Читать книгу The Prize - Бренда Джойс, Brenda Joyce - Страница 11

Late May, 1812

The High Seas

THEY WERE BEING ATTACKED!

Virginia knelt upon her berth, her gaze glued to the cabin’s only porthole, gripping a strap for balance as the ship bucked wildly in response to the boom of more cannons than she could count. She was in shock.

It had all begun several hours ago. Virginia had been told that they were but a day away from the British coastline, and that, at any time, she might soon see a gull wheeling in the cloudy blue skies overhead. Soon afterward, a ship had appeared upon the horizon, just a dark, inauspicious speck.

That speck had grown larger. She was racing the wind—the Americana was tacking slowly across it—and it appeared that the two ships would soon cross paths.

Virginia had been taking sun on the ship’s single deck and had quickly become aware of a new tension in the American crew. The ship’s commander, an older man once a naval captain, had trained his binoculars upon the approaching vessel. It hadn’t taken Virginia long to realize they were worried about the identity of the approaching ship.

“Send up the blue-and-white signal flags,” Captain Horatio had said tersely.

“Sir? She’s flying the Stars and Stripes,” the young first officer had said.

“Good,” the captain had muttered. “She’s one of ours, then.”

But she wasn’t. The frigate had sailed within fifty yards of them, maneuvering herself to the leeward side so she rode below the Americana, when the red, white and blue American flag had disappeared, replaced by nothing at all. Virginia had been ordered below. The crew had scrambled to the ship’s ten guns. But Virginia hadn’t even made it to the ladder when a cannon had boomed once, loudly but harmlessly, the ball falling off to the side of the stern.

“Americana,” a voice boomed over the foghorn. “Close your gun ports and prepare to be boarded. This is the Defiance speaking.”

Virginia froze, clinging to the dark hatch that would take her below, glancing back at the other ship, a huge, dark, multimasted affair. Her gaze instantly found the treacherous captain. He stood on a higher, smaller deck, holding the horn, his hair blindingly bright, as gold as the sun, a tall, strong figure clad in white britches, Hessian boots and a loose white shirt. She stared at him, briefly mesmerized, unable to tear her gaze away, and for one moment she had a very peculiar feeling, indeed.

It was indescribable.

As if nothing would ever be sane or right again.

Time was suspended. She stared at the captain, a creature of the high seas, and then she blinked and there was only her wildly racing heart, filled with panic and fear.

“Hold your fire,” Captain Horatio cried. “Do not close the gun ports!”

“Captain!” the first officer cried with panic. “That’s O’Neill, the scourge of the seas. We can’t fight him!”

“I intend to try,” Horatio snapped.

Virginia realized there would be no surrender. She needed a gun.

She glanced wildly around as the captain of the Defiance repeated his demands that they surrender to be boarded. An interminable moment followed as the crew of the Americana hastily prepared to fire. And suddenly the sea changed. A huge blast of too many cannons to count sounded, the Defiance firing upon them. The placid seas swelled violently as the ship bucked and heaved, hit once or many times—Virginia could not know—and as someone screamed, she heard a terrible groaning above her.

She turned and glanced upward and cried out.

Horatio was yelling, “Fire!” but Virginia watched one of the Americana’s three masts and all its rigging toppling slowly over before crashing down on several gunners. Several cannons now fired again from the Defiance, but not in unison. Virginia didn’t hesitate. Lifting her skirts, she raced to the fallen men. Three were crushed and alive, one was apparently dead. She tried to heave the mast, but it was useless. She grabbed a pistol from the murdered sailor and ran back to the hatch that led below.

She could not breathe. She scrambled down and into the tiny cabin that she shared with the merchantman’s only passengers, a middle-aged couple. In the small, cramped and dark space below, Mrs. Davis was clutching her Bible, muttering soundlessly, her face stark with terror. Virginia had glimpsed Mr. Davis on deck, trying to help the wounded.

Virginia gripped her arm. “Are you all right?” she demanded.

The woman gazed at her with wild terror, clearly unable to hear her or respond.

More cannons boomed and Virginia heard wood being ripped apart as they were clearly hit again. Virginia leapt onto her narrow berth, grabbing a hanging strap for balance, and stared at the attacking ship through the porthole. The Americana lurched wildly, and she was almost tossed from the bunk.

How could this be happening? she wondered wildly, aghast. Who would attack an innocent, barely armed and neutral ship?

Mrs. Davis began to sob. Virginia listened to familiar prayers and wished the woman had remained silent.

What would happen next? What did that terrible captain want? Did he intend to sink the ship? But that would not make sense!

