Other Oceans: Book Two of the Hook & Jill Saga (12 page)

“I see. Mr. Tootles, is it fencing today?”

“Aye, Lady. Mr. Starkey’s orders.”

“Quite right. I may join you tomorrow. Mr. Nibs, please send Mr. Cecco to me at the change of shift.”

“Aye, aye, Madam!”

The pair walked on toward the armory under the forecastle and crossed to port, the gentleman’s stick tapping slowly, every other step.

He commented, “This morning I was given to understand that those two young men are your sons.”

“Yes. I am very proud of them. You might say I adopted them, when I was quite young.”

“Most unusual. And they consider you to be their mother, yet, I observe, they address you formally.”

“Ship’s discipline, Doctor,” she replied. “I’m sure you understand the concept very well. Neither Captain Hook nor I will tolerate favoritism. It breeds no end of trouble.”

The surgeon stole a glance at her face. “Yes, certainly. But Captain Hook allows you personal involvement with some of his men? Your Mr. Smee, for instance?”

“Mr. Smee is the exception to every rule.” She watched his eyes. Was that a flash of jealousy?

“Is this not a form of favoritism?” His clipped tone conveyed only a hint of irritation.

Not disguising the warmth of her affection for the bo’sun, she smiled. “Perhaps it is. As I say, Smee is the exception.”

“The man appears to me to take liberties with the captain’s trust.”

“You begin to sound as if you care— about the welfare of our company.”

He attempted to make it a simple observation: “He touches you.”

“You, Sir, are touching me now.”

Looking down at her hand on his arm, Hanover registered the truth of her statement. He bent his elbow further to secure her grip, but otherwise allowed the comment to pass.

“This Mr. Cecco for whom you send. Isn’t he the Italian, with— I’m sorry. The subject is most unpleasant. Never mind.”

“Yes. He is the man with lash-marks on his back.”

“Barbaric!”

“I would appreciate it if you would examine him to see that his cuts are healing properly. Tell him it is my wish.”

“I will do so, of course, but it is too late. The man will be hideously scarred for the rest of his life.”

Jill dropped the doctor’s arm to lean on the portside rail. Her voice when she spoke was quiet, but firm. “Sir. You and I both know that one can live with scars. We can even take pride in them.”

“It is one thing to have a mark accidentally or honorably inflicted. It is quite another to suffer from intentional cruelty.”

“And another to commit dereliction of duty.”

He paused. “And Hook ordered this done to him?”

Jill lowered the temperature once more, turning a stony look upon him. “I will tell you the truth, Doctor. I was the reason for Mr. Cecco’s punishment. I might have stopped it. Instead, I insisted on it.”

Hanover’s face contorted with incredulity. “But how— how could you cause such torture to be inflicted?”

Clearly, Jill’s confession had dealt a blow to the surgeon. Now she looked out to sea, allowing time to deepen his wound. Eventually she answered.

“I don’t expect you to understand. You cannot see the need, but believe me, Doctor, in such matters, the manner in which I am regarded by this crew is my only interest. My survival depends upon it.”

He, too, rested an arm on the rail, and as he stood, his posture stiffened. “No, I admit that I cannot see the need to impress these buccaneers. Please enlighten me.”

“Doctor Hanover, you are a strong man. You were taken aboard this ship as a prisoner, yet now you stroll among her crew unafraid. You are skilled, you are able to defend yourself.” She turned to face him. “How if you were a woman? What then?”

His eyes lit with understanding. “Madam, I begin to comprehend.”

“It is no longer as simple as right and wrong, as what is proper and what is not. Is it?”

“Yes, yes.…I see. You are caught indeed, in a delicate situation.”

Jill restrained a smile. She could see the particulars of that ‘delicate situation’ taking shape behind his eyes. He wanted to believe the best of her. How else could he justify his attraction?

She said, “Last night I disappointed you. I am not a maiden in what you perceive to be distress.”

“Perhaps, nonetheless, you require the services of a white knight.”

“I prefer dragons. A woman knows just what to expect from them.”

He studied her face. “My Lady. You have done what you had to do.”

She waited a moment, and then she deliberately laid her crimson hand, the one she knew revolted him, upon his arm. “You understand, then?”

