Other Oceans: Book Two of the Hook & Jill Saga (4 page)

“Have you any instructions, Sir, before I speak to the girl?”

“Yes. Remember what I have taught you. Identify the weapon…” He raised his sword and sent her a pointed look.

She recited his rule: “Identify the weapon, and use it first.”

Nodding his approval, Hook fitted the tip to its scabbard. Jill paused to listen to the exquisite rasp as he shot the sword home. It sent a chill down her spine, followed by a wave of warmth that lingered as she returned to the subject.

“You have tutored me by your example. I’ve seen you at work, first hand—” she glanced at the hook, “So to speak. I shall also seek her weakness.” Remembering, she thought how cleverly Hook had disarmed the boy’s Wendy with these tactics.

Hook was pleased, but his face grew stern. “And understand. However young and vulnerable, she is not your family. She is your captive. Bear that fact in mind at all times.”

Jill acknowledged his concern and allayed it. “Aye, Captain. I will.”

“I must insist that your sons be clear on this point, also. Mr. Starkey will speak to them. It is difficult, yet necessary, for sailors of any age to maintain the proper perspective where females are concerned. That is why untried girls are considered bad luck aboard ship. A superstition to which I am certain the crew of the
Julianne
will attest. If you decide to keep her, you must weigh her value in the balance.”

“Aye, Sir. I do understand.” She cocked her head. “Wendy would have mothered her. A difficult habit to break.” His lady pirate smiled, darkly. “How fortunate that I am Jill now.”

Her smile hit its mark. “I shall leave you before I myself lose perspective and allow you to tempt me away from my duties. Again.” He swept to the wardrobe to collect his hat. “I advise you to make use of Smee. He thinks himself irresistible to children. In reality, they find him most intimidating.”

Jill laughed. “I wonder what his Lily would say to that? But I think the girl in the brig is not exactly a child.”

“All the better. Intimidation grows with age.”

“How well I remember!”

He smiled warmly.

She opened the door for him, concealing her state of dishabille behind it. She had been careless with her blue brocaded dressing gown. Though the captain was formal in matters of dress, Jill often flouted convention in Hook’s quarters, inducing him to show his appreciation of her form. This morning was no exception, but the key had ultimately been reinstated to its position in the lock. She gazed upon her lover’s fine features, and fingered the trim whiskers of his beard. “It would be too easy, wouldn’t it, to have another key made?”

Hook donned the hat, producing a smug smile. “And unnecessary, my love.” He slid his good hand into his coat pocket. “I keep its twin on my person.” He held up a ring of keys for her inspection, then replaced it. “You see, I, too, am your captive.” He raised his boot, kicked the door out of her hand so it slammed with a bang and he lifted her off her feet, sweeping her into his embrace. He kissed her with a violent passion, until her heart hammered in her ears and her lungs begged for breath. Then he set her down to bow to her, and after wrenching the door open, he strode off onto the companionway, to take the steps like hostages and stare down the gazes of his always curious crewmen.

Behind him, Captain James Hook left a woman clinging to his doorway, on fire. She would be difficult to satisfy by tonight.

Red-Handed Jill was his mistress, and he had mastered her.

§ § §

Identify the weapon. Discover the weakness. Rules, literally, to live by. Tactics that assured him victory in many a conflict, whether of physical strength, or of wits. Hook knew from long experience the value of these lessons. He had used them to his advantage countless times, not excepting in his battle to win Jill from Pan, and from herself as the girl Wendy. But now at last he possessed her, and a new dilemma had arisen. Jill herself was both his weapon and his weakness.
She
could be used against him.

She matched him in every respect, not least of which in fearlessness. A fearless woman was, ironically, more difficult to defend than a coward. More worth defending, as well. Hook cared about few things, but on those things he cherished, he lavished the full intensity of his personality.

Hook cared about Jill, deeply. Although they were united only a short time, their history was a long one. A story of magic. Even as Wendy, she was no ordinary female. While telling her tales to a pack of boys, she was unaware of their impact. Yet word by word and feature by feature, she had crafted her captain until he loomed before her, a solitary man with a hook for a hand, lusting for revenge. His design had been to dispense with the child, but she was changing— maturing— and as he discovered her powers, he found himself wanting the woman. Moved to mercy, Hook offered an exchange. Death to the girl, deliverance for the lady. She proved as valiant as he imagined her to be, accepting her culpability for his maiming and joining him as his consort. No, more than that. His partner.

