Other Oceans: Book Two of the Hook & Jill Saga (5 page)

“Good morning, Miss. We haven’t forgotten you. We all had a night of it, and we roused a bit late today!” He smiled. His easy countenance showed no markings or tattoos as yet. He was youthful, just turned a man. But a sturdy man, all the same.

The girl had no use for him. He was a pirate.

“Ah, Miss. We thought you’d be ready for some conversation.”

In spite of her indifferent posture, her eyes asked. They were gray and curious.

“‘We’ is me and my brother, Nibs. You’ll know him by the orange kerchief on his head. I’m Tom. Tom Tootles. We’ve just joined up. Yours was the first ship we’ve taken.” He looked off into a corner of the brig, reliving the memory and sighing. “It was glorious, wasn’t it?”

With renewed disdain, the girl yanked her elbows down and uncovered her ears.

“Sorry, Miss! Got carried away. Can I get you some breakfast before you meet the mistress?” He recognized the look in her eyes, then, the hunger to understand the lady. Tom smiled. “Aye, she has that effect on everyone aboard.” Jill had always commanded authority in some form, even when she’d been only the girl mother of a handful of Lost Boys. “Her name’s Red-Handed Jill, and she’s the queen of this vessel.”

The girl inched a half step forward. Her bare feet prickled in the straw.

“She’ll be sending for you soon, so you’d best eat while you can. Will you?”

She shook her head. She backed away.

Tom shrugged. “Your decision. Let’s just clean you up a bit. You’re in no condition to wait upon a queen.” He held up the circle of keys so that they slid together, selected one, and turned the lock with a grinding. The door protested as Tom swung it open, and then he stepped in. The captive cringed and covered her ears again.

“What’s the matter with your ears? Covering them’s not going to stop anything. You’d better be listening. We mean no harm to you. If we did, believe me, it would already be done!” Laughing, he seized her wrist to pull her toward him. He shook the garment off his arm and tossed it over her shoulder. “Here’s your dress. Put it on like a good girl, and I’ll be back when the mistress is ready for you.” He pulled a brush from his back pocket, handed it to her, and turned to go.

As he moved away, she relaxed enough to allow her other hand to fall from her ear. She shrugged the dress off her shoulder and looked at it. Like the brush, it was her own, one plundered with her other belongings. In her surprise, she dropped her guard too soon.

Tom turned on his heel, strode two steps, and took the girl’s face between his hands. “You’ll tell me if you need anything, won’t you? Hairpins or whatnot. I don’t know much about girls’ things.” He flashed a smile. “I know a bit about ladies, though!” And he kissed her, right on the lips. Not just a peck, as her father might once have extended to her, but a real kiss, the kind that bound up her lips and sucked them in. His mouth was firm, and tasted like strong spirits.

He let her go. “Remember, it’s Tom.”

The object of his sudden affection was so stunned she didn’t react at all. She stood in the straw, blinking in the dim light of the brig for what felt like hours, listening to the key in the lock and his boots stomping up the steps.

The girl drew the back of her hand across her mouth.

Tom
.

Her lip curled. For some reason she didn’t understand, she wished he hadn’t kissed her. She couldn’t hear a kiss.

She wished he’d hit her instead.

§ § §

Mr. Smee headed for the master’s quarters, watched by the eyes of his shipmates. Eyes of men who had once been relieved not to walk in his boots. Envious eyes now, begrudging his proximity to the volatile captain, or rather, to the captain’s lady. One pair of eyes, dusky brown, followed his progress more intently than the rest.

“Another service for your mistress, Mr. Smee?” Cecco’s armbands glinted as he hailed the bo’sun from behind the wheel at the helm. His English had improved over the years abroad. He now owned a fine command of the language, and he enjoyed the double meaning of his words.

“Aye, Mr. Cecco. And I’m just the man for the job. Whatever it is!” Smee’s lilting voice was as melodious as the tune he whistled on his way up the steps of the companionway. As he climbed, he made sure his striped shirt was tucked, showing his taut torso to best advantage. She must need something done for her, some little thing. Something necessary, but beneath the captain’s dignity. Lucky thing for Smee— he had no dignity to be worrying about. He’d do anything for James Hook. Anything at all.…Absentmindedly, Smee knocked on the door. Aye. He’d do anything for her.