Her gaze moved instinctively back to the quarterdeck where he stood so motionlessly that he could have been a statue. He was staring, she knew, at the Americana, as intent as a hawk. What kind of man could be so merciless, so ruthless? Virginia shivered. Officer Grier had referred to him as the scourge of the seas.

Then she stiffened with real fear. The Defiance’s decks, a moment ago, had been frenzied with activity. Now the gunners at the cannons and the men in the masts were still. The only activity was a number of sailors climbing down into two rowboats that were tied to the frigate’s hull. Her gaze flew back to the captain with real horror; he was sending a boarding party.

Now the Americana had become eerily quiet. Virginia already thought that Captain Horatio would not surrender, and nor would she, if she were in command. She checked the pistol to find it primed and loaded.

“Dear Father who art in Heaven,” Mrs. Davis suddenly cried. “Have mercy on us all!”

Virginia could not stand it. She turned and seized the other woman’s arm savagely, shaking her hard. “God isn’t here today,” she cried. “And he sure as hell isn’t going to help us! We’re being boarded. They must be pirates. We are losing this battle, Mrs. Davis, and we had better hide.”

Mrs. Davis clutched her Bible to her bosom, clearly paralyzed with fear. Her mouth moved wildly now, forming words, but no sounds came.

“Come,” Virginia said more kindly. “We’ll hide down below.” She knew there were lower decks and hoped they could find some small cranny to hide in. She tugged on the other woman. But it was useless.

Virginia gave up. Pistol in hand, she climbed back to the main deck and saw the first of the rowboats approaching. O’Neill stood in the bow behind his men, his legs widely braced against the seas. Virginia hesitated. Why the hell wasn’t anyone shooting at him?

If she had a musket, he’d now be dead.

Her fingers itched, her palms grew clammy. She didn’t know what range the pistol she held carried, but she did know it wasn’t much. Still, he was getting closer and closer and why wasn’t Horatio firing upon him?

Virginia could not stand it. She rushed to the rail and very carefully, very deliberately, took aim.

With some finely honed instinct, perhaps, he turned his head and looked right at her.

Good, she thought savagely, and she fired.

The shot fell short, plopping into the sea directly before the rowboat’s hull. And she realized had she waited another minute or two for him to travel closer, she would have got him after all.

He stared at her.

Virginia turned and ran around the first hatch to the one that the seamen used. She scrambled down the ladder, realized she was in the sailors’ cramped, malodorous quarters—she was briefly appalled at how horrid they were—when she saw another hatch at the far end of the space. She lifted that and found herself descending even lower below the sea.

She didn’t like being below the ocean. Virginia couldn’t breathe and panic began, but she fought it and she fought for air. Not far from the bottom of this ladder was an open doorway, through which was utter darkness. Virginia wished she’d had the wit to bring a candle. She went cautiously forward and found herself in a small hold filled with crates and barrels. Virginia crouched down at the far end and realized she still held her pistol, now useless, because in the midst of battle she hadn’t thought to grab any powder and shot.

She didn’t toss it aside. Her eyes adjusting to the darkness, she reversed it, holding the barrel now in her right hand.

Then her knees gave way. He had seen her take a shot at him.

She felt certain of it. She felt certain that the expression on his face had been one of utter surprise.

Of course, she hadn’t been able to make out his features, so she was guessing as to his reaction to her sniper attempt, and if she were very lucky, he hadn’t seen that miserable shot.

What would happen now?

Just as Virginia realized that the puddle of water she had been standing in was slightly higher—and she prayed it was her imagination—she heard shots begin: musket fire. Swords also clashed and rang. Her gut churned. The pirates had clearly boarded. Were they now murdering the crew?

And what was her fate to be?

She was seized with fear. Her first thought was that she might be raped.

She knew what the act entailed. She’d seen horses bred, she’d seen slaves naked as children, and she could imagine the gruesome act. She shivered and realized the water was ankle deep.

Then she stiffened. The gunfire and sound of swords had stopped. The decks above were eerily silent now. Good God, could the battle already be over? Could his men so quickly subdue the American ship? Virginia estimated the Americana held about a hundred sailors. The deathly silence continued.

If he hadn’t seen her, maybe he would loot the ship and sail straight back to the hellish place he had come from.

But what would he do if he had seen her attempt to shoot him?

Virginia realized she was trembling, but she told herself it was from the frigidly cold water, which was almost calf deep.

Would he kill her?

She told herself that murdering an innocent eighteen-year-old woman made no sense, although if one were a ruthless, mercenary pirate, she supposed that attacking a trading ship that was carrying cotton, rice and other merchandise was rational, indeed. So maybe there was hope.