He stared at her hand. “I see now. You are not to be censured. Quite the opposite; you are to be commended for upholding your standards, and for gaining the cooperation of these— well, what else can I call them? Pirates.”

“Pirates. Yes. We are
all
pirates.” Her regard grew keen. “We all have hidden treasure to protect.”

The scar on Hanover’s face twitched. He changed the subject.

“I have wondered from the first.” With his cane, he gestured behind him. “Excepting your sons, of course, these sailors are obviously common men. But how does a man born into gentility turn to such a life? Surely Captain Hook has always commanded the best that polite society can offer?”

“I cannot tell you his story. Only mine.”

“And
will
you tell it? Will you tell me how you came to be marked in such ways? Your hand,” he hooked the ram-horned stick on the rail, and brought himself, at last, to lay his hand over hers. His eyes rose to her scar, “Your throat?”

Jill slid her fingers from the heat of his hand and grasped her cloak. “I’m sorry. I find after all that I prefer you not to touch me. I am touched by so many here. But you are different. I believe you understand the meaning of your touch, and you will, therefore, honor my request.”

Immediately, Hanover bowed. “Of course. I will respect you, and in the true sense of the word.”

Jill’s gaze filled with gratitude. “It is most satisfactory, Sir, to be in the company of a gentleman. I find your attentiveness very agreeable. Even—” She looked down.

With mounting hope, he studied her. “Yes?”

“No. That will be
my
secret.” She allowed a smile to cross her lips, then turned toward the sea and touched her throat, lightly. “But to answer your question, the wound you can see was not inflicted by pirates, Doctor. I innocently placed my trust in one who was not deserving, and one day found a knife at my throat. Hook delivered me from that innocence. It was he who saved my life. I owe him a great deal, and I learned from that experience.” She smiled. “It is part of my pirate treasure.”

“And— forgive me for asking— your hand?”

Straightening, she faced him. “Among my men, I am called Red-Handed Jill.”

“He named you this?”

“No. I chose the name. And I chose the mark.”

“It would appear to be—”

“Blood. Yes. It is Captain Hook’s. And someone else’s.”

“But, ah…what is the nature…Whose—?”

“It is the blood of a girl. She no longer lives.”

The meaning of her words struck him, and he recoiled. “So! The captain saved you from a knife at your throat, only to take your life himself, in an even crueler way! And in some heathen blood ritual?”

Her temper flared. She seized his hand and forced his wedding ring to the level of his face.

“Have you never murdered a girl, Doctor, in just such a way— in the ritual of the wedding night?”

He stood frozen, speechless.

“I think you are no more innocent than the rest of us!”

The dueling scar became an angry line on his cheekbone. “Madam!”

She almost laughed, but her eyes blazed as she dealt the final blow. “Welcome, Sir, to the order of gentlemen— aboard the
Jolly Roger!”
Then she turned on her heel and left him, flinging her cloak over her shoulder and moving in light, quick steps toward the helm.

The surgeon watched her go, staring in an ungentlemanly fashion. The lady exchanged a word with Yulunga, who bent to hear her as he stood behind the wheel, his huge shadow falling over her brightness, and then she lifted her skirts and continued up the steps of the companionway, passing Liza coming down. She nodded to the girl and glided on to enter the captain’s quarters. Liza turned to watch her. The door closed, and Doctor Hanover heard, all the way across the deck, the click of the brass bolt as bloodstained fingers shot it home.

Behind his back, the huddle of sailors had fallen silent, grinning and exchanging glances. Mr. Starkey jerked his head at Nibs, who slid off the capstan and silently headed for the galley.

Hanover blinked, and his fingers felt for the neglected watch. She couldn’t know…There was no way for her to know!

But the lady had shocked the gentleman in beige, utterly and completely. She had shaken him right down to the soles of his soft-leather shoes.

Why, then, in heaven’s name, was he smiling?

§ § §

Liza collected the tea tray and turned to study her father. It had been long since she’d seen him that way. He was smiling.

She knew why.

Just as Liza had foreseen, he’d fallen under the enchantment of the pirate queen. The storyteller. She’d overheard the men call the mistress by that name in the morning as she’d loitered outside the galley, listening. The storyteller had woven him into her web, just as she’d done to Liza yesterday.