Jill opened the door and backed up to make room as he entered. She had to gaze up to welcome him; Smee stood fully as tall as the captain. “Good morning, Mr. Smee.”

Looking out on the morning’s activities, she found her eye caught by Mr. Cecco’s. Not quite condescending, she inclined her head to acknowledge the warmth of his greeting. Cecco had always been cordial, in spite of the beating he’d taken at her urging, and Jill was satisfied he didn’t hold the incident against her. He held his raw back erect, like a trophy adorning his body along with his earrings and his necklaces. Jill well remembered the Italian sailor smiling and kissing his fingertips in salute that night when, still a girl, she descended nervous and excited to the deck of the
Jolly Roger
. Whatever might pass between them in the future, Mr. Cecco held the distinction of having been the first of Hook’s men to welcome her here.

Mr. Smee noted the direction of her gaze. His eyes tightened as they shifted to his shipmate. He cleared his throat. When the door was safely closed, Jill didn’t forget about Cecco, but she tended to necessity, presenting her back so charmingly to Smee that he ceased to care where her attention was anchored a moment ago.

“Would you be so kind?”

Smee grinned again. He had become adept at lacing her dresses, but found that, for some reason, it always took him every bit as long to perform the service as the first time. She’d worn forget-me-not blue that morning, to match her eyes. And the captain’s. Smee resettled his spectacles and began by gathering Jill’s hair and laying it over her shoulder. That task alone demanded a degree of concentration, and Smee was a man who never dodged his duty, however pleasant.

Taking his time, he held off speaking as long as possible. He liked giving her this little pleasure. “The scarlet again today, Ma’am? Two days in a row!” Mr. Smee’s sinews belied his interest in domestic affairs.

She opened her eyes and smiled over her shoulder. Once again, she had succumbed to the sensation of Smee’s hands in her hair. “Aye! The captain has granted me the rubies today. He says they match my hand.”

Smee’s roughened face showed his surprise. “You’re never telling me you won them from him?”

“Only for a day. He’s a shrewd one, but I’ll have his treasure yet.” She moved to the looking glass hanging inside the wardrobe door. He followed close behind, and, with reverence, she lowered the precious necklace to his palm.

Smee’s big fist closed on it. “If I didn’t know better, Ma’am—” If he didn’t know better, he’d believe her words. He’d believe that, maybe, her lust for pirate gold exceeded her lust for her pirate captain. It was a mark of her confidence that she could speak so openly to Smee. But he kept himself on guard. A body never knew when she’d go all royal. She could be cold as these jewels when she chose.

He held the rubies up to the light of the windows bordering the captain’s quarters. The stones weren’t cold now. Each one glowed with red fire. Smee was reminded of a bonfire, and the last time he’d been ashore.

Jill had turned to study him. “You can’t fool me, Mr. Smee. You’re thinking of your own treasure.”

He laughed. “Leave it to a woman to know when a man’s mind’s a-straying! Aye. I was remembering the golden bracelets I brought her. The captain’s gift for the Indian ladies’ help in winning you. Lily fair turned up her nose, but she accepted them right quick enough.” His smile broadened. And she’d given as good as she got. Better.

Jill turned her back to him again. “You’re missing her while we’re away, aren’t you?”

Watching Jill’s reflection, Smee spoke over her shoulder. “It’s always worst at the outset. But she’ll not be lonely without me. And to be honest, when we get to port I’ll not pine away, either. Going from her makes us that much happier when I return.”

“And your baby girl? Do you long for her?”

“She’s just a wee thing now. Ask me when she’s older.”

Jill understood. He was a pirate. Her own Hook had no tender tendencies toward children but, rather, an aversion to them. Hook had no use for children. And, until Wendy brought her influence to bear on the Lost Boys of the Neverland, they had proved his point. But she had raised those boys. That was enough.

She smiled now at Mr. Smee’s indifference. In spite of their dissimilarities, Smee and Lily were a match. There were no strings between them except a warm, mutual regard. Lily was a graceful native woman on the island of the Neverland who enjoyed children and whose outlook on love was exceedingly inclusive. Smee’s daughter didn’t lack for fatherly attention in his absence. Upon leaving Pan’s band, Wendy’s Twins finished growing up in Lily’s care. The Twins still lived, in every sense of the word, with Lily and two other Indian women in what used to be Wendy’s house. It was Hook who ordained it, acting on his wish that Wendy should join him. Hook’s arrangement suited Mr. Smee’s inclinations, too.