For once, Virginia gloried in the fact that she was so skinny she was often mistaken for someone about fourteen, and that her face was too small, too pale, her hair utterly unruly. Thank God she did not look like Sarah Lewis.

Virginia froze.

Footsteps sounded directly above and to the right of her head. Virginia began to shake. Someone was traversing the hold where the sailors slept, just as she had in order to find her hiding place. Trembling again, unable to stop it, she glanced at the hatch she had come through. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, but still there was nothing she could see on the other side where the ladder from the upper deck was.

Wood creaked.

Virginia closed her eyes. After all the days she had been at sea, Virginia had become accustomed to the sounds of the ship—its moans and groans, the soft sigh and slap of the sea. She did not have to debate to know that this sound was not a natural one and that someone was coming down that ladder.

Sweat trickled between her breasts.

She gripped the pistol more tightly, holding it in the folds of her skirts.

He was coming down that ladder, she simply knew it.

On the other side of the hatch, light flickered from a candle.

Virginia blinked, sweat now blurring her vision, and made out a white form on the other side of the hatch, holding up the candle, turning slowly and thoroughly assessing the space there. She couldn’t breathe and she feared suffocation.

He stepped through the hatch.

Virginia didn’t move because she could not. He held up the candle, saw her instantly and their gazes locked.

Virginia could not look away. This man was the ruthless monster responsible for numerous deaths; she was not prepared for the sight of him. He had the face of a Greek god come down from Mount Olympus—dangerously, disturbingly handsome—high planes, hard angles, piercing silver eyes. But that face—the face of an angel—was carved in granite—and it was the face of a sea devil instead.

He was also far taller than she had assumed—she knew her head would just reach his chest—and broad-shouldered, his hips lean. His legs, while impossibly muscular from the days he spent riding the sea, were encased in bloody britches. Blood covered his white linen shirt as well. He wore a sheathed sword, a dagger was in his belt, but otherwise, she saw no other weapon.

Virginia bit her lip, finally breathing, the sound loud and harsh in the small space they now shared. She did not have to know anything else about this man to know that he was cruel and ruthless and incapable of kindness or mercy.

He broke the tense silence. “Come here.”

She remained standing beside a number of piled-up crates. She wasn’t sure she could obey even if she wished to—she wasn’t sure that she could move. Virginia finally understood Mrs. Davis’s paralyzing fear.

“I am not going to hurt you. Come out.”

His tone was one of authority—she sensed he was never disobeyed. Virginia continued to stare into his cold eyes—she was incapable of looking away—as if hypnotized. He looked angry. She saw it now, because he was glancing at all of her—her mouth, her hair, her small waist, her sodden skirts—and his eyes were turning stormy gray, his jaw was flexed, his temples ticking visibly. It was very clear he did not care for the sight of her.

She took another huge breath, seeking courage, her hand holding the pistol behind her back, in the folds of her navy-blue skirts. Virginia wet her lips. “What—what do you want?”

“I want you to come here, as I never give an order twice, and this is the third time.” Impatience edged his voice.

Virginia realized there was no choice. But stubbornly, childishly, she wanted reassurance from the least reassuring human being she had ever had the misfortune to meet. “What are you going to do with me?” she asked hoarsely.

“I am taking you to my ship,” he said flatly.

He was going to abuse her—rape her. Virginia willed herself to stop shaking, but the trembling refused to cease. “You have just attacked an innocent ship,” she managed to say hoarsely. “But I am a young, defenseless woman, and I ask mercy of you now.”

His mouth curved into a smile at once mirthless and merciless. “You will not be harmed,” he said.

She started. “What?”

“Does that disappoint you?” he asked.

She stared, stunned, trying to determine whether to believe him or not. Then she realized she should not believe him, because he was a murderer, which meant he must be a liar as well. “I am not going to your ship of my own free will,” she heard herself say.

His eyes widened in real surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

She tried to back up, but there was nowhere to go, and the wood crates dug into her back and her hand as it held the pistol.

Suddenly he laughed. The sound was raw, as if laughter was hard for him. “You dare to disobey me, the captain of this ship?”

“You are not—” she began, and bit her lip, hard. Do shut up, she told herself.

His smile was hard, his eyes colder than a block of ice. “I beg to differ with you. I am the captain of the Americana, as I have seized her and she has surrendered to me.” And then he started for her. “I also have no patience. We have a fine nor’easter,” he said, as if that explained everything.

Virginia didn’t move, planning to strike him over the head with the pistol when he reached her side. But he was so tall, she would never succeed in wielding that blow. She glanced between his legs and decided to strike him there.