Hook led Jill into a life of danger, and although she relished it, he was obliged to see to her safety. And his own, for she lived under his protection now. Courageous as she was, if he abandoned her for any reason, her situation would be tenuous. She was safe enough aboard the
Roger
in current circumstances. His men he held under tight control, but his enemies…

Hook’s eyes narrowed as he observed the horizon. His enemies must not be allowed the chance to use her. They must believe her to be his paramour, his light-of-love. A vessel in which to pour his pride. Nothing more. They must never guess the truth.

Hook’s reflections occupied him as he waited for his prisoner to join him on the forecastle. The day was bright, the sea air spicy and invigorating, snapping in and out of the sailcloth above him. No doubt the captive was in need of a stroll about the deck after a dank night in the hold. And Hook had ordered him isolated. The gentleman was as yet ignorant that the girl was here as well. His daughter, and presumably, his weakness. Doubly useful, she was locked in the brig, as unaware as her father that they had both been captured, and ripening for her first meeting with her mistress.

Jill. The thought of her sank into his soul, an anchor settling to rest in saturated sand. Beneath Hook’s sometimes turbulent surface, Jill was a constant and profound satisfaction. He was grateful for her.

The sound of boots approached, and the clank and drag of ankles in iron: Mr. Smee, guiding the prisoner up the steps. Hook’s ship was powerful, resplendent with ornamentation, the perfect setting to complement his person. The captive’s first impression of his captor was sure to be dramatic. Hook’s velvet coat cuffs graced the gilt of the railing as he extended his arms and waited until the men stood stationary and expectant behind him. Timing was a tool, for Hook.

“The gentleman, Captain. Mister Hanover, Captain James Hook.”

Hook raised his head in his magnificent hat with its glittering gems, its plumes flowing in the wind, and turned slowly to lower his imperious gaze upon the prisoner. He looked on the man for only a moment, then addressed his bo’sun.

“Thank you, Mr. Smee. Release him, and see to the business in my quarters.” He turned away, and his hook resumed its place on the rail, where it shone sharp in the sun.

“Aye, Sir.” Smee pulled a set of keys from his belt, and his vigorous frame hunkered down, working the iron fastenings. When the prisoner’s ankles were free and his soft-leather shoes set adrift, Smee released the man’s hands. Gathering up the jingling chains, Smee excused himself. But before leaving the captain’s presence, he waited his opportunity, then, peering over his spectacles, he tapped an imaginary ring on his finger and made a slashing motion across his throat. Message sent, he turned away to stow the irons and head for the captain’s cabin.

Armed with Smee’s information, Hook addressed the gentleman. The cursory glance had informed him. This was a man in good circumstances, dressed modestly but tastefully in a gray velvet suit adorned only by a gold pocket watch, a wedding ring, and a signet. He was of average height, with an athletic build. Nearing middle age. Fair. He exhibited all the usual traits of a man one night into captivity— unshaven and unsettled. Unremarkable, to Hook, in every respect but one. That mark told Hook all he needed to know.

“Tell me, Doctor. Have you kept up your fencing skills?”

The man, who had opened his mouth to protest his abduction, left it hanging open. He raised his fingers to the old saber scar on his cheek, and blinked at this pirate captain, so cool and arrogant. And informed.

Hook said, “Don’t trouble yourself; I shall answer your questions. Once you have answered mine.” He watched the man expectantly. “Well?”

The prisoner blinked again. “I’m sorry. Well, what?” His voice was crisp, retaining a trace of his Austrian heritage.

“You’ll not improve your situation by playing the fool with me.”

The doctor shifted uncomfortably, as if his ankles were still clad in iron. This was not his first voyage, nor his only encounter with buccaneers. It was, however, his first experience of a criminal so obviously a product of the aristocracy. Why on earth would a gentleman like this Hook turn to piracy? And that barbarous claw, so stark in its contrast to the elegant costume! The surgeon clutched his pocket watch as he answered.