Stroking the gems at her throat, Jill brought her thoughts around to Hook’s more current wishes. “With regard to the girl’s father, Smee. What more have you learned?” She checked that the clasp of the necklace was fastened tightly, assuring that, whatever passion might grip her, these rubies wouldn’t slide from her throat again. Her eyes still reflected their fire.

Smee’s hands could find no more excuses to touch her, so he removed them from her shoulders and drew himself up to his full and generous height, turning his mind to business. “He’s a widower, Ma’am. Name of Hanover. A gentleman. Lost his wife a few years ago. Illness, as near as I can figure it. He’d not talk much— Austrian. Not like my own countrymen! A cup of wine was all he’d take, and not much good it was to loosen his tongue.”

“I don’t blame him. He’s lost his liberty. But we’ll make him come round, won’t we? Bring me the girl now. And Mr. Smee, the captain requests you stay with us while we discuss her situation. He trusts your way with children.”

“Aye, Madam. I enjoy the captain’s trust. I’ve never known him to be wrong in where he places it.” He lifted his hand to discipline a stray wisp of her hair. It was a reason to stand next to her for another second or two. Sometimes, when near to her like this, inhaling her perfume, Smee wished the captain wasn’t such a good judge of men. But, conscious of his duty, he released her shining tendril and nodded his respects. Then he went about her errand, content to have a reason to return.

The door to the captain’s quarters clicked shut, and Smee’s heavy footfalls faded. Jill freed the strand of hair again.

Even if she could, she wouldn’t hide the fact from Hook that one of the pleasures she’d discovered in her short life as a pirate was the warm regard of so many men. And she wasn’t a girl anymore. She saw right through Mr. Smee. She knew what he wanted.

Smee was Hook’s man, and, as such, he had become her own. But Jill prized honesty, and she readily admitted the conflict she perceived within the bo’sun. As much as he respected her, he didn’t quite trust her. Smee’s loyalty to the captain was his most fundamental characteristic, lodged right next to the instinct to protect him. Hook knew it, too, and that loyalty was the reason Smee alone among his men was trusted behind the door of the master’s quarters. As Smee attested, Hook had never yet erred in placing his confidence.

Jill, too, held a loyalty to the captain she was sure would pass the test of time. Smee’s devotion to Hook, even his doubts concerning Jill herself on the captain’s behalf, endeared him the more to her heart. The man played a role far beyond his office of bo’sun. Smee acted as Hook’s attendant and squire, first mate, and liaison to the crew. He had served the captain longer than any of the other men. And Mr. Smee, true to his reputation, was as strong and as sweet as rum. Jill made that claim many times in her stories, and now that she’d tasted that spirit, she affirmed her assertion, and appreciated him.

Smee radiated a sense of security that lured many a woman to the shelter of his powerful arms. For Jill to pretend she wasn’t drawn to him would be untruthful. She looked forward to Smee’s touches every morning— courted his attentions, in fact. Certain intimacies could be allowed, even enjoyed. But much as the lady and the bo’sun valued one another, neither would make the move that would betray their captain.

Thinking back on the morning, Jill also appreciated Mr. Cecco, and the intensity of his greeting. She hadn’t missed his golden armbands, the white teeth within his smile. He wore his thick hair bound back in a leather lace, and never a shirt since his flaying. His attentiveness, and Smee’s, gave Jill a sense of power she’d never known as mother of the Lost Boys. Hook told her once that she would find men easier to govern than boys, and of course he was correct. Her boys had vaguely wanted both nothing and everything from her. The men aboard the
Roger
knew exactly what they wanted, even if they couldn’t get it, and the bo’sun and the Italian were only the most obvious about their desires. Like Cecco, Smee was always ready to offer his attention, his service, or his arm, to escort her on the steps or along the rail. Like Smee, Cecco was a strong man. Smee was red and rugged; Cecco was dark, and strikingly handsome.

Perhaps it was because, in her storytelling, she had a mysterious hand in choosing Hook’s crew that Jill found something appealing in each of his men, such as shy Mr. Noodler, with his gold teeth and his hands on backward, and Bill Jukes, whose stem-to-stern tattoos intrigued her. She intuited their individual stories to a greater or lesser extent. The men often asked to hear her tell their histories. Each man held interest for her, and, apparently, she for them.