Other Oceans: Book Two of the Hook & Jill Saga (6 page)

And all of them were pirates. Buccaneers, brigands. Hook’s band of ruffians was held in check by an oath to the captain, and by the advantage of membership in this ship’s company.Jill turned to the captain’s mirror and observed her regal smile changing as it became tempered with the truth— the power she felt came in good part from her union with the master of this vessel. Captain Hook was teaching her, but she hadn’t yet learned enough about sailing to seize command herself, should the need arise. As independent as she was, she acknowledged that until she gained more experience, without Hook’s ironfisted authority, Red-Handed Jill could well become the property of the next strongest among his crew.

And just how might that man be determined? A cold stream poured through her veins as she contemplated her position. Jill would survive, always. Her instincts and intelligence would carry her. But her spirit might not live through that kind of subjugation. It was in her best interests to see to the captain’s safety, to support him in every endeavor, to remain completely loyal— and to maintain cordial ties to the heartiest men aboard. Quickly, her thoughts ranged among the crew, then settled again on Mr. Smee, Hook’s chosen right-hand man, and she was comforted.

Jill had every confidence in her lover, but the pirate’s life into which Hook had drawn her was not a stable one. Her heart began to pound as she thought again of the decision she had made. Not many would judge she’d chosen wisely. The alternatives might seem, if not more attractive, then certainly more secure. She might have escaped, although not unscathed, to the safety of London. She might have remained on the Island, a frightened child. Instead, against all convention, she had chosen to throw herself, so young and so inexperienced, on the mercy of a potent enemy. With no guarantees, she placed her future in Hook’s one remaining hand. The pirate and the girl had formed their liaison without the structure of those familiar words, ‘for better or for worse,’ yet she had wounded him and bled for it, and— for better or for worse— now she was his partner. Until death.

But, like Hook, Jill was no coward. She had chosen a challenge. And duties to perform. She took a deep breath and straightened, inspecting with a sharp eye the richness of the quarters Hook, in his generosity, shared with her. Then she shook out her crimson skirts, preparing to interview her first prisoner.

Captain James Hook had made Red-Handed Jill his queen. And although she was new to piracy and a life at sea, Hook and Jill were one. Whatever twists the course of their story took, she believed nothing could cause her to regret beginning it.

Certainly not a little captive.

A knock thumped the door. Jill processed to the satin-covered couch and enthroned herself. She lifted her head, placed her hands on her lap, and waited for just the right moment. Hook had tutored her; timing was a tool. She allowed it to work for her.

“…Come!”

Chapter 4

Captivation

M
r. Cecco manned the helm, the sun his companion, throwing its rays through the clapping canvas above. Its warmth soaked into his skin, both the smooth and the tattered, and he appreciated the feel of the weathered wheel in his grip and the bands of gold around his muscular arms. Smiling, he cast his gaze toward the captain’s cabin. His strong, striped back was the first thing anyone, any woman, opening that door would see. The leather laces with which he tied his hair dangled over the markings, another scourge, but a pleasant one.

“And what are you grinning about now, Cecco?” It was Yulunga, his huge black frame blocking the breeze. The colorful strings of beads around his throat threatened to burst as his neck swelled to speak. He had a deep, fluid voice. “You are up to something, friend.”

Cecco showed his even teeth and replied in his pleasing accent, “Ah, you know me too well, mate!”

Yulunga was everybody’s ‘mate.’ Cecco was one of the few who had formed a friendship with the fearsome African, but no one except the captain dared to call Yulunga by name. The sound of it still struck terror in the souls of his native land, who feared that speaking the name might call him back across the water to wreak his vengeance. Hook alone had curbed some of Yulunga’s murderousness, and now the man posed in his usual stance, a boarding ax in his belt, and his arms hanging from his bulging shoulders at an angle, too thick to lie at his sides.

“So tell me.” Yulunga said. “I will try to keep you away from trouble, as always.”

Cecco thrust his hand into his pocket. The trinket was still there. The ring. He pulled it out and fiddled it in his fingers, sending Yulunga a self-satisfied look. “I have found a ‘key’ to the captain’s quarters.”