“Yes. I have kept in practice, as your men discovered yesterday morning before they outnumbered me! But of course my rapier is gone with my ship.” He allowed a touch of anger to coat his words.

“Nothing of importance has gone with your ship. We have secured everything you value.” Hook observed the man’s charcoal eyes as a spark of apprehension ignited in them. The prisoner’s thumb rubbed his watch.

“Do you mean that you have also taken my— belongings? The instruments?” Doctor Hanover peered intently at the pirate. “The medicine bag?”

“You would be of little use to us without the trappings of your profession.”

The doctor seemed relieved, then assumed an air of professional concern. “Use? Is someone aboard in need of a physician?”

“Certainly. And since your wife is no longer living, perhaps you’ll enjoy a change of venue. The post of ship’s surgeon is vacant. I cordially invite you to join us.”

Taken aback, Hanover dropped his watch and let it dangle on its chain. The long scar reddened from cheekbone to chin as he allowed his outrage to dominate his response.

“What! Preposterous! You can hardly imagine that I would throw in my lot with the pirates who have abducted me and dragged me away from my— my employment.” He looked away from the captain.

“Of course, Doctor, I understand. You need further encouragement, some incentive, to persuade you. I assure you, the material rewards will be plentiful.”

“You yourself are evidence of that. Every seaman has heard of the nefarious Captain Hook, and of the bounty he commands. I see now that the stories are true! Yet I insist you put me ashore at the first opportunity.”

“The men of my crew are as entitled to medical attention as any others. And you have taken an oath, have you not, to preserve life?”

“Not at the expense of others’ lives, Sir!”

“Very well. I perceive the nature of your inclination. We shall speak further when you are more in temper to consider the offer.”

“You will wait a long time for that.”

Among Hook’s men, his courtesy was known as a warning sign. “Doctor. I admire your courage. I choose to attribute your attitude to
that
quality, rather than to foolishness. Courage is a necessity aboard the
Jolly Roger
.” The captain stepped close to the surgeon, to tower over him, his smile calculated to put the man on guard. “Take the air while you may. You will be shown to your— berth— again shortly. And you will dine in my quarters this evening.”

“Thank you, but I should rather not.”

“I shall overlook your insolence, this once. Mr. Smee will call for you at the appropriate time. Your belongings will be returned to you.” Hook’s glance swept over his captive. “See that you shave.” He turned away and strode down the deck.

The surgeon sputtered, indignant, but as the captain moved away, he hastened to follow, the skin under his unaccustomed stubble suffused with a flush. “Captain! If you please, one question.”

Hook paused at the top of the steps. He turned an impassive stare upon his prisoner while the breeze buffeted his hair and fingered the plumes of his hat.

“I couldn’t help but notice as your men…” This time the doctor applied prudence, resorting to civility, “escorted me…to your ship. A young woman, dressed in scarlet. She stood on the deck. Another captive?”

Hook raised an eyebrow. “And what would be your interest in her? You display disdain for everything else aboard the
Roger
.”

“Well, she is lovely, and rather young. I would seek her release, if I might bring that about in some way, before…”

The captain lifted his chin with an amused expression. “Before what?”

“Sir, I believe you understand me perfectly well. Before anything untoward happens to her.”

“And so you offer me a bargaining chip for your cooperation. An interesting concept, Doctor. I see you are a gentleman of the old school. We shall discuss it at supper. I assure you, nothing
‘untoward’
will happen to her— before then.” Hook turned again, but halted at the tone of the surgeon’s next question. His face relaxed, but he concealed his satisfaction.

“But who is she?”

Not bothering to face the man, Hook spoke over his shoulder. “When you have agreed to join us, Doctor, she’ll be a female under your care.” Then he smiled, leaving the man with the dueling scar and the modest suit floundering in his wake and reassessing his attitude toward the pirate’s proposition.

Another weakness laid bare.

§ § §

The young man approached, keys jingling, to survey the girl between the bars of her cage. The captive peered from under her elbows; she wouldn’t unclasp her ears for him. Through the iron strips, the light from the stairway cast crisscross shadows on his face, and on the yellow shirt beneath, with its loose sleeves and tight shoulders. Another garment hung limp over his arm.