she’s already had to endure.”

  Gaspar offered sagely, “Slavery for one.”

  “Exactly. So I will bide my time, and if she continues to refuse me, c’est la vie.”

  “I don’t believe that for a moment,” James replied, “but I do know you to be an honorable man, Dominic.”

  “For a pirate,” Esteban added.

  More laughter.

  Dominic took no offense at their good-natured teasing because they were a brotherhood. Having sailed together for the past three years, they knew each other fore and aft, and would sacrifice their lives for the common good, if need be. “Did we incur any damage during the fight?”

  “Nothing significant,” Gaspar responded. “The long cannons we took from that Dutch ship last month are worth their weight in gold. They kept us well out of range of the British guns today. Be nice if we could get more.”

  Dominic agreed. “Maybe someone knows of another ship similarly equipped that’s willing to share. When we reach port, we’ll keep our eyes and ears open. Any significant injuries to any of the crew during the fight, James?”

  “Other than Watkins running into the mast, no.”

  Grins showed in reaction to that news.

  Dominic said, “He doesn’t usually participate in the fighting.”

  “And he wasn’t today. He was trying to escape to the frigate. Found him lying on the deck out cold.”

  Esteban asked, grinning, “You are going to release him when we reach home, aren’t you, Dominic?”

  “Only if we can find a replacement, and I pray we will. His constant whining rankles the crew.”

  “Well, he is here against his will, mon frere,” Gaspar pointed out.

  “And he’ll be paid generously for the inconvenience,” Dominic replied. Because ships were made of wood, one of the most valuable members of any crew was its carpenter, but with so many vessels on the water, there were not enough of the skilled men to go around. As a result when one was found, whether it be on an opposing ship or in an alehouse, he was asked to join. If he refused, then the tradition set forth by the British Navy was employed and the man was impressed. Thus was the case with Hugo Watkins. They’d taken him from a Portuguese slaver off the African Gold Coast four months ago, and he’d done nothing but complain since. He was an excellent carpenter, but Dominic and his men couldn’t wait to be rid of him. “I will leave you to the accounts. Give me a report in the morning on the totals. We’ll add the profits from the rebel guns to everyone’s share after they are sold.”

  Gaspar nodded. “Shall I again wish you luck with fair Clare?”

  “No.”

  Laughter accompanied Dominic’s exit but he smiled and ignored it.

  Back up on deck, the crew prepared themselves for the onset of the evening. Dominic went to the stern’s rail and looked out at the sun setting over the open water. He loved the sea. Be it dusk, dawn, or midday, the rolling waves and the sights and smells of the ocean fueled him like nothing else. His father had been a captain in the French Navy and Dominic had served as his aide. He’d been only thirteen on his initial voyage, but from the first day he drew the salty air into his lungs, he knew that sailing was what he’d been born to do. Since then, he’d swabbed decks, loaded cannons, climbed riggings, and been voted captain. No matter the job, as long as he had a ship rolling beneath his feet, he was content.

  Out on the horizon, seabirds flew against the dying sun. He grinned at the sight of a pod of dolphins racing beside the ship. Long day, he mused. Profitable, but long. The muskets they’d confiscated from the British frigate would go to a merchant who’d arrange for them to be turned over to the Continental Army, for a profit of course. The gold would be divvied up according to the percentages specified in the Marie’s articles, and once they reached home, the crew would all go their separate ways until the sea’s siren call lured them back to her watery embrace.

  Dominic had been answering that call for fifteen years in capacities both legal and non; mostly non. He was a wealthy man now in both fortune and property. His dear brother, Eduard, would undoubtedly foam at the mouth were he aware of how much his bastard half brother was truly worth, but Dominic had no plans to enlighten him, nor reveal the whereabouts of the families he’d planned to enslave. Eduard could rot in hell.

  The Marie’s bell rang the hour, refocusing his mind on the present. He wondered if his guest was sleeping. Thinking of her, he was again struck by her novelty, and he asked himself, why would a slave woman not want freedom? In truth, the answer she’d given had been logical, but he sensed something more at play. Did she have a lover she longed to return to? Was that the reason, or were her protestations about hating her privileged captivity nothing more than a lie? Because he didn’t have an answer, he spent a few moments trying to unravel the conundrum. His own mother, Marie, had been enslaved on the island of Martinique before being plucked out of the cane fields by his father to be his mistress. Antoine had loved her so deeply, he’d freed her, and nine months later, she gave birth to a son. She died when Dominic was twelve, but she’d loved him as he loved the sea; unconditionally and with every breath. Could anything have made her turn her back on the offer of freedom that day in the cane field?