The space was so small in the hold that two of his hard strides closed the distance between them. Virginia’s heart was banging so rapidly in her chest that it hurt. She stiffened as he reached for her, and as his large hand closed over her left arm, she swung the pistol at him.

He had the reflexes of a wild beast. He leapt aside, the butt of the gun grazing one rock-hard thigh, which it actually bounced off. His grip tightened on her arm and she cried out.

“That, mademoiselle, was distinctly unladylike.”

Tears filled her gaze in a rush.

“But should I expect more from a vixen who thinks to shoot me?” he demanded.

She blinked and looked into pale, opaque eyes. So he knew. The adage was that the eyes were a window to the soul. If that was so, this man was soulless. “What are you going to do with me?” she whispered roughly.

“I told you. You will be transferred aboard my ship.” He removed the pistol from her grip, tossing it aside. He gestured at the ladder in the other hold, never releasing her arm.

Virginia didn’t move. “Why? I’m not pretty.”

He started, then his gaze narrowed with comprehension. “Why? Because you shall be my guest, Miss Hughes.”

She gasped at the sound of her name and real fear flooded within her. An instant later, her shrewd wit saved her—he had surely just learned her name from the captain or his crew. “My guest? Or your victim?” she whispered.

“God, you are defiant for such a little wench!” He moved her forward and her feet had no choice but to rise and fall, the one after the other. Her sodden skirts quickly tangled, making it hard to keep her balance. “Can you climb the ladder or do I have to throw you over my shoulder?” he asked.

But she had no intention of being manhandled by him until there was no other choice. Still, she heard herself say, “Captain, sir! I am on my way to London—my business is most urgent—you must let me continue on!”

He reached for her, clearly intending to hoist her into his arms, obviously devoid of any more vestiges of patience.

Virginia whirled, grabbed the ladder, gripped her skirts and scrambled upward. But she heard no movement behind her and suddenly she had an awful notion. On one of the top rungs, she paused and glanced down.

He was studying her calves and ankles, fully revealed in her frilly pantalettes. There was an odd look in his eyes and it made her heart skip wildly in fear.

His gaze lifted. “I haven’t seen a woman in pantalettes in years.”

Her color increased and a cruel comment made by Sarah Lewis when she had been in school in Richmond flashed through her mind: “Virginia, I hate to be the one to tell you, but those things are not in fashion anymore!”

The heat in her cheeks increased. She realized he had begun to climb up and she scrambled out of the hatch and into the hold where the ship’s crew slept.

She gagged as she hurried through, acutely aware of her captor an inch behind her, giving her no chance to escape. But she would have to escape, and soon, wouldn’t she? It was that or become reduced to being his whore.

Another ladder faced them. Virginia did not want to climb up first. The pirate lightly pressed her forward. “Go up, Miss Hughes.”

She dared to face him. “It is clear you are no gentleman, sir, but keep your eyes to yourself.”

An incredulous look crossed his face, followed by amusement, and for one moment, Virginia expected him to chuckle. “Miss Hughes, I am not interested in your charms.”

“Good,” she snapped, as her temper suddenly reared. “Then you can leave me on this ship and let me continue on my way while you rape someone else.”

He stared at her for a long, tense moment. “I told you that you would be my guest.”

“And I am to believe a murderer?”

His jaw flexed. “You may believe as you will, but I am not in the habit of raping my guests. Frankly, I am not in the habit of rape at all. Go up the ladder.”

“Then why?” she asked, confused.

“I am very tired of your insolence, Miss Hughes.”

Virginia saw that here, at least, was the unfettered truth. She hoisted her skirts and scrambled up, and this time she made certain she did not look back.

Above, clouds were scudding in the blue sky and the stench of death was everywhere. Virginia choked upon seeing five corpses of American sailors laid out neatly in a row, clearly about to be tossed out to sea. One of them was dear Captain Horatio. She fought genuine tears. He had been more than kind to her—he had, in an odd way, reminded her of her own father.

The rest of the American crew was shackled. Then she saw Mr. and Mrs. Davis, holding each other. She turned abruptly, suddenly furious.

“What will you do with Mr. and Mrs. Davis? Are they to be your guests, as well?” Her tone was filled with loathing and sarcasm.

“No.” He wasn’t even looking at her now. “Mac! Gus!”

A brawny seaman armed with two pistols, each tucked into his belt, two daggers and a sword hurried forward, followed by a slender blond lad, also heavily armed. Both men bore their share of blood, not their own. “Cap?” the redhead asked quickly.

“Gus will take Miss Hughes to the Defiance. Make certain that her bags accompany her. Issue the following orders—no one is to speak to her, look at her or acknowledge her in any way. She is my personal property, and as far as the crew is concerned, she does not exist. Am I clear?”