Liza couldn’t read, but she knew herself to be smart. She had broken free of the lady’s silken strands, but for all his manners and book-learning, the reality was exactly as Jill had told her— her father was only a man. He wouldn’t break free of the lady’s tangle, even if he did feel the strangling threads at his throat. He would let her suck him dry.

No, he would
make
Jill do it. And Liza knew how. Her father would apply his very special skills, and then he and the mistress would feed on each other until there was nothing left. Except the captain.

One good thing about life aboard this pirate ship, Liza thought as she made her way forward. She was learning how to smile again.

Lowering his gaze, her father noticed her. The softness in his charcoal eyes hardened, and he snatched his cane from the rail. Waiting for her to come to him, he appeared to Liza, once again, like what he was. A gentleman, with a stick and a scar.

He pitched his voice discreetly so that none of the men might hear him. “Liza! Take that tray to the galley and get to our quarters. We have matters to discuss. And for God’s sake, girl, pin up your hair! You look like a strumpet.” He thumped the tip of his cane on the deck for emphasis and strode toward the hatch without its assistance. For all his temper, he moved with grace, swiftly descending below.

Liza didn’t know she hadn’t moved until Tom was there in his yellow shirt, taking the tray from her hands and bending his head to look into her eyes.

“You go on, Miss. I’ll take care of this tray for you.” Tom stole a glance at Mr. Starkey, who stood glowering with a cutlass in his hand and a sturdy schoolroom ruler protruding from his pocket.

Tom turned back to the girl. “Here, then.” Balancing the tray in one hand, he pulled out his polishing cloth. His dagger gleamed, sharp and secure in the grip of his belt. He snapped the rag loose. Dabbing at the tear swelling in each of her eyes, he was careful to keep his distance.

“Just to touch you would fetch any of us a beating— the captain’s especial order— so I’m not allowed to kiss you again. However much you want me to.” He smiled at her indignation. “Ah, Miss, I can see you’re disappointed!”

He had guessed correctly; his banter was just what the girl needed.

Shoving his hand and his rag away, she glared at him, then stalked off toward the hatch, her brown skirts swishing, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. No sailor lad would pity Liza Hanover! She was a queen’s lady. When she chose to be.

Tom nodded at her angry backside and stowed the rag. Tucking a thumb in his belt, he swaggered over to his mates, who eyed him with raised eyebrows and new respect.

“Well,” said Mr. Starkey, his head at an angle. “Aren’t we the gentleman, now! You’re learning Mr. Smee’s way with the ladies, aren’t you—
Sir?”
His scarry face soured. “I won’t warn you again. Now pick up your sword and show me what else you’ve learned, you randy billy goat!”

Tom just had time to seize his weapon. The tea tray smashed on the boards as yet another fencing lesson began, accompanied by the howls and laughter of Red-Handed Jill’s lusty gentlemen.

§ § §

At the change of shift, Mr. Cecco knocked just below the polished brass plate bearing his captain’s name. Like all shining metals, it drew his eye. He wondered if he heard or if he imagined the song of his lady’s skirts, and then the door opened.

Jill inclined her head. He bowed, taking in her beauty as he did so. He didn’t have to speak his appreciation. His dusky eyes said it for him.

“Madam. You wished to see me.” His smile flashed like his bracelets.

She stepped onto the companionway. “Yes, Mr. Cecco. Concerning a ring belonging to the girl.”

“Ah, yes! The pink pearls.”

“Liza has asked for its return, and as a gesture of good faith at the beginning of her service…”

“Of course. I have no attachment to it. Like the girl, it is only a trinket compared to the magnificence of her mistress.”

Jill smiled, but made light of the compliment. “Then why did you take it?”

“Madam, like you, I am much attracted to beautiful things. Nor do I have to look far to find them.” He stopped smiling and stared directly into her eyes. “When something lovely becomes available to me, I take it.”

Jill felt herself pulled, like metal to a magnet. But, regaining her poise, she laughed, and put him in his place. “Right off the finger of a girl!”

Cecco shrugged. “A girl today. Perhaps tomorrow, a woman.”

The lady was not unmoved, but she was shrewd. She returned to business. “What will you require in exchange for this ‘trinket,’ Mr. Cecco? I wish to be fair.”

“I wish only for you to think well of me, Lady. Or simply to think of me. That is all. A fair price, yes?”