  Thinking about her sent his mind back to Clare’s response when he asked about her children. Three words: They were sold. A grimness settled over his soul. Her children! That was it. Her children were somehow involved in her stance. He was as sure of it as he was of his mother’s love.

  And now his impetuous decision to take her from the fri
gate weighed even more heavily. He had no explanation as to why he’d done what he had. Yes, he was a pirate, but where other men of his profession made a practice of defiling women, he eschewed such behavior. With the bevy of women willingly raising their skirts for him all over the world there was no need for him to be so crude, yet he’d taken Clare. The sight of her on the deck of the British ship had been surprising enough, but the beauty of her face partially framed by the hood of her cloak took his breath away. By European standards her small nose was too wide, her lips too beguilingly lush, but by his standards just the sight of her stirred his manhood, and therein lay his humbling. She didn’t seem to care that he found her as attractive as the sun setting over the ocean. All she wanted was to go home, and now that he was fairly certain he knew the reason why, and because this was all his fault, it was his responsibility to get her there.

  Sighing, he looked up at the night sky. No moon. Good. If the British Navy was out trawling for privateer prey, the Marie wouldn’t be easily seen. Shivering slightly at the drop in the temperature, he left the rail. After paying his respects to the men on the night shift, he went to his quarters.

  Aided by the flame of the torch burning in the sconce outside his door, he quietly turned the key and opened the door. As he removed the torch to aid his sight in the darkness, his equally quiet entrance showed her asleep on the pallet. Her soft snoring barely ruffled the silence so he carefully closed the door behind him so as not to awaken her. Soundlessly crossing the room, he lit a few candles on the desk off the torch, then used its flame to fire the logs in the small stone hearth. Although the calendar showed it to be late April, the ocean was still cold at night, and the chill in the room reflected that.

  He doused the torch and set it on the hearth’s apron, then moved to the chair at his desk to sit and remove his boots. Glancing her way, he stilled. She was awake, sitting up watching him. Her hands were tightly clutching the cloak, and even in the shadows he could see the wariness and distrust in her face.

  “Good evening,” he said in hushed tones. “My apologies for waking you. I’d hoped I was being quiet.”

  She didn’t respond. As the seconds passed, the light from the fire in the grate had grown strong enough to quell some of the darkness enabling him to see her face and expression more clearly. She looked ready to flee so he sought to reassure her. “The room is cold. Why don’t you sleep in the bed. You’ll freeze with just the cape for covering.”

  “I’m fine.”

  He knew she was lying, even he was shivering in the chill. It bothered him that she was being so stubborn when his sumptuous bed could offer her both comfort and warmth.

  “I’ll not share your bed.”

  “That isn’t what I’m asking, pigheaded woman.”

  “Indulging in name calling is rather childish, don’t you think?”

  He sighed and then chuckled softly. Silently praying for strength, he offered her a gallant inclination of his head. “My apologies. My concern is for your comfort and warmth only.”

  “But the question remains. If I take the bed, where will you sleep?”

  “On the pallet. In a chair. It won’t be in the bed, so don’t worry.”

  “Is this a ploy to stoke my guilt?”

  Amazed and amused by her tenacity, he shook his head and responded, “No.”

  Waiting for her to react further, Dominic knew there and then that taking her home without learning just how truly fascinating she was would haunt him for the rest of his life.

  Clare wasn’t sure if he was telling her the truth but it didn’t much matter. She wouldn’t be changing her mind. Waking up in the dark and in unfamiliar surroundings had startled her, but as the memories of the day came rushing back, they were accompanied by the realization of how vulnerable she was by being alone with him in his quarters, so she remained on her guard.

  “So will you humor me and sleep in the bed?”

  Clare noted that he was handsome even in the dark. The firelight played off the strong lines of his dark features, the smoothed, tied-back hair, and the gold hoop hanging from his earlobe. Shaking her mind free of the distracting thoughts, she instead contemplated her reply. He was correct in his assessment of the room’s temperature. In spite of her heavy cloak the air in the room was cold, and although she was accustomed to discomfort she didn’t want to risk contracting a sickness. “Yes. I’ll sleep in the bed.”

  “Bon. And I’ll take the pallet.”

  Clare rose to her feet. The light from candles that must have been lit while she slept mingled with the crackling flares of the fire and gave the otherwise silent room a hushed glow. As he left his chair and slowly walked over to where she stood, wariness and something she couldn’t name increased her breathing. He came to rest before her and captured her with his shadowy gaze. Although she knew it was only her imagination, the heat of his body seemed to blend with hers. She forced herself to take in a deep breath to calm her now pounding heart.