Yulunga reached for it, exhibiting marks of manacles on his wrist. He appraised the tiny object and snorted. “How will two pink pearls get you through the master’s door, my ambitious friend? I think even our Mr. Cecco’s gypsy magic cannot work such a charm.” His dark face broke into a smile as he tossed the ring back. “Although I am certain you will attempt it.”

Uneven footsteps approached, and both men turned to watch as a small procession passed, Tom Tootles and Mr. Smee, escorting the sullen captive— persuading her, really— toward the stairs to see the mistress. The girl balked as they neared the companionway.

Tom cajoled her, “Come along, Miss. The lady’s waiting to meet you. Don’t let her see you’re afraid.”

The girl scowled at Tom, but when her eyes rolled toward Cecco and Yulunga, she shuffled closer to him.

Smee pushed Tom aside. “Let me show you, Mr. Tootles, the way to do with reluctant prisoners.” He gave the girl’s backside one boost of his hand, and she opened her eyes and lifted her wrinkled brown skirt to scurry up the steps like a squirrel in a tree. Smee turned to Cecco and Yulunga, grinning. “And you two tell me I’ve no way with the ladies!”

Tom, who had witnessed Smee’s winning way with the opposite sex, chortled and ran up the steps behind the indignant captive, to knock at his mother’s door.

Yulunga slapped Smee on the back, and the beads at his neck nearly popped again as he laughed. “I know better, Mr. Smee. It’s Cecco here who doubts the skills of every man but himself.”

“Aye, and on his back we can all plainly see the reward those skills have earned him.”

Cecco smiled. “Others’ rewards are not so easily seen, Mr. Smee.” But once Smee bounded after the girl, Cecco corrected his friend, and his smile stiffened. “No. Mr. Smee seems to enjoy much success these days. And there is one other I do not doubt, mate.” He shot an envious glance up the steps. “Our captain.”

“So that is the problem! The mistress.”

“I do not think of her as a problem. And it won’t be long now before my good luck begins.”

“Sooner or later you share everything with me, so that must mean good luck for myself, as well!” But Yulunga’s broad face creased a bit. “What’s the scheme, friend?”

Mr. Cecco turned back to the helm and stared ahead at the sea as he anticipated the way it would happen. “The little girl will have realized by now that I have stolen her ring. She will ask for it back. And if she’s humble about it, the kind mistress will be generous enough to return it.”

Yulunga raised his eyebrows. “Only…?”

“Only the lady will have to request it from her devoted sailor, Mr. Cecco, first. And compensate him for it.”

“Cecco, you are always thinking.”

“Always. And I seize my opportunity. I kissed that little girl’s fingers, and plucked her ring like a peach from an orchard.” But this one was just bait, to catch a more exotic fruit. Mr. Cecco rubbed the lustrous surface of the pearls between his fingers and imagined they were the tender parts of a lady.
The
lady, pink and ripe.

“Well, ‘devoted sailor,’ I look forward to the trouble you will cause. Hook keeps things too quiet on this ship. But you’d best be careful, mate.” Yulunga bore his own marks, carved into his hide by the master’s iron hook. “It may be a long time before the captain lets her loose.”

Cecco pocketed the ring. “I have much time, my friend. Until then, I am not going anywhere.”

“The gypsy, settling down at last?”

“I will always be a wanderer, but my reckless days are over.” The dashing Italian gave his attention to the horizon then, cultivating his new habit of discipline, and concentrating on the compass. He had a goal to pursue.

Yulunga observed Cecco’s determination. “You are changing since our last visit to the Island, and since your whipping. But I always enjoy stirring things up. Let me know if I can help you, if only to save your scarry skin!” He strolled away, shaking his head.

Cecco attended his duty at the wheel, keeping the ship on course, and all the while another course mapped itself out in his mind. The most direct route to the master’s quarters, and it wasn’t as simple as the path he liked to imagine— up the steep steps of the companionway, through the door with its engraved brass plate, and into the cabin. All lit with candles and her beautiful face, and in the warm light, her red hand reaching out to him, to accept his pearls.

§ § §

The pirate queen sat enthroned upon her couch, the crimson curtain that usually shielded it drawn aside to admit the girl to her presence. Rubies glowed on her throat, and both the matching scar above them and the glint in her eye hinted of the lady’s willingness to engage in the fray. These signs were not lost upon the girl, who, upon entering, was sufficiently moved to extend the courtesy of a curtsy.