Mac nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Gus nodded grimly as well. Neither man looked her way, not even once.

Virginia choked in disbelief. She was his personal property? “I thought I was your guest!” she cried.

The captain ignored her, as did Mac and Gus. “Mac, you captain this ship,” the golden-haired pirate said. “Sail her to Portsmouth. We’ll take our bounty from the prize agent there. Drogo, Gardener and Smith will stay on board to crew for you. Handpick ten others. I will be following,” he said.

Mac blinked. “Yer comin’ with us to Portsmouth?”

He clapped a hand on Mac’s broad shoulder. “Our plans have changed,” he said flatly. “You will rejoin the Defiance in Portsmouth.”

“Yessir.”

Virginia, listening intently and watching closely, felt her heart sink. Why were his plans changing? She prayed that it had nothing to do with her.

And what did he intend to do with her? It crossed her mind then that she was well enough dressed for him to be thinking of ransoming her. On the other hand, Mrs. Davis was the one with the pearl necklace, the diamond rings and the expensive clothing.

The pirate said, “Mr. and Mrs. Davis, I suggest you go down to your berth. We have a fine nor’easter and we’re setting sail immediately. You will be allowed to disembark in Portsmouth.”

Clearly in terror, the Davis couple rushed past the pirate and disappeared into the hold below.

Now Virginia had a very bad feeling indeed. Why wasn’t he robbing Mrs. Davis? Her rings were worth thousands of dollars. A new fear—and a new dread—filled her.

The pirate started away.

“Captain O’Neill, sir?” Gus hurried after him.

O’Neill didn’t stop. “You may address Miss Hughes for the sole purpose of finding the location of her bags and escorting her to my cabin, Gus.” He did not look back at Virginia, not even once. He leapt onto the higher portion of the deck where clearly many of his cannons had done a great deal of damage to the middle mast and sails. Several pirates seemed to be about to attempt repairs to the rigging there.

“Lash the mainmast,” he commanded. “There’s good canvas below. Replace the main staysail. The rest can be patched. Put everyone on it. You have one hour and we set sail. I will not lose this wind.”

Virginia stared at his tall, arrogant figure, until she realized that someone was speaking to her.

“Miss Hughes, please, this way, Miss, er, Hughes.”

Virginia turned and faced the blond man, who seemed younger than herself. His cheeks were flushed and he was not looking at her, clearly taking his captain’s orders very seriously, indeed. “Where are we going?”

Still gazing past her shoulder, he said, “To the Defiance. Where are your bags?”

“In the cabin below,” she said, hardly caring about her baggage.

Gus turned, grabbed another young sailor, and sent him below for her luggage. Virginia found herself at the railing where a dinghy waited for her in the swells below. She hesitated, filled with desperation now.

He had said he would not hurt her. She didn’t believe him. She would be a fool to believe him. She dismissed the notion that he intended to ransom her, for he hadn’t looked twice at the wealthy Davis couple. What did he want? What could he possibly want?

The Atlantic Ocean was silvery gray, far darker than his eyes, and it looked as immensely threatening. One false step and she would be immersed in its frigid watery depths. It crossed her mind that another woman would jump to a watery death, saving herself from any further abuse.

She gripped the rail tightly. She had no death wish, and only a fool would choose suicide over life—any kind of life.

“Do not even think about it,” he said, landing catlike by her side.

Virginia flinched and met his brilliant gray eyes.

He stared back and he was very angry, indeed.

Virginia reminded herself to never forget that this man had acute senses—that he did not miss a thing—that he almost had eyes in the back of his head. Perversely, she said, low and almost as angry as he, “If my wish is to jump, the time will come when you will not be able to stop me.”

And he smiled. “Is that a challenge or a threat?”

She inhaled, struck hard by his look, his tone, his words. Something odd happened then. He was standing so close, he was so tall, so virile, so in control, and with the comprehension that he would not allow her to die came a breathless sensation and a fiery tingling to her every nerve. She backed away instantly, nervously, suddenly awash in confusion.

“Get her to the Defiance. And if she even looks at the water, blindfold her,” he snapped to Gus.

Virginia stared. He stared back. In that moment she knew that in any battle that ensued between them, she simply could not win.

Male arms lifted her over a hard shoulder. She cried out, but it was too late, for Gus was climbing down the rope ladder to the dinghy, holding her like a treasured sack of gold. Upside down, she met the pirate’s eyes. It was hard to see clearly from this humiliating position, but she could have sworn that he was frowning harshly at her now.

And by the time she was right side up and seated in the bow, he was gone.