  When he reached up to touch her cheek she leaned away. “Please, don’t,” she whispered.

  Hearing the anguish in her voice, Dominic dropped his hand. “I don’t mean to frighten you, Clare. It’s just—” How could he explain to her that he’d been moved by the play of the light flickering over the smoothness of her silken skin? He stepped back. “My apologies again. That seems to be all I’m doing this evening.”

  The unease in her face and in the way she was gripping her cloak caused him to say, and with passion, “I would never hurt you, petite. Never. Please don’t be frightened of me.”

  When she didn’t respond he told her, “I’m going to take you home.”

  Her surprise was plain.

  “I am. I’ve a responsibility to my crew first, but after—”

  “What changed your mind?”

  He shrugged. “You, and because it is my fault that you are here.”

  “Nothing more?”

  “Non.” He didn’t want to tell her about the conclusions he’d come to.

  Clare wasn’t sure she believed him. Did she dare hope he was telling her the truth, or was this just a ploy? “And your conditions?”

  “None.”

  Clare studied him. Because she didn’t know him well, it was impossible for her to tell by his eyes or manner if he was speaking truth, but she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. “I thank you then. I truly and honestly do.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “How long will your other duties with the crew take?”

  “A month at the most. After that, Gaspar and I will escort you home. Which is where?”

  “Savannah.” She thought about her children. The happiness filling her heart made her eyes shine with tears of relief. “Thank you,” she said again, this time with emotion. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure. So now to bed. We get up early on the Marie.”

  “Is that the name of the ship?”

  “Yes.”

  Dominic was pleased with her reaction to his news. He hoped it would help alleviate the fear and mistrust brought on by his impetuous actions. “If you’ll pardon me for a moment, I’ll take these sheets and replace them with the ones on your pallet.”

  Clare watched and waited while he went about the task of stripping the bed. Moments later, the sheets from the pallet were in place. He tossed the pillow she’d slept on onto the bed and bowed. “M’lady, your bed awaits.”

  “You’d do well as a lady’s maid, Captain.”

  “Only if the lady I serve is you.”

  His manner was light, but there was an underlying tone in his voice that touched her and caused her to wonder what it might be like to have such a man in her life. Had she been born in another time and place…Her thoughts trailed off. A woman like herself knew better than to envision any reality that softened or did away with the true circumstances of her life. To dream of another existence accomplished nothing.

  Dominic saw her mask slip, and for just a moment her myriad emotions became visible.
Before he could get a true handle on what she might be thinking, the barrier hiding her inner thoughts was firmly back in place and she was looking up into his eyes. Who are you, Clare Sullivan? he wanted to ask. What would you have your life be were you not a captive? “Your trunks are there if you wish to change out of your dress.”

  She went to her trunk and found it empty. All her clothing, which consisted of nothing more than two day dresses and her unmentionables, had been in the armoire when the frigate came under attack, and was apparently still there. Violet or whoever had directed Gaspar to her trunk hadn’t looked inside.

  She turned back to the captain. “All of my things are still on the frigate, so this dress is all I have to wear. It belongs to Violet and I’m certain she’ll want it returned in good condition, but it won’t be if I have to sleep in it.”

  “I have a nightshirt you may borrow, if you’d like.”

  “That might be best.”

  Dominic opened another trunk and withdrew a clean nightshirt. Since he preferred to sleep naked as Poseidon, the garment was clean. “It’ll probably cover you to your toes.”

  She took it from his hand. “Thank you.”

  “You can use the screen over there. I’ll step outside. Call me when you’re decent.”

  She nodded and he made his exit.

  Behind the screen, Clare hastily removed her gown. Leaving on her shift and stays, she pulled on the large cotton nightshirt. The captain’s assessment had been correct, it did indeed cover her to her toes, and its long sleeves hung past her fingertips and warmed her wonderfully. It had a slight smell of mildew as was to be expected on a seafaring vessel, she supposed, but the well-worn fabric felt good against her skin. The knowledge that she’d be going back to Savannah felt good as well, and the faces of her children filled her mind. She couldn’t wait to see them. Buoyed by her happiness, she covered herself with the cloak again and left the screen. After laying her gown over one of the chairs, she crossed the floor and climbed into the big four-poster bed. The quilts were fat and heavy, the mattress beneath her firm yet soft. Removing her cloak, she hung it on the bedpost. Pulling the quilts up to her chin, she called out for the captain to return.