“Madam.” Tom Tootles, who had recommended that curtsy, nodded to the mistress and backed out.

The girl knew he was gone by the click of the door behind her, and by the sinking feeling that accompanied it. The little prisoner had disdained Tom’s companionship, but now acknowledged to herself that she missed it. Telling herself she didn’t care, she had nevertheless made an effort to gather her composure for this interview, smoothing the brown dress and pinning up her hair. She needn’t have bothered. Nothing would have steadied her. She stood squeezing her hands together, listening to the heavy tread on the carpet that told her that Smee, the big redheaded sailor, loomed behind her.

The lady observed, waiting for the bo’sun to take his place before she spoke. She kept her hands laid flat on her taffeta lap. Her seat was a reclining couch, a divan, and the wooden swan carved on its back seemed to bow to her, frozen in the act of opening its wings.

“I am Red-Handed Jill. What is your name, girl?” Her voice was clear and cool.

The captive heard the question, but her eyes couldn’t say the word.

“Very well. I shall call you Liza, after another servant girl I once knew.”

The girl’s eyes widened with surprise. The lady guessed her name!

Jill smiled, complacent. “You will find I know something of the story behind everyone who boards the
Jolly Roger
. So that is your name, after all?”

Liza’s vehement nod confirmed it. Peering over her shoulder, she looked up to witness the smug smile on Mr. Smee’s face. But the lady commanded, “Pay attention, please,” and Liza’s head snapped back to face her.

“I should regret to send you back to the brig. I’ve arranged for a nice, comfortable cabin to be ready for you…if you agree to my terms. Will you listen?”

Liza’s curtsy consented, but her gaze now wandered the quarters, taking in the velvet and carving, the swords, crystal, and shining woodwork. Through the open windows, she heard the swish of water as the hull passed through on its way— where? Beyond the scent of the sea hung a trace of tobacco, interwoven with lavender. Behind Mr. Smee, the girl had glimpsed a glassed-in bookcase, and left of the mistress’ couch, starboard within the ship, stood an ornate wardrobe. Next, a sideboard and dining table in the corner; beyond that, and all along the stern, a cushioned recess basked under the windows. A harpsichord, a polished desk covered with maps and navigational instruments, and on the right, portside, an escritoire. Next to the escritoire posed the grandest piece in the place, the bunk, resplendent with silken coverlet, sculpted bedposts and tapestried curtains.

The room was littered with Oriental carpets and illuminated by the sun, which blazed through mullioned windows to display the tasteful trappings. The light bounced off the sea onto the ceiling, and jumped around in playful pools above. Liza’s attention was drawn to the bunk again, and as her gaze lit on the treasure chest at its foot, all her preconceptions about pirates converged to settle at that point.

Jill allowed the inspection, intuiting the effect a grounding of awe could have on a young servant. “By all means, acquaint yourself with my quarters, Liza. You will need to know your way around when you begin your duties.”

Here Liza collected herself and studied the woman. This lady pirate would appear equally at home in a forest. Like some sylvan nymph from a fairy tale, she wore her hair long and loose, with strands of shorter hair overhanging her forehead. Her eyes were the deep, passionate blue of forget-me-nots. And she was impressive for one so petite, so slender. Her bearing, as Liza witnessed on deck during the mayhem yesterday, was regal. Yet her smile, icy when it was useful to be so, was enticing, as if it longed to give and receive kisses. Liza squinted, trying to remember her mother’s smile, but the face in front of her interfered with her memory.

For jewels, this woman wore only the ruby necklace and two golden rings of filigree piercing her ears. Upon examination, the lady’s unadorned arms seemed too free, as if they wished to bear the burden of bracelets. Now she waited, but before Liza’s curiosity was satisfied, Jill spoke again.

“My proposal is this. I’m wanting an attendant, to look after my clothing and person. In exchange, you will be amply paid and provided room and board. And the protection of the captain.”

The girl froze.

Smee nudged her elbow. “Miss, do you heed?”

Liza flinched at his touch, but nodded.

“Apparently, Mr. Smee, our little captive hears, but refuses to speak. We will humor her. There is no need for her to speak in order to serve me. I may even prefer it that way.” Jill scrutinized Liza. “You look to be…” She chose to flatter the girl. “Going on fifteen?”